Everywhere Marek looked, he was amazed at what he saw. There were houses of fine wood and even one or two of stone that wouldn’t have been too out of place in Velaire. Their presence in the middle of the Huzha Desert was a feat. The roads were also well-maintained, with enough room for six riders riding abreast down the main road, leading down to the Lake.

And what a lake it is, Marek thought, looking at the massive body of water with disbelief. To think that there was so much water in the middle of the desert was incredible. He had heard of it, he hadn’t ever thought their accounts false, but to hear of it was one thing and another entirely to see it with your own eyes.

A wind blew, soft and fleeting, and with it came the scents of water that Marek had almost forgotten. He closed his eyes for a moment and let himself be taken back home, where, as a training Magician, he sometimes made his way to Velaire’s docks. The memories of the sights, sounds, and smells rushed back to him.

In Velaire, he hadn’t ever thought of it twice—the city was on the edge of a massive lake, which was quadruple the size of the Lake of Peace. He had been in the Huzha for so long now that, unless he was looking at Drea’s Bay to the west or the Forgotten Sea to the east—an infrequent event—he had seen small ponds at best. To see freshwater as far as the eye could see was breathtaking, and Marek couldn’t stop the wistful smile on his face as he beheld the shimmering blue depths of the Lake of Peace.

Proper planning and execution meant that he never had to rely on the ‘generosity’ of Chieftain Yarran’s people, who were renowned for demanding the last copper coin of travelers—even if they were literally starving to death.

The thought of the Chieftain and the deal he’d made was enough to bring Marek back to thoughts of his task. He didn’t even have to touch his pendant to feel it burning on his chest. Images assaulted his mind, of the old woman that he would be healing, and the possibilities of a successful healing and… not?

Marek narrowed his eyes and focused on the vision. If he healed the woman, that would be fine. But if he did too good a job of it, then Yarran would be angry? How is that possible? How would Yarran be angry if he healed someone he cares about too successfully? What does that even mean? Marek wanted nothing more than to place a hand on the pendant to see if that would help, but since it was on his skin anyway, it wouldn’t do anything. It also wouldn’t be a good idea to make the suspicious Chieftain even more suspicious if I start doing strange things.

The Chieftain himself was riding in front of Marek and hadn’t said a word. He was directing Marek’s way to the woman that he was supposed to be healing and had an air of grim forbearance about him, as if Marek’s presence grievously offended him.

Ako rode beside him, and she turned and smiled at Marek. Marek smiled back, grateful for her presence. It had been three years since they had first met on that fateful day in the alleyway. The first few weeks afterward had been tumultuous, but it had also helped forge a strong bond between them. Ako was the sister that Marek had never had, and he desperately hoped that she would be a part of his life forever. Even if she irritates me by her hovering, Marek thought, his lips quirking up into a quick smile. It was such a novel experience having someone care for him in such a way that, even at her most overbearing, he could never be mad at her. Ako was family and his sister, even if they weren’t blood related.

Marek turned back to the road, where people were beginning to line the red sandstone streets. They didn’t say a word, just staring at them silently as they rode past them.

I’ve seen more cheer in a graveyard, Marek thought wryly.

Eventually, they arrived at the biggest house that Marek had seen yet: it had two floors and it was made of interlocking stones of various colors and shapes piled together. It looked like a stiff breeze would knock it over but given how many of them were around the oasis—if not so big—it seemed to be a working strategy.

Yarran dismounted from his horse. Marek followed suit, as well as Ako. The rest of the Company, which included Wyatt, Anton, and a half-dozen others, were barred from entering by Yarran’s guards, so they stayed mounted and waited further back.

“The girl may not enter,” Yarran said dismissively. “Only you, Magi.”

“If I’m to heal, I will do as I please,” Marek said. “She will not disturb me or my patient. You have my word.”

“Her presence disturbs me,” Yarran said. He walked to Marek and crossed his arms, glaring at him. “I recognize her by the description her family gave to me and other Chieftains. I would not have such a woman near my grandmother. There was a contract for her, signed and agreed upon, that she still has not fulfilled. Her family has named her an Oathbreaker.”

“I don’t care what she is. Just try and stop me,” Marek snapped, angry at the mention of a marriage contract that had been forced upon Ako. He flicked his wrist, and his wand exited its sheath. It came to rest in his waiting hand. Yarran took a step back, a hand going to his sword. “Try,” Marek murmured, ignoring the exclamations behind him. “Try and stop me, Chieftain.”

“Marek,” Ako said. There was an undercurrent of worry in her voice as she came up to Marek and placed a hand on his shoulder. “There is no need to force the issue.”

