Touch of Power. Maria Snyder V.
can heal him now. It doesn’t matter.”
“That’s not what I asked you. Can it wait or not?”
“How long?”
“A few hours.”
No sense arguing with him. “It can wait.”
There was really no reason to wait. I wouldn’t let Belen carry me, but I rested my hand on the crook of his right arm. As we walked, I let the magic curl around his forearm, healing his wound as it transferred to me. The cut throbbed and stung as blood soaked my sleeve.
By the time we arrived at another cave to rest for the afternoon, Belen’s injury had disappeared. Loren, Quain and Flea gathered around him, exclaiming over his smooth skin.
“There’s not even a scar!” Flea hopped around despite having walked for the past twenty hours. I suspected this behavior was linked to his name.
Kerrick, though, strode over to me and yanked my sleeve up, exposing the half-healed gash. I hissed as he jabbed it with a finger.
“Why didn’t you listen to me?” he demanded.
“There was no reason—”
“You don’t make those decisions,” he said. A fire burned in his gaze. “I do.”
“But—”
He squeezed my arm. I yelped.
“No arguments. You follow my orders. Understand?”
Silence blanketed the cavern as everyone stared at us.
“I understand.” And I did, but that didn’t mean I would obey him like one of his gentlemen.
“Good.” He gazed at his men. “Standard watch schedule.”
Once Kerrick left the cave, Flea bounded over to me. “Look at that! It’s the same size and shape as Belen’s was.”
Interesting how the men were more relaxed when Kerrick wasn’t around.
“How long until it heals?” Belen inspected the cut as if my arm would break at the slightest touch. Concern in his brown eyes.
“About two days for it to fade into a pale scar.”
Flea whooped and Quain looked impressed.
“You didn’t need to heal me,” Belen said. “It was just a minor cut.”
I pulled my arm from Belen. “And you didn’t need to risk capture by retrieving my knapsack. Consider it my way of saying thanks.”
Loren met my gaze with an amused smile.
“Better than juggling knives?” I asked him.
“I’d have to see you juggle the knives first,” he said.
“Gentlemen, your knives.” I held out my hands.
After a brief hesitation, Loren, Quain and Flea all provided me with a leather-handled dagger. Perfect.
“When Kerrick catches you, I’ll make sure to shed a few tears at your funerals,” Belen said. He shook his head as if distancing himself from the whole thing.
I tested the weight of each knife. My older brother, Criss, had taught me how to juggle. First with scarves, then balls, and then wooden sticks before he’d let me throw anything sharp. A pang of sadness touched my chest as I juggled the daggers. The firelight reflected off the silver blades as they twirled in the air. Flea enjoyed the show, laughing and begging to be taught when I finished.
“Not bad,” Loren said. “But most anyone can learn how to juggle. No one else can heal.”
Later that night we settled next to the fire. The men moved about in an easy routine, hardly speaking as they cooked the rabbits Loren had shot with his bow.
“Have you been doing this every night for two years?” I asked them.
Loren and Quain exchanged a glance with Belen.
“Not quite,” Belen said. “Kerrick and I started searching for a healer right after the magician encased our friend. Six months in, we encountered those two monkeys in Tobory.” He jabbed a thick finger at Loren and Quain. “Getting the snot beat out of them.” Belen chuckled. It was a deep rumbling sound.
Quain jumped to their defense. “We were outnumbered!”
“Didn’t stop you from rushing that whor—” Belen shot me a look. “That brothel.”
“It’s not a brothel when the girls are forced to be there,” Loren said with a quiet intensity.
Another reminder of our world gone mad. Not all survivors desired a return to normal. Some took full advantage of the depleted security and turned small towns into their own playgrounds.
“What happened?” I asked.
“We lent a hand,” Belen said. “Helped clean out that nest of nasties, got the town back on track and picked up those two for our trouble.”
“We’re returning the favor,” Loren said.
“Uh-huh.” Belen stretched out on his blankets, sighed and was soon snoring.
Considering how long he’d been awake, it was amazing he’d lasted that long.
My bedroll was close to Flea’s. He had been practicing the first step in learning how to juggle, tossing a stone from one hand to another. Flea mastered the motion of throwing the rock up to his eye level and letting it drop down to his other hand, making a path through the air like an inverted V while keeping both hands near his waist. I showed him the next step. Same motion, but using two rocks—trickier.
After a few tries, he started to get it. “That’s it, Flea. When the first stone is at the tip of the V, you throw the second.” I made encouraging noises.
He worked a while longer, then flopped back onto his blankets. “It’s too hard.”
Flea reminded me of my younger sister, Noelle. She would give up right away if a task proved too difficult. I wondered if she had gotten the plague and died just as quick.
No one who contracted the disease survived. Except those very first people the healers cured before they in turn died. Back when we hadn’t known it would become a plague. There had been enough sanity for the Healer’s Guild to send out notice to their members not to heal anyone who had those symptoms. Not even if there were a couple healers to share energy. It had been a logical decision. There were more sicknesses than healers. And it made sense to heal the ones we could. But that notice had been what condemned us all to death. Or rather, the wording of that missive. It hadn’t clearly stated that a healer would die if he helped a plague victim. It had said, “Success was unlikely at this time.”
I suppressed those dark thoughts, concentrating instead on the positive. Being with these men had renewed my interest in life. They’d been traveling throughout the Fifteen Realms, perhaps they’d heard of my family. Except Loren and Quain had also fallen asleep. Only Flea stared morosely at the cave’s ceiling.
“Don’t fret,” I said. “With more practice, you’ll be juggling in no time.”
He groaned. “That’s what those guys say all the time. Practice, practice, practice. It’s boring!”
I hid my smile. “You’re right.”
He sat up. “I am?”
“It’s very boring. Unfortunately, it’s necessary.”
Groaning, he plopped back onto his pillow. He waved a listless hand. “You can stop the lecture. I’ve got four fathers. I don’t need a mother.”
I gasped in mock horror. “You’re right. I’m sounding like my mother! I promise never to do it again.”
“Really?” Flea squinted