Dragonoak: The Complete History of Kastelir (14 page)

I'd held plenty of newborns in the village but went about taking him more slowly than I needed to, ensuring the lengths I went to in order to hold him safely was plain as day for his mother to see. There was no end to the child's ailments, I could tell that much now that he was in my arms: the constant, rattling cough, his glassy, vacant eyes and the rot that had spread across the soles of his feet were hardly the worst of it.

But that wasn't of any concern to me. I'd never needed to know the specifics in order to heal, in order to purge, and fixing a dozen things together was as easy as fixing one.

“What's his name?” I asked, ghosting a hand across his face.

I had to bite the inside of my mouth to stop from smiling. This was it, the one thing I was good at, the one way I could
really
help people. There was no strain to it, not at first. I barely had to think about what I was doing, beyond healing.

Or not-healing.

“James,” his mother said, biting her lower lip.

“Hello there, James,” I said softly, focusing on everything twisted inside of him, willing it to leave. Banishing it with a thought. I felt the coil of death loosen and flee, and that was it; I was done.

The change was absolute. James let out a cry that made his mother start, colour rushing back to his face, rot fading to nothing. Within seconds, he was wailing, twisting in my arms, kicking out his legs and feet. Anything to let it be known that he didn't want to be held by a stranger.

I handed him back to his mother with a laugh.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said through a smile and a sob. I placed a hand on her shoulder to let her know that it was alright, tearing her own ailments from her in the same motion. “I wish I had something to give you.”

“It's fine,” I reassured her as she looked around for some treasure she'd overlooked. “I only wanted to help.”

It was true. I'd been pulled towards them, shoved out of the inn by months of idle necromancy turned restless, but I'd only acted as I had because it was the right thing to do. I hadn't lied to them. I hadn't told the entire truth and I'd let the woman leap to her own conclusions, but I'd saved her son and I couldn't force myself to feel guilty, no matter how deep the deception ran.

No matter what the world wanted me to think of myself.

My actions hadn't gone unnoticed. A few people turned to watch for the sake of watching, and the moment they saw the transformation James had undergone, they were on their feet, saying, “Now, look here, miss...” shuffling nervously, as though I was going to ask them for their right arm in payment for fixing their left.

“I don't have anywhere to be until six,” I said, and more and more people gathered around me, queueing and crowding all at once.

There was nothing I hadn't dealt with before, but I worked with a smile on my face. They'd managed to keep me tethered to the village for all those years because I
loved
what I was doing. The underside of the bridge wasn't all that different from the apothecary’s. It was dim enough to mute my abilities and give me all the control over them I needed, for the bright sun had always made me feel like I had rather too much power.

Not knowing if it was the same for healers, I'd claimed to be squeamish. Said I couldn't stand the sight of blood and couldn't see myself ever becoming used to it, either. The villagers had only been too happy to board up the windows, despite the fact that I'd been helping chickens go from their coops to someone's plate since I was six years old.

I didn't know if healers felt the after-effects of what they'd fixed, either. The wounds I healed and diseases I cleansed echoed through me. Like a whisper, at first, but after helping two dozen people under the bridge, it became a pounding in the back of my head, like the beating of the sun I was ignoring.

I hadn't been sick a day in my life and my necromancy certainly wasn't crippling me. It was exhausting, but I wasn't falling apart; on I went, long after the clock had tolled six, doing what I could for the never-ending stream of those in need.

When I finally allowed myself to break away and return to the inn, my head was ringing with notes of gratitude, and I could still feel the palm prints of those who had reached out to shake my hand. I walked in a sort of daze, as though my body was awash with poison but my blood itself was the antidote. They swirled together with every step I took, one burning the other out.

I got lost on my way back to the inn, and more than once. Nobody stopped to ask if I needed help, because I was already too far away from the bridge I'd worked under for anyone to recognise me. People would be talking about me, though. They'd be talking about the healer who'd come out of nowhere, and they'd want to track her down.

I hoped we'd moved on before the rumours spread.

I reached the inn, got halfway up the stairs and turned back around, recalling that we were meeting for dinner in the tavern across the street.

