Chapter 67
In the stillness before dawn, Kelan sat cross-legged on the floor of the shop's back room, eyes closed and hands resting lightly on his knees. The faint gray light of morning seeped through the high window, illuminating motes of dust that hung in the quiet air. Kelan focused on his breathing—slow, even breaths in time with the gentle rhythm he tapped with a finger on his knee.
Almost unconsciously, he began to hum under his breath. It was the melody of the desert ballad from the bazaar, the one that had stirred such emotion in him days before. The notes were soft and low in his throat, barely audible, but they vibrated within his chest and skull in a comforting way. As he hummed, Kelan directed his attention inward. He visualized his mind as a still pool of water. Any stray thoughts or worries that tried to ripple the surface were smoothed by the soothing resonance of the tune.
By the time the last note faded and he fell silent, Kelan felt particularly centered. His heartbeat was calm, and a lightness had settled in his chest. He opened his eyes to see Astrid leaning quietly in the doorway, already dressed for the day.
"That sounded lovely," she said softly, a smile playing on her lips.
Kelan stretched and rose to his feet. "I didn't realize you were awake."
"I've been up for a little while," Astrid replied. "Didn't want to interrupt."
Kelan felt a small flush of embarrassment at being caught humming. But Astrid's expression held only warmth. He shrugged, reaching for his water cup on a shelf. "It helps me focus," he admitted. "Starting the day with a clear head can't hurt."
Astrid nodded approvingly. "No, it certainly can't. Especially if we have a busy morning."
They soon opened the shop as the city stirred. The day began like many others—tidying the front room, checking their stock of remedies, greeting a few early customers who came with minor complaints easily remedied.
Shortly before midday, however, a more challenging case arrived. A young man, perhaps in his twenties, limped in with one arm around an older fellow (likely his father) for support. The younger man's face was drawn and pale, and sweat beaded on his brow despite the moderate warmth of late morning.
Kelan was at their side in an instant. "Come, sit here," he urged, guiding the young man to the cushioned bench they kept along one wall for patients. Astrid hurried to bring a cup of water.
"What happened?" Kelan asked gently, taking in the signs of pain on the man's face.
The older man answered, worry etched in his features. "My son Jarek… he collapsed with pain in his gut this morning while working the date stalls. It came on sudden. He can barely stand straight."
Kelan nodded, and knelt beside Jarek, who was clutching his abdomen. "Jarek, my name is Kelan. I'm going to examine you. Can you point to where it hurts most?"
The young man grimaced and used a trembling hand to indicate his lower right side. A stab of intuition—based on both training and the subtle sense he had—struck Kelan. He carefully pressed his fingers against the area; it was rigid and tender. Jarek sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth.
A likely appendicitis or similar internal inflammation, Kelan thought. In this world without advanced surgery, such a condition could be fatal if untreated or if it burst. But perhaps…
Kelan met Astrid's eyes briefly. She gave the slightest nod, moving to subtly position herself in front of the shop's door and draw the curtain partway. It was a quiet signal—they might need privacy if Kelan was to do something out of the ordinary.
"Jarek, I'm going to do what I can to ease this," Kelan said, keeping his voice calm. The young man's father hovered anxiously. "It will help if you try to relax."
Jarek managed a tight nod, but his body was tensed with pain. He was breathing in quick, shallow gasps.
Kelan laid one hand lightly on Jarek's abdomen and the other on his forehead. Normally he might ask a patient to breathe slowly, but he sensed Jarek was beyond hearing much instruction. Instead, almost instinctively, Kelan began to hum.
He chose a soft, reassuring melody—the lullaby-like farewell song that had closed the musical evening in the bazaar. The tune was simple, repetitive, and soothing. As the gentle notes vibrated in the air, Jarek's ragged breaths began to sync unconsciously with the rhythm.
Kelan let his eyelids fall half-closed. While humming quietly, he sent his mental focus slipping into Jarek's body, seeking the source of the inflammation. He visualized a knotted, angry red spot in the gut and carefully enveloped it with his psychic touch. In his mind, he paired the pressure of his healing talent with the rise and fall of the melody.
With each sustained note, he nudged swelling tissue to cool and ease. With each pause for breath, he encouraged blood flow to carry away the inflammation's heat. The humming wasn't inherently magical on its own, but it helped Kelan maintain a steady, gentle cadence to his work—and perhaps it helped Jarek's body respond in kind.
Astrid watched from a short distance, saying nothing, but Kelan was vaguely aware of her quietly directing the father to fetch a basin of water and clean cloths, keeping him occupied and calm.
After several minutes, Kelan's hum trailed off. He lifted his hand from Jarek's brow. The young man's eyes, which had been screwed shut in agony, blinked open dazedly. His breathing was slower, more even.
"The pain… it's not gone, but… it's less," Jarek whispered, sounding surprised.
Kelan smiled gently. He was inwardly relieved; the acute crisis seemed to have passed. "I expect it will continue to ease," he said. "But you must rest now for the remainder of the day."
Astrid stepped forward with a cup of herbal infusion she had prepared while Kelan worked—willowbark and chamomile for pain and to prevent fever. Jarek accepted it, and his father helped him drink.
Kelan rose and spoke quietly to the father while Jarek sipped. "He had a dangerous inflammation inside. I've done what I can to calm it. With rest and proper care, he should recover. But if the pain sharpens again or he develops a high fever, send for me at once."
The man's eyes were shiny with gratitude. "The Grey Healer's gifts are truly as great as they say," he breathed, then caught himself as if afraid he'd been rude. "Thank you, Master Kelan. Truly."
Kelan flushed and glanced downward, busying himself with corking a vial of mild tonic. "I'm just glad I could help. Give him these drops in water every few hours to keep the fever down," he instructed, handing over the tonic. He accepted only a modest few coins of payment despite the man's insistence to pay more.
Once Jarek could stand steadily, father and son took their leave with many expressions of thanks. Astrid closed the door behind them, flipping the sign to indicate the shop would be closed for their mid-day break.
