Accidental Sorceress (Hardstorm Saga Book 2) (20 page)

When my muscles tired, I sat. And then I curled up on some blankets. I closed my eyes.

I woke to the children coming in, Graho behind them.

His gaze cut to me, some emotion glinting in his eyes as he watched me straighten myself and fix my hair. I turned my attention to the children’s chatter.

They brought tales of the city, of all the wonders they had seen and all the gruesome tales they had heard from war refugees. They only stopped when Posey brought a large tray of food that the caravan master sent for me.

We all shared, saving the smoked meats—the merchant for his caravan trip, and I for my own journey.

“I heard you cast out a great monster,” Graho said once we sat by the fire, sated. “There is talk all over town.” A smile hovered over his lips.

And, of course, the children wanted to hear the whole grisly tale, not once but twice over. And then they wanted other stories of other monsters.

That night, the children slept, but since I had rested earlier, my eyes would not close.

“I might have found out who your hollow is,” Graho said from the floor in front of the door. “A cobbler from Ishaf said the city guards’ captain was against inviting the sorcerer into the city. The captain was a big man who recently disappeared. Gramorzo was his name.”

I thought some on that. “Perhaps.” Despite its stooped shoulders and broken walk, the hollow did seem like it might have been a big man once. My heart twisted as I wondered if it had left behind a grieving wife and children.

“Going east is not safe,” Graho said next. “The refugees tell bloody tales.”

“My path leads to Regnor.”

“You will be going alone, in winter,” he pointed out. “It would be safer to come south with us.”

Suddenly, I had enough of his pretense that he cared for my safety. “Maybe safer on the road, but not when we reach our destination and you sell me alongside the children. Are you not heading to the slave market in Muzarat?”

Painful silence filled the room.

I waited. But Graho did not deny his dark plans.

Chapter Sixteen

(The Herb Woman and the Soothsayer)

I woke before the children and tried to leave the room quietly. Graho shifted away from the door so I could open it.

“Where to?” he asked as he sat up.

“I must earn coin for my journey.” There. That should tell him that I was determined to remain my own person.

“Tera, I wish to—” He reached for my hand.

I quickly stepped through the doorway. “I best hurry.”

I swung by the privy, then hurried down to the camel yard, where the travelers were already drinking hot tea and eating breakfast. The men around the fires turned to me fully instead of watching me over their shoulders, narrow-eyed, as they had the day before. One who looked old enough to be a grandfather many times over rose from the nearest fire, then shuffled toward me.

When he reached me, his head dipped in a small bow, a hopeful expression in his rheumy eyes that were nearly closed under the many folds of his eyelids. “Makmin says you are a true healer.”

I gave the man an encouraging smile. “Where does it hurt?”

“My back.” He touched the lower quarter of his spine, and his face wrinkled into a look of pain.

I had him turn, then I probed the area, listening carefully for his quick moans and where he hissed.

“Can you help, mistress?” he asked when I finished.

“I will need a small jar of pig lard,” I told him, and he shuffled off with a nod to obtain it.

I had walked forward but a few steps when the next traveler stepped up to me, a young man with the thinnest lips I had ever seen, but eyes so large and dark, he resembled an overgrown owl, especially with his shaggy white sheepskin cape flaring out behind him like wings.

“I am Jano. Makmin say you help me.” He spoke the merchant tongue with difficulty, and ducked his head as if embarrassed, but lifted his pants leg, showing me the fist-size boil on his shin, the skin red and shiny.

“I will need fire,” I told him after a moment of inspection.

He gestured toward the fire he had just left, the dozen other men sitting around it, all wearing similar capes, eating small black sausages. They looked to be relatives or, at the very least, from the same tribe.

I pointed to a more secluded corner of the camel yard.

The young man called over a servant and sent him off to bring us some fire. I called after the servant, asking for water too and something to boil it in. While waiting for that, we walked over to the spot and sat down.

“How long?” I asked my patient.

He thought for a moment. “Eight days.”

“What happened?”

