The Healer's Legacy (2 page)

Heresta brushed Kira’s cheek with fragile fingers. “There will be an opportunity for you soon. I have foreseen it.” She struggled to sit up and the coughing began again, wracking her frail body. Kira reached down to comfort her, raising her up and holding her gently until the coughing subsided. The old healer’s bones were like brittle sticks beneath the thin layer of flesh. Heresta wheezed and tried to speak again, trembling with the effort. Kira laid her gently back on the bed. “There is little time left. I have something to give you,” she continued, her eyes sparkling.

“Don’t speak, old raven. Rest. Rest and breathe,” she urged, emotion and fear making her voice throaty to her own ears.

“Too late, kitten. Too late. I return to the wheel. But there is one last thing I must do.” She pushed herself up with her elbows and tried to rise once again.

“What is it?” Kira asked, ready to fulfill any request Heresta might make of her.

Heresta gasped for air, reaching a frail hand toward the far wall. “The jug.” Her strength spent, Heresta fell back onto the bed panting.

Kira brushed Heresta’s hair from her face, recalling the many times Heresta had done so for her, and a sob forced itself from her lips.

Heresta’s gaze burned and her finger flicked toward the wall. Kira forced herself to look where she pointed. Along the wall a wide shelf stood crowded with bottles and jars. At one end stood a misshapen clay jug. She glanced back at Heresta.

The old woman gripped the edge of the pallet and nodded.

“You still have it? You kept it?” Kira couldn’t suppress a smile as she recalled the day she’d made the jug. Molding the clay, smoothing the sides and cutting into the bottom to create a hollow storage space where she could hide her treasures. She’d still been a child, thinking that she could save the things she valued merely by hiding them from others.

“Yes.
I
⎯
saved i
t
⎯
for you. Bring i
t
⎯
here,” Heresta gestured to Kira with a frail hand.

Kira fetched the bottle and brought it to the bedside.

“Open it,” the healer told her between labored breaths.

Kira moved her hands over the underside of the jug and put pressure on one edge, forcing the opposite side of the bottom to drop down. She grasped the edge with her fingers and pulled, gently slipping the false bottom out of the jug, and spilled the contents out onto the table.

Heresta watched intently as, one by one, Kira picked up the items from the table, fingering them. A child’s treasures, they had remained where she’d hidden them, when she’d run off with Toril against Heresta’s wishes, she hadn’t taken the jug. At sixteen, she had reasoned she no longer had need of a child’s keepsakes. Now, looking at these treasures, she felt small again. She held up the tiny piece of ash crystal with its smooth sides and mirrored surface. She’d found it in the rubble of a small landslide that had tumbled rocks and debris into the Kerstig River near the farm where she and her parents had lived. One by one she held up the six glass beads, each a different shape and color, that she’d traded for at the traveling market. The last item, a small copper comb, had been a gift from her father.

“Inside,” Heresta wheezed out the word with a small gurgle. She pointed to the jug. “Something more.”

Kira picked up the jug and felt inside the opening on its underside until she found something flat and hard. Pushing gently, she urged the item out of its hiding place. It dropped onto the table with a metallic clink, spinning on its edge before falling over with a clatter. It was a small gold medallion not much larger than a half-coptec coin. A twisted woven-looking design was etched into its center. She picked it up and turned it over. The other side had what appeared to be writing on it, but the letters were foreign to her.

“It is from your mother’s people,” Heresta rasped. “She asked me to keep it for her when you just a babe. Sh
e
⎯
would have wanted yo
u
⎯
to have it.”

“My mother’s people?”

“Yes, kitten. Her people came from over the Zendel Mountains, from beyond the Faersent Sea.” Heresta’s breath still came in gasps and the words she spoke were faint, but their meaning was strong enough to sting.

“That can’t be,” Kira said. “My mother’s people were from Skybel. That’s where she met my father, when he’d gone to the great market with Uncle Zhak. The folk from across the Faersent Sea are all strange creatures with monstrous power
s
⎯
” She stopped short as she realized what she’d just said. No. It wasn’t possible. If the stories of these people were true . . . She fingered the coin.

“Think, kitten. Do you truly believe the tales spun by those who fear to learn what lies beyond the next hill? Have you forgotten all that I taught you?”

