《Lord of Flowers》 The Warrior and the Farmer In the heat, running water has a scent. It was a thought that had not occurred to her prior, in the icy marble walls of her own kingdom. Or maybe it was the darkness which made the smell leap out to her. Running water. Fresh water. She wandered off the gravel path in search of it. The forest had cleared some time ago, giving way to what she supposed were rolling plains. It was difficult to make out in the darkness, but she could make out a line of trees on the horizon, where she emerged, stinking and transformed now to a beast of this southern place. She had descended from the mountains days ago, these forests proved to be more difficult to navigate than the thick perimeter of highland forest meant to protect her kingdom from the prying eyes of those looking skyward. She felt her foot sink into mud. Water flooded her thick wool boot and she jumped back onto a prickling mound of crabgrass and clover. She felt her ankle catch against a low stone barrier. She looked out again, her other senses now filling in the scenes where her eyes could not. She could see now in the gentle curves of darkness, farmland. She was looking at terraced fields of barley and corn. She could now smell its gentle grassy fragrance. It was sweet. She had never seen such a large farm, but could immediately recognize the smell of what they grew. It was the same scent carried into her kitchen every week, leaking through the burlap sacks and permeating her morning porridge. She felt the ground in front of her, the ¡°stone wall¡± was merely a small canal not more than an arm''s length wide. She must have stepped right over it. The water was running but made no sound, as if hesitant to disturb the concentration of the roots of this place. She ran her hands in the water. They caught a web, which was quickly carried away by the current. She could feel the water striders repel at her touch, and dried leaves passing through her fingertips, but it was running, cool and clear. She wondered if she had ever smelled anything so good in her life. honeysuckle and plumeria felt cheap in comparison to this perfume, which she now brought to her face. For the first time she understood her people''s reverence to water at the citadel. She could feel the week of her own smell being washed away, neutralized by this elixir into something pure and clean. Her eyes searched for more figures on the horizon and she scrubbed at her arms, suddenly self conscious about how silly the scene would seem in daylight. A hulking soldier caked in dirt and sweat, plunging desperately into this thin veil of water streaming in little paths to feed an army of grain. She held a cupped hand to the back of her neck, feeling the drips of spring water run down and disappear among the stagnant drops of her own sweat which have lived there for days. They rose out her skin like a many-headed beast, every drop wiped away brought back several more in mere moments. She couldn¡¯t imagine calling such a humid climate home. She looked out into the darkness. She saw a line of horizon, but couldn¡¯t make out a farmhouse. Perhaps they were over the hill, or maybe along the line of the forest. Or maybe there was no farmhouse, just a series of allotments for the wealthy merchants of the city to play at being farmers. Her heart sank instinctively at the realization she was still alone. Whose kingdom was this? Surely not her own anymore, though despite the heat, it did not look like the tropical jungle she was expecting. Her goal must still be far. There were no clear borders in land so rural as this. On the days it took to arrive, she worried they would recognize her strange attire immediately, they would see her foreign face, her aquiline nose and dark brows. Not so obviously a northern specimen, but such features, with these clothes, coming out of this particular mountain range. It would be easy to piece together, if someone saw her here. She would be at the mercy of whatever kingdom she found herself in. Would the governor of this place do with such a wayward soul? Did they even have governors? Or just warlords? She knew how unwelcomed her people were elsewhere. It''s why no one left the kingdom. She instinctively checked the weapon on her back, securing the fastening to her belt that didn¡¯t need to be secured, but brought her comfort none the less. She passed her hand over the laquered wood of the handle, engraved with glyphs she had no knowledge of, but trusted the magic of implicitly. She often kept it in her hands as she traveled, swinging and twirling it aimlessly, practicing the agile maneuvers her people were known for. Exiting the forest though, she wisely thought better of keeping her macana out and swinging for any citizen to see. She dipped her indigo-dyed scarf in the water and could feel the current pull its length down the narrow passage. She wrung it out and wrapped it again around her neck, providing a necessary cushion against her metal shoulder plate, and obscuring the weapon peeking out from behind her back. This was a fortuitous discovery, the water, but she must keep moving. If only there was something to eat in this farmland. The juvenile stalks of barley leaf wouldn¡¯t cut it. She sighed, and pulled up a palmful of clover from the dry patch of ground beside her. She had rations, but they had to last her the journey back, plus one more mouth if she was successful. And she had lost three days in the forest. If she followed the gravel road, it would eventually take her to a town, she would still be at the mercy of this place, but more people allows for more anonymity. She had found the path in the forest, when the trees parted enough to see the sun, her heart leapt to be able to confirm its direction. She must keep moving south. She must make it to Tanetzlan, time was running out to save him.
