“I … I’m sorry my lady,” said the innkeeper who fumbled about in the doorway. He motioned his arms to welcome her in. “I humbly ask your pardon. That’s Jadron, one of our blacksmiths and woodcutters. He’s having a bad day. There have been too many horses this past week in need of shoeing and I’m afraid he hasn’t been able to keep up with the demand.” The innkeeper was short and stout, with a small, pointed grey beard and a round, friendly face. He wore a white apron over his brown shirt and britches and leather brogans on his feet.
“Oh, uh, no, that’s fine,” she stammered. “Really, it’s no problem.”
She entered the large dining room filled with polished wooden tables that sat in rows on the smooth river rock floor. The low buzz of chatter, issuing from the small, scattered groups of seated guests filled the room.
“Name’s Duncan. Pleased to meet you! Welcome to my inn!” He extended his hand and she shook it. Gesturing with his arm, he said: “This room is where we serve meals. To your left, you will find private dining rooms for rent, if you so desire, and to your right, a tavern lounge where we have music and dancing in the evenings for guests.”
She glanced around looking for Jeremiah. The walls of dark, polished wood stretched to the right and left, opening to wide hallways where men and women strode in and out. There was a door in the opposite wall that she assumed led to the kitchen.
“Will you be wanting a room for the night?” he asked eagerly.
“Actually, can you tell me how to get to room two-twelve? My friend has already rented one.”
“Oh yes, the tall, handsome boy who was just in.” She nodded. “You will want to take that staircase to the second floor. Turn right at the top and it should be a few doors down.” He pointed to the winding staircase to her left. She thanked him and excused herself.
Ascending the steps very slowly, she held the rail that was worked in wrought iron and peered behind her at the room she was leaving. She couldn’t understand the huge economic disparity between this man’s inn and the town. What happened to them? Why did the people in the village live in such squalor? She felt badly for the townspeople, but she knew there was nothing she could do. Pushing the thought out of her mind, she continued around the winding stairs until the lower room fell from view. Arriving at the top, she walked down the hallway and found door two-twelve. She knocked twice and the door swung open.
“Ah, thank the heavens!” she said as she entered. The room was decent. It held two large feather beds that were separated by a wooden bedside table. A writing desk sat in the corner near the fireplace, next to a stack of firewood, and a door to the washroom opened to the left of the beds near the window.
Jeremiah was sitting on one of the beds and Bunejab was at the desk, writing in his notebook, propped up on a couple of thick books with his little feet dangling in the air. She plopped down onto the soft, fur blanket of the opposite bed and sighed happily.
“Chalice?”
“Yeah?” she answered, turning her head on the cushion to look at Jeremiah. His brow was creased, which told her that he had been thinking seriously about something.
“We need supplies … badly,” he said and she groaned. She didn’t want to return to the town, although she didn’t feel much better here either for some reason.
Maybe I am still feeling homesick, she thought.
“Alright. We should go before it gets too dark,” she said and reluctantly sat up.
Jeremiah threw his rucksack over his shoulder and turned toward the desk. “Bunejab, you stay here and hold down the fort, okay?” The Chinuk nodded and returned intently to his notes.
Dragging herself from the warm softness of the bed, Chalice followed Jeremiah out of the inn. They decided not to take the horses as the town was close enough to reach by foot. They also wanted to draw as little attention to themselves as possible.
Although it probably won’t do much good. They’ll recognize us anyway, Chalice thought. How many people in these parts travel with a Chinuk? Realizing that having Bunejab accompany them to Chainbridge was going to prove difficult and considering the danger of their journey, she turned to Jeremiah.
“You know, if he decides to continue on with us, we’re going to have to hide him at every inn we go to.”
“Yeah, I thought about that, too. He seems to be set on traveling with us, though, and I don’t have the heart to tell him to go back home.”
“But shouldn’t he be with his family?”
“Well, yeah, probably.”
“You know, he will be safer back in his village, too,” she added. “He has been so helpful, I don’t want to take him where he’ll be in danger.”
