by Eric Lewis
“Funny things for a physic to carry,” said the woman, nodding at the bow while she poured more small beer into the peasant’s cup. “Though maybe not so much these days.”
“Is there a hospital around where I might get employment? A temple sick house, something like that?”
The woman shrugged. “Maybe in ’Nocca. Thoriglyn. But not here, not no more.”
Alessia let out a frustrated sigh, then eyed all the empty stalls. “Hmm….”
“What?”
“Would you like there to be?”
* * *
There were actually two stables in Firleaf, but the owner of one had been caught up in the destruction of the reavers’ advance. Now it was put to whatever use the survivors fancied. When Alessia swung open the double doors a small population of squatters shielded their eyes at the sudden flare of light or looked away. Garbled curses rang out and from somewhere an infant cried.
“There are people living in here?”
“Well…wouldn’t call what they do livin’ exactly, but aye.”
The peasants had readily agreed that a physic would be a welcome addition in the village, like having a real temple but without all the preachifying. They’d support the hospital and Alessia would provide what care they might need. “People only,” she’d added, knowing how farmers thought. “No animals.” They still gave her the stable.
Now that she saw the space she wondered if she weren’t in over her head after all. It stank, the roof had holes, the floor had manure, and half the stalls had vagrants sleeping in hay along with the rats. “Some just lost their homes,” explained Wrenth, the man who still had about two acres left. “Burned aht. Others are professional rogues, if you make any distinction. Here, up! Up and aht, yinz swampgnats! We’s makin’ a ’spital ahtta the place.”
“Eh?” An old man hobbled to his feet covered in fodder and screwed up his face into a sour rictus. “Why bother? Reds or greens’ll jus’ torch it like ever’thing else. Whole world be cinders soon, lords get their way.”
“Might be, Cuddy,” replied Wrenth as he shuffled the old man toward the doors. “But ’til then you’ll hafta find another place to sleep off Rhea’s home brew. That goes for the rest o’ yinz too!”
Alessia muttered apologies and thanks to the doubly displaced peasants as they filed out, assuring each of a welcome back should they need her services. Not the most auspicious start, she thought. Emptied thus, the stable looked even more a wreck.
“Well there you have it,” said Wrenth with a wide sweep of one muscled arm. “All yours.”
“Thanks. I’m not sure where to begin – I’ve never actually built a hospital before.”
“I’ll spread the word and folks’ll come by to help muck aht the place. Sooner you can start doing business the better for everyone.”
* * *
Alessia slept in the stable while it was being transformed into her hospital. It actually went much faster than she’d thought it would. Within a week the roof was patched and most of the filth flushed out. A few of the people Wrenth had kicked out came, for what other employment could they have? There was still a great deal of cleaning to be done and supplies to be obtained before she could treat patients, but it was a start. She even became somewhat accustomed to their odd dialect. Yinz is just abaht grown ahn me, she thought with a grin.
Some days later she found herself twisting the blade of one of her scalpels into a tiny wooden screw with extreme care so as not to bend or snap it. She was assembling what was to be the frame of a cot that had to be built sturdy enough not to collapse under a thrashing patient.
“What’s that?”
Alessia jumped, startled by the lilting voice. “Quennet, don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Sorry. But what is it?”
Alessia turned to her latest visitor, Wrenth’s eight-year-old daughter. “It’s a scalpel,” she said. “For cutting people’s flesh open.”
The girl’s eyes almost doubled in size. “Oh…so why you usin’ it to put screws in?”
“I shouldn’t be.” Alessia sighed. “A physic’s tools are fine things, for fine work. But with the rebuilding around Firleaf all the proper tools are taken.” It pained her to draft her instruments into such mundane service, but the alternative was to wait, and that she would not do.
“So were you really a priestess in a temple? With stony walls and saints’ shrines and everything?”
Alessia set down the scalpel with the feeling she wasn’t going to get much work done today. “I was a novitiate sister. The only priests are far away, in Holy Artamera.”
“Where the God of Man descended to earth and broke into ten thousand pieces to become the first people.” Quen beamed with pride at her knowledge.
“That’s right,” said Alessia, making sure to sound properly impressed.
“I know that story. Did you sing at sundown? And tell people what to do and beg for their money?”
“I – uh. Well, I sang, yes. Not very loudly, though. I’m not very good. But I didn’t have much say in matters of doctrine—”
“Doc what?”
