Natalie took a deep breath and faced the man in the shadows. “I think we’re better—” Natalie swallowed, blood rushing to her cheeks at what she’d almost said. “I mean we work better together than we do apart. Should we do this? I think the answer is up to us and how hard we try to make our system of Healing work.”
Jules considered her words. “I didn’t like the Council’s reaction to whatever news that Royal messenger delivered. I have a feeling it’s about what’s going on in Whitestrand.” For the first time during the conversation, he looked her in the eyes.
She squeezed her fingers extra hard behind her back, but she was able to meet his gaze in return. “It’s bad news, no doubt. We have work to do before they call on us.” After several seconds of awkward silence, Natalie said, “Well, my esteemed Healer Rayvenwood, I will make every attempt to pull my head out of my own ass. For the good of our patients.”
Jules chuckled. “My dear Healer Desmond, I, too, will attempt to remove my head from my same orifice. For the greater good of our patients.”
Chapter 8
R
T
he next day, Natalie and Jules returned to the animal sanctuary, much to Healer Bowers’ dismay. Once again, they Named every single animal; their confidence got a large boost when they helped cure a foal Healer Bowers had been struggling to Heal.
To avoid further miscommunication, they started a log of their patients in which they noted in detail the images they observed during the Naming process. In addition, they visited patients during recovery to ensure their Healing went well and observe how their technique might be improved.
Once they regained their confidence with animals, they began treating people again. Any calls from Saltwick Natalie got as a Healer, she found Jules and they rode into town together. For the time being, they stayed away from the hospital. Between teaching, her hospital rounds and working with Jules, Natalie’s face hit the pillow hard at the end of each day and she prayed she’d not be needed overnight.
Occasionally, they encountered a patient where Naming revealed different things to each of them as it had the night of Malcolm Bartlett’s death. They each wrote down their observations in the log. Natalie noted with relief that Jules contributed to the log with ease; whatever had happened in the war, it had not taken the hand he wrote with.
Having learned their lesson the hard way, they calmly discussed the similarities and differences in their Naming perceptions. It was Jules who spotted the pattern that predicted which patients would give them different results. People who took in Healing energy at a slower than normal rate presented one picture to Natalie and a differing one to Jules. Although this didn’t happen often, it was a situation for which they needed to be prepared.
“Is there any way we could boost the uptake of the Healing energy to reduce our chance of error?” Natalie asked Jules late one night in the library. She chewed on the end of a quill while paging through her own Healing diary to see if she’d ever taken notes on such a thing.
Jules looked up from the stack of open books in front of him and rubbed his eyes. “To my knowledge, it’s not possible for one person to do it. Do you think it’s possible for two?”
Natalie blinked. Her scholarly opinion mattered to him. She spoke carefully, handling the precious gift of his respect with care. “I haven’t found anything that says it is. Thinking back to our early experiments, it’s rather easy to transfer energy between the two of us. So you, therefore, could likely transfer more energy into me than you currently do. But can we force a body to take that energy in when it’s reluctant to do so?”
“And would that even be a good idea?” Jules mused.
“Probably not. Since people whose bodies take up energy slowly are usually very weak, I’d have to say flooding them with extra energy could be dangerous.”
“I agree.”
“So we’re back in the same place—how do we handle the Malcolm Bartletts of the world?”
Jules abruptly stood and began pacing, rubbing the stump of his arm.
Natalie bit her lip. “Is your arm all right?”
“Well, apart from being still missing, it’s just dandy.”
Natalie decided to let him walk off his mad. After several minutes, he stopped pacing and stopped in front of his chair with his hand covering his face.
“We handle the Malcolm Bartletts of the world by having you Name them by yourself. I am a liability.”
“No, I still think there’s— “
Jules slammed his hand on the table. “Natalie, I’m still trying to figure out how to use a straight razor one-handed without slicing my face to shreds.”
“I’m sure you are. And if you had a student in your Naming class, Juliers Rayvenwood, who was missing part of an arm, would you consider that student less than the other students or would you move the Isle itself until that student could Name as well as every other student in the class?”
Natalie gathered her things and left for her room, leaving Jules to his thoughts.
After two weeks of intense work, they reported back to the Headmistress. Gayla looked uncharacteristically weary. Though Natalie knew her Headmistress was well along in years, this was the first time she seemed old. Her eyes, normally sparkling with a bit of mischief, seemed dull and listless. New lines seemed permanently etched around her eyes and upon her brows.
“Good work. Please report to the hospital right away. Be sure you can work on patients there as well as you’ve been doing here.” She tapped their log with one bony finger.
“Yes, ma’am. Is there any patient you’d like us to work on first?” Jules asked.
“No. Please. Any of them. Just make sure you’re at your best. You’re dismissed.”
Frightened by the despair in Gayla’s voice, Natalie followed Jules out the door of the Headmistress’s office.
“What is going on?” Natalie wondered, sitting with Jules and Em at lunch in the great hall.
“If the rumors I’ve heard are true, it’s horrible,” Em said in between bites. “The Midwives’ Guild has forbidden us from going to Whitestrand. They say the city is quarantined.”