Sir Ightham and Rán were sat in the back corner, having found a bench sturdy enough to support a pane. They were talking away about something that couldn't have been important, judging by the exaggerated gestures they were making with their hands and the empty steins on the table between them.

“It's half-seven,” Sir Ightham said sternly when I wandered over to them.

“Was wondering where you'd got to,” Rán said more warmly, using a foot to push a chair out for me.

I fell down more than I sat, and after a moment, remembered to say, “I was exploring the city.”

“Did you get lost?” Sir Ightham asked.

“A bit,” I admitted, slumping in my seat.

What was I feeling? The remnants of a broken leg, the ripples of whatever had been rotting people from the inside?

“We've already eaten,” Sir Ightham explained, “So you'll have to order yourself something.”

“I'm not hungry.”

I wasn't. I was full, full of—
something
. Everything I'd torn out and pushed back was trapped within me, turning my blood to stone.

“Already eaten, yrval?” Rán asked, covering the sound of Sir Ightham's sigh. “Seen a few vendors around here that half tempted me, even if they were charring their meat.”

I shook my head. They both waited for me to say something, and when I had nothing to offer up, resumed the conversation I'd interrupted. I didn't understand anything they were talking about, which meant it was probably a pane thing—or a human thing I'd yet to stumble across.

I must've sat there for some time, for they both got through another two drinks each before I recalled that there was a bed waiting for me.

“There we were, Canthian soldiers on our right, Ridgeth a few feet to our left—so we jumped the border, naturally,” Rán was saying, “And then, the Canthian soldiers give each other this
look
, and they—”

“And they shoot at you regardless,” Sir Ightham finished for her.

Rán grinned and said, “You've gotta believe me—you don't want gunpowder making it this far north.”

“I'm going to bed,” I said, chair scraping across the floor. I don't think I said it as abruptly as it felt, for neither Sir Ightham nor Rán did much more than turn from their conversation and bid me goodnight.

I slept for an hour or less, or might not have slept at all; my eyes closed but I was all too aware of the room around me, the stairs creaking, noise rising from the street below as the taverns emptied. I sprang to my feet at the sound of a fist against my door and hurried to unbolt it, convinced that it'd be knocked off its hinges if I didn't answer immediately.

Sir Ightham stood before me, corridor brought to life by a single candle, and leant ever so slightly against the door frame.

“Here,” she said, holding something out to me. I quickly took it, feeling the hard crust of a loaf in my hands, “Should you find yourself hungry throughout the night.”

“Thank you,” I said, more touched than confused by the gesture. My stomach hadn't started rumbling yet and I must've been sleeping more deeply than I first thought for this – someone bringing me bread – to seem so bizarre.

She waved a hand dismissively as she headed towards her own room.

“Rán insisted upon it,” she stated.

I locked myself back in the room, bread left by my pillow. I slept soundly after that, sickly sensations under my skin replaced by nothing but exhaustion, and when I woke, I did my utmost to swallow the loaf whole.

I washed for the sake of something to do, but had no idea what was expected of me. Neither Sir Ightham nor Rán had given me any instructions, and the only plans I knew of revolved around meeting Sir Ightham's contact. Which could've taken place at sundown, for all I knew. I decided to explore the city in earnest, or at least the streets around the inn.

I stepped out into Benkor and the city hadn't changed. The poor and sick were still just that, huddled together en masse. No one was darting around, trying to find the elusive healer who'd cleansed so many yesterday. I supposed that I was hardly the first to aimlessly wander through and content myself with doing a good deed or two.

But I wasn't the only one who'd decided to take an early-morning stroll. Sir Ightham left the inn moments before I did and was fast disappearing into the crowd. I set off after her, no longer bothering to excuse myself as I weaved through the city. When I caught up with her, I couldn't say why I'd been in such a hurry to see her.

“Good morning,” I said brightly, amazed by what a night's sleep could do. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” she said, and she didn't look at me, didn't break her gait to let me join her side in earnest. She only noticed the silence between us because I made no effort to fill it, and eventually, she said, “... I am taking a walk so as to wake up properly.”

