Bellica Page 2

  Something stupid, indeed.

  "What's this?" the healer said, still letting that imperious tone sink into her voice. "A run-in with a rusty sword?" She raised her eyebrows at Yarrow.

  Yarrow's eyes narrowed. "How did you--"

  "I'm a healer," Ghia said, cleaning the bloody cut on the bellica's hand. "I know everything." Yarrow snarled, and Ghia would have laughed if it wouldn't have spoiled the effect. "You know you should be more careful with your hands, as Caelum says. This isn't the first time you've come in here with injuries to them."

  Yarrow gritted her teeth at the sting of the darkshade paste. "I daresay the first time was a bit more serious."

  "Quite," Ghia said, and left it alone.

  The first time, Yarrow had been seventeen years old and just back from her lieutenant's survival course. She'd run into a treecat whose claws had ripped the muscles and tendons from her hand and back, exposing bone to the world. She'd been near death.

  Would have died, had anyone else been on shift that night, Ghia thought without pride. Ghia had been only seven--just an acolyte healer to everyone save her mother. Ghia could read thoughts and could heal with touch in situations most healers would write off as unsalvageable. These abilities were what had caused Helene and Kasandra to guard so carefully the girl they'd found on their doorstep eighteen years before, lest she be branded a witch by the superstitious folk of Athering, and these same abilities granted Ghia an advantage over every other healer in being chosen as a successor to her mother's post.

  Those abilities had saved Yarrow's life and countless others.

  Helene had been furious, of course. Ghia had nearly killed herself in the healing of Yarrow's back. She'd had to regrow muscle and tendon and bone, not just heal it. It was like nothing she'd ever attempted before and she didn't even think she could do it. She'd waked up near a tredicem later with a pounding headache, but it hadn't compared to the happiness she'd felt at knowing she'd saved Yarrow's life--and career.

  Worthy thing I did, she thought, allowing herself a small smile. Yarrow's now the Empress' best bellica.

  "What are you so happy about?" Yarrow asked, as surly as before. Ghia stopped herself from jumping at the intrusion to her thoughts.

  "Nothing," she said, glad she could lie so easily. "I was just thinking that if you send your captains in, I'll have seen each officer of your regiment today."

  "Oh?" Something flickered across Yarrow's face, but Ghia didn't catch it.

  "Mmm," she murmured as she finished the bandaging of Yarrow's hand. "CMO Jules was in earlier. Hadn't been sleeping, he said, so I gave him some tea." Ghia was watching Yarrow's face carefully, but the bellica kept it a blank as she nodded and looked away, and no insight came through Ghia's hand, still touching the older woman.

  She was tempted to pry. Cursed with curiosity, I am. She held the feeling back and let go of Yarrow's hand a bit regretfully.

  Yarrow gave her new bandage a cursory examination and then stood. "Thanks," she said, a bit awkwardly, and glared at Caelum anew, who'd watched the entire spectacle with the same unperturbed look on his face. "Can we go spar now? As I wanted to before?"

  "I wouldn't," Ghia chimed in before the major could answer, and was given a fresh glare from Yarrow, hot out of the oven of her ire. "Your hand needs to heal," she said practically. She took her healer's smock off and hung it on a peg on the wall. "But if you two need some time to unwind, drinks are half off down at Circe's Cauldron tonight. Not so good as sparring, but...." She let her invitation hang in the air, though she knew Yarrow would never accept. The woman hadn't celebrated Midwinter in seventeen years; that was common fact.

  Caelum smiled at the healer. "We'll be there," he said, and got smacked by Yarrow. He raised his eyebrows at his superior. "It would be rude to refuse Healer Ghia's offer, Yarrow," he said quietly, but loud enough for Ghia to hear. Yarrow looked up at him and Ghia was almost sure he'd drop dead from the heat in her eyes. Then the bellica's face cleared and she turned to face the healer, all politeness now.

  "As the major says, Healer," she said, but it sounded strained. "We'll be there. Thanks again," she added, and then she grabbed Caelum by the arm and dragged him out of the hospitalis with her.

