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keydekyie · 18 days

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The Summer Road

❈ The Moth and the Bear III ❈

Prologue

7416 words, no content warnings

Lera groaned. She’d been the healer’s apprentice for a year now and expected to be woken before sunrise on occasion, but expectation didn’t make the experience any easier. The sky was still mostly black when her mother came into the bedroom and lit the lantern.

“Artem is here,” Lera’s mother whispered, gently brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “He says Emiliya needs you right away.”

Lera swatted at her mother’s hand. Why did she still insist on waking her up so sweetly, like she was a baby? She was turning fourteen soon. It was undignified. She rolled over and crammed her face into her pillow, but nevertheless grunted an acknowledgement.

As soon as her mother left the room, Lera dragged herself out of bed and got dressed. If the healer had sent a messenger to get her rather than coming herself, that meant she was busy with something important. Maybe an emergency? Lera’s stomach twisted in excitement and anxiety. She hoped it wasn’t anything too gruesome… but perhaps just a little bit gruesome?

Maybe someone had stepped in a snapjaw trap again? Or been attacked by direroden? Or what if they had some sort of horrible boil? Or a foot twisted the wrong way around?

Lera shook her head and tried to banish the guilty thoughts.

Her hair was already in two black braids from the night before, so she was able to dress herself quickly and get going. Imagination still running a bit wild, she bade a quick farewell to her mother and stumbled out onto the porch into the cool, crisp morning air. She was wide awake and all prepared to launch herself off the porch in the direction of the healer’s hut, but Artem was there to stop her short with a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Whoa, hold it, Lera,” he grunted. The middle-aged messor was twitching in agitation, and his voice was strained. “I’ll explain on the way. There’s no need to be so hasty.”

Lera threw a glance over her shoulder to the doorway, where her mother and father were watching with attentive concern. Artem gave them a respectful wave before turning to lead Lera down the steps and onto the street.

The smell of spring blossoms and dew drifted up from the scattered village gardens as they made their way towards the healer’s hut on the edge of town. Artem didn’t speak to Lera again until they were out of her parents’ earshot, and even then, his voice was nothing but a low, troubled hiss. “Did you hear what happened to the ferry?”

Lera’s heart flipped again. “I heard the line broke as it was crossing, but… wasn’t that days ago? Did something else happen?” Another accident already? What has that damned unreliable ferry done this time? Capsized? Caught fire?

Artem shook his head. “What else did you hear?”

“Well, I… at the inn, they were saying when the line broke, they were rescued by a, uh…” Lera stumbled over her words. This was the part she’d dismissed as a tall tale when she heard it, some kind of prank the village jokester Yuri had convinced all his fellow ferry-goers to play on the rest of the village.

“Any excuse for a party,” Lera’s mother had sighed indulgently, rolling her eyes as Lera and her passed by the inn days ago. Inside, half the village had been celebrating the rescue of the ferry from certain doom.

Lera had laughed about it. It was so like Yuri to orchestrate an elaborate thing just to stir up revelry. As Lera was smiling to herself, she’d heard Yuri belt out joyfully: “Mead for the Medved’ Beis!”

So silly. Haha.

But Artem wasn’t laughing. The messor’s face was drawn taut, jaw clenched and eyes darting this way and that like a frightened cave rat. “Rescued by a what, Lera?”

Lera didn’t reply. She felt suddenly small and exposed walking down the road like this. She glanced around at the village, but nothing looked amiss. There were no toppled trees, no crushed houses. Not yet, anyway.

“I don’t know how much choice any of us have here,” Artem went on once it became clear Lera wasn’t going to answer, “but I’m sure Emiliya will understand if you’re too afraid-”

“I’m not afraid,” Lera blurted, like a liar.

Artem didn’t look convinced, but he kept moving.

They were nearing the healer’s hut, but Artem shifted into a wary hunch, quietly leading Lera on a roundabout path that took them behind a storehouse. Lera was surprised to find several other people hiding there, some of them huddled on the ground with huge eyes, and others peeking around the corner of the storehouse to watch the healer’s hut like eavesdroppers.

Artem put a finger to his lips as he joined those crouching down in the cover of the storehouse, then gestured for Lera to look.

Heart in her throat, Lera inched towards the corner of the storehouse, quietly stepped up behind a fisher’s son, and leaned out.

What she saw confused her, at first. From this distance and in the dim pre-dawn light, she couldn’t be certain what the shadows meant. There was the healer’s hut, which looked perfectly normal, and there was Emiliya the healer, standing on the porch in her nightgown, silver hair glowing in the lamplight thrown from the nearby window. She hadn’t dressed yet, having just been woken moments ago. Woken by what?