When she turned back to Kelan, her eyes sparkled with a mix of concern and admiration. "That was well done," she said softly. "Clever, too, using the humming. You not only soothed the boy, you also timed your work to the music."
Kelan exhaled and sank onto a stool, feeling the familiar post-working fatigue settle over him. It was less intense than when he'd attempted similar healings in the past, though. Perhaps the structured cadence of the song had prevented him from overextending. "It felt… smoother, somehow," he admitted. "Maintaining the rhythm kept my mind from rushing or pushing too hard. And I think it helped him stay calm."
Astrid came behind him and gently kneaded his shoulders, which had gone tense during the healing. "You realize what you did was extraordinary," she said. "Even without overt signs of magic, easing an internal injury like that… There are not many healers anywhere who could manage it."
Kelan sighed, rolling one shoulder as Astrid worked out a knot. "I know. We should hope he and his father keep the details to themselves."
"Likely they will, if only because no one would believe them outright," Astrid said wryly. Then, in a lighter tone, she added, "Besides, if anyone asks, you clearly just sang a comforting song and gave him a tonic. Nothing unusual about a healer humming a lullaby to soothe a patient."
A small smile touched Kelan's lips. "True enough."
They stayed like that for a minute, letting the quiet of midday enfold them. Through the shuttered front window, the sounds of the city were muted—a distant hawker's cry, the clop of a donkey's hooves on stone. Inside the shop, all was calm.
Astrid's hands slowed their massage, and she rested them on Kelan's shoulders in a gesture of affection. "You've come a long way, you know," she murmured.
"How so?" Kelan tilted his head back slightly to glance up at her.
"When I first met you," she said, "you carried power like a clenched fist—tight, anxious, always braced for conflict. Now look at you." She gestured around vaguely. "Healing quietly, integrating what you learn from this place, using your strength with care. It's… it's good to see."
Kelan felt a warmth in his chest at her words. Astrid wasn't one to give praise lightly. "I had a good teacher in caution," he replied meaningfully, reaching up to lay a hand over one of hers.
Astrid chuckled. "I nag because I care."
"And I'm grateful for it." He stood up, feeling steadier now that he had caught his breath. He stretched his arms, loosening the last of the tension. "I think I'll brew us some tea. We've earned a short rest."
As Kelan moved about preparing the teapot, Astrid opened the back door to let in a little fresh air. A small shaft of sunlight fell across the floorboards. Kelan found himself humming again—very softly—the same gentle tune as before. Astrid caught the sound and met his eyes with a contented smile, saying nothing.
In that simple moment, Kelan realized that humming had become more than a trick for focus—it was a reminder of the balance he was striving for. They enjoyed their tea in companionable silence, the quiet notes of Kelan's humming drifting through the sunlit room as peacefully as a desert breeze.
Chapter 68
The incident occurred on a bright, windless afternoon when the narrow lane was nearly empty. Kelan and Astrid had ventured out to fetch fresh herbs from a nearby vendor, and the quarter lay quiet under the heavy sun.
Suddenly, a commotion arose at the far end of the street. Kelan looked up to see a horse-drawn cart barreling around a corner at unsafe speed. The driver—a young boy—was shouting and pulling desperately at the reins, but the horse had bolted in fright. Perhaps a snake or a sudden noise had spooked it. In an instant, the cart's wooden wheels bounced over a rut, and one of the large clay water urns it carried toppled off, shattering on the ground with a crash.
People in the street began yelling and scrambling to get out of the way as the panicked horse thundered forward. In the cart's path, oblivious to the danger, was a little girl no more than four. She had been playing with pebbles near a doorstep and now stood frozen, eyes wide at the chaotic scene bearing down on her.
Kelan's heart lurched. Even with his abilities, everything seemed to move in slow motion in that moment. The child's mother screamed from a few paces away, her face stricken in helpless terror.
But Astrid was already moving. With a burst of speed, she sprinted toward the girl. Kelan didn't hesitate either—he reached out with his mind toward the racing cart.
A surge of focused will poured from Kelan. He couldn't simply stop the heavy horse and cart outright without drawing obvious attention, but he could influence. He directed a concentrated push of telekinetic force against the front of the cart's chassis, as if an unseen strong wind resisted it.
The horse let out a high whinny as the cart mysteriously dragged, its charge suddenly slowed. In that sliver of time, Astrid lunged in. She snatched the little girl up into her arms and threw herself into a roll, narrowly clearing the path as the horse and cart barreled past. The cart's wheel scuffed the hem of Astrid's tunic but did not strike her.
A second later, the driver finally regained some control, hauling the horse's head back. The animal, met with both the hard yank and the mysterious resistance on the cart, skidded to a stop a dozen yards down the lane, hooves scraping on stone. Neighbors rushed to calm the trembling beast and help the boy clamber down from the driver's seat, his face ashen.
Astrid sat up, dusty and wide-eyed, the wailing child clutched protectively against her chest. The child's mother ran to them, sobbing with relief. Kelan dashed forward too, his heart pounding from the close call.
The mother dropped to her knees, arms outstretched. Astrid gently transferred the little girl to her, and the child immediately clung to her mother's neck, crying loudly now that the shock was wearing off.
"You saved her," the woman gasped to Astrid between sobs. She touched Astrid's arm as if to assure herself this stranger was real. "You pulled her away like a flash. I-I thought—" Her voice broke, and she simply bowed her head in gratitude, tears falling onto the child's hair.
Astrid, breathing hard, managed a reassuring smile. "She's all right. That's what matters."
Around them, a small crowd had gathered, drawn by the noise. Two men were calming the horse; another was picking up the pieces of the shattered water urn. The young driver was babbling apologies to everyone and explaining how he'd lost control. As people began to realize no one was badly hurt, a collective sigh of relief spread. A few even laughed shakily, joking about "too much excitement for an afternoon."