“That would explain the Royal messenger,” Jules took a sip of ale. “Roseharbor is just up the coast from Whitestrand, and I doubt Their Royal Majesties want the contagion getting any closer.”
Natalie glared at him. “Or maybe King Gerhard and Queen Phillipa just care that their subjects are dying.”
He raised one dark eyebrow. “Their subjects die in the war with Lorelan all the time and they don’t stop the war.”
Natalie had no response, so she turned back to Em.
“Has there been any word from the Council of the Isles? Surely, the Headmistress, as the representative of Council of Healers, must’ve told the other four councils what’s happening. Head Councilwoman Ramesh must take some sort of action.”
Em shook her head. “Well that’s the catch, isn’t it? The Council of the Isles and the monarchy are always butting heads about what’s right for the Isles. What you hear or read depends on whether or not it’s coming from a monarchist or someone who’s pro-council. Even though we’re just an hour or so from Roseharbor, most people will be pro-council since the Council of the Isles, on the whole, tends to look out for the best interest of the Isles’ citizens. Or most people have that perception, at any rate. And you know the Headmistress can’t talk about Council of the Isles business with us.”
Natalie scowled. “Have your patients told you anything about the nature of the illness?”
“No. But, if it’s bad enough for an entire port city to be quarantined …”
“… it’s bad,” Natalie finished unnecessarily.
“What?” Natalie jumped awake. She glanced out the window. It was the middle of the night, but she couldn’t recall Gayla’s voice summoning her to Heal a patient.
“Natalie,” a deeper voice called as someone knocked on her door.
“Jules?” she
went to the door and opened it. “What’s wrong?”
“They want us to go to Whitestrand. The Healers the Council sent are … are dead. They want us to go to replace them. The Council is downstairs with more information now.”
Natalie covered her mouth. “Dear Goddess.”
“I know. Get dressed. We’ve got to get moving.”
Natalie’s Healer’s instincts took over. “Right. Hang on.” She grabbed the nearest clothes, threw them on, braided her hair, tossed her cloak around her shoulders, called Jake and joined Jules in the hall.
“What do you know?” Natalie asked.
“Nothing so far. The Headmistress told us to be in the Council chamber in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ve never been to Whitestrand. How far is it from here?”
“Roughly four days’ ride,” Jules replied
“A lot can happen to a city in four days.”
Natalie’s grim observation kept them quiet until they knocked on the door of the council chamber. Once summoned inside, they were once again greeted by the same three councilors who had conducted their review.
“Welcome back,” Healer Aldworth smirked. “Headmistress Gayla reports you’ve made excellent progress since your review.”
“We have,” Jules replied in a tone that made it clear he was in no mood for dancing around the subject at hand. “We understand you have an assignment for us in Whitestrand. We’d like the details so we can get underway.”
“The first two Healers we sent were unable to make much progress Naming or treating the disease. We do have the symptoms, though.” Healer Hawkins consulted her notes, her mouth forming a thin line. “Whatever this is kills quickly. Patients present with a headache, soon followed by other muscle pains, vomiting, chest pains, shortness of breath and profuse sweating. Most patients die within twenty hours of symptom onset—or less.”
Jules rubbed his jaw with his hand. “What did the Naming reveal?”
“No notes were sent regarding the Naming,” Gayla replied.
Jules swore.
“How much of the city is sick? Are the other Isles in danger? Do you know how it spreads?” Natalie asked.
“The city is currently under quarantine and the port is shut down. We’ve notified the other Isles what symptoms to be on the lookout for, but so far we haven’t heard any word,” Healer Aldworth replied. “You and Healer Rayvenwood will be given special permission to enter and stay there. The Abbey has a Royal army liaison who will see to it you receive supplies and instructions for your journey. And Healers?” Healer Aldworth looked pointedly at both of them. “Do not let us down this time.”
Clearly dismissed, they left the chamber. Natalie made sure the heavy double doors were closed. “He didn’t answer the most important question. How does this disease spread?” she muttered.
Jules bent his head close to hers. “I think that’s for the best. I don’t trust him and I wouldn’t have believed the answer he gave us, anyway.”
“Why don’t you trust him? And why would the Council keep details from us? Especially if two Healers are dead and now our lives are on the line.”
“Frankly, I trust our judgment rather than theirs. Or Aldworth’s, at least. Let’s get on the road and see for ourselves what’s going on.”
Natalie followed Jules out of the antechamber, only belatedly realizing that Jules hadn’t answered her questions either.
Natalie fussed with her summer-weight cloak for the umpteenth time as the sun rose over Ismereld. No matter how she adjusted it, it pulled on her throat as she and Jules rode along the road to Whitestrand. Jules rode his tall, sleek bay horse, whose name was Elric, with regal confidence. She rode Benji, who, despite being her favorite pony in the Abbey stables, would never be regal. Eventually, she and her errant piece of clothing seemed to find some sort of truce.
Natalie snorted. They must look an odd pair. The tall, dashing man on the beautiful horse beside the shorter woman, cloak askew, riding the fat chestnut pony. Off to save a city. Or so they hoped.
