03

Chapter 1

I sighed in weary satisfaction as I finished with my last patient of the day. I generally disliked working with slave traders, but the trafficking of humans and near-humans was a lucrative business in the kingdom of Ramana. A lucrative trade meant an investment in maintaining the quality and quantity of goods. That, in turn, meant that a visit to the flesh markets was often a windfall for me. Intelligent slavers invested in larger housing spaces and communal cleaning facilities. Such things were essential for maintaining the health of their stock. But, even with that caution, a sickness could sweep through an entire group of slaves. A sick slave was unlikely to sell until they were recovered. If the illness was severe enough, they might suffer permanent impairment, or die. Any of these meant a significant loss of profit. I was, by far, the more cost effective option.

This incident had been severe. The viridian contagion had snuck into the slums of Kuru, leaving many menial laborers unfit to work. Though few died directly of the disease, it left the more affluent scrambling for healthy workers. And that was the bailiwick of Gerid, my current patron. Prices for a healthy slave were at a premium right now, as many of the wealthy would rather purchase or contract a new servant over the inconvenience and cost of caring for one through the disease. Pure foolishness.

Gerid was turning an incredible profit right now. Purchasing sick slaves for a pittance, and selling healthy ones to those unwilling to do without. Were it not for my skills, he would be making far less on these bargains. Because the slaver was no fool, he passed a portion of this windfall onto me. It was a mix of necessity and sympathy that kept me in this compound, though each one of my patients reminded me that I could easily end up in their place. I fed the man I was attending a tea of restorative herbs, annoyed at the restless spinning of my thoughts. My work here was complete, for now at least.

I called the caretaker, Pedu. She was a wiry woman who always always seemed to bear a wry smile. Though she had guards to assist her, I'd never once seen a slave raise a hand against her. She had a firm, but borderline kindly demeanor, that quelled any anger among her charges as though by magic. Currently her eyes showed the strain of too little sleep, and her smile was extra crooked.

"All done Esur?" Her tone was casual, but a little softer than normal. We always treated one another with a friendly professionalism, and I'd grown to know her well over the years I'd visited this city. A softer tone was her attempt to lighten her demeanor, and she more commonly called me doctor, rather than by name. She wanted something from me, some kind of personal favor. I was already inclined to grant it. Pedu's sense of duty, as well as her pragmatism, meant that any favor to her was always repaid with interest. Besides, I was rather fond of her. She reminded me of the irascible grandmother I never had.

"I am. Gerid wants me to stay on longer, but I have already told him today is the latest I can delay my travel. I've all but exhausted the medicines I need for this work in any case." The slaver had tried to bribe and browbeat me into an even longer stay, but my local suppliers had been tapped out. Even if that weren't the case, I had other relationships to maintain. Though a prominent figure in Kuru, the merchant's influence did not extend farther around the low road. With my consistent travel, he was not the only influential patron I needed to appease.

She handed the recovering man off to one of her assistants, then joined me as I walked. It took her much longer than I expected for her to work up to her request, time that she filled with idle conversation. This put me on edge, as the caretaker never made small talk. Moreover, she never avoided a difficult subject, preferring to air her concerns or grievances as quickly as possible. Whatever this was, it had me increasingly worried. We had almost reached Gerid's office when she finally placed her hand upon my arm to stop me.

"I have a request of you, Esur'ul," I raised my brows at the unexpected honorific, but otherwise simply nodded for her to continue. "I would be most indebted if you would accept a slave from me. My sister's daughter."

"She has a sickness?" My question came after only a moment of consideration. Slave contracts were not uncommon among the lower classes, often people selling themselves to settle a debt. It was a better proposition than a forced indenture in many cases. But this was something else. For Pedu to hold her niece's bond, she would have had to purchase it from a third party, implying something more complex than a matter of familial debt. And I could only think of one reason to offer said bond to me. As payment for my own skills.

"You know I value your good will highly Pedu. I would be happy to defer any payment for treatment I can render, indefinitely. And you know I would prefer not to attract attention to myself in any case." My last comment caused the older woman to visibly flinch, but she fortified herself before opening the door to the merchant's antechamber, gesturing me inside.

