Umbertouched

by Livia Blackburne

  Tal’s jaw tightens.

  “It’s not simply numbers that determine the outcome of a war,” says Vidarna. “Our warriors are braver and more skilled.”

  “We’re outnumbered, that’s true,” says Gatha. “But the peninsula gives us several advantages. The Amparans have to cross the strait to get to us, and the cliffs limit the places where they can make landfall. Our beaches are too rocky for their warships, so they’ll have to come in by rowboat, which limits both their mobility and their supply train. If we choose to hold them off at the beach, we can deploy archers and rock flingers on the cliffs, and soldiers on the beaches to meet them. Or we can melt into the forests. Either way, we meet the Amparans on our terms, not theirs.”

  “What of their leadership?” asks Tal. “Is General Arxa still in charge of this campaign?”

  “All we have to go by are rumors,” I say, “but it seems Arxa was censured once Zivah and I were found out. He is no longer in charge of this entire campaign, but he is still commanding a contingent.”

  “That’s all he faced?” asks Vidarna. “Wasn’t he the one who brought you and Zivah into the capital in the first place?”

  “Yes, but Arxa knows Monyar better than anyone else. They can’t afford to remove him if they want to attack us. I’m guessing his friendship with Kiran protected him as well.” Truth is, my first reaction when I heard of Arxa’s fate was one of relief. I’d thought him a good and fair commander when I served under him, and somehow I can’t shake the feeling that I’d betrayed him. On the other hand, he had me beaten bloody once he found out who I was and would have tortured me further if he’d had the chance.

  Vidarna’s gaze sinks into me. “And you, Dineas. You fought alongside the Amparans and trained under their general. Can we trust you still to be loyal to our side? Will you be able to raise a sword against your old commander?”

  For a moment, I wonder if Vidarna can read my mind. Then Gatha cuts in. “Dineas is one of my best. He would never—”

  I stop her. “No, it’s a fair question. I did fight alongside the Amparans, but my heart is Shidadi.”

  Vidarna nods, seemingly satisfied. If only I were as easily convinced as he.

  Returning to my people means becoming an outcast anew. Once again, I live alone in a cottage set apart from the rest of the village. Once again, all who come to see me must stay five paces away. It seems there are only two choices available to me: live shoulder to shoulder with strangers who share my fate, or exist at arm’s length from those I love.

  All around me, people prepare for the invasion. The Shidadi patrol the shores, watching for signs of the coming army. The Dara work day and night to stockpile food, blankets, and clothing. After months in a place where I had a role to play, I feel restless and useless. For the first time, I come to truly understand what life might have been like for Mehtap in the rosemarked compound.

  One morning, I’m awakened by a thud against the wall of my cottage. It’s a rock with an unsigned note tied around it.

  May the Goddess judge you for bringing the Amparans upon us.

  The words are large and stark, scrawled with such force that they leave indentations in the parchment. A chill spreads through me. I remember my mother picking something off the ground when I first returned to my house, and how she’d so quickly hidden it away.

  Who sent this? I run through my recollection of fellow villagers, seeing their faces in my mind and sifting through everything they’ve said, before realizing the pointlessness of the endeavor. It could be anyone. One person may have written that note, but I’d be naive to think that only one person felt this way.

  When I tell Tal about it, he doesn’t seem surprised. “I’m sorry, Zivah. I’m to blame for this. I broke precedent by allying us with the Shidadi and sending you in secret. We’re a people of harmony and compromise. We’d always made decisions by consensus until recently.”

  “Why did you do it?” I ask. Tal’s led us for at least fifteen years. I’ve never known him to dictate anything before.

  “We were slowly being bled to death by the empire, even before your mission,” he says. “I had to take action before we became too weak to fight at all. The others would not have seen this.”

  I wonder at the conviction in his voice, and I wonder if it’s warranted. “Do the people still follow you?”

  “For now.”

  It’s a disconcerting answer.

