Chapter 63
Kelan rose before the sun crested the dunes. Dim gray light filtered through the lattice shutters of their small home, illuminating shelves lined with clay jars and cloth-wrapped herbs. The air was cool and still. Astrid still slept in the back chamber, so Kelan moved quietly, shrugging on a light tunic and loose desert trousers. The pale earth-tone garments had grown familiar in the weeks since their arrival in Tazan. He wrapped a light scarf around his neck against the dust and unlatched the wooden front door, which as always had a small drift of sand pressed against it.
Outside, the narrow street was tranquil. The eastern sky blushed pink as dawn neared. Kelan stepped out and inhaled deeply; the air carried the dry scents of spice and warm stone. Across the lane, a shopkeeper rolled up the canvas awning of his stall. Somewhere farther off, a donkey brayed and a vendor called a morning greeting in the sing-song Tazanese dialect.
Kelan fetched a broom and began sweeping sand from the doorstep. Fine grains whispered over the flagstones as he worked, a small ritual he found oddly satisfying. Each sweep affirmed that they were here, living an ordinary life under Tazan's rising sun.
Astrid emerged a short time later, tying back her chestnut hair with a leather strip. She wore a sand-colored tunic belted at the waist, having adopted the local style. In her hand was a clay cup of steaming mint tea. With a gentle smile, she offered it to Kelan.
He took the cup with a grateful nod. The tea's aroma—sharp mint and a hint of sweetness—rose with the steam. He sipped and felt warmth spread through him. "Couldn't sleep," he murmured in explanation. "I thought I'd get the shop ready for the day."
Astrid hummed in understanding and stepped beside him to brush stray sand off the windowsill. From a nearby spire, a resonant morning chant drifted over the rooftops—the city's song-prayer to welcome the day. The low melody mingled with the rustle of their brooms.
They finished tidying and went back inside as the sun's first rays slipped into the shop. Kelan adjusted a few jars on the counter, double-checking their supplies. Bundles of dried sage and powdered roots sat ready for use, alongside rolls of clean bandages in a woven basket. He ran a finger over a handwritten label on one jar—Astrid's neat script naming a local herb an old bazaar herbalist had taught them about. The memory made him smile softly.
"How are we on stocks?" Astrid asked quietly, leaning in the doorway between the shop and their living area.
"We have enough of most everything," Kelan replied. "Plenty of woundwort and sage. Perhaps we'll gather more dusk-fern leaves next week, but nothing urgent."
Astrid nodded, satisfied. She moved to check the lock of a small wooden chest where they kept valuables and spare medicines, a habitual precaution. Kelan appreciated her diligence. They shared a purpose in this new life, and though they rarely spoke of it, both remained quietly vigilant to safeguard what they had built.
Before long, their first visitor of the day appeared at the open door. A young woman in a faded blue shawl hovered anxiously at the threshold, a small boy hiding behind her skirts. Kelan offered a kind smile and beckoned them in. "Good morning," he greeted in the local tongue, his accent present but passable. "How can we help you?"
The woman guided the boy forward. He was about five years old, wide-eyed and sniffing. "My son, Jamil, has coughed through the night," she said softly. "He has a fever since the darkness fell. I was told… you have remedies when others do not."
Kelan's reputation had begun to spread in this quarter, it seemed. He kept his expression humble and gestured to a low wooden stool by the window. "Please, sit. Let's see young Jamil."
Kneeling, Kelan came level with the child. Jamil peered at him with wary, tired eyes. "Hello, Jamil," Kelan said gently. "I'm Kelan. May I check how you're feeling?" The boy gave the smallest nod. Kelan placed the back of his hand to the boy's forehead. The heat radiating off the child's skin confirmed a fever, and his breathing was rough with congestion.
The mother watched Kelan's face intently for any sign of alarm. Kelan simply smiled reassuringly. Inside, though, he focused his uncommon sense. Over years of careful practice, he had learned to extend his awareness in moments like this, touching the edges of a patient's ailment in ways others could not. Now, he drew a slow breath and let a subtle current of his mind flow into Jamil.
It was nothing visible—perhaps the mother only saw a healer concentrating as he felt the boy's brow. But Kelan was doing far more. Gently, he soothed the child's inflamed airways and nudged the fever down a degree. He pictured cool water quenching a small fire, guiding the boy's body toward balance. Jamil's tense little shoulders eased; he leaned unconsciously into Kelan's hand, as though it were a comforting balm.
After a few heartbeats, Kelan pulled back his unseen touch. The rest would be up to herbs and the boy's own strength. "He'll be all right," Kelan said aloud, keeping his tone calm and confident. "I'll mix a syrup to ease the cough and a tonic for the fever."
