Healer of Romía

Healer of Romía by C.K. Brooke: Part 3

He glances down at my hands. I tuck them away, under my makeshift robe, as though that could make him forget. Then I relent. It's futile, after all, to deny it.

"The power came upon me when I first became a woman," I explained. "My mother wished to keep it secret, but my father was convinced that, if I had the ability to help, to heal people, then I was obligated to do it. I was happy, serving my village. The people I cared about..."

My throat dries up. This is the most I've spoken to anyone in seasons. I take a draught from my waterskin, then deposit it back into my bag. "Soon, the Temple found out. A priestess showed up in my village one day and brought me here, to the city, where she said many more people needed me. I was initiated, said my vows. They made me heal folk day and night. Even those whom the gods did not want healed, who were meant to suffer, for one reason or another. Or whose time it was to go. I'd given my vows to both the Temple and the gods; I didn't know whom to obey first. Of course, I didn't wish to invoke the gods' wrath. But if I disobeyed orders, I'd be punished."

My shoulders sag. The blanket slides farther down my back with it. "So I ran away. I said, no more. I just felt exploited and..." I falter, unable to continue.

"Used," Anastasius finishes for me. Then my shoulders are snug again beneath the blanket as he lifts it back up to cover them. His hand rests on my upper back. Though it's large and undoubtedly strong, his touch is delicate as a dragonfly. "So we are both deserters." He lets go. I think I see the corner of his mouth curve.

I shrug. "In my case, I cannot outrun the ones I deserted. The gods see all. I can only hide from the priestesses, the priests, and the Temple. But not them." I gesture with my head to the stars, whose constellations tell the stories of our pantheon.

"You think the gods are angry you abandoned the Temple?" Anastasius wants to know.

"About as angry as the Emperor would be," I replied, "that one of his soldiers abandoned support of him."

Anastasius folds his arms. His cape, now dusty and stained, ripples in the breeze. "Why'd you stay in the city, then? On a rooftop where you can still see the Temple?" He indicates the white stone columns rising in the distance. "Why not return to your village?"

"Why not return to your village?" I ask.

He grins. "I don't come from any village. My home of origin is just there." He points to the foothills east of the sea. It's well within city limits. "I cannot return in disgrace."

"Neither can I," I say simply. That settles it.

A fresh wave of silence engulfs us.

"You're welcome to sleep here," I finally say. No one would ever come up here looking for him, after all. As for me, while I'd broken my vows to the Temple, I wasn't necessarily wanted by the Emperor's men. "If you leave before sunrise, take the north alley. Pickpockets lurk in the south one."

He unclips his cape and balls it up. With deliberation, he lowers himself, resting his head upon it for a pillow. He props his hands behind his neck, gazing upward.

I retreat to a corner, putting plenty of distance between us. Keeping my woven blanket draped over me, I lie down, tucking my hands beneath my cheek. Though perhaps it's unwise of me to let my guard down, I have to trust that the man would not attack me after I'd just saved him. I have nothing for him to rob, anyway. And if he's looking for a woman, there were plenty of willing ones out walking the streets at this hour.

I steal a glimpse of him, pretending to shift positions. He isn't looking at me. It sounds like he's humming under his breath. His voice is low, a rumble in his chest.

"What are you singing?" I ask.

He swipes back his curls. "Sorry. Does it disturb you?"

"No," I answer truthfully.

"It was just a song about voyagers. My father used to sing it." He sighs at the stars. "Fancy I'll be one by tomorrow. Take a ship out of here...far, far from Romía."

It sounds like a dream. "I wish I could leave, too." I don't realize I've spoken my thoughts aloud until I can hear the words lingering in my ears.

"Why can't you, Sana?" In the starlight, his eyes sparkle at me. I have to catch my breath to respond.

"Don't know." I twist the top of my blanket, its texture coarse between my fingers. "I always felt compelled stay. Maybe I don't know where else to go."

"You could..." he angles onto his side, "come with me." I laugh, but he interrupts, "I am serious."

"Are you?" My smile is fading though, as his gaze over me intensifies.

"You don't have to keep punishing yourself," he breathes. "Living in squalor...it's not what the gods want for you."

"How would you know what they want?" I don't mean to bite it out. Only, I went years being told by supposed prophets and prophetesses what the gods wanted, only to hear the truth in my own heart—experience it in my own hands—as something quite different from what they all professed.

"You worked a miracle in me tonight. With my own eyes, I watched you do it. I live and breathe and speak to you now because of it. I don't care what you think you've done wrong; you are blessed and beloved."

Somehow, his words make my nose sting. Pressure builds behind my eyes. "You can't know that."

"But I do."

"How?"

"I feel it."

Then I remember—the healed are always grateful, always look at me as their savior after a healing. Some even think me a goddess incarnate. I am none of these things. I'm just a woman, like any other. I didn't do anything to become a healer. I didn't train for or earn it. It was simply given to me one day. Often, I've wondered if someday, just as suddenly, it might be taken away.

In the past, I prayed for the gods to take back the power. I didn't know why they chose me when I'm clearly not wise enough, strong enough, faithful enough to wield it.

Watching Anastasius now, I'm glad my prayers went unanswered. Because then he'd be dead.

I barely know the man. But already, I know I don't like the idea of a world without him.

I wonder if he is why I felt compelled to stay in Romía this long. If the gods knew we would eventually cross paths. If I was meant to hear him, fated to find him, destined to heal his wounds.

With those questions, I drift to sleep.