Chapter 13

Kyminn wrapped his hands around the mug of tea, savoring the warmth in the cool of the morning. The healer's building had been his home for the past two years, and the comfortable familiarity of his grandmother's kitchen was soothing.

Anya settled in on the other side of the table, her own mug steaming in the sunlight. "I remember when you came here." A tug of smile at the memory.

"I was just thinking that. I felt so grown up, moving out of my parents' house Then I realized that if I move in with another member of the family, it probably doesn't count." He chuckled.

"Oh, I don't know. You've made your own place here." A pause. "When your grandfather died, you were just a toddler. I moved back in with your parents for a time. I always told her it was because she needed the help, but it was really because I didn't want to live here on my own. Too many memories of him." Her tone was wistful.

"I don't think you fooled her." His glance was warm. "I know she appreciated having you there. Between her, father and you, there was always someone who loved me any time I needed it."

Her voice roughened a bit. "That's what I wanted for you, for your siblings. I never wanted you to feel there was nobody there for you."

He looked down at the table, then raised the mug to his face with studied casualness. "Is that what happened to you?"

Anya slowly sat back in her chair. For a long time she regarded her grandson, her face a mixture of past sadness, pride and understanding.

"You're going then?"

"I think so. I have to go for Randen and Derris at any rate. I haven't yet decided if I'm going to Healer's or not."

A long, quiet sigh. "Kyminn, I…". She paused and gathered her words again. "Can you promise me that you will go with an open mind?"

"That's…not what I expected you to say." Surprise.

She shook her head. "Don't mistake me, I think there are still some flaws in how Healer's does things. I'm not asking you to believe it's perfect. But, by the same balance, I am asking you to accept that there is still a lot of good there. Don't judge yet."

Kyminn toyed with the mug, his voice troubled. "You never speak of your time there. It always seemed…painful. It's hard to accept that they could have left you leave there so…wounded."

"I'll grant you that. But…understand that I have come to realize that some of those wounds were self-inflicted."

Kyminn's head shot up as he stared at her, baffled.

A small smile. "Kyminn, I was the seventh daughter in my family. Just about a year after I was born, my twin sisters came along. A year and a half later, and my mother gave birth to her first boy – three of them. Can you imagine?"

Kyminn thought about life in their village, and the problems a family would face with six children under the age of three years in the home, along with an additional six daughters to raise.

Anya nodded at the expression on his face. "I am sure my parents wanted to love us. I'm sure that in their own way, they did. But trying to feed twelve children meant that my father worked from before dawn until long after dusk. He simply didn't have time for us. Once we were older, we could help with chores. By the time I was four, I was helping collect eggs for market." Anya shifted a bit in her chair.

"I don't think that I resent them, or at least I hope I don't. But I always knew that having us made things harder for them. Maybe it was a touch of Empathy mixed in with my healing gift, but I always knew how much of a demand we placed on them. For a long time, I was too small to be of much use, but the smaller babies needed my mother's attention more. I was…in between, and underfoot. I always felt like I was…extra."

"I'm sorry." Kyminn clasped her hand gently. "You don't have to tell me this."

A dry chuckle. "It was a very long time ago. I can rightfully only blame them for what happened before I left for Haven. Once I got there, and when I became an adult, then I have to accept responsibility for my decisions, for anything that I did – or didn't – do.

"So anyway, there I was. I'd just turned thirteen and was coming near to the end of my time at the temple. I know that Brother Lyman was letting me stay a bit longer than the law required. I'd finished all the mandatory schooling some months before, but Brother Lyman pretended not to notice. I think he knew that I was lost in the crowd at home and he was letting me have a bit of peace. I sometimes wonder if he wasn't letting me get in that extra bit so that I'd have a bit of an edge when it came time for me to marry, maybe someone a merchant or trader might want for a son, someone who would value a wife who could learn a bit of the business."

"When it turned out I had a Gift..." her voice was sad. "I think that's the only time I ever pleased my father. He wasn't a harsh man, he was just…distant. Trying to keep us all fed, and figure out how to provide good marriages for nine daughters had sucked the life out of him I think. He tried to hide it, but knowing that there was one less mouth to feed, and one less marriage to worry about…he was relieved when I left. Guilty for feeling it, but relieved."

Anya got up and poured them both more tea. The homey task gave her an excuse to potter for a moment while she marshalled her feelings. "Healers was…everything that I wanted it to be, and nothing like I needed. Kym, it's hard to explain. I was used to being overlooked, to being in the way. Imagine a young girl, shy and not used to standing up for herself. At home there was always someone older who had more claim on something, or someone younger that she should share with because, well, they were younger and needed to be cared for. I fit right in with the chores, and I was a decent student. Not brilliant, but I knew how to work hard and I did honestly enjoy learning things. But overall…I just wasn't a very good Trainee I think."

"But you did the work, learned what you were supposed to. I'm guessing you weren't mean or fighting with the others. What do you mean by 'a bad Trainee'?" Kyminn was puzzled.

A shrug. "I wasn't very good with people Kym. I deferred to the older and I let the juniors walk all over me. When senior Trainees or Healers would get frustrated because I couldn't do what I was supposed to with my Gift, I believed them that it was me, that I was doing it wrong, or not trying hard enough. So I tried harder. But I was so used to not succeeding, to being the child that really wasn't good at anything, that I never asked for help. I never questioned that maybe it was the training, not the student. I never told them I was struggling."

"Since I was having such a hard time using my Gift, my teachers thought I'd do better with the ungifted Healers. And I loved the learning, it made sense to me to touch and see with my hands and normal senses how it all went together. I think there was a bit of my Gift acting there, because I would see how a joint fit back together just so and I'd feel an "aha!" that told me it was exactly right. Unfortunately, that success didn't last." She shook her head wryly.

"I've often thought that my Gift is so…diffuse…that it was a long time before I was actually shielding it properly. A jug holds cold water in, but the outside is still wet with condensation. So when I used herbs, or set bones, I knew what was right, what was working. But I couldn't explain it." She cocked her head with an ironic smile. "I actually failed my final written exams in bone setting and surgery, did you know that?"

A gape. "No, I had no idea. But…your Greens – they must have passed you…?"

"Oh they did – eventually. My teachers looked at what I had been doing up until that point and were quite aware that I knew what I was doing. Fortunately for me, they decided I must have been one of those people who just doesn't test well, who can't write the knowledge down. So they gave me a practical exam instead – which I passed with flying colours."

She settled beside him on the bench. "I learned a lot at Healer's, and I am grateful that it gave me the life I have. But it was a difficult, and very, very lonely five years."

Kyminn wrapped his grandmother in a hug for a long moment. It saddened him to realize how much more grey there was in her hair, to realize that her story was writing its last few chapters. He gently fussed with her braid a bit, tucking in the stray strands. "I promise," he said into her shoulder. "I promise to not judge until I see for myself."