¡°In the heat, the forest has a scent.¡± ¡°The forest always has a scent.¡± ¡°Yeah, but...it¡¯s different in the sun.¡± He could feel the back of his neck begin to burn. The sun seemed stronger than he expected. He paused from their run. ¡°It smells like,¡± he looked around at the trees, somehow both shockingly verdant and gasping for moisture in the blaze of the late afternoon, ¡°incense. Like a temple.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just the pine trees,¡± she slowed down and looked back at him. The two were wearing the same tunic, but on her it looked more correct. Or maybe just less drenched in sweat, ¡°come on.¡± As they stood, others appeared from the corner wearing the same roughly woven linens, and swiftly passed them. ¡°No, it¡¯s different from wood smell. I wonder what it is¡­¡± he stared into the forest, at no plant in particular, as if the answer would present itself to him. ¡°It smells...familiar.¡± This scent belonged in a memory vastly different from this one. Someplace cool, shaded, a place with muted autumn colors and not oversaturated greens wrestling with the glare of the sun for your attention. ¡°It¡¯s the trees. The trees smell. Let¡¯s go,¡± she barked, picking her pace back up to a jog. He caught up with her. ¡°We still have three rounds to go.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°So hurry up, I''m hungry!¡± her jog turned into a run as he watched her disappear behind a cluster of pine trees. He followed after and turned the corner, revealing the edge of the forest spilling into a rocky black coastline. The wharf roaches, sunning themselves on the rocks, scattered away as his foot thumped on the dirt path. He could see the city walls on the horizon, down into a port further on. It was far lower from the cliffside that housed their own complex. Their afternoon run was the only time he saw it. For a long time he wasn¡¯t sure if the wall was to contain the compound, or contain the city. But he knew the city was on the other side of it. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. He lost speed, others whipped past him. ¡°Pick up the pace Tamas,¡± one croaked as she passed. He searched for the scent again, but it was gone, replaced now by salt and sea spray. His eyes refocused on the path, and he recommenced his jog to head back to the monastery.
Tamas cleaned himself off and changed into a fresh tunic, this one an earthy orange color. It still had the stain in the belt where he spilled his ink weeks ago. The material was soft and well-worn. Most recently by him, but it was clear the clothing belonged to many more before. It seemed strange at first, not having something be completely yours, but in the preceding weeks he found it easy to accept most of the ways of the monastery. ¡°You have an evaluation today right?¡± his friend muttered as they walked down the corridor together. She tore a small orange apart with only her hands and gave him half. The decisiveness of her movements always amazed him. Whenever he tried the same, the orange turned into a juicy mess. ¡°You make it sound like I have a test,¡± Tamas snorted, sounding more nervous than he intended. ¡°I hope you studied,¡± she teased, nudging his side with her elbow. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was the lightness of her step, or her bobbing movements, but her hair was always in constant motion as she walked. Today it was in a high ponytail, swishing back and forth in a large fluffy mass, like dark cotton. A few errant strands around her face were picked up by the breeze and moved along with them. His hair was longer now than when he first arrived, but still motionless, stiff curls around his face that look like they should move, but don¡¯t. ¡°You think you¡¯ll be cleared to leave?¡± He nodded solemnly, ¡°Yeah. I feel great.¡± ¡°You still got a limp,¡± she gestures to his gait. ¡°I broke my leg, it takes time.¡± ¡°How''s your--¡± she motioned broadly to her own head. ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± he snapped, immediately regretting the intensity of his words. Her expression communicated what her words did not need to. He wasn¡¯t a convincing liar. ¡°Okay, well the other day you didn¡¯t know what this was called,¡± she lifted the orange half in her hand. He winced as he remembered. He called it an orange and she laughed at him. She gave another name but he couldn¡¯t remember. It just looked like an orange. He tried to alter course before she felt the need to quiz him again. ¡°When¡¯s your next evaluation?