“I am very happy to see you,” Sister Adeline said as I approached her. “I don’t know why, but I had a feeling that you might not come.” She admitted.
“I don’t go back on my word. If I make a promise, I see it through.” I said. Sister Adeline motioned for me to follow. I gladly fell in line behind her. We remained quiet as she escorted me across the ground to a small, sandstone building in the middle of construction.
“This is to be my hospice.” She said as she tried to disguise her pride. “We received a donation from a nobleman’s family after I assisted his wife during childbirth,” Sister Adeline paused long enough to draw in a long breath and let it out. “Lady Gilbert has had many pregnancies but, until now, has had no living children to show for them. I was traveling back from the North when the nobleman’s man stopped us on the road, begging my brother monks and I for help. When her servants took me to her, I discovered that her baby was breach and that the umbilical cord was wrapped around the child’s neck, strangling it. I loosened the cord and got the babe turned around before I delivered him healthy and screaming into his mother’s arms. Each child before had been strangled by the cord, you see. No one had had the foresight to remove the obstruction before delivery. The boy is three now and his mother often brings him here to visit me. Her gratitude for a healthy, living child has funded what see here before you. Because our Lord placed me in the right place at the right time, he has bestowed us with the ability to help those that cannot help themselves.”
I listened as Sister Adeline told me of her experiences. Her knowledge as a healer was mesmerizing. Listening to her was like listening to Eweln. I knew that if they had had the chance to meet, the two women would have gotten along well. Both possessed the gentle grace that came with a life dedicated to mending the wounded and healing the sick. The two also possessed keen minds that took well-thought-out approaches rather than rash decisions often ended tragically. Standing beside the tall, graceful woman, I was proud to have made a new friend.
Brother Paul joined us a half-hour later and the three of us produced several batches of ointment, each one infused with a different herb. We also crafted tinctures, draughts, and syrups that would see the growing hospice through until the next Faire. I left my new friends that night, exhausted yet exhilarated. I relished in the sweet, familiar ache in my bones and fell into bed, exhausted but unexpectedly heartsick for home. I wouldn’t go back, I told myself over and over as I lay in the darkness. As Archard and Daffyd’s soft snores echoed through the house, I realized what finding this place and meeting this people was. It was the Goddess’ way of returning some of what I had lost back to me. When I left the Island, and after Talen and Bird had died, the idea of family and community was a thing of the past. The Goddess in her infinite wisdom saw my need and fulfilled it. I had all that I needed. I had family around me. I had friends, and a community. Most of all, I could practice my craft and find pride within my ability again.
************
Joan died six weeks after I first came to town. Daffyd, Sibbe, their children, and I stood beside Archard and his two daughters as Joan was laid to eternal rest. I listened as Prior Michael prayed over her body and promised peace in the life beyond. As he prayed, eyes closed and fervent in his faith, I mentally sang the funeral songs of my people. Despite the Christian’s belief in punishment by burning in eternal hellfire, I knew that Joan Merchant was at peace. Someday, she would see her husband and daughters again and that she was now with the sister. That was what the Goddess taught the faithful. That death was just another part of life. That our spirits didn’t disappear the moment breath left our body. No, we continued to live to see new days, meet new people, and have new experiences.
I stole a glance at Archard who stood stoically as he held each of his daughter’s hands. Aethyln, his oldest, wept into a handkerchief. Her heartbreak radiated off of her like the chill from the icy ground. Eadlin, his youngest daughter, matched her father’s stoicism. Eadlin possessed a strength that few men could match. Her inner strength was unwavering. The power that resided in her was breathtaking and I respected her for it.
“Amen,” Prior Michael finished his prayer and concluded the funeral. Turning away, he left while the rest of us remained at the freshly dug grave and the linen-shroud wrapped body of a magnificently kind woman.
