Healer of Romía

Healer of Romía by C.K. Brooke: Part 2

I make to rise, to run away. Before I can, he grabs hold of my hand and pulls me back down.

"Tell me," he demands.

I shake my head. I can't. I'm not supposed to be here. Not supposed to be doing this. I promised myself...

He raises a fist to his mouth and coughs. He sounds parched. Without a second thought, I reach into my satchel and give him my waterskin. He drinks heartily, his gaze not leaving mine. When he hands it back, I tear the flatbread in half and give him some as well.

He shoves the bread into his mouth. I see his eyes shift to my satchel after he swallows. "Have you got any more?"

Sighing, I hand over the rest of the flatbread. No wonder I was compelled to slip it back into my loculus in the first place. Ah, well; tomorrow will take care of itself. I can go without bread for one night.

"Can you stand?" I ask when he's finished.

He looks uncertain, then climbs to his feet. He towers over me. He's mightily built, like a gladiator. One without armor.

"Suppose I can't return home now." He brushes off his tunic. "Not when I'm supposed to be dead."

I know what that's like, I think. I don't say it, though. I should be going—now. I've spent too much time with this stranger. Enough time for him to give an accurate description of my height, my hair, my face.

Then again, who is he going to tell? It seems he and I are, more or less, in the same position.

That's why I decide to offer, "Want to come with me?"

He only stares.

I hold out my hand. I half-expect him to recoil—that very hand had, after all, just done something unnatural, displayed its abnormality. But he doesn't hesitate. He takes my hand, dwarfing it in his big one. His skin is warm, but no longer scalding.

I pull him along the labyrinthine pathways, underneath clotheslines and past smoke drifting from windows. I commence up the ladder and he follows, keeping up with ease. Not bad for a man who was on death's threshold mere minutes ago.

Once on the abandoned rooftop, he peers heavenward. He adjusts the shoulder of his tunic, brushes dirt off it. I busy myself with my clay ewer and rag, wiping my hands and blotting any soot from my face.

"Won't you tell me who you are?" His voice reaches my ears on the gentle night's breeze. It's not a command. Fascination tinges his tone. "I only wish to know so that I may count you in my prayers."

I rub my cheek raw with the damp rag. "I doubt the gods will accept any prayers on my behalf."

"Why do you say that?" He takes a step closer. "Clearly, you have their favor."

"You're mistaken." I drop the rag and back away. I retrieve my blanket and drape it over my shoulders like a robe, warding off a gust from the sea.

He comes to stand beside me. "All right." He matches my gaze to the moonlit horizon. "Then I'm going to tell you who I am."

"You're a soldier," I guess. I glance at him sideward. "A disgraced one, it would seem."

He blinks. "How did you know that? Are you a seer as well as a healer?"

"No." In spite of myself, I smile. "Just a healer."

"Just a healer," he repeats, returning my smile. Up close, his eyes are kind. He looks young. Not like a lad, but the sort of young man who would have a growing family—a few small children and a pretty wife with a swollen belly at home. I look away.

"Why did your comrades try to kill you?" I ask.

"More like left me for dead." He touches the stained fabric over his abdomen, pierced by the three great tears. "The wounds were the lion's doing."

"So you are a gladiator. Why no armor?"

He shakes his head. "I wasn't meant to stand a chance. Even after the creature mauled me, I wouldn't give them all the satisfaction of dying in their godforsaken arena. They dragged me out and dumped me in the alley like common waste. If it weren't for you," he pauses, "I'd be dead this very moment. I'm certain of it."

I speak to my sandals. "I know." The surge it had taken to heal him was so powerful, my fingers still prickle with the aftereffects.

"I'm called Anastasius," he tells me.

He says no more. Waiting.

"Sana," I finally reply. My own name feels foreign on my tongue, as though I've forgotten it. It's been so long since I've introduced myself. I might as well be nameless.

His eyes soften even more. "Pleased to meet you, Sana."

"And you, Anastasius," I admit.

We fall silent. Somewhere below us, a stray dog howls. The round moon hangs over the sea, reminding me once more of a pregnant mother's belly.

"Have you a family, Anastasius? Anyone who might be mourning you tonight?"

"My fellow soldiers were my only brethren."

"And they betrayed you?"

He exhales. "I'm afraid I was the betrayer."

I shouldn't be surprised. The wind is still, the heat seeping in again, hanging between us like a fog. I loosen my blanket, let it slip down my shoulders a span.

"It isn't right, what the Emperor is doing." He speaks with conviction, but not anger. "How he enslaves another race. How he mistreats his allies and his own soldiers. I spoke out, and was punished for it. Even though you've given me another chance to live, Sana, I can never be seen in Romía again. Before dawn, I must leave the city, the Empire...and never return."

I study his profile, the statuesque base of his jaw, the elongated curls in his flaxen hair. He has more courage than I ever did, willing to brave exile and leave Romía for good.

"How about you?" He bobs his chin in my direction. "It seems you're in hiding as well. Is it because of your power?"