Excerpt from Stray copyright Traci N. Castleberry
Healer Feisal had hardly registered the cold body beside him when a blur of violet and gold rushed into the room. Two Elite Corps,
one male and one female, yanked him out of the bed and into the hallway. Instinct made him struggle to get back inside. "Let me
go! I'm a Healer! There's got to be something I can do. Let me try."
"Be still." Feisal recognized Eamon, the male corpsman, who tilted his voice so he spoke with a compulsion. Feisal had no choice
but to submit. Feisal couldn't even use his dennar, the gift that allowed him to sense and heal the injuries of others, to see if he
could sense anything from the body. The corpsman blocked that, too. "Give me your hands." Feisal held them out, and Eamon
bound his wrists together with a leather thong. "Sit. Say nothing. Hear nothing."
Feisal sat cross-legged just outside the room with his back against the wall. He stared dully at his bindings, and because of the
compulsion felt not even the faintest impulse to try and free himself. Voices carried in the rooms and hallway around him. Feisal
paid them no attention. Instead, he watched different legs and feet go in and out of the room. The shiny black boots of the
Corps. Brown boots scuffed and stained with spilt wine that belonged to the tavernkeeper. Bare feet and skinny legs for the rent
boys and girls come to see what the matter was.
And one pair of shoes specially dyed indigo with a dark brown stain on the toe of the left. A Healer, come too late.
When they'd finished in the room, the corpsmen used one of the Corps' carriages to transport Feisal to the Infirmary, where they
held him in the cramped room that served as his office. Some of the fog in his mind dissipated enough to let him speak. "What
happened?" His voice trembled. He was in familiar territory, yet accompanied by two of the city's most highly trained guards.
"How did that boy die?"
Their only answer was to free his hands and provide a basin and pitcher of water to wash the blood from his skin. None of it was
his, but he didn't feel any relief. The front of his white linen shirt bore darkening spatters. The cuffs of his sleeves and pants were
crusted with drying blood. Feisal felt sick as he changed into the spare set of clothes he kept, a midnight blue shirt and jacket along
with an earth-brown pair of pants. Eamon took his old clothes. For evidence, Feisal assumed.
Orossy would be worried. Feisal hadn't left his charge at his home alone for so long, and the young man was headstrong enough
that he might try to leave if he thought Feisal wasn't coming back. Feisal had to go home, soon. He'd promised to keep Orossy
safe, and he couldn't do that if he were treated like a prisoner in his own Infirmary.
This had to be some sort of misunderstanding. He thought back to the tavern. There'd been someone else in the room. The dead
rent boy, the two Corps, and—
--The dim light of the lanterns silhouetted a figure kneeling on the ground beside the rent boy. The boy's eyes were wide with pain
and terror. He couldn't scream, but Feisal's dennar could sense the agony coursing through the boy's body. The tingle of dennar
filled the room. The kneeling man was using his dennar to hurt the boy on purpose. Feisal cried out and ran toward the man,
intent on getting him to stop. The man looked at him. His face caught the light, and Feisal recognized him. It was—
Memory failed him, no matter how many times he tried to recall the man's face. He paced to hide his nervousness, wondering
what in the Lady's name they were waiting for. The corpsmen stood still and watched, probably talking to each other mind-to-
mind and discussing him. Somehow he'd gotten mixed up in whatever had killed that rent boy. Trying to think of what he
remembered before he'd woken up didn't help either. He recalled nothing clearly after walking toward Tavern Street to make his
rounds.
"Will you tell me what happened?" he asked again. The corpsmen exchanged a glance, but remained silent. They weren't likely to
speak, no matter how much Feisal begged them. They were here as muscle only. The decisions and investigations into a Healer's
activities were left to the Infirmary Council, who brooked no interference from the city corps.
