Spice Bringer

By H. L. Burke

A deadly disease. A vanishing remedy. A breathless journey.

All her life, Niya's known she will die young from the fatal rasp. She survives only with the aid of vitrisar spice and a magical, curmudgeonly fire salamander named Alk. Then an ambitious princess burns down the vitrisar grove in an effort to steal Alk so she can claim her rightful throne. Joined by Jayesh, a disgraced monk, Niya and Alk must flee to the faraway Hidden Temple with the last vitrisar plant, or all who suffer from the rasp will perish.

But even as Niya's frustration and banter with Jayesh deepen to affection, the rasp is stealing away her breath and life.

For a girl with limited time and a crippling quest, love may be more painful than death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. L. Burke
• Release date: Jul 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223761099

Book preview

Chapter One

The monkeys atop the crumbling wall of the Hospice’s outer court froze in their play, heads snapping simultaneously to gaze out over the road leading up to the gate. Niya stilled her sweeping to watch them, posed among the worn statues and frescos along the ruin’s wall.

Once a great temple, years of monsoon rains and encroaching vines from the nearby jungle had torn into the stone structure, wearing the faces off the images of long-forgotten gods and cracking through the massive stone blocks. Designed to keep back invaders or even swarms of legendary Nagash serpents, the crumbling temple could no longer even keep out the monkeys. The cheeky beasts treated the temple as their domain.

Still, they had some small use. While pests, tending to throw date pits or worse at her when she was minding her own business, the ever-present troop of monkeys acted as an alarm of sorts, alerting her and the other Hospice inhabitants to approaching visitors. Straining her ears, she could just make out the rattle of wagon wheels on the rutted dirt road.

With the weather so warm, she had been tempted to abandon her draped wrap in favor of just her light petticoat and thin undershirt, no matter how improper that might be. Niya pushed the headscarf she’d placed over her mouth to keep out the dust back into her dark hair. If even a little dust got into her lungs, it could set off a coughing fit that might knock her to her knees or trigger a more dangerous attack. Though still in the second, mostly manageable stage of the deadly rasp, Niya didn’t like to press her luck, especially with the amount of dust and debris her admittedly impatient sweeping method stirred up.

Keeper Ovar! she called.

The breath needed for the cry proved too much. A sharp pain pierced her lungs, and she winced. Stupid rasp. She was only shouting for a man on the other side of a wall, not trying to sing a ballad. To stave off the coughing fit that often followed when she exerted herself, she reached for her waterskin hanging from a nail in the wall and let the lukewarm liquid soothe her throat.

Keeper Ovar, a middle-aged man in a loose white shirt and red kilt, emerged from the main house, his dark, thoughtful eyes peering at her. He was bald but with an impressive mustache that equally blended gray and black. On his shoulder sat an orange lizard, about a foot in length including the serpentine tail, with brilliant scales in stripes of orange, red, and yellow, and a fringe along its back so fine it could be mistaken for lace. This was Alk, the fire salamander who helped cultivate the precious vitrisar vines with his nurturing breath—and who constantly irked Niya with his disrespectful forked tongue.

What is it, little one? Ovar smiled.

Look— Her words caught in her throat, and a spasm cut through her. The water hadn’t worked. A coughing fit ensnared her, shaking her whole body.

Little one? Alk snickered, his voice harsh and high like an ancient man’s. Sounds like a big one to me. A big croaking frog. Bwap! Bwap!

Holding her breath, Niya managed to control herself long enough to shoot the salamander a spite-filled glare. She was hardly the only one with the rasp plagued by coughing fits, but for some reason, Alk only bothered to torment her about it. Of course, Alk tormented other folk about other things, as he felt entitled. Everyone under Ovar’s care owed Alk their lives, to an extent. Something he was quick to remind anyone who called him out on his sauciness.

Ovar peeled Alk from his shoulder and placed him upon a stone sconce sticking out of the wall. Alk sniffed, sending sparks through his nostrils, but allowed his keeper to abandon him. Kneeling at Niya’s side, Ovar patted her back.