“Girls, take a handful of earth and throw it,” Archard urged them solemnly, taking great consideration with Aethyln while Eadlin needed no guidance. Once they had each tossed a handful in, Archard bent down, scooped up a handful of his own and righted himself. Raising his clenched, dirt-filled hand to his lips, he kissed it and tossed it into his wife’s grave. “Rest in peace, my love,” His voice broke as he said his final goodbyes. Wrapping an arm around each of his daughters, Archard escorted them out of the burial grounds and began to lead the way home. The rest of us followed silently behind.
When we reached Archard’s house, Aethyln burst through the door and ran upstairs to her room. Loud, body-shaking sobs echoed down the short staircase mere seconds later. Eadlin, to her credit, announced that she was going upstairs because her sister needed her. The rest of us hurried inside and went about our daily tasks. Archard sat at the table, studying the plans that he was forever working on. Daffyd set to work cleaning his tools for the following morning. Sibbe and I worked preparing dinner. Everyone but Aethyln sat down at the table that evening and quietly ate the roasted fish that Dorcas had sent over. I watched everyone as we sat together, making no noise except the sounds of chewing, sipping, and swallowing. I had never experienced grief like this before. Grief shared with a group, rather than the solitary grief that I had tasted in the past. The support, the comfort, and the love that emanated from that silent table left me humbled and sorry for what my mourning lacked.
“I want to thank everyone for being with us today,” Archard said suddenly, interrupted the silence of the spacious room. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me and my family to have you there with us.” He added just as his voice cracked with unspoken emotion. He took the time he needed to collect himself before he was able to speak once more. “Yvaine,” He turned towards me, his brown eyes meeting mine. “I especially want to thank you for making Joanie’s last days peaceful and pain free.” His hand suddenly had hold of mine. “I can never repay you for what you’ve done for my Joanie, and for my family. You are a blessing from God.” Archard kissed my hand appreciatively before letting it go. Little did I know that his appreciation would gradually turn into something else.
************
The next year was filled with monthly markets, visits with my friends, and acquiring supplies only found in town. Within a couple of months, I had saved up enough to purchase a small wagon that I could push to town and back with very little effort. Its purchase afforded me the ability to carry and sell more supplies. I was an independent woman completely capable of supporting herself.
Through the townspeople and traveling tradesmen, I learned more about the world around me and how vastly different it was from the one I was raised in. Back on the Island, almost everyone was literate. We were taught from a young age to read and write. Because of the traders, some of us were multi-lingual. Out here, the opposite was true. Very few people could read—save the nobles and the servants of God. Out here, any talk of reading or writing was met with suspicion and ire. Knowing that, I kept my mouth closed and did the best to fit in.
My friendship with Archard, Sibbe, Daffyd, and my friends at the Abbey blossomed. I enjoyed our visits and often missed their company whenever I was home. The town brought joy into my life, but it also brought apprehension and distrust. While working in the Faires, I established a popular, favorable reputation for healing and medical knowledge. Many of the monks from the Abbey took notice and soon started to come to me with their complaints. Even Brother Paul, the Abbey’s elected healer, came to discuss remedies, to trade ideas, and to seek advice. Brother Paul was a unique man. Unlike his successor, he devoted himself to
healing, specifically the cultivation of herbs and plants for medicines. He shunned outdated, often-lethal practices like treating with dung or letting wounds fester with the false idea that it was ‘bad spirits’ being released from the body. Like Eweln, he believed that cleanliness was key in treatment, as well as prevention. Finding a kindred spirit within him, I donated my time away from my stall at the Abbey’s hospice, working tirelessly beside him and the newly elected Mother Adeline. Because of our shared interests, the three of us quickly became friends. It never failed to amaze us at what they had to teach me.
“To be honest, Yvaine, I am a solitary man. Being around so many people often makes me nervous.” Brother Paul confessed one Saturday when he came looking for mugwort to treat a liver ailment.
“I was like that too, when I was younger,” I answered him. “I found more companionship in a bluebell than a living person.” I smiled and handed him what he sought. Brother Paul reached into his purse to pay but I waved his money off. “No charge. Consider it in trade for the lavender bundles that you gave me last time.” I added, giving him a genuine smile.
