Page 28 of Bound By Blood
She retrieves her healer's satchel and the small bundle of belongings she's accumulated during her captivity. "Lead the way, Chief Drokhan."
The passage between her chamber and the hidden spring winds into the mountain than she's yet traveled, past storage caverns and meditation alcoves carved from living rock. Our footsteps echo softly in the narrow tunnels, accompanied by the distant whisper of underground water.
"How long have your people used these springs?" she asks as we navigate a steep descent.
"Since the first Stoneborn sought shelter in these mountains. My ancestors discovered that certain combinations of mineral-rich water and volcanic stone could enhance spiritual awareness, accelerate healing, and occasionally grant visions of futures."
"Your mother would have known about this place."
The observation catches me off-guard. "How did you know about my mother?"
"The scarred elder mentioned her during our conversation after the council meeting. She said your mother was a renowned healer who understood the connection between physical wellness and spiritual balance."
Of course, they discussed my family history. The elders want her to understand what she's considering binding herself to.
"My mother died defending this stronghold when I was barely old enough to hold a blade," I say. "But yes, she was gifted with springs-knowledge. She taught me that healing involves more than treating symptoms, true wellness requires addressing the spirit and the body."
"That philosophy matches what my mother believed. She studied healing traditions from many cultures, including yours."
Including ours.The casual way she says it suggests she's already begun thinking of Orc practices as something she might claim rather than simply observe.
We reach the vine-cradled arch, where moonlight streams through a natural opening in the cavern ceiling to illuminate a pool of perfectly still water. The spring sits in a circular chamber carved from black volcanic glass, with walls that reflect light like dark mirrors. Steam rises from the water's surface, carrying minerals and mountain herbs.
"Beautiful," she breathes.
Beautiful and sacred.This place has witnessed countless ceremonies: initiation rites, leadership transitions, spiritual consultations that shaped clan policy for generations. But I've never brought another person here for purely personal reasons.
Until tonight.
"The ritual requires removing outer garments," I explain, unfastening my shoulder harness and letting it fall to the stonefloor. "The spring's spiritual properties work best when there are minimal barriers between person and element."
She nods and unwraps her healing shawl, revealing bare arms marked with tattoos I've never seen before. Delicate ink work covers her shoulders and upper arms: intertwining willow branches that cradle a chalice, done in green and silver inks that shimmer in the moonlight.
Sacred markings. She's not merely a healer. She holds formal religious rank within her own tradition.
"Your tattoos," I say. "They indicate spiritual authority."
"Third-degree herbalist and consecrated water-tender," she confirms, stepping closer to the pool's edge. "I was marked during my twentieth year, after completing advanced training in both medicine and religious duties."
Water-tender.That explains her instinctive understanding of the healing pool's properties, her ability to channel its power effectively. She's not an amateur dabbling in unfamiliar practices—she's a trained practitioner working with elements she recognizes.
She reaches into her satchel and withdraws six black candles shaped from what appears to be volcanic glass. "May I light a circle? The ceremony will be more effective with proper preparation."
"Of course."
She places the obsidian candles around the pool's perimeter, spacing them at equal intervals. When lit, they cast flowing shadows across the chamber walls and fill the air with mountain sage. The candlelight transforms the spring into something that feels more like an altar than a simple pool.
She knows exactly what she's doing.
I remove my boots and roll up my trouser legs, then step into the warm water. It reaches mid-calf, heated by deep thermalcurrents that originate far below the mountain's surface. She follows, lifting her robes to keep them dry.
"The connection we felt this afternoon," I say. "I need to understand if it was real or simply the result of unusual circumstances."
"As do I." She moves closer until we stand arm's length apart, the steaming water lapping around our ankles. "But I should warn you, if the connection proves genuine, it will change everything between us."
Change everything.The possibility both thrills and terrifies me. Years of careful emotional discipline, years of keeping personal desires subordinate to political necessities, could dissolve in a single moment of authentic connection.
Do you want that?