There was something wrong with the scene, something surreal about it, like a wavering image in a pool of water. A huge dark mass, the color and shape of inconsequence, lay there in the middle of the road. Lera didn’t remember there being a bush that big in front of the healer’s hut. The top of the thing was taller than the hut's thatched roof.

The mass shifted, and suddenly the illusion broke. It was no bush at all, but a creature, an enormous, furry creature the size and bulk of a house. It was laying down with its back to the storehouse and had its face hidden in the crook of its arm.

The healer was reaching for the creature as though to reassure it somehow, but had stopped herself. Concerned, but unsure.

Then the creature raised its huge head.

All anyone ever said to Lera about Medved’ Beis was that it was bad luck to mention them. No one had ever explained how big they were, or how their shoulders bore a hump like the top of a mountain. No one had ever mentioned the subtleness of their presence, the way the eye wanted to slide off of them as if they were nothing more than foliage.

And no one ever mentioned anything about them being able to speak.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” it asked the healer, in a voice like the creaking timbers of a riverboat in a storm. Everyone watching from behind the storehouse corner flinched at the sound.

“Um…” The healer looked amused, somehow. “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.”

Lera was dizzy. This was so bizarre.

“Do you see it?” Artem whispered to her.

Lera almost laughed at him. Do I see it?! There was a gigantic monster laying in the road not forty feet away, and Artem was wondering if she’d seen it.

The creature’s big round ears twitched, and then it turned to look at them, and Lera had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming in surprise.

It was looking at them, with enormous human eyes on a human face.

She and the rest of the eavesdroppers all threw themselves back behind the meager shelter of the storehouse, as though the ramshackle building would do anything to stop that beast. Lera and the fisher’s son crouched down beside each other against the splintery boards of the storehouse walls, holding their breath.

Artem was glancing between Lera and the healer’s hut in alarm, but as the seconds passed, nothing happened. In fact, it was Emiliya’s voice Lera next heard.

“Well,” the healer chuckled, “perhaps you could help by moving a little? It seems my apprentice has arrived, and she’s a little skittish.”

The Medved’ Beis grumbled, “Right…” as though this were such a normal thing, such a reasonable thing to be asked. There were a series of low thumps that sounded more like trees being felled than footsteps, and then silence again.

Lera looked at Artem, who nodded to her, and she steeled herself to peek around the corner again.

The Medved’ Beis had moved around to the side of the healer’s hut and was sitting there on its haunches like a great hulking guard-rodi, staring with its flinty black eyes. Staring at Lera.

Lera’s knees were wobbling. Emiliya, who was waiting patiently for her on the stoop, waved encouragingly to Lera with one hand.

Between the corner of the storehouse and the hut’s stoop lay about forty feet of empty gravel road with absolutely nothing to sneak around or hide behind. Lera was going to have to either stride right out there in the open or not go at all. Not going at all definitely seemed like the more prudent option.

But there was Emiliya, the healer, Lera’s master, waving for her to come forward. So despite all orders from instinct and intelligence screaming for her to do otherwise, Lera took a deep breath and strode out.

As a child, Lera had once spent an afternoon watching a shiny green beetle crawl across her kitchen floor. The beetle was acutely aware of her and of its need to flee, but Lera entertained herself by cutting off its escape routes with her feet and hands. At the time, she’d laughed at the beetle’s impotent attempts at escape. She’d enjoyed the game at the beetle’s expense.

Luckily for Lera, the Medved’ Beis didn’t seem interested in tormenting her as she had the helpless beetle. It just sat and stared. Even so, the creature’s cold, suspicious glare was menacing enough. As she made for the hut’s stoop, doing her very best not to look up at the giant creature watching her approach, Lera suddenly felt for that beetle.

Without meaning to, Lera was running by the time she got to the stairs. She clambered up and past the healer into the hut with less grace than a newborn weglet.

“That’s my girl,” Emiliya murmured to her as she passed, patting her on the back with a wizened hand, and underneath all the astonishment and nerves, Lera did feel a flourish of satisfaction.

The healer closed the door behind her as Lera looked around the familiar hut. There were two other people present: the healer’s husband Serhiy, who was stoking the stove in the corner, and a stranger Lera didn’t recognize, a young woman who was sprawled on her side on the sickbed like a drunkard asleep in a gutter.

“Lera, get her a blanket, just a light one,” the healer ordered, gesturing to the young woman’s unconscious form. “We need to bring down her fever and get the air in here medicated as quickly as possible.”

