Pierric stepped in through the front door and then closed it behind him.
“Is that you, cousin?” Maelys called from the alcove.
“Aye. It’s me,” Pierric said then turned to Sara. “How are ye, lass?”
Sara smiled. “Fine. Maelys is making us some supper.”
“Good, good.” Pierric stretched his hands out over the fire, though she didn’t think he was cold.
“Do you need any help?” Sara called.
“No.” Maelys appeared carrying a pot and hung it on a hook over the fire. “I was preparing my supper when you knocked. I only needed to add a few more vegetables.” Maelys focused on Pierric. “So tell me, how does my cousin fare down by the ocean?”
Pierric cowered beneath Maelys’s black gaze. “Fine, just fine.”
“And where did you find this girl?”
“We...I...she...” He scratched under his hat, then quickly snatched it off his head, messing his thick gray hair in the process. “On the beach.”
Sara didn’t have time to be surprised at Pierric’s timidity before Maelys turned an appraising eyes toward her. “How did you come to be on the great waters? Shipwreck?”
Sara nodded. “Yes.”
“A gift from the Mother then? My, this is interesting.” Maelys turned back to Pierric. “And why do you think she can learn the craft?”
“I know I’m not a true healer, but I know my herbs,” Sara answered before Pierric could speak. “I only lack practice.”
“Why?” Maelys blinked slowly.
“Why? I haven’t had the opportunity.”
Maelys shook her head. “Why do you want it?”
Sara met Maelys’s shrewd gaze. With this woman, only honesty would do. She hoped the woman would know there was more Sara wasn’t telling, but couldn’t yet. “I need to make a living. Of the skills I have, this seemed the best choice.”
“A choice you may learn to regret.” Maelys took a step closer to Sara. “But then maybe not. There’s more to you than at first appears. Teann is heavy about you, almost an aura.” Maelys’s eyebrows drew together. Her eyes grew cloudy.
“Teann?” Sara’s heart began to beat faster. This woman was the first to speak of it openly.
Maelys blinked and then whirled into action. “The stew will be ready soon. Pierric, there’s a chair on the porch. Unless you want to eat standing up, fetch it.”
* * *
Sara heard Pierric stir before morning chased away darkness. He slept in the room Maelys called the porch, accessed by the door near the fireplace. It was an addition to the house, probably used for her patients and boasting its own entrance. The house was quiet. Maelys must still be asleep in a small room off the kitchen that the old healer used as bedroom and for storage.
The cot creaked on its wooden crosspieces as Sara adjusted her position. She lay on her back staring at the rafters heavy with drying herbs. It resembled an upside-down garden. Her thoughts flew to the previous day and Maelys, whose mere presence caused Pierric to quake in his boots. She thought of her grandfather and smiled; he would’ve liked the cantankerous old woman. Melancholy weighed her down. Grandfather, I wish you were here. Even if only for a moment. Just one more hug, one more chance to say I love you, I’m sorry.
Sara rolled off the cot, shrugged her shirt over her shoulders and wrapped the skirt around her waist. She knew where that path led and it was not one she wanted to follow today. There were enough challenges ahead. After pulling her hair back into a braid, she folded the blankets and placed them on the cot.
“You’re not afraid of work. That’s one thing in your favor.” Maelys stepped in through the door, a basket in her arms. “Fetch some water and I’ll start breakfast.”
Not still asleep but up and busy. The woman must have risen well before the sun. Sara stepped out the front door, breathing the cool morning air, then skirted the house until she found a large barrel half-full of rainwater. There didn’t seem to be a well. She filled the bucket then looked around. Maelys had no neighbors in sight. The house backed up to a dark forest. Sara paused, listening to the birds chirp. The smell of bread greeted Sara when she stepped back inside.
“Place it by the fire,” Maelys directed. “The morning meal is ready.”
Sara moved to the porch to rouse Pierric.
