Shadow leader, p.15
SHADOW LEADER, page 15
“I can't tell you what to do, Byra. I can only tell you that we mean you no harm. And that we've defended ourselves only when attacked.”
“You're telling me to believe you over the soldiers.”
“I'm telling you, as a healer, that what I can do for your leg is between you and me, as patient and healer, not as anything else.”
The old woman met her eyes. “I would have to trust you.”
“Yes,” Dion admitted. She took a breath. “And I, you. My life is in your hands as well, Byra. And the lives of my own brother and our friends. And what must be done, will have to be done now, before the others get up.”
“Then what would you do?”
“I'm going to use an old technique—an art, you could say, that was thought lost a long time ago. I think it will work for you.”
Byra hesitated.
“It is a chance to walk again.”
The woman held her breath only a moment. “All right.”
Dion nodded. “Whatever happens, do not be worried. Do not be afraid.”
But the woman gasped, her eyes focusing over Dion's shoulder. “Oh, my stars—”
“I will not hurt you, nor will Gray Hishn,” the healer continued, sensing the wolf behind her.
“A wolfwalker—you're a wolfwalker as well—” The woman struggled to drop to her knees until Dion caught her arm and urged her back on the makeshift seat. “You honor me—”
“It's all right, Byra.” Dion caught the old woman's attention with difficulty. “The Gray Ones honor those who need them. Now, listen to me. I want you to lie on your side here. That's right. Get comfortable, relax, think of nothing, and stay still. No—I want your leg extended. Now, whatever you feel, whatever you think you see, you must ignore. You won't be hurt by this, I swear it, but there is danger to me and the Gray One.” The wolf licked her sharp, white teeth and panted easily while Dion shrugged off her leather jerkin and wadded it up into a rude pillow for the other woman. She tucked it under Byra's head gently and gripped her hand. “Do you understand what I've told you?”
The old woman glanced nervously at the wolf. “I think so, yes.”
“And you trust me.”
“You are truly a healer?”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
Dion motioned for the gray wolf to sit beside her, and Byra's old eyes glued themselves to Hishn's yellow ones as the wolf padded farther into the greenhouse and sat by the healer.
Ovousibas. Internal healing. Dion frowned in thought and looked at her hands. It would drain her—it always did—but if she could just repair the nerve damage before she lost too much strength ...
She smiled reassuringly at Byra and then reached out to the wolf. Can you take me in, Gray One?
Her blood is strong, though old, but she smells of fear.
Dion shook off a shiver and rolled the woman's sock down to her ankle. “Don't be afraid, Byra. I used this technique on my own brother. I even used it on myself.”
The old woman looked at her for a moment, then nodded.
Dion took a breath, knelt by the bucket again, and stretched the old woman's leg out over her lap. Take me in, Gray One.
Then walk with me, Healer.
Dion's mind spun down, down, to the left. Her eyes lost their focus, and her hands floated just above the old woman's leg. The wolf's eyes gleamed. A twist, a wrenching of her consciousness, and then they were in. Into the torn and twisted muscles, thin with years of disuse, and the slowly dying tissues.
Tense and silent, Byra lay with her hands clenched. The constant ache in her leg dulled slightly, then flared up, then dulled again; and the twinges that tugged at her leg were odd and deep in the unused muscles. She was afraid to look down. Instead, she stared at Dion's furrowed brow and closed eyes. Taut and strained, Dion's frown grew deeper, and her hands began to tremble up into her arms. Her face went white. The old woman held her breath. The ache subsided, and a new sensation took its place. Something different. Something she ought to recognize ...
The healer started shaking, and the Gray One's eyes blazed more deeply yellow.
Air—it was the draft in the greenhouse—Byra could feel it on her scarred legs, in the thin hair that grew from her scarred, dead skin. She bit her lip to keep silent, and the healer swayed. And there, that coldness, on the back of her leg—it was the dirt, damp from the rain. By the moons, she could feel it. In a leg that had been dead to all but pain for the last fourteen years, in muscles covered with scar tissue, she could feel the wind and the cold—
Dion shivered violently, and the Gray One growled, and suddenly the healer collapsed back, gasping for breath and shaking against the wolf.
The old woman, sensing a fleeting thought that was not her own racing through her brain, said tightly, “Is it—are you done?”
Dion looked up Wearily, her eyes fluttered once, and then her head rolled limply back, and she toppled slowly over to the side.
Byra looked down at her leg once. Then screamed.
Chapter 6
A gentle touch; A smile; Kind words— By such small things Are lives changed.
Aranur burst through the door of the greenhouse with his sword bared, Jam a mere second behind him. A bow was in the old man's left hand, and a handful of loose arrows in the other.
“By the moons—” Aranur jerked to a stop before he stumbled over the limp form of the healer, and Jam slammed into him from behind.
“What is it?” the old man demanded. “Is she hurt?”
