Hurley's Heroes Collection 2015-2020, page 76
I knew in that instant who had murdered our King, who had twisted my companion's will and the prophesy of the witches. She stood in the doorway in a nearly transparent swath of crimson linen, dark as blood; dark as her deepest ambitions.
#
Days passed. One week, two. I kept Flanin by my side, and Madden kept me by his. Every time I thought to slip away, his Lady was offering me a bit of water, some tea, perhaps? Or a look at the weapon's room? Flanin went near mad with it all and disappeared only once. I screamed and beat him so severely afterward that he did not dare do it a second time.
I found myself a prisoner in the place that I had once thought of as my home, the place my boy was raised. And all the time Ross and Annil were hearing rumors, rumors that Mallen had flown to New Ennland for their King's support and Donal had joined the New Illand clan in the north. More rumors, rumors of spirits and freak storms, of thunder and lightning appearing out of a cloudless sky more often than usual. Whole clan holds were said to have been swept away by great winds. But nothing, I knew, was so horrible as the atmosphere inside Inveress.
It wasn't until three weeks after Madden's coronation that I received my chance to escape. Autumn had begun to cool into winter, lessening the sun's bite. Madden decided to hold a banquet in my honor and told me to go out to Nyden's hold in Fyfe to escort Nyden's Lady and son to the celebration.
I was so elated at the chance to leave the stifling hold that I didn't notice the deadness of his eyes, or the hunch in his stance. He had not been sleeping well as of late, but I considered it none of my concern, and shrugged off his manner as having to do with his lack of rest.
"Flanin," I said, once we were back in our room. "Take nothing more than the clothes on your back and your weapons. We can afford nothing else."
We left Inveress that morning, and once out of sight of that dreadful prison, we began to run. Perhaps it was the joy of freedom, or the relief at knowing Inveress and its crazy Lady lay behind me, or that my boy was finally going to be safe. Whatever the reason, I did not think of pursuit or ambush. I did not think.
We slowed at noon and took refuge in an abandoned car on the High Way. Flanin and I discussed our plight. He voted that we join Mallen and his growing army in New Ennland.
When darkness came, we were well off the High Way, far from Fyfe or Inveress, and I let myself relax. Flanin stayed at my side.
Whisper.
I stopped still at the noise. We stood several yards from a stack of dark, hunkered vehicles, little more than their frames still intact. Flanin motioned in the direction of the vehicles.
My hand rested on my sword hilt, more out of habit than caution at the moment. I knew I had heard something. But what?
The noise came from behind me.
In one quick stroke, I drew my blade and turned to face a man twice my size covered in bits of patched and battered metal. I cried out to warn Flanin, and another figure emerged, rushing at my boy from the heap of cars. A third and a fourth arose. It was too dark to make out any faces, but I knew who had hired them. Even as I felled the first man, a second and third rushed at me from behind. My sword arm was twisted painfully behind me.
With every muscle in my body, I screamed. I screamed so loud that I hoped the treasonous Madden and his frail Lady heard me, "RUN BOY! MADDEN IS A TRAITOR! A TRAITOR!"
I felt the blow to the back of my head first, like a heavy hand trying to split open a melon. A sharp object, dagger or wood, I know not which, forced itself into my side. Once, twice, three times. They threw me to the ground and began kicking and punching. I lost count of how many times. The more I moved, the harder they hit me.
I must have blacked out, because the next moment, I was being dragged by the hair back toward the High Way. One eye was swollen shut, and I could feel blood trickling down my cheeks like warm, sticky tears. Why had they not cut my throat or split open my head? What kind of assassins were they? Poor fellows, most likely. Poor, ignorant townsfolk trying to get out of debt with their king. I didn't know if I wanted to scream or cry. The decision was made for me. My head bumped into a jagged rock sticking up from the sandy soil, and I faded again.
