The healers purpose a sl.., p.1
The Healers' Purpose: A Slice of Life Fantasy Novel, page 1
The Healers' Purpose
S.E. Robertson
Copyright © 2022 by S.E. Robertson
Cover art © RLSather. Cover titles by Emily C. Bua.
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Content Notes
This book contains:
depictions of depression and PTSD; discussions of past substance abuse
mild swearing
two incidents of racist street harassment (hostile dialogue and shoving/grabbing)
references to fictional religions
medical gore / descriptions of surgery (magically regrowing limbs; intestinal cancer surgery; burns)
mention of patient death in a medical context, specifically a young patient
ongoing side plot about burnout
mentions of various illnesses and injuries (broken bones, food poisoning, flu)
one major violent incident: a series of intentionally set fires cause deaths (POV characters are in dangerous situations, but survive), injuries, and extensive property damage
Please read at your own discretion. Additional details are available at the author’s site here.
Previously
The Healers’ Road
Fresh out of eight years of magical healing training at the Academy of the Divine Balance, Agna Despana lands in a foreign country with a lot to prove. To fulfill her two-year field-work obligation to the Academy, she chose to come overseas, following in the footsteps of her peer mentor. But once she interviews with her host organization, she finds that her skills are needed in a less dashing and dramatic place than she’d expected.
Keifon the Medic, trained by the Yanweian National Army, left his homeland at the behest of his former lover. An opportunity had come up for medical personnel with fluency in foreign languages, and the posting was just the lever Keifon’s partner needed to push him out of his life. Heartbroken and drifting, Keifon followed the assignment.
The healer and the medic are assigned by the charity that hosts them to travel around the country, embedded with a party of merchants, to bring medical care to the remote corners of their host country. Neither is happy with the arrangement. Agna, brought up in comfort, resents being out of her element; Keifon, unused to foreigners or to high society, considers her faithless and inexplicable. But through an attack by highwaymen, long hours treating strangers, and finding new friends and new experiences, they begin to realize that they have more in common than they’d thought.
At the end of a year on the road, they have come to accept that they can call one another friends. After two years, Agna’s assignment is up, but she decides to stay in her host country after all. The two of them plan to move to a city in the north, near the border of Keifon’s homeland, which promises opportunities for both of them…
The Healers’ Home
Wildern is a town on the cusp: poised on the border, with a new hospital bringing in talent from around the world.
Agna thinks it’s ripe for some more culture. She launches her plan to open her own art gallery, putting off her family’s pleas to come home and join the family business.
Keifon becomes a doctor’s apprentice, hoping to settle into a quiet new life, even though he suspects that such dreams are out of his reach. And why is he finding it so hard to move out of Agna’s house and reach for the life he’s always said he wanted?
Both settle in to their new home and new lives, though each of them feels uneasy for reasons neither of them can put into words.
Meanwhile, infrastructure projects continue in the growing frontier city, including the construction of a pass through the mountains to the north, into Yanwei. The project is a joint venture between several entities, including the Yanweian National Army. And so, watching the ribbon cutting, Agna first lays eyes on Keifon’s ex-partner, Kazi na Furujia.
Rattled and increasingly unsettled by her own feelings, Agna decides to take her father’s standing offer of coming home. She leaves for the six-week journey to Nessiny as autumn falls and the construction project begins.
Back in her hometown, her parents assume she has come home to join her father’s art-dealing agency as his protege. Arguments ensue, and ultimately Agna grudgingly agrees to a plan she feels is a trap: she’ll enter a marriage contract with Marco, her cousin’s partner, so he can inherit the agency in her stead and, at least technically, keep it in the family.
In Wildern, Keifon finds to his dismay that the Army is not only helping with logistics on the pass construction. Having rallied the workers to his cause, Kazi na Furujia shuts down the pass, preventing all movement through the mountains, and issues a demand that lower-class citizens in Yanwei be given more rights. He then vanishes, kicking off a manhunt and eventually turning up on Keifon’s doorstep in the dead of night.
Having concluded her business in Nessiny to no one’s satisfaction, Agna returns to find Kazi sleeping in her living room. It’s nearly the last straw, but after a long talk, she and Keifon make peace again. He ultimately tells her he no longer wants to look for a potential spouse, because he’s found nearly everything he wanted in this relationship.
Along with the leader of the hospital, Agna helps to interpret a meeting between Kazi and representatives from the Yanweian and Kaveran governments. Kazi leaves under arrest, having gotten most of what he wanted: greater rights and freedoms for those outside Yanwei’s system of clans and guilds.
Agna opens her gallery with an exhibit of her own art. Keifon applies for Kaveran citizenship, taking another step toward establishing his new life.
Part One: Agna and Keifon: In the Element
Agna Despana let go of her patient’s arm and came back to herself as the tingling paths of nerves and rushing courses of blood vessels swirled out of her mind. As her own face began to feel like a part of her again, she made sure to arrange a neutral expression.
“No change since last week, Mr. Suras,” she said, reaching for the chart in its slot at the end of the bed. The pencil felt reassuringly solid between her fingers. “You should be ready to go home soon.”