“It's Dion—” Aranur dropped to his knees. The gray wolf, standing over the healer with hackles raised and a snarl cursing forth, lunged at Aranur, keeping him back, so he could not get close to Dion as she struggled weakly to sit up. She clutched at Hishn's fur, pulling herself up by the wolf's scruff. Aranur, glaring from Byra to the healer, demanded harshly, “What did you do to her? Was it Ovousibas? Did she heal you?”
Byra, crying, was hugging herself and rocking back and forth on the ground. “Oh, Jam—oh, moons of mercy—”
“I'm all right, Aranur,” Dion managed hoarsely, but her voice was so faint under the growling of the wolf and the hysteria of the old woman that no one heard.
“Stay back,” Aranur snarled at the farmer as Jam tried to get past him to Byra. Wrenching the bow from the old man's hands, Aranur flung the weapon under one of the shelves, and Jam staggered back so far with the force of his motion that the farmer almost fell out of the greenhouse.
“Gray One,” Aranur snapped at the wolf, “back off.”
The wolf snarled, but Aranur shoved the creature back and she gave way, letting him reach the healer. He knelt and let Dion put her arms around his neck. He could feel the terrible weariness that made her tremble.
“I'm all right,” she managed. “I'm okay.”
Jam glared at her as Aranur glared back at him. “What did you do to my mate?” the old man demanded. “Why did she scream?”
But the gray-haired woman held her hands out. “Jam— I—-I can feel. In my leg—oh, gods, Jam, but she—she healed me.”
The old man turned slowly. “What? What nonsense is this?”
Byra clutched his arm. “She's a healer, Jam. She did something—reached inside me—-”
“Is this true? That scout-—Deats—is a healer?” he demanded in disbelief.
Aranur looked bleakly at Dion, and she lowered her eyes.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered. Hishn slunk out of the greenhouse behind them.
“A healer,” the old man continued slowly. “And the two young ones: girls?” He glanced at his bow, lying two meters away under the last shelf of herbs, and back at Aranur.
Aranur said nothing, but helped Dion to her feet, catching her as she staggered, her legs buckling under as they felt her weight. But she brushed him off, leaning against the shelves instead.
“Zentsis wants you, doesn't he?” the old farmer questioned harshly. “You're the reason Longear's men've been searching all the towns and outer county.” He took a step. “It's Longear's men who're skulking around the taverns like scavengers listening for word of you.”
Aranur glanced back at the old man. “We are not afraid of Longear or his dogs.”
The old man balled his fists. “If you've hurt my Byra, you're going to learn more than the meaning of the word 'fear.' And there won't be a fingernail left for Longear to have when I'm through with you.”
But his mate clutched his arm. “No, Jam—listen to me—”
“We never meant you harm,” Aranur said coldly. He grabbed Dion's arm as she swayed; she caught her breath, took a step, almost went to her knees, and finally accepted his help. “Even what happened here—”
“What did happen?” Jam cut in furiously.
“There was no harm in what Dion did to your mate,” Aranur snarled, tightening his grip on the healer's elbow when she would have spoken, too. “Dion would die before she betrayed the healer's band.”
The vehemence in his voice made the old man stiffen. “And the rest of you?”
Almost to the door, Aranur paused and turned. “You don't even understand what Dion did for your mate, do you? Look around you, Jam. And look at your wife's leg. Dion is a master healer, Jam. She runs with the Gray Ones.'' His jaw tightened. “And she knows Ovousibas.”
“Aranur—” Dion interrupted.
“Be quiet,” he ordered coldly. “You've done enough for now.”
But the old man, on his feet, stared at them both in disbelief. “The Gray One I saw, but Ovousibas? Internal healing is a legend. The 'farce of the faith healers' ...”
The look on Aranur's face silenced the old man abruptly. “Dion knows Ovousibas, Jam. And she did it for Byra. She could have died doing this for you, but she lived and she gave you a miracle. And now your mate is healed, and you stand there accusing Dion of murder instead of blessing her for your mate. How dare you threaten us, and with the name of a maggot like Zentsis.”
“Gods,” Jam whispered, turning back to his wife as Dion stumbled through the half-open door and Aranur stalked after her. “By the moons, Byra, is this true?”
The old woman nodded. “I could feel her,” she returned softly. “And now I can feel with my leg. Look, touch me here. See? I can feel that.”
Behind them, Aranur shouldered his way through the half-open door and stalked down toward the bam, half dragging, half carrying Dion, while the Gray One, slinking beside them, whined once, then paced the two fighters silently.
But Dion paused as they reached the barn door. “Aranur?”
His jaw tightened.
“I'm sorry.”
“You did what you had to do.”
“I betrayed you. I betrayed all of us.”
He took a breath. “I don't expect you to deny your healing because of us, Dion. I just wish you had better timing.”
“Jam—will he tell Zentsis's men that we're here?”