¡± he asserted, trying to make his expression soften. She seemed to accept the shift, ¡°next week,¡± she responded, idly chewing her fruit, ¡°I¡¯m not going home though.¡± ¡°You¡¯re so sure?¡± She lifted her arm and pulled back her sleeve, ¡°this look healed to you?¡± He looked over at the deep magenta striations on her arm. ¡°Gods, it¡¯s still that bad?¡± ¡°Magic takes longer to heal,¡± she muttered, ¡°you know that better than anyone.¡± she shoved another segment of orange in her mouth. Tamas forgot he was holding the other half. ¡°Anyways,¡± her voice softened, ¡°I still have nightmares.¡± ¡°You think it¡¯s because of the magic? Like someone put a root on you?¡± ¡°A what?¡± ¡°A curse.¡± She rolled her eyes, ¡°I think it¡¯s because a giant chaos beast attacked me in the forest and tried to eat my damn arm. This was a creature, not a hedgewitch.¡±
¡°How have you been sleeping?¡± the doctor asked, hyper focused on the finger she had poked to draw out blood. ¡°Uh, fine I think,¡± he muttered, fighting somewhat against her strong grip. She pulled his hand over a bowl as a few droplets fell from his index finger. She wasn¡¯t his usual doctor, but he had seen her before. The other man seemed to belong to the monastery. He had a more gentle demeanor, but he got the impression she had more seniority. She carried herself like the person who knows the most in this particular environment. She broke away from his side and added some things to the bowl from the shelf on the far wall. It seemed as if she was mixing some kind of paste, like wall spackle. The shelf in front of her was filled with all kinds of small instruments of glass and metal, some which were utterly foreign to Tamas, and others which seemed vaguely familiar. With a small instrument she scooped the mass out of the bowl and spread it in a thin layer across a glass plate. She studied it wordlessly with a magnifying instrument. He watched curiously over her shoulder, finding no point of reference in his memory about what was happening. ¡°Are you doing magic?¡± She snorted, ¡°I¡¯m a doctor. Witches can¡¯t do shit for you here.¡± It was only a phrase he had heard in passing, he presumed it meant magic healers, so he wasn¡¯t sure how stupid of a question it was. She turned back to him. ¡°Okay, let¡¯s take a look.¡± She pushed him gently on his shoulder in a reclining position on the inspection table. He undid the clasps at the side of his tunic as she opened it up to reveal his chest. ¡°It''s cleared up in the last week,¡± he immediately remarked, with an air of hopefulness. ¡°The swelling¡¯s gone down.¡± Her expression did not seem to register the comment. She hovered her hands over the wound on his chest- a deep indigo mass as its center seeping out into the veins which wrapped around his chest like insect wings. His comment would seem absurd to someone viewing the injury for the first time. She didn''t say anything as she inspected it, causing Tamas to feel the need to fill the silence. ¡°It looks bad but I really don¡¯t feel anything anymore. I think it¡¯s just a scar. It''ll take time to fade but the effects have all run their course.¡± ¡°Hmm. And what effects were those?¡± ¡°The pain, the headaches, the¡­¡± he stammered a bit, feeling suddenly foolish, ¡°the visions.¡± She turned back to the glass plate on the far desk. ¡°I don¡¯t think it is fading, it seems like it¡¯s still active.¡± she said finally. She stepped back to him and took a seat on the stool next to the table. ¡°There¡¯s still a lot in your system. The levels in your blood have not receded. To be honest I''ve never seen this happen without an obvious effect on overall health. Are you sure you¡¯re not experiencing any other side effects?¡± He felt his fingertips get cold, ¡°no, I¡­¡± he stammered, ¡°I feel fine. Really.¡± She studied him for a moment. He hated the idea that she didn¡¯t trust his own claims. But he knew he wasn¡¯t exactly convincing in his tone. ¡°Well, nonetheless, I think I''m going to recommend keeping you here a little longer. This is dangerous stuff, chaos magic. If it¡¯s not affecting you now, it could hit without warning.¡± He felt a wave of heat rush from his forehead to his ears. He knew they were probably beet red. ¡°Well if it''s as dangerous as you say, then what can any of you do about it?¡± His tone was soft, but for him it felt like a vicious remark, ¡°How can a doctor handle magic?¡± She sighed, her expression softened for the first time since he entered the room. ¡°I know you''re scared. But we¡¯ve dealt with things like this before, its what this hospital specializes in. We know what we¡¯re doing.¡± He had the distinct impression that they didn¡¯t, but he never said this aloud. She stood from the stool and walked back over to the desk at the far end of the examination room. She picked up her pen from the inkwell and jotted down a few things in a leger. ¡°I¡¯m scheduling another evaluation in two weeks, we¡¯ll continue the same course of treatment, and I''m adding one more tincture.