“It sounds like everyone’s content and happy,” I said, listening to him as he told me of his business. “How has Joan been while I’ve been gone?” I cast a glance over at him and saw the features of his face tense ever so slightly.
“Joanie has slept well. I’ve been giving her the syrup. She’s been spending more time awake than she has in months. Our daughters are overjoyed at being able to spend precious time with their mother.” Archard’s face softened but I didn’t fail to see the shadows of knowing that her relief was only temporary. There was nothing that we could do to cure the wasting sickness, or cancer, as Archard’s people called it. Cancer was a miserable death but fortunately, there were things that I could do to lessen its horror.
“She is very anxious to meet you,” He said, catching me off guard. “I told her about you and your medicines, as well as your connection to Brona. She’s ever so grateful. Would you be willing to say hello when we get back to the house?”
I said that I would but to be truthful, I was apprehensive, even though there was no reason for it. From all that I knew, Archard’s wife was a pleasant woman with a sweet, loving disposition. But through my years of healing, I knew that sickness could often change a personality drastically. It could turn the wicked into mewling kittens and the sweet into monsters. Even though we had only known one another for just a handful of days, I was already fond of Archard and his family, and I wanted to help his wife in any way that I could. I just couldn’t bear it if she became violent with her words or if she ordered me from the house without question. Being denied the ability to help someone who was suffering needlessly bothered me greatly.
“Yvaine,” Archard’s words interrupted my train of thought and brought me back into the present. “Are you, all right? You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world upon your shoulders.”
“I’m just tired,” I answered truthfully. My body was weary from the travel over the last week. I didn’t want to tell him the other reason. That I was afraid that despite what he said, the kind woman that he worshipped would take one look at me and throw me out.
“There is a warm bed waiting for you back at my house, too. My door is always open.” He said ever grateful.
“Hello there, Archie!” A woman called as we were passing by. “How’s Joanie doing, love?” I glanced to see a squatty, heavy-set woman bounding towards us.
“Hello, Dorcas,” My newfound friend waved to the woman. When she drew closer, I looked at our sudden companion. She was at least a foot shorter than me with a ruddy complexion, and kind, fawn-brown eyes. “Joan is fine. We’re just on our way now to see her.”
“And who might you be?” Dorcas eyed me with suspicious interest.
“Yvaine,” I held my hand out to her, just as I had seen others of the town do.
“Yvaine is a healer. She’s a friend of mine, as well as Daffyd and Sibbe’s. She’s also the young woman that gave Brona succor after she was robbed on the road. She’s been helping Joan manage her pain.” Dorcas cast a glance down the length of me before nodding her head with approval.
“I’ll be. You helped Brona, did ye now? Well, then it is a pleasure to meet you, Yvaine.” She wiped her hand grabbing mine and giving it several hearty shakes. “Joan is a dear friend. I thank ye for your kindness. I wonder, would you happen to know anything about eyesight?” Dorcas asked, expertly changing the focus of the conversation. “I get such headaches at times that it is hard to do my work in the evening. It makes my vision all bleary and makes it impossible to see. They usually come when the weather is warm, or humid. Last night it was so bad that I could barely sleep.”
“Lavender oil will help calm you while mint oil will help ease the pain. You can also drink chamomile tea to help calm you, as well.” I said as I reached my hand into my bag and pulled out two bottles. I handed Dorcas a lavender and mint infusion, as well as a bottle of dried chamomile flowers. “Add a couple of pinches of the chamomile to your tea. It has a flowery, apple-like taste. It’s delicious with a dollop of honey as well. Massage the oil into your temples as soon as you feel a headache starting to come on.” I gestured to her on how to use them. “And most importantly, try to rest. Don’t overtax yourself. Too much stress will only make the headaches worse and bring them on more frequently.”
“You can trust her recommendations to work, Dorcas. This young lady is a miracle worker,” Archard beamed proudly as his smile stretched his mouth across the width of his face. His arm slipped around my shoulders and hugged me tight in a half-embrace.