He stood and crossed to his workbench. Astrid was already moving quietly to assist, fetching a clean cup. From a stoppered jar, Kelan measured a spoon of dark honey and added a pinch of crushed kalem herb known to soothe throats. He diluted it with a bit of warm water from the kettle on the hearth. The boy watched with a sleepy curiosity as Kelan stirred the mixture. Next, Kelan took a small paper packet and folded a dose of ground fieya bark, a bitter but effective fever remedy. He handed the packet to the mother. "Brew this in hot water at midday and have him drink it. It will help bring down the fever."
Kelan then knelt and offered the cup of sweet herb syrup to Jamil. "Drink this, it will help your throat." The boy looked to his mother, who nodded encouragingly. Jamil accepted a tentative sip, then another, the honey masking most of the bitterness. He managed a weak smile up at Kelan when he finished.
"Good boy," Kelan said with a gentle grin. "You'll feel better soon. But you must rest today, all right? No running about until you're well."
Jamil nodded, already looking a touch more at ease.
The mother exhaled in relief. She pressed a handful of copper coins into Kelan's hand. "Thank you, healer. Truly."
Kelan glanced at the coins—more than a token, likely a significant sum for this woman. He removed two coins and returned the rest to her palm. "This is enough," he assured. At her protest, he gently closed her fingers around the refunded coins. "You'll need the rest for good food and perhaps a sweet fruit for Jamil when he's better." He gave the boy a wink.
Tears wavered in the mother's eyes, but she blinked them away and bowed her head in gratitude. With a final thank you, she led her son out.
As soon as the door shut, Astrid spoke in a low tone. "You eased his fever, didn't you?"
Kelan turned, finding her studying him. He trusted Astrid more than anyone; there was no point denying it. "Only a little," he murmured. He wiped his hands on a cloth to busy them. "I doubt anyone could tell."
Astrid's stern expression was belied by the warmth in her eyes. "I could tell," she said. "But only because I know you." Stepping closer, she lowered her voice further. "Just be cautious, Kelan. A small miracle can be mistaken for skill or luck, but anything more…" She didn't finish the sentence.
"I know." He met her gaze, appreciating that she never truly scolded. Her concern came from care, not fear of his abilities. "I won't do anything noticeable. But I won't let a child suffer if I can quietly help."
A faint smile touched Astrid's lips. "I'd expect nothing less." She rested a hand on his forearm briefly, a subtle gesture of support, then released him. "Now, since it's quiet, we should eat before the day grows busier."
They retreated to the back room for a quick breakfast. On a low table, Astrid laid out dates and flatbread with a bit of goat cheese. Kelan refilled their cups with the remaining mint tea. They sat cross-legged on a woven mat, sunlight slanting in to warm the clay walls.
As they ate, Astrid mentioned softly, "I heard some of the neighbors calling you the 'Grey Healer' the other day."
Kelan paused, a date half-raised to his mouth. "Grey Healer?" he repeated, bemused.
She smiled. "You arrived in the quarter wearing that old grey cloak of yours. It made an impression. And perhaps," she added with a teasing glint, "they think you carry yourself like someone wise beyond your years."
Kelan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Let's hope it remains just a friendly moniker. I'd rather not be seen as anything extraordinary."
Astrid reached over to brush a crumb from his hand. "They mean it kindly. They trust you."
"I know," Kelan said, softer now. Trust was good, he told himself. It meant people came for help and didn't question him too much. Still, any notoriety made him uneasy. He had seen how a healer's reputation could reach the ears of powerful men or curious scholars. He had no desire to draw those gazes here.
The day unfolded in a gentle rhythm. A few more neighbors came by as the sun climbed high, seeking remedies for minor aches and ailments. Kelan dispensed soothing salves and herbal tonics while Astrid offered calm, kind words. He found quiet fulfillment in each small act of care, even as he used only the slightest touch of his gift when absolutely necessary.
By early afternoon, the city had fallen into its daily summer hush. The streets emptied as residents sought refuge from the searing sun. Kelan closed the shutters most of the way to keep out the heat, leaving the shop in a drowsy half-light. He and Astrid took a brief respite, stretching out on straw mats in the back room.
Kelan let his eyes drift shut, listening to the drone of distant insects and the soft rustle of Astrid fanning herself. In the stillness, his mind wandered. He thought of the long road that had led them from distant green lands to this sun-baked sanctuary. Even here in Tazan, he never fully lowered his guard—but with the city drowsing in the heat and Astrid nearby, he allowed himself a brief, cautious moment of rest.
He must have dozed off for a short time, because he woke to Astrid gently nudging him. "The sun's lowering. We should open up again."
Kelan sat up, rubbing his eyes. A sheen of perspiration clung to his skin in the stuffy afternoon air. "I didn't realize I fell asleep," he said, a little sheepish.
"Only for a few minutes," Astrid replied fondly. "Come, a bit more work before day's end."
