40. Zai
Zai
“Are we there yet?” Kestrel moaned behind me, his voice wavering with melodramatic exhaustion.
“By the blaze, this walk is taking forever. Didn’t you say we’d arrive by morning?
The sun’s already over the treetops. My legs feel like they’re about to fall off.
Remind me to stay on the ship next time. ”
“Gladly,” I grumbled.
A constant stream of words had poured from his mouth ever since we’d left Blightlands and I couldn’t silence him with the threat of lurking monsters anymore.
Flint’s rough voice rumbled behind me. “Ain’t that a village up ahead?”
I lifted my gaze from the roots beneath my feet. Sure enough, a small village sprawled before us in the golden morning sun. Houses with thatched roofs clustered among huge trunks, their wooden walls half-hidden beneath climbing vines and moss.
“Finally!” Kestrel threw his arms out. “Rootmere!”
We followed the path as it widened into the main road beside the river. A handful of people moved between the sparse storefronts, their voices mingling with the soft slap of water against the moored boats. This might have been the smallest settlement I’d ever visited.
Flint gestured toward one of the buildings. “Ah, thank the lights, they’ve got a tavern.”
He took the lead toward the squat building with smoke curling from its chimney. Inside, the air hung thick with fish stew and unwashed bodies. We approached the bartender, a grizzled man with a bushy red beard.
“Three ales.” I slid a few nuggets across the bar.
Three flagons clunked onto the counter, ale sloshing over the rims.
Flint snatched one and downed the entire thing in a few massive gulps. Unbothered by the liquid dribbling down his chin, he slammed the tankard back down with a satisfied belch. I swallowed a generous gulp and nearly choked. The ale tasted like someone had sifted it through old boots.
Kestrel grabbed the last flagon, took a swig, then raised his finger to the bartender. “This, my dear sir, is a mighty fine ale.”
The weathered man broke into a grin. “It’s my mum’s recipe.”
“Really!” Kestrel leaned over the bar. “What’s the secret to getting it so tangy?”
The bartender started babbling about herbs and the importance of timing fermentation just right. I drifted half a pace toward Flint, giving Kestrel space to weave his charm.
Before long, his voice lilted into casual curiosity. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could find a woman named Lora?”
The bartender broke into a knowing smile. “Oh, I see, you’re one of her visiting suitors, aren’t ya?”
Heat prickled up the back of my neck. Suitors? Something dark twisted through my veins.
“One of them?” Kestrel grinned. “My dear sir, I’d like to think I’m the one and only.”
“Well, good luck with that.” Smirking, the man snatched our empty flagons and wiped the bar. “As far as I know, she’s never been with anyone for long. Always gets rid of people before they grow too attached.”
Kestrel puffed himself up. “Maybe I’ll be the one who changes her.”
The man chuckled. “Not today, you’re not. She’s still off on adventures with that Dual Wielder.”
Kestrel’s grin returned. “Right, of course. She’s so heroic.”
“Yeah, I know. Her father and sister never shut up about it.”
“Ah, yes, her father and sister.” Kestrel leaned over the bar, lowering his voice. “Do you think it’s all right if I pop by and pay them a visit? Or are they too busy with… you know…?”
The barkeep raised a brow. “Tending the healing hut? Nah, it’s fine, they always make time for visitors.”
“Perfect!” Kestrel’s face lit up. “I think I’ll head over there straight away.”
As we stepped outside, Flint shoved an elbow into Kestrel’s ribs. “Nice work. You could convince the crackin’ clouds to part if ya wanted, couldn’t ya?”
Kestrel beamed. “The best way to get someone to trust you is to have them talk about themselves. My dear papa taught me that.”
Flint roared a booming laugh. “That’s crackin’ brilliant!”
I frowned at Kestrel’s words. They seemed contradictory coming from a man who babbled non-stop. But thinking back, he also had a habit of asking questions.
He’d complimented the bartender, made him relax, then slipped the question in about Lora. When the barkeep made his own assumptions, Kestrel instantly played along. I had to agree, it was brilliant.
The healing hut nestled between the other storefronts, its wooden sign carved with a crescent moon. Herbs hung in bundles from the eaves, swaying in the breeze.
As we stepped inside, a young woman at a table looked up from the herbs she was mincing.
Her dark eyes swept over the three of us, a smile spreading across her lips.
The curls flowing over her shoulders were brown instead of black, but her face carried unmistakable similarities—high cheekbones, a slender nose, those full lips. No doubt this was Lora’s sister.
Beaming, she stood. “Welcome! I’m Vela. How can I help you?”
