A Burning in the Bones (Waxways #3)

Chapter 3 Mercy Whitaker

3 MERCY WHITAKER

Her travel bag consisted of a few outfits and a select arsenal of the medical tools that she’d been quietly adding enchantments to over the years. She also hastily packed a copy of Strolle’s The Common Plagues for quick reference. Mercy was hoping to beat Devlin to the hospital’s waxway room, but unfortunately, she found him already seated in the glinting light of candles that had been lit hours before. He looked like the smuggest statue in the world. His eyes were closed in concentration, but she saw his lips quirk slightly at the sound of her approaching footsteps. She wanted to reach out and smack him square in the forehead. Tell him to vanish from the room the same way he’d vanished five years ago.

Instead, Mercy took the seat across from him. She stared at the nearest candle, watching as the flame danced from side to side. Next, she studied the provided painting. It was a barn. The fixtures were all rusted. A broken fence flanked its left side. Her designated landing zone was an overgrown field with small, half-faded flowers. Mercy memorized the details before allowing her eyes to drift back to the flame once more.

Now for meditation. The candle needed to burn down a little more to cover their intended teleportation distance. Mercy tried to think about anything besides the person seated across from her: Devlin Albright. The two of them had dated for three years. Long enough that she’d met his family and he’d met hers. Long enough to make mistakes and say words they couldn’t take back. Devlin had told her that he wanted to marry her. He’d spoken those words, whispered them in quiet moments. Countless times. All before breaking up with her during their first year at Balmerick.

The image of her destination had slipped away. Sighing, she opened her eyes and began studying the painting again. The wheat-thin blades of grass. The picket fence…

“I’m sorry it worked out this way. I didn’t know I was being assigned to you.”

Devlin’s eyes were open. She looked past the candles at him—and a part of her wished she could undergo her own severance procedure. Perhaps Dr. Horn could cut through whatever cord was still connecting her to this creature.

“Mercy, it’s not—”

Anger burned hot in her chest. “Dr. Whitaker. You will call me Dr. Whitaker. I am your unwilling associate on this excursion. As far as you’re concerned, there’s no one named Mercy here.”

“Fine. Dr. Whitaker. I’m just here to do my job. That’s all.”

Of course. Devlin Albright. Duty above all else.

Mercy realized she was too annoyed to keep speaking with him. She centered that image again in her mind, and then reached out and snuffed the flame between two fingers. Her travel spell activated. She vaulted through space and time. Away, briefly, from Devlin Albright. Her chest thrummed unpleasantly. As always, she felt a particular sharpness in her two dead fingers. Like some invisible hand had clamped down on them and was squeezing . She also felt an aching in her lower stomach. Where she’d had surgery during her time at Balmerick. Ghost pains that were at their worst, for some reason, when traveling through the waxways.

And then she stumbled back into the real world.

Her feet set down in the same field she’d been picturing. It took a moment to get her bearings. The farm had a single road leading away from it. There was a small town glowing in the distance. It had to be Running Hills.

Mercy began to walk. She heard the vague sounds of someone else porting behind her. There was a sharp gasp, muttered curses, and then Devlin was jogging to catch up with her.

“Dr. Whitaker,” he called. And then more intensely, “Dr. Whitaker, seriously? You can’t break protocol. You know I’m supposed to port first. What if there had been a trap? What if there was something wrong with our destination? The guarding paladin always ports first.”

Mercy made a show of patting herself down. “All my parts are still attached. The portal destination seems to be operating just fine. If you’re experiencing any negative effects, do feel free to head back to Kathor. I’d be fine if Brightsword wanted to send a replacement.”

He made an annoyed noise that pleased Mercy to no end. She also took joy in pushing the pace—forcing him to match her strides for once. Gods knew that never happened in their actual relationship. In the distance, Running Hills appeared to be a departure from Kathor in every way. Back in the city, everything was built tight and tall. The goal was to fit as many people as possible into limited space. Here, the buildings spread out. It was as if someone had taken them all in the palm of their hand and rolled them over the hills like dice, watching as they scattered randomly. What she’d assumed was the town center turned out to be a circle of just five stoic buildings. There was a man sitting on the front steps of one. Everything else was quiet. Not another soul in sight.

Mercy hesitated before glancing at Devlin.

“Do you remember the description of our contact?”

“Midforties,” Devlin answered. “Light brown skin. Shaved head. That has to be him.”

Their approach drew his attention. The man stumbled down the steps to meet them. Notably, he wore a mask covering his mouth and nose. It was a quiet reminder of why they’d been summoned in the first place. There was disease running through this town.