Jeremiah nodded. “You’re right. We’ll talk to him about it later.”
“Alright,” she replied and they were silent for the rest of the journey.
A quarter of an hour passed before they found themselves re-entering the cluster of deteriorating shacks. As they drew near the center, they passed an old woman who was seated under a shop window to their left. She was clothed in dirty brown rags and was seated on a cloth, knitting a garment with yellow yarn. A dirty plate of chicken bones lay to her left and an empty cup sat on her right. The multitude of wrinkles on her face spoke of a life of many hard years and of a future that held no promise. Chalice could discern by her straight, unblinking stare and by the cataracts clouding her eyes that she was blind.
Chalice motioned silently for Jeremiah to stop. When he halted, she reached behind him and opened the rucksack hanging on his shoulder. Groping for the moneybag inside, she managed to dig out two silver sterlings that she softly placed into the woman’s cup.
“Thank you, sweet princess,” the woman said without moving her head, staring straight at the shop opposite her. Chalice paused as she straightened, peering down keenly at the woman. How does she know I’m a woman?
“Chalice,” Jeremiah whispered and pulled her over to the side, away from the crone. “We can’t be giving out our money right now. Our journey is uncertain and we don’t know how much longer it will sustain us.”
“I know, Jeremiah, but look at her. It’s heartbreaking.”
He frowned in thought. He knew she was right. “Alright, I understand your point. I’m just saying that we shouldn’t make a habit of it right now.”
She looked into his chocolate eyes and nodded. Just then, a tanned, dark-haired woman in a bright yellow dress and sandals appeared in the doorway of the shop to their right. She was collecting a basket of herbs from her display that sat outside the door. She seemed to move with the grace and air of a swan on a still pond. As she straightened, she looked at Chalice and smiled. She was very beautiful, with large, dark eyes and red lips. She contrasted loudly with the town around her. As she peered closer, Chalice noticed that the woman had a small scar just under her right eye.
“Hello,” the woman said warmly. “I am Jezebelle. Are you new to our village?” Her voice was low, cool, and smooth and she spoke with a strange accent.
Jeremiah turned, startled to hear a voice suddenly behind him. “Oh … uh, yes, we are. I suppose that’s pretty obvious, huh?”
“Yes,” she said as she smiled. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, you can, actually. We need to find …” Jeremiah continued to list the supplies they needed and asked the woman where they could be found in the village.
“You will need to hurry. The shops will be closing soon.” Pointing to the opposite side of the square beyond the fountain, she said: “In that direction, you can find fresh bread, fruits, and vegetables. Further down, there is a shop where you can buy cured ham and other meats. For ink and lamp oil you will need to go …”
Chalice peered closely and saw that the lady’s hands and fingers were stained with a yellow powder. Then, her mind wandered from the conversation as she stepped into the doorway of the woman’s shop and looked around. It was a spice shop.
She is a spice lady, she thought. She had never seen one before, only heard about them in the st
ories that Grandma Naelli used to read to her when she was little. A blend of aromas met her nose and she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. She was mesmerized.
All around the shop were fresh herbs of every kind and shape. They were everywhere, hanging from the ceiling, along the walls and in buckets that lined the middle of the dirt floor. On shelves behind the counter sat jars of many-colored spices ranging from cumin to paprika to coriander. A bottle of turmeric lay open on its side, spilling out onto the counter. Suddenly, she felt a nudge on her shoulder and she turned from the shop. It was Jeremiah.
“I’m going to go hunt these things down. You want to stay here?”
“Oh, yeah, I’ll wait here,” she said, snapping out of her daydream. “Hey, this is a spice shop. Do we need spices or herbs?”
“No, I have enough. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Okay,” she said and turned to enter the shop. She began perusing one of the buckets that held fresh basil and parsley. Basil was her favorite herb. It had such a clean, crisp smell. Grandma Naelli used it in almost everything she cooked.
“Is there something in particular you like, my dear?” Jezebelle asked as she returned to the counter and straightened the bottle of spilled turmeric.