They reopened the shop as the angle of light grew more golden. A few neighbors stopped by in the late afternoon – one to buy a packet of headache powder, another asking Kelan's advice on a relative's lingering cough. Small tasks, easily seen to.
Dusk eventually settled over Tazan. Kelan and Astrid closed up the shop for the night, securing the doors and shutters. Outside, a welcome evening breeze had sprung up, carrying with it the mingled smells of spiced meats cooking at street stalls and the sweetness of flowering vines that climbed some of the courtyard walls.
As they stepped out to latch the front door, a gentle music drifted through the warm twilight. From a nearby courtyard or teahouse came the notes of a flute accompanied by the soft thump of a hand-drum. The melody curled through the narrow alley, soothing and bittersweet.
Astrid paused, one hand on the door's latch, and tilted her head to listen. "This city has a song for every hour," she said quietly, a smile touching her lips.
Kelan found himself smiling as well. The music was calming, each note resonating in the cooling air. He felt the tension of the day slip away from his shoulders. In that moment, he and Astrid stood together under the deepening indigo sky, two quiet figures in a humble quarter of Tazan, sharing a rare moment of contentment.
Kelan breathed in the night air. Peace was a delicate thing, all the more precious for the vigilance that guarded it. Yet here and now, enveloped by the soft strains of music echoing over the rooftops, he allowed himself to savor it. With Astrid beside him and Tazan's evening song drifting through the darkness, Kelan silently vowed to protect this fragile haven they had forged—one quiet day at a time.
Chapter 64
A few uneventful days passed in quiet routine. Late one hot afternoon, as Kelan drifted in a light doze on a straw mat, he felt Astrid's hand on his shoulder—gentle but insistent. Her voice was low and urgent. "Someone's at the door. They need you."
Kelan blinked awake, instantly alert. He rose quickly, splashing a bit of water from a basin onto his face to chase away the grogginess. In the front room, a heavyset middle-aged man hovered just inside the doorway, shifting from foot to foot in obvious pain. His linen tunic was stained with sweat and a dark blotch of red near the forearm.
"I'm sorry to disturb…" the man began, voice tight with discomfort. "But I heard the healer here could help even at this hour."
"Come in and sit," Kelan said at once, guiding the man to a sturdy chair by the window. The light was still strong there, despite the late-afternoon sun angling in. "Show me the injury."
The man gingerly extended his left arm. A blood-soaked bandage was wrapped around his forearm. Fresh crimson oozed through the fabric. Astrid swiftly brought a basin of clean water and set it on the side table, along with a folded cloth. Kelan carefully untied the makeshift bandage. As the cloth fell away, a deep gash was revealed, running jagged along the arm. The surrounding skin was inflamed, and the wound glistened with a mix of blood and the yellow tint of an applied salve that hadn't stopped the bleeding.
Kelan frowned in concern. "How did this happen?"
"Cut myself at the dye vats," the man managed through gritted teeth. "My knife slipped while cutting silk this morning. I tried binding it and using a bit of antiseptic balm, but…" He gestured helplessly at the seeping cut. "It won't close. And the pain's gotten worse with the heat."
Kelan nodded, already reaching for a clean cloth. The man's profession explained the many small stains of blue and red on his sleeves—the hallmark of a cloth-dyer. Likely he'd been working with one arm injured all day, too afraid to stop when work needed doing.
"You did well to clean it with balm," Kelan said reassuringly as he began to wipe away the congealing blood. "I'll take care of it now. It will need stitches, and I'll apply medicine to prevent infection."
The man inhaled sharply as the water touched the raw edges of the wound. Astrid moved to his side and laid a steadying hand on his shoulder, quietly encouraging him to breathe and reassuring him that he was in good hands.
Kelan sterilized a fine curved needle in alcohol and threaded it with clean gut. He worked methodically, aware of Astrid's watchful presence and the patient's occasional wince.
With each pass of the needle, Kelan also extended the lightest tendril of his power into the flesh, coaxing it to knit. It was delicate work—both the stitching and the unseen mending underneath. He matched his breathing to the rhythm of the task, keeping his expression composed. To any observer, he was merely concentrating intently on a difficult sew, nothing more.
Beads of sweat formed at Kelan's temples. The afternoon heat, combined with the effort of guiding the man's flesh to heal, was taxing. But he persisted with quiet focus. After several long minutes, the gash was neatly stitched closed. Bright red blood no longer seeped between the black stitches; already the tissue looked a touch less angry, as if days of healing had been subtly encouraged in those few moments.
Kelan exhaled slowly and leaned back. He applied a generous smear of a kemb root salve to the closed wound—both to prevent infection and to ensure the wound healed cleanly. Then he wrapped a length of clean linen bandage snugly around the man's forearm.
"There," he said, offering a mild smile. "Keep this clean and dry for two days. After that, rinse it daily with boiled water and re-bandage with fresh cloth. I'd like you to come back in about a week so I can check the healing."