“I hope that you do not intend to use this heathen’s witchcraft to treat our brothers,” A venomous voice interrupted our fraternity. My friend blanched at the sound of the voice. I watched keenly as Paul’s snowy-colored face flamed the next instant.
“Yvaine is not a heathen. She is a child of God. There is no witchcraft when God’s grace has given one the ability to heal,” Brother Paul stepped defensively in between me and the sudden intruder. I glanced over his shoulder to see the pinched-faced man who stood behind him. Brother Eadhbert was a mean-spirited, sour-natured rat of a man. He possessed the same black, beady-eyes and a rodent’s twitchy nose. His repulsive scent aura was something that I will never forget. Eadhbert reeked of sulfur and the foul stench of festering corpse. A scent that I hadn’t smelled since I last saw Cal.
“This woman is not a woman of faith,” Brother Eadhbert looked past Brother Paul and straight to me. “Her witchcraft is an abomination and it is sinful!” He cried out loud enough so that people close by turned their attention towards us. Unmoved, I fiercely stood firm while I met his eye and readied to defend myself.
“Brother Eadhbert, may I remind you that the Good Lord says to ‘judge not, lest thee be judged.” My friend came to my defense before I could.
“And ‘thee shall not suffer a witch to live,’” Brother Eadhbert responded, his stony, black eyes boring a hole into me.
“My good brothers, what is going on here?” A man with salt-and-pepper hair, standing much taller than the other two, approached us. Ocean, I thought. He smells like the ocean. I gave him a welcoming smile but remained silent. Brother Eadhbert went pale and his mouth clenched shut tight like a turtle’s ass.
“Brother Eadhbert was condemning my friend, Yvaine, of witchcraft, Prior Michael,” Brother Paul said truthfully glancing back and forth between the two men that flanked either side of him. “A charge that we all know should not be bantered about lightly.”
“Brother Eadhbert?” The Prior focused his attention on the shorter, rat-faced man as he waited for an explanation.
“I have heard that she is a heathen. Townsfolk have professed that this woman is a witch. That she is from an island where they worship Satan and condemn the glory of God.”
“That is a damned lie!” I shouted suddenly, burning with anger at his falsehoods. “I am not a witch and my people do not worship Satan!” I yelled, causing several more heads to swivel in our direction. My chest heaved but I said nothing further. Turning towards me, the Prior raised a peaceful hand.
“What is your name again, child?” He asked his hand still raised.
“Yvaine.”
“Yvaine, I see that you are a healer. A woman who works with herb craft.” I wondered if the prior would pass judgment upon me for working with herbs. A profession that very few women were called to and something that most of the male members of the church frowned upon. A profession that Sibbe had told me got many women my age and older excommunicated by the church and severely punished, if not killed.
“Aye, I am,” I answered, seeing Eadhbert seethe out of the corner of my eye.
“I believe that healing craft is a gift from God. He often calls upon those with the strongest of constitutions to deal with the afflicted amongst us. It takes a special faith and a singular type of selfless perseverance to do what you do, and only a godly woman would be able to achieve it.” The last bit was directed at Brother Eadhbert.
“She’s been assisting Mother Adeline and me at the hospice.” Brother Paul announced. “She’s the medicine maker.” Prior Michael’s eyes swept past Eadhbert and temporarily landed on Brother Paul before redirecting to me.
“When you return to the Abbey,” His eyes shot towards Eadhbert. “I would like you to come to the meeting room. There are a few things that we need to discuss.” His eyes focused on me once again. “As for you, Yvaine,” His warm eyes turned to me. “Come visit me at the Abbey. I would like to discuss more about what you know. Perhaps we can learn from one another.” With that, Prior Michael made the sign of the cross over me, wished me good tidings, and left us standing alone. Eadhbert stormed off down the lane towards the Abbey.
