“The bear attacked her,” Asher says. “Her wounds are infected.”
Maven bursts into tears. “Oh gods. Alesia. My baby.”
Ilvara’s gut turns over. This woman’s petty anger cost Evelyn her life. Her hand itches for her dagger. Blood for blood.
“Let go, Grogar,” Caius demands. “She must pay.”
“Hold him,” Ilvara orders, stepping forward. She takes this stranger’s chin in one hand. “Do you know who Evelyn was?”
Maven’s pretty brown eyes fill with worry. “No…”
“She was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a daughter,” Ilvara says quietly. “I loved her.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Maven cries. “I didn’t want to kill her. I wanted to kill Caius. She got in my way. It wasn’t my fault!”
Ilvara hesitates. “You held the dagger.”
“Yes, but Caius should be dead, not Evelyn.”
Ilvara shakes her head. “Tie her up. We’ll take her to Tarreth to be tried.”
With that, she leaves them again.
Chapter 8
Tarreth
Priscilla faces throngs of people from her doorway. It’s usual at this time in the morning for many to be out and about. The children from wealthier families are being educated by scholars at the Mages’ College or the Guilds. Those children less fortunate tangle up with the adults in the streets. Their parents, usually mothers whose husbands are guards, shopkeepers, soldiers, and the like, are conducting their own business in the city.
Here, near the entrance to Tarreth, the roads are bustling. Wagons, people, and animals weave around the grand statue of Arx in front of the Shrine of the Seven. Everyone has a purpose. The wagon driver ahead seems determined to get to the market, even though he will have missed the early morning frenzy. A pair of women across the lane adamantly argue that a pair of turtledoves should be cheaper than the seller’s price. Obviously, their coin is more important than the honour of their sacrifice at the Shrine next door. Priscilla sighs.
“What troubles you, sister?” Anna asks as she leans against the opposite arch of the same doorway.
Priscilla gazes over the wandering people. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
“It must not be nothing. Do you need to talk, or would you just like to be alone?”
“No, stay. I am just…so filled with anguish at the condition of these people,” she says. “They labour in vain. They seek pleasure and power and wealth. They buy to fill the holes in their hearts that only Herus can fill.”
“They do not see because we have not shown them. We are too caged in this Sanctuary. I agree with Gabriel. We must do more to share the love of Herus.”
Priscilla turns to face Anna. “Like what? We’ve already done so much. We work with the impoverished, the widows, the derelicts. And still, our Sanctuary is half-empty. We see no fruit from our labours.”
“What about Doran and Rose? They joined just this year. Herus doesn’t look at numbers. He looks at their hearts. They’ve been so faithful.”
“The Shrine forbade their entrance,” Priscilla counters. “They had no choice.”
“But it isn’t about choice. Herus had his hand in it. He orchestrated them to come here. Since they believed, Doran has found work, they’ve been able to eat, and Rose has gotten pregnant again.”
“The only time we have received newcomers has been because the Shrine has rejected someone,” Priscilla says in despair. “I’m surprised this building can still be used like it is.”
“For his glory, we’ve been able to house and support our workers, along with guests,” Anna says proudly. “Remember the meetings with Brother Thomas last month. They were marvelous.”
Priscilla looks behind herself at the simple stone benches facing a short platform and wooden cross. Every week, Gabriel, their chief elder and Anna’s husband of nine years, stands there and teaches them truths from the Holy Epistles, written by long-deceased prophets of Herus and inspired by the Almighty Himself.
“I suppose we should count our blessings,” says Priscilla. “At least the worship of Herus is not against the law here like it is in Nequa.”
“Think of it—risking your life every day to share the love of Herus,”
Anna adds. “The Sanctuaries there are burned down and replaced with horrid Guilds for murderers and thieves, yet Brother Thomas preaches love. In the very city Filium Herus was put to death, his message is forbidden. But it has always persevered.”
“But there, the love of Herus shines like a star amidst the darkness. Here, the love of wealth and success distracts from the need for a deliverer. For eternal peace.”