No one seemed to have noticed anything unusual in the rescue—only that Astrid had moved incredibly fast and that fortune had favored the outcome.
Kelan helped Astrid to her feet. Her right sleeve was torn and an angry scrape showed on her forearm where she had hit the ground rolling. Kelan felt a surge of worry and gently took her arm to inspect the injury. It was superficial, just a burnish of raw skin and a trickle of blood.
"Hold still," he murmured. With his other hand, he discreetly drew a little healing energy and passed it over the scrape. Under the guise of brushing off dust, he eased the sting and encouraged the skin to start knitting. Astrid drew a breath at the brief cool sensation that flowed over the abrasion, then nodded in silent thanks.
By now, the mother of the girl had regained enough composure to properly address them. She balanced her daughter on one hip. "I… I don't know how to thank you," she said, voice trembling but earnest. Her eyes were fixed on Astrid, full of awe and gratitude.
"There's no need," Astrid replied, a bit embarrassed by the attention. "Just be careful with her near the road."
The little girl—her face tear-streaked and dirty—peeked over her mother's shoulder at Astrid and Kelan. On impulse, Kelan crouched slightly and offered the child a gentle smile and a tiny, carved wooden toy figurine that had fallen out of the cart—an unfinished carving of a camel. "Here, little one," he said kindly. "A brave girl deserves a gift."
The girl sniffled, eyes still wide, but accepted the toy hesitantly. Her grip on her mother loosened just enough to clutch the wooden camel to her chest.
Others in the crowd murmured words of admiration: "Quick thinking…" "What a catch…" "Lucky the healer's wife was here!" Kelan noted a few people referring to Astrid as his wife—an understandable assumption, and one neither he nor Astrid bothered to correct in moments like this.
Neighbors crowded around with congratulations, marveling at Astrid's cat-like reflexes and remarking how fortunate it was that the cart had slowed when it did. Kelan gave a humble shrug and suggested the horse had simply tired itself out by the time it reached them.
As the crowd began to disperse, each person returning to their interrupted errands, the mother and child offered one more heartfelt thank-you and headed home, the little girl still clutching the wooden camel.
Kelan and Astrid finally made their way back toward their shop, walking slowly. Astrid had a slight limp from where she'd banged her knee, but otherwise seemed fine.
When they reached the quiet of their doorway, Kelan turned to her and exhaled shakily. "That was… a close one."
Astrid managed a tight laugh, the adrenaline still evident in her eyes. "Closer than I'd like." She touched her forearm, where only a faint pinkness remained of the scrape he'd healed. "I'm lucky that's the worst of it."
Kelan glanced up and down the street to ensure no one was within easy earshot. Then he said under his breath, "I slowed the cart. I don't think anyone noticed, but I had to."
Astrid's expression softened. "Of course you did. And thank the winds you did—else I might not have been fast enough." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Don't second-guess it, Kelan. You saved that child as much as I did."
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Ever since he'd acted, a part of him had been worrying that he'd done too much, that someone would suspect how an overloaded cart could decelerate at just the right moment. But hearing Astrid acknowledge it so plainly eased his mind.
"I tried to make it subtle," he said quietly. "Though subtlety was the last thing on my mind when I saw her standing there…"
Astrid nodded. "Some risks are worth it. That was one." She gave him a small, wry smile. "Still, maybe we should avoid the main roads for a few days—just until any chatter about this afternoon dies down. It's unlikely anyone will connect dots that aren't there, but caution never hurts."
"Agreed," Kelan said. He realized his hands were faintly shaking now that the danger had passed. He flexed them to dispel the tremor. "I think I need a calming cup of that date tea."
Astrid chuckled, brushing a streak of dust from his sleeve. "I could use one myself."
Inside, with the door shut behind them, the shop felt especially tranquil. The familiar scent of herbs and the shaded interior were a balm to Kelan's nerves. As Astrid went to boil water for tea, Kelan sank into a chair and ran a hand through his hair, replaying the events in his mind—the thunder of hooves, the terror on the mother's face, Astrid diving without hesitation. And the fierce surge of protectiveness that had propelled him to intervene without a second thought.
Astrid soon joined him at the small table in the back room, two cups of steaming date tea in hand. She had washed her scraped knee and applied a bit of salve to ward off bruising. They sat in silence for a while, letting the sweet, earthy flavor of the tea and the quiet of their home steady them.
After a few sips, Astrid spoke softly. "Every day I'm reminded how different things could have been." At Kelan's questioning look, she continued, "If we hadn't come here. If we didn't have this life… you might have been out there using your talents in far more perilous ways. And I—I'd likely be somewhere up north, never knowing what I was missing."
Kelan reached across the table to take her hand. It was rare for Astrid to speak so openly of what-ifs. "We made the choices we needed to," he said gently. "And I don't regret where we ended up."
"Nor do I," she agreed, squeezing his hand. "Today was a scare, but… it also showed me something."
"What's that?"
Astrid's eyes met his, clear and steady. "That even in a quiet life, we won't hesitate to risk ourselves when it truly matters. It's who we are. And perhaps that's a good thing."
Kelan thought of the little girl's face pressed into her mother's shoulder, safe and alive. He nodded. "I think it is."
They finished their tea in companionable quiet. Outside, the afternoon light was beginning to slant golden through the cracks of the shutters, and the noise of the street had returned to its normal, gentle bustle.
After a time, Astrid stood and placed a gentle kiss on Kelan's forehead. "I'll prepare a bit of that kemb root poultice for my knee, and then we should get back to work. I suspect a few of those onlookers might drop by to check on the 'heroic healer and his wife' before the day's end."
Kelan chuckled at that, walking with her to the back where their supplies were kept. "Let's try to gently discourage that title, shall we?"
Astrid laughed softly. "Gladly."
Despite the lingering adrenaline, or perhaps because of it, they went about the rest of the day with a quiet sense of gratitude. They had been tested by a moment of sudden crisis and come through safely, their anonymity intact and a child's life saved.