The man flexed his fingers experimentally. Though the movement pulled at the fresh stitches, he let out a surprised sigh of relief. "It… it hardly hurts now," he said in wonder. "Truly, you have a gift, healer."
Astrid handed the man a cup of cool water, which he drank gratefully. He reached into his pocket with his good hand and produced several silver coins, attempting to press them into Kelan's hand. "Please, take this. I know I intruded at rest time. And your skill—no other healer could have done this so swiftly or with so little pain."
Kelan accepted only one of the smaller silvers and returned the rest gently. "This will more than cover the salves and bandages," he said. "As for the speed, it's just practice and a bit of luck that the cut was clean." He met the man's eyes to ensure the instruction landed: "Use the extra coin to buy clean linen and keep the wound wrapped fresh, all right? That's important."
"I will, of course," the dyer said, looking at the refunded coins in his palm. He gave a deep bow of his head, clearly both grateful and a little awed. "Thank you. The Grey Healer, indeed… I'd heard tales, but now I see they're true."
Kelan's breath caught for a fraction of an instant. Grey Healer. There was that name again—now spoken directly to him. He forced a modest smile. "I'm just glad I could help. Safe journey home, and be careful with that arm."
Astrid saw the man out as Kelan cleaned his hands and tidied away the bloodied water. When she returned, her eyes found Kelan's, and the two shared a long look in the quiet of the now-empty shop.
"You pushed yourself," Astrid said gently, breaking the silence. She nodded at the faint tremor in his fingers as he finished wiping down the tools. Using his abilities so precisely always left him with a slight lingering strain.
"I'm fine," Kelan assured her, though he took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back to release tension. "It was necessary. That wound could have festered badly."
Astrid stepped closer and laid a hand on his arm. "I know. And you did right by him." A small proud smile touched her lips before fading into a more serious mien. "But… he used that name. Grey Healer."
Kelan grimaced slightly and hung the damp cloth to dry. "It seems gossip travels fast in this quarter."
"It does," she agreed. "He said he'd heard tales. If too many people hear of near-miraculous healings, someone with more authority may start asking questions." There was a note of worry beneath her calm tone.
Kelan met her gaze. In Astrid's clear blue eyes he saw his own concern reflected. "Perhaps I should have let the healing progress more slowly," he said quietly. "Done just the stitches and let nature take its time."
Astrid shook her head. "You know you couldn't. Not when you could spare him pain and risk of infection. It's not in you to hold back that much." She squeezed his arm lightly. "Just… be mindful. We may need to deflect attention if it comes."
He placed his free hand over hers briefly. "We will. Perhaps if anyone asks, we'll say I learned some techniques from a desert healer in my travels. Song-charms or special salves." A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he added, "It's close enough to the truth, if I start integrating what we learn here."
Astrid raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement breaking through her worry. "Song-magic and herbs—certainly less alarming than raw psychic talent, hm?"
"Exactly." Kelan allowed himself a soft chuckle. Then he sighed. "Hopefully it won't come to that. I'd rather no one come asking at all."
Astrid released his arm and began to help straighten the shop. She spoke in a lighter tone, trying to ease the mood. "If they do, we'll just tell them you're too busy tending to stubbed toes and upset stomachs to bother with anything grand."
Kelan huffed a small laugh and nodded. "Yes. The famed Grey Healer of Tazan, expert in curing hiccups and sand flea bites."
That earned a real laugh from Astrid, and the tension between them dissipated. Outside, the reddish glow of sunset was starting to filter in through the cracks in the shutters. It had been a long day.
They closed the shop a short while later, earlier than usual due to the lack of evening customers. Word of the intense heat had kept many people indoors, and after the dyer's visit, no one else had come by.
Night fell, bringing a welcome cool breeze through the alleys. Kelan and Astrid shared a simple supper of lentil stew and flatbread in their little kitchen nook. The lamps were dimmed, and the city beyond their walls had grown quiet, save for the distant strains of a lute and voices rising in a gentle night chorus from a far-off tavern.
Kelan sat back, cradling a cup of water in his hands. He felt the familiar weariness that came after using his abilities, but it was not unpleasant now—just a reminder of work well done. Astrid was seated across from him, idly braiding a small bit of twine, her way of unwinding after a stressful day.
After a comfortable silence, she spoke up. "You know, I'm proud of you."
He glanced up in surprise. Astrid rarely put such sentiments into words. She tilted her head, considering her thoughts. "You've managed to help so many here already, and without any of the... turmoil we went through before. You've found a way to be what you are—what you're meant to be—quietly, kindly. It's not a small thing."
Kelan felt warmth rise to his cheeks and looked down, rolling the cup between his palms. "I couldn't do it without you," he said earnestly. The memory of those tumultuous times before Tazan hung unspoken in the air. "I would likely be wandering lost or captured if you hadn't stuck by me."