Easy now. Breathe through it. It’s not a bad one. He held up the waterskin. She managed to get her lips around it and drink. Swallowing eased the spasm, and she let out a sigh of relief.

Sorry, she mumbled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. At least this time hadn’t been phlegmy. She hated when she accidentally spat on someone’s feet or clothes.

It is a moment, and the day is long. He stood. Why did you call me?

Before she could answer, one of the monkeys shrieked, starting the whole troop in an ungodly chorus. The clap of hooves against the stones outside the gate further answered Ovar’s question.

Ah. We have guests. He wiped his hand across his brow.

I need to renew myself, Ovar! Alk whined. I haven’t been in the fire all morning. As a fire salamander, Alk didn’t eat food or drink water, but rather replenished himself by bathing in open flame and chewing on smoldering coals.

They might be patients in need of care. Niya frowned at the salamander. You’re not the only being in the world, you know.

Just the most important. Alk snickered.

Niya wrinkled her nose. If by ‘important’ you mean ‘infuriatingly arrogant.’

Quiet, you two. Ovar held up his hand. Niya, would you take Alk to my meditation chamber? There’s a fire waiting for him there.

Can’t you take him? Niya grimaced. I can speak to the visitors and see what they want.

For once, I agree with the wheezy girl. If a coughing fit takes her, she might drop me! Alk twitched his tail, eyes half shut.

If I drop you, Alk, it won’t be an accident. Niya smirked.

It’s always something with you two, Ovar sighed. He picked up Alk and eased him onto his shoulder. I suppose you can handle it, little one. Don’t hesitate to call for me if you run into trouble.

Niya hurried to the gate. She rarely got to interact with people. There were always too many chores to be done about the Hospice and the grove where they grew the vitrisar spice. Though it was the perfect place for growing the spice, the jungle about the old temple was too thick and the building itself too tumble-down to house many patients. Most under Ovar’s care chose to stay in the village a few hours’ walk away. Sometimes he’d bring a few at a time to stay under their roof, but by the time most sought Ovar’s care, they were in the final stage: the black cough, too far gone to receive more than palliative care. The graveyard behind the Hospice housed far more folk than had ever stayed within the Hospice itself.

Before she opened the gate, Niya took a moment to dust off her faded gray wrap. She’d had another motive beyond just avoiding interaction with Alk. If these were merchants looking to purchase vitrisar, she’d rather handle the exchange herself. While Ovar’s main purpose in cultivating vitrisar was for medicinal purposes, the spice had value as an incense and for use in perfumes. It was also exceedingly rare and therefore quite valuable.

Without the spice, those suffering from the rasp had little chance of survival beyond a few years, and few had the resources to travel to the Hospice, leaving family and business behind, for the cure. Because of this, Ovar had discovered long before that the easiest way to bring the treatment to the suffering was using the established merchant routes that crisscrossed the Empire of the Golden Bird like blood veins. He sometimes even gave away the spice to traders, on the understanding that they would pass the generosity along to those in need—Niya doubted that the spice was reaching those who truly needed it without a heavy mark-up. If she sensed dishonesty or greed in a merchant, she liked to be certain they paid for their spice, rather than receive it as a gift.

Drawing a deep breath, she pushed open the gate. A single donkey cart waited outside, and beside it stood a young man with a well-trimmed beard and travel-worn clothes. Niya relaxed.

Eilin. She bowed her head respectfully. Eilin was a regular. His mother served as the healer for a village a day’s ride from the river and had patients constantly in need of vitrisar.

Niya, good to see you, though I hope you will not take it personally when I say I’m sorry the need came so soon. He bent at the waist. We need more spice.

Niya fingered the necklace of wooden beads at her throat. We gave you three months’ worth of doses less than two months ago, Eilin. What happened?

New cases, three of them, arrived from the hill country seeking relief, and two of our regulars progressed to the black cough. It’s been taking double and triple their usual doses just to keep them breathing.

Niya’s mouth tightened. Once the rasp developed into the black cough, there was little a healer could do beyond ease their pain and perhaps delay the inevitable a few precious weeks. Try telling that to desperate families, though.