“Oh, no, I just like the smell. It reminds me of home.” Chalice walked over to the counter and looked down at the small, yellow pile. “Where do you get these spices?”
“They come from the dry climate of Maliya.” Jezebelle scooped up the pile in her hands and smelled it. “I was just examining this bottle to make sure it is pure. Sometimes the Marchiri buy tainted spices without knowing and trade them off to people who are none the wiser.”
“Oh.” Chalice nodded. She knew of the Marchiri. They were the traveling merchants that came to Canton twice a year to trade goods. Papa had traded wine with them for various items they needed, which included spices that Grandma Naelli had used in her cooking. She wondered if they had ever been given tainted spices.
“How can you tell if it’s pure or not?”
Jezebelle smiled at her warmly. “You learn by experience. You can gauge a spice’s pureness with your senses, but you have to be trained in the art of spice-making by someone who already knows. I learned the art from my mother. She was a spice lady, too. It is a secret art and for some of my people, a sacred art. Not all women can become proficient in the trade. You have to have the right touch, for it is your touch that relates to the spices and if your touch is just right, the spices will know and respond. And if you are lucky enough to have the touch of power, then power is what you will receive in return.”
Chalice cocked her head and arched an eyebrow. “Spices have power?” She was finding this a little hard to believe.
“Yes,” Jezebelle said softly. “You see, each spice is unique and has its own power and effect on the body. It comes from its own plant and has its own method of cultivation. There are several ways to tell if a spice is pure. For example, take turmeric.” She showed Chalice the powder in her hands. Chalice watched and listened carefully. She found Jezebelle’s voice to be very calm and soothing. “Locked within these fine granules is the power to heal the body, inside and out, but they must be handled properly. The bulbs of the plant must only be picked during the breath of dawn, before first light. They are dried and finely ground into the spice just so to extract the full potency of the plant. To test its purity, you hold turmeric in your hands and watch how quickly it dyes them yellow. Then, you smell and taste it. It must be bitter enough and slightly peppery. You spread it on an area of your skin that is lacking in either health or youth, and it will rejuvenate that skin, giving it a warm, healthy glow. If the turmeric passes these small tests, then it is pure.”
“It sounds complicated.”
“It is and that is why only certain women from my village can become skilled in the art.”
“Do you come from Maliya, then? Is that where you learned it?”
“Yes, that is where I grew up, in a small village near Lake Savarani. We grew the plants there.”
“Must have been nice!”
“It was. So, where do you come from?” Jezebelle asked and Chalice paused for moment to study her. She wasn’t sure if it was wise to give out this information. “You said that the smell of the herbs reminded you of home.”
Oh that’s right, I did say that, didn’t I? Chalice usually didn’t trust people, but for some reason she felt comfortable around this lady. “From Canton,” she replied. “My grandmother used to hang herbs from her wall, too.”
“How wonderful!” Jezebelle said in mild surprise and blew the turmeric from her hands, brushing them together several times to remove the fine grains still clinging to her palms. “Tell me, does she have the same beautiful blue eyes that you do?”
“Umm … no, she doesn’t.” Chalice thought this was a rather strange question.
Jezebelle seemed to sense her reservation. “I ask because I have a broach that will go perfectly with your eyes. I don’t ever wear it and it is virtually worthless around here. Poor farmers don’t really care for jewelry.”
“Oh,” Chalice said, realizing that she had been overly skeptical of the woman. “Where is it?”
“I will get it.” Jezebelle glided to the door that led to the back room. After a few minutes, she returned with a sparkling blue gem inlaid in a golden pin. She handed it to Chalice who examined it in her palm. It was gorgeous. The gem was a sapphire, marbled with thin waves down the center that appeared to be mother of pearl. It reminded her of the sea.
“You don’t want this? Are you sure?” Chalice asked. It seemed odd that the woman would want to part with such a fine piece.
“Oh yes, I never wear it and it will look much better on you.” She smiled. “Really, take it. I don’t want it.”