¡± She ripped out a page and handed it to him. ¡°You can take this to the herbalist.¡± He just glanced bitterly at the paper in her hand. ¡°Tamas,¡± she sighed, ¡°this interment is voluntary. We¡¯ve no interest in keeping you here against your will. If you want to leave you can.¡± She paused, but he said nothing, ¡°But let me ask you this- if you go home and find yourself in need of healing, do you really trust to go to the same people who did this to you?¡± He reached out and ripped the paper from her hand, muttering some kind of capitulation. TWO: The Mission She found a village. Finally, after days of travel. Was it the village she was supposed to be in? She had no way of knowing. But the people were not as suspicious of her as she expected. If it was in her own kingdom, an outsider would bring stares. But no one seemed to care here. Looking at the people on the street, it was hard to tell what an outsider would look like, there were such a variety of faces. It was late morning. The sun was strong on her scalp, but not as piercing as it would be in a few hours. She had only a scarf to protect her head. The material was thin, but voluminous, meant to be bunched up as insulation against the winds of the mountains. It didn¡¯t seem that effective against the sun''s rays. She noticed some of the villagers wearing heavier, broad-brimmed hats. She felt beads of sweat pool against her lower back. How was it that her own kingdom, so much closer to the sun, she was never ravaged quite so harshly as down here? The buildings were oddly shaped here, low and wide, more clay that wood or stone. Everything seemed oddly squared off, but no sharp corners, only squares softened with smooth adobe clay. No building was higher than two stories, though it seemed like a densely packed town. She dragged herself down the main road. Days of being in the forest took a toll on her normally strong constitution. She was built for insulation: thick limbs and thick hair, she wasn¡¯t built for this climate. She had imagined before what the people would look like down below; small and lithe, flitting through the jungle like cats. The reality was far more quotidien. She saw in the town a few people more like her: broad and towering. Without a drop of sweat on them. How did they manage? She stopped and turned to the building on her left. The entrance was open with no door, more of a pavillion than a building. It was strewn with bundles of hydrangea and jacaranda on the ground, lining the path leading out to the street. It was the most decorated building she could see. It took her a moment to recognize it: a temple. She sighed and dragged herself in. What would a temple be like in a southern town? Magic was, after all, from the gods. But they feared it here. Would it be all hellfire and damnation? The inner shrine was dark and hazy, with a small statuette at the center, surrounded by candles and cups of clear liquid. She didn''t recognize the figure, a harvest god perhaps, with an oddly cheeky expression. They had different names here, different figures. Everything about the place felt almost correct, but just slightly off. The candles were too short and wide, the incense was too sweet and grassy. And of course, the god herself. Perhaps her own kingdom¡¯s priests would take issue with her actions, but the way she figured, gods were gods. She tossed an offering in the box and made a prayer. She muttered the words quickly under her breath, careful not to enunciate so much that others would recognize a foreign tongue. She had recited these lines so many times the words lost meaning, or maybe they were now pure meaning, vibrating into her soul so deeply her brain could not process it. That was the way the mages at the citadel talked. For everyone else in her life, prayer was a rather perfunctory action. Her endeavor had not gotten off to the best start, maybe an offering would right its course. Nearly a week ago, she was summoned to the council chambers. It was not unexpected, her unit leader had told her of a coming assignment. There was an air of hesitation in her voice that she couldn¡¯t interpret, like the task of informing her left her leader in distaste. Distaste was an easy emotion to interpret where she came from. When she arrived in chambers, she was surprised to find it was not a full session. Of the twelve members, only three were present at the great crescent table. The chambers had no scribes, no aids, no guards who usually filled out the space. She didn''t see Pirul, who usually stood guard at the inner door. The councilors were talking amongst themselves, only briefly glancing at her as she walked in. It was evening, but the chamber was lit by a large orb at the center of the vaulted ceiling. The light found its way into every corner and crevice, giving everyone a rather pallid, washed out complexion. Then again, they were also mages. The patter of their speech was so dense she barely registered when they shifted their attention to her. ¡°-an extraction. Will you accept?¡± ¡°Captain Marhawet?