I’m sorry. I’ll see what we can do. She motioned him into the Hospice. Offering him her waterskin, she saw him settled on the reed mats in the shaded half of the courtyard before hurrying to the store rooms. Earthen vessels lined the rooms, all but one empty and awaiting the harvest, due in a few short weeks. She pried the lid off the last jar and winced.

Half full.

If they gave Eilin a month’s supply, they might have enough to last until harvest—if no more patients arrived and none of the existing patients took a turn for the worse. Ovar had planted new vines to make up for the increase in demand, but as more people found out about the vitrisar’s healing properties it got harder and harder to keep up. The vines couldn’t grow fast enough. And the harvests never came soon enough.

Hoisting up the jar, she carried it down the hall to where an arch opened into Ovar’s meditation chambers, a round room with a brazier in the center. Ovar sat cross-legged before it while Alk nestled in the center of the burning brazier like a cat before a hearth.

Ovar looked up when she entered. What is it, Niya? Who was at the gate?

Eilin, from the village in the High Hills. His mother needs more vitrisar for those under her care.

Ovar nodded. Of course. Give him what he needs.

I was about to, but then I saw—Ovar, this is all we have left. Niya placed the jar beside him.

His brow furrowed, his eye flicking about the vitrisar seeds, probably counting them and comparing their numbers to the number of patients currently in his care and the amount of doses they would need over the next few days.

I see. It has been a busy year.

Business is booming! Alk called out, his high-pitched voice grating on Niya’s already strained temper. Lucky us!

Lucky if we were tailors or selling fruit in a market stall. She crossed her arms and tilted her chin up defiantly. But we are not. We are healers, and more people needing our services seems a curse rather than a blessing.

No, I agree with Alk. Ovar wiped his hands on his kilt. I do not think more have been ill. It is simply the fact that more people are aware of the relief we can provide and have therefore sought it out, rather than giving in to hopelessness and pain.

Heat rose in Niya’s cheeks, and she dropped her gaze. I did not mean to speak ill of your work, Keeper.

He touched her shoulder. You spoke out of compassion, little one. I did not take your words as an insult.

I did, Alk piped up.

Ovar frowned, and Alk subsided. Ovar was the only one Alk ever listened to, though it seemed to Niya that Ovar used this influence far too sparingly.

I don’t want to turn away Eilin, but if we give him this, we’ll run out before harvest, and those under our care in the village will suffer, maybe even die. Including herself. She wasn’t sure how long she could survive without vitrisar, but with how much easier it made her day-to-day life, she didn’t want to test it. Because of the daily doses, she could function mostly as a normal girl, rather than live as an invalid.

Still, those in Eilin’s village have as much need as we do. Ovar stroked his mustache. Last time I was in the grove, a few of the berry clusters were near-ripe. We might be able to select enough over the next few days to bridge the gap between now and the full harvest. We’d need to pick them immediately in order to have them dried and dehusked in time.

Niya nodded. I can do that. I can gather whatever we need.

Yes, but what about the pepper snakes? This is their mating season.

Niya suppressed a shudder. The pepper snakes lived within the vines, feasting on the insects drawn to the scent of the flowers. Normally, they held little threat to anyone with enough common sense not to stick their arms into the shadows beneath the leaves, and they provided pest control, making them an asset to Ovar and the grove.

However, as the berries ripened, the usually lazy reptiles grew restless. Males fought for territory and mating rights with the females of the grove. The creatures weren’t deadly, but their venomous bites stung. She didn’t wish to spend the rest of the day with some appendage swelled to double its natural size.

Still, they needed the vitrisar.

I can do it. I have my lens. She pulled her necklace out from under her wrap. At the end of the string of beads hung a single circle of glass. If I flash them, they usually back off.

In mating season, they can be a lot harder to cow, and I wouldn’t have you hurt for this. I’d go, but I need to prepare the seeds for the planting ceremony if we are to get them in the ground before the rainy season. He continued to play with the corner of his mustache. Perhaps gathering the seed can wait until tomorrow, or perhaps Eilin can make do with less just this once. What about Kiann? Kiann was a boy from the village who helped out around the Hospice sometimes.