I awoke to find myself staring at a variety of insects swarming about my face and arms. I couldn't move. For a moment, I panicked, and tried to claw at the darkness enclosing me on all sides. No, not all sides. Those were stars up above, weren't they? Yes, yes! And dirt. By the cataclysm, it was dirt beneath my fingernails! I tried to laugh. Pain. So much pain that I thought perhaps I was baring a second child. Burning, searing pain lanced through my body, up and down my ribs and face and back. And I knew I was going to die. I turned my head toward the stars, trying to ignore the industrious critters burrowing into my flesh and feeding on my blood. I would bleed to death in this ditch as Madden and the Thanes feasted in my honor. I dared not attempt to laugh again, but I wanted to. I found this so humorous. Here I was, in this ditch most likely on the side of the High Way, where I had borne my own boy, and where my mother had borne me. I wondered, did my mother die in a ditch such as this, betrayed by her fellow? Did it matter? I so wanted to laugh. I felt so tired, so deathly tired. Another joke. This was so funny.
"Mother?"
The sound of the whispered voice ravaged me anew. No, no, boy, get away!
"Mother?"
His face became visible just above me, outlined by the stars. There was a bruise on his cheek, and his lip was swollen, but he looked well. I tried to say something, tried to croak out some sort of explanation, or tell him to leave me here, to let me die.
"I will not leave you here, mother," he said.
His fingers were warm and gentle as he bent to pick me up like I was a frail, ill-bred Lady. As he moved my bruised, battered form, I screeched my painful entrance back into the world of the living. He shushed me quietly.
I said nothing as my boy wrapped me up in an old tattered tarp and stanched the blood from my wounds with bits of burlap. He carried me down the long, dark High Way to Inveress, the only place we knew as home. The moon hung crimson in the sky, dark and lovely as the blood coating my ribs, head and face.
It was a long walk to Inveress.
Madden's Lady would soon believe in vengeful spirits. She would soon believe in many things.
THE ROAD TO ARUNE
ANOTHER’S DESPAIR DEVOURED HER.
Aisha was aware of Dosi there, somewhere in the back of her mind, preparing to pull her out of the patient’s body if she destroyed the ailing heart instead of healing it.
The first thing Aisha felt when she withdrew from the mended heart was the cold wooden floor. Smell came next; Dosi had put on too much perfume this morning, masking the stink of stale sweat and spicy cigarettes.
“How do you perceive her?” Dosi asked.
Aisha placed a hand over her left breast. Some part of her hoped that if she didn’t say it out loud, she would erase the mistake, but Dosi would be able to see it. Feel it.
Dosi sat back on her heels, tugging at her thick blue Healer’s shawl. “You spent too long. You should not feel her pain once you’ve left her.”
Aisha looked to the sleeping woman lying between the two of them on a blue pallet. This part of Dosi’s hexagonal house was reserved for apprentice healings. Aisha was tired of staring at the painted purple dragonflies spiraling up and across the paper of the screens. She wanted to move to the other end of the house, there behind the blue screens where real magic took place. Dosi’s other apprentice, Cadera, had been sitting back there healing without Dosi’s company for over three months now.
Dosi reached over to her teacup sitting on the low table beside her. “What will you do if you find yourself plunging too deeply? Will you lose your soul and Tilana, here?” Dosi nodded at the patient. Dosi had a habit of putting names to her patients. “Will your spirit become entangled, never to be retrieved? Or worse?”
Here it was again. Brevity, conciseness, skill. Aisha knew the risks. She took them anyway. “One must take risks to excel,” Aisha said. “You are not ready.”
“I’m better than—"
“No.” She stared over at Aisha with eyes that always tried to peer past her, as if she saw something there, just behind her.
“But I—"
“I will not watch you carted off to Arune, left to wallow in your own misery to the end of your days. I’ve been to Arune. I’ve seen the women there. And I will not see you there.”
Aisha had only ever seen one undisciplined healer in all her life, though Dosi was full of stories about them. They had hauled the healer through town on the way to Arune. She was a pale, emaciated young woman with deep, swollen scratches on her arms and face. She never spoke. Her body housed nothing but blood and spit; not a bit of soul left. That woman had been reckless, careless, and—Aisha thought—had no real talent for healing, anyhow.