“All will perish,” Anna says quietly, facing the crowd with her. “And all can sense the need for peace and fulfillment. That is all they’re doing—trying to fill the emptiness inside with noise. Shutting Herus’ voice out. Those who come to Him must be ready to see their own need. Think of your own conversion.”
Priscilla shakes her head. “I was different. I had nothing.”
“That’s right. When a person realizes that all the fancies of this life cannot bring satisfaction—that all of Aranea will one day be dust in their grip—they will seek him. And Herus will always find them. He says he will open the door to anyone who knocks.”
Priscilla glances back at her dear friend with a smile. “What would I do without your perspective?”
Anna touches her shoulder. “I’m happy to help. Are you going to visit the alley?”
“I am, after I prepare a basket for them. I want to see how Rose is feeling. Only a few more weeks until she gives birth.”
Anna tilts her head at Priscilla. “I see the worry in your eyes. This Sanctuary has everything she needs to have a safe delivery, and you have very capable hands. I should know.”
“That doesn’t stop me from doubting myself.”
“David would not be here if not for you, and neither would I.”
Priscilla waves a hand. “David was practically grown when you delivered. That was the only complication. I did nothing but stitch you up.”
“Herus has it all in his hands. Rose’s baby, mine.” She sweeps a hand over her small bump.
“But what if something goes wrong? How could I live with myself?”
“I suppose you’ll have to leave it up to Herus,” Anna says. “I need to purchase some new things for the Sanctuary kitchens today. Care to join me when you’re finished?”
“Certainly.” Priscilla nods a farewell. “Until then.”
✽ ✽ ✽
The streets of Tarreth are teeming with people, young and old. It’s always exciting to walk among the crowds at this hour, but at the same time, it’s difficult to move. There’s always someone in the way, someone moving too slowly, or delays because of arguments or conversations between street vendors and customers. Children zig-zag through bodies as if they are simply obstacles to be passed. Guards regulate the heavier traffic, as they do during the busy times, and soon, the flow of humanity moves along at a steady pace.
Tarreth is so pale compared to Priscilla’s home village in Lembross, where everything was earthy brown and grey. When she first came here four years ago, the sun glinting off the white buildings hurt her eyes. But now she’s accustomed to it, along with the tight crowds and constant noise. She stayed in Ralik years ago for a festival, and the silence was like being locked in a coffin.
Entering the open square, she passes a pair of lovers seated together on the marble fountain in the centre, watching the passers-by and giggling to one another. She turns back to the cobbled walk. Ever since Kreston left the city for a woman in Prynveil, seeing couples together has sharpened the ache in Priscilla’s heart for companionship. And with so many women around her having children, she finds herself often filled with maternal longing. She wishes that her close friendships were enough. She wishes her work was enough. But none of it is. Not really.
Beneath a canopy of sheets, in the wide alley between a large home and a brothel, the poorest of the
city congregate. They’ve built themselves a haven from the rest of the city, with their own system of lookouts in case city patrol comes this way. Priscilla has been here once when the guards came. But once they arrived, all the guards found were blankets and trash. The poor had scattered like mice into the sewer drain.
Hands reach out to touch the hem of her dress as Priscilla winds through the people. She stops to greet Bernice and Diana, the pair of sisters who began all of this. Pockmarks cover every inch of their aging skin, one small evidence of the disease that nearly took their lives years ago. Weakened and disfigured, they accepted Priscilla’s kindness when she found them begging in the market one wintry day. The three of them sought shelter in an alley by the sewer drain, away from disdainful eyes, and there Priscilla shared the hope of trusting in Herus. It wasn’t long before more of the poor and homeless collected here, eager for Priscilla’s frequent visits with food, medicine, and Herus’ message.
Priscilla spots Rose against the wall, hands cupped around her swollen belly as Doran, her husband, shifts the blankets. Her eyes are creased with worry.
