Jaime wandered out into the greater room, idly perusing the scattered items left out.
There were tables set up with notes, and Jaime recognized what appeared to be patient’s records and diagrams. Many healers did not have the gift that let them heal with their hands, and sometimes, surgeons were needed. Jaime could heal lacerations, fevers, and infections, but what he couldn’t do was remove a foreign object from the body, like an arrow or the broken tip of a knife, and such things needed to be cut out. His last year was meant to be an apprenticeship to a full healer until he was considered fully trained.
The academy in Corinthia had its own ward where people came for treatments and emergency care. From broken limbs to impalement to exotic fevers, Jaime had seen a myriad of patients. His curiosity got the best of him, and he read the file in front of him, nudging aside papers and drawn diagrams as he grew more interested in the case.
“The patient has chronic headaches. How would you treat him?”
Jaime jumped and flushed guiltily at having been caught reading private information. Master Eames gave him a stern expression, but the healer motioned to the papers and asked again, “How would you treat him?”
“Oh! Um,” Jaime bit his lip and looked back down at the papers, trying to get his heart rate to settle, forcing himself to see the words written before him lest his nerves render him blind. “Middle aged man, somewhat overweight, drinks heavily, and smokes cigars several times a day. I would suggest daily exercise, perhaps a walk or two, more water and less alcohol, and a change in diet to lessen fatty foods. Cut back on the cigars. If all the changes are made and the headaches remain, then perhaps feverfew and white willow bark tea every morning and evening. If there’s still no improvement, something could be wrong on a physiological level, and a healer with the gift may try to provide relief.”
Master Eames walked to the table and pulled out a chair, leaning back before settling a heavy stare upon Jaime. “Why not have one of the gifted provide relief immediately?”
“Many reasons, Master. The gift is so rare that reliance upon it for relief of everyday maladies is unwise. If the condition is the result of bad habits that can be rectified, then addressing those habits is the best option to mitigate the headaches. Using renewable medicines provides a recourse and means for patients to maintain control over their health instead of depending on healers to keep them functional. We are here to help those who need it in truth, and not to hold the hands of the chronic pretenders. Using the gift should be done selflessly, but wisely. It is a tool, not a cure-all meant to replace common sense and good habits.”
“I sense the words of your teachers in that recital, but decent enough an answer,” Master Eames judged, though Jaime could not argue with the master. Part of Jaime wondered why those with the gift weren’t healing every patient they came across. “Tell me, youngling, can the gift restore a lost limb?”
“No, Master Eames.”
“Can it grant vision to those born blind?”
“Depends on why they are blind to begin with, but usually not.”
“Can the gift cure addiction or those afflicted by insanity?”
“It can ease the symptoms if they manifest physically, but again, usually not.”
“Can it resurrect the dead?”
“No, Master Eames.”
“So, being dependent on an ability that has such limitations is unwise, yes?”
“Yes, Master Eames.” Jaime dropped his head, feeling as if he were reprimanded, though he knew not for what. He risked a glance to Master Eames beneath his lashes, and the smile he glimpsed made him relax.
“You’ve a sound head on your shoulders, my dear boy. Usually gifted students have this holier-than-thou attitude that earns them few friends and plenty of enemies, but I’m glad to see that such a malady has skipped you entirely.”
Jaime said nothing, and Master Eames finally gave him a nod of approval. “Your schooling is to resume tomorrow. Your records arrived a few hours ago, while you were raiding the library with the prince. Your scholastic achievements are impressive, and you’ll be attending Healer Greaves for the next month while he assesses your skill with your gift. Healer Greaves is also one of the gifted, and a skilled herbalist.”
“Yes, Master Eames. Thank you.”