“Don’t bother. He went to town early this morn. I don’t fancy he’ll be back until he’s found a caravan heading toward the ocean.” She shook her head. “I can’t say I blame him.”
“Why is Pierric scared of you?” Sara asked.
Maelys laughed. “Noticed that, did you? He always has been. We both grew up in Tyrol. I’m quite a bit older than Nolwen, but a wee bit younger yet than Pierric. We attended lessons together. One day, he pushed me in the mud. I told him I’d place a curse on him. A few days later, his frog died. He always thought I had something to do with it.”
“Did you?”
“If I knew how to curse people or pets, I wouldn’t be living in this shack eking out a living. Besides, harming a creature in that way goes against any healer’s nature.” Maelys smiled. “But then, it doesn’t hurt to have people a little intimidated. They follow instruction better, give you less trouble. Something you’ll soon find out on your own.”
“But Pierric is such a sensible man.”
“Sensibility has little to do with fear of the unknown.” Maelys’s eyes darkened. “And some fear is sensible, girl, don’t you forget that.”
After breakfast, Maelys disappeared in to the porch and returned carrying a long stick with a round metal piece on one end. She handed the device to Sara.
Sara took the stick, examining the metal piece.
“Haven’t you ever seen a tindra?”
“Mmm, not like this.” She’d used a pronged device to weed big portions of their garden.
Maelys harrumphed. “I want to find out what you know.”
“What I know?”
“Yes, you came here for training, didn’t you? Weed the garden out front. I’ll be able to tell if you know your plants quick enough.”
Sara took the tindra and walked out to the front yard, examining the metal attachment. It was almost like a thin horseshoe. Surveying the yard, she decided to start at one end and work her way to the other. Grasses grew in clumps around the tall fragrant herbs, many of which she didn’t recognize. Leaving the tool against the house, Sara dropped to her knees. The plants were spaced too close to risk using the device.
By midday, Sara had weeded her way to the middle of the yard. She stood and stretched her back, hearing her spine pop in rapid succession.
“Why didn’t you pull that one?”
Maelys approached from the rear of the house. She followed Maelys’s finger to the offending plant. Long ornamental leaves lay low to the ground, yellow flowers stood proud atop delicate stems. “It’s lion’s head.”
Maelys raised a single eyebrow. “What do you use it for?”
Sara was not sure whether Maelys’s question was genuine or a test. “Lion’s head has many uses. It’s almost a panacea. It’s used as a tea to cure stomach upsets. It’s an excellent blood purifier—one of the best. The fresh juice is antiseptic, good to clean wounds. And though I’ve never tried it, the entire plant is edible.”
Maelys smiled. “I use it in my spring tonic. People come from far away to buy it. Chases away the spring fever and gives health to the whole body.” Maelys turned. “Oh, and you can make a lovely dye out of the roots, deep red. In case you’re ever so inclined.”
Without another word, the woman turned and disappeared into the house. Sara shrugged then bent down to pull a purplish-green weed creeping across the artemisia.
* * *
Pierric entered as they finished their midday meal, his round hat held before him.
&nbs
p; “There’s more, if you’re hungry,” Maelys offered.
“I thank ye, but I grabbed a bite at the tavern in town.”
“Is that all ye grabbed, cousin?” Maelys slipped into the accent of her homeland.
“Aye, cousin, soup and bread. Ye know I don’t fancy the drink.”
“And one of the few men who doesn’t.” Maelys rose from the table, clearing dishes.
Pierric turned to Sara. “There’s a caravan heading west leavin’ in the mornin’. I’ve arranged to join it.”
The sound of water splashing into the wooden tub could be heard coming from the alcove. Pierric twisted his hat in a circle. “Maelys,” he called, “I bought some material in town. I’m gonna fix that fence now.”
Maelys didn’t answer at once, but the sloshing noises paused. “Thank you, Pierric.”
“I’ll keep you company. I still have a bit of weeding to do.” Sara winked at the man and together they headed into the afternoon sun.