  As battle preparations continue without me, I turn my attention to Baruva’s notes, poring over them word by word. It feels distasteful to go through a man’s private thoughts like this, but there’s too much at stake. Baruva is a meticulous note taker. Every day has an entry, and his script is clean and even. Upon looking more deeply, I see a shrewd, manipulative man. He has notes on his fellow physicians—weaknesses, strengths, mistakes, details about their private lives. It’s the type of knowledge that could be used to befriend and influence, or to threaten and blackmail.

  As for Kiran, Baruva mentions meeting with him but never talks about what they discussed. There’s far less about Kiran than there is about any of Baruva’s colleagues. It appears that the healer is not a fool. He’ll write down nothing to implicate himself.

  Two days after I come home, my old master, Kaylah, appears at the top of the path to my cottage. There might be more gray in her long dark hair, but otherwise she is the same. Round face, wide, patient mouth that relaxes into a smile when she sees me.

  “Goddess be praised for bringing you back.”

  Kaylah’s always had an aura of peace about her. I’ve seen her touch soothe many a fevered patient, and even the healthy grow calm in her presence. My heart warms at the sight of her, yet I find myself fidgety as I lead her under the awning where I entertain visitors, with the four chairs that I never touch.

  “You return from seeing the world,” she says. “Tell me. What was it like in the capital?”

  I sit back, unsure where even to begin. I think of the vast expanses of desert, the dilapidated rosemarked compound, the hospital filled with ailing. “It was good to be healing again, but it was hard to live in the compound. The conditions there are more desperate than I could have imagined.” There was so much more—the months of deception, the desperate escape, the double life as healer and spy. But how do I speak of those things to Kaylah?

  She lays a stack of clay tablets on the ground in front of her. “I’ve been reading through the notes you wrote for me.”

  “I’m glad they arrived safely.” In Sehmar City, I’d recorded what medical knowledge I learned in the capital and sent them up north to Monyar. Scrolls would have been better, but tablets can be passed through the fire to dispel any lingering rose plague essence.

  “What you wrote about Amparan surgeries was fascinating, especially the amputation you watched Jesmin perform. There must have been so much blood loss. How do the patients not bleed out?”

  “Jesmin sutured each vessel independently as he worked. He says apprentice surgeons must practice on a hundred pigs before working on their first human patient.”

  Kaylah’s hand goes to her mouth. “It must be horrific without anything for the pain.”

  “It was.” I shudder now, remembering the man’s screams. “The most they give for the pain is strong wine, and patients have to be held down. That’s why Jesmin was so excited to learn about our potions.”

  “It’s a pity we don’t have the same surgical training in Dara. It would be quite useful in the coming months.”

  A pall falls over our conversation. I’m reminded that even those of us sworn not to kill will be affected by the war. It will no longer be illness, childbirth, and accidents that we tend, but sword wounds and arrow piercings.

  “Will we have enough healers?” I ask.

  “We’ve been training helpers in the binding of simple wounds. Beyond that, we’ll just have to trust in the Goddess.”

  Kaylah has always had such faith in the importance of the work we do and the sacred nature of our vows. When
I first spoke to her about going on my mission to Sehmar, she’d expressed grave doubts over the possibility that I would be pressured to break my vows as healer. I thought that her warnings wouldn’t haunt me once I left Monyar, but even now, after I’ve returned, they tug at me.

  I finally say it. “You still think I shouldn’t have gone to Sehmar.”

  Kaylah takes a moment before replying. “You are a full healer now. I am no longer your master. You made a difficult decision. And we will have many more difficult decisions to come.”

  I know Kaylah. She won’t accuse me or call me a liar. If I tell her that her worries were unfounded, that I went to Sehmar City and came back with my conscience clear, she won’t challenge me.

  But I would see the truth in her eyes.

  I look away. “There’s one thing that worries me. Now that we know Kiran infected his own troops, I fear the Shidadi will want me to use the rose plague against our enemies.”

  “And will you agree?”

  The fact that Kaylah would even ask that question is more damning than any accusations she might have made.

