A Healer — First Chapter

Khulekani looked out at the young people gathered before him. The classroom was a wide semicircular structure with an imperfect shape. Calcified growths protruded at irregular intervals from the walls and floor. The space was packed, but not the slightest whisper could be heard.

The translucent membrane-windows pulsed slowly, filtering light from outside. Dancing shadows moved across the interior surfaces. A long crack ran through one of the walls—a sign of the earthquake that had shaken the Sac the previous month, causing every tower in the city to vibrate.

At the center of the classroom, a commoner trembled visibly on an improvised raised platform. He was naked from the waist up. His thin chest showed his ribs in stark relief beneath the skin. His lips moved in silent prayer while his eyes wandered nervously around the room.

"Today you'll witness a Selection," Khulekani announced. "A standard one: healthy man, worker with no criminal record, no deformities or debilitating diseases. He's simply reached forty years of age. Memorize everything—it's the same procedure you'll have to carry out yourselves to advance to the Second Circle."

He approached the commoner, who was now babbling disconnected words. "Kneel," he ordered with a firm voice.

The man tried to obey, but his legs were shaking so violently that he fell forward, collapsing onto the platform. He tried to get back up on his knees but kept staggering, unable to maintain the position.

Khulekani huffed. "Vuyo," he pointed to a boy in the center row, "and Zola," he pointed toward a girl in the back row, "come help hold him up."

The two students stood up and quickly came down the steps toward the platform. The commoner began trembling violently, mumbling increasingly frantic words. Taking him by the arms, the students put him on his knees.

"Don't worry," Vuyo whispered to the man, "it'll be quick. The Mother will welcome you."

"Silence!" Khulekani snapped, shooting the student a withering look. "We're not at a public fountain chatting."

"I'm sorry, master," Vuyo stammered, "I just thought I'd calm him down. In a real Selection I would never allow myself—"

"This is a Selection," Khulekani rebuked him with a sharp voice. "It doesn't matter whether it's done inside a tower or on a sacrificial hill. Show proper respect for The Mother, to our Profession, and to the selected."

The boy lowered his gaze, mortified. Silence returned to reign in the classroom.

Khulekani observed the commoner, who seemed to have calmed down slightly, though he continued to tremble. "Zola, you stand up. Vuyo can handle him alone." The girl obeyed immediately. "Bring the tray from the desk over here."

Zola hurried toward the lectern and returned with a tray of polished petroclast. A translucent membrane pulsed slowly on its surface alongside a stiletto with a thin blade, also made of black petroclast.

Khulekani took the membrane, which began to quiver more intensely upon contact with his hands. He examined it with a critical eye, stretching it slightly with his fingers.

"Elasticity is fundamental," he explained, addressing the class and rotating the membrane in his hand, showing it off. A sweet and vaguely metallic smell spread through the air, like fermented sap and molten copper. "It must be flexible enough to adhere completely, but robust enough not to tear during the process."

He turned toward the commoner and positioned the membrane on his head, letting it fall like a living veil. As it adapted to the skull, the membrane made a sound similar to that of a suction cup. The man let out a strangled moan, held firmly by Vuyo.

"The Mother feeds the child, the child feeds The Mother," the commoner began to pray. "The Mother feeds the child, the child feeds The Mother."

From the rows of students, numerous voices joined him in chorus.

Khulekani took the petroclast stiletto from the tray and, with a sharp movement, made an incision on the surface of the membrane. At his side, Zola watched with wide eyes. Her hand moved imperceptibly, mimicking the gesture Khulekani had just performed.

The tissue quivered violently and contracted, wrapping tightly around the commoner's head. The corners of the membrane stretched into translucent tentacles, which coiled around his neck. The man's eyes flew wide open in a final flash of lucidity as the suffocation process began.

"Observe the edges," Khulekani said in a didactic tone, while the borders of the membrane began to change color. All the students leaned forward from their seats to get a better look. Khulekani pointed to a spot, moving his finger continuously, adapting to the commoner's convulsions. "The coloration shifts toward red when the process of absorbing bodily fluids begins. Uniform coloration indicates an optimal process." He tilted his head slightly, observing the tentacles on the Selected's neck. "That's not the case here: Vuyo, adjust the membrane on the left side."

The commoner continued to thrash about while Vuyo struggled to move a tentacle downward. His movements grew increasingly weak.

"Who can tell me," Khulekani asked the class, "what specific mechanism causes death during Selection?"

The silence stretched for several seconds, then a hand went up in the back row.

"You," Khulekani pointed.

"Strangulation," the student said.

Khulekani shook his head slowly. "Common mistake. Look at the bluish veins around the mouth. The tentacles don't squeeze. They seal. The membrane creates an airtight closure around the skull, preventing any air exchange. In every proper Selection, and this one is proceeding reasonably well, death occurs by asphyxiation."