Accustomed to being put to work as soon as she stepped into the hut, Lera had no trouble springing into action. She took a quilt out of the bedding cabinet and draped it over the girl, then went to help Serhiy prepare the stove to boil water. Meanwhile, the healer was gathering the ingredients for a fever tincture from the shelves on the north wall.

It all felt quite natural. There was a sick patient, and they were going to help her. Lera almost forgot that there was anything amiss. She tried to pretend there wasn’t.

Once the fire in the stove was roaring happily, Lera helped Serhiy lift the big cauldron of water on top. The healer was finishing up the tincture and waddled over to the sickbed, swirling the cup with one hand. Her hair ran in a silver river down her crooked back, an odd sight. Usually the healer was much more put-together and had her hair up in a bun by the time Lera got to the hut.

“Put a handful of chamiweed in the water, Lera,” said the healer. “There’ll be more we need to add, but that will be a good start.”

Lera opened a nearby cabinet and found the big brown pot of dried chamiweed. She took a generous fistful and sprinkled it into the cauldron. The cold, spicy scent clung to her hand.

“Serhiy, please go outside and collect some fresh huilgrass. Lera, I need you to help her sit up.” The healer’s voice was calm and even as she gave orders. Perhaps that was why Serhiy didn’t hesitate as he nodded and went out the front door.

Lera came around to the head of the bed and prepared to haul the young woman into a sitting position. Her hands shook as she rolled the woman onto her back. She’d had to do this many times before (Emiliya insisted you should never, ever give a sick person something to drink while they were laying down) so it wasn’t the action itself that made her so nervous, it was keeping herself from looking out the window above the bed.

Lera positioned her arms under the woman’s shoulders and heaved her up into a sitting position. She was much heavier than she looked, with hard, well-muscled arms and shoulders, and her skin was piping hot to the touch. Her breath came shallow and rapid, and she shifted slightly in Lera’s arms, too weak to hold herself up. She felt strange, inhuman, but Lera told herself it was just because of the context.

Context being: There was a gigantic monster thing right outside.

The healer carefully poured the tincture into the girl’s mouth, and when it was done, she nodded to Lera and stepped back. Lera let the girl back down onto the bed, perhaps a little roughly. She was just so heavy. Lean and muscular and tough.

“What’s wrong with her?” Lera asked.

The healer put the cup down in the dish basin. “Let’s see if we can’t find that out, shall we?”

With Serhiy still excused, Lera helped the healer undress the woman to give her a proper examination. With the quick, desperate way the woman was breathing, Lera expected to find some sort of horrible sucking wound to her ribs or chest, but there was nothing wrong with her anywhere, save a few odd scars and some missing toes. The most notable thing was a scar on her upper calf, a gash several inches long and likely a ghastly thing when it was fresh, but even that looked like it was more than a year old and well healed.

“She’s a smith, I’ll bet,” Emiliya said. “They always end up with a thousand little scars. It’s a wonder they don’t all die of lockjaw.”

“Is that what’s wrong with her? Lockjaw?”

Emiliya gave Lera a wry look. “You tell me.”

Oh great, Lera thought. She’d walked right into that one. With a nervous sigh, she looked down at the girl again. “She has a fever.”

“Well I told you that,” the healer snorted. “Look carefully. Ask more questions. I’m sure you’re full of them.” The healer’s voice turned down a touch, growing more solemn than Lera was used to, as she murmured, “I certainly hope you are. I know I am.”

While Lera considered this, they dressed the sick woman in a soft nightgown and set her clothes aside. The healer took a rag from a drawer and dipped it in the nearby washbasin, wrung it out firmly, then handed the rag to Lera, who draped it over the sick woman’s forehead.

“Any thoughts?” urged the healer.

Lera watched a bead of sweat drip down the woman’s face, then looked up. “She helped rescue the ferry?”

The healer nodded.

“Yuri said she fell in the river,” Lera continued. “But that was days ago. Didn’t she come to the party at the inn?”

“Indeed. I met her there, and she seemed healthy at the time, but these things sometimes take days to develop.”

“Could she… have caught something? From the river?”

“In a way. Do you remember what karaerien means?”

“Vengeful water.” Lera stiffened, heart dropping. “It’s lung-fever, from inhaling water.”

“That’s right. Tell me what you know about lung-fever.”

“I know it isn’t good. Many die from it.”

“Who dies from it?”

“Um… mostly elders and children and babies, but-”

“How old do you think this woman is?”

Lera looked at the woman’s face. She was twitching in her sleep, turning weakly this way and that. She had a long face, the sort of face that makes a person look rather solemn and older than their years, but she didn’t look old. “I’d say… twenty?”

