Chapter 13: Terra

I wake up with another unexplained injury, this time in my wrist.

“I swear, one of these days, I’m going to tie you to the bed.” Martin grimaces as he Heals me, his wrist swelling as mine is repaired.

A moment later, Thomas takes the injury from him. He closes and uncloses his fist without trouble, which tells me the injury has faded significantly.

“Have you ever wondered why Healers become injured themselves when they Heal someone?” I ask. “It feels unfair. It’s not like someone who Lifts is, I don’t know, floated around themselves.”

Martin shrugs. “You Lifters expend all the energy as if you moved things yourself—maybe it’s something like that. Energy in motion, or cost and consequence.” He shakes his head. “We may never know, but that’s why we work in pairs.”

“Speaking of.” Thomas holds up his wrist. He’d clearly like Martin to take the injury back—it becomes smaller each time it’s Healed.

Martin rolls his eyes. “Your body heals quickly, son. Whatever tiny injury yet remains will quickly be gone. It’s time for us to get back on the road.”

Thomas grumbles on his way to his wagon, but he smiles at me so I know he’s not upset.

You’ll never be safe again.

Martin’s words run through my head over and over. If he’s right, and if Robert survived long enough to tell anyone what he saw, which of course I mostly hope he did, then I’m not the only one who will be in danger.

Every single person in my family will be at risk. I thought about it in the wagon last night as we rode through most of the night. I’ve thought about it every second since I woke up late morning.

The Warden.

What does that word even mean? I’ve never heard it before. How can I be the fulfillment of some kind of prophecy? I’m just me. I don’t even have parents.

I haul pots and pans to the river and clean them quickly, Lifting without a second thought out here in the wilderness where no one can see me. By the time I return, everyone’s ready to go again, desperate to put distance between us and the Followers of Amun, who might know my secret.

Wind stomps his hoof, clearly ready to be untied and moving under his own initiative again. I Bind dust in place and walk up to his back, swinging my boot over. Up ahead, everyone else appears to have been waiting on me. “Martin?”

He’s already sitting on top of his wagon, reins in hand. “Yes?”

I bring Wind up alongside him. “I’ve been thinking about all this.”

“I figured you would.”

“I have some questions.”

He smiles. “Maybe you tie Wind up again.”

So he has more to tell me. I’m not sure how many more surprises I can handle. “Okay.”

Wind wants to run—he’s not excited to be stuck behind a lumbering wagon now that he’s no longer tired, but he’s a good sport. After a few head tosses, he settles down. “Good boy.” I rub his nose and jog around to climb up onto the bench seat on the front of the wagon.

“You slept alright?”

“Other than the wrist, you mean?” I ask.

Martin shakes his head. “You’ve been getting those bumps and bangs since you were a baby, your mother said.”

My mother. At first, I was devastated that she died. But now I hardly remember anything about her. I’m too ashamed to admit it, but she’s more of a vague memory than anything else. “I’m sorry you’ve always had to Heal them.”

Martin clucks and his horses move forward quickly. “I never minded.”

Healers don’t complain much. “Here’s what I’ve been thinking about,” I say. “You told me that I’d never be safe.”

He exhales dramatically. “I realized the second I said it that you’d fixate on it.”

“You wouldn’t need to run if—”

“I’ve never told you the truth about your mother.” His words fall like rocks in a pond, plonk, plonk, PLONK.

The truth. He’s never told me the truth? “What?”

“You were Named, you know.”

My heart skips a beat. “Everyone is Named.”

“Your name was revealed to your mother. . .and your father.” Martin’s voice is tight, small. He feels guilty for keeping that from me, for allowing me to believe that, like many others, I only ever had a mother.

“You never told me that.” Why? Why would he keep that a secret? “He didn’t want me?”

Martin sighs. “Your mother and your father had a falling out after you were born. You see, they realized quickly that you were different. Your mother insisted that you needed to leave, that your father couldn’t keep you safe.”

“From the Followers of Amun?” It’s a lot to process. “They knew I was the Warden?”

“You weren’t quite two the first time you Lifted, your mother said. And you grew more powerful every day. They knew they couldn’t hide it for long. And they were wealthy—they had servants who were bound to notice and talk.”

“So my father kicked me out?” I try to imagine my mother, protecting me from a monster.

Martin shakes his head. “You have it all wrong. Just listen for a moment.”

My mouth snaps closed.

“Your mother and father both loved you—and they were Followers of Isis. Your father was a powerful warrior, and he wanted to keep you. He felt that he could protect you, himself, but also that he could convince his supporters to help keep you safe.”

