by Cat Bruno
“King Herrin? He has been in ill health of late, but word has it that he is recovering,” Pietro replied, distractedly, rubbing at his cheek.
“I do not remember the name, but Kennet kept mentioning the king and that his illness was being kept hidden. And that is why healers would be needed, especially ones who might not appear to be such.”
Feeling proud to have learned so much, she smiled at him, hoping that her news would be rewarded.
Instead, he seemed to forget that she was there at all as he paced the room, talking much to himself.
“So he was right and Bronwen is with child. He made no mention of Rexterra, though so he must not know that she plans to leave the Academy.”
As if he suddenly remembered she was there, Pietro turned as asked, “How does Kennet know of the king and I do not? I have spent much time with the Master Council of late and none have mentioned sending healers to the king.” Shaking her head, she answered, “I don’t know how he knows so much, but as they walked, they wondered when a decision would be made on whom to send.”
Pietro nodded, more vigorously since he had finished the ale, and said, “I must find out when the council will be called, although I suppose it is too late tonight to do much of anything about it.”
When he looked at her, for the first time since she had entered, Louissia’s legs trembled, and, for a moment, she feared that she would fall to the floor. Beneath her still-damp dress, her life pulse raced fast. As he walked toward her, she let out a gasp and reached her fingers to her parted lips. Her back was against the door when he reached her, yet she did not turn to flee.
Instead, she fell into him as his hands encircled her. When she felt the heat rise from his body, she slipped her dress to the floor, burning.
57
Rova looked over the letter once more, although he knew the words scrolled across the thick sheet of parchment had not changed between readings. He could not understand how the king ailed, as he was still young for one of the royal Rexterran line, perhaps of an age with Rova himself. Once before, the Academy had provided the palace with a handful of masters, although Rova himself had not traveled to the King’s City. Yet still the king’s health worsened.
Master Tywinne had been the only other healer to know of the letter, and, soon after, had proposed calling a Master Council to address the request and its veracity. With no name assigned to the missive, it was difficult to believe its truthfulness, especially with a subject of such importance. The deteriorating health of one who was god-touched was no small matter, and the letter had suggested that many had tried, both mage and healer. If Rova’s own assumptions were correct, the king’s illness was very likely dark-bound, which no healer, nor mage, would be able to fully heal.
For half a moon, he had waited, yet he knew that he could no longer delay, and a Master Council had been called for the morning. Word had been sent requiring all on the council to attend, although Rova had been careful not to explain the purpose of the session. Tywinne believed that one of the masters should be sent, although Torino had argued against the suggestion, not wanting to take the risk of placing a master in harm’s way. With no seal or stamp and no way of knowing who had sent the letter, Rova was hesitant to send any. Yet, if the letter’s contents were true, then the Academy had an obligation to fulfill, as the Academy’s very founding had been started with money and aid from Rexterra. He would let the Master Council vote on what should be done, he had decided.
Rova sighed and dropped the sheet of parchment back onto his long table. Blowing out the remaining candles and leaving only a flickering mage-light, he sat in silence, longing for the days when he was nothing more than healer, traveling across Cordisia in service to the weak and ill. It had never been his wont to become involved in the politics of Cordisia, nor was it the mission of the Academy as it mattered little who sat the throne. The letter, unsigned and mysterious, sought to change that.
*****
When the tower bell began to chime, Bronwen opened her eyes, rolling from bed and stumbling onto the cool stone tiles. After the eighth chime, she rushed across the room, throwing on the nearest robe and slipping her feet into unlaced sandals. Her hair hung loose and looked as if she had not brushed it in a moon year, she knew. But, still, she opened the door, hurrying off to the Master Council.
As she ran along the sandy path, her laces slapped as the ground, yet she knew that she was already late and did not stop to tie them. Combing her hair with her fingers, she then knotted it at her neck, caring little for how she looked. She knew what the session was about, and cursed herself for being late for what was so important.
If she had not overslept, then she would have been able to tell Willem of her plans, since she had not made it to his villa the night before. When she and Kennet had neared the beach, her stomach tightened and pain scorched her, so much so that she had been forced to lie in the sand, unable to continue. For an hour the two had waited, and, more than once, Bronwen feared bleeding would start. It had been nearly half a moon since she had had any discomfort, and the renewed pain caused her to wonder if she would lose the babe.
Yet, after an hour, she had recovered, although she had decided to return to her own rooms. The chiming bells had wakened her, calling for the Master Council, and, now, she had no choice but to attend without speaking with Willem. He would not be pleased, she knew, but little had gone as planned.
Arriving at the low-lying building, she grabbed the handle of the door and opened it softly, sliding into the room through the half-opened doors, her laces tapping against the floor. The room was emptier than she thought it would be, with no more than ten others in attendance. Despite her soft steps and downcast eyes, she was spotted as she tiptoed to the rear of the room.
“Bronwen, we are having a closed session this morning. Unless Master Rova has invited you to attend,” Master Torino called out to her, as he shifted his dark-haired head to look toward the front of the room, where, Bronwen noticed, Rova sat atop a cushioned bench.