Behind him, the commoner lost consciousness and slumped forward. Vuyo let him go to avoid being dragged down as well. Khulekani turned around just long enough for a glance, then focused back on the class.

"And what vital signs need to be monitored to confirm that death has occurred?"

"Lip coloration, pupil dilation, and cardiac arrest," Zola answered promptly, still standing next to Khulekani.

"Exactly," Khulekani nodded. "Vuyo, check the pulse."

The boy placed two fingers on the commoner's neck and counted mentally. "Absent, master," he reported after a few seconds.

Khulekani approached the body and placed his own fingers on the man's neck.

"The Selection is complete," he announced. "Now, who can describe the mechanism of death?"

No one moved. Khulekani sighed.

"Shameful," the healer master commented, shaking his head slightly. "In a week you'll have to carry out your first real Selection, and you can't answer such an elementary question. You, answer."

He pointed to a fifteen-year-old boy with a terrified expression. The boy stammered, and before he could formulate a complete sentence, Khulekani moved on to the girl beside him.

"Forced inspiration, respiratory arrest... airway collapse?" she suggested with an uncertain voice.

"Partially correct. Use a firm tone when you answer my questions. Continue."

The girl bit her lip, looking around for help.

"I'm in front of you," Khulekani said, gesturing for her to look him in the eyes.

Finally, the girl gave up. "It's too advanced a concept, master," she said, making excuses.

"But that's incredibly basic," Khulekani burst out.

He turned, took the stiletto, and went toward the enormous membrane-blackboard behind the lectern. He began carving into it. With each passage of the stiletto, the blackboard writhed in pain, but Khulekani proceeded indifferently. He adapted his writing to the sudden spasms with the sole precaution. The glyphs took shape quickly and precisely under his fingers, having performed those gestures countless times.

While he carved, two attendants entered the classroom, quickly collecting the commoner's body. One of them muttered a brief prayer as they moved the corpse toward the back door.

Khulekani turned back toward the audience, pointing with an outstretched hand at the glyphs on the blackboard. "The membrane induces three distinct phases: hypoxia, paralysis, collapse. Is this how you think you'll be promoted to the Second Circle?" He shook his head slightly. "Ravenous Mother, I've never witnessed such a concentration of ignorance in a single class."

He turned again and inserted a finger with a crimson nail into an orifice on the edge of the blackboard, turning the finger clockwise and pressing hard. The blackboard had another spasm, but one of obvious pleasure. The glyphs carved into it began to disappear as the wounds healed. Khulekani waited half a minute in that position, until the blackboard was completely healed, then withdrew his finger and cleaned it of the orifice's fluids on his robe of the same color as his nail.

Finally, he picked up the stiletto again and returned to torturing the blackboard with more brutal incisions, driven by his dissatisfaction.

He turned again and said in an exhausted tone: "Now that the part that always interests everyone is over, let's get back to theory. This is the list of subjects for the written tests you'll have to pass. I trust that none of you wants to dishonor your parents, or your uncles, if your parents have already been Selected, by failing."

A hissing sound came from above the top row of the semicircle, which rose steeply like an amphitheater with irregular, pulsing walls. Several heads, including Khulekani's, turned to look. A healer in her thirties, in the final months of pregnancy, entered through the Valve-door. Her crimson dress had a golden border along the collar. Seeing her, all the students stood up and bowed.

"Sit down, sit down," she said, smiling, "sorry if I disturbed you."

Khulekani also greeted her, bowing his head and saying: "You never disturb, Makhose. It's an honor to have a member of the Fourth Circle among us."

"I'm sure it's a relief for your students," she replied, "your didactic observations could be heard all the way from the corridor."

Some giggles rose from the rows of students, but they stopped immediately when Khulekani shot them an icy glance. Then the man composed himself and said: "With Makhose's permission..."

She nodded and sat down on a calcified growth in the back row.

"Let's resume the lesson," Khulekani continued. He moved to the center of the available space, absentmindedly running a finger over his sharp nails. "We're at the end of your first year of studies, yet you demonstrate a shameful knowledge of the Protocols. This is unacceptable. You," he addressed the female student he had questioned before. "Let's suppose that by some miracle you get into the Second Circle. You have to carry out a Selection—would you be capable of it?"

Surprised to be questioned again, the girl cleared her throat. "Certainly, healer master."

"I believe it, since you just saw one and I described all the steps. But anyone can end a person's life—it's easy. Why do we do it?"

"Because it's our duty," the student replied.

"Yes, yes," Khulekani said impatiently, "but why is it?"

The girl lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry, healer master. I don't know how to answer."

Khulekani pursed his lips in an expression of impatience. Before he could speak, Makhose spoke up loudly, to be heard by everyone.