“I thank ye for your advice. I’ll try these,” Dorcas gripped the bottles tightly. “Are you going to be staying for the Faire?”
“I am not sure,” I didn’t want to say yes or now because I was still not certain on how I would be received by the rest of the village.
“You would be a fool not to. There are lots of folks here, and three times as many travel great distances just to take part in the Faire. Many will arrive sick or wounded, all looking for something to soothe what ails them. You could make yourself a fair bit of coin by staying.” Dorcas added as she slipped the bottles into her apron pockets. A shriek sounded from her house. Bidding us goodbye, she charged towards home to break up the children’s row that was taking place inside.
“You should stay for the Market Faire, Yvaine.” Archard let go of me as we resumed our journey back to his house. “Sibbe intends to sell meat pies and there is plenty of room at the end of my stall if you want to set up some of your wares. I know quite a few of the merchants and they are often complaining of some ache or pain. You could do a lot for them if you stayed.” It was the ‘you could do a lot for them if you stayed,’ that cemented my decision to remain for the Market Faire. After all, what did I have to lose?
************
The Faire started on Friday. According to Archard, everyone would start arriving at the beginning of the week. Once camps were made, stalls and carts would be set up and trading would begin on Friday and continue until dusk on Sunday.
“Trades almost always take place on or around holy days.” He instructed me as I debated on what to display and nervousness ate at my belly. “And if anyone hassles you, tell them you are with me. Since you are dealing in herb craft, there is no Guild to bother you. At least we can take comfort in that.” I nodded at him, hoping that I remembered everything and that my first go at larger trade was successful.
************
The opening day was overwhelming. The city’s population quadrupled overnight. In all my years, I had never seen this number of souls in one place. People flooded in through the gates, turning the quiet hamlet into a vibrant, bustling village. As I stood at the stall, ready to sell my wares, I watched the people move about around me.
“It can be a little inundating,” Sibbe said as she placed the collection of pies that she made out for the public’s inspection.
“That is an understatement,” I replied, still amazed at how many people had come into the city. “Where do they all sleep? There is not enough room at the inn or even the abbey for them.” I asked, the question suddenly coming to me.
“Most of them camp outside the city walls,” Archard answered for Sibbe. He came forward, carrying a large bundle of dyed cloth that was intended to be sold to the highest bidder. “There is an open green space just beyond the east wall, near the gate where they make their camps while they are here to do business. There are others that sleep right at their stalls, as you will soon see. If the monk’s barracks hadn’t burned down, the Abbey would have rented out the spare rooms to travelers.” He sat the bundle down and stood with his hands firmly placed upon his hips. I was slightly jealous at how his confidence made everything seem so easy.
“And most of them will be gone after services on Sunday,” Sibbe included. “The priests invite everyone to mass so that they can bless all the travelers with a safe journey home.”
“And collect their tithes,” Archard added with knowing. I looked around the crowd, now seeing the
said priests weaving in and out of the throng, each man carrying a box that passersby dropped coins into. According to Archard, most of the vowed men remained at the Abbey, except for when the markets were taking place.
“Other than collecting money, they sell bread,” Sibbe explained, pointing across the way to a rickety stall filled with rounded loaves of dark bread. “They use it to buy livestock and purchase wares that they sorely need.” I followed her finger to where two monks worked laying out loaves that I was all too familiar with. A feeling of excitement shot through me I was reminded of the bread that we feasted on back home. “The flour is coarse. Sometimes I find bits from the grindstones in it and have to sift them out before baking but the priests’ flour is by far better than what one can get on the other side of town,” she said. “Later on, we’ll go over and buy a couple of loaves for dinner tonight.” My friend gave me a smile, no doubt thinking ahead about our supper and how the purchase of the monk’s bread would no doubt lighten our load.