  “No. Of course not. That is a step too far.”

  “Then stand strong and have faith in the Goddess.”

  Kaylah’s composure feels stifling. “To do what? To protect me from rose plague? To deliver us from the Amparans?” Kaylah blinks at my raised voice, but I can’t stop. “What has she done to help us? I can’t be like you, Kaylah. I can’t simply trust in the Goddess to take care of us.”

  “And your own efforts to save us. How have they come out?”

  “Better than—” I fall silent, because I still have no answer to that question. I killed men in the capital. Some fell to the snake I raise for venom, and others came to harm after I put them to sleep. I used my disease as a weapon to threaten others, and there were times when I was tempted to go beyond a simple threat. Yet after all this, I am still rosemarked. After all this, Ampara comes ever closer to destroying us.

  I catch a chill the day after Kaylah’s visit, and I’m confined to bed for a day with headache and nausea. When the fog finally lifts, I decide that I’ve had enough of staying in one place. I don my plague veil, put Diadem on my arm, and set out into the forest with my blowgun.

  I had to give up treating patients when I became rosemarked, though I still helped harvest venoms for cures. These cures will be in great demand over the months ahead, and my collection of venomous creatures has long scattered. It’s time I rebuild it.

  The best way to go hunting depends on the type of creature. Spiders, scorpions, and frogs are best found by looking in nooks and crannies with a basket at the ready. Snakes, depending on their size, temperament, and habits, are best caught with snares or a blowgun. The same with star voles, the only mammals we keep, whose immunity to snakebites makes their blood useful for cures.

  I set up a few traps in the hills near my cottage and catch a red-ringed spider off its web. Though I look over each bamboo plant with care, I don’t see any snakes. It’s a nice warm morning, though. The air smells green and fresh, and birds trade songs above my head.

  There’s a clearing not far from the village that I used to visit with my sisters. Blue coneflowers bloom there at this time of year, and I make my way toward it. As I get closer, I hear raucous laughter and what sounds like sticks banging against each other. If there are people at the meadow, I should turn around. But curiosity gets the better of me and I creep closer.

  Dineas stands at the far side of the meadow holding a segment of bamboo as if it were a sword. He’s fencing with someone whose back is turned toward me—a girl, from the sound of her laughter and the length of her hair. That shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve always known the Shidadi have both male and female fighters. They trade blows back and forth, Dineas shouting tips over the clash of bamboo. Occasionally, the student stumbles or gets her sword in an awkward position, and that’s when the giggling happens.

  I edge closer for a better view, ignoring the twinge of...something...that grips me with each new peal of laughter. It strikes me how Shidadi Dineas looks. Now that we’re no longer on the run, he’s returned to carrying his weapons in the open. He has his swords on his back and several long knives at his belt. Beyond the weapons, though, there’s something wilder about him. The fierce independence I remember from our first meeting shines through unrestrained.

  Dineas and his pupil circle the edge of the meadow, maneuvering in and out of reach of each other’s swords. Then they turn so that I see the girl’s face, and I almost drop my blowgun.

  It’s Alia. She’s quick on her feet—quicker than I would have expected—and she engages Dineas with surprising intensity. I step in for a closer look, and the movement catches her eye. She pauses, yelping when Dineas raps her on the wrist, and squints in my direction.

  “Zivah?” she asks.

  I take off my plague veil and hat, feeling like a child caught playing in the goat pen.

  “Zivah!” Alia runs toward me. “Did you see? Dineas says I’m a quick learner!”

  “She is,” says Dineas, coming up behind her. He wears an easy smile, and a sheen of sweat covers his brow. His tunic is damp and clings to his broad chest and shoulders. I haven’t seen much of him since our return, and I find myself searching for clues as to how he is. He’s shaved off the unkempt beard he sported on the road, and he’s trimmed his hair. The circles under his eyes remain. He’s studying me as well, eyes flickering from my face to my clothes to the insect cage at my belt. I’m suddenly self-conscious about the wrinkles in my dress and the hair that has come out of my braid, even though I was often in worse shape during our travels.