The Followers of Isis, unlike the Followers of Amun, cherish and protect women. They don’t see them as something to be used, but something to be cared for—it makes sense they might see the Warden differently as well.

“But your mother was too afraid. When he wouldn’t listen to her fears, when he wouldn’t run. . .she made a difficult choice.”

“A difficult choice?” A knot forms in my stomach.

“She left your father.”

I close my eyes.

“And she found us. She explained your story to me, including all the particulars, and she asked me what the Healers believed.”

I realize that I don’t know. “I’ve never heard of the Warden.”

He shrugs. “We don’t believe in her or not believe in her. She’s not really part of our doctrine. But we do believe that men and women have equal value. Unlike Amun, we don’t believe mothers and sisters and daughters must serve us, or that you have no value of your own other than as vessels of Mother Terra to continue our species. Unlike Isis, we believe you’re as capable of protecting yourselves as we are—but all Healers are weak when compared to Lifters, more focused on service and care.”

“There was no upside to taking me in,” I say.

“I had lost my own child,” Martin says softly. “He Wasted a few years before your mother arrived.”

“What about your wife?” I’ve never been able to bring myself to ask what happened to her. Anytime she comes up, adults talk in hushed tones or leave the area.

“She left.” His lips flatten into a hard line. “Losing a child is. . .fraught. Losing a child to the Wasting, well. You feel utterly powerless.”

He sat in that room with Joshua and his parents, consoling them—and he’d already been through the same thing himself. Martin’s stronger than I realized.

We wind through thick stands of pine trees, the horses’ hooves clomping softly ahead of and behind us. The Flashing Forest is quiet during the day. I hope we’re beyond it by nightfall. The bright flickers and splashes of light at erratic times freak me out—and the horses hate them too. The trees form the divide between Amun and Isis—and I realize we’re headed away from Amun territory, where they want the Warden destroyed, and toward Isis land, where my father holds sway. Or where he used to. . .

“Who is my father?”

“Your mother made me swear never to tell you who you were, and when she Wasted. . .” Martin closes his eyes.

I don’t really recall details about Mom passing. I remember being sad and hugging her for a long time, and that she felt very, very hot to the touch. Not much else.

“She never relented, you know. She insisted that knowing who you were would help no one. She said she didn’t want me to take you to your father.” He closes his eyes. “Not until you were in grave danger.”

Until. Not if I’m in danger. When. Mom knew it would come to this, that someday I’d be discovered.

Another realization dawns on the heels of the first. I’ve been so accustomed to having no parents that I sort of assumed my father had also died. “Wait. My father’s alive?” I turn to glare at Martin. “All this time I’ve had a parent and you kept it from me?”

“You have a brother too—apparently you were quite close. You missed him more than anything when you left.”

How can this be? I wrack my brain for any recollection of a father or brother and come up blank. Nothing at all. We left when I was quite young, but still. “We’re headed toward them?”

“We’re headed away from Amun,” Martin says. “That is all.”

“But if I’m in danger. . .” I finally force myself to say it. “Then I’m putting you all at risk. I can’t do that, not now that I know.”

“We talked it over last night,” Martin says simply. “After you went to sleep.”

“What?”

“Everyone agrees that you should stay with us. There’s every chance that Amun doesn’t know a thing, and even if Robert talked, that no one believes him. But if there is danger, you’re safest with us, hiding in plain sight. We’ll tell anyone that asks that you’re my daughter, and we’ll insist that you’re a Healer. They can’t force you to Lift, so they can’t prove you did anything.”

If Robert and the dozen other people who saw me clearly that day give an accurate description, they’ll spot me immediately. I could definitely see Lord Spurlock killing anyone who tries to protect me. I open my mouth to argue and realize that Martin knows the same thing I do—and they discussed it.

I want to be angry, but how can I? The entire troupe’s willing to risk their lives for mine. “At least tell me my father’s name.” My throat’s scratchy and my voice rough.

“Your mother didn’t want—”

“I don’t even have a last name.” I hate how broken I sound.

Martin wraps an arm around me. “You can have mine.”

Which means the world to me, but it won’t quench my thirst for the truth, now I know it’s out there. “But you do know it.”

He’s quiet for a long time. I’ve pushed him too far. “Duncan Sterling,” he says unexpectedly. “He’s the—”

“The leader of Sterling Castle.” He’s the ruler of all of Isis—which is almost unbelievable. “Are you saying Duncan Sterling is my father?”