Chapter 69
The weeks that followed settled back into a peaceful rhythm. In the early mornings, Kelan continued his blend of meditation and quiet song. By daylight, he and Astrid tended to their healing practice and the mundane tasks of daily life. Yet beneath the surface of routine, Kelan could feel his abilities evolving—refining in small but significant ways.
One cool dawn, he stood in the enclosed courtyard behind their shop, practicing a subtle exercise. On the ground a few paces away lay a small clay bowl. Kelan focused his gaze on it, then closed his eyes and began to hum a single, sustained note. It was a low tone, gentle and even. With his mind, he extended outward, trying to make the bowl tremble in resonance with the sound.
At first, nothing happened. But Kelan kept at it, adjusting the pitch of his humming fractionally. He recalled how certain deep drum beats at the bazaar had made nearby cups rattle. There was power in vibrations.
A minute passed. Then another. Finally, a soft clink reached his ears—the clay bowl quivered against the stone pavement, ever so slightly. Kelan opened his eyes and let the hum taper off. A small smile touched his lips. A month ago, he might have lifted the bowl with a thought through brute force. Today he was learning to achieve influence with a feather touch, almost coaxing rather than commanding.
"You're up to new tricks, I see," came Astrid's teasing voice from the doorway. She approached, wrapped in a light shawl against the morning chill, a cup of steaming tea in her hands.
Kelan chuckled quietly. "Just experimenting. If a loud enough song can shake the walls, perhaps a quiet one can nudge a bowl."
Astrid arched an eyebrow appreciatively. "Making your power less conspicuous, one humming bowl at a time?"
"That's the idea," he admitted. He walked over and plucked up the clay bowl, which still hummed faintly with the memory of the vibration. "The more I can do subtly, the less anyone will notice I'm doing anything at all."
Astrid offered him a sip of her tea. It was cinnamon spiced—sweet and invigorating. "It's sensible," she agreed. "And it suits you. You've never liked flashy displays."
They traded the cup back and forth companionably while the sun inched over the rooftops. When the morning grew warm enough, they moved to a patch of sun in the courtyard to go through a brief exercise routine—something Astrid had instituted to keep them both fit. They practiced balance stances and stretches. Astrid showed Kelan a set of movements with a staff to maintain his upper-body strength for archery. Kelan, for his part, demonstrated a breathing pattern he'd been working on to better integrate his humming with physical exertion.
After a time, Astrid fetched their bows. They often took a short practice before the shop opened if time allowed, though nothing as intense as their early sessions. Today, they merely shot a handful of arrows at a straw target Kelan had set against the courtyard wall.
Kelan's arrows struck closer to the center now, without any need of telekinetic guidance. The repetition and Astrid's patient corrections had ingrained better form in him. As he landed two shots in a row near the target's middle, he heard Astrid clap softly behind him.
"Well done," she praised. "No help at all on those?"
He shook his head, lowering the bow. "None. I didn't even think about it, honestly. It just felt…natural."
Astrid's smile was broad with pride. "Then we should probably get you a proper bow made one of these days. That old thing has served well for training, but you might benefit from one fitted to your draw."
Kelan brushed some dust from the worn bow's limb. It was true the bow was of middling quality, a starter at best. "Perhaps after the next good earnings," he agreed amicably.
They cleaned up and opened the shop thereafter, and the day unfolded with its usual calm. A few travelers from a newly arrived caravan trickled in, seeking remedies for heat exhaustion and a salve for sunburn. Kelan used the opportunity to trade a bit—exchanging a jar of his prepared burn ointment for some northern dried berries that the caravan carried, which were known to reduce fever.
In the afternoon lull, when the streets were quiet, Kelan sat at the counter grinding a mixture of desert sage and mint leaves, replenishing their stock of digestive tonic. The rhythmic motion of pestle against mortar accompanied his thoughts. He reflected on how much had changed in small increments.
He recalled the first weeks in Tazan, when he would avoid using even a flicker of his power unless absolutely necessary, for fear of being noticed. Now, he wielded it daily in tiny, invisible ways: easing a patient's pain with a subtle touch, stirring a mixture a little more smoothly than hand strength alone, catching a dropped cup before it hit the ground. Little things that left no obvious mark of magic, but collectively made him more confident that he could integrate his talents into a normal life.
Astrid was out front, chatting with a neighbor through the open window about the latest caravan news. Kelan heard the neighbor mention that a minor noble from the city's council had been seen inspecting the bazaar today. "Looking for curios for his daughter's wedding," the neighbor gossiped. "Maybe he'll wander to our quarter—if he does, send him to the Grey Healer, eh?"
Kelan smiled faintly to himself at Astrid's diplomatic reply: a polite laugh, a non-committal remark. They certainly did not need a noble's attention. He appreciated how deftly Astrid deflected those conversations.
As evening neared, the neighbor departed with a wave. Astrid came back inside, rolling her eyes slightly. "They do like to chatter," she said, amused. She leaned on the counter and watched Kelan work for a moment, the pastel light of sunset slanting in behind her. "You're quiet today. Everything all right?"
Kelan poured the ground herb powder into a paper packet. "Yes. I was just thinking how… normal everything feels."
Astrid tilted her head. "Is that bad?"
"No," Kelan said with a soft chuckle. "It's wonderful. I realize I've never had this much normalcy in my life. There's always been some crisis or another. But these past weeks have been peaceful. And productive." He lifted the packet of digestive powder. "I dare say I've become rather domesticated."
Astrid reached over to brush a streak of sage dust off his cheek. "Hardly domesticated. But definitely settled." Her tone grew warm. "You're allowing yourself to enjoy the quiet, Kelan. Not constantly bracing for the next disaster. That's new."
He had to acknowledge the truth in her words. There was a time not long ago when he would wake every morning expecting the worst—an ambush, a summons from angry officials, something. Now he woke to a day of humble work and gentle evenings. It was a change he hadn't known he needed so badly.
"I won't take it for granted," he said after a moment. "Any of it."
