The Healer's Legacy

By Sharon Skinner

In Case You Didn’t Hear Me the First Time

The Nelig Stones
*

Mirabella and the Faded Phantom
*

Also from brickcavebooks.com

* Forthcoming

THE HEALER’S LEGACY

Sharon Skinner

Brick Cave Media Books, Mesa

Copyright © 2005, 2012 Sharon A Skinner

ISBN-13
978-1-938190-09-4

Digital Reading Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Printed in the United States of America.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover Illustration by Thitipon Dicruen [xric7].

Brick Cave Media

brickcavebooks.com

2011

To all the amazing, supportive women in my life.

Thank you.

Acknowledgments

I would be remiss in not personally thanking those individuals who helped to make this book a reality. Thank you to Anne Lind, my friend and one of the most amazing editors I know, for her willingness to read and reread my work and always help me make it better. Thank you to Diane Tuccillo, for her unflagging belief in my writing, and for the amazing hikes that got me out and away from the computer. Thanks most especially to my mother, Joan Katz, for reading the (really) early drafts and for her amazing support through the years.

I am so grateful to know you all.

The Healer’s Legacy

CHAPTER ONE

Kira tasted blood. She ran her tongue along the inside of her swollen mouth and winced. The cut on her lip had reopened.  Shifting in her saddle to ease the pain that burned through her body, she glanced at the men who rode beside her. They were tough and strong, battle-hardened soldiers, two of Toril’s fiercest fighters. “Escorts,” he’d called them. Kira knew only too well what they really were.

The other four men were younger and less experienced. Kira didn’t know them well, but the thin rider behind her seemed uneasy. Reins grasped tight, back rigid, he wasn’t much more than a boy, his light beard not yet grown in. He’d been among her escort for several weeks, but unlike the other men, surprise and concern had flitted across his face when she’d limped out of her tent that morning, her face swollen and fresh bruises darkening against her pale skin.

They plodded along beneath the thick canopy of beech and oak, while high above, glittering scales flashed among the dark leaves.
Take care, Vaith! Stay hidden
. Kira averted her eyes from the small winged reptile perched overhead and forced herself to stare forward.

The late summer heat thickened about the riders as they emerged from the shade of the forest. Faded wildflowers bordered the dusty track, and Kira squinted her eyes against the sun’s sudden glare. The cottage stood alone at the near end of the wide vale, just as she remembered. Its weathered walls had cracked, and the thatched roof with its bare patches showed the wear and tear of the past year’s harsh seasons. The shallow creek still ran out of the forest, passing within yards of the lonely house before hastening along its course toward a distant lake, but the water of the narrow rivulet barely reached halfway up its banks, and the reeds beside it were yellow and withered.

The yard in front of the cottage was also withered. The plot of herbs that had once grown bright and green, now a barren space of dirt spotted with weeds. A tangle of discarded objects lay piled beside the house, a broken loom, some faded rags and an assortment of cracked pots. Bits and pieces of things no longer useful. The sorrowful state of the house and yard plunged a dagger of guilt into her. Things had changed a great deal since she had lived here with Heresta, helping with the gardening and housekeeping chores.

Kira had changed, too. But returning here, seeing this place again, made her realize she was, in many ways, still the young girl who had trotted along beside Heresta, carrying bundles of herbs and looking with wonder at the seemingly simple roots and leaves that harbored so many amazing properties inside them. She wondered how much her sudden leave taking had changed Heresta. Her hands shook. Could she truly face her old mentor, now? What words could mend the breach she had created between them?

She took a calming breath to steady her nerves and strained to sit up straight. Her gray horse, Trad, stepped lightly, as if to avoid jarring his bruised passenger, but the men ignored her discomfort. Most of them avoided looking at her, not because seeing her battered face bothered them, but because they feared the violence Toril might inflict on them should they show too much interest in his woman.