The master gazed at him for a moment longer, then stood, arranging his robes. “A concern you had yesterday about tuition has been settled—your late father paid your final year of schooling before his death. As you are not in the Hellebore Empire or Eistrea anymore, we do things differently here. The tuition has been returned and will be available for your personal use once the currencies are exchanged.” Jaime was surprised by that, his heart aching. His father paid his tuition, likely the last thing he did before falling ill. Jaime missed his father with a deep, painful ache, but blinked back tears to follow Master Eames’ words. “Those who wish to become healers or are among the gifted are taught without cost here. We are a guild order here in Taliesin City, and the gifted and those accepted as novices do not pay for an education. The Healer’s Guild is maintained by taxes and donations. Since we are not an academy, your free time is your own, though I feel I must stress you spend an appropriate amount of time on your studies. Romance can happen when your education allows.” Master Eames paused, and his serious mien cracked, showing a hint of subtle humor. “All right?”
Jaime blushed fiercely, but he nodded. He wasn’t so certain there was a romance, but the thought of spending more time with Prince Maxim made his heart race. Maybe friendship if he were to be so lucky, though that kiss earlier spoke of something more. The rumors of Jaime’s magic kept the superstitious slavers from defiling his body in a sexual manner, so Jaime knew nothing more about sex and attraction than what he’d seen amongst his peers at the academy and the textbooks in his classes. Mutual affection between men was apparently normal here, since Jaime hadn’t even seen a flicker of condemnation or disgust from anyone in the castle when Maxim escorted him about, or when servants engaged in frequent flirtations. Even Cook tried to nudge Jaime in the captain’s direction. Despite the normalcy here, and Jamie’s obvious attraction to men, his actual experience was next to nothing. He didn’t know what romance was or what sexual attraction between lovers might feel like. He’d loved his father, and felt affection for some of his teachers, but love felt for someone wholly new and unencumbered by blood or mentorship was foreign to his experience.
Jaime grew up in Eistrea, and while same sex relationships were accepted, it was still frowned upon, as such unions could not produce children. The religion of Eistrea was heavily interwoven with the farming culture, and children were needed to both inherit and run farms. The more hands available, the more crops could be grown and harvested. Jaime was born and raised in Marlec Pointe, a port city on the southern shores of Eistrea, and while the prejudices against same-sex love weren’t as prevalent since the city thrived on trade and the nearby fort, the prejudice against magic not controlled by the crown was strong.
“Goodnight, Jaime,” Master Eames said. “And welcome home.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jaime managed to speak without his voice cracking, but it was a close thing.
Master Eames gave him a kind smile and walked from the room, leaving Jaime alone to put the patient file back to rights. The room was lit by those exotic and strange lamps that held fireless light, and the setting sun cut through the windows with a warm glow. The wide space was empty, and Jaime set to wandering, curious. His guesses made earlier about what each space was reserved for in the wider area were correct, and he found himself engrossed in the sparkling clean silver instruments arrayed on cotton padding in the surgery corner. He’d only been taught the absolute basics of surgery, and some of the instruments he only knew on sight from his studies.
“Are you Jaime?” A new voice from behind surprised him, and Jaime twirled, yanking his hands back from the table holding surgery implements. A young man with a tall, thin frame and bird-like mannerisms tilted his head, blinking owlish eyes at him from behind thin spectacles. “Jaime Buchanan?”
“Oh! Yes! Apologies. Yes, I am Jaime.”
The young man took a step forward, holding out a hand, and Jaime clasped it, pleased by the firm grip and the no nonsense shake. The young man wore full healer’s robes, though lacking in the senior ranking badges. A full healer, but not one of the masters. His age was likely the reason, as he was about Maxim’s age, maybe a bit older. “My name is Jasper Greaves. I’ve been assigned as your mentor. You have the healing touch, yeah?”
Jaime nodded. “Yes, I do. Master Eames said the same for you?”
Greaves smiled, skin crinkling around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. A man who smiled often, his eyes were bright behind the glass of his spectacles. “Yes, the same. Of the fifty or so healers and students here in the palace, about twenty of us have the healing gift to various degrees. Until you arrived, I had the strongest measurable gift.”