Astrid's lips curved in a soft smile. "You'd manage somehow. But I'm glad I'm here to see this." She gestured loosely around, meaning not just the room but the life they had made.
They lapsed into silence again, listening to the distant music. Tonight it sounded like a lullaby, the melody carrying a bittersweet comfort. Kelan's eyes grew heavy; it had been a draining day. Astrid noticed and stood, offering a hand to pull him to his feet.
"Time to rest," she said gently. "Tomorrow is another day, after all."
Kelan allowed himself to be led to their sleeping area. As he settled onto the cot, he realized he was at peace—a hard-won, cautious peace, but peace nonetheless. Through the small window, he could see a slice of starry sky. Tazan's night had enfolded them safely once more.
Just before sleep claimed him, Kelan heard Astrid humming softly to herself as she tidied the last few items. The tune was one he recognized—the same lullaby that drifted in from the tavern. Her voice was quiet and a little unsteady on the high notes, but to Kelan's ears it was comforting. He closed his eyes and let that gentle humming carry him into slumber, grateful for the refuge they'd found and determined to protect it for as long as fate allowed.
Chapter 65
Kelan drew in a slow breath and pulled the bowstring back, feeling the wood curve and creak under tension. The predawn air was cool against his skin, and the first pale light was just creeping over the eastern dunes beyond Tazan's walls. Out here, a short walk from the city gates, the desert lay quiet and empty—a great expanse of rippled sand and scrub stretching to the horizon. Astrid stood a few paces to his side, watching intently as he took aim at a makeshift target they'd set up: a sack of straw propped against a low dune about twenty yards away.
"Steady," Astrid said softly. In the stillness of early morning, her voice carried clearly. "Find your anchor point and hold."
Kelan adjusted the fingers of his right hand, drawing them back to touch the corner of his mouth, just as Astrid had taught him. The bow felt rigid and unforgiving in his grasp; his left arm already quivered from the strain of holding the string taut.
He squinted down the length of the arrow, trying to align the iron tip with the center of the straw sack. His breath was held without thinking, and already he felt a burn building in his shoulders.
"Don't fight the bow," Astrid advised, stepping around him in the sand to observe his form. "Draw smoothly, exhale, then release. Let it be one fluid motion."
Kelan let out the trapped breath and attempted to follow her guidance. He eased the tension slightly, then drew again in a steadier pull. At the right moment, he released his fingers. The bowstring snapped forward with a low twang, sending the arrow whistling through the dawn air.
It struck the sand a few feet short of the target, kicking up a small puff of dust.
Kelan sighed and lowered the bow. "Still short," he muttered.
Astrid walked forward and retrieved the arrow, brushing off the grit. "Better than the last one, though. You held your stance." She handed the arrow back with an encouraging half-smile. "Again."
They had been practicing since first light, repeating the same motions over and over. Astrid was methodical and patient in her instruction, which suited Kelan well. He approached archery as he did most disciplines: with quiet focus and a willingness to learn from each small improvement.
As he notched the arrow for another try, Kelan flexed his arms. The muscles of his back and shoulders already ached dully. This was a very different kind of exertion from the mental and magical feats he was used to. In a way, he welcomed it. The physical strain kept him grounded in his body, reminding him that not every challenge could—or should—be solved with his mind alone.
He drew again. This time he remembered to inhale deeply as he raised the bow, then exhale partway as he steadied his aim. The target sack seemed to waver slightly in his vision; a faint breeze had picked up, tugging at the loose fabric of his sleeves and carrying the dry scent of sand.
Kelan loosed the arrow. It arced forward and struck the sack this time, grazing the top edge before skittering off to the side.
"On target, but aim a touch lower to account for the arc," Astrid noted. She strode over to plant the sack upright again, then paced back.
Kelan could feel a bead of sweat trickling down his temple even in the chill morning. He nodded, rolling out his shoulders to keep them from tightening too much.
Astrid's own bow lay nearby; she had fired a few shots earlier, demonstrating the techniques. Her arrows had thudded into the sack in tight clusters, proof of her long years of practice. Now, however, her attention was fully on Kelan's progress.
She touched his elbow lightly as he raised the bow once more. "Elbow up a bit. Yes, like that. And don't choke the grip—hold it firm but relaxed."
He followed her adjustments and felt a slight difference in how the bow sat in his hand. He drew the string back to his anchor point, jaw set in concentration. This time, he decided to employ just a sliver of his other ability—a nudge of guidance that no one would see.
It was a tricky thing, using his telekinesis in such a fine manner. Kelan had practiced moving objects before, even guiding thrown stones, but an arrow in flight was fast and the influence had to be subtle. If he pushed too hard, the arrow's path would veer unnaturally.