  Ghia shook her head with a small smile and wondered if Caelum would be alive to see the tavern tonight.

  Jules

  It was quiet in the hallway.

  The only sound that reached his ears was his breathing, heavy as his footfalls against the stone as he ran. His scabbard bounced against his legs with every step he took. His breathing was getting short; he'd been running for a long time. At the end of the hallway he could see a wide, open space. He pushed on.

  Abruptly he broke free of the narrow hall. He stood in a field, no evidence of a hall or any structure made by woman. In front of him she stood, a queen's coronet on her fiery red hair, rising as she was anointed by the priestess. Before he could shout out for her to stop, Yarrow had drawn her sword and cut the priestess down. As the woman fell Jules saw his sister's face.

  He screamed, but no sound came out. He ran towards the bellica--no, queen, who now was surrounded by bodies that had come from the ether, lying prone before her and rapidly decomposing, and before he could stop her the virulence of the poison hit him too. He could feel the terrabane running through his system, liquefying his insides and he stumbled and fell to his knees, last sights on Yarrow's grim smile, a dark power looming behind her.

  ~

  Jules woke with a gasp that nearly became a shout, his body soaked with sweat. He turned to set his feet on the floor, sitting on the edge of his bed, and placed his head in his hands. His heart was beating rapidly and his breathing was coming short; with difficulty he calmed himself and tried to banish the dream.

  You know it's not true, Old boy, he thought, trying to reassure himself. What you saw in Nucalif doesn't mean she did it. She was set up. Obviously.

  It was the same litany he'd repeated each night, each day, after each nightmare since the end of the East Campaign. Why he continued, he didn't know, as it failed to banish the nightmares. All it does is bring me a terrifying numbness.

  He sighed and raked his hands through his short hair viciously. "Get out of my head," he whispered. Maybe if he said it out loud it would work.

  Looking across the barracks to the water-clock on the wall, he saw it was only a few hours after he'd gone to sleep with the help of the tea Ghia had given him. He sighed, now too awake to go back to sleep.

  Nor do I really want to, he thought as he rose from his rack and grabbed his towel. A brisk shower was in order.

  ~

  Leaving the showers, head clear and a towel wrapped around his waist, he nearly knocked Healer Ghia over as she headed down the hall, away from the barracks. She made a small exclamation as she fell against the wall. A small blush rose up on her cheeks.

  He suppressed a smile at her discomfort and merely gripped his towel a bit tighter. She'd always been like that--clinically cool in the hospitalis but easily embarrassed in any informal situation.

  With his other hand he touched her shoulder gently. "Is your head alright?" he asked, glancing at where she was rubbing it.

  She nodded, even more embarrassed. "I was just coming to see if the tea had worked," she said, waving a hand in the direction of the barracks.

  He smiled at her concern. "It did. For a while," he amended, and then stopped himself from speaking again. It wasn't something he really wished to talk about. "What are your plans for Midwinter's Eve?" he asked. Anything to avoid discussing his nightmares.

  She wrinkled her nose prettily. "I'm working at the Cauldron."

  He sucked in his breath sharply, making a sympathetic face. "I do not envy you."

  She gave a bark of laughter. "Please, Jules--we all know you secretly wish you were a short nineteen-year-old woman," she said, merriment in her eyes as she teased him.

  Jules made a moue of astonishment as he held his hand up by his chest. "My secret is out!
However will I live now, so malcontented being my old, tall, male self?"

  She put her hands on her hips and gave him a once-over. "I'd lend you my peplos, but I doubt it would fit."

  "I may surprise you," he said, mock-serious, and she laughed again. "Do you want some company for your trip to the tavern?"

  She shook her head, mirth gone now. "You should sleep. You don't look much better than when I last saw you."

  He knew she was right, as usual when it came to matters of his own health. But he couldn't bear the thought of more nightmares, and left alone and awake he'd be bored out of his skull. He sighed and rubbed his chin. Without having to talk about the nightmares, how could he tell her he'd rather not sleep, ever, again? He realised by the stubble that he'd forgotten to shave.