“You came!” the man said. “I didn’t think anyone would actually come! Well, this is so exciting. I mean—the situation is obviously quite bleak—but to have a pair of Kathorian-trained doctors! Here in Running Hills. It’s all just so unexpected! I’m Nance Forester.”

He extended his hand. Devlin started to reached out, but Mercy pulled him back.

“Apologies,” she said. “But infections spread in a variety of ways. Your mask is an excellent precaution. Limited physical contact is another. I’m Dr. Mercy Whitaker. This is my assigned paladin—Devlin Albright. Could you give us any more information on what’s happening? All we were told is that your medic encountered a disease they didn’t recognize.”

Nance hastily withdrew his hand. “Right. Of course. My apologies. Let’s talk and walk. Two wyverns with one stone as they say.”

He turned to lead them through the heart of the town. The path diverged there, running in four different directions. Nance led them due east. Mercy kept a healthy distance between them for the sake of protocol. Devlin trailed them both like an unwelcome spirit. It was quiet. She could not remember the last time she’d left Kathor, but she’d drastically underestimated the noise of a proper city. Out here there was just the breeze and their footsteps crunching along the packed dirt.

“The first one to get sick was a boy,” Nance said. “His name is Wells. One of the farmhands over at Mariner’s place. Good kid. He went to bed looking as healthy as a fresh-picked apple. The next morning, he wakes up and —you’ll see what I’m talking about—it looked like the other boys at the place had beat him in his sleep. All of them swore up and down that they didn’t touch the kid. When he starts complaining about his ‘insides burning,’ they finally decided to call the local medic.

“So naturally she heads that way. Not a proper doctor, mind you, but she knew her business. She did some triage during the War of Neighbors. Not to mention she’s delivered every baby born in Running Hills over the last two decades. Anyways, she assesses the kid. Treats him. The next day? He’s worse, and she gets sick. Goes down with the exact same ailments. Everyone was hoping it would pass, but then all the other farmhands at Mariner’s contracted the illness. We officially reported the disease to Safe Harbor when it spread to one of the other farms.”

Mercy frowned. “Was there direct contact between the two locations?”

“That’s a good question to ask the fieldhands,” Nance said. “I didn’t have time to conduct more interviews. I’m the chair of the farming union across this whole district. Which means I haven’t slept a wink, between monitoring the disease and trying to organize getting extra workers out this way. We’re smack in the middle of harvest season. None of our farms can afford to be short-staffed right now.”

“You’re bringing more people here?” Mercy asked. “From other towns?”

That wasn’t exactly the best protocol when an unknown disease was spreading.

Nance shrugged. “What other choice do we have? The work happening this month amounts to about eighty percent of the town’s yearly profit.”

Mercy knew, if necessary, she had the authority to issue a lockdown. Safe Harbor’s doctors could serve as temporary governmental authorities. She wasn’t exactly sure what she could do to enforce such a command—other than having Devlin act intimidating—but her field guide made it clear she could do what was necessary to preserve the health and wellness of the wider civilization.

“So, two farms are involved. Your medic is sick. How many total patients?”

“It’s actually four farms now,” Nance corrected. “Last count was twenty-three, but I haven’t been able to check in since earlier this afternoon. It could be higher.”

Mercy was so shocked that she glanced back at Devlin. He looked surprised too. She hated that he was her only confidante here, but the reality was that those were shocking numbers. That was quite a wide spread compared to most diseases she’d spent time studying.

“Any social events recently? Dances or festivals?”

Nance shook his head. “Not really. I mean, it’s a small town. There are only so many folks to socialize with. The tavern stays busy, I suppose. People coming in and out. But no event that the whole town would have attended at the same time.”

Mercy was deep in thought when the farm finally appeared. The main building was surprisingly large. Sprawled out in the heart of a small valley, surrounded by endless rows of a crop she could not quite make out in the dark. Nance didn’t lead them toward the main house in the distance. Instead, he directed them to a series of smaller cabins. Residences for the farm’s hired hands, she guessed. Mercy signaled to their host before he knocked on any doors.

“Would you give me a moment? I want to discuss the proper spellwork with my associate. Just to make sure we’re on the same page about how to proceed.”

Nance nodded. “Yes, of course.”

He stood there for a moment before realizing Mercy desired a private conversation. There was movement on the opposite end of the cabins. A man appeared, hauling two massive buckets of water. He was barrel-chested and towering. His eyes fixed uncomfortably on Mercy until Nance trotted off in that direction. They exchanged a few words she couldn’t hear, and Nance helped him with the buckets. When they were out of earshot, Devlin nodded to her.