Before Bronwen could answer, Rova stood up, raising a hand and circling it about the room, then added, “Torino, Bronwen should be here, although I had not thought to invite her before now. Please, Bronwen, come here and join us.”
Without speaking, Bronwen slowly made her way to the front of the room, taking a seat by herself on a small wooden stool that angled slightly away from the others. Then, she folded her hands into her lap, absent-mindedly covering her slightly expanded stomach, nearly sighing aloud in relief. For a moment, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her beating heart.
She thought on what she would say and how to convince the Masters that it must be her that traveled to the King’s City. Over and over she thought of story and promise on why she was most suited. Distracted by her own thoughts, she did not hear when the wooden gavel struck the large table that the healers surrounded. Only when Master Tywinne began speaking did she lift her head.
“Council members, thank you for joining me this morning. As you can see, there are not many of us here, and there is just cause for our limited numbers. I must remind your of your vows and ask for your silence once the meeting has adjourned,” he explained, waiting for all the healers around the table to nod their agreement.
Bronwen took a moment to glance at whom was in attendance. Master Torino, of course, as well as Masters Ellaine, the only other woman, Black, Joahan, Huvanich, and Shalastos. And Willem, of course, although she did not once look his way.
Bronwen was familiar with them all, although she knew Master Ellaine much less than she would have preferred, having not spent much time with the woman since her early days at the Academy. Master Black was often difficult to understand, and, while he was experienced in intricate surgical procedures, Bronwen had never warmed up to the man and had avoided him as much as possible. Tywinne had a soft spot for her, she thought, and often he would smile in her direction, although Bronwen always suspected that there was something hidden behind the pleasant look, yet she had neve
r been able to figure out just what it could be. She and Master Torino often clashed, even more once Pietro had volunteered to act as his apprentice. But, Bronwen still believed that she could convince the majority of them to send her to Rexterra.
The room was quiet until she realized that the others were waiting for her to agree, and she hurriedly nodded her head before looking back to where Tywinne sat.
“Last moon, we received word from the King’s City. With sadness, I must tell you that the king has only worsened since we last sent healers to him. As you may recall, several moons ago we received a party from the king’s own private guard requesting guidance in regards to King Herrin’s illness. At the time, we sent various tonics and herbs, as well as detailed instructions on what to try. Yet, it seems as if none worked.”
Reaching into a pouch on his belt, Tywinne pulled out a parchment, then continued, “I have been informed, via a correspondence, that the king has weakened further, and his very life is threatened, which should concern us all. Aside from the political implications that his death might cause, we here at the Academy have long, before even our grandsires’ time I believe, owed a debt to the royal Rexterran line for all that they have done to create our very school. The time has come for us to repay our debt, or as much of it as we can, especially to the king, who had always supported our efforts here, as you all should know.
“Our aid has been requested, and this time I believe that we must not simply send herb or poultice. The letter requests that we send healers, as the king’s own have not been able to help.”
Master Black, sensing Tywinne’s hesitation, grumbled, “Well, it seems simple enough. Surely the king’s illness must not be a naturally induced one. If his own healers and mages have not been able to cure him, what more can be done? Perhaps we are not meant to interfere at all.”
Bronwen bit her tongue to prevent the words she longed to say from spilling out, then turned as Ellaine answered for her, “Master Black, surely you do not suggest that we forget our vows. The king still lives, and, while he does, it is our job to do what we can for him. While his own healers have, no doubt, treated him with superior care, a fresh approach often helps. Now, what could possibly complicate the matter, Tywinne?”
As she looked from Ellaine back to Tywinne, Bronwen let her eyes linger over Master Black’s face for a brief moment. His cheeks were dark, yet tinged with a reddish hue, and his eyes roared with irritation. He did not seem pleased with Ellaine’s words, although he had certainly deserved them, Bronwen thought. All quieted as Tywinne continued.
“Masters, we must help. On that point, there is little choice, as we are all healers here and our vows are clear. However, when word reached us, we were unable to verify who exactly sent the letter, as its writer seems to want to remain unknown. Now, of course, without knowing for certain who sent us such a letter, we have no exact way of knowing the truthfulness of the words. In addition, a further request was made.”
Pausing, he dropped the letter to the table and said, “Whichever healer we choose to send must travel in secrecy, to prevent word from spreading about the king’s illness. The king’s weakening health has been a well-kept secret throughout the King’s City. We are asked to help it stay so.”
For the next few moments, Tywinne explained in detail what the letter stated. After he believed that he had sufficiently prepared the others, he let the others look at the letter itself. When Bronwen reached for it, she noticed that it was written in a clear, flowing hand on thick, standard parchment, with no distinguishing features to mark it or its writer. Gripping the paper between slightly trembling hands, she shivered, her body shaking as if she might have a fit. She knew, without understanding from where that knowledge had come, that it must be she who was sent to tend the king. Bronwen closed her eyes tightly trying to block the watery tears that blurred her vision, knowing that such uncontrolled emotion would do little to help her cause.
