Chapter 20: Home of Healing (Patreon)

As he drifted back to himself, Elliot’s first impression was the scent of rosemary and chamomile. There was a soft mattress under his back, and he felt cozy in a way he hadn’t since Earth. His eyes eased open. The ceiling was wood, the first such he’d seen on this planet, rafters open and stretching above. There were bundles of herbs tied up with rough twine and hung from the golden-brown beams, in various stages of drying.

“Welcome back to the wakeful, Elliot.”

He looked over. Yehi was sitting in a chair by his bedside, a book closed on her lap. The whole room was built of the same amber-colored wood, and a window behind her back let in a flood of light. It looked out on the downward slope of the mountain, trees towering against the blue sky.

"Yehi?” How did she get here? Where is here? “Are Hrolf and Olivia okay?"

She smiled, the red-gold feathers covering most of her right cheek fluffing. "They are well. It was a matter of extreme fortune to have the Sunsguard arrive when they did."

What? "The Sunsguard?"

"Yes." She leaned forward, eyes sparkling." You were unconscious, but powerful members of their order detected the darkness at work. It must be why the Sunsguard came here, to hunt those you stumbled upon. The enemies were likely a local bandit clan, bent on evil.”

Elliot paused. Was this some kind of cover-up? Had Breka and Hadrian pretended to be Sunsguards, or had the black javelins dampened his friends' senses enough to completely hide what had happened, and the Sunsguard had come after? That forest of stone pillars…who even was Breka? Who did she work for?

“I’m glad they’re okay,” he said slowly, trying to wrestle the torrent of thoughts into a more manageable state.

"And what of you, Elliot? Are you in pain?"

Remarkably, he actually felt quite comfortable. The back of his neck had no bruises or stiffness from Red-hair's grip, and his headache and deep fatigue were gone without a trace. "I actually feel great." He frowned. "Why do I feel so normal?"

"You must have taken well to the healing."

"Healing? Like magic healing?” Obviously magic healing, Elliot. Get it together.

The Yatiri gestured to the walls around them. "This is the home of Healer Arlen. He keeps company with the trees and the wind, almost a mile out of Bastogne. The Sunsguard must have paid, because his services are dear."

That must have been Breka, or maybe Alys. He didn't have any money beyond what he'd made for the scales, so hopefully this hadn't put him too far into someone’s debt.

"Do you want to see the others?” Yehi asked.

"Yes! Yes, I’d love to," Elliot replied, sitting up in bed.

"Come," she said, rising from her chair. "They are downstairs, in the kitchen."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, instinctively ready for a sensation of weakness, but standing felt fine. Walking out to the landing revealed them to be on the second floor, the whole house seemingly crafted of the same golden timbers. The stairs had a soft, olive-green carpeting that silenced their footsteps, adding to a pervasive sense of peace.

When they walked into the kitchen, he broke into a grin. "I'm so glad you made it out."

Hrolf and Oliva were sitting at a large wooden table with a sun and moon pattern carved into its surface. Hrolf was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, arms folded in his lap, and Olivia was nursing a mug of something steaming. Both looked up at Elliot's entrance.

"Yes," the priestess replied, smiling weakly. "A rougher night than I had planned for, but I'm glad we all still stand."

Hrolf grunted. "Magic. Spoiled fight."

The man had almost died against the other steppelanders, but it was the magic that ruined things. Elliot suppressed the urge to shake his head.

“The fight was spoiled from the beginning, I think,” Olivia replied.

Hrolf shrugged. “Blood from sword, is life. Like hunger. Is…” he frowned slightly, “must be.”

“It’s inevitable?” Elliot guessed.

“Just because battle is inevitable doesn’t mean you must relish it,” Olivia muttered. She blew on her mug, then took another sip. “I still don’t quite understand what happened. Someone powerful enough to take us completely by surprise, and a memory hold? It doesn’t feel like bandits, regardless of what they said.”

“Lies,” Hrolf said. “Can push. Find truth.”

“Absolutely not,” Olivia said with wide eyes. “I wasn’t implying we should break protocol. If they’re keeping the truth from us, I’m sure it’s for good reason.”

“Good reason?” Hrolf snorted. “I do not think.”

“Well it’s above our heads either way. I certainly wouldn’t want to ruffle any feathers.” She glanced at Yehi. “My apologies for the expression.”

“It is nothing, my friend,” the Yatiri said. “We are in agreement. Best not to press past the answers you were given.”

Hrolf shook his head, but kept silent.

“Where are my manners? How are you feeling, Elliot? Would you like a mug of tea?” Olivia asked.

Just as he felt himself perking up at the idea, a voice came from the hallway. “No liquids for an hour after waking.”

The man who strode into the room wore the expression of a prison warden eyeing his cellblock. “And you, priestess. I told you to refrain as well. Healing is not to be taken lightly, and the digestive system is sensitive after an infusion.”

“My apologies, healer. Tea is a fundamental part of my ability to process the challenges of life, and so I decided to take the risk.”

The healer’s frown was thunderous. He stepped over to the table and snatched up the mug, causing Olivia to let out a soft squawk. “Enough. Fast for the next five hours.”

