Skadi, The Hidden Healer

“Skadi!” The shrill cry, accompanied by a pounding knock on the door, jolted Alya from her concentration. She pushed back from her workstation and quickly stepped across the small clinic to open the door. Gabriella, the town's baker, stood at the base of the stairs leading from the street above. She was a kind older woman known for her loose lips and penchant for gossip.

“It’s little Georgy! He fell, and I think his arm is broken!”

Alya noticed the small boy huddling behind Gabriella. He was no older than ten, and tears mingled with snot as they ran down his face. Despite however much pain he must be in, he watched her warily.

She ushered the two inside and directed Georgy to sit on the large wooden table in the center of the room that served as her examination table.

The boy cradled his right arm across his chest. The skin wasn’t split, and no bones protruded from his arm, but Alya could see the break at the awkward angle of his forearm. He was either brave or his fear of her was greater than the pain, for he refrained from screaming and crying.

She retrieved a small vial full of clear liquid from a shelf and held it toward the boy.

“It’s alright,” she said softly as he eyed the liquid suspiciously. “This will help take the pain away while I look at your arm.” Alya leaned in toward Georgy, whispering conspiratorially. “My secret ingredient is sugar and honey, so it’s more like candy than medicine.”

As expected, his eyes lit up, and he downed it in a single gulp. Sugar was a rare commodity for anyone outside the capital, so it was a rare treat. After a few seconds, the sedative kicked in, and Georgy slumped, his eyes unfocused and hazy.

Alya maneuvered him into a laying position and began checking his arm.

“Skadi, have you heard the news?” Gabriella drawled from one of the chairs against the wall. Alya had forgotten she was there and repressed a sigh of irritation. By nature, she was quiet and did not particularly care about who was doing what in the town unless it involved her healing.

Gabrielle continued. “The Broken Banners have broken through the Northern Front!” She practically thrummed with excitement. When Alya didn’t respond, the woman frowned and crossed her arms. “Don’t you want to know how?”

“I don’t,” Alya responded.

“Of course you do! Who wouldn’t want to know about the rebellion? You, of all people, should be interested.”

Alya paused and shot the baker a cold look. The woman shrugged, not the least bit intimidated. Alya should have made her wait outside.

“Don’t be sour with me. It’s the truth. If The Imperium were to fall, you could practice your healing without hiding in this,” she paused, gesturing to the cramped cellar as she struggled to find a non-derogatory term. “Well, you wouldn’t have to hide, is my point.”

Alya ignored her. She placed a palm on each side of Georgy’s broken arm and bowed her head in concentration. Soft blue light filled the room, emanating from between her palms. Slowly, the light seeped into the boy's arm and illuminated the bone beneath, showing Alya where the break was. She realigned his arm and held it steady as the bone stitched back together.

A few minutes later, she had done what she could and released her hold. Gabriella had continued to talk during the operation.

“And he’s so handsome!” she swooned. Alya had no idea who she was talking about but didn’t care. It was better to let her speak to herself than engage and have your business spread to the whole town. “You know,” she paused, giving Alya an appraising look. “He’s around your age, I believe. He's just entering his thirties.”

“Who?” Alya asked. She mentally slapped herself for responding.

“Who? Weren’t you listening? I’m talking about the leader of the rebels, of course! Briscen!” Whatever interest Alya had dissipated at the mention of the rebellion and its leader.

Before sending Georgy and his grandmother on their way, she warned the boy to be gentle with his arm. It would need more time to finish healing on its own. They thanked her and left.

Alya basked in the comfortable silence and returned to her workstation. Though she cared little for the news of the outside world, Gabriella’s words bounced around in her mind.

If The Imperium fell, she would no longer have to hide. The thought was preposterous. Skadi—a term referring to those with an ability for healing—had been outlawed for so long that Alya couldn’t imagine what it would be like otherwise.

Healing in any form was controlled and mandated by The Imperium. Dozens of rumors and legends alluded to why the government regulated something as essential as medical care, but no one knew the real reason.

Some said it was greed, as people were willing to pay any price to save the life of a loved one. Others claimed it was an attempt to control the population. Those who were too weak or poor to travel to the city for medicine were not fit to survive. They called it a survival of the fittest, though it seemed more like a survival of the richest to Alya.

Her ability for healing emerged shortly after her parents' death when she was sixteen. She hated herself for it. She might have saved them if she’d come into the ability sooner. She also feared it for what it meant for her future. By simply existing, she had become a fugitive. Anyone could report her for a reward, and that fear sent her running from the small town she had once called home.

She spent over a year traveling before coming across Black Hill, a small town on the outskirts of an old coal mine. The townspeople had accepted her with open arms after she’d saved the life of a miner who had fallen down one of the mining shafts. She had never intended to use her ability but had acted on instinct when she saw a young girl sobbing over her father’s broken body.