Kira’s eyes opened wide. Could it be true? Was this kinship the root of her strange gift?

“Heresta, why didn’t you tell me before?” She glanced from the medallion to Heresta’s pale face. Sadness filled the old healer’s eyes.

The medallion felt warm in her hand. Kira traced the twisting design with her finger, recalling how beautiful her mother had been. A tall pale woman with unusual green eyes and flaming red hair. The same hair and eyes that Kira had inherited. Was that where she had gotten her powers? From her mother? From her mother’s people? Was she really related to the strange folk who inhabited the shores across the Faersent Sea?

A raspy wheeze came from Heresta and the healer’s eyelids fluttered. The last of her energy was escaping. The powers that gave and took life were calling her spirit out of her body.

“Don’t leave me,” Kira cried out softly.

Dropping to her knees beside the bed, she grabbed Heresta by the shoulders. If only she could find a way to drain the fluid from her lungs, she could save her. But Kira knew there was nothing she could do. Heresta had been right. The old woman had known the time of her leaving had come, and Kira felt her pass away, beyond the reach of the living. Kira collapsed in a heap. Wrapping her arms about herself and squeezing tight, she tried to contain her grief. She wanted to howl out her pain, but she dare not.

Instead, she bowed her head over the old healer, and spoke a blessing for her spirit’s journey. She wanted to arrange the body, to perform the ritual burning, but Toril had made it clear before they rode out that morning that once the old woman was dead, Kira should be returned to him in haste. Nothing would motivate the men outside to disobey their warlord’s orders. She held out her shaking arms and made a circle in the air, the sign of the Wheel Goddess, Troka, she who brought life and death.

Tthrough the cracks in the old door, Kira could see that night was falling, darkness and shadows creeping near. Little time left, Heresta had said. How had she been so sure of the time of her passing? Had she had a vision, or was it another of the old woman’s riddles? Kira didn’t want to leave her like this. And she didn’t want to go back to Toril.

She pushed away the thought of what Toril would do to her if she tried once more to leave, and once more failed. But if she didn’t try, she would remain trapped, living in constant fear that he would turn on her at any moment for nothing more than a perceived slight. She had no reason to believe the beatings would ever stop. No reason to believe he would ever become the man she once thought him to be. The man she believed she had fallen in love with.

Firelight streaked the room as a log collapsed and fell into ash. I must escape him, she thought, and it must be now. Heresta had been right, there was little time left. But perhaps a little was all Kira needed.

She grabbed the medallion off the table, hesitated a moment, then scooped up the other trinkets as well, tucking them into the small leather pouch at her waist. She searched the room and found a sturdy piece of cloth in the pile of fabric strips Heresta had used for bandages and cleaning. She gathered up some dried fruit, a water skin, a flint and a steel knife, then wrapped them in the cloth. With a long piece of leather cord, she tied the bundle and stuck it under her shirt at the back of her waist, pulling the shirt back down under her belt. It wasn’t much, but she couldn’t risk taking more. The men would suspect something if she tried to leave the cottage carrying a bundle of food and clothing.

She pulled on the dried herbs that hung from the rafters, yanking them down and piling them onto the hearth in front of the fire. Then she took the oil jug from the shelf and doused the herbs with fuel, emptying the last of the jug’s contents onto the floor and walls. She silently prayed Heresta would forgive her for not performing the full ritual.
But at least I can give you into the cleansing fire.
She grabbed a taper and lit it. For a moment she hesitated, gazing at the body of Heresta lying in repose on the narrow bed.

“Thank you, old raven,” she whispered, and touched the burning taper to the dried herbs. “Thank you for this opportunity. For your last gift of love.”

A choking sob erupted from her throat, as the oil and debris caught and flared. Flames rose and smoke filled the room. Kira ran out of the door, grabbed Trad’s reins and pulled him away from the hut. Choking on the smoke and her own fear at being caught out, she yelled, “Fire and evil! Fire and evil! The wretched old woman is working a spell. She’s trying to defeat the wheel.” She pulled at Trad’s reins, slapped his flank to hurry him, and ran with him away from the cottage. “We must quench the flames before she is consumed or she will take us all with her wickedness!”

