Concealed Power: The Healers of Meligna

Chapter One

This evening my parents prepared a last meal of rice and pork before they took my uncle’s best horse and cart south for merchant trading. I asked if I could go with them. They said no as they always did. Mid-spring signalled the gathering of merchants across my country, South Senya, for the Bivinia markets in Old Bow. At that time of year, I worried about my affliction most.

Frothy soap dripped from my wet fingers as I tried to scrub them clean. They were red and sore yet I still believed the cracks and lines in my palms hid traces of my disease.

‘That’s enough washing, Adenine. Come over here,’ Father said.

I darted my eyes to his and then back to my palms, annoyed with the dim light that did little to show the details of my skin. Being the last carrier of the Death Plague, I had to be extra careful that none of the impurities passed to Mother and Father’s clothes. Outside people weren’t immune to my disease.

I dropped the soap on the side of the wash dish. I wiped my hands on my dress and walked over to where Father and Uncle Garrad stood. All three of us waited for Mother to finish her flustered search for the provisions they would need on the trip. My hands still felt dirty, and I scratched at them with my fingernails.

Mrs. Moferbury, my tutor, had told me that the Death Plague had led to a civil war. Our country’s turmoil made the Bivinians see us as a cursed land, which was why my parents had to travel so far to retrieve their exotic merchandise. In order for a Bivinian to accept a trade from a Senyan merchant, the Senyan must be dressed in a tunic as white as snow and as clean as the coat of a prized mare to demonstrate purification of our Senyan filth. Mother said the Bivinians were an aloof people ruled by tradition and ritual.

‘Now, you be a good girl, Adenine, and keep your old uncle entertained,’ Father said, leaning over to tuck a strand of my black, flyaway locks behind my ear.

‘Yes, Papa,’ I replied, giving him my warmest smile.

‘Don’t be mocking my age, little brother. Or I’ll guzzle that there prized ale of yours,’ Uncle Garrad said from behind me. He placed a hand on my shoulder. One good thing about my parents’ absence was that I got to spend time with my Uncle Garrad, who was older than my father yet twice the fun, mostly because he bent my parents’ rules.

The only light in the room came from two small lamps—my uncle held one of them—and the fire in the hearth. As Uncle Garrad moved, his lantern swung from side to side, causing shadows to dance on Father’s face. I reached out and tugged on my uncle’s long beard. My father chuckled and straightened his spotless tunic.

‘I would not be surprised if I returned to find my casks drained.’ Father winked at me.

‘Are you calling me a drunkard? Least I don’t kiss the arse of the weak-willed Bivinians.’

‘Without my bottom kissing, you wouldn’t have access to my brew, now would you?’

Uncle Garrad laughed and stroked his beard. ‘Can’t deny that I s’pose.’

Their jousting didn’t change the empty feeling that filled my gut knowing Father and Mother would be gone soon. They’d be away for a month, but it would feel like forever. My heart fluttered a little. Soon, he would open the great oak and iron barricade of a door that separated our home’s second story from our shop below, Mystoria, a door that kept me in, and other people out.

Father lifted a large leather bag that bulged with coin, clothes, and other necessities. With his other hand, he twisted his fingers around the brass ring that secured two iron keys. With a jingle, he brought the keys up in front of him in order to choose between them. I held my breath. The cart was packed. Mother was almost done in the nearby storeroom, and I was filled with anticipation of what Father would do next.