by Ana Salote
‘Good answer,’ said Gertie.
‘How about you?’ Alas asked Oy.
‘I found a book I liked on flower flours.’
‘On what?’
‘Four flower flours.’
They laughed and made up Middenish rhymes and tongue twisters.
Linnet sighed.
‘You’ll be down at the weaving sheds soon enough, Linn,’ said Gertie.
Ede came in. ‘The weavers sent this for you Linnet,’ she said. ‘It’s a sewing coat. You can do some sewing till you’re well enough to join them. There’s different colours of thread inside.’
Linnet shrugged herself deeply into the jacket and stroked it. Gertie rolled the sleeves back and tugged the shoulders straight. She showed her the pincushion on the arm and the row of tiny pockets inside, which held scissors and thimbles. Linnet put a thimble on every finger and smiled.
5 The Last Healer in Nondula
Gertie wheeled her trolley round the library delivering books to scholars as though she’d been doing it all her life. Oy was seated at a small desk in a small corner. He didn’t know where to begin looking for his jenie. He turned the pages of random books with little hope of finding direction. Gertie stopped at Oy’s desk. ‘Emberd says try these. Your jenie might be in one of ’em.’
‘If I’ve got a jenie.’
‘Course you have. Flick through and something might jump out at you. Why do you look like that?’
‘It’s too big to flick.’ Oy separated some pages and heaved them from one side of the book to the other. ‘There’s so many books, and I’m so slow.’
‘It would help if you could reach the table.’ She gave him extra books to sit on. ‘And if you picked a book in the right language. Here’s a thin one; it’s written in the common. Start with that. I’d like to stay and help but I got scholars waiting.’
Oy leaned close to the book and followed his finger across the line – the same line, again and again. His thoughts were like water running off the page.
He decided to make himself useful by tidying one of the book caves. At least he would be out of the way. He began by piling up the books that were scattered on the floor, but it wasn’t long before some of the titles caught his eye. First The Need to Knead, and then The Thirsty Grain and Raising Rye. These books engrossed him for some days, then, feeling guilty at time wasted, he went back to the bakery. Clair spotted him hovering at the door and invited him in. As he kneaded the dough and spun it on one hand, he told her about his reading and confessed his laziness. ‘I won’t ever get a jenie ’less I do proper studying will I?’ He plaited the bread and glazed it.
‘Of course you will. There’s no rush to find it; grow a bit first.’ Clair slid the last batch of loaves into the oven. ‘We’re all done here. Go and keep Linnet company.’
He found his friend in the Sanctry gardens, breathing.
‘Clair says what you breathe is as important as what you eat,’ she told him. ‘There’s scholars what hardly need food at all. They’re called air-eaters. Have a breathe down here.’ Oy got his head among the wet leaves with her. ‘It feels silly to begin with, then you start getting different tastes in your nose,’ she took a breath, ‘and the back of your throat,’ she inhaled again, ‘and into your chest and right through your body. Are you getting it?’
Oy was. He always had.
After some weeks of good air, the right bread and yellow light, Linnet began to feel better. She wanted to be well. She put on her sewing jacket and insisted that she was well, and ready to start work. Clair was doubtful. Linnet was close to huffy. Oy talked to her. ‘I know you’re mad and I know why.’ Linnet nodded. ‘The poison hit you harder than the other factory waifs and it don’t seem fair.’
Linnet shook her head. ‘It don’t.’
‘You ain’t got time for illness.’
‘I ain’t.’
‘It’s keeping you from your dream.’
‘It is.’
‘But Clair knows best.’
‘She does,’ said Linnet with a sigh. ‘And I mustn’t get stroppy ’cos it ain’t your fault and it ain’t Clair’s neither.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I should go back to bed shouldn’t I?’
‘You should, but...’
‘But what?’
‘Clair says you can go down to the weaving sheds, just to look mind. Any pains in your legs or shortness of breath and you have to come straight back.’
Linnet was off. ‘Slow down, Linn,’ Oy called after her.
She gave an excited wave and was gone.