The terror in her voice must have convinced the men. Every one of them leapt up, pulling their horses back toward the trees and looping their reins over low-hanging branches before running back to the burning hut.

They fought with a ferocious energy to douse the fire. She could almost smell their superstitious fear over the bitter smoke. Dagger beat at the flames with green branches from nearby trees, while Rasten used the remains of discarded pottery to haul water from the shallow stream. The blaze spread quickly, engulfing the little cottage within minutes, but still the men continued their fight.

The soldiers struggled against the growing heat and flames, and Kira slipped back toward the forest. As she passed the horses, she eyed the sword that hung from the pommel of Rasten’s saddle. She hated the tools of war, hated the way Toril had forced her to learn their uses, but a part of her longed for something with which to defend herself. Heresta’s voice reminded her there was little time. She dared not stop for the blade. The small knife would have to serve.

The moment she reached the cover of the trees, she flung herself onto Trad’s back. She turned only once to stare at the tortured flames that writhed toward the darkening sky. Wrenching her eyes away, she whispered a final prayer of thanks to Heresta and Goddess Troka, then turned Trad’s head toward the trees and slid into the shadows of the night.

CHAPTER TWO

Kira urged Trad forward, heading deeper into the woods. It wouldn’t take long for the men to notice she was gone. When they did, they would come after her. If she could make it back to the main forest road, she should be able to take one of the small side trails that led into the woods. A dark gloom had already descended on the dense forest. If she could reach one of those less-used paths, she would have the entire night to put some distance between herself and her pursuers.

Too soon, she heard the change in the cries of the men. Their yells, no longer those of encouragement, became bellowed curses. Kira peered ahead, straining to catch sight of the main road. Trad’s hooves beat a loud tattoo against the hard dirt, but she could hear the noise of pursuit rising in the distance.

The sound of the pursuing horses grew to a low thunder as she and Trad burst onto the main road. She leaned low over Trad’s neck as the big horse veered right and lengthened his stride. The shouting of the men grew louder. Their curses carried through the woods, echoing between the trees.

Kira urged Trad to quicken his pace. They had to put more distance between them and Toril’s men. At the sound of hooves behind her, she glanced back. Through the deepening shadows she saw movement. One of the men charged onto the main road, his horse a dark shadow moving beneath him. An arrow whizzed past, low and to the left. She sucked in her breath and hunched down in the saddle, squeezing tightly with her knees as Trad’s speed increased.

She cringed. The consequences of her flight loomed over her, a mountainous shadow of fear and doubt. The arrow wasn’t intended for her. It had been aimed at Trad. Toril’s men were trained archers. If not for the darkness, the arrow would have struck deep. The next shot would be better placed. The only chance for escape lay among the trees. She glanced from side to side, scanning the edges of the road for a path that would take them off the main road and into the enfolding darkness of the forest.

A break appeared on her right. Hardly more than an animal track, it angled down and away from the road. She reined Trad around. He spun on his heels and leaped down the slope, carrying her between the massive trees, hulking trunks growing close together. Coarse bark scraped her legs as she passed between them.

Trad drove on.

Darkness folded in on them. Kira sat up and peered ahead. The openings between the trees were nearly impossible to see. A dark shadow loomed before her and she ducked as they passed beneath a low branch that narrowly missed her head. She crouched lower, gripping Trad’s mane in her fist.

They forged deeper into the forest and their pace slowed. The underbrush thickened into a tangle of bramble that clawed at Trad’s feet and legs. Kira realized abruptly that the trail had disappeared. She peered back they way they had come, but in the darkness couldn’t distinguish between tree and shadow. She could still hear the shouts of the men and the falling of their horses’ hooves in the distance, but she could no longer see where the path intersected the road. No more arrows flew. Nothing stirred nearby.

She pulled Trad to a halt, slipped from the saddle and, with wary steps, drew him along behind her, guiding him farther into the woods, away from the road. Kira moved with as much stealth as possible, fighting the impulse to run. The woods darkened until she could see only a few inches ahead. One arm outstretched before her, she edged forward, making sure there was room enough for Trad before moving on.