“What?” Olivia replied, looking longingly after her mug. “Previously you had said one hour, I’m sure of it.”

“That was before you decided to ignore my instructions. Five hours.”

She sank back in her chair, sighing.

The healer—Yehi had said his name was Arlen—turned to Elliot and barked, “Comfortable?”

Elliot actually started slightly, interpreting the question as a demand for information rather than a concerned check-in. “Ah, yes, very comfortable. Thank you for the healing, you did excellent work.”

“Hmm. No liquids for an hour, and no solids for five.” He reached out and gripped Elliot’s forehead with both hands, leaning close enough for their skin to be practically touching. His eyes bored into Elliot’s from a mere inch away. It was an incredible feat of will to resist jerking away.

“Good,” Arlen said abruptly, drawing back. “You don’t need any more work.” With that the healer cast another sweeping look over the room, eyeing Hrolf for a second as if to decide whether or not he needed any admonitions, then turned and walked out as briskly as he’d entered.

“He has a gentle soul, I’m sure,” Yehi said hesitantly.

“So gentle,” Elliot muttered.

“Good man,” Hrolf said, “Firm. Like home.”

“Regardless of what was going on,” Elliot continued, “I’m grateful to you both for coming to help me. I hope to be able to repay you in kind someday. Not that I want you to be attacked or anything, but, I mean, if something bad were to happen, I would want to help,” he finished awkwardly.

Hrolf leaned back even further in his chair. “Friends help friends. Words, do not need.”

“We take your meaning,” Olivia added, “and it is appreciated, but I agree with Hrolf. The both of us are no strangers to battle. I would consider it a duty to assist any innocents against such people, and especially a friend. There is no need for you to worry.”

“We are all travelers on the path,” Yehi said, “including you, Elliot, I must imagine. A freeholt is no place for a young merchant to settle. But, despite being bound to leave, I believe we all go the same way. Trade runs north from here, through the other freeholts before returning to the upper reaches of Remmir, then tracking south and east. I know this is my route, and yours as well, Hrolf. Do you walk the same road, Olivia?”

The priestess smiled. “I too head north. I need essence lotuses from Sostus before I return home, and that takes me far enough up the edge of Remmir that by then it makes more sense to stay with the trade road than to forge south on my own.”

“And you, Elliot?” Yehi asked.

That was an excellent question. He knew Breka aimed to leave Bastogne before too long, but to where? “I’m not sure yet, actually. I’ve signed on with a trader, but I didn’t ask which way she’s headed.”

“You would be hard-pressed to find a trader who would make the trek through the wilds to Bastogne without heading north after,” Olivia said. “To travel from these mountains to Remmir directly crosses a dangerous stretch of the Gerrwood. There’s profit to be made on the route north, without adding much in the way of risk.”

Elliot smiled tentatively. “Then maybe we’ll all be on the same route.”

“If I may be so bold as to defy our host,” Olivia said, craning her neck to check the corridor where Arlan had disappeared, “I would like to offer a toast.” She stood and plucked a pitcher from the floor by her foot. Placing it on the table, she walked to the counter and pulled four mugs from an upper cabinet. “To new friends, and to the Sunsguard for their assistance.”

Yehi took the pitcher and poured out a bright green liquid into each cup.

“To my saviours,” Elliot added, taking a mug. And to finding those we’ve lost.

“To a good fight, followed by good healing,” Hrolf added in his own tongue.

“To our safety on the roads we have yet to travel, and to returning home,” Yehi said, looking wistful.

Their mugs clinked, and Elliot took a sip. It was tea, with notes of jasmine, crisp and grassy. He closed his eyes, enjoying the flavor. It felt like everything—his quest to grow stronger, his search for Rowan, his real life on this new world—was about to begin.

      ***

It took several more hours to extricate himself from Arlen’s domain, the healer’s brusque disregard for his patients’ feelings matched only by his intense focus on their physical wellbeing. Elliot spent the time hanging out with the other three, and only made it out in the late afternoon by swearing to avoid solid food for the next few hours.

As much as he enjoyed the conversation, a voice in his mind kept whispering that it was time to work. Now that he had a plan, it felt increasingly urgent to get started. So much was out of his hands. He could only control how hard he trained, so he would train as hard as possible.

The house was isolated, set in a clearing with only a lush, encircling garden separating it from the towering trees of the Gerrwood. There was one trail out, stretching off into the shadows below the canopy.

He peered down the dirt path. Surely someone would have warned him if there was a serious risk of monster attacks. It wouldn’t make much sense to take all the vulnerable, newly-healed people and throw them into a dangerous stretch of wilds.

His eyes caught on a squat stone pillar half hidden beneath a sprawl of vines. Stepping closer, he used [Detailed Appraisal], then released a long breath. It contained lichalis. Where there was one there would probably be more, and that must be enough to keep the trail safe. Or as safe as things got around here. His ability still noted that the glowing substance only repelled beasts below a certain strength, and only most of the time. He set off, keeping his eyes up and moving.