Stepping through the doorway, I bit back a curse at the sight which greeted me. After taking a moment to collect myself, I examined the figure before me more carefully. Closer examination only increased my borderline panic. My breath hissed between my teeth as though I had taken a blow to my belly. The caretaker's niece was frail and sickly, badly malnourished. Her eyes stared blankly from a face completely empty of expression, shadowed from lack of sleep. But even in that ragged condition, the woman possessed a luminous, unearthly beauty.

Pedu, like most natives of Ramana, had skin the color of unblanched almonds, several shades darker than my own coppery tones. Her hair was greying now, but still showed its original, raven hue. This woman could not have been more strikingly different. Her hair was the color and tone of embers from a banked fire, her skin the grey-white of fine ash. Eyes that matched her hair, seemed to pulse with faint light at each breath. The woman was blatantly spirit touched, and worse, her arms showed the ritual brands of a Pure monk initiate. I couldn't decipher their meaning, but I knew their style well.

"Myta," Pedu's words pulled me from my horrified reverie. "This is Esur, the one I told you about." Surprisingly, the girl's eyes actually shifted in my direction, if barely.

"Pedu," I kept my voice as even, and kind as I could. "Your niece is clearly soul sick. Her chance of recovery is very small. Even if I could help her, holding her bond would likely see both of us killed."

"Nonsense!" Gerid shouted from his office doorway, causing my strained nerves to jangle. "No one would bother to track a single, ailing slave. If she recovers, she is your mercenary guard. The bandits grow worse by the year, so you could use one. If not, the road to Bani is long. You can return her to the jungle."

"The monks might track her," I muttered in response, but I was unable to pull my gaze from Pedu's fixed expression. I knew little of her relationship with her family, she was generally so private and professional. She must be truly desperate to place such a volatile situation in my hands. From the way her shoulders hunched, she might have been waiting for a physical blow to land. I grunted in frustration, unwilling to land that blow upon her.

"How difficult was her bond to obtain? Is anyone looking for her?" I asked.

"It was difficult, but only because she was in Ootrin! Those Pure-loving horse humpers had decided she was a loss." Gerid was both enthusiastic and creative with his invectives, but his words eased my worry, slightly. Ootrin was a neighboring country, one that Ramana traded with relatively frequently. "I bought her with an entire lot of others, some of whom you just healed."

Pedu was looking directly at me now, and though she was clearly fighting to control it, hope was sparking in her eyes at my question. This was still dangerous, but I admitted to myself that I didn't want to deny her. Perhaps, luck willing, I could aid both her and myself. A competent assistant and guard could be invaluable on the road. Assuming of course that I could both heal her, and continue to avoid the kinds of attention I'd been dodging for years. Finally I nodded, gesturing to the key mandala, set in the corner of this room.

Without another word, Pedu guided her niece into the circle, which was carved into the stone floor. Any slave trader required at least one such device, though of course the quality and materials varied. Out in the yard Gerid had a much larger circle, made of sturdy clay, with space for as many as ten slaves to stand at a time. This was the one he used for smaller purchases, and more prestigious clients. I suppose I should have been honored. I'd seen bonds transferred many times, but never been directly involved before. As I took my place in the mandala, and Pedu took hers, I couldn't suppress my curiosity. With a moment of relaxation I opened my spiritual eye, even as Gerid activated the key.

Spirits are formed of two things. Anima is like the solid substance of the spirit, its body. Looking at a person's anima can tell you a great deal about their nature and personality, assuming you are able to study it through all the noise. Mana is the fluid counterpart to anima, the blood to its flesh. Mana is loud, and bright, and obscures the anima that constrains it. It flares and colors with your emotions, twists with every thought. When I looked at Myta, what I saw was like a knife in my chest.

