Page 14 of Bound By Blood
"Close. It's the Healer's Knot, a reminder that all life connects, that harm to one diminishes the whole." She places it around my neck with ceremonial gravity. "Wear this, and you'll be recognized as Grove-Touched among our people. Not quite one of us, but no longer truly other."
The pendant settles around my neck, surprisingly warm despite the cool air. Something about its presence feels significant, as if invisible bonds have shifted in ways I don't yet understand.
"What does that mean, practically speaking?"
"It means your chains come off. It means you'll be housed properly, not in a cell designed for prisoners. It means you'll assist in the healing chambers, learning our methods while teaching yours."
"And in return?"
"You pledge by earth and flame to cause no harm to clan members while you remain among us. You swear by water and wind to share knowledge honestly, without deception or omission." Helka's voice takes on a ritual cadence. "Do you accept these terms?"
The choice hangs before me like a bridge spanning an abyss. Accept, and I become something unprecedented as a human healer working alongside Orcs, blurring boundaries my people consider sacred. Refuse, and return to captivity, valuable only as long as my usefulness outweighs the resources required to maintain me.
What would Mother do?
Again, the answer comes without hesitation. She'd choose to heal over hatred, knowledge over ignorance, possibility over fear.
"I accept."
The words ring in the vast chamber, echoing until they fade into whispered promises. Helka nods solemnly and produces a small knife from her robes, not threatening, but ritualistic, its blade etched with symbols that glow faintly in the moss-light.
"By earth," she intones, pricking my thumb and letting a drop of blood fall onto the stone floor. "You are bound to do no harm."
"By earth," I repeat, watching my blood disappear into microscopic cracks in the ancient stone. "I am bound to do no harm."
"By flame." She holds the knife over a small brazier that wasn't there moments before. Nasha must have brought it while I wasn't paying attention. The metal glows cherry-red in seconds. "You are bound to burn away deception."
"By flame. I am bound to burn away deception."
"By water." Cool liquid appears in a silver bowl, surface so still it reflects the moss-light like a mirror. I wash the small wound clean, feeling the sting of purification. "You are bound to flow where healing calls."
"By water. I am bound to flow where healing calls."
"By wind." Helka blows across the bowl's surface, creating ripples that fracture the reflection into dancing fragments. "You are bound to carry knowledge freely, without reservation or restraint."
"By wind. I am bound to carry knowledge freely, without reservation or restraint."
The ritual concludes with a moment of profound silence. I feel different somehow. Not just free of physical chains, but bound by something deeper and more meaningful. These aren't hollow oaths of political alliance, but sacred promises that resonate in my bones.
"Welcome to the Grove, Lady Eirian Thorne," Helka says formally. Then, with unexpected warmth: "Welcome to the family."
The words hit harder than I expected. Family. When did I last feel part of something larger than duty and obligation? When did I last belong somewhere based on shared purpose rather than an accident of birth?
Around us, the other healers continue their work, but I catch them glancing in my direction with what might be cautiousacceptance. Not friendship yet, that will take time to earn, but recognition that I've crossed a threshold that can't be uncrossed.
"Come," Helka says, gathering her ritual implements. "Time to see your new quarters. And tomorrow, your proper education begins."
My new quarters occupy a natural alcove carved into the living rock, with shelves hollowed from stone and a sleeping platform covered in thick furs that smell of mountain air and cedar smoke. The space feels ancient, worn smooth by countless inhabitants, yet somehow welcoming in its simplicity. No gilded mirrors or silk tapestries, just functional beauty shaped by time and purpose.
The first thing I do is unwrap my healer's sash, cream-colored linen embroidered with House Thorne's silver willow tree. Beneath it, pressed against my ribs where the fabric provided extra padding, lies the small enameled crest that marks me as nobility. A foolish thing to keep, perhaps, but it belonged to my mother, and I can't bring myself to discard it entirely.
I fold the sash carefully and tuck the crest into its hidden pocket, then wrap the cloth around my middle again. From the outside, it looks like any healer's working garment. The silver thread catches the moss-light differently than Orc textiles, but not enough to draw unwanted attention.
Let them see me as a healer first. The rest can remain buried.
Dawn arrives earlier than expected in the mountain stronghold, announced not by roosters but by the subtle brightening of bioluminescent walls. My internal clock, accustomed to the rhythms of House Thorne's valley, struggles to adapt to this new cadence of light and shadow.
Nasha appears at my threshold as I'm braiding my hair into something resembling respectability. She carries a leather satchel and what looks like breakfast wrapped in leaves.
