Traitors (The Traitor King Saga Book 1) Read online

  To her left was the door to his room, and the guest bedroom for his severe patients opened to her right. The loft above the den was Blaze’s. A rope and pulley allowed the hinged ladder to be raised and lowered as desired.

  After stashing her sword in her room, Blaze returned to the den and rummaged through the bottom cabinets for two wrought iron pots. One was a small tea pot, the other a squat pot as wide as Blaze’s encircled arms and as deep as her elbow. It was adorned with a vented lid and four sturdy legs. Seth, Srift’s talented blacksmith, created the heavy vessel for Jonathan to better prepare the fireleaf. On its own, the rare fireleaf plant was highly poisonous, but if its roots were boiled and then dried over a fire, the crushed roots were a healer’s secret weapon.

  Looping the tea pot’s handle around her forearm, she lifted the fireleaf pot with both hands and waddled toward Jonathan’s bedroom to get out the back door. Small, hollow crashes made her jump as her foot disturbed a pile of tortoise shells in the doorway. She watched her footing as she side-stepped toward the door into the middle of a deer’s skeleton he was in the process of repairing with a mixture of bee’s wax and pine sap. The teapot swung and cleared a shelf of its bird nests. Blaze shook her head. How he was able to fit it all was beyond her understanding of space, and he managed to bring back some new find after every walk through the woods.

  Just before she reached the door, Jonathan walked in. “Oh here, Blaze, let me help you with that.”

  She set the fireleaf pot onto its legs, and with a mischievous grin, offered him the small teapot. “Here you go; it was getting so heavy.”

  “Thank you for giving me the difficult one,” he said. “No lady should have to wrestle with such a difficult teapot.” He bent down to embrace the fireleaf pot and lift it up, winking at her. “But, I think you would benefit from carrying something that heavy for a little bit.”

  They headed out the door and toward the stream. “Oh, Jonathan. Your lessons are sometimes so tough to swallow. Why do you torture me so?”

  “Because I am a mean old sage who delights in tough, painful lessons.”

  Blaze laughed at the image of the kind healer being a grumpy old elder. “The day you become a mean old sage will be the day I enlist to be an Urlifican.”

  A fire smoldered in the small fire pit beside the stream, the flickering embers sending a small plume of white smoke to join the clouds. After being filled half way by the stream, the fireleaf pot required both of them to carry over and place on top of the fire. Sizzles and hisses emitted from the coals in protest as water drizzled upon them.

  Extreme, constant heat was needed to boil the water completely out of the pot when preparing fireleaf. The typical healer needed two days to boil down the root because of a fluctuating flame and the noxious fumes emitted in the steam, but with Seth’s invention, Jonathan produced a batch of powder within half a day. The pot would sit outside in the direct sunlight on top of a matured fire, keeping it at a maximum temperature. The vented lid kept bugs or debris out of the fireleaf and let the toxic steam out. By adding salt, Jonathan discovered that he could leave the pot out all afternoon and have bone dry root ready to grind by the end of the day.

  “There,” Jonathan declared as he shook his hands loose from a gripping position. “I’ll put another log on this fire, and we should have a boil just after lunch.”

  After five cycles of helping the healer create his fireleaf powder, Blaze could follow their routine in her sleep. Grabbing water for tea, the two headed back inside to enjoy a light lunch of jerky, cheese, and strawberries. Clearing the table and covering it with a skin, she started a stew in the fireplace while Jonathan, wearing gloves, removed any red leaf and stem from the pale white roots. She then took the roots and a bag of salt out to the boiling water, dumping everything into the pot and putting the lid on. While they worked in the gardens, each would take turns checking the fire and the water level.

  By nightfall, the root was ready. While Blaze checked the stew for supper, Jonathan grabbed his gloves and brought the pot up to the cottage to cool. He also brought in two sheep skins and a long, cylindrical stone from the barn, putting them in the empty bedroom.

  “Jonathan, this stew is ready,” she called while dishing two bowls. He came in and joined her enthusiastically at the table.