“Young, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think she’ll live?”

Being asked so bluntly made Lera squirm, but that was just how things were with Emiliya. “Yes, she seems strong. I think she’ll live, if we treat the lung-fever.”

The healer nodded slowly. “What’s the treatment for lung-fever?”

“Bedrest and humid air. Plenty to drink. Um… keeping the fever down.”

“Yes, good.” The healer smiled. “The fever should go down in the next day or so now that we’re treating it, and when it does, she will wake up and start coughing enough to bring the roof down. What then?”

“Same as before, really. Warm drinks will help, but the coughing will clear the infection out. We shouldn’t try to stop it.”

“Perfect,” said the healer, “but now comes the tricky part, my dear. There’s no guarantee she will live. She may be young and strong, but the fever is very bad and coughing has sapped all her strength. If she dies, what should we do?”

Lera opened her mouth to give an automatic answer, then snapped it shut again. Usually when someone died in the healer’s care, the family would be told first and invited in to say their goodbyes. It was always such a slow, upsetting process, but it was something Lera was familiar with, at least.

But where was this woman’s family? Her friends? She was a traveler. As far as they knew, she had no one.

No one but the Medved’ Beis.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Lera said.

The healer fixed her with a keen stare, and her yellow-green eyes flashed as she asked, “What do you think that creature outside will do if his friend dies in our care, Lera?”

Lera whispered, “I don’t know.”

The woman on the sickbed murmured wordlessly, her voice small and wavering. Lera turned the wet rag on her forehead over.

“Neither do I,” said the healer. “Hopefully we won’t find out.”

Boots tromped up the steps outside, and the healer called out, “Come in!”

Serhiy had returned with an armful of silvery huilgrass. He set the bundle down on the worktable and turned to them with a hearty sigh.

“Well,” he chuckled, “it’s been quite a morning.”

✧

The sun had risen, the air was thick with medicated steam, and everything was quiet. Lera was busy grinding up huilgrass into a mash at the worktable across from Serhiy.

The healer was sat in a chair beside the sickbed, stripping the leaves from a sprig of tansy. Just when Lera was starting to relax and let her mind wander, the healer turned to her apprentice with a knowing smirk and said, “Someone needs to fetch more water.”

Someone. Lera glanced hopefully over at Serhiy working across from her, but he just pursed his lips and kept his eyes on the knife he was chopping huilgrass with.

Lera was always the one to fetch water. It wasn’t proper for the elderly healer or her husband to have to carry the heavy buckets. Besides, it wasn’t far. It wouldn’t be hard.

The stone pestle Lera had been using clattered to the tabletop, and Lera jumped at the sound. She’d dropped it. Her hands were shaking.

“Well?” Serhiy grunted, not looking up.

“I-I’ll go,” Lera said. She got to her feet and ambled to the door. It had been a few hours, after all. Maybe the creature outside had gone away?

Lera crept out the door as quietly as possible, trying not to let it or the floor of the porch creak. Tentative as a field mouse, she peeked around the corner of the hut.

She was met with two giant black eyes watching her from yards away. Lera yelped and scrambled back inside.

Serhiy and Emiliya were staring at her with sardonic expressions.

“It’s still out there,” Lera explained, heart pounding as she leaned her back on the door.

Serhiy laughed. “Oh, you don’t say?”

Lera went beet red, gaping at him. Had the old man forgotten what a Medved’ Beis was?

The healer said, “We need more water, Lera.”

“Wh-what should I do?”

“Try to pretend he isn’t there,” Serhiy replied, as nonchalant as if they were discussing one of the steward’s nosy cronies.

“But, what if…“ What if it grabs me, or stomps on me? What if it chases me? What if it’s hungry? Lera fidgeted as her imagination went a bit out of control.

The healer’s face changed, a little concerned, as though she could see the things in Lera’s head. “Perhaps you should go with her, Serhiy.”

“Or perhaps you two should go out there and talk to him yourselves, eh?” Serhiy grumbled, and at that moment, Lera remembered something:

Serhiy had been on the ferry when it was rescued.

That creature outside had rescued him, rescued the charming Yuri, Jessa the messor’s wife and their five year old daughter Chaya, Lera’s aunt and uncle and their daughter Roza, and half a dozen others. Roza was a year younger than Lera and her best friend. Lera hadn’t even asked her about the incident yet, so sure was she that it was merely one of Yuri’s wild tales. Guilt and confusion twisted up in Lera’s throat.

With her hand on the door handle, Lera swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She was going to get that damned water. The door creaked when she threw it open this time.