“Well, that was interesting,” Brother Paul laughed once Eadhbert was out of earshot. “How fortunate that Prior Michael was close by. He’s always been a decent, level-headed man. More God’s love than fire and brimstone.” Paul added as we shared a smile. “Although I think his intention is to see you convert to a nun.” Paul giggled and went back to his patients, the mugwort tincture in hand.
Returning to Archard’s that evening, I recalled my first encounter with the dreadful Brother Eadhbert. Upon hearing about the monk’s verbal attack on me, Archard announced that he would escort me from now on, no matter where I went.
“Eadhbert’s a vile, vicious imp,” Archard spat as he did his best to sit on his fury. “I will not let him disrespect you, Yvaine, and if he tries to speak to you again, he and I will have words!” Archard added with a firm humph, before turning back to Sibbe’s delicious mutton stew. I sat uncomfortably beside him. Without thinking, I looked up and found Sibbe smiling at me, no doubt thinking about something that she wouldn’t yet tell me. As I finished my share, I rose from the table and began to help with the dishes. Sibbe stood beside me as Daffyd joined the children in playing a game on the floor.
“I think he likes you,” Sibbe nudged my arm as I stood elbow deep in a basin of washing water. “It’s sweet the way he looks after you, don’t you think?” She added. I focused on the task before me instead of answering her straight away. Even though I knew what Sibbe was insinuating, I did not want to give her false hope when it came to the friendship that I shared with Archard. The man’s widowhood hadn’t been long, and I doubted that he and his girls were not ready for any drastic changes. My friend was also overlooking one major factor as well. She was ignoring the fact that I did not see myself getting married. I was content in my life and I also didn’t want to create any major changes. I was determined to keep my life as it was despite what she or anybody else wanted.
“It is kind, but I can take care of myself,” I said adamantly. “I’ve been doing it since I was sixteen years old.” I said firmly, hoping that she would understand my message loud and clear.
We passed the rest of the night companionably, even though an undercurrent of awkwardness hung in the air. Unsettled by Archard’s announcement and Sibbe’s hints, I chose to sleep at Daffyd and Sibbe’s that night, claiming that its proximity to the Abbey would allow me extra time to work with Mother Adeline come the morning. Even though it went unsaid, I was positive that everyone suspected it was because the dynamic had changed, and I didn’t know how to process it.
************
During each Faire that followed, I worked selling my treatments and herbal remedies. During the rest of the time, I made my way to the hospice and worked alongside Mother Adeline. Although he
r workspace was small, it was well-run, highly organized, easy to navigate, and treated a great number of ailments from minor burns to the dreadful wasting sickness. During the hours in between, I crafted remedies to sell, as well as those that I donated to the hospice. Word had gotten around the Faire that my goods were of fine quality and that I was generous when it came to advice. Peasants to the vassals of lords came, seeking solace for their troubles. Due to my popularity, I earned a fair amount of coin. Knowing that life is fickle, I saved most of my earnings, just in case I would need it in the future. Leaving the island taught me that you cannot plan life, but you must be prepared for whatever comes, whether it be good or bad. For that, I hoarded my earnings and lived off what little I allowed myself.
Whether I liked it or not, Archard stayed true to his word and escorted me wherever I went. At first, I told him it was unnecessary but not long after, I caught sight of Eadhbert following me, his dark, soulless eyes forever burning into my back. With Archard at my side, Eadhbert kept his distance. There were a few times where he spat his vitriol and caused Archard to have serious words with him. With each instance, Archard grew more protective of me. No man could get within ten feet of me without him drawing me closer or addressing whomever it was that crossed our path. During a quiet moment when they didn’t think I was there, I heard Daffyd and Sibbe discussing Archard’s attentiveness, calling it ‘husbandly behavior’ rather than a friend’s protectiveness. Irritated and perturbed, I made it a point to keep Archard at a distance. I wasn’t going to allow him to fill his head with fancy notions about me. I was happy with my world as it was, and nothing was going to change that.
The Island of Mists Page 24
