The Shifter (4 page)

Another grinding squeal, like pigs gone to slaughter. The smaller ferry dipped hard to starboard, its side crushed against the bigger ferry. Muffled screams mingled with the splattering rain. The wind howled, and another crack rang out.

I clutched my basket to my chest as a chunk of deck broke off and plunged into the churning waves. Crates followed. Lightning flashed, illuminating people falling into the water. Saints be merciful! I turned, scanning the shore, though I couldn’t say what I hoped to find. Rescue boats? Lifelines?

The crowds on the docks surged forward, but none did more than gawk and point.

“Do something!” I shouted. Wind swallowed my words—not that anyone was listening anyway. The ferries chewed at each other. Passengers staggered across the decks, slipping on the wet wood. Waves and wind slammed the smaller ferry farther under the water. It hit the canal wall and bounced off. Waves sloshed against the walls, the ferries, the shore, getting higher and higher.

And still, people did nothing.

Dropping my basket, I raced to the ferry office and banged on the door.

“Help! People need help out here!”

No one answered. Had they left already to do whatever they did in this situation? They
had
to have a plan; they just had to.

I raced along the bank back to the shoreline, slipping on grass and trampling reeds. Lightning lit the sky, silhouetting three people as they fell overboard and slipped into the black, swirling water. Before their heads reappeared, the ferry swung back, blocking the surface. Wood ground against rock. I tried not to picture bodies crushed between them, but I couldn’t picture anything else.

Off to my left, a smaller fishing boat crashed through the waves, fighting its way toward the sinking ferries. The crew struggled with oars never meant to propel the boat through rough water. Waves hit the side and the boat listed heavy to port, and kept tilting. I held my breath, stepping closer as if I could pull the boat upright from the shore.

Wind ripped along the docks and the boat righted itself, but its angle said it had taken on too much water to stay afloat. Half the crew was already swimming, fighting against the current dragging them deeper into the lake. Swells chose victims randomly, lifting one man toward shore, sucking another under the darkness.

“Hang on,” I hollered, squishing through the reeds. Pale hands shot above the water beyond my reach and were swept away. Red flashed amid white foamy waves, but the bloody arms weren’t close enough to grab. Screaming. More screaming. So much screaming.

I had to get closer! Water swirled around my waist, tugging at my legs, trying to drag me out where the screams were. My heart made it farther than my hands ever could.

A splash to my right.

I turned, searched the water. Orange flickered for an instant, and I lunged for it. My fingers found softness and warmth, cloth and skin.
Please, Saint Saea, let them be alive
. I grabbed, held on with both hands, and yanked.

A crewman rolled out of the waves, coughing and sputtering. So much blood on his forehead. A deep wound for sure, maybe even a bone bruise. I dragged him out of the water, through the reeds, and up the bank. My hand covered the gash in his head and I
drew
, not a lot, but enough to close the wound and stop the bleeding. My head throbbed above my left eye.

Fishermen and dockhands appeared on the bank beside me, forming a chain with a thick rope wound around their middles. The largest man planted his feet in the muddy bank near where I had huddled behind the bush. I darted over and grabbed the rope a foot in front of him.

“Stay back.” He pushed me away, and I nearly went down.

“I can help!”

“Help the injured.”

Men thick from hard labor jostled me aside and extended the chain out into the water. I moved away, scanning the shore for survivors, but the men hadn’t brought any back.

More flashes of color and snippets of screams caught me. I ran down the bank, away from the men and their rope chain. Ferry passengers neared the shore, fighting to keep their heads above water.

I went back in, bits of wood and debris banging against my hips as wreckage started washing up. A dark shape loomed ahead and I lunged sideways, swallowing a mouthful of water. A crate swept by and slammed into a barrel behind me. Coughing water from my lungs, I found a woman whose arm would never bend again and dragged her to shore. My fingers were stiff as I pulled out a man who would limp. My heart went numb when I touched a boy too still, too cold, to heal.

Rain fell harder, as if trying to flatten the waves so we could save more, but it hindered more than helped. A horrible snap, louder than the thunder, caused heads to turn. The smaller ferry broke in half and disappeared under the water. Seconds later, the larger ferry ground itself over the wreckage. The hull cracked, wood tore away from beams. People clinging to rails toppled to the angled deck and slid into the lake.

I kept going, pulling them out, dragging them in.

Even after the screams stopped and the crying began.

I walked slowly, achingly, unsure where my own hurts began and the ones I’d taken ended. League Healers were rushing past me with stretchers slung between them, splashing through puddles and muddying their uniforms. Most were apprentices and low cords. I looked for Tali but didn’t see her. My basket had disappeared. Stolen, kicked away, I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. I had nothing left but pain.