Aisha trudged home through muddy streets; pleated yellow skirts hiked up to her knees. She passed the same little round houses of amber-colored logs, thick peat roofs soaking up the rain even more than her blue over-tunic. The stink of peat smoke hung heavy in the air, even when it rained; an earthy, pungent stink that permeated everything.
People greeted her as she passed, the same familiar faces, the same wishes of well-being. Aisha tried to imagine what the big cities were like, cities with hot water and silk clothes and paved streets and healthy people, always so healthy, because their healers were not afraid to take risks.
She pushed open the door into her little hexagonal house, a house not so grand as Dosi’s. She stepped down onto a floor padded with reed mats and musty straw. The one narrow window looked out onto the triangular garden of the house next door, a garden in need of weeding.
Her wife Juris sat at her desk by the fire. She had set her muddy boots neatly by the door; Aisha accidentally kicked one over as she entered. Aisha stomped toward the fire, tearing the cloak from her fingers as she went. “She refused to make me a Healer.”
“You’ll get your day,” Juris said, without looking up from her work. “When Dosi says you’re ready, you’ll be the most incredible woman ever to wear the shawl.”
“Are you saying I’m not ready now?”
“I…think you should listen to her suggestions.”
Aisha marched back behind the tall red paper screens that boxed off the bedroom, unlacing sodden clothing as she went. “My own wife doesn’t believe in me. One day, Juris, one day I will be the greatest, the best, the most... I will be a healer, Juris!”
As she changed her clothes, Juris spread out the tablecloth on the tea table and set out dinner. They sat down on the floor around the little round table. Juris talked through most of dinner, and Aisha found herself unengaged with the conversation. Something about trading wars and old paper.
A knock at the door interrupted them. Juris peered out the little window.
“It’s Dosi,” Juris said.
“Tell her I’m not here.”
Aisha gathered up their dishes and set them in the tub by the water pump. She retreated behind the screens, sat down on the raised bed.
She heard Dosi’s voice, beyond the screens.
“Is Aisha here?”
Aisha scooted a little closer to the screen, careful not to rustle the bed sheets. Was Dosi coming to apologize? Served her right.
“She wasn’t feeling well,” Juris said. “She went—"
“It’s you I wanted to speak to. May I come in?”
What business does Dosi have with Juris in my house? Aisha thought.
“Is there something wrong?”
“I’m worried about Aisha.”
Aisha tried not to breathe.
“I admit she’s been a little more—" Juris lowered her voice, but Aisha still heard her, “consumed.”
“It’s become an obsession, Juris. She nearly lost herself today. I had to hold onto her to bring her out before she ruined herself. I’m still shaking.”
“You’ve cut down her lessons, though, monitored her progress—"
“I’m losing her. She wants to progress too far, too fast. She’ll destroy herself at the pace she’s going. I’ve done all I can.”
“When she becomes a Healer—" Juris said.
“If she becomes a Healer. I will never understand your obsession with that woman.”
“It’s not—"
“If Aisha does not become a Healer, you lose everything—from the respect granted a Healer’s house to the government stipend—and you’ll be nothing but a helpless foreign scholar, no better than what you were when you were carted in here. I refuse to see a woman of your talent and intelligence relegated to such a station.”
Aisha wanted to push the screens over and throw Juris and Dosi out of her house.
“Aisha’s the type to marry a mineworker like her mother before her. I have no idea what the two of you could possibly find to discuss. I see what Aisha is, what she should be, and what she may be. It is the `may be’ that frightens me. Aisha is too brash, angry, and lacks the compassion for—"
Aisha could stand it no longer.
She leapt up from the bed, strode out around the edge of the screen and entered the room.
“How dare you come in here and say such things,” Aisha said, moving toward Dosi. “How dare you! My mother saw my talent. Don’t you see it? Marry a mineworker? How dare you walk in here assert such nonsense. Get out!”