“I have every right to insist,” Marek said stubbornly. “If I wanted to bring the whole caravan to come and watch, he shouldn’t be able to interfere. I am the healer; not him.”

“And yet, he has asked you to accede to his wishes,” Ako said. “He is our host, Marek. Truly, I do not mind. While I always like to watch and help if needed, my presence is not required.”

“She helps?”

“Yes,” Marek bit out. It was taxing to try and remain even on the edge of politeness. “She frequently assists me whenever I heal someone. She isn’t a Healer, but she is capable.”

Yarran visibly considered this, his desire for his grandmother to be healed warring with his principles. His desire to see his grandmother healed won as he nodded, looking like he had bitten into something sour. “Fine,” he said. “She says not a word unless spoken to.”

“Agreed,” Marek said. He pointed with his wand at the house’s front door. “Lead the way, Chieftain.”

Yarran began to say something else, but he shook his head and turned. He stalked to the house, seized the doorhandle, and opened the door with a jerk. Marek and Ako walked by him and into the house. It was adequately furnished, but nothing that would suggest the Chieftain lived here besides the size of everything. The floor was a smooth dark wood, but that was the only thing in the living room, as an old woman—doubtlessly Yarran’s grandmother—was lying in a bed in the middle of the room.

She wore little in the way of clothes, just a brown shift to keep her modesty. She was covered in blankets and appeared to be sweating right through them. She was tossing and turning in the bed. Yarran walked up to her and knelt, placing a hand on her forehead. He pulled back, frowning at the moisture on her warm forehead.

“Looks like a fever,” Marek said. Ako was kneeling across from him, waiting. He locked gazes with her and raised an eyebrow. “Wet rag?”

Ako looked up at a Yarran, who was hovering anxiously at the foot of the bed. “I will fetch it,” Yarran said, nodding and swallowing. He blinked and his face spasmed, as if he were trying to repress emotions that were struggling to surface. “One moment.”

Yarran hurried out of the room, leaving Marek and Ako alone with Yarran’s grandmother. “If it’s a fever, she is not working through it well,” Ako said. She, too, placed a hand on the old woman’s forehead, brushing away a wisp of white hair.

“Older people have weakened protection against things that younger people easily deal with,” Marek said, nodding. He peered down at the woman’s wizened face. She was looking up at the ceiling, panting. There was a thin line of drool from one sliding down the side of her mouth. He reached over to wipe it and hesitated. “I’ll wait for the rag,” Marek said. The ‘who knows what she may have’ went unsaid but judging by Ako’s widening eyes and her furtive nod, it didn’t go unnoticed.

Yarran bustled back into the room with a dripping rag. Marek accepted it with a nod and wiped away the drool before placing it on the woman’s forehead. “Some are uncomfortable when I use magic,” Marek said, keeping his voice casual. In the corner of his eye, Marek saw Yarran stiffen. “You may stay in the room, but if you have to leave, that’s also fine.”

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“I… will stay,” Yarran said, starting hesitantly but ending certain. “She is my last grandparent. My wife and I are expecting a child, and we would like to have her hold him.”

“Congratulations,” Marek said as he opened himself up to his magic, the action dulling his voice. “My best wishes to your wife.”

“Thank you,” Yarran said before he impatiently gestured to the woman. “Can you begin, now?”

“I will,” Marek said. To heal, he usually had to go much deeper into his magic. He required his magic not on a surface level but on a deep level to affect deep change within the body of a person. It was very difficult to maintain on your own, let alone holding a conversation.

“Please do not speak unless I speak to you, Chieftain. If I am distracted, the results could be disastrous for both myself and your grandmother.”

“Yes, yes,” Yarran said. He was shifting his weight from leg to leg like an excited child trying to keep still. “Do it.”

“Ako, move behind her head and grasp her shoulders. Try to keep her as still as possible,” Marek instructed. He then held his wand out and tapped it on the woman’s chest while pushing his magic through it at the same time. Marek’s magic tried to gallop down the wand and into the woman, but Marek held it back, feeling like a dam threatening to break under the pressure of thousands of gallons of water.

As his magic made contact with the woman, Marek felt something dirty on the edge of his senses, like the beginning of a smell that couldn’t yet be identified. Marek almost threw up as he found more of it, and it was soon clogging his senses. Marek felt himself grit his teeth as he struggled to maintain the deep connection with his magic, as he was now feeling the same sickness that Yarran’s grandmother was enduring.

There’s so much of it, Marek thought distantly. Usually, when he went to heal, there was something he could work with, an area that wasn’t corrupted that he could build off. There was nothing. This sickness, whatever it was, had consumed this woman.