At an unspoken cue—mind-to-mind message via dennar, Feisal suspected—his escorts led him down the back hallways of the
Infirmary to avoid most of the people. His knees failed him when he realized where they were going. The corpsmen had to half-
carry him through the massive wooden doors and into the Infirmary's council chamber. Feisal hated this room. He'd had to come
here year after year to stand before the Senior Healers in the hopes that they would promote him from apprentice to journeyman.
They enjoyed sitting up on their dais and looking down to make their apprentices feel unworthy and insignificant. The council
passed all of their judgments here.
The cushions kept for the ninety-three Healers and their twenty-odd apprentices were stacked against the walls, leaving the center
open. The emptiness of the round room made him feel like a rabbit staked down to attract a hawk.
Or a vulture. Feisal's eyes followed the trail of vines laid out on the mosaic floor to where they ended at the stairs leading up to the
dais. He looked up. Out of the thirteen cushions behind the low oak desk, twelve were occupied. Director Hadrennyn sat in the
middle, skin dark and wrinkled as a walnut shell. His formal attire, a cerulean blue shirt and jacket embroidered with gold leaves,
hung loosely on his frame as if he'd shrunken since the last time he wore it. Beak-nosed Roggar, the only Healer actually looking at
Feisal, sat at Hadrennyn's left. He, like the remaining Healers, wore the same formal blue uniform, but with less embroidery. He
looked up at Feisal's entrance, setting his face with the smug expression he always wore.
Feisal managed a feeble mental roll call of the Senior Healers present, five women and seven men. It should have been obvious
who was missing. He just didn't want to believe that the one he needed to see the most wasn't there.
Rewenna. His mentor. In the Lady's name, where was she? His face flushed in anger. She'd abandoned him. Twelve years of
apprenticeship under her, and she refused to support him when he'd been accused of something he hadn't done.
Roggar noticed his reaction. He caught Feisal's eye. The side of his mouth quirked up, just enough to hint, This isn't the end, but
I've won for now.
Under the desk, he could just make out Roggar's indigo shoes. One had a familiar dark stain. Something clicked in Feisal's mind.
Roggar had been there, at the tavern. Roggar, who constantly decried the taverns and their inhabitants.
Bastard. Feisal ached to denounce him. He opened his mouth to cry out, Murderer! Nothing came out. He meant the words, and
fully intended to say them, but when he opened his mouth to speak it felt as though someone punched him in the gut and knocked
all the air from his chest. His throat narrowed, and all that left his mouth was an awkward little choking sound.
Roggar's mouth twitched. Feisal lunged, but the guards held him fast. Idiots. The Elite Corps were the faction of Sakkireth's
guard trained to handle any situation in mind and body. They were mind-readers and empaths. So why couldn't they sense the
words behind Roggar's smug expression? Why was Feisal the one on trial?
Feisal got his answer when he tried to batter into Eamon's mind and failed. He and his partner, Brekka, had their mental barriers up
as tightly as possible. They were here as muscle, not to prove the truth. The Infirmary followed its own rules, with the twelve
Senior Healers and the Director as the decision-making body. The guards, and even Feisal's father, the Lord Governor, would not
get involved. Not even if they knew the judgment was wrong.
The wooden doors rattled and made everyone jump. Feisal realized they were locked from the inside when the vicious shaking
alternated with heavy pounding, and a woman's voice rose clearly above the noise. "Hadrennyn! Damn you, let me in! That's my
apprentice you've got in there!"
Rewenna. Feisal took a deep breath in relief. Thank the Lady, she hadn't forgotten him after all.
The director frowned, but motioned to one of Feisal's captors to open the door. Eamon barely had time to jump out of the way
after he turned the lock. Healer Rewenna, the thirteenth Senior Healer, slammed the doors wide. Her cerulean skirt flowed behind
her as she barreled down the aisle between the chairs to stand at Feisal's side. "What in the Lady's name do you mean by calling
the council without including your assistant director? I wouldn't have even heard about this little gathering if it weren't for the fact
that one of my nurses saw Feisal in the company of guards and came to fetch me!"