Tali would be busy tonight and exhausted tomorrow. With so many injured, the Slab might even fill before the night ended. Did they keep extras for emergencies? Two hay-bale-sized pynvium Slabs was more wealth than I could imagine, but would even
that
be enough for so much pain?

Music and laughter drew me to Aylin’s show house, but she wasn’t there. Happy, dry faces shone through the windows, oblivious to the suffering at the docks. The blacksmith’s was closed, but heat radiated off the chimney in the back. I stood against it under a roof that kept most of the rain off me.

“I have nowhere to go.” The words slipped out, startling me. Could I go to the League? Maybe they’d take my pain before realizing I couldn’t pay for it. Or at least give me a dry place to sleep. I pressed closer against the bricks. Foolish thoughts. If I went to the League, those wards or even the Elder might see me. Too big a risk just to stay dry for one night.

I watched for Aylin, but she never appeared, not even when the rain stopped and the moon came out. So I walked. Almost dry, I listened to cicadas and music. Tomorrow, I’d go to the pain merchants. I had pain to sell, lots of it. If they sensed what I was, I could run. I was getting good at it.

And if they told the League?

Then I’d run faster. Or let them catch me and force them to tell me why they were following—

Hands shot out and dragged me into the darkness between the buildings. One hand clamped over my mouth while an arm wrapped around my chest and pinned my arms at my sides.

“Don’t scream.”

I couldn’t think of doing anything else.

FOUR

“D
on’t hurt me,” a low voice said matter-of-factly, as if he knew me and what I could do to him. He sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite match a face to the voice. Then hesitantly he added, “And I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

My fingers couldn’t reach his arm, but they tingled, ready to
push
every hurt into him the moment I could get my hands on his skin. Yet his fear seemed real, and no one had ever been afraid of me before.

“I just want to talk.” He took his hand off my mouth but kept the other arm tight around me.

I was too angry now to scream, but indignant I could manage. “What do you want?”

“I need your help. If I let you go, promise not to run? Or hurt me?” His tone sounded desperate.

“Yes.”

He dropped me like a live snake. I spun around, fingers splayed as if I could flash the pain out like an enchanted pynvium weapon. A handsome boy stared at me nervously, even sheepishly, and in the moonlight he almost looked like…

“You’re that night guard!”

He nodded and smiled. A real smile this time, and I didn’t see a rapier anywhere. “I’m Danello. I’m really sorry—”

“Why did you grab me like that?”

“I was afraid you’d run, thinking maybe I’d want to arrest you again.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “What do you want?”

“I need you to heal my da.”

Every inch of my sore body flared protest. I couldn’t hold any more pain, not even a blister. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You healed
me
, twice.”

No, just once. The other was a shift I never should have done. Mama’s terrified face flashed across my mind.
Don’t ever put pain into someone again, Nya. It’s bad, very bad. Promise me you won’t do it.
I’d tried so hard to keep that promise.

“Go to the League. They probably have every Healer on duty tonight.”

“We can’t afford the League.”

“Then go to the pain merchants.” If his da’s injuries were obvious, they’d probably be okay. Hard to pretend to heal a broken leg. Trouble came when they only half healed it. One of the fruit vendors couldn’t walk again after he went to a merchant and they healed him wrong.

“I did—they turned us away. They’re turning everyone away.”

That left me mute. The ferry accident should have been harvest day for them. No one would argue over the pittance they’d offer with family members bleeding and broken. People might even be willing to pay
them
, and they’d make money off the healing
and
selling the pain-filled trinkets later. With so many refugees around, pynvium security rods were in higher demand than usual. You thought twice about climbing through a window if the sill might flash pain at you.

“They can’t
all
be turning folks away,” I said. “Did you try the ones by the docks?”

“I tried all five in town. Three were even charging, not paying, but by the time I got there, they said no more heals.”

Not good at all. If they were turning everyone away, they’d also turn
me
away, and this time I had plenty of pain to sell.

Danello took a hesitant step closer. “Please—my da was on the ferry. He’s seriously hurt, a broken arm and leg, maybe a rib or two. He can’t work and he’ll lose his job.”

I couldn’t do it. I already carried too much pain, and who knew when Tali would be able to take it from me. “What about you? Can’t you pay your rent if he can’t work?”

“Heclar let me go.” He didn’t say it was my fault, but I heard it anyway.

I glanced away. “Well, you can work in your da’s place ’til he’s well. Most foremen’ll let you do that.”