Since then, she’d spent the last ten years hiding in a cellar, providing what healing she could for the people of Black Hill.

She’d come to love her quiet life in hiding. Whether the rebellion broke into the city and destroyed the government had nothing to do with her.

~*~

The door to her underground clinic flew open as several of the town’s men shuffled into the clinic, carrying the body of a man she didn’t recognize between them. Just one glance at the blood-splattered figure had her directing him to be placed on the wooden table.

Three hours later, Alya slumped into her chair and rested her head in her hands. It had taken nearly every scrap of linen she had to staunch the bleeding, and that was after digging several bullets and pieces of shrapnel from the man’s torso and stomach. If he had been brought to her any later, he would have died.

She reached for a cup of water, the liquid sloshing over the rim from the force of her trembling hands. It had taken every ounce of strength she had to stitch the man’s organs, muscles, and skin back together.

Alya hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until a heavy groan snapped her awake.

Her breath caught, and her body went rigid. The man was staring at her. His eyes were still hazy but clear enough to take in his surroundings. His gaze roved across her workstation, along the numerous shelves lining the walls, past the rows of chairs along the far wall, and landed on her small folding bed in the corner. She jolted as his blue eyes snapped back to her.

“Where am I?” He asked. His voice sounded like gravel.

“You’re in Black Hill.”

“Black Hill,” he repeated, his voice distant as if trying to recall the location. “And who are you?”

“A shopkeeper.”

He raised an eyebrow and scanned the room again, pausing for a long moment at her workstation covered in herbs, liquids, jars, and other items used for making medicine.

“You’re a healer,” he said. “And seeing as I’m not dead, you’re a Skadi.”

Her heart raced. “I told you, I’m a shopkeeper. Skadi are illegal.”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “Illegal, yes. But that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.” He groaned as he struggled to sit up. Alya lurched forward to help.

“You need to rest,” she chided. “You may have been healed, but only superficially. Your body has to do the rest on its own.” The man nodded but sat up regardless.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“Skadi.”

“That’s your ability, not your name.”

“In Black Hill, they are the same thing.”

The man frowned. “So, no one knows your name? Do you not live here?”

“I do.”

“For how long?”

She paused, wondering how much she should tell this stranger. “Ten years.”

His eyes widened, then filled with pity. “Ten years and no one has known your real name? Why?”

Her awkwardness faded as she bristled. “If you know what I am, you know why I have to hide.”

He pursed his lips. “Don’t you want to know who I am?”

“Not particularly.”

 “That’s rude. Aren’t you supposed to be nice to your patients?”

“You’re not dead. I’d consider that being nice enough.”

She flinched at the man’s booming laughter. He stopped, clutching his stomach in pain but still chuckling.

“I like you,” he grunted.

She narrowed her eyes but didn’t respond.

“So, when can I leave?” He asked once the pain had subsided.

“You’ll be bedridden for at least a week. After that, you should be strong enough to go on your way. One of the townspeople should be along shortly to move you.”

He frowned. “Move me? Didn’t you say I’m bedridden? Shouldn’t I stay here, under Skadi's care?”

“You’re no longer at risk of dying.”

 “I have a low constitution. Considering what I went through, I think it would be best to be near someone who can heal me.”

Alya crossed her arms and scowled at him. His constitution was just fine. Before she could argue further, someone knocked and entered the cellar. Three men walked in, none of whom she recognized.

“Briscen!” One bellowed, clapping the healing man heartily on the back. Briscen doubled over in pain. Alya threatened to kick them out if they couldn’t refrain from injuring her patient, and they apologized profusely, like children being scolded.

As the four men began talking, Alya returned to her workstation. She froze as the name she’d heard earlier struck a chord in her memory.

Briscen. The leader of the Broken Banners.

Her stomach knotted. The leader of the rebellion against The Imperium was here in Black Hill. And she’d healed him back from the brink of death. The bullets she had pried from his body suddenly made more sense.

The men eventually left, leaving their commander to rest. Within seconds of the door closing behind his men, Briscen was fast asleep.

The week passed in an odd blur. Alya felt like she was living a bizarre dream where nothing made sense, yet neither was anything out of the ordinary. She itched to ask why the Broken Banners were there but held the question back whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He’d won the argument to stay in the clinic by sheer determination. Truthfully, she gave in just to shut the man up. It was exhausting how much he spoke about everything and nothing at all. And yet, she found herself responding every time.

Their awkward conversations were frequently interrupted by requests for aid, most of which were Briscen’s men. Their fight at the Northern Front had been brutal, which meant there was a surplus of broken bones, fissures, illnesses, and other ailments to treat.

And all the while, Briscen was there to talk about everything and nothing all at once.