By the time he’d made it a hundred feet in, it was like he was back in the deep woods below the mountain. Moss was everywhere, covering chunks of granite and dark soil in a wash of green. Branches swept across the trail every few feet, forcing Elliot to stay permanently half crouched as he moved.

A flash of movement ahead made him jerk to a stop, and he saw Hadrian. The hunter was still in his leathers, expression as distant as ever.

“Hi,” Elliot said, a smile tugging at his lips. “I hear the Sunsguard swooped in to save the day.”

Hadrian rolled his eyes. “And I hope you maintained that narrative.”

Elliot laughed. “Of course. I’m supposed to be a spy now, aren’t I? From Andaluse, I hear.”

“You are certainly no spy,” he snapped. “And do not express anything like that sentiment so openly again.”

“Sorry,” Elliot replied, cheeks reddening. “That’s fair.”

The hunter sighed. “I was sent to fetch you, but obviously your release has already been secured. Come.” He turned and set off.

“I still don’t know what I’m supposed to say that you and Breka do, you know,” Elliot replied, hurrying to keep up.

“We are traders, or peddlers, depending on the cultural context in which the question is posed,” Hadrian said firmly.

It was Elliot’s turn to sigh. “Well, I suppose knowing that is the first step. Where’s Breka?”

For the rest of the walk back, Elliot peppering Hadrian with questions that the man largely stopped answering after the first minute.

They re-entered Bastogne at the edge of evening. The house was in full comfort mode: four-poster bed, large table surrounded by chairs, and not a trade good in sight.

Elliot glared at the bed. Something about its vanishing and reappearing act was annoying him more than usual. He wasn’t sure why, magic was all impossible anyway, and Breka was clearly absurdly powerful. Why shouldn’t she be able to make furniture jump through walls? Her forest of stone pillars— 

His eyes widened.

“Welcome back,” Breka said from the large, well-stuffed armchair in the corner. She was reading a thick, leatherbound book, and a mug of steaming tea sat on a small table by her right hand.

“You have an earth pocket,” he blurted out.

“What?” she said, turning to squint in his direction.

“I figured out how you move the bed and the table,” Elliot said, pointing at the offending objects with no small measure of triumph. “You’re clearly very powerful, you have stone magic, and this whole city is made of stone. You pull them down into the ground, into some kind of hidden earth pocket.”

“You made that leap from seeing the stone magic last night?”

“Am I right?”

“It’s an interesting guess. But if you think that’s what it is, you’ll have to prove it yourself.”

Elliot grinned. He was pretty sure that meant he was right. Then the grin faded. “How did you find me, in the warehouse? I was sure I was dead.”

Breka smiled. “Hadrian was out looking for you when it got late and you hadn’t come back.”

The hunter scowled. “No one under my tutelage drinks till dawn.”

“It wasn’t dawn, it was barely past sunset!” Elliot protested.

“When he couldn’t find you he became alarmed—”

Hadrian grunted as if he resented the phrasing.

“—since he has considerable skill as a hunter, and there was really nowhere you should have been able to hide from him. He notified me. When the Witness overreached, I felt it.”

“Well,” Elliot said, “thank you. And I appreciate you looking for me, Hadrian.”

“It was to ensure you were well rested enough to engage appropriately with the course of rigorous physical exercise that was planned,” he said stiffly. “But I am glad you are alive.”

Elliot smiled. A glowing sentiment. “When are we leaving Bastogne, now that things have been stirred up?”

“Tomorrow,” Breka replied. “After training.”

Elliot winced, but he also felt a flicker of excitement. Pain and progress went hand-in-hand.

“We head for Tular, the next freeholt north,” she continued. “The underlying issue here is far from solved.”

“Do I get to know more about that now that I’m on the team?”

Hadrian snorted. “You already know far too much. Your talent for espionage is atrocious, and I am surprised you have yet to share the secrets you possess.”

“We’ll see how things go,” Breka said. “You already know more than I’d planned to tell you, including some extremely sensitive state secrets about Talessi agent capability.”

“I don’t even know what the Talessi are,” Elliot protested. “A rival kingdom? A bandit group? Surely that’s not private information.”

Breka and Hadrian exchanged glances.

“The Talessi are a group of ideologues out of Syreen, far to the southeast,” Breka said. “They lost a war for control of the government years ago, and now they operate as a semi-mercenary organization. They go where they’re paid to go, but they hate the March. Jobs cost less if they target us, and they’ll gladly strike for free if the opportunity arises.”

“Why do they hate the March so much?”

“Old politics, from back when the empire fell,” Breka said, picking her book back up. “You should get some rest. I know it’s early, but healing does a number on you, and you’ll be up early. Double training, remember.”

“You can’t have been serious about doubling the training?” Elliot asked, questions about the empire shriveling up at the prospect of even more ridiculous levels of discomfort.

“Try not to be so reckless in the future, boy,” she replied, already back to reading.

He sighed, and went to wash up. It would all be worth it, in the end. He had to believe that was true. He’d get power, he’d find Rowan, they would live a good life.

But only if Hadrian didn’t kill him first.