Kiann is at market today. I can do this! Niya wouldn’t let anyone suffer for fear of a slinking snake.

You might miss the planting ceremony, though. I know you had a bead on your necklace for that. Ovar tilted his head as if weighing her determination.

Niya’s hand started to stray towards her beads, but she pulled it back and drew herself up taller. I will be fast. I won’t miss the ceremony. Please, Keeper Ovar, trust me. I’m capable of this.

I think you are. He touched her cheek. Still, I would not risk you. Take Alk.

What? Niya and the salamander shouted in unison.

Ovar rolled his eyes. Seriously, you two, you are both my family. For just a short while, can’t you act like it?

Niya clamped her mouth shut and avoided looking at Alk, whom she suspected was glaring at her in his usual contemptuous way.

But Ovar, you need me for the planting ceremony, Alk said.

Only for the actual flaming of the seeds. The rest I can prepare without you, and Niya will be swift. The pepper snakes respect your flame. Ovar placed his hands in the flame, an action that never ceased to amaze Niya. The orange tongues of fire washed over him like water, and he neither winced nor burned. Alk scrambled down Ovar’s extended arm onto her shoulder. His needle-like claws pricked her skin, and she winced. Ovar concentrated on the salamander. You will protect her, won’t you, Alk?

Alk sighed. Since she matters to you, I suppose I can spare her some of my precious time.

Don’t do me any favors, Niya mumbled.

I’ll take care of Eilin. Ovar placed his hand on Niya’s shoulder. Alk rolled his beady eyes, then skittered across Ovar’s arm to perch beside Niya’s neck. Ovar then picked up the jar. Be careful, you two. Especially you, Niya. It’s a hot and dusty day. You don’t want to exacerbate your rasp. Don’t rush. The planting ceremony can wait for you both.

Her hand strayed to her necklace. Each bead represented a prayer, something she begged the Kind God to allow her to see or experience before her inevitable death. For the planting ceremony, she’d strung a yellow bead with a red flame painted on its side.

Still, if she hurried, she could make it back in time to witness the ritual. Perhaps she could even plant one of the fire-blessed seeds, to nurture something that would last beyond herself. There was a green bead with a purple leaf for that prayer.

Thank you, little one. Ovar stroked her hair.

Gathering up a canvas pouch and slipping on her sandals, she hurried out the side gate. Yes, if she moved quickly, if she didn’t delay, she could complete this task by noon.

Alk’s hold on her tightened. Niya winced. Easy, you foolish lizard. I’m not a pin cushion.

Definitely not. He squeezed harder. Not enough flesh on this bony shoulder for that. Goodness, girl, don’t you eat?

Says the ash-muncher. She sniffed.

Alk stuck his nose in the air. My figure is quite svelte, thank you very much.

The Hospice stood like an island of civilization in the middle of the jungle: a small island inhabited only by Keeper Ovar, Niya, and annoying Alk. Kiann slept over some nights, but just as often chose to return to his family in the village once his duties were complete. Niya, however, had no family. She’d been abandoned in the temple courtyard as an infant, most likely due to the already obvious symptoms of the rasp. Everyone knew the rasp was a death sentence. A daughter with the rasp could not be expected to make a good marriage. A son with the rasp would never live to take over his father’s trade. Ovar said it was a kindness that her unknown mother had sought out his care rather than leave her for the sabertooths somewhere in the wild.

Ovar had been father, mother, and savior to her. Untreated, the rasp meant death within five years. After three times that in Ovar’s care, Niya was still only in the second stage.

It didn’t mean life wasn’t hard, but at least it wasn’t over.

Now she focused on the top of the hill where the spice grove grew, determined to make this a memorable day of the few she’d been given. Of course, spending it with Alk heckling in her ear wasn’t what she’d had in mind.

Could you walk a little slower? There’s a snail trying to keep pace, and I think if you just eased up a little, he’d make it. Alk laughed at his own joke.

How about you walk instead of ride like the lazy ass you are?