As he released the string, he exhaled and extended a thread of will. The arrow leapt from the bow with a sharp twang. For an instant, it seemed to wobble in the air, but Kelan's mind steadied it, correcting the flight by a hairsbreadth.
The arrow thudded solidly into the center of the straw sack.
A small thrill of satisfaction went through Kelan at the sight. He lowered the bow and glanced sideways at Astrid.
She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing just a little. "Better," she said slowly. "That was a very clean shot."
Kelan tried to keep his face neutral, though he could sense the hint of amused reproach in her tone. "I focused on my form," he replied mildly.
"Mhm." Astrid stepped forward to retrieve the arrow from dead center of the target. As she pulled it free of the straw, she looked over her shoulder at him. "Your form has improved, no doubt about it."
When she returned, she handed him the arrow but kept a playful, knowing gaze on him. "Next time, try it without any… extra help."
Kelan felt himself flush slightly. He shouldn't be surprised—Astrid could read him almost as well as he could read himself at times. "Was it that obvious?" he asked quietly.
"Not to anyone else," she admitted. "But I could tell the wind didn't carry that shot at all. The breeze shifted just as you loosed, yet your arrow flew perfectly straight." She arched an eyebrow. "Even the best archers can't promise that."
He managed a sheepish smile. "Old habits."
Astrid's expression softened. "It's not about chastising you. Just remember why we practice like this." She gestured around them—the open desert, the bow in his hand. "If ever there comes a time you can't or shouldn't rely on your talent, you need other skills to fall back on. And even if you can use it, subtlety is key."
Kelan nodded. He knew she was right. The exercise was as much about discipline and restraint as it was about hitting a target. "I understand. Again, then."
For the next hour, he continued shooting until his arms were trembling and the arrows frequently missed from simple fatigue. He avoided using any more telekinesis, focusing only on the stance and muscle memory Astrid drilled into him. By the time the sun peeked fully over the dunes, washing the desert in gold, he had managed a few solid hits on the target through sheer improvement of aim. Each successful shot—no matter how modest—earned a nod or brief word of praise from Astrid.
Finally, Astrid raised a hand. "Enough for now. You'll strain something if you push further today."
Panting slightly, Kelan lowered the bow with relief. He hadn't realized how tense his shoulders had become until he released the pressure. His fingers, unaccustomed to the repeated draw of the string, felt almost numb.
They gathered the arrows and the straw sack. Astrid slung her bow across her back and they began walking slowly back towards the city gate. The sky was fully light now, and morning activity was beginning on the outskirts of Tazan—distant voices of merchants setting up stalls outside the walls, a caravan bell jingling as camels were led along the road.
"You did well," Astrid said, breaking the companionable silence as they walked. "For someone who's spent more time with books and minds than bows, you're making good progress."
Kelan rotated his right shoulder with a slight wince. "It feels like I have a long way to go. But… it felt good to do something physical. To just focus on the target and nothing else for a while."
Astrid smiled sidelong at him. "Exactly. That's part of the reason I suggested it. Archery can be a form of moving meditation, once the basics become natural. Your mind has to be calm, your breath steady—otherwise your aim will be off."
He considered that as they trudged over a patch of firm sand. "In that way, it's not so different from healing," he observed. "When I heal, I have to find a calm focus and clear away any stray thoughts or emotions. Otherwise… mistakes happen."
Astrid nodded. "That makes sense. You've always had strong focus, Kelan. This is just training it in a different direction." She tipped her head toward him and added, "And teaching you patience with yourself. You can't master it in a day, or even weeks. It takes time and repetition."
He huffed a soft laugh. "The same could be said of mastering certain mind-skills. I suppose I should know that. It's humbling to be a beginner again at something."
"Humility isn't a bad thing," Astrid replied gently. "Keeps us careful. And right now, careful is exactly what we need to be."
They reached the city gates, which were open to allow farmers and traders in with the morning influx. The guards paid little attention to the two of them as they slipped back into Tazan with their gear. Kelan and Astrid wound through the waking streets, which were growing busier by the minute—shopkeepers unlatching doors, children running errands with baskets of fresh bread, the cries of vendors hawking fruit and dates ringing out.
By the time they returned to their quiet quarter, the sun was higher and the day already warm. Outside their shop, Kelan paused and looked at his hands. A faint tremor passed through them from the exertion, and his fingertips were red where they had drawn the bowstring.
Astrid noticed. "Your hands will toughen up soon enough," she said, unlocking their door. "We'll get you some finger-guards to help in the meantime."
Inside, the familiar scent of dried herbs greeted them. Kelan felt a wave of appreciation for the small, cool interior of their shop—such a contrast to the bright expanse of the desert they'd left behind.
He set down the sack of arrows in the corner and propped the bow beside them. "I think," he said with a grin, "I'll be feeling this practice all day."
