The Sleep Healer
7 hrs. 59 min.
Born into a family of geomancers-investigators, I always believed that lack of gifts was my personal curse. Those kind of broken pink glasses, through which you constantly have to watch the highborn crowd. At fourteen, after a bitter argument with my father, I ran away from home, refusing the golden passport of an aristocrat. Oh, how loudly my father screamed back then!
Four years passed. After the Last Bell at a regular school, my grandfather-archmage came to see me and said, “Dovlatov, what the hell geomancers? You’re a healer! And one of the strongest in the world. Go study at the Academy in another country (Aran). I’ll help you with money.”
Who knew that within a day I would indeed have to be sent to the Academy on the other end of the world. And that my grandfather would turn out to be a seriously out-of-this-world deity of the healing craft from that very Committee of Siles.
Four years passed. After the Last Bell at a regular school, my grandfather-archmage came to see me and said, “Dovlatov, what the hell geomancers? You’re a healer! And one of the strongest in the world. Go study at the Academy in another country (Aran). I’ll help you with money.”
Who knew that within a day I would indeed have to be sent to the Academy on the other end of the world. And that my grandfather would turn out to be a seriously out-of-this-world deity of the healing craft from that very Committee of Siles.
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