Niya’s chest tightened with every step, but she didn’t want to give Alk another reason to tease, so she continued at the same dogged pace. She drew in quick breaths, ignoring the needling sensation within her lungs. The dozen or so yards up the hill to the spice grove might as well have been miles. Insects hummed in the long grasses at the side of the path, and she could already smell the sweet and spicy scent of the vines with their ripening berries. The beloved odor tempted a long inhale which she immediately regretted. The breath stirred something in her lungs, shaking loose the sludge which weighed down her chest. It caught in her throat. Coughing overtook her. She hacked until her throat hurt and she was out of breath, but couldn’t dislodge the phlegm.

Gods burn the rasp! I just want to get my chores done.

Stop shaking me, girl! Alk’s tail snaked around her neck. Do you have your vitrisar? Take some instead of hacking up a lung.

Niya gritted her teeth, the cough preventing the snappy comeback she wanted to fire off at him. Yes, she had vitrisar, but she’d already taken a dose that morning. Another would be wasteful, especially with supplies getting low. I just need a moment to catch my breath.

She longed to sit in the shade beneath the old Banyan tree midway up the path and rest until the rasp attack subsided.

Finally, the cough cleared her airway. She spat into the dirt, checking the color out of habit. No spots of red or black, so she was still free of the black cough. Good. Today was not the beginning of the end. Pulling the cloth of her gray wrap tighter about her body, she forced one foot in front of the other towards her destination.

Finally. Alk sniffed.

Do you want to walk? Niya’s voice came out hoarse, but Alk fell silent.

Sharp pains wracked her lungs. This was no good. Her hand strayed towards the pouch at her side. Ovar’s prescription to a patient in her stage of the rasp was only two doses per day. What if she took her second now and needed another before nightfall?

She pressed her headscarf over her mouth so she could breathe without the irritation of dust. It didn’t work. A cough stabbed through her chest. Shaking her head at her own weakness, she reached into the pouch for a vitrisar seed. She crunched the hard black orb between her molars. A tingle of spice spread across her tongue and down her throat, a cool heat, revitalizing. Her lungs tightened, then expanded. Breath came easily again.

There, was that so hard? Alk shook his head. Stupid, stubborn girl. Why don’t you just take your medicine?

Niya resisted the urge to fling Alk into the bushes. Ovar wouldn’t like that much, and for better or worse, the grove needed the salamander. The new plants wouldn’t grow without his magic.

Her pace increased from a crawl to a cautious stride. The cold glass of her pendant bounced against her chest. She pulled it out and polished it against her wrap as she walked. Pausing, she held it up to the sun. The clear, round lens focused a pin-prick of light on the dirt. Satisfied, she tucked it back into place. If the pepper snakes were ornery, she’d be ready.

The glossy green leaves of the vitrisar vines glistened in the sun like emeralds. They twined up the wooden stakes towards the sky. A few tiny white flowers still bloomed, drawing the buzz of attentive bees. Most had long ago fallen to the ground to make way for the clusters of berries. Some berries were still green, others ripening to red, and a choice few a rich dark brown, ready to be plucked and cracked open to reveal the precious seed inside, filled with healing power.

The grove was Niya’s favorite place in the whole world. Partially because of the beauty of the ever-growing plants in their carefully tended straight lines, but mostly because of the blessed aroma of the spice berries. Even though the power lurked in the seeds rather than the fruit, the fruit had a warm, peppery scent just like the seeds. When it permeated the air, Niya’s heart rose. In that swirl of green life and natural perfume, she could imagine she was well, a normal girl who would live a normal life, not an ephemeral being doomed to fade with the tiny white flowers.

She paused and knelt. All right, you’ve had enough of a ride. Get down.

Alk stuck his nose in the air before hopping off her shoulder into the rich dirt. I’ll have you know that playing babysitter to an immature teen is beneath me and I’m only doing it as a favor to Ovar.

The corner of her mouth quirked into a half-smile. Big words for someone who stands a little lower than my ankle.

