The Clan of Outcasts (Seasons 1 and 2)

Part 8: Scales

In The Castle, Twenty years ago...

Erlis sighed and laid aside her pen to massage her cramped hand. She would need to remember to mix a poultice in these last few hours of her day, so that all she would need to do was wrap her hand and fall into bed. Out of habit, she crossed to the window. The royal chambers occupied the next turret. On still nights, she could hear the soft groans of the Queen, punctuated by the King's rattling cough. They were both just past their prime, with plenty of years left—at least, they should have.

For years since Balwyn Seramis ascended the throne with Gracelle at his side, Erlis had sought out healers from all over the world, to learn their techniques and apply them to keeping the rulers fit and healthy. So many wars, famines, even a plague or two had swept the nation, but the King always looked upon the young Healer with complete faith in her abilities, despite her young age. At his request, she never touched the famed "elixirs of immortality" guzzled by other rulers, nor any of the miraculous drugs hawked by wizened, bug-eyed charlatans. A broad base of study and an ardent spirit gave Erlis Irrya the discernment she needed to develop her healer's instinct: she could see a single blemish on the patient's skin, or hear the softest breath, and not only assess the problem, but evaluate exactly what was needed to fix it.

Why couldn't the Council trust her, then?

Queen Gracelle was expecting a child, and Erlis was allowed to serve as her midwife—but when King Balwyn took gravely ill right next to her, she was ordered to stand aside.

"Your duty is to the Queen and ensuring the safe birth of the new Crown Prince!" The councilor had snapped at her when she resented a petition to diagnose King Balwyn and prepare a medicine for him, in addition to caring for his very pregnant wife.

The declaration had filled the young healer with dread. New Crown Prince? Why, had they given up on the King's other son so easily? But the Council had been formed by the King, and given jurisdiction to run the kingdom in his stead until he was fit to resume his duties. Never mind that Balwyn had added the phrase "as I would"—there was not a man or woman in that whole group capable of leading in the manner of King Balwyn. They ruled as they saw fit; Erlis could do nothing but keep her head down and focus all her energy on the tiny King-to-be, praying that his father may yet survive long enough to pass his wisdom on to his son.

Tonight, the Queen sounded restless, so Erlis gathered some warm cloths and scented oils and hurried to the bedroom. She crept softly in and stood by the queen's bed, placing the towels on her patient's sweat-drenched forehead and around her swollen belly. Even in the brief touch, Erlis could feel the frantic activity of the baby within the womb. She reached for the first vial of oil.

A shadow moved, and Erlis' hand shook, sending the vial crash in to the floor. The shadow by the king's bed turned and glared at her with dark, dull eyes.

"Do you mind?" The man grunted. He turned back to the King and held his hands over the regal chest, muttering and groaning to himself.

Erlis attempted to be friendly. "My name is Erlis," she greeted the stranger as she smoothed another dose of soothing oils into the Queen's belly. "What is yours?"

The man's muttering broke off, and he huffed. "They call me Chelom," he snapped. "Now if you don't mind, I have important work to do!"

Erlis felt the creeping suspicion—had the Council hired Chelom to try and heal the King? "What sort of work?" She asked innocently. "Are you a healer too?"

"Healer? By Hecate!" The man reached into a satchel at his side and pulled out a talisman and some old branches. "Nothing so trivial as that; I am a Healing Mage."