  Dammit, he thought. Probably look ten years older. Just what I need.

  "Truthfully, Ghia, I'd rather lose myself in a mug of ale tonight and try to pass out that way." He looked at her, hoping she'd catch on to what he didn't say.

  Understanding creased her brow and she nodded. "Better get dressed then; I'm leaving in a few minutes. Meet you at the stables in ten?"

  He smiled in gratefulness and saluted her, making her laugh again, before running back to his rack to change. What better Midwinter gift than a night away from the dreams that plagued him--and how better than to spend that night than in Ghia's company?

  Helene

  The hospitalis had calmed after Ghia had left, as if the girl had taken the busy energy of the day with her.

  Helene wouldn't have been surprised if that were the case. Her adopted daughter had always been...different. And I'm not just referring to her supernatural abilities, she thought, sweeping the herbcraft room.

  Helene and her twin sister Kasandra had found Ghia on their doorstep on New Year's Day, 4001, wrapped in swaddling cloths and no more than a year old. They'd taken her in, for the covenant of their family line required an heir each generation to the secrets they held, and it was beginning to look as if neither would mother a child. Soon it became apparent that the good-natured, bubbly, fiery-haired baby was no ordinary child. At first, Ghia's fledgling powers had frightened her adoptive family, for she could make things float on the air without thinking and frequently read others' thoughts. It was a danger, the sisters knew; so, as soon as Ghia was old enough, they taught her how to harness some of her magek powers, and made her subconsciously block the others through hypnosis.

  That was their family's covenant: they kept safe the secrets of magek from the Second Age. Most of the information in the books they kept no longer made any sense; without context, reading of most ancient mageks was like reading Nighttide hieroglyphics--nearly impossible. But they found enough information to keep their daughter safe. Someday, Ghia would be entrusted with the same books Helene's mother had entrusted to her daughters.

  That is, if she ever calms down a bit. Helene smiled as she thought of her always energetic, always moving daughter. The girl never slowed down, even on her few days off. She nearly bounced with restlessness. Ghia had professed, once or twice, her deep wish to travel the countryside--for adventure!

  Helene smiled ruefully as she put away the broom and went to her next task. She had been much the same, at Ghia's age. Kasandra more so, but I daresay our taste for adventure and travel has been dulled. There was such a thing as too much adventure.

  She found an acolyte healer and grabbed the boy's arm. "Son, have you seen Miranda? I said I'd show her the drying of herbs today."

  The boy was young--couldn't have been more than seven, eight years old--and he looked at Helene fearfully, as if he expected her to yell at him. She smiled kindly down at the child, and he relaxed a minute amount. He pointed a skinny arm at the dormitories.

  "She wasn't feeling well, Ma'am, so she said she went to go lie down."

  Helene's eyebrows creased. "Unfortunate. Do you know what her symptoms were?"

  The boy shook his head, looking more scared now Helene's smile was gone. "No, Ma'am. I didn't think to ask," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Helene forced a smile back on her face and patted his shoulder. "We all make mistakes. Go on to your duties; I'll look in on Miranda."

  The boy scampered off, relief on his face, and Helene made her way into the common room that joined the dormitories to the hospitalis proper. A few healers who were not on shift, or were on break, sat at the table playing cards and talking softly, immersed in the same camaraderie that one might find in a regiment. Helene nodded with a smile to Jera, a woman close to her age, who sat with a girl around Ghia's age named Giselle. The two women had been in Helene's hospitalis for many years. Jera had served under the last head healer, Lucina, with her. Giselle had been there as long as Ghia, and the girls were like sisters.

  Giselle and Jera returned the nod with respect and turned back to their card games. Helene grabbed a candle from a shelf and lit it from one of the torches before heading through the considerably thicker door that led to the dormitories.