Once there, she buzzed from one thing to another, looking into tubs of roots and seeds and flowers, rubbing powders between her fingers, asking questions and spinning fibre bobbins, all the time her eyes feasted on every shade imaginable. When she returned her dress was splashed with dye and her nails were rimmed with magenta. ‘Ain’t that lovely?’ she said, looking at her hands. ‘Ain’t that just lovely?’
But the next day was very different. She had a terrible pain in her head. Objects were haloed with flashing zigzags. She couldn’t bear the daylight. Clair said Linnet was pure white because she had every colour in equal balance. The blue poison had swung her out of balance, and the colour work only made it worse. She mustn’t go back till she was properly better. Linnet protested but Clair was firm. Linnet could do some stitching in bed. On good days she could help Ede in the Sanctry, that was all.
Linnet set out to prove herself. Most days she went to the Sanctry. It was full of storm-dropped creatures so there was a lot to do.
She walked around in her nightgown filling the grain pots and speaking to the animals. ‘Hello, hello,’ she said. ‘Your dinner’s here. Still sleepy ain’t ya? Did we meet inside that storm chimney? We might’ve. I don’t know. I had my eyes shut.’
‘What you doing, Linn?’ Gritty and Gertie came in laughing.
‘Helping.’ Linnet dropped the grain pot and shook her wrist.
‘Hurt yourself?’ said Gertie.
‘Gone floppy is all.’
Gritty fetched the brush. Linnet sat on the step. Her shins were thin as sticks and netted with grey. She pulled her nightie down.
‘Let’s see,’ said Gritty. ‘How long have they been like that?’
‘It’s nothing. I call it the blues. It goes off in the sun. Have you seen the new babies? There’s one just like me.’ Linnet stood up. She took a quick sideways step and put her hands out for balance. ‘Over here,’ she said, steadying herself. She showed them a mud nest in the wall. A silkin lay on its side with six baby silkins sleeping next to it. They were golden brown except for one which was pure white. ‘I wish I could keep it but Ede says we can’t keep wild things. We can love ’em and be friends is all.’ She stroked the white silkin with one finger. ‘Ede learned how to talk to animals in the Kith.’ Linnet swayed. ‘Floppy leg now.’ Gritty caught her under the arms just as she went over.
Gertie fetched Clair. Clair said that Linnet really must rest more. Linnet was still inclined to argue until Oy came and told her she was wrong.
Linnet twisted her mouth to one side.
‘Don’t you be sulking,’ said Oy. ‘You must be the worst patient Clair’s ever had.’
‘She’s a fighter,’ said Clair. ‘It isn’t a bad thing. We just need to find the right yellow to balance you, Linnet.’
‘I know. I’m sorry for being your worst patient. I got that yellow in my mind. I seen it once – can’t think where.’
Clair said everything had its opposite so it must be out there somewhere.
Soon everyone was looking for Linnet’s yellow. They brought pollen, rock, lichen, bark, bracken, fungi, spores and husks. Clair made a row of tinctures in every shade of yellow. Whatever she was given Linnet said it made her feel better, but her colour did not improve and she shivered often. She took to wearing her wool jacket all the time and pinning the neck close. Only Clair knew that the grey was creeping up her chest like a slow tide.
&
nbsp; Waifs, scholars, pothicks, millers, arablan: all of them were alert for yellows, but Oy was keenest of all. The search for his jenie would have to wait. He crawled through the undergrowth, looking from side to side, parting grass and lifting branches. He found a twig covered in tiny gold antlers, and a white whisper of a flower, its head nodding on a frail stem. The white had the warmth of sun-warmed chalk. He put them in his bag.
Ahead of him a young bird fluttered at the edge of the path, its wing bent at an odd angle. It was a pretty thing, flame-chested with wings blue as blue. Oy stooped cupping his hands. ‘Are you broke?’ The bird fluttered away. ‘Don’t worry. I only mean to fix you, if you can be fixed.’ The bird crouched low and still. Oy nestled it into his smock. He looked around the nearby trees. ‘Most young creatures have homes and families,’ he said. ‘I know that now, but I can’t see any nests, and your ma ain’t questing for you, so would you like to come with me?’ The bird’s small head looked out between his finger and thumb. He felt the swell and throb of its heart. ‘Alright, alright,’ Oy soothed. ‘I’m going to the best place for you.’ The bird’s tiny eyes looked back at him. ‘Like a little jewel you are.’
