Page 16 of Bound By Blood
"Better," she approves. "You're beginning to listen."
"Listen to what?"
"The same voice that told you exactly where to make your incisions yesterday. The same instinct that guided your hands when Gorak's life hung in the balance." She sets aside her own preparation and studies me with those storm-cloud eyes. "You've always known how to hear it. Your training simply taught you to ignore it in favor of rules and procedures."
The observation disturbs me more than I want to admit. How many times have I second-guessed my initial instincts in favor of textbook approaches? How many opportunities for more effective healing have I missed because I trusted written authority over lived experience?
The afternoon stretches toward evening as we work through increasingly complex preparations. I fall into rhythms I didn't know I possessed, my hands moving with confidence that surprises me. The other healers nod approvingly as I demonstrate improved technique, and several offer corrections that feel more like collaborative refinement than criticism.
I could learn to love this.
The thought surfaces unbidden and immediately triggers guilt. How can I find fulfillment among enemies? How can I embrace methods my people would consider primitive at best, barbaric at worst?
Yet the evidence surrounds me with patients recovering from injuries that should have required weeks of treatment, herbs releasing properties that shouldn't exist according to human understanding, healers working with skill and compassion that rivals anything I've witnessed in the finest medical colleges.
"Enough for today," Helka announces as shadows stretch beyond the chamber's slender openings. "Tomorrow we'll explore more advanced techniques. Rest well, Lady Eirian. Your education has only begun."
I gather my few belongings and head back toward my quarters, mind spinning with new knowledge and disturbing questions about everything I thought I understood about healing. The corridors feel less foreign now, the moss-light more familiar than alien.
It's as I pass a side passage that I hear voices speaking in low, urgent tones. Something about the rhythm stops me, not the flowing cadence of casual conversation, but the clipped efficiency of tactical discussion.
War council.
I shouldn't listen. The healer's oath I swore specifically forbids gathering intelligence that could be used against my hosts. But the voices carry clearly in the stone corridors, and one of them belongs to Drokhan.
"The human presents complications we didn't anticipate."
"What complications?" The second voice sounds older, gravelly with age and authority. "She's proven useful in the healing chambers. Nasha speaks well of her progress."
"Useful, yes. But also valuable. Word has reached the southern tribes about our captive noble. They're interested in acquiring her."
My blood turns to ice water.Noble.Someone knows who I am, knows my true worth beyond whatever healing skills I might possess.
"The Bloodfang Clan offers sixty prime war-horses for her. The Ironjaw Collective has bid seventy horses plus a full season's worth of weapons-grade iron." Drokhan's voice carries grim calculation. "Both payments would significantly strengthen our position for the coming campaign season."
"And our obligations to the Grove? Helka invested considerable effort in her integration."
"The Grove serves the clan, not the reverse. If selling one human can outfit our warriors for decisive victory, the choice seems clear."
Selling.
The term strikes me as a tangible assault. Not prisoner exchange, not ransom negotiation, but simple sale to the highest bidder. Whatever temporary sanctuary I've found here, whatever tentative acceptance I've earned, it all dissolves into the harsh reality of political expediency.
"When do we decide?" the older voice asks.
"Three days. The tribal representatives arrive for the spring gathering, and they'll expect an answer. If we refuse their offers, they may take more direct action to secure what they want."
"More direct action meaning what, exactly?"
"Meaning we could find ourselves defending against former allies while trying to maintain our position against human counterattacks. The mountains offer good defensive ground, but not against enemies who know our weaknesses."
The voices fade as the speakers move into the complex. I remain frozen in the shadows, mind racing through implicationsand possibilities. Three days. Three days to find some way out of this trap before I'm handed over to tribes that see me as nothing more than political currency.
What would Mother do?
The familiar question offers no comfort now. Mother never faced the prospect of slavery among people who might not share the Grove healers' respect for medical skills. Mother never had to weigh personal survival against newly formed bonds of professional respect and growing understanding.
I force myself to move, returning to my quarters with careful, measured steps that betray none of the panic clawing at my chest. Once inside, I sink onto the sleeping platform and stare at the moss-covered walls that suddenly feel more like prison bars than windows into an alien but fascinating world.