Jaime frowned, wiping his suddenly damp palms on his thighs. “Um, sorry?” He was worried his new mentor would be jealous.
“No need to be sorry! I’m glad I don’t have the honors alone anymore. Too many people come to me directly, wanting me to heal everything from a bruise to a scar taken from a bad fall a few decades back. No matter how many times I say the healing gift shouldn’t or can’t be used for such ailments, I get nasty complaints. Now we’ll both get them, and I might get a break,” Greaves winked and smiled as he spoke, and Jaime cracked a smile of his own.
“I’ve had such requests before,” Jaime said, thinking back. Often, he’d complied, thinking it wouldn’t hurt. Sometimes the requests couldn’t be met, even by his gift, like re-growing a thumb lost to a poorly wielded scythe or scars that were decades old. Sometimes he could help old injuries, but most of the time, there was nothing he could do.
“Master Eames said you’re training resumes tomorrow, but we’re both here.” Greaves tilted his head toward the direction of the infirmary, and said, “Want to get to work now? I’ve got a handful of patients I need to see before supper.”
“Yes, sir.” Sitting alone in his room with nothing to do didn’t sound as appealing as proving his worth and getting to work. He feared he would spend the night obsessing over Prince Maxim regardless.
Jaime followed behind Healer Greaves as they left the large common room, crossed a small hall, and entered the infirmary. It was broken up into sections and far larger than Jaime could see from the residence hall. A couple of desks were beside the entrance, and a center aisle separated two rows of beds before the room took a sharp corner, opening to a barracks-style room with two dozen beds and white fabric screens on frames that could be moved to afford privacy. Tall windows filled the room with light, and unlit sconces marked even intervals along the walls, with a large fireplace at the far end. Small metal and brick stoves between every few beds provided warmth, with pipes on either side to draw the smoke out of the room. The infirmary seemed to be built in an area that was separate from the rest of the palace, a small wing that was surrounded by cleared courtyards and small trees. The high walls of the palace were visible from the windows on the right side of the long room.
Greaves let him gawk for a few moments before tugging on his sleeve and pulling him to a set of beds. A young man, about Jaime’s age, and an older man in the next bed over were both dressed in the red and white of the palace guard. The younger of the two men had an arm in a sling, his wrist and hand splinted to restrict movement. The older man sat upon his bed, feet on the floor, with a folded piece of cloth over one of his eyes, stained with blood.
“I would ask what happened,” Greaves said with a wry twist of his lips and a chuckle, “But since it’s the two of you again, I think it might be the same answer as last time. Training accident?”
“Yes, Healer Greaves,” the younger of the guards piped up, casting a quick, inquisitive glance at Jaime where he hovered at the end of the bed. “I slipped on some ice, and my practice sword clocked Rennie in the face. I hit the flagstones, and I think I broke my arm. Doesn’t hurt as bad as the sprain last month, but the medic said it was broken and sent me here. Rennie got a nasty cut over his eye, and I’m afraid I might’ve poked his eyeball out.”
“Eyeball’s still in my head, boy,” the older guard muttered, though he didn’t sound all that upset. His good eye lingered on the younger man, who blushed, his already dark skin getting rosy as he bit his lip and smiled. Jaime found himself smiling, too. The affection the two men had for each other was charming and obvious to anyone who had eyes to see. “See to Tanner first. He was bawling the entire way up here.”
“Well, there’s two of us, so how about we deal with both of you?” Greaves answered and motioned Jaime toward Rennie while he went and sat next to Tanner. Jaime snapped into motion, grabbing a small stool from the foot of the bed and setting it in place in front of Rennie. The older man eyed him dubiously but let Jaime take away the folded cloth from his left eye.
A wide cut started just above his eyebrow, bisected his brow, and the blow from the practice sword made enough contact with the actual eyeball that the whites were filling with blood from ruptured vessels. The eye looked intact still, and Jaime gave the guard a reassuring smile.