Out of the corners of her eyes, Kira studied two men who rode beside her. She was tall, but both men were each at least a head taller than she, broad shouldered and muscular. Dagger, on her right, had taken his name from a badly healed knife wound that left a scar that ran the full length of the left side of his face. He sat astride his horse, rigid, and scowling as if he believed that the task of guarding Toril’s woman was beneath him. Or perhaps, Kira considered, like her he would rather be any place else.

The black-haired man on her left, whom she knew as Rasten, rode lazily, reins looped over the pommel. He glanced over and caught her looking at him. An evil-looking smirk crossed his face before she turned her eyes away. Rasten had a reputation for being merciless on the battlefield, and Kira could well believe it.

The men halted their horses a short distance from the cottage as Kira rode on into the dusty dooryard. She dismounted, easing her aching muscles out of the saddle, and smiled to herself. Every one of the waiting men was frightened of this place. The fools believed the death of a healer to be a bad omen.

Omens and superstitions!
Kira struggled to keep herself from laughing at them. It was true that some healers had more skills than simple herb lore. Some, like Heresta, had the gift of seeing, through dreams and visions, into the future. But most were simply trained to heal, using the gifts that nature supplied. Yet, many people still feared them.

Heresta had often told her that one of the greatest weaknesses of all men and women was fear, especially of the unknown. Once, when she was still a child, Kira had asked her mentor why the healers would allow the superstitions and legends about them to stay alive if they weren’t true.

Heresta had answered with shrug. “Are not the healers’ skills highly valued by a warlord and his army, kitten? Do not healers tend the wounded and mend them so they may fight again? And if you were a warlord, would you not kill your enemy’s healers if you did not have a reason to fear harming them?” Kira had marveled, knowing she had been given the gift of a great secret, one she would keep and take with her when the time finally came for her to return to the wheel of life.

Kira’s leather boots raised puffs of dust from the dry earth as she led Trad to a grassy area beside the stream. She stroked his neck, whispering into his ear that he should graze and wait. Glancing back, Kira saw Dagger’s eyes narrow, a sneer creasing his face. Kira knew the men watched her suspiciously, that they believed her ability with animals to be some sort of healer’s magic. Yet, not one of them ever questioned why Toril had not died of slow poison or suffered an evil curse for his treatment of her. Ignorance. Worse: ignorance without question. Let them think what they would.

She dropped her reins and strode across the yard, rapped on the door and waited. No sound came from inside, so she pushed open the door. The leather hinges had been recently oiled and the door swung inward without a squeak. So, at least someone has been helping to care for a few of Heresta’s needs, Kira thought, and she blessed the unknown benefactor. She stood for a moment in the doorway, hesitating. She told herself she was simply allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside before stepping into the gloom, but it was more than that. A full year had passed since her sixteenth birthday and the last time she and Heresta had spoken. Their last quarrel had ended abruptly when Kira had cursed Heresta for a bitter old woman with no room for love in her heart and slammed out of the hut. Kira knew her words were lies when she spat them at Heresta, knew they were malicious and meant to inflict pain, but she couldn’t stop herself. And once spoken, she’d been too stubborn, too ashamed, to take them back. She drew in a halting breath and squared her shoulders, then stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind her.

Kira inhaled the familiar scent of roots and herbs. Nothing seemed to have changed since she’d left. Even the mess, she thought ruefully. Many hours of her youth had been spent straightening up after the brilliant, but disorganized, healer.

Plain furnishings and clutter filled the single room. A still form lay on the bed against the far wall. Kira’s breath fluttered in her throat as she crossed to the narrow pallet.

Heresta had grown thin, her cheeks sunken with age and illness. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. When she’d sent word, asking for Kira to come to her, Toril had raged at the idea. But even as powerful a warlord as he, would not dare risk the punishment his superstition imagined by denying the final wish of a dying healer. He’d allowed Kira to come, but not alone. And not before he’d given her a sample of what would happen if she tried to leave him again. Last night’s beating was nothing to his uncontrolled brutality after her last escape. Her freedom had been brief and had cost her dearly. Kira shrank from the memory.

