Jordan's Way

Jordan’s Way

Book 2 of The Gift Series

Barbara Cutrera

For Cheryl. Like Jordan, she is independent and unapologetically follows her own path in life.

Copyright © 2015 by Barbara J. Cutrera

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the photocopying, scanning, uploading and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property.

Published by On My Way Up, LLC at Smashwords

www.onmywayuponline.com

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the result of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Prologue

Jordan sat at a wooden table in one corner of the poorly lit tavern and ignored the stares of the other patrons. She was used to unsolicited attention from men, women, and children. She knew she was an oddity no matter where on Etherea she went, but she didn’t blame normal people for their curiosity. Had she been one of them, she probably would’ve stared, too.

She’d always been different. Taller than most females, Jordan had a slender but strong body, violet-colored eyes, and long, honey blonde hair that she kept braided during the day. Unlike other women, she wore pants and shirts instead of dresses. Skirts would have hampered her in her work.

Will there be anything else, Mistress? the young serving girl asked, as she removed Jordan’s empty plate that had held roast lamb and vegetables.

Another cup of mead, please.

The girl nodded, retreated, and returned shortly with a fresh cup. Jordan forced herself to sip it and not drain the cup in a series of gulps. Being with fighting men so often, she was used to their behavior and had become adept at acting like them. It helped them to trust her if she behaved as though she were part of the group. She considered it an honor to be treated like one of the men.

Is it true you’re Jordan, the famed healer? the girl asked with what sounded like awe in her voice.

It is.

And you live as you like and travel wherever and whenever you want?

Yes.

I wish I could do that.

Jordan longed to tell the girl that she could do whatever she set her mind to, but she refrained. She had no idea whether or not the tavern girl had the drive and stamina to live as Jordan did. Jordan had never met any other woman who had. She valued her independence and enjoyed her life of wandering. Although she found various men attractive, she had no desire to settle down with any man. Unlike most women, she relished her freedom and had no wish to marry.

Maybe it’s because I was named after my father’s master, a man who was a great healer himself, she reflected. Perhaps I’m simply odd. Or maybe it’s both.

Her abilities as a healer were what made Jordan stand out more than any of her other differences. Women often treated the sick and injured for their ills and hurts. However, only males were healers endowed with supernatural abilities that allowed them to sense internal problems about their patients in order to treat them more effectively. Or, rather, that had been the case until Jordan’s birth. This fact made others both respectful and mistrustful of her. They seemed to intuit her unusual abilities the moment they saw her and tended to stay away unless they needed her help.

Do you need anything else?

Jordan met the bearded, heavyset tavern owner’s eyes. He seemed uneasy, so she paid him for her meal and drink; then she stepped outside and looked up at the two moons and the stars that shone brightly in the blackness of the night sky. Because it was late August, the weather in her home country of Amare was warm but not overly so. She wouldn’t have to worry about locating an inn. Following a path that wound its way through the hilly countryside populated by oaks, pines, and scrubland, Jordan came across a deserted barn that looked relatively clean and didn’t smell like manure. She climbed up into the loft. After unbraiding her hair, she moved her sack of herbs, medicines, and potions within arm’s reach and deliberated where she should go next.

There was currently fighting along the border between Amare and a neighboring country called Malevia. Ready for action, she decided to set out for a war camp that she knew existed to the east in the morning. And that was exactly what she did.

By midday, she’d crossed a fair amount of distance, thanks to the kindness of a family traveling by wagon in the direction in which she was heading. The parents, Clarence and Peg, were amicable, and they had a good-natured infant daughter named Rose, who was four weeks old. Jordan was startled and rather uncomfortable by being engaged in pleasant conversation. It reminded her of her home, and she felt a sudden and unfamiliar pang of loneliness.

It’s so wonderful to be able to help the famous healer, Clarence, a fledgling merchant, declared after several hours on the road. We’ve heard talk of you, but we never expected to be of service. It’s an honor. You’ve done much for our men who’ve fought to safeguard our country.

The honor has been mine, she stated. God has given me a great gift. It would be unwise not to use it.

Will you examine our baby? Peg asked.

Of course, but she doesn’t appear to be sick.

She isn’t, but she’s my first. I tend to worry about her rather a lot.

Jordan accepted the infant in her arms. Then she laid the baby on a blanket on the wagon floor and began to examine her. Rose was a plump, rosy-cheeked girl, who waved her tiny hands and kicked her small feet with enthusiasm. Jordan grinned down at the child as she focused on her. The baby was perfectly healthy.

She’s adorable and fine, Jordan told the parents when she lifted the child so she could pass her back to her mother.

As she brought the infant up and held her against her chest, Jordan’s cheek touched the soft blonde wisps of hair and the skin of the baby’s head. An image flashed through her mind. The infant looked the same but lay cold and still in a cradle.