Throbbing green tumors clung to her spirit body, like ravenous grubs hanging from her meridians. Unsurprising, that she had the contagion, but that was easy enough for me to fix. Beneath the weight of the tumors, her mana pulsed weakly like a failing heartbeat. Stuttering in an uncertain rhythm, moving mana with the quality of pond scum. From under that mess, her anima shone through. A brilliant red and gold framework like a piece of beautiful filigree, that someone had beaten with a hammer, and then ground into the mud. And at its center, an expanding abscess the color of an old scab. That view stirred up my rage, which was always cold and sharp. This woman's soul had been a work of art. I would do all that was in my power to restore her. Then, I would make those responsible for this damage answer for it.

The slave bond was obvious to my vision. A tether, reminiscent of an umbilical cord, joining the anima of the two women. Passing mana between them. Pedu had been sustaining her niece's spirit, probably for some time. The mandala severed that cord like a descending axe, spilling mana into the air like blood from a cut throat. Blood neither of them could afford to lose. Without a conscious thought, I was already gathering it up. I returned it to the older woman, with a little extra from myself, and healed the wound. Soon the tether came to me, and I prepared myself for my own session of clumsy butchery. To my surprise however, the bond was sealed with only a little extra guidance from me. Immediately, my own mana began to flow, pouring into Myta's deprived body. I'd trained it for healing, and there was so very much to heal. But I couldn't afford that right now, reining in my power before the drain did more than make me lightheaded.

"Pedu, can you have the servants ready my cart? I need to get out of the city, right away." She nodded and hurried off, leaving me staring at a grinning Gerid. All at once, this whole situation felt off, contrived. But I had no time now to consider it. Done was done, and I needed to get away from here, before my new ward drained my strength completely. The burly merchant and I got an unresponsive Myta out of the room, and down to the stable. Most of my belongings were packed inside already, and I got her situated on a bed of blankets normally reserved for me.

My goats were more than ready to be out of this place, shifting impatiently in their harnesses. Gerid and I hadn't been moving that slowly, so they must have already been harnessed, even before Pedu got down here. In minutes I was on my way to the southern gate, headed out to the low road.

Chapter 2

The guards at the southern gate barely glanced at me as I passed through, offering nods that were polite, but brief. Most of them knew me by now, by either sight or reputation. As a wandering herbalist who tended to the minor ills of the lower class my reputation was widespread, but boring. No miracle cures from this healer, just teas to reduce a fever or soothe a cough. No reattaching severed extremities like a sorcerer-surgeon, just poultices to prevent infection. Exactly how I wanted things. Today, more than any other day, I was grateful for the lack of regard. My simple enclosed cart hadn't been searched in years, and no one thought twice as I brought my goats up to a casual trot once I was beyond the city walls.

It was early afternoon, and I would normally have kept traveling for the rest of the day. Unfortunately I needed to maintain constant concentration to keep my mana from rushing into my companion. She hadn't so much as shifted after being bundled into my cart, and she was clearly in critical condition. Again, something about this itched at the back of my mind. If Myta had been in such dire straits, why had her aunt not spoken to me sooner? But with my anima strained, and my mana depleted, I had no energy to spare for the question. Perhaps half an hour later, I spotted the side road I had been waiting for, and drove down that for another hour. Last year I'd spent a week in spring on a small ranch out this way, tending to the ailing owner. Well, he has been poisoned, in point of fact. I never learned all the details, but when he'd found out what happened my patient had sold off his livestock, and willed all his remaining assets to Kuru'deka. The city's lord was apparently an old friend. Then he'd evicted his children, and retired to live in the lord's manor. Intrigue, either familial or political, did not concern me deeply. What mattered now was that the estate was empty, and the city guards paid an occasional visit to ensure it remained so.

When I pulled up to the estate, I released my goats to forage for themselves. They were ornery beasts who looked out for one another and smelled of humans, so most predators would leave them be. Then I opened my cart and extracted my passenger, laying her out in the thickest stand of trees I could find. The most immediate threat to her health was the contagion, which I had already been treating for months. I was a well practiced hand at it now, so this should be easy as long as I didn't give in to the strain.