Aisha’s whole chest hurt. She was acutely aware of a lingering pain over her left breast. It made her angrier.
Dosi stood in one smooth motion, adjusted her damp blue shawl with a pale, wrinkled hand.
Juris reached out to her. “Dosi—"
Dosi shook her head. “It is her house.” She moved to the door. Juris jumped ahead of her, opened it.
Dosi glanced back at Aisha with her squinty little eyes that looked past her, always just behind her, and said, “If you will not listen to me, listen to your wife. You will die if you don’t learn what it is to be a Healer.” She stepped out into the rainy night; her little form lost in the darkness.
Aisha was trembling. Her voice came out too loud, too harsh, but she could not stop it. “Do you want me to marry a mineworker? Marry a woman and lose her to the mines like my mother lost my father? You want me to bear babies to throw into that mine? Do you know what my mother gave up for me, how long she worked, how longed she saved, so I could apprentice myself to a healer? Dosi knows nothing. She doesn’t see anything.”
Aisha went back to the bedroom, buried her face into the oatmeal-colored sheets.
Juris moved into the bedroom without her consent and sat beside her. “I’m sorry, Aisha.”
“I have half a mind to throw you out,” Aisha said.
Juris gazed at her for some time, gazed at her with strange, incredible golden eyes that always left her paying more attention to their color than any words she said. Such amazing color.
Aisha wondered if Dosi really had needed to pull her back today. She wondered if she could have saved her mother if she had been a healer. She wondered why it rained so much in Naraka. She wondered if she loved Juris or her golden eyes, and if Juris loved her, or her lovely little house.
#
Morning dawned cold and drizzly. Thick bands of leaden clouds swathed the sky; morning was dim and gray. Aisha made up her mind as she stared out at the mud-churned streets. She would tell Dosi to make her a healer or cast her out.
Juris remained sleeping as Aisha dressed and stole quietly from the house, wearing tall wooden shoes to keep her feet and blue skirt hem from the black mud.
She tramped down the road intent on reaching Dosi’s house. Nothing could stop her this day. Nothing could sway her from her path, she thought.
Yet, halfway to Dosi’s grand house, she paused. The ground moved; a tremor—so slight—but it chilled her heart. She heard a call from her left; a long, wild cry that sent a shiver through her. A second cry followed the first. Curious townsfolk opened their doors. Women emerged draped in plain brown shawls. Wide-eyed children clung to their dark skirts.
They all gazed out in the same direction—toward the mines. Aisha stood frozen in the mud, still gazing toward those cries, waiting for the inevitable.
The high, frantic clanging of the cave-in bell sounded. A girl ran down the road, face and arms and legs coated in mud. She screamed as she ran, “Gada’s tunnel’s collapsed! Three women trapped! Dosi! Find Dosi!”
Aisha looked out past the girl, toward the mines. It would take twenty minutes for the girl to get to Dosi’s house, and at another half hour for Dosi to get to the cave-in site. Aisha could be there in less than five.
Aisha ran toward the mine. She would prove herself. The gods were testing her.
The mud wasn’t as bad on this road; she made good time. A group of wiry mineworkers with their sleeves pulled up to their elbows already stood around what was once the entrance to Gada’s mine. They clustered together, shoveling mud, hauling it away in buckets, working with the calm, diligent skill of a people used to such grief.
As Aisha moved toward the shaft, they pulled a body from the muddy soil.
Aisha approached the body. No one questioned her as she knelt before the woman on the ground, wiping the sticky mud from her face. Dead. A healer could do nothing for the dead. Not even Dosi.
A wave of cries announced the discovery of a second body.
This woman they set next to the dead one. She was just as muddy, gray tunic coated in black soil. Blood oozed from her mouth. She blinked at the rain without speaking.
Aisha glanced back over her shoulder, to the rise of the hill. She had never performed a healing without Dosi. Was it so difficult, really? Dosi had only held her back from using her true potential, hadn’t she? Dosi praised Cadera because she liked her, because Cadera was the daughter of a healer, because Cadera was so much more like Dosi.