“Thorn bush.” Again, he looked embarrassed. “Do you think is it much ugly?”

I began to shrug—an abscess was an abscess—but he added, “I go bride claiming.”

Ah.
“When will you see her?”

“Twelve day time,” he said miserably.

And I understood that he feared his bride might find him repulsive. “In twelve days’ time, you will be healed and dancing with your bride. I promise.”

His face split into a smile, his large eyes shining with pure relief.

A maid cursing at someone drew my gaze to the inn, and I saw Graho in the window. He was watching me.

I wished he was a different man. I wished I had a friend yet left in the world. All who had been my friends before were now far away, out of my reach. I did not even know for certain if they still lived. Mayhap the enemy already on the island had discovered Batumar’s absence and had attacked the fortress city.

With a heavy heart, I sent a silent prayer to the spirits to keep my people safe. I kept the prayer short, since the loudmouth servant was hurrying toward us with an armload of dried camel dung and a bucket of water. He was still cursing someone under his breath as he started the fire for us, and I set the metal bucket in the middle.

I pulled my knife from its sheath and gestured for Jano’s long linen shirt under his fur cape.

Understanding what I wanted, he extended the bottom toward me and held the hem while I cut off a long, narrow strip for a bandage. This I tossed into the bucket of water and waited until the water was hot.

“Let me see your wound again,” I told Jano.

He pulled up his pants leg.

I grabbed the strip of linen and washed the wound. Then I dropped the cloth back into the bucket.

Next I cleaned my knife, holding the blade in the fire until any remnants of dirt burned away.

“The cut will hurt,” I warned Jano while I waited for the blade to cool.

“I dance with my bride,” he said and puffed out his chest, as if trying to tell me that was worth any pain.

But he did squeeze his eyes shut and ground his teeth when at last, in a quick stab, I lanced the boil.

The pressure under the skin pushed out thick yellow pus in a never-ending stream. I let it run to the ground and waited. When the flow stopped, I pressed my fingers on either side of the hole and pushed out more, squeezed until the pus was mixed with blood, then until only red blood came.

By this time, Jano was swaying and a dozen men gathered around us to watch, some gagging.

The water was boiling in the bucket, so I added carefully selected bunches of herbs and let them boil for a few moments until the brew turned dark brown. I lifted the bandage from the brew with the tip of my knife and let the linen drip and cool a little, but not overly much. While still hot, I wrapped it around Jano’s wound.

“This will help the infection,” I said as I tied off the bandage. “Take this medicine and put it in a flask. Wash the wound with it and rewrap in a clean cloth every time you stop to rest on your journey.”

“I dance?” he asked again, his face a few shades paler but with hope in his eyes.

“You will dance,” I promised.

His tribesmen had to help him up. One used the corner of his own cape to grab the bucket out of the fire and carry it away. The oldest of the men, maybe Jano’s father, gave me a deep bow and a silver coin.

I bowed in response, my heart thrilling at the payment. A full silver coin would provide me with food all the way to Regnor.

As the men walked off, my first patient returned with white hardened pig lard in a small pot. I set this at the edge of the fire to melt and added four different dried herbs. The heat would help their healing properties to seep out. While waiting for that, I had the man take off his cloak, spread it on the ground, then lie facedown in front of me.

I tugged his tunic free and folded it up on his back, then held my hands over the fire to warm them before placing my palms over his skin. He sighed at the heat.

I worked his muscles softly for a while, then added the warm, infused lard and kneaded them a little harder. So many hard knots he had. Then I felt my own palms tingle, and I could
see
the knotted muscles as well as feel them. I could feel my healing power surge inside me, such a welcome sensation. I could barely stifle a cry of joy.

I let that power pour out into the old man and healed his back, his aching joints, even the hidden sickness of his bowels.

When I drew away, he sat up with a stunned smile. “You are the goddess come to earth.” He pushed to his feet without struggle, then bowed. “You made me a young man.” He too paid me a full silver coin.

He hurried back toward the men and their fires, and as he spread his tale, more and more of them came to me.