Astrid gave his hand a squeeze over the counter, a silent understanding passing between them. Neither would she.
That night, after supper, they sat in the courtyard to catch the cool breeze that came after sundown. Astrid strummed a few idle notes on a lute belonging to their landlord that she'd borrowed—she was no trained musician, but she knew a couple of simple tunes. Kelan leaned back against the wall, humming along when he recognized a melody. The sky above was a deep purple, stars just beginning to glimmer into view.
It was in these small moments that Kelan felt the fullness of his hard-won serenity. Power still thrummed within him—he could feel it ready under his skin whenever he reached—but it no longer dictated his life. It was a tool, a part of him like his heartbeat or breath, to be used with care and subtlety.
He listened to Astrid's soft lute strumming and his own voice humming in harmony. In a way, it was practice too—a practice of living, of balancing the extraordinary within him with the ordinariness he cherished. And as the first stars blinked to life over Tazan, Kelan closed his eyes and simply absorbed the moment, contentment and vigilance mingling like two notes in the same pleasing chord.
Chapter 70
It was late morning when the summons arrived. A neatly-dressed young servant appeared at their shop's threshold, bearing a sealed note. Astrid accepted it while Kelan finished bandaging an elderly patient's knee. As soon as the patient departed, Astrid showed Kelan the missive, her expression already cautious.
The letter explained that Lord Oren Sahir's wife was gravely ill with a fever beyond the skill of his physicians, and it entreated Kelan to come at once.
Kelan felt a twist in his gut. Lord Oren Sahir was a minor noble, a wealthy spice merchant who held a seat on the city council. Certainly part of Tazan's ruling elite in all but name. He glanced at Astrid.
"They've heard of you," she said quietly.
"Too much, perhaps," Kelan murmured. The phrasing of the note—mentioning his reputation for extraordinary skill—stood out. Yet refusing such a request outright could invite more curiosity or offense.
After a moment, he inhaled slowly. "We'll have to go, and handle this with care."
Astrid nodded in agreement, already fetching a few prepared remedy packets and vials from their shelves. "We should bring the usual treatments for fevers. Let it appear that those do the work."
Kelan gathered his satchel and slipped the letter inside. The young servant waited patiently outside and bowed as they emerged. "My lord's house is not far—just beyond the main bazaar," he informed them.
As they followed the servant through Tazan's winding streets, Kelan felt Astrid's hand brush his lightly, a subtle gesture of reassurance. He realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to exhale. They had known that one day someone with status might seek him out. Now that day had come.
At Lord Oren's grand home, Kelan and Astrid were swiftly ushered into a dim bedchamber where Lady Marisa lay pale and feverish on an ornate bed. The air was thick with the scent of camphor and the tension of worry. Lord Oren himself—a tall, thin man with a neatly trimmed beard—stood from a chair beside her as they entered. Two other figures, a grey-haired house physician and a younger maid holding a bowl of water, looked on with guarded expressions.
Lord Oren stepped forward, pressing his palms together in greeting. "Master Kelan. Thank you for coming so swiftly." His eyes flicked to Astrid, taking in her bow and quiver at a glance. "And this is…?"
"My assistant," Kelan supplied calmly. "She helps me in all my work." They had agreed on the short walk over that "assistant" would draw less attention than explaining their relationship.
Astrid bowed her head with a neutral smile. "Well met, my lord."
Oren's gaze lingered curiously on her weapon before he seemed to recall himself. He gestured to the bedside. "Please, come. My wife, Lady Marisa, has been ill for twelve days now. High fever, weakness… our house physician"—he nodded to the older man, who inclined his head stiffly—"has tried every common remedy. We even called a priestess to sing a healing psalm two nights past, but to no avail. She does not wake." His voice caught, and he quickly masked it.
Kelan approached the bed, gently setting his satchel down. Lady Marisa's breathing was shallow and rapid. He took her hand; her skin was ashen and burning with heat. The scent of camphor and various herbs hung in the air—evidence of the treatments already attempted.
He laid a cool hand on her forehead and closed his eyes, concentrating. He could sense a raging infection inside her—perhaps a lung fever that had spread. Fluids in the lungs, inflammation searing through her. It was advanced, but not beyond hope if treated aggressively.
"I will do all I can, my lord," Kelan said softly. He looked to the physician. "What has been done thus far?"
The house physician admitted they had already tried bloodletting to reduce the fever, frequent infusions of various herbs, and even a healing psalm from a priestess—all to no avail.
Kelan nodded. Those were appropriate measures, ordinarily. "No rashes or other symptoms? Only fever and lethargy?"
"Correct," the physician said, pressing his lips thin.
Kelan set straight to work. He drew from his satchel a small jar of concentrated feverfew and peppermint paste he'd made for stubborn fevers. As he applied a dollop to Lady Marisa's temples and the pulse points on her wrists and neck, he spoke soothingly, explaining to the anxious husband, "This is a preparation to help draw out heat and stimulate her strength. We'll also brew a strong tea for her—Astrid, please mix the red fever berries we got from the caravan with willowbark and chamomile."
Astrid moved to a side table where a kettle steamed, efficiently following Kelan's directions. Her calm, unhurried movements seemed to ease some of the tension in the room.
While Astrid prepared the tea, Kelan sat on the edge of the bed and gently placed his hand above Lady Marisa's chest, not quite touching. He began to hum very softly—the same lullaby-like tune he'd used with Jarek's healing. To the onlookers, it would seem a simple comforting gesture.
Under cover of the humming, Kelan extended his mind into the fevered woman's lungs. He felt the damp congestion, the infection burning there. Carefully, he exerted his talent to stimulate her lungs to expel the illness. It was not a dramatic purge—he dared not provoke a coughing fit that would alarm everyone—but rather a subtle coaxing of her body's own defenses. He imagined cooling waves washing through her blood, quelling the harmful heat.