What is it? the mother asked worriedly. "Are you ill?"

I – I don’t know, Jordan answered truthfully. I – I sense that – that your daughter may have – she may have trouble breathing at night. Sometimes, it’s as though a baby forgets to breathe. You should take turns staying awake to make certain that if this happens, you rub her back or pick her up so she remembers.

Both parents looked horrified, and the man stammered, Cr-cradle death?

Those who are more likely to have it grow out of the habit when they’re about a year old. Perhaps I’m wrong, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you to be mindful of it.

Peg began to cry and accepted her daughter from Jordan. She kissed the baby repeatedly, and both parents profusely thanked the healer for her help in keeping their beloved child safe.

Clarence insisted, "I must pay you for your services."

N-no, Jordan stammered. I’m glad to help.

Her heart was pounding. She had never, ever been able before to sense something that was going to happen to one of her patients. She knew of no other healer who had premonitions about their charges’ futures. Feeling nauseated, she told the couple she would like to lie down in the back of the wagon for a while if they didn’t mind. Neither of them objected, and they asked if she needed anything. Shaking her head, she stretched out and closed her eyes.

Will this happen with every patient I touch now? she wondered. That would be a curse, not a gift. What if what I see is wrong? But even if I’m right every time, people will call me a witch, and they’ll blame me if I foretell of something good or bad no matter what the result.

Vowing to write her father regarding this new development as soon as possible, Jordan tried to sleep. Collum was a wise man who would give his daughter good advice. He would guide her. He would make it better.

Father’s not here, she reminded herself. If I write to him, it will take some time for him to get my letter. Who knows how long it will take for his reply to reach me? I can't wait weeks or months to figure this out.

She attempted to convince herself that what had happened in the wagon would never happen again. But in her heart, she knew this thinking was folly. She was the only female healer in the world, an evolutionary mistake, manifesting a new talent that no other woman seemed to possess. Maybe her pride at being special was leading her down the road to being a total outcast.

They reached the family’s modest cottage before nightfall. The mother and father insisted that Jordan eat with them and spend the night. Continuing to feel shaken by the premonition she’d had earlier, she accepted their hospitality.

We’re forever beholden to you, Clarence told her the next morning, as Jordan prepared to leave the cottage. If there is ever anything you need, no matter how great or small, then we will give it to you if we can.

Peg agreed and said, Our Rose is worth more to us than any possession or inconvenience. We would gladly do anything to safeguard her welfare. You have our eternal gratitude. We may be younger and not so wealthy, but we are loving and determined. Remember, Mistress. Anything you ever need from us is yours.

Jordan smiled and said, I need nothing now, but I thank you for the offer. I will keep it in mind for the future. And thank you again for the wagon ride, the food, and the bed. You’ve made my journey much easier.

When she reached the war camp the next afternoon, a young sentry blocked her path and said gruffly, Unless you’re a whore who’s come to service interested men, then you should turn and leave.

I’ve delivered the babies of soldiers who’ve gotten those women with child, but I’m not one of them. My name is Jordan.

Jordan, the Healer?

My reputation precedes me, she said with a satisfied smile. Is your Commander in camp?

Wait here.

She waited under the watchful eye of another sentry as the first disappeared through the maze of tents. He returned several minutes later with a group of soldiers, then gestured for her to follow him. She did so, ignoring the stares of others.

As with all of the war camps of her people, tents were large and square. Although tall men would not be able to stand straight up in a regular soldiers’ tent, there was plenty of room to sit and move about comfortably. In most camps, four soldiers shared a tent. Officers slept two to a tent, while the commander of each company had a larger tent to himself.

Indeed, this Commander’s summer tent looked no different than the rest. It was made of the same muslin and had a flap of material that served as a door. The man glanced up from the map he was examining under the lamplight on the small table at one side of the tent. He was tall and well-muscled. His head was shaved, as were all Commanders’ heads. Jordan wondered idly who had begun that custom and why.

My sentry tells me you’re Jordan. You came to heal, I take it.

I did.

Sit.

I prefer to stand.

He raised an eyebrow at her and asked, Why is that?

Because if you plan to turn me away, then I ask you to do it now. I don’t wish to waste time. There are other battles where I can be of use as well.

The man laid down the map and asked, What do you want?

To help.

He paused then inquired, May I ask you an important question?

If it’s that important, then please do.

Why do you wish to be a healer in war camps? I’ve heard that you don’t only work here in our country but also travel to other countries engaged in warfare.

Jordan sighed then explained, "My father, Collum, is the most accomplished healer here in Amare. My mother, Ainsland, has assisted him since they married many years ago. My eldest brother, Kendall, is also an excellent healer. When I showed signs of possessing ‘the healer’s gift’ as a child, everyone in my large family was both thrilled and surprised. They nurtured my abilities and then lauded my unusual talent. I was accepted at home and in the nearby village, but I grew…restless as I approached adulthood.

