Anne Bishop - Bridge of Dreams

What would Vision be without the Shamans?

Standing back, Danyal watched Zhahar lead Lee into sorrow’s room. Was the blindness real? Yes. And recent. Lee didn’t move like a man used to making his way through a world he couldn’t see. Was the blindness permanent? Locked in his desk he had the medicines Lee had been given. This evening, he would walk the streets and see if he could find the Apothecary’s shop that matched the seal on the bottle of eyedrops.

That would tell him some things about this man. This room would tell him more.

Zhahar settled Lee on one of the cushions, gave him a small mallet, then guided his other hand to the gong. “You just strike the gong.”

“Why?” Lee asked.

Danyal scuffed his feet as he walked up to them so that Lee would hear him approach. Kneeling next to Lee, he said, “Striking the gong helps you release sorrow.”

An odd pause. Then Lee shrugged and tapped the gong—and flinched. “Guardians and Guides.”

When the sound faded, he struck the gong again, harder. The third time he struck the gong, tears began rolling down his face and his teeth were clenched.

Lee was full of summer storms that offered a fierce kind of cleansing. Danyal had doubts about the man, but the pain in Lee’s heart was real.

When Zhahar picked up a mallet and struck a gong, doubling the sound that lanced heart wounds, Lee let out an anguished cry and collapsed.

Danyal caught him, held him tight, and asked quietly, “Do you know the cause of this sorrow? Can you give it a name?”

“Glorianna,” Lee sobbed. “My sister, Glorianna.”

“Why does your sister cause you such pain?”

“She’s gone. She’s gone. I lost her.”

Zhahar sucked in a breath and looked stricken.

“You’ve been angry with her for leaving you,” Danyal said, rocking the weeping man. “You’ve been hurt and angry and grieving, haven’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

“Perhaps it’s time to heal.”

The hurt and anger and grief went deep in this man. It wouldn’t be healed in a day. But healing the heart was something Danyal could help Lee do.

After that, he would decide how far the man could be trusted.

Zeela strode down the shadow street, and everything about the way she moved told the men watching her from dark doorways that she had business on this street and wasn’t looking for company.

Halfway down the second block, she spotted the Apothecary’s sign.

Shaman Danyal had spent two evenings walking this street and the surrounding ones, looking for this shop. When Zhahar suggested letting her sister find the Apothecary, he hadn’t been happy about sending a woman but had agreed to let Zeela try.

Of course, the Shaman wasn’t aware that Zeela had had dealings with the Apothecary before and wouldn’t have any trouble finding the shop.

*Don’t be smug,* Zhahar scolded. *He really is concerned about you being here.*

=I know.= She was also fairly certain that, good man or not, the Shaman wouldn’t let Zhahar keep her job another minute if he found out they were Tryad and what that meant. But that was an opinion she took pains to keep from both her sisters.

She opened the shop door and took a swift look around. This wasn’t business she wanted to transact when there were other customers present.

When she reached the counter at the back of the shop, the Apothecary pushed aside the thin curtain that separated the shop from his work area.

“What can I do for you today?” he asked pleasantly.

Apothecaries were shadowmen, neither good nor evil. Like the streets where their shops were located, they couldn’t be found by everyone, but those who could find them came from the Light as well as the Dark. They made what their customers asked them to make, and it was said that whether they were good or evil depended on the person standing on the other side of the counter.

It was also said that the potion in the bottle could turn against the person buying it if that person lied to the Apothecary.

Zeela pulled the bottle of eyedrops out of her trouser pocket and set it on the counter with the label facing the Apothecary. “I need this refilled.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She withdrew money from her other pocket, set it on the counter beside the bottle, and fanned the bills enough to show him it was the standard amount he charged for information. Whatever he might put in a bottle to justify the visit was never more than an additional token fee.

“I would like this bottle refilled with information about who first bought it and why.” She saw him hesitate, so she added, “I’m asking on behalf of a Shaman.”

“Ah.” The Apothecary relaxed a bit. “A man who doesn’t know enough to mind his own business. Or so I’ve heard.”

“I’ve heard he doesn’t let anyone tell him what should be his business. The man these drops were used on? He’s now the Shaman’s business.”

He nudged the bottle with a fingertip. “First bottle? Pain and cloudy eyes. Blindness. But once the drops are no longer used, sight will gradually return, although it might never be all that it was. Second bottle?” He shook his head. “Destroys the eyes. Permanently.”

“Is there anything that can help reverse the damage already done?”

“Perhaps.” He studied her, then went behind a curtain. When he returned, he set another bottle on the counter, along with a pair of dark glasses. “Two drops in each eye, morning and evening. After the drops go in, put a cool, damp cloth over the eyes to soothe. Sunlight will be painful while the eyes are healing—might even cause damage, so be careful.”

“When this bottle is used up…”

“This much will fix whatever can be fixed.”

*Lee might still be blind,* Zhahar said, sounding fretful.

=He might,= Zeela agreed.

::But we’ll help him,:: Sholeh said.

“What do I owe you for these?” Zeela asked, waving a hand over the eyedrops and dark glasses.

Another long look. He pocketed the money she’d already placed on the counter. “This is enough.”

Giving him a nod of thanks, she slipped the bottle into her trouser pocket. After a moment’s thought, she tucked the glasses under her shirt, between her breasts.

“Two other things, because you came on behalf of the Shaman,” the Apothecary said. “First, he should not wander the shadow streets for a while. Something has been slithering in the corners lately, and the shadow streets have gotten darker because of it—and I’ve heard whispers that what slithers would like to silence those who are the voice of the world.”

Zeela suppressed a shiver. There was something out there that posed a threat to the Shamans?

“Second,” the Apothecary continued, “the men who purchased that first bottle were killed last night.”

Zeela felt Zhahar and Sholeh’s fear, but she held herself quiet—and ready. “How?”

“They were struck by lightning. Both of them.”

She frowned. “There was no storm last night.”

“This lightning came out of an alley and burned through them. It wasn’t a kind death. They screamed as they burned, but there was nothing anyone could do to help them. I’ve heard rumors that other men have died that way in the northwestern community—good men who asked too many questions.”

“A strange death, to be sure,” Zeela murmured.

“Stranger still because the city guards had been around that very afternoon, looking for those men. Made the citizens of our little street wonder if those men had become an inconvenience to someone.”

“I’ll pass along the information.” She turned and walked swiftly to the front of the shop.

As she reached for the door, he said, “Travel lightly.”