Lera kept her eyes down as she marched back out onto the porch and around the other side of the hut where the buckets and carrying pole were kept. She lifted the pole to her shoulders and was all prepared to stride right down the road past the Medved’ Beis and not even look at him, as Serhiy had suggested, but she stumbled to a stop in the shadow of the stoop.

Tension gathered in Lera’s chest and started to escape as an involuntary whine, like the squealing lid on a pot of boiling water. She rallied herself, then stepped out.

Lera meant to walk calmly with her head held high, but as before, she found herself running, squealing all the way. She did her best not to look at the creature that was most definitely watching her as she scurried past.

Finally, she made it to the turn in the road where a big hedge of marshlion blocked line of sight again. She stopped to catch her breath, readjusting the carrying pole, then peeked out from behind the bush.

The Medved’ Beis looked… rather a lot like Emiliya and Serhiy had just looked when she’d run back into the hut. He was staring at her with one round eyebrow raised and a mocking smirk on his lips.

Oh great. Lera blushed again and hid behind the marshlion bush. She was making such a fool of herself today. Well, this fool has a job to do.

Lera made the rest of the short trek to the well and filled the buckets. By the time she finished and made her way back to the marshlion bush to peek out from behind its hairy green leaves, the Medved’ Beis had laid down and wasn’t watching for her anymore. He was curled around the rear corner of the healer’s hut and was resting his chin on one arm, staring into the middle distance. His bulk made the hut look miniature.

With full buckets, Lera knew she wouldn’t be able to run this time. It took her a moment to gather her nerve, but when she got going again, the Medved’ Beis didn’t look at her. As she walked past him, he kept his gaze fixed on some meaningless spot on the ground, pretending to ignore her.

Despite herself, Lera slowed to a stop in front of him, looking him over. His eyes flicked to hers.

It was quite a lot of creature to be scrutinized by, but there was something about his face that captured Lera’s attention. Perhaps it was just because every minute movement was magnified by his size, but his face seemed so open and unguarded; hopeful, somehow, despite a somber cast that was scrunching up his eyes. He seemed young, likely the same age as the woman in the sickbed. Even though Lera’s knees felt weak, she couldn’t help but be captivated.

“Has she woken up yet?” the Beis asked, voice low and rumbling and quiet like distant thunder.

Lera shook her head, and then she saw something very interesting.

Many times since beginning her apprenticeship, Lera had witnessed the healer give people bad news. Lera always watched their faces carefully, and every time she saw something a little different, and a little the same: grief, anger, frustration, hopelessness, despair, and every combination thereof.

And on the Medved’ Beis’ huge face, Lera saw the same.

He blinked and looked at the ground, and his whole countenance dimmed, like a flame turned down in a lantern. He looked… sad. So indescribably sad. So sad that for a moment Lera felt almost like she was tipping forward and being sucked down into the gloom with him.

She leaned over to set the waterbuckets down, and suddenly the Beis’ bear-like ears flipped back. He shook his head as though to clear the expression off of his face, and just like that, all the sadness Lera had just seen was replaced with a cobbled-together mask of vague annoyance.

And Lera had seen that before as well. She smiled sympathetically at him.

“Try not to worry,” Lera said. “She’s young and strong.”

“That’s what the healer said, but death doesn’t care if you’re young and strong,” the Beis grumbled, looking down at his claws. “It takes what it wants, with whatever tools it has.”

“Death can’t want anything, it’s not a person, it’s just the absence of life.” It was something Lera had heard her mother say, but she flinched internally as she quoted it. Her master held a very different opinion.

The Beis smirked at her darkly. “You think that makes it any better?”

“I uh…” Lera stammered, terrified she’d said something to offend him. “I don’t- I mean, I guess not.”

The Beis stared at her for a second, a touch of disdain in the turn of his mouth, then he looked down again and dug at the grass with one shovel-sized claw. “Maybe giving desire to death makes losing to it sting a little less.”

Lera let out the breath she was holding, happy she hadn’t irritated him too much. She almost leaned down to pick the water buckets back up, but hesitated when she glanced up at the Medved’ Beis again. He was still digging idly at the grass, but the mask was slipping and the look of despair was peeking through. Lera couldn’t help herself.

“What will you do?” she asked quietly, “if she dies?”

“Go home, I guess…” he sighed.

Lera knew she ought to be thankful he hadn’t said, “I’ll destroy this tiny village and everyone in it.” Going home didn’t sound like all that bad a thing to Lera. The words were benign, but the way the Beis said them made it seem like the very last thing he wanted to do. Alongside the resignation on his face, there was something more urgent, more weighty. Fear? What did he have waiting at home for him that was so terrible?