************
Business was slow at first. I knew practically no one save Daffyd, Sibbe, Dorcas, and Archard. The people that approached the stall instantly went to Sibbe and purchased her pies. Very few looked my direction, no doubt distrustful of what I peddled. Sibbe, seeing my lack of luck, began asking her customers how they were and immediately turned any ailment or complaint towards me.
“My dear friend here,” She said to a tiny, stout, dark-haired woman who had come looking for soft food, complaining of a toothache. “She has just the thing for you. Don’t you, Yvaine?” I was so used to being ignored at that point that I did not hear her at first. Snapping awake to the present, I asked the woman where the pain was located, how often it occurred, and how severe. What I didn’t ask about were the multiple fading bruises on the underside of her chin. I knew from first sight that there wasn’t anything physically wrong with her. Her toothache was caused by being beaten by her husband. No doubt he had broken her jaw at one point, and it had not set correctly. Seeing that it was healed, although improperly, I gave her a bag of valerian root, ground clove, a bag of chamomile flowers, and a sachet of dried lavender. “This,” I said, holding up the chamomile, will help keep you calm,” I explained. “The clove will qualm the pain in your teeth.” I instructed her to place the lavender under her pillow to aid I restful sleep. “This,” I held up the valerian root. “Will help your husband sleep. Any man who works hard deserves a decent rest at night. Tell him it’s for virility, though,” I said and startled at the panic in her eyes. “I promise that he’ll be out before he thinks of touching you.” I winked, instantly seeing the hope in her eyes at the mention of spending a night untouched.
“Thank you,” The woman said eagerly, snatching the collection of herbs from my hands and exchanged them with a few coins. “I am very grateful to you.” She thanked me again before disappearing back into the crowd.
“Why did you give her medicine for her husband?” Sibbe asked me. “She did not mention that there was anything ill with him?”
“Because her body isn’t the creator of her misery. Did you see the bruises on the underside of her jaw? I would bet and win that her husband hits her when he is angry or frustrated. The valerian will help calm him and give him relaxing sleep throughout the night. I can’t fix her situation, but I can give her things to make it more bearable.” I explained, hoping that what I could do was enough.
Sibbe gave me a squeeze in lieu of words and soon, I found myself busy to the point of being overwhelmed. By the time the first night of the market was over, I was low on supplies and my purse was heavy with coin. After putting our wares away for the night, Sibbe and I went to Archard’s and made dinner. Salted ham, pickled eggs, cheese, the monk’s bread, and fresh-churned salted butter served as our feast that night and we ate appreciatively.
“How did you do today?” Archard asked as I was biting into a pickled egg. The savory taste of the egg was ecstasy on my tongue. He sat beside me, steadily chewing on a piece of ham. I glanced his way and found his eyes transfixed on me as he eagerly awaited my reply.
“I did well,” I told him honestly. “I am nearly out of the supplies that I brought but have enough to purchase other things that I’m in need of.”
“That is good to hear.” Archard encouraged me as he popped another piece of smoked salted ham into his mouth. “Do you think that you will start attending the markets regularly then?” His question was one that I had been asking myself. I went silent as I mulled over my decision.
“I think I will,” I told him, looking forward to this new way of making money that I discovered was necessary when it came to life in the outside world.
“You’re welcome any time,” Archard extended his invitation further. I drew in a sigh and finished off the last of my egg. While my friends sat around me chatting and sharing the highlights of their day, I sat quietly, thinking back on how much has happened to me since I left the Island.
I reflected on the life that I left behind. What had happened after everyone realized that I was gone? Did the harvests fail? Did another wave of sickness cut a fatal path through the populace? How were Eweln and Aunt Leena? What about Ravene? How was she? As I thought of my sister, I was surprised to find the anger and the disgust that I felt towards her was gone. Instead, it was replaced with disappointment. Disappointment that she had put her own selfish ahead of giving me a shred of compassion and understanding. And disappointment that she wasn’t the sister that I thought she was.