“I can’t. My da’s a master coffee roaster and I don’t have the training. You can bet someone from Verlatta does though. If my da can’t work, the landlord’ll peg us out. My little brothers just turned ten. My sister’s only eight.”

Too young to be tossed out on the street, even with Danello to look after them if their father died. And he could if the merchants weren’t buying. Some old soldiers could set bone, but I’d never heard of one who did it well. Danello might be able to find one of the herb sellers from the marshlands, but you couldn’t trust the powders and poultices they sold. Better to risk an untrained pain merchant Taker than
that
. Even if the Taker missed an injury, they’d probably heal most of it. My throat tightened and I coughed to clear it. “I don’t have any pynvium.”

“But you don’t need it! You healed me and gave my pain to Heclar. You can do the same for my da.”

“Who’s going to take his pain after? You?”

He nodded. Actually nodded! “Yes.”

Even if it wasn’t a crazy idea, it wouldn’t be enough. Not if his da had that many broken bones. “Taken pain doesn’t heal like a natural injury does. It doesn’t belong to you, so it just stays in your body. Once you take it, you need a trained Healer to get rid of it.”

“I can manage it until the merchants are buying again.”

“No you can’t. You’d hurt bad as he does now. Don’t you need to work too?” Even master roasters didn’t make enough to support a whole family. Not many jobs in Geveg did—at least, not the ones Gevegians could get.

“Then we’ll all take some, me
and
my brothers and sister. It’ll be okay if we spread it around like that, won’t it?”

“It’ll be awful.” My stomach soured at the thought. “I can’t do that to them.”

Pleading, he grabbed my shoulders. “You
have
to. We don’t have anywhere else to go for healing. We don’t have much, but we can pay. A little food, a place to stay for a few days if you need it.” He looked me over, then smiled, an odd mix of hope and pity in his eyes. “Looks like you could use that.”

More than he knew.

“I can’t,” I said. “I was there, at the ferry. I…I pulled folks out. I…” Wanted to cry. Wanted to run. Wanted to say yes and sleep somewhere dry. Shame settled on me like a damp chill. Hundreds had died tonight. Was I really thinking about hurting children for a bed? If I could consider that, I might as well work for the pain merchants, trading on misery for my own comfort.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

He stepped back a pace and looked at me, critically this time, reaching out and lifting one aching arm, then the other. Noticing every time I winced and bit my lip. “How much did you take?”

“More than I should have.”

I’d seen despair before, but it never looked as bad as it did on his face. I could get used to seeing that face, too. Shame we kept meeting in the dark, twisted up in our own problems. “What if we also took that pain?”

“No. You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do.” I folded my arms again, trying to keep what little warmth—and self-respect—I had left. Without my terror keeping me alert, exhaustion tugged at my sleeves. I needed to find a place to sleep; preferably somewhere that didn’t ask me to give pain to children. “I’m sorry, I really am. I hope—”

“Give me some, right now.”

“What?”

“Pain. Let me see what’s it like; then I’ll decide.”

“You’re insane.”

He held out a hand. Not even a quiver. “Just do it.”

No, not insane. Desperate. Willing to do anything to save his da and his little brothers and sister. Would I do anything less crazy to save Tali if
she
were in trouble?

If I showed him what it felt like, he’d change his mind. I checked the alley and the street. A few folks were chatting outside the taproom, but no one was close. I took his hand and
pushed
.

He cried out and his hand flew to his temple over the left eye. Groaning, he pulled his fingers away and stared at them, a surprised look on his face. “I expected blood.”

“There was a lot on the man I took that from.”

Danello inhaled, blew it out slowly, nodded. “Okay, give me another.”

“No!”

“You need—I don’t know, room—to hold more pain if you’re going to help my da.”

The boy was crazy as a guinea hen. The pain should have ended it. Should have made him realize what a stupid idea this was, and not something you did to children, no matter how desperate you were. Refusing was the right thing to do. I took his arm, prepared to take back the headache.

Memories made me pause. I was ten when we were orphaned, Tali seven. The orphanage had taken us in, but kicked us out when I turned twelve ’cause I was old enough to work and they needed the beds for the younger ones. Tali was scared, wanting to go home and barely understanding why we couldn’t. Danello’s siblings wouldn’t be considered orphans, not with him old enough to care for them. They wouldn’t even get a
chance
at a real bed or a hot meal. All four would be out on the street soon as their rent came due. Sweet as Danello was, he sure didn’t know how to live like a river rat.