Just then, the sound of approaching feet down the gravel path caught their attention. Lera turned to see a group of people making their way down the road, shoulders squared and footsteps heavy with conviction. They were coming down from the opposite side of the hut from the Beis, so they couldn’t have seen him laying there.

“Oh, bother…” Lera grumbled.

“What? Who is it?” asked the Beis.

“It’s the steward. Just a moment, I’ll take care of it.” Lera left the buckets where she’d put them and went to meet the group.

“‘Scuse me,” Lera said loudly.

The steward and his three assistants tried to ignore Lera and made to go straight into the hut, but Lera quickly shuffled over to stand at the base of the stairs, blocking their path with her arms out.

The steward rocked back in surprise, gaping down at Lera as if she’d just materialized out of thin air.

“Did you need to see the healer?” Lera asked.

The steward wrinkled his nose at her, indignation taking the place of surprise. “Yes, I must see her right away.”

“Is someone sick?”

“No.” The steward started to step around Lera, but Lera grabbed the stair banister to block him.

“You can’t go in. If you need to speak to the healer, I’ll get her.”

“And who are you to stop me?”

“I’m her apprentice.”

The steward’s face twitched with annoyance, but he stepped back. “Fine. Fetch her, quickly.”

“What shall I tell her is the reason?”

“Just get her already, child!”

Lera bit her lip, trying to maintain her grip on her manners. “If I can’t give her the reason for your visit, she’s just going to send me back out here to get one.”

The steward scoffed and looked to one of his helpers, a brick wall of a man who blinked dully back at him like a frog. The steward stared at him a moment, as one would stare out a window to gather one’s thoughts, then turned back to Lera with a pout under his trimmed beard.

“We’re going to move the stranger from the healer’s sickbed to the inn,” the steward explained.

Lera frowned. “Why?”

“We cannot have the sickbed taken up by a… by a…” The steward waved his hand around contemptuously in the air. “What if someone else needs it? One of our own?”

“Does someone else need it?”

“Not yet, but-”

“Then that sounds like a stupid idea,” Lera huffed, then started, surprised at herself. She resisted the urge to clap a hand over her mouth and hurriedly said, “But I’ll tell the healer what you want. Give me just a moment, please.”

The steward straightened his long robes with a scornful flourish. “Very well.”

Lera first went to fetch the water buckets. The Beis was watching her with a worried frown, so Lera put a covert finger to her lips as she took the buckets off the carrying pole. The steward hadn’t noticed him yet, but it would certainly be hard to miss the Beis’s rumbling voice.

“I’ll be right back, sir. Thank you for your patience,” Lera mumbled to the steward as she passed him again to carry the buckets inside.

Healer Emilyia was still sitting beside the sickbed with the tansy in her hands. She didn’t look up from her work as Lera hauled the buckets over to the stove.

“Was that Maxim outside?” Emiliya asked.

“Yes,” Lera grunted as Serhiy helped her lift one bucket up to pour carefully into the pot. “He wants us to move her to the inn.”

“We aren’t moving her,” Emiliya said firmly.

“Right…” The first bucket was enough to fill the pot, so Lera left the second in the corner for later and prepared to take the empty one back outside. “Why would he want to move her, anyway? We have spare cots if someone else comes ill.”

“I doubt Maxim’s concerned with that,” said Emiliya. “He’s just throwing his weight around again.”

“He may be attempting to head off rumors,” Serhiy suggested. “You know how Lord Arseni is about Medved’ Beis tales, and this has become rather more material than most tales he ventures to quash.”

Lera sighed, “So, what should I tell him?”

Emiliya growled, “Tell him to go suck up a lungful of river water.”

Lera went back outside with the empty bucket, to find the steward and his gang waiting where she’d left them in various poses of impatience.

“She said we can’t move her. She’s too sick.” Lera set the bucket down beside the door and came to stand at the top of the steps.

“Wegshit,” the steward grumbled, and started to come up the stairs. “Let me speak to her.”

“No!” Lera barred the way. Standing on the topmost step put her eye-to-eye with the steward, which contributed to her boldness. “You aren’t in need of healing. There’s no reason for you to be here. Good day.”

The steward drew himself up, practically vibrating with frustration. “Why you insubordinate-”

“Good day!” Lera said again, louder. Her legs felt wobbly, but she held steady.

The steward opened his mouth to say something else, then seemed to reconsider. He glanced down the road, where several neighbors were now watching the conversation with barely respectful interest.