  “I didn’t know Dineas was helping you,” I say to Alia. She looks so pleased with herself that I do my best to match her mood, though the image of her fencing plays and replays itself in my mind’s eye. My sister, wielding a sword. My sister, going into battle against Amparan soldiers.

  “Just this morning,” she says. “We ran into each other at the village. It’s generous of him to take some time.” Generous indeed. Thankfully Alia’s chatter saves me from speaking. “Leora wants to know when she can come visit you. She says you haven’t responded to her message.”

  Leora has indeed asked to come see me, and I’ve put off replying, worried that I would endanger her baby.

  “Tell Leora I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.” Alia’s eyes don’t leave my face. I wish she would look away. “Do you still help at the fields in the afternoon?”

  Alia glances up at the sun and grimaces. “Yes, I should be going.”

  Dineas gives her a cheerful punch on the shoulder. “Well done today.”

  “Send my love to Mother and Father,” I tell her as she rushes off. And then it’s just Dineas and me.

  Without the immediate threat of Amparan soldiers at our heels, it’s no longer obvious what there is to say. The image of Dineas punching Alia on the shoulder flashes across my mind. It was a brotherly gesture, but still a bitter reminder that he can touch Alia when I can’t, that once again I’m alone.

  In Sehmar City, Mehtap had been generous with her embraces. Dineas as his other self had been affectionate as well. Even before we thought ourselves in love, there had been playful nudges and pats on the shoulder. And in Jesmin’s hospital, I’d been a bestower of touch, laying my hand on my patients’ foreheads when they needed comfort, taking their hand when they were in pain. Now, back in Monyar, there are no more patients. My sisters are forced to keep their distance, and Dineas...things are different with him as well.

  “You’re settled now, back with your people?” I say.

  “For the most part.” He doesn’t sound very convinced of it. “And you?”

  I indicate the caged spider at my belt. “I’m rebuilding my collection.”

  Silence. I wonder where the crows are. “I thought the Shidadi leaders promised that Dara youth were not to join in the fighting,” I blurt out.

  “They won’t be forced to, but those who are willing and able
will be welcomed.”

  “And Alia. You’ll welcome her into your ranks?”

  “She’s a quick learner.”

  “She’s fifteen years old.”

  “That’s how old I was when I joined Gatha’s elite fighters.”

  “And you would wish that on someone else?”

  The hazel in his eyes seems to disappear, leaving them darker. “I didn’t wish anything on anyone. Alia asked for help with her swordplay. I would think you’d want her to be as prepared as possible.”

  I try to choose my words wisely. “I do want her to be prepared, but she’s young. She’s impressionable and eager for excitement. It’s a game to her. By the time she learns that it’s not, it may be too late.”

  “You can’t hide her away, Zivah.”

  “You would rather I put her in the front lines? Just because your people rush to destruction, does that mean we must as well?”

  I regret my words as soon as they come out of my mouth, but I can’t unsay them.

  Dineas stares at me—incredulous, furious.

  I take a step back. “Dineas.” I stumble over my words. “I’m sorry. I—”

  His expression doesn’t change. This wasn’t how I’d planned for the conversation to go.

  I draw breath to speak again, but my eye is drawn to a movement in the forest. Alia reappears at the edge of the meadow.

  “I’m glad you’re still here,” she says, running toward us. “There’s a man in the village looking for the two of you. He says his name is Nush.”

  Alia slows as she nears, her gaze going uncertainly between me and Zivah. I school my features and see Zivah doing the same. Apparently we agree about keeping our fights private.

  “You’re certain this man’s name was Nush?” I ask Alia.

  “Yes. He told the scouts that you were a guest of his near Sehmar City, and that you two met again in Taof.”

  I suppress a snort at that. If that’s hospitality, then I’d rather be an outcast. But I’m intrigued. This is far to travel, even for a Rovenni trader. “Take us to him.”