“You want to discuss spellwork?”

“Of course not,” she answered. “I’m almost a fellow at Safe Harbor. I know what spells to use. I just wanted to get your take of the situation.”

Primarily because she had no one else she could ask, but still, Devlin looked pleased to be included in the discussion. “Twenty-three seems like a high number in such a short time.”

“It is,” she agreed. “But I’m more concerned by the fact that it’s spread to so many other locations. It’s one thing for a dozen men sharing bunks to all get sick. That’s common enough. The leaps from farm to farm suggest a rapid-spreading contagion. Which is bad… but only if it’s bad .”

Devlin frowned. “You lost me.”

“The nature of the disease,” she said, thinking out loud. “If the disease results in an intense head cold, no big deal. That happens every winter. But if a truly deadly disease can spread this rapidly, you’re looking at something far more dangerous. Let’s put on masks. Triple-layered sealing enchantments over everything. We’ll refresh the spells every fifteen minutes.”

She looked over expectantly, and realized she was waiting for Devlin to add his two cents. It was muscle memory from their time together. She’d always been so uncertain of herself back then. Lacking in proper confidence. She’d looked to Devlin for the final word on every topic they discussed. His opinions had quietly stolen in and replaced her own. But now, they were standing squarely in the heart of her expertise. She didn’t need any notes from him. Really, she’d just needed to talk through it out loud to someone—a method for sorting her thoughts out.

“Let’s begin.”

She offered Devlin one of her own surgical masks before setting to work on casting every protective enchantment she thought would be useful. Nance and the other man were still delivering buckets of water, and Mercy couldn’t help noticing how the other man’s eyes slid back to her again and again. His attention crawled uncomfortably over her skin.

“He keeps staring,” Mercy whispered.

Devlin replied quietly, “I suspect you’re one of the only women to visit the farm in a while. I also suspect you’re one of the prettier ones to ever step foot in Running Hills.”

“Doesn’t make it any less creepy.”

Ready to get on with the work, she signaled for Nance. Their host set down a final bucket and hustled back to their side. “All sorted out?” he asked.

“What’s with the buckets?”

“All of them are thirsty. An almost unquenchable thirst. Holt’s been delivering water to them all afternoon. He’s a hand-for-hire in town,” Nance explained. “Works odd jobs for me every now and again. Mostly maintenance, but right now, there’s no one else left to help with this. All the farmhands are sick.”

Another disconcerting symptom. Almost as disconcerting as the way Holt kept glancing at her between deliveries. When the silence stretched, Devlin cleared his throat.

“I’ll make sure it’s safe to go inside.”

Before Mercy could nod her approval, there was a bright flash—like a miniature sun. Out of that brightness, a hound emerged. She could not tell if he was fully corporeal or made of light, but the creature briefly cocked its head back toward Devlin. An unspoken command traveled between them. The hound trotted forward—and blurred straight through the still-closed door. Nance actually clapped in delight at the summoning. Mercy glanced at Devlin.

“That’s new.”

“My divinity shield,” he replied, clearly proud. “Just one of the forms it can take.”

She restrained herself from calling the hound cute. Inside, they heard a brief yelp that was entirely human. She supposed that a dog made of golden light would be a shocking thing to wake up to. Hopefully, the young man didn’t think he was hallucinating. A few more seconds passed, and then the hound returned. Mercy thought it was rather convenient to have a creature who could walk through walls at your disposal.

“All clear,” Devlin announced. “It’s just the boy inside.”

A single touch from him had the hound vanishing like a puff of golden mist. The substance soaked back into his skin. Absorbing like sunlight. A shiver ran down Devlin’s body. Mercy saw his neck muscles straining. His chest rising and falling.

No, no, no, she thought. Don’t look at that. Don’t notice that. Not today. Not ever again.

“Let’s get started,” Mercy said, flustered by the distraction.

Nance rapped on the door. “We’re coming in, Wells. Make sure you’re decent.”

Their host shouldered inside. It was a decent-sized space. Far nicer than what her expectations had been. Three bunks with six total beds. A candle burned at the center of the room and she suspected it was enhanced by a small cantrip, because its glow curled through every nook and cranny. More than bright enough to read a book or journal by. Mercy’s eyes found the only occupied bunk. A boy sat there, shirtless but otherwise covered. That first glimpse drew a shocked gasp from her. His entire body—from head to hip—was covered in bruises. The colors were fading, but that did not make the painful constellations any less terrible. She’d never seen so many contusions on one body—and she’d once treated a wyvern flier who’d slipped from his mount and plummeted hundreds of feet, his body rag-dolling through the branches of the forest below. This was worse. As if the patient had been subjected to thousands of miniature stun spells. Mercy carefully schooled her expression as Nance made introductions.