They stopped behind the trunk of a massive tree. A mild breeze fluttered the leaves overhead and the scent of mossy oak surrounded her.  Trad’s breathing was still heavy from the hard run. She placed a calming hand on his nose and whispered soothing words. His ears twitched as Toril’s men crashed through the underbrush, cursing and blasting threats at her. Flickers of light appeared in the distance, threading through the trees. The men had made torches. Kira shuddered and buried her face in Trad’s mane. Had those torches been ripped from the ruin of Heresta’s cottage? The distant lights bobbed and flittered like spirits in the night.

One of the twitching flames weaved toward them. Kira stood as still as the trees beside her. Dry branches cracked and snapped as the soldier pushed his way through the trees. Brush and leaves crunched under heavy boots. The bitter torch smoke wafted nearer.

Her stomach clenched. She eased her hand inside her shirt. Her fingertips touched the bundle of items at her back and she inched it around to get at the knife. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but there was nothing else. The glowing torch drew nearer. Silently, she drew the knife from the bundle, every muscle poised for action. Trad shivered beside her.

A loud crack rang out, followed by an angry curse. The light fluttered as the torch whipped from side to side. Another string of curses followed the thud of a boot against a tree trunk.

Kira stood frozen in the shadows. The man was close. The torchlight stretched out before him, reaching for her. Pale illumination crept across the ground toward the toes of her boots. Closer. Something hissed in the nearby darkness. The man swung his torch toward the sound and Kira tensed. Her heart galloped against her ribs. The hiss turned to a fierce growl that rose on the night air.

The soldier gasped, whipping his torch from side to side. The flame crackled and sputtered. He tried to back away, tripped and fell. The growl came again, low and menacing. The man jumped to his feet and crashed back toward the trail, heading away from the frightening sound. Away from Kira.

The torch’s flame receded and the familiar touch of Kelmir’s feline mind pushed aside her fear. She let herself breathe and opened her senses. Her mind flowed out, seeking in the dark for Vaith’s fluttering presence.

It had been months since Toril had allowed Kira out alone, and she had not been able to be with her beloved companions in all that time. They’d always remained as near to her as possible, while staying far enough away to keep from being discovered. She’d had to use all her strength and force of will to keep them from coming to her and revealing themselves. She’d needed them to stay away. Needed them to be safe. Now they were with her and her spirit leaped.

Kelmir was close now; she could feel the pulse of his blood and his pounding heart, matching the rhythm of her own. He came quickly and silently, padding on his great feet. His dark fur, a mottled red and brown in sunlight, was a black mantle beneath the trees, and he moved like a shadow to sidle up beside her and rub against her, licking her hand with his rough tongue.

Vaith perched on a branch overhead and they waited and watched. Without the moon, Kira had no way of telling how much time passed. She leaned against Trad, one hand kneading Kelmir’s thick fur. Soon, the deep night filled the forest. The voices of the men grew quiet and muffled, replaced by the chirrup and buzz of insects.

Kira let go her breath in a rushing sigh and tucked the knife into her belt. Without a sound, Kelmir stepped in front of Trad to lead the way through the thickening forest. Trad nickered low in recognition of the big feline, and Kelmir rumbled a throaty growl in return. Kira reached out a hand, stroking the horse’s mane, willing him to remain quiet.

A rush of leathery wings circled above her and she raised her left arm up level with her shoulder. Vaith folded his wings and landed, gripping Kira’s wide leather wrist guard. Using his wings to balance himself, he sidestepped up her arm to perch on her shoulder, careful not to tear through the sleeve of her shirt with his sharp claws. Then he wrapped his long tapered tail around her neck. She felt the coolness of his scaly skin across the back of her neck, the tip of his tail twitching just below her right ear. The little wyvern peered nervously about, swiveling his tiny dragonish head to listen for the sounds of pursuit. His bright eyes shimmered pale gold in the dark and his tongue flicked in and out, tasting the air.

Kelmir’s leonine instincts and fine night vision would help them find a path through the forest, while the little wyvern, with his heightened hearing, would let Kira know when danger was near.
Come, my brave hearts. Guide us to
freedom
. Kelmir rumbled deep in his throat and padded into the darkness.

Kira climbed into the saddle, muscles taut as bowstrings. It seemed as if Trad’s hooves found every brittle stem and leaf. But she knew from experience the noises they made were no louder than those of the usual forest animals.