Outside, Sara finished weeding the garden, sharing silences and conversation with Pierric as he fixed the shabby fence.
The sun sent long shadows before them as Pierric wiped his brow, surveying the finished job. Long grass lay trampled around freshly whitewashed timber. “By the Mother, it makes the house look worse, doesn’t it now?”
Sara glanced from the fence to the house and laughed. “I’d have to agree with you there.”
Pierric shook his head. “If I stayed to do all the repairs this place needs, I wouldn’t be able to leave till next thaw.”
“I know how to use tools. I’ll not let the place fall down on us.”
“Sara, ye gonna be all right here?”
Sara straightened. All right? The ocean had taken that from her. But she would survive. She had to. “Yes, this is where I need to be.”
Pierric’s rough hand swallowed hers. His blue eyes softened. “She’s not such a bad un.” He shrugged toward the house. “All bark and no bite. Mostly. And ye, don’t forget us. Visit anytime ye can.”
“I’ll remember. Thank you.”
“I best head toward town. They leave ’fore sunrise tomorrow.”
Pierric loaded his wagon, then, with a final wave, snapped the horse’s reins. As the wagon drew away, Sara felt tears threaten. Pierric was the last link between her old life and new. She turned to see Maelys watching from the doorway, her face shadowed.
* * *
Long, tapered fingers tapped against the rich wooden table. Firelight danced along their curved lengths, as though it were a living thing. The only other noise in the room was the occasional crackle of the fire and his own heartbeat. So mesmerized by the rhythmic beat of the fingers, he jumped when the silence was broken.
“I have waited long for this day. Longer than you can imagine. But my business takes me elsewhere. It is an irritant, but unavoidable. This task takes no special skill, besides brute force. And we know at that you excel.”
Images of fire, dying women, children and blood-soaked battlefields filled his mind. Yes, he’d made a name for himself among his tribe. His enemies feared him and he had been chosen above all others by the master.
“You can accomplish it easily.”
Randver, the Hawk, kept his gaze on the now still hand. “Gladly, I serve you.”
“The keeper is but a girl. Untrained. Easy. You know what to do?”
“It will not let it slip from your grasp.”
“There is no cost too high. Bring it to me and all will be well.” The fingers tightened, curling, drawing into themselves, and suddenly he couldn’t catch his breath. “With you and your tribe.”
He gasped. The threat was clear. “I will, Master. I will not fail you.”
“See that you don’t.”
The hand relaxed, fingers spread over the table in a gentle caress. Randver sighed in relief, fighting the need to breathe air deep into his lungs.
“Go.”
The gentle tapping of fingers against oak accompanied the command.
What an honor his master bestowed upon him. He fought a shiver. Still, it was an honor with a bite. He’d seen the bodies of those who failed the great man—both theirs and their loved ones. He bowed low and edged from the room, fighting the urge to run.
Chapter Five
The afternoon sun warmed Sara’s neck and shoulders as she bent over, inspecting the plants in the field near Maelys’s house, but did nothing for her chilled hands. The healer not only cultivated her own herbs, but kept track of where wild herbs grew within a day’s walk. These had been right where she’d said they’d be. As Sara pulled each plant from the ground, she brushed moist earth from the root, examining it for defects, and then snapped off the heart-shaped leaves and delicate purple flowers, leaving them where they grew and placing the root in her basket.
Sara stood, eyeing the results of her labor. The broken soil reminded her of a gravesite—the fading flowers, testament of a mourner. Was she still a mourner? She picked up one the flowers and inhaled its rich fragrance. An empty place inside her still ached, but the pain wasn’t as severe as before. Disloyalty clouded her mind and she closed her eyes in a vain attempt to shut it out.