“Alright.” Chalice pinned it to her dress. “Thank you!”
“You are very welcome, my dear.”
Just then, the sound of footsteps caught their attention and Chalice turned to see a young woman in a dark green riding dress with raven black hair and bright emerald eyes standing in the doorway. Chalice’s jaw almost hit the floor. She knew exactly who this young woman was and a rush of shock mixed with relief and happiness flooded her emotions as she moved forward to greet her.
“Kirna!”
“Chalice!”
Each squealed loudly and rushed forward in a tight hug that revealed how much they had missed each other.
“I’m so glad you’re alright! What are you doing here?” Kirna asked ecstatically.
“I was just about to ask you the same question!”
“Well, Tycho and I left the night of the raid. Before the men got to our house, Mother and Father sent us off on horseback. We were studying together that night when they rushed us out. They thought we would be safer here with my cousin on his farm. We were on the road for a long time. How did you get here? We’ve been worried sick about you for the past six months!”
“Papa sent me to Branbury at the same time. I’m surprised I didn’t see you on the road.”
“Oh, well, we kind of got lost. We didn’t have a map. We had to ask directions every time we stopped for the night. But you made it to Branbury on your own?! That’s a dangerous journey, Chalice! How did you get here?”
“I know it’s dangerous, but Papa told me I had to go. I met Jeremiah in Branbury. You remember him, right?” she asked and Kirna nodded. “He and I have just spent the past two weeks traveling over the top of Mt. Vaassa.”
Kirna was stunned. “How …”
“It’s a long story. I can’t wait to tell you and I want to know everything that has happened and what you saw when you left. Where’s Tycho? Is he with you?”
“No, he stopped at Windon’s farm, a friend of my cousin. He had some goods to deliver in the wagon. Windon had a tough harvest this year so my cousin is helping him. Tycho rode with me for most of the way, though, and I’m supposed to meet him in about fifteen minutes back on the road. I came to town to get some
bread for dinner. I came in here because I thought I heard your voice from outside. At first, I thought maybe I was just hearing things, but then you kept talking and so I came in to see. I’m so glad I did!”
“Hey! Eat dinner with us. We’re staying at the Woodrock Creek Inn in room two-twelve. Meet us there in an hour, okay?”
“Okay. I can’t wait to tell Tycho you’re here! And with Jeremiah! We’ll see you then.” Kirna gave Chalice a fierce hug and then scurried out the door.
This was so great! Her two best friends were here and she was finally going to hear about what happened to her home. She turned back to Jezebelle who had been arranging spice jars on the shelves.
“Thank you again for the beautiful broach! Have a good evening!”
“You, too.” Jezebelle smiled. “Have a wonderful evening.”
Chalice ran out to search for Jeremiah, but she didn’t have to look far as he was striding back over the square holding a paper bag in one hand and his rucksack over his shoulder. It was bursting at the seams. She rushed forward elatedly to tell him what had just happened. He was both surprised and excited to hear the news.
“And so we have to get back quickly because they are meeting us for dinner at the inn,” she finished. She shivered and pulled her cloak tightly to her body. It was growing late and twilight was slowly starting to darken the sky.
“Okay. Did you have a good conversation with Jezebelle?”
“Yeah, I learned about where her spices come from and about how to tell if a spice is pure or not.” He looked down at her and smiled. “She also gave me this broach.” She pointed to the jewel on her dress.
“Wow, that was nice!” he said as he examined it. “Yeah, she was helpful, wasn’t she? It would have taken me forever to find those shops if she hadn’t pointed me in the right direction.”
“So, you got everything?”
“Yup, and then some.”
As soon as they returned, they went directly to their room to pack their supplies and wash for dinner. When they arrived, they found Bunejab still sitting at the desk, writing in his notebook next to a crackling fire, whose flames danced merrily in the fireplace. Chalice went into the washroom to brush her hair and rinse her mouth with soda water.
The Raie'Chaelia (Legend of the Raie'Chaelia, Book One 1) Page 14