“My lady,” Rose says as soon as she sees Priscilla. “I’ve been having pains all night and all morning. I think this baby is coming soon.”
Priscilla sets down her basket. “Already? Let’s get you to the Sanctuary then.”
“I tried,” Doran says. “She won’t go.”
“I can’t walk all that way,” Rose moans. “My ankles ache horribly. And every time I have a pain, it’s like my back is breaking in half.”
“I’ll arrange for a wagon to bring you,” Priscilla says, rising. “It will be much safer and more comfortable to have the baby in the Sanctuary.”
“I don’t know, my lady.” Rose clenches her eyes shut.
“Well you can’t have it here. Let me check you first.”
Doran pulls closed the sheet acting as their wall. After a moment, Priscilla rises. “You’re getting close, but we have time to get you to the Sanctuary.”
“I’m scared,” Rose whimpers.
Priscilla lays a hand over her cheek. “Herus has us in the palm of his hand. No harm will befall us there.” She pulls Doran aside. “Stay with her until I return with the wagon,” she says quietly to him. “Rub her back if it’s comfortable for her. I’ll be back very soon.”
Doran nods rapidly, eyes bulging.
Priscilla touches his arm. “All will be well,” she goes on, more softly. “Last time, the child wasn’t so developed, and Rose was eating trash in the street. She was stressed and exhausted and far too young. This won’t be the same.”
Tears flood the younger man’s eyes. “We want this child so badly.”
Priscilla takes his shoulders, forcing him to look at her eyes. “She has us this time. She isn’t alone. By Herus’ power, you both will come out of this with what you want.”
He meets her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Herus has everything in his hand. Now, stay with her until I return,” she says, with far more faith than she feels.
“All right.” Doran gives her a steadier smile. “Go.”
Priscilla nods, leaving them. Doran’s smile stays with her. The trust they place in her makes her uneasy. Doubt pricks her heart. What would happen if she lost that baby now?
She makes her way as quickly as she can back to the Sanctuary. When she opens the door, the Sanctuary is empty except for an elderly woman praying at the altar with Gabriel. She makes for the back door. To her horror, the small stable outside is empty.
She stands for a few seconds, staring, wondering what to do. Gabriel speaks behind her.
“Priscilla? What are you looking for?”
“I need a wagon. Rose is having her baby.”
Gabriel flattens his lips. “I’m afraid William just took the wagon into the city.”
“When? Why?”
“To fetch water and grain. He just left.”
Priscilla presses her palm to her forehead, mind buzzing for a solution. “Rose is going to have her baby, and we have no way of getting her here.”
“Could she possibly give birth in the alley?”
“She can, but it’s so dirty and noisy. It’s not a good place at all.”
Gabriel shrugs. “If there were another option, I’d agree with you.”
Just then, a rattle outside signals an incoming wagon. Priscilla’s heart lifts with relief. “He’s back. William is back.”
“But he—” Gabriel begins, but Priscilla is already across the room, bursting out the door.
It is not William. It is a wagon pulled by a green-skinned Orc, twice her size at least. A man nearly as large jumps off the wagon as it slows. His armour is dirty and torn at the shoulders, revealing rippling scars down his biceps. Another man holding an unconscious girl steps out of the back, beneath a stack of dripping blankets. He seems vaguely familiar. Last to leave the wagon is a woman in fine clothes now soiled with dirt from the road. Finally, there is a pretty woman tied to the back by her wrists.
Inexplicably, Priscilla is rooted to the spot. She watches the two larger men follow the others into the Shrine, carrying a long, wooden box between them. Another group on a pilgrimage to the Shrine of the Seven to heal their sick and bury their dead.
Priscilla cannot take her eyes from the woman at the back of the cart. Her filthy dress is torn across the bottom—probably from stumbling over it. Her fearful eyes dart around. A length of rope between her teeth prohibits her from speaking. Others who pass by cast anxious glances, grip their children’s hands tighter, walk faster. Some throw awful comments. Comments that bring tears to the young woman’s eyes.