Beads of sweat appeared on Kelan's brow as he worked inwardly, but outwardly he maintained the gentle hum and simply appeared deeply focused on his patient.
After a few minutes, Lady Marisa stirred faintly and let out a small sigh—the first movement Kelan had seen from her. Encouraged, he withdrew his hand and stopped humming. Her breathing, while still shallow, sounded a touch less raspy.
Astrid soon returned with a cup of strong herbal tea. With Astrid supporting the lady's head, Kelan carefully spooned a little of the brew between Marisa's lips. She gave a weak cough but swallowed the dose—a hopeful sign.
They managed to get about half the cup into her before Kelan was satisfied. Lord Oren hovered on the other side of the bed, watching every small change with desperate hope.
Kelan kept his expression modest and neutral. "The treatment is helping, my lord, but she's not out of danger yet. The fever will likely spike again by this evening. It's best that I leave you with enough of this tea mixture and the herbal paste. Administer them both every few hours."
He met Lord Oren's gaze steadily. "Improvement will come gradually over a day or two. It's crucial that she continue to drink water or broth as she can. I will return tomorrow to check on her."
Lord Oren looked as though he might clasp Kelan's hands in gratitude. "Master Kelan, if you can cure her… our family will be in your debt. Anything you need—"
Kelan raised a hand gently. "I'm simply doing what I can. Let's see her well; that will be thanks enough." He began to pack up, making a show of mixing more of the dried fever berries and willowbark into packets for the household to brew later.
Astrid wiped Lady Marisa's brow with a cool damp cloth, an act that appeared merely compassionate but also gave Kelan a final opportunity to surreptitiously double-check the fever's intensity. He brushed the woman's aura lightly with his senses; the blaze of heat had indeed lessened a fraction.
Lord Oren walked them to the door with effusive thanks and promises of reward, which Kelan gently waved off. Soon, they were stepping out into the street, blinking in the midday sun.
As they stepped out into the street, Astrid breathed out as if she'd been holding her breath the entire time.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, weaving back toward their side of town. Kelan's hands were trembling ever so slightly now that the pressure was past. Astrid noticed and gently took his arm in hers.
"That went as well as it could have," she murmured.
Kelan nodded. "I think she'll recover. But we should be prepared if Lord Oren speaks too freely about today."
"He may choose discretion for his own sake," Astrid offered, "but it doesn't hurt for us to be extra cautious."
Kelan let out a slow breath. He felt drained, both from the careful healing and the tension of maintaining their low profile under scrutiny. "I just hope this doesn't attract any more attention from the council or—"
He didn't finish the thought. The possibilities were obvious and didn't need saying: a summons from the city governor, inquiries from official mages or scholars. Troubles they very much wanted to avoid.
Back at their shop, Kelan sank into a chair, closing his eyes for a moment. Astrid bolted the door and came to stand behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders comfortingly.
"You were brilliant," she said softly. "Truly. You gave them enough to have faith, but not so much that it looks impossible."
Kelan reached up and squeezed one of her hands. "I had you at my side. That made it easier."
Astrid bent and kissed the top of his head. "Get some rest. I'll mind the shop for the afternoon. If anyone asks, you're out tending to patients."
He smiled gratefully and allowed himself to retreat to the back room to lie down. As he drifted into a light sleep, one thought followed him into his dreams: they had balanced on the edge of exposure once more and, for now, remained safe. But the balancing act was growing ever more delicate with each quiet miracle.
Chapter 71
Night had fallen, and a pale half-moon cast a gentle glow over the rooftops of Tazan. Inside their shop's back room, Kelan and Astrid sat at the low table finishing a late supper of lentil stew. The day's work was done; the front door was bolted, the streets outside quiet. It was one of those rare evenings when they could afford to linger and talk, with no immediate worries pressing in.
Kelan leaned back, cradling a cup of mint tea between his hands. Astrid sat across from him, chin propped on one hand as she studied his face. The lamplight between them danced in her eyes.
"You seem far away tonight," she said softly.
Kelan offered a faint smile. "Not far. Just thinking." He took a sip of tea, gathering his thoughts. In the stillness of the evening, the events of recent weeks swirled in his mind—from the harrowing moment of the runaway cart to the delicate dance of healing Lord Oren's wife under watchful eyes.
"I've been thinking about how much has changed," he continued after a moment. "For us. For me."
Astrid tilted her head, silently encouraging him to go on.
Kelan set down his cup. "I used to wake each day expecting a fight for survival. Expecting someone to come for me because of what I can do. Now I wake up to sunlight and simple tasks. I spend my days grinding herbs, treating fevers, mending sprains… leading an ordinary life." He paused, searching for the right words. "And I find I cherish it, Astrid. More than I ever imagined I could."
Astrid reached across the table to rest her hand over his. "I know," she said gently. "I see it in you. You've grown comfortable here… maybe even happy."
Kelan turned his hand palm up to lace his fingers with hers. "I am happy," he admitted. Saying it aloud felt almost surprising. "Despite the close calls and the need for caution—maybe even because of those things—I appreciate every peaceful moment we get."
Astrid's lips curved in a small smile. "It's odd, isn't it? We've had more excitement in our supposedly quiet life than some people see in decades. And yet, compared to before, this feels like calm."
Kelan chuckled softly. "We might just be odd people."
"Perhaps," she allowed. They sat in a companionable silence for a while, listening to the faint music of crickets outside and distant laughter from somewhere down the street.
Eventually, Astrid drew a breath, her thumb absently stroking the back of Kelan's hand. "Do you ever wonder," she began slowly, "if one day we won't need to hide at all? If there could be a place or time where you could use your full talents freely, without fear?"
Kelan looked at her thoughtfully. It was a question that had lived in the back of his mind for as long as he'd had to conceal his powers. "I do wonder," he murmured. "Maybe in some distant town or another land entirely, it might be possible. But here, in this world we know… power like mine tends to attract either worship or destruction. Neither appeals to me."
Astrid nodded. She knew the truth of that as well as he did.