Aunt Leena and Eweln were most in my thoughts since the day I willingly distanced myself from that world. The regret from not saying goodbye still ate at me. The only time it went silent was when the Hermit had mentioned Aunt Leena’s inquiries about me. Eweln was different, though. I had to remind myself that she would know why I had left, and that she would have encouraged it. Eweln had witnessed such cruelty before many times, she said. Horrors that she would take to her grave. What did she think when she realized that I wasn’t coming back? That we would never see each other again? I couldn’t dwell on those thoughts, though. My life was here. I lived in this world now. I wanted to continue to live amongst the people of this land and to keep my past safely where it belonged: in the past.
************
Town life reminded me so much of life upon the Island. In thanks to Archard’s generosity, I stayed until the faire ended and quickly made friends with several of the residents. Out of all the people that I met, the one I connected strongly with was a nun from the Abbey. Sister Adeline was a tall, elegant-featured woman who possessed both inner and outer beauty. I had no doubt that if she hadn’t vowed herself to her God, men would have fought over the chance to have her as their wife. Sister Adeline was beyond the wants and desires of men. Her steadfast commitment to her faith left me in awe.
We met on the last day of my first faire. I was tending my stall, answering Brother Paul’s question on digestive orders when she approached us, reserved and regal.
“Ah, Sister Adeline,” Brother Paul smiled as she stepped from the bustling crowd and approached us. “How wonderful to see you. We were certain that you were going to miss the faire entirely.” He stepped back, allowing her a chance to peruse my wares.
“I am out of rosemary. I have a child afflicted with croup. I heard that there was a stall selling herbs and I’ve come in search of temporary supplies until I can make more.” Having just what she needed, I handed over a crock of rosemary-infused ointment to her. The sister took it without question and opened the lid to examine the contents inside.
“I also have an expectorant syrup if you need that as well,” I said, studying her face to judge her reaction.
“That would be most helpful. I must say, this is fine quality.” The sister said as she dipped her finger into the waxy salve. “Where did you learn to make this?”
“I was instructed by an excellent healer. The recipe is hers. It’s a blend of nut oil and beeswax. It retains a creamy texture for spreading but remains thick and resista
nt like straight wax.” Sister Adeline glanced back and forth between me and the crock.
“What are you doing tomorrow…” She asked directly while searching for my name.
“Yvaine,” I said. “And I was planning on returning home.”
“Yvaine.” The sister bobbed her head as she gave my syrup a sniff. “Could I ask you to postpone your trip for a day or too? I would greatly appreciate it if you would come to the Abbey and show me how to make this.” She asked sincerely and announced that she would take both the salve and the tincture.
“I would be happy to.” I replied as a sudden surge of pride rushed through me.
“I would like to learn as well, if I may join you?” Brother Paul asked politely.
“Of course,” Sister Adeline and I said in unison. Sharing a glance, the three of us shared small talk about our healing skills, followed by a short round of laughter. After paying for what she needed, both Brother Paul and Sister Adeline waved me off and headed back to the Abbey.
The following morning, I rose early. Sibbe and Archard were up when I appeared. Archard sat at the table, studying a drawing while Sibbe stirred porridge over the hearth.
“Good morning, Yvaine,” Sibbe greeted me happily. Archard’s head shot up from the paper resting in his hands and greeted me with an exuberant smile.
“Good morning,” He chimed, echoing Sibbe perfectly. “Please, come sit and have something to eat before you head to the Abbey.” He motioned to the seat across from him. Glancing towards the hearth, Sibbe was already spooning oat porridge into a crockery bowl. She brought it over to me and urged me to eat.
I devoured the honey-sweetened oat porridge and was out the door before anyone could follow after me. Moving at a steady pace, I crossed the length of town quickly and soon arrived at my destination. Sister Adeline stood under a large, shady oak tree as I caught sight of the tall, stone building that housed the brothers and sisters that had pledged their lives to their God.
The Island of Mists Page 23