Her dark skin was ruddy with exertion and anger. Still a handsome woman at middle age, still Feisal's strength and inspiration.
Long, black braids kept her hair cleanly from her face, rendering her fury clear for everyone to see. She didn't look directly at him,
but he could sense her dennar questing toward him, testing to make sure he'd come to no physical harm.
Only old Hadrennyn, used to his former apprentice's bouts of temper, remained unperturbed by Rewenna's display. "You were not
consulted because in this, as with anything concerning an apprentice, the mentor is considered biased." Thinning silver hair wisped
around his head like a misty waterfall. He clasped his withered hands together and spoke to Rewenna in the same coddling voice he
used to tell his patients devastating news. "Your apprentice has been found guilty of using his dennar to commit murder."
Rewenna grasped Feisal's shoulder, as much for her support as his. He welcomed her touch as Hadrennyn consulted a scrap of
parchment. He read through the list of dennar-induced injuries they'd found on the body. "Paralysis. Crushing of the bones in the
hands and feet. Suppression of internal organs."
Rewenna's mouth dropped open. For one long, aching moment, Feisal was terrified that she actually believed the director. I didn't
do this. I swear, he meant to say, but even those few words were denied him. He couldn't talk. Another compulsion, but one he
was sure the corpsmen hadn't placed on him.
Feisal close his eyes to better concentrate on his memories. He remembered sensing the rent boy's pain and going to his aid.
Going up the stairs in the tavern. Opening the door to see—Roggar. Definitely Roggar bending over the bed. And someone else,
no more than a shadow in the room.
The sharpness of Rewenna's nails digging into his skin made him pay attention again. Hadrennyn's voice droned on. "The prisoner
may now be given the chance to speak in defense of his actions."
Feisal took a moment to gather his thoughts. Lady's grace, if only he could remember what happened. "I went to the tavern—" he
began. I felt someone being tortured, he wanted to say, but again, his throat constricted and he gagged at the words. When he
could breathe, he tried again. "I went to the tavern—"
Hadrennyn's wrinkled face grew impatient. "We know you went to the tavern, Feisal. Why?"
Someone was being tortured. By that bastard there. Rewenna held him while he coughed in a vain attempt to clear his throat. The
guards tightened their grip.
Rewenna pounded him on the back. "Dammit, Feisal, what's the matter? Tell them the truth. Tell them you wouldn't do such a
thing!"
"Rewenna," Hadrennyn warned.
I help them. I don't hurt them. It was Roggar. Damn you all, it was Roggar! Again, his intent to speak was reduced to gagging
and choking.
Rewenna grabbed his sleeves and shook him. "What in the Lady's name is wrong with you? Say something, Feisal!"
He met her agonized expression. I can't, he wanted to say, but couldn't. All he could do was shake his head. Rewenna's hands
dropped lifelessly to her side. He'd never seen such a hurt, terrible look on her face.
Hadrennyn rapped on the desk to call for attention. "In the absence of any defense of himself, the council has voted and agreed on
Feisal's punishment. His dennar shall be stripped, fully and completely. If he survives the procedure, all rights and privileges he
carries as a Healer are hereby nullified. He will not leave his home without an escort until it is determined that he is no longer a
threat to the citizens of Sakkireth."
All of the strength left Feisal's limbs, leaving the corpsmen his sole support. The Healers hadn't been forced to strip dennar in over
seventy years. The last man had died. And without his dennar, how in the Lady's name was he going to be able to help Orossy
and the other tavern brats?
Rewenna voiced what he could not. Her voice shook. "No. I won't allow it. There is no proof!"
"There is." Roggar spoke at last. "I found Feisal with the rent boy. My word has been tried by dennar and found truthful. Should
you wish to examine the body yourself, you will be able to sense your apprentice's dennar upon it."
