Page 13 of The Lost Guard's Healer

“You seem fairly cut off from the rest of the world,” Tarin says. “How do you hear so much?”

“Our hunters sometimes see things from afar when they travel far enough. And we have a few traveling tradesmen from the north and south who enjoy sharing news.”

“Tradesmen from the north and south?” Tarin asks.

“From Syraxia in the north and Koprus in the south.”

“I didn’t think the Wildmen… Sorry, the Shanti People, had dealings with others.”

“Tradesmen have no borders, nor care for differences with others. A patron is a patron, and if you have coins to buy, or possessions to trade, then they are happy to deal with you.”

“The Oathlands wouldn’t know about that,” I say. “We heard you’ve fallen out of favor with most of the lands.” I can’t help the taunting smile I give him.

Something dark passes behind Tarin’s eyes. For a second, I think I’ve gone too far and have actually offended him. But he composes himself and is instantly back to his carefree self.

“I have a question,” he says to my father. “Why was Galene given the duty to watch over my recovery? It seems to me she would have just as likely sliced my throat in my sleep.”

Or perhaps not as carefree as I thought. I glare at him. “I would never.” And then add sweetly, “I would simply poison your tea.”

“Ignore her,” my father says, not even bothering with a scolding look this time. “She wouldn’t know where to find poison, anyway. The worst she’ll do is over-spice the tea. My daughter is young and untested. She is twenty and six and should have been wed and with child long ago. But she is stubborn and outspoken, and for some reason has yet to find a partner.”

He says this as if it is very, very clear why I haven’t yet done so. And it is. Simply put, I do not want one, so I make it to where no one will want me. “And so I have been giving her difficult Tasks lately. In our society, we complete Tasks to prove our worth to our people. Galene was given the Task of being responsible for you. To aid in your recovery and ensure you are not a threat to us.”

“Seems that you picked the right person for the Task,” Tarin says. He’s trying to get a rise out of me, but I won’t fall for it.

From the kitchen area in the corner, the boys and Leila are making a ruckus as they prepare the juices.

“A person does not choose their Tasks,” I say. “A Task chooses the person. Those who turn down their Tasks are not worthy of them, just as a person who does not complete a task isn’t worthy. It didn’t matter that I wished you were dead, Oathlander. I had something to prove.”

“We Shanti People complete many Tasks as we grow and mature,” my father adds. “To prove we are capable and useful members of our society.”

“What constitutes a Task?” Tarin asks.

I watch him closely, trying to understand what he’s thinking and what he is seeking with his questions. His dark eyes are very alert and show a keen, quiet intelligence.

“They can be anything from helping an elderly person, contributing to the building of a hut, harvesting crops, or even going on hunts,” my father says. “We grow up wanting to prove our strength and intelligence to everyone, to strive to be a valuable member of the tribe.”

“Admirable,” Tarin says. “The younger generations should work hard to be useful and strong.”

I’m not sure if I like the two of them getting along. My father must be more than ten years older than Tarin, but they have the same old man energy.

Leila and the boys come back with cups that smell of freshly pressed juice. They hand one to each of us as Milo and Jonah argue over who pressed the most juice.

Tarin raises his cup to us. “You have my thanks. Without you, I would not be here.”

“You can thank us by leaving,” I say. Seeing the way my father narrows his eyes at me, I add, “Once you are healed, and in your own time, of course.”

“Galene,” Father admonishes. “You’re being rude.”

I shake my head, hating how I have to pander to this foreigner. “You know what,” I go on. “No. I’m not doing this.” Sharing a drink with this man is beyond my capacity. “How can you all ignore the fact that this man is an Oathlander? Mother would be ashamed of you.”

I get up and stride out of the hut, not looking back and ignoring their confused questions and murmurs.

As I walk away, I hear my father telling Tarin about my mother. That’s enough for me to pick up my pace and wipe moisture from my eyes. He’s going to be telling Tarin how my mother was killed by an Oathlander, over ten years ago. She was pregnant with my unborn brother at the time and was slaughtered by bandits from the Oathlands. Cut down like an animal.

And now we are treating this Oathlander like a beloved guest. I won’t have it. I won’t allow him to weasel his way in just to destroy everything I love.

There is no way I’m going to allow him to stay here.

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