Astrid chuckled. "That's how you know it's working." She reached out and gently squeezed his forearm, where the muscles still twitched with fatigue. "We'll do more tomorrow, unless you're treating some urgent malady at dawn."
Kelan shook his head with an amused breath, fairly certain no one would be seeking a healer at first light.
"All right," Astrid said, moving toward the back room. "Let's get some breakfast and open the shop for the day."
Kelan lingered a second, casting one more glance at the bow. He felt a mix of weariness and accomplishment, and something else too: a burgeoning confidence that came from learning, bit by bit, to handle a challenge without leaning on his powers.
"Coming," he replied, and followed Astrid into the back to start the day in earnest.
Chapter 66
A week later, as dusk settled over Tazan, Kelan and Astrid found themselves drawn out of their quiet routine and into the lively heart of the city. Word had spread of a music and story night at the central bazaar—a casual festival held whenever a renowned troupe of desert singers passed through. Astrid had suggested they close the shop early to attend. To Kelan's mild surprise, he agreed without much coaxing. The prospect of an evening among Tazan's famed musicians intrigued him more than he'd expected.
Now, the sun's last copper rays were fading beyond the dunes as they arrived at the bazaar square. Dozens of hanging lanterns had been lit around the perimeter, their warm glow illuminating stalls that had transformed from daytime markets into makeshift food vendors and tea stands. The air was rich with mingled aromas: roasting chickpeas spiced with cumin, honeyed pastries, and the sharp sweetness of brewed date wine.
Kelan and Astrid wove through the gathering crowd. Neighbors from their quarter waved in greeting when they recognized the healer and his companion outside of their usual context. Astrid guided them toward an open area near a raised wooden platform that served as a stage. A group of musicians was already assembled there, tuning lutes and a long-necked string instrument that Kelan learned was called a rebec. A pair of drummers idly tapped out soft rhythms on hand-drums, creating an undercurrent of sound as people settled on rugs or low benches.
They found a spot at the edge of the lantern light, near an old stone fountain that tinkled quietly. Astrid procured two small cups of spiced tea and handed one to Kelan. The tea was fragrant with cinnamon and something floral—chamomile, perhaps. Kelan took a sip and felt the day's residual fatigue ease in the warmth of the cup and the pleasant bustle around them.
Soon, the hum of conversation tapered as an older man in flowing desert robes stepped onto the platform. His face was creased with years of sun and smile lines, and when he raised his arms, the gathered audience fell into an attentive hush.
"Welcome, friends of Tazan," the man began, voice sonorous and carrying effortlessly. "Tonight we share our stories in song. Some of these songs are as ancient as the sands; others are new, born from journeys across our land." He swept a hand toward the musicians behind him. "We have with us the troubadours of Senhar, fresh from the northern routes, and our own beloved drummers of the Red Dune. Listen, and let the music weave its magic in your hearts."
At that cue, a gentle melody began. One of the lute players plucked a sequence of notes that danced lightly in the cooling night air. A woman with a rebec joined in, the bow on its strings adding a plaintive, singing quality to the sound. Then the old man himself lifted his voice and began to sing.
The song was slow and rich, in a dialect of the desert tongue that Kelan understood only partially. But the emotion in the old man's voice transcended any language barrier. It was a tale of a journey—Kelan picked out words for "stars" and "long road" and "home" woven among the verses. The melody swelled and dipped, at times sorrowful, at times hopeful. The crowd listened in complete silence, many with eyes closed as if envisioning the scenes painted by the words.
Kelan felt the hairs on his arms rise. There was something in the music itself, beyond the lyrics, that resonated through the night. Each note seemed to vibrate not only in the air but in his chest, in his very bones. He exchanged a glance with Astrid and saw that she, too, was enraptured. She sat with her cup of tea forgotten in her hands, eyes fixed on the performers, a soft wonder on her face.
As the song continued, Kelan became aware of a subtle energy flowing with it. It wasn't overt magic—not like a spell or any technique he knew—but rather a natural synergy between the singer and his listeners. The music evoked images and feelings as vivid as any illusion, yet it felt gentle. Kelan closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him. In his mind's eye, he saw endless dunes under a midnight sky, a lone traveler following a trail of stars, heart heavy with longing and lifted by promise all at once.
By the time the final notes faded, Kelan's throat felt tight with emotion. Applause and murmurs of appreciation rose around the square, but Kelan remained still, processing the depth of what he had felt. The old storyteller bowed and stepped back, and the musicians immediately shifted to a brighter, faster tune to lighten the mood.
This next piece was instrumental—a lively drumming backed by the quick strumming of lutes. Children who had been sitting obediently through the ballad now leapt up to dance at the edges of the circle, their laughter ringing out. Astrid nudged Kelan lightly and nodded toward one small girl who twirled with complete abandon, the coins on her braided belt jingling as she moved. Kelan couldn't help but smile at the sight.