~*~

Alya sighed and stretched, her shoulders and back popping.

It had been three weeks since the Broken Banner rebels left the small town of Black Hill. Alya had been glad to return to her quiet life in her cellar, though things felt too quiet for a while. Or at least they had until word of Briscen’s recovery spread across the county and reached the capital. The Imperium had believed the leader of the Broken Banners dead after their fight at the Northern Front. Considering the extent of his injuries, there was little wonder how such a feat was possible.

A Skadi had healed him. In light of this conclusion, Imperium Patrols were sent to scour the towns and villages between the capital and the northern front, searching for the fugitive responsible for aiding the rebel leader and, thus, the rebellion itself.

It could not have been a worse time when they finally arrived.

Every chair and table in Alya’s clinic was full. A sickness had swept through the town, and she’d had her hands full for several days fighting symptoms and healing where she could. Repairing broken bones and lesions was one thing. Diseases and infections were another.

The sound of thundering feet broke the sickly silence of the small room. Everyone turned toward the door and waited with bated breath as Gabriella burst through.

“They’re here!” She hissed, her eyes wide with fear. Alya’s heart thudded painfully as everyone rose and scrambled to leave the cellar.

“Skadi,” Gabriella called before leaving. “They haven’t reached the south end of town yet, so you might have better luck sneaking out that way.”

Alya’s eyes filled with tears, and she brushed them away with the back of her hand. She had expected someone to turn her in at any moment, but even now, they were trying to protect her.

After the last of her patients left, she destroyed her home as fast as her stumbling feet and trembling hands would allow. She shattered vials, burnt books, and destroyed any evidence of medical practice.

She emerged to find the town bathed in the orange glow of dusk. Men in uniforms milled through the streets as they broke down doors, pulled families from their homes, and questioned anyone they got their hands on.

Alya ducked behind the side of the building atop her cellar. A shrill cry caught her attention, and she turned back to peer around the corner. Randall, the town butcher, lay in the street where he’d been thrown by one of the Patrol. His wife, Ella, crouched over him, weeping and trying to protect him. Alya’s blood turned to ice as she saw what had caught the patrol’s attention.

That morning, Randall had slipped on the stairs leading to his house and knocked his head on the railing. The cut across his brow had to be healed. The new scar was still pink and fresh, and the Patrol had seen it.

The man who’d thrown the butcher to the ground pulled a gun from a holster at his side, leveling the barrel down at Randall.

“Where is the Skadi?” He asked, sounding bored.

Randall stammered and shook his head, and the Patrol pulled the trigger. Screams ripped through the town as a fountain of dirt rose into the air from the impact of the bullet. The man had shot the ground mere inches from Randall’s head.

Alya darted from behind cover and threw her hands into the air. Soft blue light flooded the darkening street.

“I’m here!” She shouted, the tremor in her voice belaying the fear she tried to hide. Every set of eyes turned in her direction, and the man holding the gun at Randall smiled. The expression made her skin crawl. “Leave them alone, and I’ll surrender.” She called.

The crunch of boots on dirt came from behind her. She didn’t have the chance to see who it was before something impacted the back of her skull.

~*~

“They are calling you ‘The Hidden Healer,’” the woman sneered, looking down at her from where she stood over Alya’s slumped body. “And now Skadi are popping up all over the damn country.” She spat on the ground as if the very word were poison on her tongue.

Alya sat on the floor of her tiny cell. She’d spent three weeks here, enduring their interrogations.

“When did you last see Briscen?”

“What is his plan?”

“How many rebels did he have with him?”

Though she told them she knew nothing of him and the rebels of Broken Banner, none believed her. She’d been beaten, threatened, and left in isolation. They had yet to break her.

The beatings weren’t effective, as she could heal herself. The threats meant little, for she had nothing to lose. And any time she was left in isolation was more of a reward than a punishment.

“Maybe we should make you a martyr,” the woman continued. “We could string you up outside the capital so your loving Briscen can see you when he arrives! How does that sound?”

Alya snorted. Loving? How did they come to that conclusion? Just what rumors were circulating about her and Briscen?

The woman’s face darkened as Alya snickered. Her hand reached for her gun strapped to her hilt, but Alya didn’t so much as flinch. If they wanted her dead, they would have killed her long ago.

A deafening boom shook the cement walls of her cell, and dust and debris rained from the ceiling. The interrogator cursed and turned as someone rushed down the hall toward her.

“They’re here, Ma’am!” The young man shouted as he approached.

“Who?”

“The Broken Banner! Briscen!”

The woman relaxed. “That’s not a problem. They could never make it past the gates.”

“No,” the man said, his voice trembling. “He’s here, at the inner sanctum.”

Alya smiled as another explosion rocked the building's foundations. Perhaps there had been some truth to the rumors after all.