Outside the healer’s hut, Toril’s men waited for her to say good-bye to the dying woman, the woman who had raised her and trained her as an apprentice in the healing arts. They would be impatient to leave, fearful of being present at the time when a healer’s spirit left the body. Foolish fear based on superstition and misunderstanding of what was a natural turn on the wheel, Kira thought.
Let them worry
. Heresta had been like a mother to Kira after her parents were killed. She wouldn’t leave before the old healer had departed on her journey to the wheel. In the meantime, she would do all she could to ease and comfort her for what time remained.

She tiptoed about the room, pulling bits of dried herbs from the bundles that hung from the rafters and wall
s
⎯
sweet balm, maythen, skullcap, willow bark, battree flowers, lammint. She rolled the leaves and stems back and forth between the palms of her hands to release their oils. Then she tied the herbs in a clean piece of cloth and dropped them into the small iron pot on the hearth. She stirred the embers in the fireplace and added kindling, ladled fresh water into the pot and hung it on the blackened metal hook over the fire. The smell of soothing herbs filled the room as the mixture warmed and began to steam.

She leaned over to dip out some of the sweet-scented liquid, pouring it into a worn wooden bowl to cool. Turning back, she saw Heresta’s eyelids flutter, then open, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a weak smile. “I knew you would come, kitten,” she said. She used her pet name for Kira, as if they’d never been apart, as if Kira had never flung harsh words at her and stormed out of the door. Kira hung her head, remembering how she’d been so blinded by her love for Toril that she’d refused to listen to the voice of reason. Love? But how could she have loved anyone who could become so cruel? No, she thought, it couldn’t have been love. But then, what else could have driven her to behave the way she had?

Kira’s eyes stung, but tears refused to come. “Hello, old raven,” she whispered. She raised her head to survey the thin woman lying before her.

“You see,” Heresta said, “some things are not forgotten so easily. Some things do not change.” Her voice was weak, but there was a teasing lilt to her words.

Kira wondered how it was that Heresta could act as if nothing had happened. The old healer made it seem as if they had never argued, as if they’d only been apart for days, not the full four quadrants of a year. Kira shook her head. “Nor do some people, nor their habits,” she managed to tease back as her gaze swept the untidy room.

Heresta started to laugh, but her breath was ragged and her laughter became a body-jarring cough. The cough came from deep inside, and Kira heard in it the sound of the fluid that filled the healer’s lungs, slowly drowning her. Kira felt a tightness grasp her chest. She waited for the coughing to stop, then offered the herbal brew. The old woman nodded assent and Kira helped her raise her head so she could sip from the proffered bowl. Afterward, Heresta lay back on the bed, sighing as the herbs eased her pain.

Kira set the bowl down onto the table before pulling a low stool over to sit beside the bed. Heresta’s eyes glittered in the firelight, shining as they had when she’d taught Kira the secrets of herbs and healing.

“Forgive me, old raven. I should never have left you.” Kira’s throat constricted.

“Would you have stayed here always? Never to leave?”

Kira’s hand shook as she clasped the old woman’s bony fingers. “Perhaps not. But I was wrong to leave the way I did. You were right. I saw only what I wanted to see. I let my desire blind me to the truth.”

“As is the way with youth and love.” Heresta’s wispy hair, floating on the pillow about her face, caught the firelight and glowed like a silver aura. “The truth is often hard, and less desirable than our dreams. But it is not for me to forgive you. It is you who need to forgive yourself, child. You who have been unjustly punished for your choice.” She gave Kira a knowing look. “My eyes are still as strong as ever. These shadows cannot hide his brutality. And I know that the pain goes deeper than the flesh. Tell me, why do you stay?”

Kira turned away, her shame bringing the blood to her cheeks. “I’ve tried to leave,” she whispered. After a moment she turned back to Heresta and, keeping her voice low though she knew the men outside couldn’t possibly hear, added, “It was a mistake I paid for. Now, I’m never alone. His men are always near, keeping watch. They’re waiting outside to take me back. My
escorts
.” She clenched her jaw shut.