Before any of us could answer, an older man emerged from a back room, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Ah, visitors. Come in, come in. I’m Maelor, the healer of Rootmere. And this is my daughter, Vela.”
“I already told them that,” she chimed in.
“Right, of course.” Maelor’s warm smile etched tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Are you in need of healing, or looking to stock up on salves and potions?”
My gaze flicked between them. Healing? The thought hadn’t occurred to me. But while I was here, maybe I should seize the opportunity. I lifted my hands, both still wrapped in bandages after Lora’s ice spikes had pierced them through a week ago.
“Ah, healing it is.” Maelor waved me closer. “Let me see.”
Flint stared at me, features twisted in skepticism, as if I’d lost my mind.
Maybe I had. As far as I knew, no one from the Sun Kingdom had ever received healing from a moon wielder. But what was the worst that could happen? It wasn’t like it would expose me as a sun wielder. Somewhere deep inside, curiosity sparked to life.
With a tiny shrug toward Flint, I crossed to the counter.
“Are these healing potions?” Kestrel’s bright voice rang out behind me.
“Of course!” Vela joined him by the shelves. “What are you looking for?”
I could practically hear his grin. “What have you got?”
While I extended my hands across the counter, Vela described the remedies, her voice warm and patient.
Maelor unwrapped the bandages, revealing my scabbed-over wounds.
“Oh my, this must’ve hurt.” His hands glowed blue as cool magic flowed from his touch.
I said nothing. Since that fight in Brookfalls, I’d sent small pulses of bolster into my hands and foot whenever the pain throbbed too intensely.
“Father!” Vela’s tone shifted to admonishing. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Right, sorry.” Maelor gave me a bashful smile. “It’s three nuggets for the healing.”
Vela folded her arms. “Three nuggets for each wound. That’s six nuggets!”
Maelor’s gaze flicked away, murmuring something that sounded like “Sorry,” aimed more at me than his daughter.
Frowning, I took in his contrite expression. Was he apologizing for charging me? I dug a gem from my coin pouch and slapped it onto the worn counter. Maelor scrambled to produce four nuggets in return, sliding them toward me. I left the coins untouched while he bent over my outstretched palms.
Satisfied, Vela turned back to Kestrel, pointing at an array of small glass bottles, her voice bright and animated as she described their contents.
Flint slouched beside the door, arms folded across his broad chest, expression somewhere between boredom and vigilance.
Blue light pooled between Maelor’s hands, cool and gentle as moonlight on water. The glow spread across my torn skin like a balm, soothing the sharp sting into a pleasant tingle.
Fascination rooted me in place as the raw edges of flesh knitted together beneath that ethereal light. Scabs dissolved and angry redness faded to healthy pink. Within heartbeats, smooth skin stretched where the wounds had been.
Lights above, healing like this existed, and people just… walked around with it in their hands.
“There.” He stepped back, satisfaction in his eyes. “Good as new.”
I swallowed. “Thank you.”
A young girl burst through the door, chest heaving. “Healer Maelor, sir! We need help!”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Trader Finn! He dropped a crate on his foot. Bleeding something fierce and can’t walk.”
“On my way.” Maelor snatched a leather satchel from beneath the counter and hurried toward the door. Pausing in the doorway, he glanced back. “Vela…”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got the hut covered.” She waved him off, already turning back to Kestrel with a bright smile.
Maelor disappeared through the door with the girl scurrying after him.
Vela lifted a small vial, green liquid swirling inside. “This one’s the best for minor wounds.” Pride colored her voice. “I always send a few with my sister when she goes on her monster hunts.”
Kestrel perked up like a shadow prowler catching a scent. “Your sister is a monster hunter?”
“Oh yes!” Vela’s eyes lit up.
“Love that!” Kestrel practically bounced on his heels, his chipped tooth flashing. “I’ve been dying to write a song about a monster hunter.”
He cleared his throat, one hand sweeping dramatically upward. “The Monster Hunter of Rootmere…” His voice rang through the small shop before he stopped, dropping his arm. “Wait, what’s her name?”
Vela clapped her hands, laughing. “Lora! Her name is Lora.”
Kestrel cleared his throat again, hand rising toward the ceiling.
“Lora! The Monster Hunter of Rootmere!” He launched into a half-spoken, half-sung verse.
“The moon between her palms and courage true, she ventures where few dare to go. With her beautiful sister’s healing potions at her belt, ready to mend whatever wounds she’s been dealt! ”
Vela covered her mouth, giggling.
“But one day…” Kestrel drew the words out before leaning in close, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Has she done something truly epic lately? Something worthy of a grand ballad?”