At the Sanctry he called to Ede but no one answered. He stood in the centre of the room and caught a whiff of something familiar. He followed his nose to a passage he hadn’t seen before. It was like following memories back to some important place. The passage opened out and he was there.
Oy took a deep breath. The walls of the room were lined with jars and books and the ceiling was strung with herbs. There were hoppers full of flowers and seeds. Clair stood next to a round table grinding something in the mortar. She put her pestle down and walked towards him with her arms out like shields. ‘What is it, Oy?’
‘I was looking for Ede. I got something for her – a little broke bird.’
‘A kingfisher. I haven’t seen one of these in a long while.’ Clair lifted the bird on her palm till it was level with her nose. It didn’t struggle or flutter. Using her fingers as perches it turned, displaying itself. ‘What is broken?’
‘Its wing was broke just now,’ said Oy, ‘like this.’ He bent his arm at a crooked
angle to his body.
‘This one?’ Clair ran her finger gently over the curve of the wing. ‘There’s heat; it’s fusing quickly. Give me your hand.’ Her palm hovered above his. Whatever she found she kept it to herself. Oy hardly noticed. He had begun to study the room. Clair hurried him out. ‘Let’s settle the bird,’ she said.
Oy wanted to know more about the herb room but Clair’s answers were short. She said he was needed in the bakery. Oy went away puzzled.
Next day Oy remembered the white flower. He was glad of the excuse to go back to the herb room. Clair’s shoulders dropped. She tipped her head and looked at him. He showed her the flower.
‘It’s past fresh now,’ he said, ‘but see, it’s got the ghost of yellow in it.’
Clair lay the flower across her palm and looked at it closely. ‘Herb pius. I wouldn’t have thought of it.’
‘Is it any good for Linnet?’
‘It might be.’
‘I wish... I wish I could help you here, Clair.’
Clair went on with her tasks. She poured a liquid through a filter and watched it drip.
‘Only till I find my jenie.’ Still Clair didn’t answer. Oy felt awkward and unwanted. ‘I’ll go then,’ he said.
‘No, no,’ she stopped him ‘You needn’t go. It would be wrong to deny you. This is your jenie.’
Oy felt a rush of warmth. ‘I’d like it if it was. I’d like it a lot. I want to learn.’
‘You will, easily; and I will teach you, but promise me, if for some reason I am not here to guide you, you will do as Ede says.’
Oy promised. He told Clair not to worry; he knew he wouldn’t be fit to work by himself for a long, long time.
Linnet had overdone things in the Sanctry. Her chest was hollow, her breath was short, and her lips had turned blue again. The herb pius helped but it was not a cure.
The other waifs were growing fast and they were flushed with health. Alas’s rash had faded. Clair hinted that he could let it go completely if he chose. Gritty declared that her skin was a better fit.
‘And I swear,’ said Linnet, ‘you’re getting more colours. All of you got glinty bits in your hair, and Oy, your eyes are changing.’
‘Let’s see,’ said Gertie. ‘They are, too. You’re getting scholar’s eyes. Must be something in the food.’
‘Just having food helps,’ said Gritty.
Only Linnet kept the beaten, shrivelled look of the past. Something else was needed. When the young kingfisher flew its nest leaving blue feathers woven into the moss, Clair had a vague feeling that it was a clue. ‘There’s a message here,’ she said. But neither she nor Oy knew what it was.
Clair began to look at the calendar more often. Oy thought she was matching herb harvests to moon phases. Everything became hurried. She gave Oy long lists of reading and crammed him full of knowledge. He soaked it up quickly. It was just as well. By the time of the next new moon Oy was the only healer in Nondula.
6 The Felluns are Coming!
Alas felt danger like a cold stone in his belly. He sensed the Felluns coming even before he saw them. He flashed between the trees, hitting the main wood path just ahead of the riders. Hooves and clubs beat the forest down. The splitting and trampling pressed outwards flattening Alas into the undergrowth. He saw the swell of a horse’s belly with a rider’s leg pressed against it. Then came another and another. The last horse passed swishing its tail in his face, leaving its scent on the air. Alas ran.