The next-to-last patient offered a tired nod and closed his eyes. Agna replaced the chart and turned to her last patient with half an hour to spare in her overnight shift.
“Can’t the priest take care of me?” The patient nodded past Agna toward the door, and the healer turned. A man sat at the bedside of one of the patients Agna had already checked, looking dignified and well-rested in a cream-colored linen tunic and trousers. His back was turned, and so he could not see Agna’s exasperated glare. Nor could their shared abilities detect disturbances in energy at a distance. She felt as though her roiling aura could be seen through a solid wall.
She ought to be more forgiving. The patients had the right to request their caretakers, and most of the priests of Tufar were locals whom the patients had known all their lives. None of it helped her feel less irritated after eight and a half hours on the floor.
Agna turned back to the patient. “Absolutely. I’ll add that to your chart.” After a second, she eased her grip on the pencil. In her head, she had a chalkboard and a podium and notes. First of all, Balance healing operates on the same biological principles as the Tufarian priests’, and second of all —
“Have a good morning, Mrs. Teminar,” she said as she stood. The pencil slid into its clip, the chart into its slot, the foreign healer out of the ward and into the hallway.
Done, then, with half an hour left. She ought to stay and help the apprentices distribute breakfast. Agna focused on the rain pelting the trees outside the windows as she strode down the hallway. Not the worst night shift, certainly. But it stung to be unneeded, to be unnecessary.
A familiar pair rounded the next corner, and a familiar fizzing ignited in Agna’s middle. The first person, a stout Yanweian woman in her early sixties, leaned on a cane as she walked. The second, younger and male, pushed a cart of supplies and frowned in concentration as he spoke to his mentor. The drab green apprentice’s uniform did nothing for his amber complexion, though he was still — himself, and everything that meant to Agna. Her housemate, to begin with. Former traveling partner. Her friend. So many neat, easy boxes.
He saw her before his mentor did, and broke out into a smile that took hours of fatigue off Agna’s shoulders.
She kept her voice light and professional. “Good morning, Kei. Dr. Rushu.”
Dr. Rushu gave her a nod. “Good morning, Healer.”
Doctor, apprentice and healer came to a stop, leaving enough space between them for others to pass. Keifon faced Agna across the gap. “Almost done?”
“Yes, and not a minute too soon.” All she wanted was to cross the hallway and lean her head on his shoulder — right there, where the neckline of his shirt dipped to his collarbone. There had been a time when such a gesture would have felt normal at home. Months ago, before she’d gone home to see her parents and managed to break everything. “I’ll see you this evening.”
Something flickered in his dark eyes at the words. He leaned across the hall and lowered his voice. “Maybe we could talk about... some things.”
Agna felt herself flush. “M-maybe.” She raised her hand to fuss with her hair, and remembered that she’d tied it up in a ponytail. “Good day to the both of you.”
She turned
A young page appeared in her path, stopping her short. “Healer Agna Despana?” The page pronounced her name with the vowels rounded off strangely, as Kaverans often did.
“Yes?” Her voice tilted into a question.
The page clasped her hands behind her back and squared her shoulders. “Agent Shora would like to see you in his office.”
“Oh. Thank you. Message received.”
Agna ransacked her memory as the page ran off. She’d been back on the floor for a month since her return, and apart from comments like the last patient’s, everything seemed to have gone well. She rubbed her temples as she walked. Had the Tufarian priests complained about her? She’d been careful to be cordial. They could glare daggers at the Nessinian healers all they wanted; the Benevolent Union had hired them to ply their art, and that’s what Agna intended to do. First, she’d find out what the leader of the base wanted.
***
Dr. Rushu nodded toward the end of the hall. “Let’s tackle Infectious Disease, shall we? And do you have the cranial blood vessels ready yet?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Keifon threw his weight behind the cart to get it rolling again and followed his mentor, reciting the terms and functions he’d memorized. With one another they spoke in their shared native language, and so he could shut a door between his work and the part of his mind that lingered on Agna. On her tired eyes, on the spark of joy in his chest when he saw her, on the way she’d blushed when he’d asked about tonight.
Though she might be nearly finished with her shift, he had eight and a half hours to go. Pushing the cart with him, he followed Dr. Rushu into the prep room. The smell of alcohol filled the small room, and Keifon hastened to tie on a cloth half-mask as Dr. Rushu attired herself in the same way. His mentor left her cane leaning against a counter, slowing her gait as she crossed from supply closet to the cart and back. Keifon’s hands tightened on the handle of the cart as he fought the urge to fetch the supplies for her. She knew what she needed, and how much her knees could take. He wouldn’t dare tell a bonded doctor — accredited doctor, they didn’t have hereditary guilds here in Kavera — what to do. Dr. Rushu had always been kind to him, but as an apprentice, Keifon ought to know his place.