Everything changed shortly after I turned eighteen. War was declared between Amare and the neighboring country of Gaspara, and several of my cousins were killed during the fighting. Thankfully, my immediate family and the area in which we lived were located far from the violence, but I felt compelled to provide my services to those risking their lives to protect me and others. When I announced I was leaving to aid the soldiers, my family's protests weren’t unexpected, but I refused to be swayed by their arguments.

And when you first tended to the wounded after a battle?

The brutality of war was immobilizing. Yet, the need for healing was definitely in great demand, and I soon overcame my fear and disgust for the fighting. I found the frenetic pace of treating those injured in battles exciting. The men who’d taunted me because of my sex and my appearance hastily learned to respect and depend on me, and my reputation quickly spread. By the time the war had ended, I was twenty and had matured in mind and skill. I’d also become used to the energy of conflict. After returning home for a visit with my family, I set out once more in search of soldiers in need. This led me to other countries and other wars. I’ve dedicated my life to saving the lives of those who fight for what is right and just.

Nodding with approval, the Commander asked, What do you need in order to work in our camp?

A tent for myself since I won’t sleep with the men. Food when the soldiers are fed. Supplies to aid me in healing your men when they’re wounded or sick.

And money?

I’m an itinerant healer. I do accept money from people sometimes. Other times, I accept clothing, food, or trinkets that I can exchange for lodging or a meal. When I’m in a war camp, I expect nothing besides what I already told you. My payment is saving as many lives as I can.

This campaign may be long.

And?

You’ll have to earn my men’s respect.

That’s always the case.

We have no time to coddle a woman.

I need no coddling. I’ve been healing soldiers for four years.

Do you know how to use any weapons?

I’ve learned much during my time with fighting men. I already knew how to use a knife for protection. I’ve since learned how to wield a sword and shoot arrows from a bow. That was out of necessity. I refuse to learn how to use other weapons, as they’re only meant for inflicting pain and not for protecting myself or aiding me in hunting for food.

Do you treat prisoners as well as our soldiers?

Yes.

Do you bed soldiers in camp?

I don’t bed soldiers, period.

And if one of them attempts to molest you?

His fellows wouldn’t stand for it.

You make fast friends with fighting men.

They know it will be up to me to save their lives should they need treatment, so they watch out for me.

The Commander paused then asked, Do you have any conditions if you are to remain?

No women will be raped by your men. No innocents will be killed. No prisoner will be maltreated or killed unless he truly deserves it.

I don’t allow my men to do any of those things, so don’t worry about that. Looking at her shrewdly, he asked, You are educated?

Yes.

So, you can read, write, and do sums?

Quite well.

And read maps?

Better than most men.

He smiled at her and directed the sentry to find Jordan a tent and announce her presence to the others in camp. Jordan smiled back and then nodded to the Commander before following the sentry to her new temporary home.

Chapter One

Jordan was covered in blood as she made her way through the injured men, stopping to help each one. Wounded men were groaning or screaming, and she could hear the sounds of the battle not far away. She was in her element and worked quickly and efficiently to treat those she felt she could save and to comfort those she couldn’t.

In the five days since she’d been in the war camp, Jordan had been welcomed by the soldiers, some of whom she’d treated during other battles. It was helpful to be readily accepted. She’d been so busy learning about the campaign, familiarizing herself with the men and their surroundings, and treating the sick and injured that she’d all but forgotten about the baby in the wagon. Not one man she’d touched had provided her with any premonitions, so she’d dismissed the incident as an anomaly.

Jordan!

She looked up and saw one of the officers hurrying in her direction. He was a good man and a dedicated soldier. That morning, he was sporting a cut on one arm and a large bruise on one cheek. She knew he wasn’t approaching her for his own hurts and wondered what was so urgent that an officer would come and not send one of his men.

She finished stitching a cleansed wound on a young soldier; then she cleaned her hands and hurried over to where the officer stood apart from the other men. He swallowed hard and said, The Commander’s been injured.

Where is he?

Near the front lines of the fighting. We didn’t think it wise to move him.

His wounds are very serious?

He nodded gravely and confided that he doubted much could be done to save the man, but he’d vowed to the troops he’d bring the healer back and let her try. When Jordan asked him about the Commander’s injuries, he explained that a sword had been thrust deep into the man’s gut then wrenched on the way out. Jordan wet her dry lips, nodded, and gathered a bag of supplies.

A band of soldiers surrounded and protected her and the officer as they drew nearer to the fighting. Jordan had never been so close to the maelstrom of violence extending along the front lines, partly because she wasn’t typically permitted there and partly because it was virtually impossible to work effectively in the midst of the fighting. Although she’d often watched from a distance, it was much different being in the center of combat.

The Commander lay on his back in a trench. Jordan didn’t need to touch the man in