  “Ah, Blaze’s famous stew,” he commented while shoving a full spoon into his mouth. After a few seconds, he started to sputter and cough while reaching for his water. “Gah!” He drained his glass. “This is straight from the sun!” Sweat started beading on his bald upper lip as he reached for the pitcher and doused his mouth with two more cups of water.

  Blaze laughed at his reaction, “Well, I decided to kick up the spices. The Weeping bush was covered in berries, so I added a handful of those and doubled the cinnamon.” She ate a spoonful herself, enjoying the tingling kick of spices. Snickering at the baffled expression on his face, she got up to fill a third bowl with some fresh stew and offered it to Jonathan with a wink. “I figured this would be a little much but just had to see your reaction. I only added the berries to your bowl; the rest of the stew is untouched.”

  The healer tentatively tried a spoonful of the fresh stew, and enjoying the familiar mild sting of spice, accepted it. “Ah, that’s better. I don’t think this will kill me,” he said pleasantly. “So, you work tomorrow?”

  “Mm, yes,” Blaze swallowed her bite. “I’m going to have breakfast with Tawnya and then head to Evan’s until late.”

  “And the next night?” Jonathan asked tentatively.

  “Yes.” She purposely asked to work that night because Jonathan was hosting the Traitors’ Dinner. For the past nine cycles, Jonathan had tried to get her to attend the Dinners, but she had decided that she wouldn’t be a subject of the True King after that terrible night. So every mooncycle Jonathan would try to invite her, and every mooncycle she’d find an excuse not to go.

  “Okay, well,” said Jonathan as he grinned. “I guess we had better pound the medicine out of that root.”

  Blaze drained the last of her stew and headed to the guest bedroom while he retrieved the pot from outside. Once he returned, they put on their gloves, spread out one skin, and dumped the light, dried roots onto the center.

  They covered the roots with the second skin, and, while she held the skins in place, Jonathan began pounding the brittle roots with the bottom of the stone. When the snapping dulled into a muted crunching, he rested as she lifted the corners of the skins to re-center the crushed pieces. This repeated several more times until the roots were ground into a coarse powder. Neither spoke in the comfort of a routine. For the final preparation, Jonathan turned the stone onto its side and ground the powder into its fine form. Both were careful to not get the powder into the air or onto their skin as the small amounts of contact could add up to a large, potent dose.

  Jonathan rested back onto his rear and stretched his shoulders after the second rolling. “Alright, Blaze. You will be showing me the foundational levels tonight.”

  She grabbed a modest dark red clay jar. A wide, square plate was fired onto the bottom to prevent the jar from tipping easily.

  “What should I start with first?” she asked.

  “Let’s see. Show me what a lethal level would be.”

  Blaze cupped her gloved hands, scooped up half of the powder, and offered it to the healer with a smile. “I think this will do it.”

  “Ha, I think that is what they call ‘overkill’. Now, show me what the sleeping level is.”

  Holding her hands above the clay jar, she separated the bottom of her hands, and the smooth powder cascaded into its new home. She dammed the flow, leaving the crevice between her hands filled with a thin line of powder.

  “Good. Now, show me the painless level.”

  She released that last amount into the jar, leaving a thin film of the powder on her gloves. “This is all you need, half of a pinch,” she answered, amazed at the scarce amount needed to lose all feeling.


  Jonathan nodded. “So, what would happen if you just slightly went over the painless level?”

  “They would fall asleep.”

  “For how long?”

  Blaze smirked at the trick question. “It depends on how much.”

  “Mmm hmm,” His eyes twinkled. “Let’s say that you give them a full pinch.”

  She thought about it for a moment. The painless level lasted for an entire day. A full pinch was the maximum for the sleep level. “All day.”

  “Very good. And what about a pinch and a half?”

  “They would die.”

  “Do we ever use fireleaf root powder on its own?”

  “No, generally half of the painless level amount is mixed with mint and willow bark for both a one-time dose or long-term treatment, the amount of powder increasing just slightly with the increase of pain. For sleep, the maximum for the painless level is mixed with chamomile or valerian root. Using the actual full doses is asking for a fatal accident.”