Feisal groaned in frustration. Every Healer left their own mental signature behind when they used dennar on a patient. If the
Healers had found his marks upon the body, there was nothing he could do to prove his innocence. It didn't matter that he couldn't
remember, or that never would he dream of using his Healer's gift to harm someone. Worse, Roggar wouldn't have been able to do
all of the dennar-related injuries on Hadrennyn's list. Roggar didn't have the dennar for it. He was skilled at healing disease, but
physical injuries and the healing of them were beyond his capability.
"Why were you there, Roggar?" Rewenna, the wonderful woman, still sought holes in Roggar's story. "We all know your feelings
concerning the taverns and their workers. What made you go down to Tavern Street last night?"
From Roggar's smile, Feisal knew she'd made a mistake. "I was doing as Feisal asked of me. Educating the rent boys and girls
about how to protect themselves against the diseases common to the taverns."
Educating them by ensuring they'd never have another customer. Again, the words caught in Feisal's throat. His accusation
emerged as a whimper. He'd told Roggar they needed his help in the taverns with the diseases. Feisal never once thought the man
would actually offer to help, but now Roggar had the perfect reason to be out at the taverns.
Rewenna spoke again. "Hadrennyn. I won't risk his life. He wouldn't do this." She strode forward and looked up at her former
mentor. "You've known him for years. You've known me for far longer. Do you think I would nurture a murderer as my
apprentice?"
"I think even the Lord Governor's son can be adept at hiding his darker side. Judgment stands," Hadrennyn repeated.
"At least wait until his father gets back—"
"And leave a murderer loose in our midst?" He nodded again at Roggar. "Punishment will be rendered here. Now." He gave
her a more patient look. "Healer Rewenna, it is understandable if you do not wish to be present."
She walked back to Feisal's side. This time, Hadrennyn visibly wilted at her fierce look. "I will stay."
Roggar rose from his seat and took the first step down the dais. "Rewenna." Feisal's voice was hoarse with fear. Not Roggar.
He tried again to reach the minds of the guards, but their minds remained silent. He couldn't let Roggar touch him. His eyes were
dark. Unreadable. And then he dropped from Feisal's awareness.
Impossible. That was another trick Roggar didn't have. He could block his mind and thoughts as well as any dennari, but hiding
his physical presence so completely was another skill entirely.
Roggar took a second step, and the third. Rewenna watched, still dazed from realizing what must happen. It must be equally
horrible to be in her position, to realize that the apprentice she'd taught for fourteen years had presumably done something she
couldn’t believe.
"Rewenna, please." He had the gut feeling that if Roggar did this, he would die. The procedure was risky enough that Roggar
would be held blameless no matter the result. Any number of tragedies could happen when forcing one mind upon another. Some
were stuck in each other's minds forever. Some got trapped in their own mind, or trapped their partner. Some killed, or were
killed.
Roggar stepped to the mosaic-covered floor, each step sure and determined. Their eyes met. You're mine, Feisal. And with
that unspoken thought came the unmistakable feeling of another dark and malevolent mind brushing against his. Teasing.
Gloating. Using Roggar to get to him.
Lady, I beg of you. Don't let him touch me. I have to get back to Orossy. I promised. Feisal wasn't one for praying. He'd
worked too many miracles with his own hands and mind to ever truly believe in the Lady of the Earth. Please, please let Rewenna
realize that she can't sense Roggar, that something is wrong. The unwelcome touch in his mind faded, but Roggar drew nearer,
picking his way easily across the pattern of intertwined vines.
The corpsmen held him tight and fast. Feisal closed his eyes, breathing hard, braced for the inevitable. If Roggar did this, there
would be no investigation into his death. Everyone knew the risks, and they were stripping him anyway. If he died, Orossy would
be left alone with no one to protect him.
"Sit down, Roggar. He's my apprentice. I'll do it."