Alk’s fringe stood on end, and he flicked his tongue out at her before darting into the vines. Bursts of flame licked the bottom of the plants as he rushed about, spooking the pepper snakes. A few darted from the safety of the branches, slithering streaks of shiny black against the brown earth. Niya waited until Alk was a little way down the row to approach the first vine. 

It was too early in the season to require a full harvest. When all the vines were heavy and ready, workers from the nearby village would lay strips of cloth beneath the vines and shake them to dislodge the ripe berries. Now, with only a few berries per cluster ready to be picked, it took precision to harvest the few ready specimens without dislodging or damaging the others. She approached the first cluster. A range of reds and greens met her eye, but none of the deep, rich brown. The next one only had one ripe berry. She almost considered passing it by, uncertain it would be worth the risk of bruising the two adjacent to it. After some consideration, she reached into her hair for a pin and used it to toggle the ripe ball loose. It fell into her hand, warm from the sun. She popped it into a pouch at her hip and continued to the next cluster.

A hiss sent a shiver down her spine. She froze. Black eyes glinted at her from between the verdant leaves. The tongue of a pepper snake whisked in and out between the ebony scales on its arrow-shaped head.

The pepper snake undulated out of the leaves, its head swaying back and forth. Its hood unfurled. Recognizing the threatening stance, Niya backed up a step. Blast you, Alk, how did you miss this one? Where are you?

Then she saw it: a cluster of ripe berries, not a single green or red amongst the brown, right below the glinting coils of the pepper snake.

Setting her mouth hard, she drew her necklace out of her wrap. The pepper snake gave a warning hiss. Its eyes followed her hand. She would’ve given anything in the moment for Ovar’s abilities. He could do this without going through the hassle with the lens. Of course, to receive those abilities he’d become bonded to annoying-as-all-get-out Alk. She wouldn’t like that so much.

The lens focused the sunlight in a single point. She concentrated this on the leaves beside the angry pepper snake. Soon the foliage began to smoke. The snake hissed, struck out at the wisping black vapor, then recoiled and hid within the leaves. Not wanting to start a real fire in the dry grass, Niya darted forward, snapped the entire cluster from its stem, and retreated to a safe distance before the snake could emerge.

Alk, you idiot! You missed one! she shouted down the line.

The salamander stuck his scarlet head out from between a cluster of leaves. "Missed one. I chased away at least a dozen. Surely you can handle one, you lazy girl."

Niya sighed. Get back here! You’ve chased them far enough. We need to gather enough berries for the drying rack before it gets any later.

Moving up and down the vines, she managed to gather a sackful in record time. Alk took the opportunity to nap in the shade.

Finally, with her task done, she grabbed the salamander by the tail, savoring his shriek.

Come on. Time to go.

Irreverent girl! Alk scolded. I’ll have you know I am a holy creature. Favored of the gods.

Tell it to someone who believes it. She snorted, settling him on her shoulder.

Foolish child. One day, you will appreciate the brilliance that is Alk.

Keeping her pace slow and steady came more naturally on the return trip, so she made it with only one minor coughing fit. When she entered the hospice courtyard, Eilin and his donkey cart had gone and Ovar was nowhere to be seen. She placed the bag to one side so that she could sort the berries later for the drying rack. Niya passed under the arch into the breezeway that ran through the old temple.

The bronze doors to the main sanctuary, considered the holiest of holies once upon a time, were already shut. She pushed them open enough to slip through, and paused.

Once the sanctuary had been a place of sacrifice. Concentric rows of stone benches circled a broad stone altar large enough to hold the carcass of a full-grown oxen. Ovar had shown her the ridges and troughs designed to drain the beast’s blood.

An offering to cleanse us of our sins, he’d explained. The idea of being washed in blood turned Niya’s stomach. What did the gods have against water?

Of course, Ovar’s Kind God had led him to bring soil and manure into the sanctuary as a different sort of offering. Rows of clay pots, each prepared to hold a seedling of the vitrisar vine, lined the stone altar. In their midst knelt Ovar himself, eyes closed in prayer.

On her shoulder, Alk shivered. "I need to be with him