“I don't know. But we can't wait to find out.” He pushed the barn door open, sliding it smoothly along its oiled track, and entered the stable where the six-legged work beasts stood in their stalls and stamped their feet.
“Dion?” Rhom was pulling his semiclean tunic on as they entered, and he looked around. “What's wrong?” he asked quietly, noting their faces: Dion's, gaunt and pale, her limbs still trembling with exhaustion, and Aranur's, cold, angry, and worried, his muscles tense as if he expected to feel the bolt of an arrow tear into his back any second.
Dion met his eyes resolutely. “It's my fault, Rhom.”
“What is? What are you talking about?”
“I gave us away. I just did Ovousibas. On Byra.”
The blacksmith jumped to his feet. “Sweet moons, Dion, do you know what you've done?”
She nodded wordlessly.
“Dnu droppings.” He looked down at Gamon, who was only half awake. “Get up, Gamon,” he said sharply, nudging the older man's ribs with his boot.
Gamon opened his eyes abruptly, and, seeing the look on Rhom's face, rolled to his feet in an instant.
“Tyrel's out by the pump with Namina,” Rhom said. “Shilia—”He looked around sharply. “She was just here—”
“I'll get her,” Aranur said. “Get Dion something to eat.”
Rhom looked at his sister and nodded. Beside him, Gamon wrapped his bedding into a neat roll in seconds and lashed it to his pack. The older man's tunic hung out of his pants, and his chin was grizzled like a wire brush, but without a pause he started in on the girls' bedding, kicking the straw out of the way quickly as he worked and sneezing at the dust.
Passing her hand wearily over her eyes, Dion sank down to the barn floor near Shilia's bedroll. She was tired. The hunger pangs gnawed at her belly like worms, and Hishn's sympathetic whine only made her feel more starved. The internal healing always sapped her strength—as if the power to heal came from her own body. And then when it was over and the high was gone, all that was left was an exhaustion that wiped out her mind as well as her muscles. She was starved, and she had to eat—a meal that would have fed four people did not sound like enough food for her, and she pressed at her stomach as it cramped again. She felt as if she could eat enough for six.
“Why did you do it, Dion?” Rhom asked quietly as he handed her the cooked meat he had saved from their last night's dinner. He sat beside her and shook his head. “You didn't have to do Ovousibas—they were fine without it.''
She tore off a bite of the cold poultry, then rubbed her forehead with her other hand as she chewed. “She was in pain, Rhom. And she'd been that way for over fourteen years. And I knew I could heal the damage ...”
“They have carrier birds. Zentsis could know in less than an hour where we are.”
“I know.”
“You had to do it?”
She passed her hand over her eyes. “She needed healing,” she whispered.
Rhom stared at her for a moment, then nodded abruptly. He gripped her shoulder.
Dion closed her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she repeated. She bit off another piece of the tough meat and chewed it mechanically. It had no taste. Whether that was from its age or her guilt, she did not know, but she offered the other half of the meat to the wolf, her hands still shaking.
Rhom watched her closely. “I don't like this healing, Dion,” he said finally.
She swallowed, forcing another bite. “It's a gift, Rhom.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself? It's too much like a miracle,” he returned harshly. “You repeat it, and it drains the life right out of you.”
“It's just a skill, Rhom. I can use it, if I'm careful.”
“You should have told me—or at least Aranur.”
“I thought no one would find out.”
The blacksmith jerked open the strap on the pack. “Every time you've done the healing, you've passed out afterward. Then you come to and you eat like a starved lepa. You think we're not going to notice?'' He shoved his belongings into his pack and yanked the top string tight.
She shook her head. “It wasn't as bad this time. I'm getting stronger the more I do it. And I didn't need Aranur this time, either. Just Hishn.” The Gray One laid her head in Dion's lap, and the woman rubbed the wolf over her yellow eyes.
“I don't like it, Dion.”
She tried a smile. “If it gets to be too much, I'll quit.”
“I'm supposed to believe that?” He tossed his pack to the side. “You would not make that into a promise, would you?”
“You know me too well,” she said softly.
He paused and looked up. “We're twins, Dion.” They and exchanged a long look before Rhom picked up his sword, and Dion took up her bow.
Aranur strode back into the barn with the three youths in tow, and in seconds they each had their gear. “Gamon, take them on up to the road,” he directed. “I've something to take care of. Rhom, come with me.”
Dion got to her feet. “Aranur—”
“Go up to the road with Gamon, healer.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “I need to leave some herbs with Byra.”
“Then do it here, where they'll find it later.”
“She needs instructions.”
“Dion, you've done enough today. Now, follow Gamon up to the road.”
She stiffened. “Byra is my patient, Aranur.”
“And she and Jam are our deaths if we wait any longer.”
“What are you going to do?”
“We won't harm them,” he said, shrugging her off. “We're just going to insure our safety a little while longer.''