Once she had outfitted the cart to her satisfaction, they both scrubbed their hands to complete the routine. Then Keifon unlocked the brake on the cart and followed his mentor into the Infectious Disease ward. Each patient lay in a narrow bed in a cubicle separated by high walls, an inconvenient design that aimed to slow the flow of infectious energy between the patients. Distance helped. Cleaning before and after contact seemed to help. The priests spoke prayers of protection instead.
Dr. Rushu sat on the stool at the first patient’s bedside. Keifon handed her the charts from the end of each bed and busied himself with the routine: collecting bedpans, refilling water pitchers and glasses, handing his mentor any tools or medicines she requested. The first patient dozed half-awake, the second tossed fitfully, the third slept off an overnight dose of sedative. All but one were native Kaverans, three elderly people and a six-year-old boy. The last was an older woman whose face and whose name on the chart marked her as a Yanweian immigrant, like himself and Dr. Rushu.
A step across the threshold drew his attention. A Kaveran man in an undyed linen tunic and trousers strode in, prayer beads swinging around his neck. Keifon bent his head and let Dr. Rushu address the priest first.
“Brother Gillen, good morning.”
“Dr. Rushu,” the priest answered. His gaze swung past Keifon. He bent over the first patient in the room to lay a hand on the patient’s forehead. His free hand twisted up the beads in one fluid motion, and a low prayer chant filled the room.
The patients were in good hands, though even the priests couldn’t banish contagious sickness. All the same, Keifon could feel his upper lip sweating under the mask. Dr. Rushu finished her notes on the young patient and made her way back to the prep room. There, Keifon emptied bedpans as the doctor scrubbed up and wiped down her cane with alcohol to banish any infectious energies that might have clung to it.
She told him about a fever outbreak she’d worked through in Nijin, the capital city in Yanwei, years ago. Tempted to sit and listen, Keifon kept his hands moving, collecting the supplies on the cart one by one. When he had emptied or scoured or discarded everything, he washed down the cart in cleaning solution that stung his eyes. Finally, he scrubbed his hands and stripped off the mask, leaving it in a bin in the corner.
“Ready,” he said. He didn’t have to play the part of a bright-eyed apprentice. Dr. Rushu knew he was ten years older than most of the others in his position. But some part of him, something he didn’t want to pry open or even acknowledge, wished he could follow the more experienced doctor around and listen to her insight and answer her quizzes about terminology indefinitely. Some part of him couldn’t bear the thought of a little apprentice looking to him for advice someday.
For now, he pushed the supply cart and followed and absorbed everything he could learn, and studied at home, and waited to become something more.
Agna: The Leader
“Good morning, Healer.” The leader of the Benevolent Union base set aside the paper he’d been reading as Agna entered his wood-paneled office. As always, Aines Shora dressed impeccably. Today’s outfit featured a violet silk waistcoat and a dark jacket; the sober combination accented the increasing threads of silver in his hair and beard. He could play any part he wished, and today he played Thoughtful Authority.
He waved her toward the leather-upholstered seats in front of his desk, and Agna chose one, smoothing her dark brown healer’s robes. “Good morning, sir.”
She’d been in this office a few times already. In fact, the painting of idyllic Nessinian hills on the right-hand wall had been a gift from her, purchased on her trip back to Nessiny. Still, being summoned this way sparked a buzz of nervousness in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t dealt directly with Aines Shora since they’d both interpreted for the meeting between representatives of the Yanweian and Kaveran governments.
“We have some good news,” Shora said. “Your Academy and the Union’s central office have sent us three new healers this year. They reached Wildern last night.”
One more than usual, that was good news. But why was he telling her this in his office, and not in a meeting with the other healers? “I’m happy to hear it,” she said. “Evidently the Academy feels their skills will be well-used here.”
“Indeed.” A trace of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Which brings me to the purpose of this meeting. I would like to establish more organization among the Balance healers. A team leader, as Brother Gillen is for the Tufarian priests.”
“I see.” Her heart began to race.
“Would you accept the position, Healer? We can offer you a twenty-percent increase in your pay.”
Agna quietly clenched her hands together in her lap. It would be nice to put some additional capital toward the mortgage, or toward acquiring more art for her gallery.
That was only the surface of the offer. Out of all of the Nessinian healers at the Wildern base, she had been selected, judged equal to the task. She’d rejected her place in her father’s agency, her supposed birthright, to come back to Kavera and pursue her own goals. She had a chance now to prove it hadn’t been a mistake.
“I’d be honored to accept,” she said.
The base captain’s eyes seemed warm. “We appreciate your dedication.”
***
The new arrivals were only three years younger than Agna, but something about their posture or the glazed look in their eyes made them seem like lost children.
All of the current Balance healers had shown up as well, and together the ten of them packed the break room on the second floor of the hospital. The new healers had taken three of the seats at the table in the middle of the room, and the rest of the group lined the edges of the room, on the couch and in front of the curtained changing cubicle. The tea kettle and coffee pot heated over the little oil burners that Fulvia had rigged up on the counter, and a few healers had taken the cookies Agna had left on the table. Through the overlapping chatter, Agna strained to listen for footsteps in the hall from her place near the door.