He’d have to learn fast, or they’d all die. He’d have to become the kind of person who would consider shifting pain to children to sleep in a bed. He’d have to become me.

I gave him more pain. A little in the arm, the leg, a twinge in the shoulder. Nothing in the hands or back. Nothing that might keep him from working.

Danello closed in on himself, sucking in his breath and falling back against the wet wood of the building behind him. “It feels different from getting hurt.”

“The body has defenses for injuries, but it doesn’t recognize another’s pain the same way.”

“Oh.” Another deep breath and he stood straight, defiant. If I didn’t know pain, I wouldn’t have seen anything wrong with him. Crazy, yes, but he had iron in his bones for sure.

“Better?” I asked.

“Yes. How do you feel?”

“Sore, but not bad.” At least on the outside. Inside? Like maggots on a dead crocodile.

“Good enough for my da?”

“I think so.” Unless he was dying. If so, I wasn’t good enough to do anything but steal his kindness the way Tali and I stole heals. And Saints save me, I wasn’t sure which was worse.

Danello lived in one of the better boardinghouses on Market-Dock Canal, in a neighborhood I could only dream of affording. His family had three rooms to themselves—two bedrooms attached to a small kitchen and dining area. Though a woman’s touch still showed, it had been a long time since it showed strong. Two dying plants—possibly coriander—sat on a shelf near the window, holding back faded and singed curtains bunched on one side. A rack of worn copper pots hung above a small stove, its skinny pipe chimney snaking up the side wall. They did have a view, though it was only a grassy corner of a market square. Two people were huddled under a bush, a ratty blanket tucked around them. I looked away.

“Did you find her?” a boy called, running out of the room on the left. “Oh, I guess you did.” His mouth wiggled as if he was unsure whether to be happy I was there or scared that I had come.

“This is—” Danello turned to me and laughed sheepishly. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Nya.”

He nodded. “Nya, this is Jovan. The other two are with our da.”

Not knowing what else to do, I waved, and the smaller version of Danello waved back. Same rich brown eyes, same pale hair, same determined yet sad set to the chin.

“Da’s unconscious now,” Jovan said in the measured tone of someone trying very hard to sound grown-up. Saints, he was so young. Too young to carry pain that wasn’t his. “Do we need to wake him?”

My stomach twisted, but I shook my head. “Don’t wake him. I can do it while he’s asleep.”

We moved into the back bedroom, small but cozy. Paintings of flowers hung on the walls, some painted on wood, others on squares of cotton. By the bed, Jovan’s twin brother sat on a yellow stool, his unhappy face pale and tight. Their little sister sat on the floor at his feet. Her blond head rested on his knee and her arms were wrapped around his shin. Neither looked up.

“That’s Bahari, and Halima there on the floor.”

I backed away. No bed was worth this. I wasn’t healing, I was deciding who suffered. Saints did that, not me. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. So can they.” Danello squeezed my hand, drew me forward. “What do we do?”

“Change your mind, find a pain merchant who’s buying, drag him here by his hair if you have to, just please don’t make me do this.”

He took both my hands, held them tight. They were warm, and for one irrational moment I felt safe. “
What
do we
do?
” he asked.

What we had to, even if we didn’t like it. Hadn’t I always wanted to be a Healer? It might not be what Tali did, but I
could
help them. The shift was only for a few days, until the pain merchants were buying again. It wasn’t as if I were
permanently
hurting them. I gulped down air and reluctantly pulled my hands away.

“Nothing yet,” I whispered. “I have to see how badly he’s hurt first.”

His da’s forearm bent the wrong way, so that was broken for sure. The thigh was bloody and gouged, but the leg was straight. I glanced at Jovan and my stomach rolled.
Just think about their father
. I went to the opposite side of the bed and placed my hand on his forehead. Cold, wet strands of the same pale hair as his children’s stuck to my fingers.

Tali’s voice echoed in my head. She’d been teaching me what they taught her, claiming it was in case the League ever let me in one day, but I wasn’t so sure of that. I figured it was just her way of making it up to me ’cause she got accepted and I couldn’t.

I took a deep breath.
Feel your way through the
body, to the injury
. My hand tingled as I felt my way through blood and bone. Broken arm, as expected. Three broken ribs. Torn muscle on the leg, but not broken. Cuts and bruises all over, but he’d heal that on his own.

“It’s not as bad as you thought.” I explained his injuries as best I could without scaring the little ones. Bahari already looked ready to bolt.

“I’ll take the arm and leg,” Danello said as if ordering dinner. “They can each take a rib. That won’t be too bad, will it?”

Spoken like someone who’d never
had
a broken rib.