I tried to steal a glance at her, tried to see if there were dark circles smudged beneath her eyes again, but Sir Ightham was already looking my way. Our eyes met, and I ended up staring down at the pavement. She didn't tell me to leave and so I continued walking with her, too conscious of her presence to take in my surroundings.

“Is Rán still sleeping?” I tried.

“I would imagine so.”

“Do they sleep a lot?” I kept at it. “The pane, I mean. More than humans?”

“They've been known to.”

I was mustering up a third attempt – well, what was it like when you lived with them? – when a boy in a scruffy jacket walked right up to us, hands in his pockets. We'd almost been bumped into a handful of times, but this boy was looking up, staring straight at Sir Ightham.

I mistook him for her contact. He tilted his head back in the direction he'd come from, and said, “Morning. There's a gent over by the bakery who's wanting a word with you.”

The boy went on his way, head down, probably having been paid to run the errand. I dared to look back at Sir Ightham, and she seemed as bemused by the situation as I did. But unlike me, there was a flicker of frustration in her features; her jaw tightened and she continued striding down the street, heading directly to the bakery.

I followed on, not knowing what I could do to help or how to avoid hindering her, but not about to lose myself in the current of the crowd.

There was a gap between the bakery and the house next to it, not quite deep enough to be considered an alleyway, and I recognised the man standing there immediately.

“Ightham!” he greeted Sir Ightham cheerfully.

“Luxon,” she replied calmly, but with no lack of spite in her voice. He wasn't wearing his armour, but there was no mistaking who he was. “Well, whose doing was this? Who sent you?”

“Who
sent
me? Ightham, I'm wounded. Can't I be here for the sake of my own curiosity—to see if the rumours really
are
true?” Luxon said, enjoying himself far too much. “Now, now. They don't often waste Knights on deserters, do they? I've got to say, Ightham, I thought you would've done a runner a long time ago. Back around—” he paused, clicking his tongue as he searched for the word. “The incident.”

Sir Ightham wasn't taken in by anything he said, nor did she respond to his taunts.

“Do you wish to fight? It would be your choice of weapon, naturally.”

“I wish to fight,” Sir Luxon said, and I tried to calculate how long it would take me to run back to the inn, wake Rán and get her back there. “
But—
I do not wish to lose. So, I suggest we keep talking.”

I did my best to latch onto Sir Luxon's words, to slot them against all the other snippets I'd managed to catch from Sir Ightham and Rán, and though he spoke freely, he gave little away that didn't create more questions for me.

“You're not here to take me back,” Sir Ightham said slowly, processing the thought as she spoke. “Yet you went to great lengths to track me down. What is it you want, Luxon?”

Sir Luxon leant against the wall, arms folded over his chest.

“Look, my dear phoenix. You're making far too big a deal out of this. Knights flee all the time—something to do with the inherent strain of being thrown against dragons every other week. Get out before they get you. Sound logic, really,” Luxon said, nodding in agreement with himself. “Keep on running. Go to Kastelir or Canth, Agados or Ridgeth. Go to the Bloodless Lands for all I care. Take your wealth and your new friend – hello, there – and live in luxury. Just, ah. Remove yourself from the picture, as it were.”

I sunk into myself when Sir Luxon acknowledged me and Sir Ightham's hand drifted to the side, as if forming a barrier between us. She tried to bite back the surprise elicited by his offer, but Luxon was delighted with himself and couldn't stop grinning.

“... and are you aware of
why
I left?” Sir Ightham asked after a moment's deliberation. As much as she didn't want me knowing the answer to that question – for my own good, she claimed – it couldn't go unasked.

Luxon shrugged. “Like I said, the pressure and whatnot. I heard something about you moving away from the Knights, and if such a promotion were to exist and you weren't around to fill it...”

“Then your station rises,” Sir Ightham said, nodding, finally understanding what it had all been about.

She was relieved to realise it was all about greed. I relaxed a little, if only because Sir Luxon wasn't the enemy I'd imagined him to be. He hadn't brought soldiers along with him, hadn't struck out against Sir Ightham, even though he'd been there and she hadn't known it.