Live today - Astria's adventures continue in The Wounded Sky !

The Wounded Sky is live now at Amazon and other major retailers:

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In case you haven't picked up an excerpt at BookFunnel or the ARC at NetGalley or Edelweiss, I cut out a section of chapter 1 for you.

...

Livoik had settled into its early-afternoon rhythm with the rap of hammers and calls of craftworkers when Astria found its dusty main street. The town was small, with only the Inne of Three Bastards exceeding a single floor. Adorned with baubles and surrounded by gifts of food stood a shrine with a three-headed goddess in an alcove between buildings. Past the shops and dry-goods store, she followed the smell of burning dirt to the blacksmith where the traveling doctor had set up his temporary practice.

The smith’s fire was hot but the anvil quiet as Astria joined the line outside the door and listened hard to the chatter of others to understand. A spindly young woman in a tunic came to each, spoke to them, and changed their place in line. From their actions, Astria decoded the words until the girl stood in front of her.

“Your ailment?” the girl asked.

“A curse,” Astria said, to which the girl rolled her eyes and tapped her foot until she offered an alternative. “A poison.”

The girl raised her eyebrows, took Astria’s arm, and hurried her to the front of the line. “How long ago?”

“A year,” Astria said, after which the girl frowned and returned her to the end of the line. There, even as new patients arrived and were sorted, Astria remained.

As she waited, men carrying a stretcher rushed past with an unconscious man with one leg bandaged at the knee. Another arrived with a wrist at an unnatural angle, and later, a child groaned with one hand on a swollen cheek and his other gripping his mother’s pocket. None carried weapons or tools that might be used in defense.

Short cries of pain and muffled screams echoed from inside the blacksmith’s shop, and patients walked out with splints, bandages, or limping on a new crutch, none of them smiling. Men carried the stretcher out with the man on it one leg short, and the child left with his mother and a bloody rag in his mouth. Not wanting any of those outcomes, but with no alternative, Astria waited.

As sundown approached, the line of patients decreased, and the girl led the last patient out the door. “The doctor will come to examine your horse tomorrow,” she said to the man.

With the glow from the fire tinting her tunic red orange, the girl turned to Astria, her palm open. Into it, Astria placed Tor’s note.

“So the college will pay our fee, then?” the girl asked with a raised eyebrow. When Astria did not reply, the girl stuffed the note in her pocket with a pile of others. “So be it.”

Inside, on a stool by the fire, sat a gray-haired man in a white tunic stained with splotches of red and greenish yellow, and Astria turned away to curb her imagination. A box behind him opened to a portable cabinet with many tiny drawers, each labeled with unfamiliar runes. On the anvil lay a bronze saw next to needles, probes, and blades in a tray of bloody water and, near the fire, a pile of stained rags. Next to them sat the girl who pointed to a chair opposite the doctor for Astria to sit.

“My daughter tells me you were poisoned,” the doctor said. “Your symptoms?”

“Numbness at the wound. Sporadic delirium and a spreading stain.”

“Spider bites often cause confusion, but only for a day. The rock korkimon or the winsover scorpion can leave a lasting stain near the wound. When did this occur?”

“A year past,” the girl said.

The doctor frowned. “Our aim is to remove poisons and venoms before they get into your system. Once they’re systemic, we have limited options. Rarely does the event occur when I am near, and most victims die or recover on their own.”

“Do you have treatments?” Astria asked.

“Some. But antivenoms are hard to make. They require time and a sample of the venom. Do you know what bit you?”

Astria nodded. “A crossbow bolt.”

“Ah. Delivery by a weapon implies manufacture and might be a mix of venoms and poisons working in concert. Do you know what was in it?”

“No.”

“Well, if it’s taken a year, it’s slow, so it’s traveling through your flesh, not your blood. Bleeding you won’t help. May I see the wound?”

Astria frowned with a deep furrow between her eyes. Show him the thing most likely to betray me?

He glanced at his daughter, smirked, and opened his hands palms up. “Come, come. You can’t expect me to treat you without seeing your wound.”

The dinner bell tolled at the college, but Astria would not be put off. “In confidence?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, and beside him, the girl nodded.

Astria pulled up her jumper to expose the purple wound which glimmered in the firelight. Using a wooden probe, the doctor prodded and poked her thigh and pelvis around the purple corona but did not touch it. Frowning, he pulled on his ear.

“I’ve not seen anything like this.” He pointed back to his portable cabinet. “I have antidotes for most poisons. But treatment requires knowledge of the specific one. The wrong antidote might kill you.” He poked around the purple stain again. “Perhaps we could cut it out, but it’s not clear how deep it goes.”

“Find out,” Astria said.

He looked to his daughter, who nodded, reached into a cloth bag for a leather strap, and handed the strap to Astria. At the same time, the girl removed a knife from the tray and sharpened it with slow, circular motions on a whetstone.

“This may hurt,” he said. “Do I need to put you to sleep?”

What might happen to me at the mercy of strangers with so many blades? “No.”

“Bite on the strap,” he instructed as he took the knife.

The knife was razor sharp, and Astria did not feel the incision. As he began, his eyes were bright with interest, and the girl leaned closer.

Horror of the wound

But as he cut, their faces changed to wide eyes and open mouths. The girl stood and her stool fell behind her, and the doctor pushed his stool back. Astria followed his eyes, which went to the knife in his hand, where the purple stain seemed to crawl toward his fingers. He dropped the knife in the dirt and stepped back while examining his hands. Without a word, he grabbed the knife with the blacksmith’s tongs and threw it into the fire. The girl handed Astria a bandage, and the pair immediately doused their hands with brandy and washed them with the smith’s gritty soap.

Astria looked at the cut, which quickly sealed with congealed purple rather than blood. Over the cut, she applied the bandage and covered her thigh. After inspecting the area, the doctor and the girl sat again. But this time, his face was drawn.

“Why do you shy from continuing?” Astria asked.

“Your wound is more extensive under your skin,” he said. “And I suspect it surrounds your blood vessels.”

“Can you cut it out?”

He pursed his lips. “Only if we amputate your leg and pelvis from the waist, and that would kill you.”

“And there’s nothing more you can do?”

“I’m sorry, no,” he said.

“What about other doctors or healers?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I was trained in the Imperium, and there’s likely no place other than Capitolia to the south or Branwyn to the southwest where you might find someone with more knowledge than me or an apothecary with more cures.”

“Where are these places?”

“Both are many months away by wagon and dangerous journeys alone.”

Then much farther than Vandrare can fly without the berries. “What about alchemists?”

“They promise eternal life, but their elixirs often deliver only an upset stomach and the runs.”

“Do they visit here?”

He smiled. “You rarely find them along a doctor’s route.”

“Sorcerers?”

He shook his head. “There are shrines nearby to Junera and Madema to offer sacrifices if you are inclined to miracles . . .”

And I should pray to the gods who turned their backs on me. What hope is that?

“Or perhaps a priest,” he said.

Astria rose to leave. “Thank you.”

As she walked out the door, Astria turned back to see the girl burning everything that had touched Astria, and the doctor hastily packing their things.