When she reopened her gray-green eyes, the whole table watched her, yet it mattered little to her. Willem’s face was flush, and Bronwen suspected that he knew of what she had planned. Yet, they had both long known that she must leave the Academy. He himself had done much to try to convince her to leave with him. She still could not look at him, yet silently begged that he say nothing. She could feel his eyes on her, gold and aflame, yet he sat quietly, as if in defeat, she thought.
With a conviction surer than she had intended, Bronwen whispered, “It is me that they seek, Master Tywinne. See here,” she pointed to the scrolling script about midway through the page, “the man says, ‘Send one who will not be known as a healer, who will draw no suspicion, who will be no different than any other traveler through the gates to the city, yet whose talents are known and respected, whose skill is beyond critique, and who, lastly, but, most importantly, will not fear the darkness that might be found in our great king.’
“He seeks the girl from the North. Who is healer, yet kin to the dark. My people have long shared our homeland with those others fear. Nor do I think any here could argue that my appearance would arouse suspicion. I believe my skill would not be an issue either.”
Overtaken by the seriousness of what she had said, Bronwen wanted to drop her gaze, but she forced herself to let her Northern eyes glance around the table. For what might have been the first time in several moon years, Bronwen dropped the ward that she always kept in place across her face, and her eyes shimmered brightly, as if they were mossy pond reflecting a crisp autumn sun. Let them see me as I am, she thought, keeping only one secret hidden, as she would for as long as she yet breathed. When her eyes came upon Rova, only then did she flinch, ashamed for a moment.
Biting her lip in order to stop the apology from rolling off her tongue, where it tasted bitter and stale, Bronwen glanced up at the man who had offered her so much, who had taught her much of what she knew.
To him, she said, full voiced and clear, “Master Rova, you have prepared me well for this, better than any other, I daresay. Half a moon year from now, I was set to leave the Academy for my Healer Journey. If you think that I am ready, release me now to travel to the King’s City. I believe that I will be able to heal the king.”
And let me the balance the scale for what I have done, Bronwen thought but did not say aloud.
With a longing and an ache that she hadn’t realized she had until the words had stumbled clumsily from her mouth, Bronwen let the words fill the room, knowing that she had not misspoken. Let me do this, she willed, over and over, as she stared into Rova’s gentle eyes.
As the silence spread and the room shifted uncomfortably, Bronwen finally looked away from Master Rova, who had nodded as she spoke, but had said nothing. Feeling the gazes of the room watching her, Bronwen’s face colored as doubts surfaced.
When she next looked up, Master Ellaine stared at her, intently, sadly, as Sheva did of late. She knew not what it meant.
When Tywinne began speaking, all eyes turned to him, including Ellaine’s.
“Bronwen, have you listened to all that I have said? This is no easy task, and we can make no promises as to what you might find upon your arrival in Rexterra. Do you understand? This is not a Healer Journey, nor would you have the protection of traveling as a healer. As you know, when one sets out on such a journey, they are given nothing and must make their own way, returning to the Academy after one full moon year spent on the road. Rarely have our healers faced the type of danger that comes with what the letter suggests is needed. This goes much beyond the normal difficulties that a Healer Journey involves.”
From his chair across the table from Bronwen, Master Joahan asked, “Would we not send her with guards of some sort to ensure her safety? If she is not permitted to travel under the white flag of a healer, then surely we must take other measures to keep her out of harm.”
Torino pounded his hand on the table, jarring everyone, then shouted, “What is this madness that we speak of? Even if Bronwen was capable of making the trip, we do not even know if the kin
g can be healed at all. Nor do we know what we would send her to! Are we truly so willing to sacrifice our next Master on such a journey when all we have is an unsigned piece of parchment?”
Still Willem said nothing, although she could feel his leg shaking under the table, their knees close to touching. Much to Bronwen’s surprise, it was Master Black who came to her defense as he said, “Masters, this is no easy decision, yet it seems as if the one whom it will affect the most has thought long over what she has said. While I will admit to being curious as to how she came to be here this morning, as if she knew before the rest of us, I find myself agreeing with her. Who else among those of us here could make the trip without being known far and wide as a healer? Have we not all had our journeys and traveled these same roads? I fear any of us would be soon identified. I myself know that on the occasions when I leave Tretoria, I am often stopped and thanked for the work that I have done, even when I often do not remember when, where, or whom I’ve helped.”
“Bronwen, I think we all require some time to think and discuss what has been said. If you would not mind departing until midday or so, then we might be able to have an answer for you soon,” Master Tywinne interjected.
Tywinne’s words were a clear dismissal, and there was little more that she could do, so Bronwen stood up and strode toward the door, feeling strangely similar to the girl who she had been nearly twelve moon years ago when she had first arrived at the Academy. Just as she was about to open the door, a voice called out to her, and she turned back toward the room to watch as Master Rova stepped away from the table and toward her.