¡± her leader shot under her breath from behind. There was a moment of silence. She abruptly realized they had finished talking amongst themselves and were now directly addressing her. ¡°Of course,¡± she barked, ¡°I am honored to serve the council.¡± She didn¡¯t hear the exact proposition, but she didn¡¯t need to. The request was only a formality. This was her job. The paperwork would already be in order. ¡°Please understand you wouldn''t be serving us in an official capacity.¡± She tipped her head to study the speaker. Perhaps the request was more than a formality this time. She looked back at her unit leader, Tacha, only to find she had already slipped out the front doors. She was now alone in the room with the three mages, staring down from their crescent table. ¡°You must understand,¡± another added, ¡°This particular situation...would be best suited off the official record.¡± It was an absurd request. Any other higher ranking officer would be insulted by such a thing, they would have to know that. The council, the entire nation really, was a bureaucratic nightmare. Everything was meticulously recorded and sanctioned through an exhaustive list of checks and balances. Magic was regulated, law was regulated, everything played its part as an integral gear in this delicate machine. And everything had a paper trail. ¡°I¡­ must ask the reason,¡± she said simply, steadying her breath. She attempted to hold the gaze of the speaker of the council, a woman who appeared to be in her sixties and towered over her with an aura of might. ¡°Of course, we would expect no less,¡± the woman at the center responded, ¡°though we understand you are a person who...appreciates nuance.¡± She narrowed her gaze at the woman, knowing exactly what she meant but not particularly reveling in its implication. People who revered tradition and law rarely ended up where she was. They matriculated from the military to become guards, local officers, generals, or public pundits. She and her unit were different. It was an open secret in the military. In times of crisis, sometimes actions simply must be taken. This moral ambiguity was how she was promoted to the rank of Enzalli. Even so, most of her rank still were fiercely loyal to proper procedure, even if the procedure itself was not open to the public. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. ¡°A few months ago, we were directly contacted by the Tanetzlan Empire, an offer to open diplomatic relations.¡± ¡°That¡¯s on the south coast?¡± Those in her order traveled far more than any other citizen of their kingdom, but she never had cause to go there. She only knew it was an empire, and it was growing. ¡°That¡¯s right. The Crown and the Council jointly came to the decision to ignore it, and retain our charter of isolation.¡± She looked to the other council members, who seemed comfortable letting her continue the tale, ¡°still, some members of council thought that it would be prudent to...reach out. If anything for gathering information. As you know, we have little information on the current events of such a¡­rural place. And the message was...of a particular interest to us mages.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± relief shot across her face, ¡°The king would like an Enzalli task force to accompany you on an unofficial envoy.¡± It seemed a rather straightforward request, the very purpose her unit existed. She suddenly couldn¡¯t understand all the secrecy. ¡°Ah¡­no.¡± For the first time Marhawet saw a flash of emotion cross the woman¡¯s face. Was it worry? Shame? It was gone too quickly to identify. ¡°The message was of particular interest to us mages in a manner some thought¡­the king¡­would not understand.¡± She clasped her hands over the table, ¡°The envoy already left. And¡­the king was not informed.¡± A moment of silence hung in the air. The woman seemed to be waiting to gauge her reaction. Marhawet waited for her to continue. This was the Enzalli way- a measured response, careful to catch everything, and betray nothing. These were powerful mages, learned and wise. But they were no soldiers. Defeated by the challenge of her gaze, the woman continued. ¡°A few mages¡­acting independently, formed a diplomatic envoy, consisting of one of our councilors, some scribes, and some guards.¡± She fell silent, looking to another to continue the act of self-flagellation; recounting all their blunders to the military captain who would fix them. ¡°...and?¡± ¡°And that was two months ago,¡± a younger mage in her forties chimed in, seemingly growing impatient with the older woman''s careful words. ¡°The council has attempted to reach out to Tanetzlan, but our messages are being ignored. They apparently now have no interest in diplomatic relations. We¡¯ve received intelligence of a mage being held at one of their prison facilities. We can only assume this was some kind of ploy to draw us out.¡± ¡°You know how dangerous it would be to have a council mage in the hands of lowlanders,¡± the oldest mage, a man with sparse hair and clouded eyes, added, ¡°they are desperate for the secrets of our magic. Thiers is chaos, but ours is god-given. It is why we have stayed in such isolation. But never have they made such a daring move as this.