"You're admitting your ignorance. That's the first step toward improvement."

The healer smiled at Khulekani, who looked at her with annoyance. "It's as Makhose says," he said diplomatically, then addressed the student again. "But at this point in the year, you should have already taken many such steps."

He turned and walked toward the lectern at a brisk pace. "As a species," he resumed, "we must be strong and healthy. That's why our most sacred duty, from the Second Circle up, is to decide who must be Selected. And since we accept this responsibility completely, we are the ones who carry it out." He looked around, observing the students. "Shortly, if you're promoted, you'll have to do it too. Plus, new knowledge will be revealed to you. Not just the public principles of the Second Protocol, but the actual practices that only we can know. All for humanity."

Khulekani paused, carefully observing his students' reactions. "We healers consciously base our entire knowledge on the Four Protocols and never compromise on them. Responsibilities increase. Always. If you don't think you can handle it, leave."

A murmur rippled through the classroom. The students exchanged wary glances, each silently wondering if the healer master was referring specifically to them.

"That's all for today," Khulekani concluded. "Tomorrow we'll get back to discussing basic anatomy. If you can't answer my questions again, you'll spend the rest of the day in the Hall of Pain."

The students hurried to gather their things and leave, leaving only Khulekani and Makhose in the classroom. The healer was still adjusting the blackboard, with his finger inside the orifice, when the woman, from high up in the gallery, spoke to him.

"Always scaring the new recruits?"

"I don't scare anyone," he replied without turning around. "I educate."

"With you, educating is scaring," she shot back, getting up with difficulty and beginning to come down the steps.

Khulekani pulled his finger from the blackboard and hurried to approach her, helping her down. "You shouldn't be exerting yourself, sister. What week are you at?"

"Thirty-fourth," Makhose replied with a sigh.

"Want me to examine you? We can go to an observation room now, if you'd like."

Makhose shook her head. "No. I came to give you the news in person, before Ayanda spreads new poison about you."

"I'm immune to that woman," Khulekani replied, but Makhose raised a finger.

"This time it's different. Our beloved healer chief is absolutely furious." She looked at Khulekani seriously, but then a smile lit up her face. "You've been chosen."

Khulekani's eyes and mouth flew wide open, incredulous. "You mean..."

"Yes, you've been nominated along with her for Elevation."

The healer opened his mouth in disbelief, and for an instant his face emptied of all expression, then he exclaimed: "Oh!"

Makhose clapped and moved to hug him, but Khulekani pulled back, visibly uncomfortable with the idea of physical contact. Makhose sighed and observed: "You don't seem particularly happy."

"I haven't entered the Fourth Circle yet," he replied. "All that knowledge—I risk losing it."

Makhose rolled her eyes, huffing. "What kind of priorities! You have the chance to live to old age and you think about these things?"

Khulekani's face hardened. "I'm a healer. My priorities are established by the Protocols." He brought a hand to his chest and began beating it with each word. "Mother. Humanity. Knowledge. Mercy. No Protocol speaks of old age."

"You've always been strange," Makhose said, smiling and shaking her head. "The nobles must be crazy to nominate you."

"It's normal that they did," Khulekani replied. "I'm a genius."

"Ah, yes," she said, "a humble and modest genius, as is well known throughout the Sac. And what about Ayanda? Is she a genius too?"

"A genius!" Khulekani repeated with a contemptuous tone. "Her whole life is based on high-placed friends and relatives. She only has her position because she's the daughter of the previous healer chief."

Makhose shook her head with a slight smile. "It's incredible how you manage to be so intelligent and so naive at the same time. We're also healers thanks to our mother—does that make us unfit? Besides, Ayanda has directed Toxicology for years with exemplary results. And she too is a genius in her own way. Don't underestimate her."

"You're right about her being a real mystery. They should have nominated you."

"They did," she replied. "I came in third. Excluded after they announced your name."

"Oh," Khulekani repeated, caught by surprise. "I'm sorry."

Silence fell between the two siblings. Makhose put her hands on her belly, looking down. Khulekani felt he had said something wrong, but didn't understand what.

"It's all right," Makhose finally said, looking back at her brother. "I'm just sorry I won't see my son grow up."

Khulekani felt uncomfortable in the face of such intimate sharing. He concealed it by taking his bag from the desk and putting it across his shoulder.

"I'll refuse the Elevation," he said.

His sister's eyes widened in surprise. "You'd do that for me? Khulekani, are you feeling all right?"

"I'm doing it for myself," he replied. "I can't accept living for decades without reaching true knowledge." He became more serious than ever. "I'll talk to Ayanda. I'll tell her I'm withdrawing from the Elevation, in exchange for immediate promotion to the Fourth Circle. Once I'm out, you'll have a chance to see your son grow up."