She focused her mind on Kelmir, using her knees to guide Trad as they followed behind the stealthy hunting cat. Any other horse would have shied and run at the smell of the big feline. But Trad had hunted with Kelmir and Vaith many times, and he had no fear of his unusual companions. “Would that I could speak directly to you, too, Trad,” Kira whispered. But her powers extended to only a few animals, and those few were all hunters and true carnivores. In the years that had passed since she’d discovered her strange gift, she had never been able to reach into the minds of grazing animals or scavengers.

No matter. Trad understood her well enough. He followed her lead now and began to pick his way without urging as they trailed behind the big cat that led the way, and they moved deeper into the woods.

Darkness hung about them like a heavy veil, and the quiet of the forest settled around them. The toneless churr of a nightjar sounded in the distance, but there was no answering call. There would be no moon tonight to cast a glow upon the world, and that would be to Kira’s advantage. The men would be unable to track them until daybreak, and by then she and her companions would be several leagues away.

Kira knew the woods, knew the cycles of the trees and what plants and wildlife lived among them. Here, Toril’s soldiers were out of their element. They were good in a battle, but when it came to stealth in the woods, a hunter could best a warrior any day.

Sensing her mood, Kelmir gave a growl of approval.
Yes, my dear ones
, Kira thought to both the big cat ahead and the dainty wyvern riding on her shoulder.
We are together again. You need not hide any longer
.

She was glad she had never told Toril about her gift. He saw her only as a healer’s apprentice, one who had never finished her training. She shuddered to think what he might have done if he had known about her connection with Kelmir and Vaith. He would have trapped them, caged them, used them to control her, threatening them with harm to compel her obedience. He might even have killed them. He was capable of such cruelty. She wished she had known, wished she could have seen what he could be like. But he hadn’t always been that way. At least, she hadn’t seen that part of him when they’d met. Or had she? Had she really been that blind? That naive? Or had she just been headstrong, rebelling against Heresta’s command to stay away from him?

She chastised herself for her stubbornness, her unwillingness to listen to reason. What was it in her that had made her run off with a man she barely knew?

She recalled the first time he’d kissed her, and her chest grew tight. More than rebellion had caused her to run to Toril. More than youthful stubbornness. It had been his charm, and the way his power had seemed to protect her. The way his promises had soothed. The way his presence had kept the world at bay.

Heresta had taken her in and cared for her, but despite the healer’s kindness, she could not replace Kira’s parents. What had driven Kira to Toril’s side, and eventually his bed, had been the overwhelming desire to be loved and to feel safe again. The fear that followed her after the burning of her home was a haunting torment that woke her in the night and darkened her childhood memories. And what could be safer than to be protected by the man who had become the strength of the people? The commander who had led them to victory against the very marauders who had killed her parents and destroyed their home?

The first time she’d seen Toril, she’d been in awe. He was brought to Heresta for healing. When the men carried him into the healer’s hut, he was badly wounded and unconscious. His blond hair glowed like a golden crown in the torchlight. Kira saw him as a sleeping hero, the man the bards sang about. They told stories of his bravery, his fierceness in battle, and his many victories. He and his men had turned the tide of war, sending the invaders scurrying back across the northern isthmus, dropping their plunder as they ran.

After Heresta had bound up his wounds, Kira had sat beside him, caring for him, changing his bandages. When he woke in the night, feverish, Kira had given him the soothing draughts and herbal brews Heresta had prescribed.

When at last he’d opened his eyes he’d smiled and called Kira his angel. He’d taken her hand in his, and a tingle of excitement had run through her.

Trad halted and Kira was jolted back to the present. Kelmir waited unmoving in the darkness ahead. Kira focused herself into the big cat’s mind, allowing herself to sink fully into his senses. She felt herself merge with him, sniffing the air and staring ahead, ears twitching. There was a hint of wood smoke in the air and, in the distance, a flickering glow reflected off branches and leaves. People. Perhaps only a woodsman’s hut, but she couldn’t risk being seen by anyone so soon after her escape. She would have to turn aside and go around.

For the first time, she let herself think about where they were headed. Until now, she had only dreamed of being free from Toril. But now that the dream was reality, she wondered where she should go. Where could she truly be free? Toril held the entire northern region of Sedath in his control. She would have to travel a great distance to be safe.