"I sometimes think about what drove us into the desert to begin with," Kelan said quietly. "The intrigue, the betrayals… How many times did we barely escape? Too many."
His free hand unconsciously moved to rub the slight scar on his forearm—a souvenir from one of those narrow escapes. Astrid's eyes followed the motion, and she squeezed his other hand reassuringly.
"That's behind us now," she said. "We chose this life because we wanted no part of those games of power."
"And yet," Kelan sighed, "power has a way of creeping back in. No matter how humbly I try to live, word spreads. People start whispering that I work miracles. A lord calls on me… The more good I do, the more notice we draw."
His brow furrowed, and Astrid released his hand to come around the table and sit beside him. She placed an arm around his shoulders. "Does it make you want to stop?" she asked softly. "Hold back your gift entirely?"
Kelan shook his head almost immediately. "No. I couldn't live with myself if I did that. When there's someone suffering in front of me and I know I can help them…" He met her gaze, his dark eyes resolute. "I have to help. Even if it means taking risks."
A small smile touched Astrid's lips. "That's the man I chose to follow," she said, pride in her voice.
He smiled back, gently resting his forehead against hers. "I'm just lucky you're stubborn enough to keep me on the sensible path while I'm charging into danger."
Astrid huffed a soft laugh. "We balance each other well, I think."
They stayed leaning together for a time, drawing comfort from each other's warmth. The lamplight flickered, casting long shadows of two figures joined as one.
"We will likely face more moments like these," Astrid murmured. "Close calls. Difficult choices."
Kelan wrapped an arm around her waist. "I know. I've accepted that."
"Is it a life you're still willing to live?" she asked quietly. "Here in Tazan, under these conditions—secrecy and all?"
He didn't answer at once. Instead, he considered the modest room around them, the muffled sounds of their neighborhood—distant music, a baby's cry two houses over, laughter from the tea shop on the corner. This was their world now: unglamorous, perhaps, but rich in the everyday joys and struggles of ordinary people.
Finally, Kelan nodded. "It is. This life… it may be humble, but it's ours. And it's good."
Astrid smiled, a hint of relief in her eyes as though part of her feared he might have grown weary of restraining himself. "Good," she echoed.
Kelan took a slow breath. "We'll remain watchful, of course," he added. "If anything changes—if the ruling council grows too interested or if rumor travels too far—"
"Then we'll make a decision when that time comes," Astrid finished for him. Her tone was matter-of-fact, but not anxious. She had clearly thought through these contingencies as well. "We have a plan, if we ever need to slip away. But until then…"
"Until then, we stay. We heal those we can. We enjoy the life we've built, quietly."
Astrid reached out and gently tilted his chin so that he looked directly into her eyes. "Quietly," she repeated with a soft grin, "but not meekly. You are still you, Kelan. Quiet or not, you have a strength that won't be ignored."
Kelan felt his cheeks warm at the earnest compliment. "I'm just trying to be a better man," he said lightly, trying to deflect the intensity of her praise.
"You are," she insisted, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. "A better man than you know. Not because of your power, but because of how you choose to use it—with compassion and caution."
They embraced then, a gentle, comforting embrace that spoke of mutual trust and understanding. In that moment, Kelan felt a welling of gratitude—for Astrid's steadfast presence, for the fragile sanctuary they had carved out in a desert city, for the chance to do good on his own terms.
When they finally pulled apart, Astrid rose and fetched a small lute from its stand by the wall. Without a word, she began to pluck a slow, soothing melody—a familiar desert lullaby that had become one of their favorites. Kelan smiled and dimmed the lamp, then settled back beside her.
He closed his eyes and let the soft music wash over him. Almost unconsciously, he began to hum along, his voice melding with the gentle notes of the lute. The melody carried with it memories of everything they had endured and overcome, each note a reassurance that they were still here, together and free.
Above, the half-moon drifted through the sky, casting silvered light over Tazan's sleeping rooftops. And in the quiet back room of a modest healer's shop, a once-restless man and a once-wandering archer found a measure of peace—earned through hardship, kept by vigilance, and sweetened by hope for the days to come.
Chapter 72
A scouring sandstorm blew through Tazan one afternoon in early spring, blanketing the city in dust and leaving many of its residents coughing and congested in the days that followed. Kelan and Astrid saw an opportunity not only to help their neighbors but to quietly put Kelan's refined techniques into practice on a broader scale.
On the morning announced for the community remedy, a small crowd gathered in the courtyard just outside their shop. Men and women from the quarter—shopkeepers, laborers, mothers with children—arrived with sand-roughened throats and stuffy chests. Astrid had spread word the previous day that the Grey Healer was preparing a free inhalation treatment for anyone troubled by the post-storm ailments.
In the center of the courtyard, Kelan had set up a wide clay brazier over a bed of hot coals. On it simmered a large pot filled with water, herbs, and spices. Tendrils of fragrant steam curled into the air, carrying the sharp, cleansing notes of eucalyptus and mint mingled with the warmth of cinnamon and thyme.
"Gather round, everyone," Kelan said kindly. He had abandoned his usual modesty about attention for this controlled setting, knowing it was best to appear confidently in charge. "We'll breathe in the steam—it will help clear the lungs and ease the cough."
Astrid moved through the crowd, distributing clean cloths dabbed with aromatic balm for people to drape over their heads, capturing the healing vapors. A few children giggled at the sight of their parents with cloth-covered faces, but soon even they fell quiet as the soothing aroma began to work.
Kelan stood by the steaming pot, a light scarf around his own face to ward off the worst of the heat and scent. He closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself as he had each morning at dawn. Then he began to hum.
The melody he chose was simple and repetitive—a gentle desert lullaby known to many there. In fact, a couple of the older women in the group recognized it and added their own soft voices, turning his solo humming into a quiet chorus. Kelan smiled and encouraged others to join in if they wished. Soon a low harmonic song hummed through the courtyard, blending with the herb-laced steam in a calming embrace.