Grandfather wouldn’t want her to mourn forever. He’d want her to go on with her life. Then why do I feel guilty doing that? She tossed the remaining flower on the ground with the rest. Maelys wouldn’t bring flowers home, no matter how gorgeous. She didn’t appreciate beauty without purpose and in the last two moons, Sara had learned to avoid the woman’s sharp tongue.
A steady flow of villagers visited the small cabin or came seeking Maelys’s tonics. Only twice had the old healer been called to a home. Both times she returned and collapsed on her bed for the remainder of the day or night. After a while, Maelys began to direct the villagers to Sara. Maelys never questioned her in front of patients, but quizzed her after they left. Her confidence was growing.
It was a short walk to the woods, where thick branches twined together to provide shelter for shade loving plants. Sara was tempted to linger in the peaceful surroundings but she thought of her list of tasks still undone and continued her rapid pace. It was the last of the harvest and Maelys was a flurry of activity. Sara had risen before the sun to meditate and practice Shi’ia and, with the sun now in the west, she’d yet to sit and rest. Dreams has once again invaded her slumber. They weren’t as vivid as they’d been in Tyrol, but disturbing all the same.
She hadn’t spoken to Maelys about Teann or the stone, let alone the Siobani, partly out of exhaustion and partly because she sensed that until Maelys trusted her, she wouldn’t get any information. Her life had fallen into a busy pattern where she seldom had time to think of anything except the next task. Maelys followed moon cycles with religious fervor. It was the waning moon, time to harvest all root herbs and prepare dried ones for storage. Following Maelys’ instructions, Sara continued her wandering harvest.
With her basket filled, Sara retraced her steps when she spotted a low-growing plant not on her list. The flowers had faded with the spring, leaving the only the leaves, but they were enough for her to identify it as Bethroot. Careful not to bruise the rhizome, Sara unearthed the plant, breathing the rich, cloying smell of wet soil, and added it to her basket.
“Cailech!” A clod of dirt crashed into a nearby tree.
Sara dropped her basket and crouched, reaching for her wooden practice sword, ready to spring when she realized the voice belonged to a child. Another clod fell, no closer than the first. Tracing the source of the dirt with her gaze, she saw leaves rustle and heard the sound of footsteps in retreat.
Hefting her b
asket, Sara picked up the fallen roots and made her way to Maelys’s house. She would have dismissed the incident as children playing a prank, but there had been scorn and fear behind the voices.
One thing was certain, it was time to find a real sword.
* * *
The warmth and fragrance of the house caught her breath and brought tears to her eyes.
“Close the door,” Maelys said. “You’ll let the good medicine out.”
Sara shut the door and placed her basket on the table. Maelys stood, gripping the table, her body tense.
“Maelys?”
“Bethroot?” Maelys peered into the basket and examined the rhizome. “This wasn’t on the list. I suppose it’ll be handy if someone comes to us with a rotting limb.” She moved to stir the pot boiling over the fire. Her motions were stiff.
“What’s wrong?”
“Smell it. Most often, you can tell the use of a plant by its smell. That root smells like death and that’s what it’s for.”
“Maelys?”
“Old age.” She shrugged. “Happens the best of us. Nothing to do for it. It’ll pass. Always does. Until it doesn’t, that is.” The old woman lifted her mouth in a parody of a smile.
Sympathy for the old woman filled her. Herbs could only do so much. Not for the first time, Sara wished she was a real healer. She’d be more than willing to take some of Maelys’s pain into her own body. But then that was the problem. Even though healers didn’t bear the full brunt of the weakness or sickness, it eventually took its toll on them physically. Maelys had been healing for many years.
She retrieved the kettle to brew flax into a tea. It would ease the ache from Maelys’s joints. “Is there a blacksmith nearby?” Although Sara didn’t turn, she could almost feel the old healer start.
“A few days’ walk north.”
Sara nodded. “I need a sword.”
“Reckon the blacksmith there knows how to make a sword. Did you decide that wooden one wouldn’t last you in a real fight? You’d be right.”
Journey of Awakening Page 7