There was a scream, and Marek could hear Ako shout something to Yarran, something impacted with his body. It hurt, but it was a distant feeling, like something that he would worry about later. Much later. Here within the woman’s body, his magic intermingling with her soul in a way that was more intimate than the average man would ever know from his wife, he felt no physical pain. More than one student had been lost in their minds enveloped by the person they were trying to heal. They existed, but as a blank slate, everything that made that person unique and colorful gone within an instant.

Marek wasn’t in danger, but the woman was. He couldn’t use regular healing methods, so he would do something else. Something burned, and images flashed within his mind, but he dismissed them. He had been called to heal this woman, and he would do so.

Here goes nothing.

Marek began to channel more of his magic into the woman, sending it everywhere the sickness lingered. It was akin to a bright light scouring away inky darkness, and it was using up a lot of his power. Marek grimaced and kept channeling. He shrugged off a hand on his shoulder, almost losing control. That could’ve killed him, the woman, and everyone in the room if he had been particularly unlucky.

He kept channeling until the sickness was gone, obliterating it wherever it lay. Where there was darkness, Marek brought light. He moved to different parts of the body, sending his magic through the woman’s body to find and then attack the remnants with unrelenting force.

Sweat was dripping down Marek’s back as he came to, his wand warm to the touch. He blinked rapidly, almost groaning as a headache made a sudden and vengeful appearance. The room was blindingly bright compared to the pitch darkness that he had been working in.

“Your grandmother is fine,” Marek said to no one, unable to see much of anything as he shaded his eyes with a shaking hand. “It was a lot of magic, but the sickness is eradicated. Let her sleep, and she should be awake within a few hours.”

“T-thank you,” Yarran’s voice said thickly. A large hand was placed on his shoulder, and it gripped it with a strength that Ako did not possess. “You have saved my grandmother, who will now be able to see the birth of my child. Thank you.”

Marek tried to stand, and Yarran’s hands helped him to his feet. Marek swayed and almost fell. Yarran steadied him, and after a few moments, Marek could finally see again. Yarran’s eyes were full of unshed tears, the only sign that the man was close to breaking down.

“You are weakened,” Yarran said. He turned to Ako. “Fetch him a chair,” he said in Kulok. Ako immediately left to get a chair, returning with a stool that Marek all but collapsed on at the moment it was placed down.

“You are very powerful,” Yarran noted as he passed a flask to Marek.

“Thank you,” Marek muttered, taking a long sip from the flask. The water was pleasantly cool and was soothing as it went down his parched throat.

“I will see that your caravan gets what it needs at the price that we agreed upon,” Yarran continued. “Where will you be going, Núwek?”

“Velaire,” Marek said. He closed his eyes and took another sip, willing his pounding headache to go away. It was difficult to speak more than a few syllables. “Past Ashenstead.”

“Ashenstead,” Yarran repeated, sounding very alarmed. His hand went to his sword again, but he hesitated as his eyes went to his grandmother, who was now sleeping peacefully.

“I see,” he said at last. “I doubted you, Zak. Your magic caused my grandmother to struggle to the extent that I thought you were killing her. I tried to tear you away from her, but your… friend stopped me. She told me to wait, and I am glad that I did.”

“That’s good,” Marek said cautiously, sliding his wand back up his sleeve. He could see clearly again, and Yarran’s indecisiveness was warring with something else in his expression. Fear?

“You are tired,” Yarran said. “You will be escorted to your rooms. Please leave whenever you are able.”

“Fine,” Marek said, getting up on shaky legs. Ako hurried forward to assist him. “I will speak to you tomorrow. Good day, Chieftain.” Marek placed his two fingers on his lips and bowed slightly in accordance with Kulok custom, which Yarran returned with a distracted air. “Yes, yes,” he said. “Good day, Zak.”

Ako and Marek left the house slowly and made their way back to their mounts. “Yarran was terrified when you mentioned we would be going past Ashenstead,” Marek murmured. “Do you know why?”

“No,” Ako murmured back. “I will ask around, Marek.”

“Good,” Marek said with a groan as he lifted himself back onto his camel. “I would rather us not deal with a nasty surprise.”

As Marek said those words, his pendant burned again on his chest. There were no images this time, just an icy chill. Cold like an empty grave, Marek thought. He nodded and said one-line responses to questions from Wyatt, Ako, and Anton when they made their way back to them, thinking about the feeling that he had just felt. I’m going to have to be careful going past Ashenstead.

The pendant continued to burn, showing nothing but still emitting the same chill in his mind. It lingered long past when Marek was lying down in a cot, staring up at the clay ceiling. I’ll deal with it as it comes, Marek thought, and with that final thought, he closed his eyes and slept.