  The large rooms were silent and dark, filled with bunk beds that held sleeping healers. Quickly Helene made her way through the rooms, looking for the distinctive Miranda. The girl looked quite a bit like Bellica Anala of the second regiment, though she was almost twenty years younger. Helene doubted they were related, for Miranda did not have Anala's distinctive accent, the Harbourtown accent. Besides, one would surely have mentioned the other, had the two been relatives. Family in Athering was large, extensive and acknowledged. Always.

  When she got to the final room she was sure she would find the girl, but she did not see that dark black hair atop that dark golden, almost olive skin tone--quite rare in Athering, where cold climates and little sun bred pale people. Helene's eyebrows knit together in a deeper frown. She was a careful observer. She hadn't seen Miranda in any of the rooms, yet the boy had said the girl hadn't been feeling well.

  What if the girl had fever, delirium, and was wandering the castle halls in a daze? Quickly Helene made her way back to the common room so she could ask Jera and Giselle, both of whom she trusted more than any other healer save Ghia.

  "Miranda?" Jera's deep voice was scratchy, and her frown matched Helene's. "No, she wasn't sick. Told us her shift was over and she was headed to the kitchens to grab a bite to eat." Her eyes flickered to Giselle for confirmation, and the young brunette nodded.

  "Didn't look sick to me, either," Giselle said, her sweet soprano voice a contrast to Jera's.

  Helene sighed in frustration as she set the candle down and extinguished the flame. "Can either of you tell me what time that was?" Miranda's shift most certainly had not been over; Helene had a full chart worked out in her office. The girl had been on all afternoon until 1900 hours.

  Jera and Giselle conferred with each other before the younger one answered. "That must have been around, oh, 1745, I should think?"

  Helene glanced at the clock. It was just past 1800 now. The girl had been gone for over half an hour. The kitchens were no more than a few minutes away--even if one took the scenic route through the castle hallways.

  "Jera, I hate to cut your break short, but I need to go find the girl. You have the hospitalis."

  Jera gave a small healer's salute and stood, not complaining about being called back to work so soon. She never did. Giselle followed her with the same good work ethic that made the two women indispensable to the running of the hospitalis and the Healers' Guild overall.

  Helene left her domain in the hands of women she trusted and headed to the castle kitchens to see what she could find out.

  Tenea, the head cook, could offer Helene no information. No one in the kitchens had seen the girl, not that evening, nor in the past sevenday. Helene thanked the Harbourtowner--an actual relative of Anala, though they looked nothing alike--who shrugged helplessly.

  "If'n I'd be able ta help ye at all, I would, ye ken," the cook said earnestly.

  "I realise. Thank you, Tenea," Helene said with a warm smile.

 
; Tenea nodded and walked back into her domain, Helene thought, a bit more stiffly than usual, but she could not spare a moment's notice to it. She had to find Miranda. A sinking feeling told her there was more to Miranda's disappearance than just a young girl's feeling the need to rebel and shirk her duties. Helene knew, through some preternatural sense, that Miranda was up to no good.

  Her feet led her to the stables, where she found herself asking the manager, a man trained as a priestess--she could see that by his earrings, and guessed he must be dedicated to Cayusee--if he'd seen a ten-year-old girl who could have been Bellica Anala's sister go by that way.

  The man had a habit of nodding a lot, which he did while she explained, as he thought, and even more so as he answered.

  "Dark hair, yes? About yea high?" he held his hand at a height that reached Helene's elbow. She made a noise in the affirmative. "Oh, yes. girl came by about, oh, half an hour ago. Asked if she could borrow a castle pony. I seem to remember wishing to tell her no, for it's getting to be late and it's a rambunctious night. Don't want her getting hurt, but...." He frowned, bushy eyebrows joining above his nose, his mouth twisting and making his gray beard and moustache dance. "Don't recall why I said yes, exactly. But she took off into town about quarter to 1800, if I recollect aright."

  "I see." Helene said, managing to keep her voice level. Something was not right here, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She thanked the man, who looked somewhat guilty at letting a young child go out on Midwinter Eve, and told him there was no need to worry, for the girl was resourceful and could take care of herself.