Priscilla glances down the empty street and back at the Shrine. Perhaps it is because of the terror in the woman’s eyes that Priscilla crosses the street when she knows she must tend Rose. Perhaps because of the whimpers of panic that escape the rope between the woman’s teeth. Perhaps because of the shake in her bound hands. Or perhaps because all these things are coldly familiar.
The woman stinks of sweat. When Priscilla touches her arm, she jerks away.
“Hello. I’m Priscilla.”
The woman’s brown eyes go very round.
Not sure what else to say, Priscilla whispers, “You are always welcome in the Sanctuary of Herus.”
The Shrine door opens behind her, and she steps back. It’s the Orc. He glares at Priscilla under heavy brows. “Step away from her,” he orders.
Priscilla backs up. “Where is she going?”
“The executioner’s block. She’s a murderer,” comes his stern reply.
Priscilla gasps. The woman’s eyes meet hers, even wider with panic. But Priscilla can do nothing but clasp her hands and watch the wagon rattle on down the street.
She shakes her head as they disappear. Rose. I must get back to her. The events so distracted her that she can barely remember what to gather in the larder, the medicine chamber, the linen closet. She fills two baskets as quickly as she can with all the necessary healing balms, potions, blankets, and tools, but her mind is no longer on the baby about to enter the world. Her thoughts and prayers are only with that woman headed for death.
✽ ✽ ✽
The walk back to the alley takes too long. More than two hours must have passed since Priscilla left. When she makes it back to the alley, Rose is pacing the length of it, sweat soaking her brow and the underarms of her thin dress. Her hands tremble when Priscilla takes them.
“You took so long,” she whimpers. “Where is the wagon?”
“I… They were using it. We will have the baby here,” Priscilla says, struggling to keep her mind on Rose and the baby.
“What? But you said—”
“I know, but there isn’t anything we can do about that now. Lie down so I can check you.” Her words are far too sharp, and she silently scolds herself for being so unhinged.
“Is everything all right?” Rose asks.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I’m…” What am I? Her brain swirls. Finally, she sp
its out a reply, “I’m fine.”
Rose is further progressed than she’d anticipated. Priscilla’s hands feel very clumsy. Fog clouds her mind. She steps away from Rose.
“What? Is something wrong?” Rose asks, face paling.
Priscilla gulps. Her heart is pounding too fast. “No. Yes. I—I can’t do this.”
“What?”
Doran appears at Priscilla’s side. “What’s wrong?”
“She said she can’t do this,” Rose squeaks.
“I…I…” Priscilla can’t find words. “I’m sorry.”
“You have to,” Doran tells her. “We need our baby. You’re the only one who can deliver it.”
“That’s not true. There are many capable physicians in this city.” Priscilla pants, trying to catch her breath.
Doran grabs her arm tightly, pulling her away from Rose. Under his breath, he says, “Pull yourself together, woman. You are capable. The three of us need you. Now calm down. You’ll frighten her.”
“But—”
“You told me before you left that Herus had everything in his hand. Has that changed?”
“Well, no.”
“You said that, by Herus’ power, we would be all right. Is that still true?”
“Yes…”
“Then what happened?”
“I…I saw something that reminded me of a past event. Something very troubling.”
Doran draws her closer. “My wife is going to have a baby. You can worry about your troubling past after you help her.”
Stung by his harsh words, Priscilla nods. With a deep breath, she prays internally, Herus, forgive my flustered heart. Seeing that woman reminded me of all the things of my past. It brought back the deepest valleys of my life. I thought I was free from darkness when Kreston left for someone else. Herus, if I wasn’t good enough for him, will I ever be good enough for anyone? For anything? Why am I the one to handle this birth when I am so incapable?
The strength of Herus’ promises return to her as a whisper in the midst of the storm: I am with you. I will never leave or forsake you. When you walk through death’s valley, you need not fear. When you are weak, then are you strong.
Of Embers Page 6