  “How does fireleaf poisoning manifest?” He pressed his fingers together in front of his chest, fully serious.

  Blaze started to carefully funnel the rest of the root into its jar. “A pinch and a half will cause the person to lose all feeling and sight along with the twisting and tearing of the insides. The effects are quick to mature, manifesting in the time it takes for a swallow to hit the stomach. Only induced vomiting right before the twisting and tearing begins is known to give the victim a slight chance of living; however, the damage is usually done before help can come. Along with this, the fumes and boiling water are instantly lethal, taking the person’s life without any warning.”

  Just repeating its potency made Blaze want to immediately remove her powder-dusted gloves. One absent-minded scratching of the nose could prove more harmful than good. She capped the jar and placed it on a shelf behind her.

  Jonathan’s face lit up with pride. “She is mighty in her healing knowledge.” He extended his gloved hand toward her. “Will the great Healer Blaze humbly shake my hand in congratulations?” She smiled and accepted his hand. He clasped her hand and wrapped his other around the back of hers. “Now, help an old man up.”

  “What old man?” She twisted her hand free of his grip, leaping up out of his reach. “I only see a middle-aged healer who is too lazy to get off of his worn stink hatch.”

  Jonathan’s face drooped with a forlorn expression, the sides of his frowning mouth twitching. “Lazy worn stink hatches need a break every now and then. Surely you have some mercy in you for the poor thing.”

  “Sorry, I’ve got none.” Blaze let Jonathan sit there in mock pout while she folded the top skin to keep the exposed side on the interior. She did the same to the bottom skin. Holding both skins in one hand, she extended the other toward Jonathan. “Gloves please.”

  Jonathan’s smile broke loose as he lunged for her hand and nearly pulled her down while pulling himself up. Blaze let out a shriek as she nearly toppled over, but he kept a hold of her hand, righting her with it. “Ha ha! How is that for a lazy worn stink hatch?”

  “Lithe and sneaky,” she responded while taking his gloves.

  Blaze washed the leather in the stream and headed back to the barn. Lily trotted from the back of the field. Blaze leapt inside and closed the barn door before the mare could charge in. The dun knocked the wood with her hoof, a protesting whinny demanding that she be let in. She repeated the action several times while Blaze hung the skins to dry and brought down more hay from the loft. After the fourth kick from Lily, Blaze cracked the door just enough to stick her head out. “Does madam wish to enter her night chambers?”

  Lily nickered and thrust her nose into the gap to try and force the door open. Blaze reached up and pat the mare’s soft nose while opening the door. The sweet smell of hay too much for the mare, she threw her nose into it the moment she entered her stall. “Good night, Lil,” Blaze said while closing the stall’s half door. A tail swish was all the reply she received from the engrossed equine.

  Jonathan had cleaned up supper and gone to bed during her absence, so she lowered her ladder and got ready for bed herself. She stretched her worked muscles, not wanting to be stiff from the morning’s training and the day’s work. Her mind relaxed as she reflected upon Obrae’s lessons and looked forward to her breakfast with Tawnya. As she got into bed, all was silent as the moonlight peaked inside her small window.

  Chapter 2

  The cart-wide path wound its way through the emerald tunnel of thick forest. Normally lacking in traffic, Blaze could enjoy her own thoughts and company during the two mile walk into town. The song of birds made Blaze’s heart light, and she felt an urge to start skipping. Practicality kept her feet on the ground. However, as she rounded a curve in the path, a spry form skipping towards her had succumbed to Spring’s call. A spontaneous smile bloomed on Blaze’s lips.

  With twinkling lavender eyes and sugary teeth shining, Tawnya emitted her own sunshine. Her curly, ebony hair danced with every bounce as she waved at Blaze. The two met in the middle with an eager embrace.

  “Oh Blaze, my dear friend, how are you?”

  Blaze laughed with her friend’s pure joy. “I am great, and I love your new dress.”