The steward twitched, then without another word, turned and marched back down the steps and up the street the way he’d come. His helpers scrambled after him.

Lera let out a tense breath through her nose, watching the steward vanish around a corner, then ran down the steps to fetch the carrying pole she’d left in the grass.

The Beis’s eyes were wide as he watched her.

“It’s alright,” Lera assured him. “I got him to leave, for now.”

“You sounded like you knew what you were doing. I worry he won’t give up easily, though.”

Lera planted the carrying pole on the ground like a walking stick, satisfaction warming her chest at the compliment. “He’s always meddling with the healer’s business, we’re quite used to it. He wants to be the boss of everyone.”

“Yeah…” the Beis grumbled. “I figured that.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t let him bother her.”

The Beis nodded, though he didn’t seem entirely assured.

Lera found herself staring at his face again. It was surprising how absorbing his expressions were, how human. “You don’t seem… you’re not what I expected a Medved’ Beis to be like.”

The Beis exhaled heavily and rolled his eyes. “And you mean that as a compliment?”

“O-oh, I just meant you’re, uh…” Lera gripped the carrying pole in front of her chest. “You’re… more nice than I expected you’d be?”

“‘Nice…’” Shaking his head, the Beis scoffed and kept his eyes on the sky.

“Well fine. I’ll take it back,” Lera snickered. “You’re a grouch.”

Pursing his lips, the Beis glanced at her again, but he looked amused. “Don’t you have work you’re supposed to be doing? Or something?”

Lera started. The healer was probably wondering what was going on. She fidgeted awkwardly for a moment, wondering what the conventions for leaving a Medved’ Beis’s presence were. Should she bow? Salute? Wave?

“Right. Uh, bye then,” she said quickly, and hurried on her way.

✧

Lera had only returned to her work grinding herbs for a few short moments before voices outside the hut brought her back out. The steward and his men had returned, dragging with them a young man who seemed quite reluctant to be there.

“Sirs, really, I’m fine! The healer said I should just stay off it!” the young man pleaded, trying in vain to wriggle out of the grips of the men who were hauling him. He was holding one foot up, and his lack of balance made it impossible to get enough traction to stop himself.

“No, you’re very ill,” the steward said dramatically. “Does he not look ill, friends?”

“Pallid as a corpse, he looks,” grumbled one of the helpers.

“Deathly ill,” said another.

The young man whimpered, eyes bulging as they dragged him. Evidently he knew better what was lurking around the healer’s hut than the steward did, or perhaps simply believed what he’d heard.

Lera sighed. She knew this young man, a worker who often took odd jobs around the village. Several days before, he’d tripped on an old plow left in the grass, and his toe had swollen up like a ripe plum. The healer had said it was merely bruised, but that it was healing fine and needed not to be aggravated; for example, by the steward’s cronies forcing him to walk around pointlessly on it.

The group had arrived before the hut, and Lera crossed her arms as she took her place at the top of the steps.

“Can I help you, misters?” she said.

“This man needs to be seen by the healer right away!” said the steward, head held high.

“Does he, though?” Lera grumbled.

“He does!”

“I don’t think he does…”

The steward gasped, “You would turn away a sick man? You would leave him to die?”

“He’s not going to die. He has a stubbed toe.”

“Look at him! He can hardly stand!”

The worker stammered, “I can stand-”

“No you can’t, you need help,” the steward snapped, then turned back to Lera. “Can’t you see he needs help?”

Lera sighed, shuffling her feet. The steward was right; she couldn’t turn the worker away, but neither could she let the steward in. She turned for the door. “Let me ask-”

“He needs to see the healer right away!” the steward said, and then waved for his helpers. “Help him inside, men.”

“Wait, hold on-”

The steward’s men lifted the worker by his armpits and made for the stairs, holding him up like a battering ram.

Something moved in Lera’s peripheral vision. In the excitement she’d almost forgotten about the creature hanging around the side of the hut. By the steward and his group’s sudden stillness and wide eyes, they hadn’t expected it at all.

The Beis had gotten to his feet and was hunched beside the porch, glaring stiffly down at the steward with a look of pure loathing.

The air crackled with tension, but no one moved. The steward’s assistants were slowly letting the young worker’s arms slip through their grips until he hung awkwardly by his elbows, though he made no attempt to escape.

“You’re not going in there,” the Beis finally rumbled.

The steward twitched, then shook himself off and straightened up, chin in the air.

“You’ve no authority over me,” he said, voice hitching as he tried to maintain his poise. “His High Excellency Lord Marko Arseni himself has granted me stewardship of Nadporatzhe and its commonality, and the power to order it as I see fit. Your kind has no jurisdiction here.”

