Free Healer's Choice by Jory Strong

“Welcome to the game.”
    The rat jumped, sailing across the distance to land on her bare arm. Its claws and fur were ice-cold and the feel of it touching her skin filled her with nameless dread.
    In her sleep, Rebekka’s heart sped up as visceral terror swept through the younger version of herself, so strong it freed her from the spot she’d been rooted to and sent her running back to where the prostitutes were rising, returning to the bus so they could be under way.
    That night she dreamed of plague, of thousands dying of infectious disease, of whole cities filled with the dead. She woke screaming so many times the others insisted she be drugged. And the next day—
    A shudder nearly woke the adult Rebekka. In her sleep she whimpered, remembering herself as a child climbing out of the hiding place that was also where she slept. She’d been groggy from the drugs. Otherwise she would have made sure it was safe to leave the bus.
    The police from a nearby settlement were there, four of them collecting the sin tax. They saw her before she could retreat. Caught her before she could escape.
    It was an area where the ultraconservative and the religious ruled. They followed the old laws, requiring prostitutes to bear a tattoo, not so much because they feared disease, but because it was a mark of shame meant to deter patrons and protect the unwary from marrying a whore.
    She fought them as they tugged her clothing aside to look for the tattoo. And when they didn’t find one, their leader ordered her marked.
    Her mother struggled, the caravan guards holding her back. She pleaded with the policemen, begged them with tears streaking down her face. Told them her daughter was no prostitute.
    Their leader quoted the scripture of Exodus. “ He doesn’t leave the guilty unpunished. Unto the third and fourth generation, He punishes the children and their children for the sin of the parents.”
    Rebekka screamed as they held her down. The needles pierced her flesh repeatedly, until the pain and horror were too much for her young mind.
    She escaped into her memories, leaving her body behind to wander through the woods where she’d seen the deer and rabbit and squirrels. And when it was over the police collected the sin tax for the “new whore.”
    Her mother gathered her up, held her tightly as they both cried. But where the child Rebekka had thought her mother’s trembling and tears were like her own, the dreaming adult saw terror on her mother’s face.
    She looked around and saw the black dog, remembering it now. It came from the woods, sickness radiating from it, and something inside her unfurled. The desire to ease its suffering, the first stirrings of her gift.
    The settlement police saw the dog, too. They fired on it with their guns, killing it, but not before it had bitten one of them.
    “You brought the rabid dog here, little healer,” the urchin said, suddenly there, standing next to her mother though no one else seemed to see him.
    He smiled and stroked the rat on his shoulder. Leaned forward and laughed when she struggled wildly, her mother’s arms preventing her from escaping.
    “I’ve given you a piece of myself,” he said, his ice-cold lips touching hers, breath tasting of disease slipping into her mouth as his words slid into her mind. Forget now, until it’s time for you to join the game.
    Rebekka woke retching. Shivering. Coated in cold sweat.
    The healer’s journal tumbled to the floor as she rolled off her bed, disoriented, shaken by the dream.
    She bent down and picked up the book. Smoothed a bent page with a hand that trembled before closing the journal and putting it into the pocket of her pants.
    “It was only a dream,” she whispered into the silence of the room, telling herself the horrors she’d been reading about before falling asleep had triggered the nightmare memories of being held down and tattooed, telling herself the encounter with the demon and his talk of games had woven the image of the