¡± Marhawet was surprised they didn¡¯t make more moves at all. She supposed the mighty kingdom in the skies has built up enough of a reputation not to be tested. She kept her voice even, though the words dripped with judgment. ¡°So you want me to get the mage, but you don¡¯t want the King to know you acted without his consent.¡± ¡°Tanetzlan¡¯s actions are an act of war,¡± the middle woman shot, ¡°It would break the treaty of noninterference we have with their Empire. This is not about covering our mistakes. We have the public to consider. If they found out about this, there would be calls to attack our enemy before we even know our enemy.¡± Marhawet nodded, it was a surprisingly prudent point. She wondered if the woman had experience in the military after all. The king was the voice of the people, he didn¡¯t rule them, he reflected them. The mage councilors were elected, a meritocracy reflecting the wisdom of magic. It is the way it has always been. What the people demanded, they got. The military was invisible in her kingdom. People preferred to pretend they did not exist. But the mages, they were heroes. They were reflections of a life of diligence and hard work, rewarded by the gods with unimaginable powers. Mages were the pillars that held up their idyllic society. The council was their highest honor. ¡°Do you accept this task?¡± ¡°I do.¡± She looked at the long crescent table, mostly empty of its mages. She only really knew her representative, even after hours of Pirul jabbering about them over dinner. He was noticeably absent from this cabal. ¡°Who is the prisoner?¡± The younger woman spoke first. ¡°Councilor Patsik.¡± She recognized the name, though few had cause to see the councilors in person. She searched her memory. ¡°The young one?¡± ¡°That''s right.¡± He was some kind of prodigy, she recalled. The name made news. He had a boyish face and soft-spoken demeanor that people liked. The perfect victim really. If anything happened to him, the public outcry would be enormous. Slowly, the weight of her responsibility solidified beneath her feet. ¡°We have barely any intelligence of the prison. But we have a contact in the outer villages who is collecting it as we speak. She¡¯ll be able to give you the information you need.¡± In the past, military missions carried her as far as the valley to the north (largely pastoral) and the people of the desert across the west coast. None of the cities she had been to were as developed or densely congested as Waracan, the Crescent Kingdom. There was another large city beyond the northern plains, the center of the northern federation, but she had never been there. She heard they had machines like Waracan, but no mages. The south was a different matter though. Its people were stubborn and superstitious, she learned in training. The government was greedy for conquest, with a curious disregard for the ancient ways that once connected them to the lowlanders. And the surrounding landscape was as formidable as its people. In that land ¡°mountain¡± and ¡°forest¡± were synonymous. Ironically, everything seemed flatter at the altitude of Waracan. Rocks were large and smooth, trees largely short and shrub-like. But in the south, towns were separated by veins of jagged rocks that seemed to spring forth from nothing, going on for miles and hiding everything with tall towering trees, cedars and pines and bamboo. She was expecting a more tropical climate, but apparently hadn¡¯t gone far enough south yet. Even so, the forests proved to be more treacherous than the soldier was expecting. Some kind of lay person interrupted her thoughts at the altar, ¡°do you need some help sister?¡± She bristled, a strange custom in the south. Overly familiar. ¡°I need a healer,¡± she rasped. The man brought her to the healer at the edge of town. He insisted she lean on him for support. Both her mass and towering height seemed to be a bit too much for him. By the time they made it to the squat clay home, he dumped her on the wooden bench like a sack of grain, then glanced at her a bit apologetically for the lack of decorum. She gave a weary smile and thanked him as he took his leave. ¡°You¡¯re looking pretty rough,¡± the woman in the room remarked, pouring hot water from the hearth into a clay pot. She was young, with thick black hair that fell loose down her back. Marhawet used the handle of the loom beside her to prop herself up. She looked around the room, there were few things she could recognize. ¡°Are you a doctor, or a herbalist?¡± The woman smirked mysteriously, ¡°I am a healer. That''s all that should matter.¡± An admission if she ever heard one. ¡°Did you see the stars last night?¡± The woman didn''t look back at her, she was busy stirring whatever herb or tea she was about to serve, ¡°I didn¡¯t, were they particularly bright?¡± Marhawet rolled her eyes and immediately straightened her back. When the healer turned back around, the woman on her bench was gone. ¡°Wrong fucking town,¡± she muttered to herself, storming off the eastern road.