“Wells. A doctor has come from Kathor. She’d like to talk with you.”

Devlin took up his post in the corner of the room. Mercy knew that the mask likely made her appear more frightening. She did her best to smile with her eyes.

“Hello, Wells. I’m Dr. Whitaker.”

He smiled at her and the sight was nearly enough to break her heart. It was a lovely, boyish smile. A reminder that he couldn’t be a day older than fifteen. The bruises had made him seem more mature somehow. As if pain like that could only knock on the door of someone old enough to face it. She removed a journal and a pen from her pocket.

“I’m just going to take some notes while we talk. Would you mind telling me about your symptoms? How you’re feeling?”

The smile retreated some. “Better. A little better. It hurt like hell at the start. The first thing was the bruises. I’m still sore, but when it started, it felt worse. Like I was burning inside.”

“No pain on the exterior of your body?”

The boy shook his head.

“So, no one hit you? There were no physical altercations?”

“No. Nothing like that. I get along fine with everyone here.”

“Not even with magic? No one struck you with a spell?”

Again, he shook his head. “Nothing I can remember. Besides, none of the boys here know much magic. A few spells to make our work easier. Weight reversal charms or sunshade spells maybe. You learn the spells that’ll help you survive harvest week, you know? Are there really spells that can do this?” He gestured to the bruises covering his body. “Are there?”

He looked afraid. Mercy was quick to shake her head.

“No, you’re right. I haven’t ever seen a spell do this. What else? Besides the bruises?”

She hated to ask that question. Weren’t the bruises enough? It looked unbelievably painful to hold that much damage inside a single body. The boy scratched at his collarbone before answering.

“I’m thirsty. My tongue just feels so dry. And I’m exhausted. More than just tired. It’s like I’m just… empty inside.”

“That’s common when you’re sick,” Mercy offered. “To not feel like yourself.”

He nodded. “And sometimes… I wake up and I’m not sure where I am. You know, kind of like a fog. It’s like… I think I’m back at my mom’s place. Even though I’ve been here for a couple of years. Longer than a lot of the other boys. I forgot some of their names too. Even this morning, I was trying to do a little spell just to heat my tea back up—and I couldn’t remember any of the steps. I don’t know. It’s like my brain is all turned over.”

Mercy scribbled down everything he was saying. It was a strange set of symptoms. Not what you’d typically see with a communicable disease. “Any fever?”

“Maybe on the first day?” Wells shrugged. “But like I said, it was more like… I was burning inside . Not just heat. It was pain. I’ve had fevers before. Been every kind of sick. Working on farms like these, you catch a little of everything. But this didn’t feel like that.”

She nodded. “Any tightness in your chest at all?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

“All right. I’d like to listen to your heart and your lungs. Do you mind?”

She held up her stethoscope, the same way she might to a small child, so that he could see it fully in the light and know it wasn’t anything that would hurt him. Wells nodded in return. When she gestured for him to come a bit closer, he obeyed, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. He wore leggings that ran down to his midcalf. She noted small bruises on the skin there as well. He sat up nice and straight, shivering only slightly when she set the tool against his wiry, birdlike chest.

Mercy followed the standard protocol. Listening to the boy’s heart, his lungs, his intestines. Trying to hear any murmurs or oddities. His heartbeat was almost normal. So very close to the normal thump, thump, thump of a healthy patient. If she had not been so thoroughly trained, she wouldn’t have heard the difference. But it was there. Right there.

An echo.

The sound was unlike anything she’d ever heard. Back during her training, students were given a series of enchanted stethoscopes. According to their overseeing doctors, every known abnormality could be studied by listening to the sounds in that room. She’d trained through all of them, learning each rhythm, understanding what was an abnormality and what was not.

This was something else.

An absence. Like something is missing.

“Everything sound all right?” Wells asked. His voice was so earnest.

“Yes,” she answered automatically. “Yes, you sound normal.”

No point in breathing out the unknown at this point. It would only make him more afraid. Mercy smiled reassuringly, earning one more of those boyish smiles in return, and then she stood. Her eyes swung over to Nance, who had been watching the exchange closely.

“I’ll need to see the others. And I’ll need to visit the other farms. Tonight.”