His eyes snapped open to see Rewenna standing in front of him, stiff and protective as a wildcat over her cub. Over her
shoulder he could see Roggar's face flash from disappointment to anger. He craned his head around to look at Hadrennyn, but the
older Healer waved him back to his seat. "It's her right. I will abide by her wishes."
Rewenna waited until Roggar stalked back to his place on the dais before turning to Feisal. He felt braver now, knowing his
dennar would be stripped by someone he trusted, but he could see the questions in her eyes. Had she really been deceived all these
years? Was her apprentice a murderer?
"Have you nothing to say to defend yourself?" She asked for herself. She wanted to hear Feisal proclaim his innocence, whether
or not the others believed it, just so she could know it was true.
He gave up trying to speak and shook his head. He couldn't even say Roggar's name without choking.
Hurt and disbelief crossed her face. "There's an explanation for this. Tell me that much."
He nodded.
For a moment, her relief mirrored his own. "We'll figure this out. You and me." Her expression changed to worry. "Your
father will kill me if I let anything happen to you."
Lord Maddren was off negotiating a treaty between their people, the Asteri, and their Lycenian cousins. Rewenna had styled
herself his erstwhile protector, though Feisal was twenty-six and fully independent. Feisal smiled with a bravery he didn't feel.
"Do it. I trust you. So would he."
"Is there anything--?"
Anything she could do if he died, she meant. "Tell Neren and Genneste I've left something for them to take care of, if . . ." He
couldn't say it. "Don't let him leave the house."
"I won't. We'll keep him safe, just as you promised." She took a moment to compose herself. This time she spoke louder so
her voice carried the ritual words throughout the round chamber. "So we encourage our talents to bloom and grow, so there are
times like these in which we must dim them to prevent—" here she stumbled. Tears leaked from her eyes, but she managed to
keep her voice even. "To prevent misuse. As mentor to the accused, it is my duty and my right to strip the dennar from my
apprentice in accordance with Infirmary laws and teachings."
Being shorter, she had to reach up to clasp his face with the gentleness of a Healer's learned touch. She released her dennar.
Threads of it wound through him, setting his body alight with the warm, familiar tingle. The dennar passed through his head and
neck and chest, seeking the well of energy that supplied his Healer's gift.
The touch there came lightly, as a child stroking the surface of a pond to see the ripples. She pulled, and for a while Feisal
didn't mind. He'd acted as catalyst often enough, offering up his own energies so others might work longer and harder to save a
life.
But then Rewenna reached the bottom of the energy pool, and sought for more.
He jerked. It wasn't pain, not exactly, but she was dragging him past the point where every dennari was taught not to go lest
they induce energy-shock and place their bodies in the state where they could not renew their own resources without help.
Rewenna continued with the skill and determination that made her such a wonderful, relentless Healer. Every tug colored with the
disgust that she was forced to do this to her own apprentice.
Cold. Feisal shook. He pressed against the guards, but their bodies gave no warmth. Rewenna's fingers clenched his cheeks.
Compared to the rest of him, they felt hot as fire brands searing his skin.
Muscles gave way. He would have fallen if not for his captors. Pain shot through his arms as they tightened their grip. His
breaths came in ragged gasps. Rewenna didn't let go. The council room spun round and round. Jeering Healers stared at him.
The floor seemed alive, with vines twisting and turning in every direction, ready to curl around smother him.
Feisal closed his eyes as sickness welled within. Rewenna's whispered words cut through his disorientation. "I'm sorry Feisal."
She leeched the last of the dennar out of her apprentice and sealed it off.
He felt like he'd exhaled, and there was no way to draw a breath. He spasmed, body straining against his captors, front and back.
The world died around him. Heartbeats and warmth, breathing and being. All of it gone.
Someone gave a harsh, quick sob. "It's done."
Hollow, whispered words, followed by the release of his face. His lips moved to form a name. "'Rossy." All that mattered was
that Orossy was kept safe.
He fainted.