The only sound in the library was the whisper of turning pages. Alas burst in weaving between the desks and shouting, ‘The Felluns are coming! The Felluns are coming!’
Chairs scraped and books thudded shut. The scholars melted away; stepping between and behind pillars and shelves. As they moved they began to hum. A group of about a dozen scholars went out to receive their neighbours.
Emberd, Gertie and Alas made for a hidden balcony. They squeezed into a space choked with dry vines and peered between the stems. Below them they could see the bright heads of the scholars overshadowed by the Felluns on their heavy horses.
‘They’re even uglier than I remembered,’ said Gritty in a low voice. ‘Mean half-size eyes – everything else big and blood-bulgy. Who’s the one with the medal?’
‘That’s Capun Rigaw,’ whispered Emberd, ‘the husbind.’
‘Who’s husband?’ said Gertie.
‘Husbind,’ Emberd corrected. ‘In Fellund the Queen is called the Fellona. The husbeaus compete for her attention. She chooses one at a time to be her husbind. When she tires of him he becomes a husbeen, and she picks a new husbind from the husbeaus.’
‘Husbeau, husbind, husbeen,’ muttered Gertie, the collector of words.
The humming grew louder. It buzzed inside their skulls and skated circles on their ear drums.
Oy was on the west side of the Sajistry looking for yellows when the humming reached him. He followed the drill Alas had taught him. He dropped into a hole that looked like an animals lair, crouched down and waited.
Linnet lay drowsily on her bed. She heard a buzz, knocked her ear with the flat of her hand, nestled deeper into her pillow and fell asleep. She woke to see a Fellun standing in the doorway. The broken door lay on the ground. But the strangest thing of all was the look on the man’s face. He was horrified.
‘Anyone there?’ called a voice from outside.
‘No one, Capun.’ The man threw his club at Linnet. There was a horrible thud and a whimper. ‘Got you!’ he said. Then he backed away shuddering and rubbing his arms as if to brush off contagion.
Outside the Sajistry, Rigaw rode up and down the line of scholars. The first flames of his anger were beginning to catch. ‘You,’ he pointed to the scholar, Deven. ‘Step out here. This is your last chance. Bring me your best healer.’
‘I tell you
again,’ said Deven. ‘You have taken all our healers.’
Rigaw flicked his whip at Deven, marking his face. Deven didn’t flinch.
‘Bominata knows you are lying and she’s all out of patience. You’ve had your last warning. If you want to keep your books, get your top doctor out here now.’
‘You have taken all our healers,’ Deven repeated.
A woman in a brown hood came out of the crowd and walked across the clearing. She stood before Rigaw and uncovered her head. It was Clair. ‘He isn’t lying,’ she said. ‘There are no more healers. I am more than a healer. I am a Farin. I will go.’
Rigaw’s face twisted in a Fellun smile. ‘So this fella’s been playing word games with me. You’re more than a healer. And are there any...’
‘Capun,’ one of the men interrupted, ‘Ijaw and his lot, behind us.’
‘You block and I’ll break,’ said Rigaw. He hauled Clair roughly onto his horse and rode to meet his rival.
The two parties of Felluns clashed in the lane. The Nonduls watched as one rider broke from the brawl and galloped away. Behind him was a brown bundle.
The humming stopped. Oy hurried to Linnet’s somin. He saw the smashed door. Filled with fear he climbed over the splintered wood. Linnet was sitting up in bed with one arm across her stomach. She breathed with a laboured sucking.
‘Linn! Are you hurt?’
‘No. The club hit the wall behind me. He thought he’d got me but they can’t see much can they?’ Linnet described exactly what had happened.
‘He must’ve thought you had the vapids,’ said Oy. ‘I read about it. It turns your skin white and your blood to water.’
‘Why did he lie to his capun?’ said Linnet.
‘Felluns have a horror of the vapids. He’d have been barred from going back to Fellund just for breathing your air,’ answered Oy.