“Tell me what you’re seeing,” Greaves said from behind Jaime, and Jaime set aside the stained cloth before reaching for a clean pile that was stacked on the stand between the two beds.
He took a small fold of fabric and blotted the seeping blood while he replied to Greaves. “The eye is intact, but blood is spilling into the center and may impair his vision. The laceration isn’t deep, but wide enough it needs to be stitched or healed. I think he has a concussion, too, since his eyes aren’t dilating the same in response to the light.”
Jaime gripped Rennie’s chin in his hand, keeping the man from moving as he pressed the fabric back over the wound. He looked over his shoulder and saw light emanating from under Greaves’ hands as he healed Tanner’s arm. Greaves spared Jaime a glance, not surprised by Jaime’s evaluation of Rennie’s injuries. He likely heard as much from the medic before Greaves gathered Jaime in tow.
“Have you healed an eye before?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get on with it then. I’ll be watching from here. Make sure to mind his head injury.”
Jaime nodded without replying and set aside the fabric. Rennie looked nervous, taking in Jaime’s trainee garb. Jaime waited, and Rennie eventually settled, letting him start. Jaime gently placed his right hand over the man’s eye and made just enough contact to speed the healing along. Jaime shut his eyes, breathing deep, and sent his awareness out. Rennie did indeed have the beginnings of a minor concussion, but his eye was hurting him most of all. Jaime let his energy flow from his center, out to his hand, and sent it into Rennie. He healed the concussion first, since it was deeper inside the man’s body, and continued healing as he pulled his awareness back, sealing the cut with a thought. Pulling his gift back under control was harder than using his gift; once he let his walls down, the energy just wanted to flow everywhere it could, heedless of how exhausting it was for Jaime to focus it. He slowed the energy down, making sure to be careful with the eye. He could not push the blood back inside ruptured vessels, but he could seal them off, letting Rennie’s body absorb the blood back into itself naturally. The man would bruise, but the bruises would not get worse and would heal much faster than if Jaime had done nothing.
He opened his eyes as he dropped his hand. He used a clean corner of the stained fabric to wipe the blood from his hand, and his gift settled peacefully back within his center once he corralled it. Rennie blinked in surprise and ran his fingers over the place where the cut had been. Faint bruises marred the now healed skin, and his eye was still red, but the pupils were reacting normally to the light coming in from the windows. “Feel better?”
“Thank you, yes,” Rennie said, nodding slowly. Jaime handed him a clean cloth, and Rennie wiped the remaining blood from his face. Jaime smiled to himself at the stunned and slightly awed expression on the guard’s face, used to it. He felt amazing himself. It was the first time in over six months he felt normal again. Felt like himself. He could breathe again.
“It’s like it never happened!” Tanner exclaimed excitedly, only keeping his seat on the bed because Greaves put a hand out, stopping him. Greaves was unwinding the bandages and removing the splint, the wrist looking merely bruised. Those, too, would fade in a few days, the only sign that Tanner had been hurt.
“You’re both restricted to light duty for the next two days,” Greaves ordered, helping Tanner off the bed. Jaime took his cue and put away the stool, letting Rennie get to his feet. Greaves came over to Rennie and ran his hand lightly over the man’s face, eyes fluttering shut for a second as he examined Jaime’s efforts. He must have approved, as he gave them all a wide smile that crinkled his face along his nose and eyes and motioned the two guards toward the doors. “Get back to the barracks, and make sure to tell the captain you’re both on light duty. No exceptions. Sleep and rest so you don’t undo our efforts.”
“Thank you both,” Rennie said, and he grabbed at Tanner, pulling the excited younger man behind him as he strode from the infirmary. Tanner chatted the entire way, Rennie grumbling when Tanner paused to breathe. Jaime chuckled, watching as they reached the hall and disappeared.
Jaime looked expectantly at Greaves, who was staring back at him. Greaves held his gaze for a short moment, before nodding once. “Good job. Your transcripts weren’t lying. I think you’ll fit in just fine.”