"That first song," Astrid leaned in to whisper to Kelan, not wanting to disturb others' enjoyment of the current music. "I didn't understand all the words. But I felt it."
"So did I," Kelan replied under his breath. He noticed his heart was beating a touch faster than normal, as if stirred by the echoes of that song. "It was… extraordinary."
Astrid studied him for a moment. "I can see it in your eyes. It moved you."
Kelan opened his mouth to answer, but another voice spoke quietly beside them: "He sang of the Road of Years."
They turned to find an elderly woman seated on a low stool just a pace away. She had the weathered look of one who had spent a lifetime in the desert, and her eyes gleamed kindly under the lantern light. Noticing she had their attention, the woman continued in a soft tone. "That song, it is called 'Path Under Starlight.' It's an old favorite here. Even if one doesn't catch every word, the heart knows the meaning."
She tapped her chest gently. "It reminds us that every journey, long or hard, is guided by hope—like the stars guide a traveler by night."
"That's beautiful," Astrid said, offering the woman a warm smile.
The woman nodded, then chuckled as the drums on stage thundered louder, signaling a festive climax to the fast song. "Beautiful indeed. And powerful, in its own way. Desert songs carry a bit of the desert's soul in them, you know."
As the drumbeats faded to cheers and clapping, Kelan dared to ask, "Powerful… do you mean that literally?"
The old woman's eyes glinted as she looked at him. "Some say yes. Not in the flashy manner of a battle-spell, no. But in the way a gentle rain brings life to parched ground. Our songs soothe hearts, give courage, ease grief. Is that not its own kind of magic?"
Kelan felt a slow smile spread across his face. "It is," he agreed. "Thank you for telling us."
She shrugged lightly. "Just an old woman sharing old truths. Enjoy the evening, young ones." With that she patted Astrid's arm and fell silent as the performers struck up a new melody.
Over the next hour, music ranged from lighthearted to exhilarating. A younger singer's comical ballad about a clever jackal tricking a greedy merchant had the crowd chuckling, while a thunderous drum piece with all the musicians joining in brought people to their feet clapping along. The mood rose and fell with each tale and tune, binding the audience in shared laughter, excitement, and tears under the starry sky.
At one point, Astrid squeezed Kelan's arm gently. When he glanced at her, she tilted her head toward the performers. "I think I finally understand why you've been humming to yourself these past days," she whispered with a knowing smile.
Indeed, since hearing snatches of song around the city—and especially after tonight—Kelan had found himself quietly experimenting with melodies. In idle moments or during evening tea, he caught himself humming the refrain of that first ballad, or tapping a rhythm he'd heard. It wasn't deliberate at first, more an unconscious absorption of the musical atmosphere of Tazan. But Astrid had noticed, of course.
"There's something in it," Kelan murmured back, his gaze returning to the stage where two singers were now harmonizing an uplifting closing chorus. "In the music. I can't quite explain, but I feel... calmer, when I hum those tunes. More focused, even."
Astrid's eyes reflected the lantern light as she nodded. "If it helps, use it. I've always thought you carry too much tension in that mind of yours." She said it lightly, teasingly, but he knew it came with genuine care.
As the night's performances drew to an end, the old storyteller took the stage one last time to lead a final song—a simple, lilting farewell blessing for the audience and travelers present. The crowd joined in on the repeating chorus, even those like Kelan who had just learned it on the spot humming along by the third refrain. The words spoke of safe roads, peaceful nights, and reunions to come.
Kelan sang the closing lines very softly under his breath. He could feel a gentle pressure behind his eyes, a mix of joy and melancholy stirred up by the music. He realized then that the desert city had shared a bit of its soul with them this night, and Kelan carried it inside him—a new understanding, an inspiration—to be drawn upon in the days of healing and quiet study to come.
When it was over, the crowd began to disperse, each person carrying a share of the evening's warmth back with them. Kelan and Astrid rose from their spot and stretched. The lanterns swayed in a light breeze, sending playful shadows dancing across the emptied stage.
On their walk home through the darkened streets, Astrid wrapped her arm around Kelan's. Neither spoke for a while; words felt unnecessary after the richness of what they'd heard. The city was much quieter now, the shops closed, the stalls packed up, leaving only the faint scent of spice and the echo of songs in the alleys.
At length, Astrid broke the silence, her voice hushed. "I'm glad we went tonight."
"Me too," Kelan replied, equally soft. He glanced up at the strip of night sky visible between the rooftops, where a few stars twinkled. "It's given me a lot to think about."
Astrid smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder briefly as they walked. "I had a feeling it would."
Under the gentle blanket of night, they made their way back to their quiet quarter, hearts lighter and minds buzzing with melodies. The desert city of Tazan had shared a bit of its soul with them this night, and Kelan carried it inside him—a new understanding, an inspiration—to be drawn upon in the days of healing and quiet study to come.