  Tawnya’s smile grew wider as she twirled, making the dress flare like a deep green morning glory. “Isn’t it marvelous? Glenda finished it last night, and I couldn’t wait at the bakery to show you. This amazing spring day also demanded that I walk. Doesn’t it just make you want to shout thanks to the True King for giving this land to us?” Tawnya did another twirl.

  Blaze chuckled, and they headed towards town. “It reminds me of when we first met. You had kept me hostage in that bakery until Jonathan came and saved me.”

  Obrae had found Blaze the day after she’d been left to die. Bringing her to Srift, he and Jonathan spent many days healing her. Claiming that he needed an apprentice, Jonathan had adopted her. She first refused this decision and ran away to town many times to pick fights with the local boys, her version of training for her craft.

  The first few fights didn’t result with much injury because they were broken up shortly after they had started. Obrae even broke one up. He had held her back and demanded to know what was going on. She simply answered that she was learning to fight and ran from him. Jonathan tried to find out why she was in so many fights, but she wouldn’t tell him.

  Obrae couldn’t save her in time from her last fight. Bark, a bully in most accounts, had pummeled her before the old man could do anything. That was when she first learned of Obrae’s fighting skills. As he carried her back to Jonathan’s, he made her promise not to pick any more fights and to learn healing from Jonathan. In exchange, he’d teach her how to fight.

  A quartermoon after her beating, she went with Jonathan into town. While he bought meat from Derrick, she was sent to get bread from Linda, Tawnya’s mother. The day was beautiful, but she felt hideous from the fight with Bark. She still walked stiffly and wore bruise-marbled skin, so when she passed Bark and his gang in front of Evan’s pub, they were more than happy to call her names and insult her breeding. She wanted to fight, cry, and run all at the same time.

  That’s when Tawnya came to her rescue, rushing out and welcoming Blaze into her family’s bakery and dairy. Overjoyed by the addition of a new target, the thugs started calling out Traitor insults towards Tawnya, who pleasantly ignored them.

  Tawnya scoffed at Blaze’s accusation of abuse. “Oh poo! I think you would have eaten the whole bakery if Jonathan hadn’t come and saved us that day!”

  Both girls laughed. The truth was that Linda and Tawnya kept Blaze safe and out of trouble by having a “sampling party” of Linda’s goods.

  As they sauntered down the path, the town started to materialize, starting with Old Man Patrick’s hut. Patrick enjoyed the positions of Elder and biggest complainant. Exasperated with his constant distemper, the villagers promoted him to Elder, despite his not being the oldest Srift inhabitant, and moved him to t
he edge of town. Nowadays, he graced people with his misery on the rare occasion that his rheumatism was overshadowed by the need to speak his mind. As they passed, Blaze saw him glaring, and she stared straight ahead, hoping that he would let them pass unscathed.

  “Hey you, Traitor creaton, when is your Pa gonna bring me my cheese and bread? And you, healer Wilden, when are you going to bring me my fireroot?” he barked. Blaze bristled.

  “I am sorry, Elder,” Tawnya replied, stopping at his gate. “He will bring it by tonight after the bread is finished baking, as always.”

  Patrick humphed and glared at Blaze. “And the fireroot?”

  “Jonathan will be by tomorrow to give you more and perform your check-up.” Blaze said without changing her pace.

  He grumbled an incomprehensible reply as Tawnya jogged to catch up with Blaze.

  “How does your father stand to see him everyday?” Blaze asked, not worrying if they were out of ear-shot.

  “The poor man needs some kind of compassion. Can you imagine what it would be like to live all by yourself with no one who cares for you around? He needs us, and we need to help and respect him as an Elder.”

  “Psh! I’ll respect him the moment he respects me.”

  Tawnya shook her head. “I think that it is our duty to care for and respect others. Like it is said: Treat others like yourself, with compassion and understanding, and those two gifts will treat you.”

  Blaze looked back at Patrick still grumbling in his chair. “I think your philosophy might need some re-thinking. Giving compassion and understanding only gets you stepped on. You have to demand respect of people in order to get it; they aren’t going to give you anything except grief.”