The Beis blinked and wrinkled his nose in confusion. “What does… what?”

“This is none of your business!” the steward squawked, puffing out his chest.

The Beis just stared at the steward in stunned bewilderment, huge fluffy ears going eschew. The steward nodded sharply, taking the Beis’s silence to mean he’d won, and started to move towards the stairs again.

The Beis shook off his confusion, pinned his ears, and snarled.

It was a thick, raw sound, heavy with a genuine threat of violence. Bared fangs held the same implication as bared knives: that they were ready and able to bury themselves somewhere painful and inconvenient if something about the current situation didn’t change immediately.

The steward went stiff and ashen. His helpers stumbled backwards, dropping the young worker onto his backside in the dirt.

Lera realized she was now watching the confrontation from between the slats of the porch banister. Somehow, she’d crouched down without noticing.

The steward attempted to gather his nerve again, stammering out barely understandable contentions as he took unconscious steps backwards. “To be… of all the schemes and… and stunts,” he blurted, puffing himself up like an affronted magpie.

His helpers’ eyes darted between him and the creature staring them all down. This was definitely more than they’d signed up for.

The steward babbled on, “To have a haksa in our healer’s care, it’s unconscionable. It’s preposterous. And to then have her pet demon bar the way-”

The Beis jerked forward with another snarl. The porch railings Lera was gripping vibrated with the sound.

Apparently, that was enough for the steward. With an undignified yelp he turned on his heel and trotted away with his robes held up. His helpers scrambled after him, leaving the stricken worker sitting forgotten in the road.

The Beis shook out his mane with a disgruntled snort and sat back, watching the steward’s retreat.

“He’d better not be back,” the Beis grumbled, “unless he fancies getting flattened.”

Lera straightened up from behind the banister and made her way down to the worker, who was cautiously trying to get to his feet without taking his eyes off the irritated creature sitting just a few steps away.

“Come on, now,” Lera grunted, hauling the worker up by one elbow. “Did you want to see the healer? Or shall I help you back to your house?”

“Uh… ”

The Beis looked at him, black eyes narrowing.

“Home. Home please,” the worker whimpered, trying to hobble away without Lera’s help.

“Ah, alright alright. Hold on.”

Lera helped the worker back along the road, but it wasn’t long before several others came out from behind cover to take over. The young man thanked her quietly as Artem the messor came over to take Lera’s place.

“Good job, Lera,” Artem whispered, patting her shoulder.

Lera stopped and stood in the middle of the road with her hands on her hips, watching the group help the worker limp slowly home, and all at once, she felt much older than she had when she woke up that morning.

When she turned back to the healer’s cottage, the Beis had retreated back out of sight on the other side of the hut. Lera hurried over, coming to find him laying with his shoulder pressed to the cottage wall. His eyes were downcast and round ears tucked back. He looked worried again, but this time seemed almost ashamed, as though expecting reproach for his behavior.

“What’s wrong, now?” Lera sighed. Moody thing.

“Nothing, I just…” he mumbled, wincing, “I probably should have let you handle that.”

“No!” Lera barked. “Oh, no no. What you did was great! Gods of the pines, I just wish my master had seen it.” Lera put a hand to her forehead and laughed. “Oh, the look on his face. I hope I remember that always.”

“I just hope I’m not stirring up too much trouble.”

“Oh please, stir up all the trouble you want. Storm blows rain through the door and troubles out the window, that’s what my mother always says.”

The Beis chuckled under his breath, then his eyes unfocused and he leaned his head wistfully against the hut wall.

“My name’s Lera, by the way. I should have introduced myself earlier. What is your name?”

The Beis replied without looking at her, “I’m Ruyak.”

“What’s it mean?”

This question surprised him. Ruyak blinked and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Why do you want to know that?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve never heard such a name before, and it reminds me of the language my master sometimes uses. She’s taught me many words, but that one I don’t remember.”

Ruyak considered that for a moment, eyes cautious, and Lera opted to change the subject. “Is there anything you need?”

“No. But… when Kaelin wakes up, will you tell me?”

“Of course.”

Ruyak closed his eyes. “Thank you, Lera.”

Lera nodded, then turned and made her way back up to the porch. She ran her hand along the dry, splintery banister, momentarily swept up in a vision of the future, of a time decades from that moment.

Lera would tell this story to her children. She would call them over and gather them ‘round, smiling in the playful way her mother did when telling stories. She would kneel down and look into their eyes importantly.I met a Medved’ Beis once, Lera would say to them. He was nice.

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