Once again, I caught Graho watching me, but I was too busy to pay much attention to him.

I healed cuts and infections, coughs, eased the pain of gnarled fingers and aching knees. I used my healing spirit sparingly and only when absolutely needed. I did not want to weaken myself for my long journey. But I did have my healing powers back and I did use them, my spirit soaring.

By midday, I had a handful of coins, three loaves of bread, and several chunks of hard cheese. By midafternoon, I had even more food and another blanket to take with me.

Since I helped all who needed my help, I decided to leave the camel yard and walk to the market. Graho waited for me by the inn’s back entrance.

“Tera.”

Thinking he only meant to persuade me to go to Muzarat, I moved to pass by him.

His blue gaze burned into mine. “You judge me harshly.”

Embarrassment made me look away. He spoke the truth. And hadn’t my mother told me a hundred times that healers were called to heal and not to judge?

I had trouble finding my voice. “Forgive me.”

He placed a hand on my arm, his voice filled with tension and a strange urgency, and something else I could not name. “Tonight I would wish to talk with you, when the children are asleep.”

I looked around. “Where are they?”

“Up in our chamber. Posey brought them sweet raisin biscuits.” He would not let my arm go.

I sighed. Nothing he could tell me would make me feel differently about his dark trade, but a healer listened.

“I must go to purchase my supplies. But tonight we shall talk,” I reluctantly promised, and he offered to take my bundle up to our chamber for me.

I hurried off to the market to spend my coin before it closed. Coin was no good to me on the road, through barren winter fields and woods. I needed more food and another flask. And I wished to purchase a proper pair of boots, if used, for the wraith. In truth, he did not seem to be fading. Mayhap he’d been a stronger man than the sorcerer’s previous victims.

As I walked down the cobbled streets, people watched me with interest. Word of my healing must have spread beyond the camel yard. Some frowned; others smiled at me. I smiled at all of them, a small nagging worry in the back of my head.

Then my thoughts returned to my odd conversation with Graho. That I was still with him was strange enough in itself. I fully disapproved of his trade and his person.

“If something happens to me, stay close to the merchant,”
Batumar had said.

Had Batumar known something I did not? What? What was the merchant’s secret? Mayhap I would find out later.

I was still pondering that when I saw a most striking man rushing toward me and shouting.

From his wild eyes and great beard, the boiling hate in his gaze, I judged him to be Ker’s soothsayer.

His splendid purple satin caftan swept the ground, his forked, blue-dyed beard reaching his bright green, studded belt. Half a dozen men followed him, as richly if not as colorfully dressed, probably the city fathers. All appeared equally outraged.

“Sorceress!” the soothsayer accused me at once, pointing a long, knobby finger at me, then stabbing my chest with it repeatedly when he reached me.

People gathered around, even leaning from their windows above our heads.

“Sorceress!” The soothsayer spat the word with revulsion. He looked as wild-faced as Makmin’s camel during my treatment. “One of your kind has already turned the weak minds of the city fathers of Ishaf. That will not happen in Ker!”

My limbs went weak. “My lord, I am but a traveling healer.”

“You cast out the beast of darkness,” he accused me with enough drama for a harvest play. “Only darkness can cast out darkness.”

I hoped tales of my healing had not been exaggerated. I had been accused of sorcery before, by Karamur’s very own soothsayer when Batumar was on a military campaign. People believed that sorceresses could only be killed by boiling them in tar, a fate I had narrowly escaped. I hoped the city of Ker was not overly superstitious.

“I but helped a camel pass a worm.”

“A dark spirit in the shape of a great snake,” he accused as if he had been there and I had not.

“A worm, my lord.” I bowed. “Nothing more.”

“You are the sister of dark spirits,” the soothsayer screeched at me, stabbing me with his finger once again. His mouth frothed, his eyes rolled back in his head.

“I meant no harm. I shall leave the city at once,” I hurried to say, wishing nothing as much as to be away from him and the mob that gathered.

“You shall not!” he shouted, red-faced. “You shall be tried for your dark deeds, and then you shall be boiled!”