She eyed the longer cylindrical bundle tied behind Jules’s saddle. “Why do you have more baggage than I do?”
“I brought my tent. From my time in the army.”
Natalie thought back to when she received her provisions, and she distinctly recalled receiving the token that would allow them to stay at the inn in Whitestrand. The Abbey kept tokens for Healers needing shelter in remote towns. Healers gave the tokens to innkeepers who, in turn, sent the tokens to the Abbey. The Abbey then paid the innkeepers for all expenses incurred. “I thought we were staying at inns.”
“We are—until we get to Whitestrand.”
“You don’t think it’s safe to stay in the town.”
Jules shrugged. “Two Healers are dead. I don’t know what to think, other than I want to be alive to keep thinking. I say we stay out of Whitestrand as much as possible. We go in and take care of patients, but we sleep, eat and drink outside of town.”
Natalie nodded.
Summer was upon Ismereld in full now. They rode along paths surrounded by tall, lush grasses, seed heads bobbing on the tops of their stalks. Trees in full leaf offered the occasional bit of shade. It got so hot, Natalie gave in and removed her cloak, securing it to the back of her saddle. They stopped often to water the horses and take long pulls of water from their waterskins themselves. However, not even the heat could dampen Natalie’s joy of being outside surrounded by the smell of grasses, trees and shrubs, with the blue sky stretching above her. She made a mental note to try and spend more time outside when she returned to the Abbey.
After the third stop to water the horses, the silence between her and Jules got under Natalie’s skin. A four-day journey stretched in front of them. She hoped their fragile friendship could take it. Should she start a conversation? What was there to talk about? What did they have in common besides Healing anyway? Stories from her time as a student seemed awkward, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to ask him about the war. Books? Should she ask about books? Would that be—
“What do you remember about epidemics from history?” Jules asked, making her jump.
Relieved to have something to talk about, Natalie seized on the conversation topic, and between them, they recalled quite a few epidemics they’d studied while at the Abbey.
Natalie mentioned the Healing diary she kept and that she had several sections devoted to epidemics. “My grandparents used to tell us stories of the last epidemic to strike the Isles; it killed several of their friends and loved ones. I’ll never forget the haunted look on their faces when they told us what it was like. I made a special point to keep notes on epidemics, I think, because of them.”
“What do you remember from your notes?”
A few epidemics in particular stood out, such as one where a Healer traced the cause of a citywide stomach illness to one polluted water well. Once sealed off, people couldn’t consume the polluted water and stopped falling ill. Basic hygiene and the advent of plumbing advances from the Isle of Obfuselt put an end to most of the recurrent epidemics the Isles experienced in the past, but they were good reminders of what patterns to look for in Whitestrand.
Unfortunately, that topic of conversation ran out and silence descended once again. Natalie fidgeted with Benji’s reins.
“Where are you from?” Jules asked. She managed not to jump this time.
“Uh, Mistfell. We’ll be passing somewhat near there on the way to Whitestrand.”
“Indeed. You said you had a brother. Any more brothers? Or sisters?”
“No, just my brother, my parents and me. I grew up on an apple farm there. It was a wonderful place to grow up.” She smiled as images of home, the scent of her mother’s hearty dinners, the sound of her father’s booming laugh and memories of playing with her brother in the apple groves filled her head.
“How did you find out you were a Healer?”
Natalie’s lips curved in a wistful smile. “Well, I
had always had an herb garden—”
Jules laughed out loud.
“Yes, no surprise to anyone.” She laughed. “Anyway, I knew some remedies, but when I was ten, our family had a puppy. He came into my garden limping one day. I picked him up and it was like my hands caught fire, they tingled so much. In my mind this image appeared and I could see the small crack in a bone in his front right leg. Poor thing, I almost dropped him because it scared the hell out of me.”
“I can imagine.”
“I was pretty spooked and didn’t really want to become a Healer. But then my little brother fell from a ladder and hit his head. I felt so helpless. I never wanted to feel that way again; I wanted to know how to help. So I started at the Abbey three years later.”
They rode in silence for some time before Natalie got up the courage to return the question. “How about you; where are you from?”
Jules’s mouth hardened into a thin line. “A few days’ ride from Mistfell. I’m from Roseharbor. I grew up in the shadow of Roseharbor Castle, the eldest son of clothing merchants. My parents are tailors to much of the upper class of Roseharbor. They were quite disappointed when I told them I was a Healer.”
Natalie grimaced. She wanted a word or two with Jules’s parents. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“One sister. She married a wealthy man who is as vain and frivolous as she is.”
“Ah. I gather you two had a pleasant childhood frolicking in fields and making mud pies,” Natalie jested.
Jules laughed again. It was a deep, baritone laugh that sent an unexpected thrill of desire through Natalie’s middle. She peeked out of the corners of her eyes; he was quite at home riding his tall, sleek horse. The sun shone down on his dark wavy hair, his cloak billowing behind him, and he looked like a knight straight from a bard’s tale. Hoping the summer heat hid her blushing face, she kept her eyes on the road ahead.
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