As he hummed, Kelan subtly extended his awareness through the crowd. He couldn't heal every cough outright in a single sweep without drawing suspicion, but he could do something better: help their bodies heal themselves. The combined effect of the herbs, the warm moisture, and the resonant song did much of the visible work. Unseen, Kelan gently lent a touch of his psychic energy here and there—a nudge to strengthen one man's breathing, a whisper to soothe a little girl's inflamed throat, an encouraging warmth to bolster an elderly woman's immune vigor.
The atmosphere in the courtyard shifted from one of discomfort to one of communal relief. People began breathing easier, their exhalations turning from ragged to relaxed. The tension melted from faces as tight chests loosened. They hummed together as if the song itself were a medicine.
After a good quarter hour, Kelan gradually drew the session to a close. He slowly stopped humming and lifted the lid off the steaming pot to signal the treatment's end. One by one, the townsfolk removed the cloths from their heads. Faces emerged with eyes bright from the steam and, in many cases, grateful smiles.
A middle-aged baker named Harun took a deep breath and laughed in surprise. "By the sands, I can breathe clear again!" he exclaimed, thumping his chest.
Beside him, his wife nodded, looking a bit astonished. "The tightness is gone," she agreed. She shot Kelan an appreciative look. "Your herbs are a blessing, Master Healer."
"And the song," added the grandmother who had hummed along. "We mustn't forget the power of a good desert song to chase off illness." Her remark prompted approving murmurs and a few chuckles.
Kelan inclined his head humbly. "The credit is yours as much as mine. Healing works best when we all take part in it—herbs, steam, and a shared song."
Astrid stepped forward with a tray of cool water and small cups, and began passing them around to the flush-faced participants. As neighbors sipped and chatted, the general consensus was that the Grey Healer's remedy had worked wonders. Some even claimed they felt better than before the storm.
Kelan watched these interactions with a warm glow of contentment in his chest. There was no fanfare, no awe-struck reverence—just genuine thanks and the comfortable camaraderie of neighbors helping neighbors. He had managed to do something truly meaningful here, and yet to an outside eye it appeared perfectly ordinary.
After distributing some packets of spice-infused tea for people to take home (to continue easing their throats), Kelan and Astrid gently ushered the gathering out as the sun climbed toward noon. Work waited for each of them, after all, and now they could return to it breathing freely.
Harun the baker was the last to leave, insisting on pressing a loaf of fresh date bread into Astrid's hands as thanks. "You two take this and enjoy it," he said cheerfully. "Small payment for big help."
When the courtyard finally emptied, Kelan and Astrid tidied up together. Astrid poured the remaining herbal water over the courtyard's lone palm tree—a bit of extra nourishment so nothing went to waste. Kelan wiped down the used cloths and set them to dry.
Inside the shop, it was quiet again. They sat at the counter, sharing slices of the sweet bread with goat cheese. A shaft of golden midday light slanted through the high window, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily in the air.
Astrid broke the silence, "Days like this make me realize how much we've become part of this community."
Kelan nodded, savoring the soft, spiced bread. "It's a good feeling," he admitted. "To be accepted, to be useful here without causing a stir."
Astrid's eyes were gentle as she regarded him. "No one blinked at the humming," she said. "They joined in. Healing and song together—it felt… natural."
"It was natural," Kelan agreed. He took a slow breath, still scented with traces of eucalyptus. "I don't think I could have imagined this a year ago—that I'd be here, doing something like this so openly yet peacefully."
Astrid reached over and brushed a crumb from Kelan's beard with affectionate familiarity. "And doing it well," she added.
He chuckled. "It certainly wasn't just me out there. You organized half of it."
They exchanged a fond look, one that spoke of shared effort and shared purpose.
Astrid then tilted her head, a playful glint in her eye. "I noticed you didn't even hesitate to hum in front of everyone."
A mild flush crept to Kelan's cheeks as he remembered a time when he might have been self-conscious about such a display. "I was too busy focusing on healing to worry about it," he said. "Besides, in a group like that, it felt… safe."
Astrid nodded. "It was. You made it safe."
They finished their simple meal and spent the early afternoon tending to a few regular customers. Business was steady but not hectic—just as they liked it. A young mother came for more teething tea for her infant; an elderly man came to show Kelan how well his injured hand had healed under Kelan's care, wiggling his fingers with glee. Each interaction was its own quiet reward.
By sunset, the shop was closed and a serene hush fell over the quarter. Kelan stood in the doorway for a moment, watching as neighbors lit lamps in their windows one by one. The sky was a brilliant wash of oranges and purples. Somewhere, a lone musician plucked a lute, the melody floating gentle on the evening breeze.
Astrid came up beside Kelan, slipping her arm around his waist. They didn't need to speak. Together they gazed at the scene—ordinary and beautiful in its simplicity.
Kelan felt Astrid rest her head against his shoulder, and he exhaled in contentment. He remained ever aware that life could change again—perhaps swiftly and without warning. But that awareness no longer poisoned his enjoyment of the present. It merely enriched it, reminding him to be grateful.
He closed the door, and Astrid locked it behind them. In the privacy of their quiet home, Kelan allowed himself a final moment of reflection. They had come so far on a journey filled with uncertainty and danger to arrive at this gentle place. Every day of peace here was a day earned by vigilance and wisdom.
"Good night, Kelan," Astrid whispered as she headed to douse the lamps.
Kelan looked around the dimly lit shop—at the neat rows of remedy jars, the snug chairs where countless lives had been comforted, the walls that sheltered their secrets—and finally back at Astrid, his partner in all things.
"Good night, Astrid," he replied softly.
As darkness settled in, Tazan's desert song—distant music and the hush of wind over sand—sang them into another peaceful night. And Kelan found, as he did each night beneath these foreign stars, that he was content. The world beyond might still hold its perils and its powers, but here in this small haven, he and Astrid had all they needed: purpose, love, quiet vigilance, and the promise of tomorrow at dawn.