Allowing my spiritual eye to open, I set to work without delay. The viridian contagion was not a really a physical disease, but an infection of mana. I didn't know its origin, but when the corrupt mana entered a victim's spirit body, it spread and corrupted their own. The contagion was greedy, and hungry, and it clumped up. Anywhere that it prevented or sapped the flow of regular mana, the victim's body became highly susceptible to even the mildest mundane sickness. Where it clumped, it also warped their anima into those green tumors. Sucking abscesses, like foul leeches of the soul.

Other healers could treat the physical side effects, but only someone with my particular abilities could cure the underlying problem. Either fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your perspective, soul sorcerers were rare. Those who were able to directly manipulate anima, and touch another's mana, were regarded as something akin to demons across the shattered lands. Pure monks hunted them in other lands, and though the Pure were not welcome in the kingdom of Ramana, sorcerer-king Ramana preferred to keep all soul sorcerers under his own thumb.

From my spirit body, I extended my lancet. It was sharp as a razor, and whisper thin, but forged of the densest anima I could make. Years of will, and mindful intention had layered it thickly. Nearly every illness of the body fed back into the soul in some fashion. Draining that poison was one of my greatest advantages over a mundane healer, perhaps the single greatest. When this spiritual plague had struck, I already knew exactly how to treat it. One careful incision, and green vitriol spilled from Myta's form. I pulled it out of the wound forcibly, her soul was so mana starved it sought desperately to retain even this poison. I let a trickle of my own mana flow into her from the bond, as I pulled the corruption into my reservoir. Then I healed the incision, and moved on to make another.

With my previous patients, my mundane ones, a single incision was often enough. I could keep that single wound open, pulling the corruption steadily out of their meridians. If an abscess did not begin to dissolve, I could slip my own mana carefully through their systems to break up the blockage. The spirit touched woman was different, however. Her anima was very dense, which made her mana much more potent, and yet that mana was moving sluggishly. There was no chance of the corruption dispersing on its own, and she was so mana starved her spirit soaked up any that I gave her. If that weren't the case, I could have healed her solely through our bond.

And so I proceeded, one slow incision at a time. Filtering her mana, giving her more of my own, condensing the corruption in my reservoir well past the point where my own soul ached with the strain. Finally, the last tumor was opened, the last blockage dissolved. I fell away from her, and brought my mind into a deep meditation, as quickly as I could. Myta's spirit still bore the stain of the disease, but with the work I had done she would be stable enough for a time. Now, I needed to ensure my own safety.

My inner world took the form of a quiet forest glade. At least, it was normally quiet. Just now the sky was filled with stormclouds, lightning crawling across the nearly black dome above me. Those clouds represented the poisonous mana I had taken in. It wasn't just the sickness from my companion. I could have handled that alone fairly handily. But I had been in Kuru for weeks, healing as many as I could, and gathering tainted mana from all of them. And each night I meditated like this, trying to calm the storm slowly building within me. I reached for the clouds, feeling that unending hunger churning above me. I knew this was only in my mind, a way to visualize my goal, focus my will. Even so, I could feel the presence of the cloud, the sticky humidity that clung to my skin. I could feel its longing to devour me. With enough time, I could calm the storm. But I didn't have the time, I didn't have the strength to deny this much hunger for so long.

Raising my hand, I set my will against the storm, inviting its wrath. It lashed me with its hunger, a bolt of ravenous white, that tried to tear the flesh from my bones. Instead, I gave it to the earth, and the earth was unimpressed. Had I tried this inside the city, the results would have been disastrous. The contagion would have jumped to every nearby person, infecting them all, and only growing in strength. But out here, among the trees and animals, mana flowed more freely, spread more broadly. It would vanish into the forested hills, like a bit of ink spilled into the ocean. I called the lightning again, and then again and it wracked me with pain each time. But after that third strike the rain began to fall, clean mana separating from the tainted, flowing from my reservoir to sustain me. That small feeling of accomplishment steeled my resolve, and I lost track of the number of times I taunted the sky. When the clouds had lightened to a twilight grey, and rain was coming down in a pervasive drizzle, I abandoned my meditation for real rest.