“Never mind. Dear, what are you doing here, exactly?”
“I’m s’posed to help you.” Quennet frowned. “Actually, I think Mama just wanted me out of the way. Not much to do since everything got burned. I used to feed the hens and the goat. They’re gone now.”
Rage lanced through Alessia’s gut. What did Quen know or care about king or queen, lords and soldiers and treason? She only knew that her family’s hens and goat were gone, their land burned. Better she find another path in life – any other. “Do you think…you might like to take vows, join a temple someday?”
“Nah,” said Quen, “I’m not a good singer either. Da always tells me to pipe down. I wanna be a physic like you and cut people open with a scaplel!”
“There’s a bit more to it than that,” Alessia said with a smile. “Most of the cutting’s done by chirurgeons. But stick around here long enough, you might pick up a few skills.”
The girl beamed, hopeful. “Can I?”
“Of course, I’ll need a helper after all. But it won’t be easy.”
“That’s all right, it beats feeding hens.”
* * *
“It’s done then?” Wrenth eyed the outside of the building as though expecting it to be much changed. He’d come near sunset to fetch his daughter home from her new apprenticeship and found Alessia outside, clearing a plot for an herb garden.
She rubbed dirt from her hands. “It’s as done as it’s going to get until I can find supplies. Space is the easy part. We’ll need clean water, lots of it. Always kept at or near a boil.”
Wrenth whistled. “Ain’t no small thing there. Anything else?”
“Bandages,” Alessia continued, “and medicament herbs and gut string and needles, and brandy—”
“Brandy?”
“For infections, cooling, making tinctures.”
Wrenth shook his head. “Sister, I ain’t even heard of some o’ that stuff, never mind seen it around here. I can get you leeches.”
“No! No leeches, they don’t work.”
“Well, for the rest you’ll have to go to ’Nocca, buy from the temple there. Wait for a caravan to come through, you don’t wanna go alone.”
Alessia snorted. “I’ve had better luck when I do. I – wait, what’s that?”
“What?”
“That…what is it, rumbling? From the north road, you hear it? Maybe that’s a caravan now.”
Wrenth frowned. “Don’t sound quite like….” His face turned white. “Oh no. No, please, not again.”
“What is it?”
“Where’s Quen?”
“Inside,” Alessia answered. Wrenth’s fear gripped her also. “Polishing my clamps. Why—”
“Get her. Go and
find somewhere to hide. Go now!” He sprinted toward the remains of his farm on the outskirts of Firleaf.
The rumbles grew louder and nearer. Then clanks, stomps, curses. While stumbling into the building, Alessia understood. It was a small army approaching. Not many men, but enough to make trouble.
“Quen, we have to go.”
The girl looked up from the row of shiny metal parts laid out on the bench before her. “Go? Where? How come?” Then she saw the frightened expression on Alessia’s face. “Oh.” She stood and took a hold of Alessia’s hand and tugged. “Come on, I know where we can hide.”
As Alessia passed a corner she hesitated, then eyed the bow and quiver laid there, forgotten these past weeks. Surely I won’t need that. Still, she spared a moment to gather them up in her arms.
The army burst upon the village, and for an instant it seemed that they’d all be spared, for it plowed forward without hint of stopping. Then they saw the meaning of it all – it wasn’t one army but two. One splashed green and fleeing, the other in red hot on their heels, and the pursuers caught up to their quarry right as they passed into Firleaf. Through clouds of road dirt kicked up by the fray, poleaxes swung and flashed in the orange sunset. Men tried to form defensive lines only to see them dashed apart by charging horses, then ground into mud.
Alessia dashed across a corner of the village green, praying that Quen knew where she was going. Behind them she heard some formation break and howls went up. At the edge of the green near the woods they came to the stump of a large tree felled long ago. The far side was hollowed out wide near the ground, enough for a slight woman and child to squeeze inside. Alessia crouched and held Quen tight with the bow before them, fumbling to get it strung.
“Here,” said Quen, pulling an arrow from the ever-slackening quiver and passing it to Alessia. “Hurry up—”
“Shh,” Alessia whispered. They listened to the carnage go on and on as they cowered. It sounded like the fleeing soldiers had taken refuge in some of the village buildings. So the pursuing troops set them on fire. When the too-familiar stench of smoke assaulted their noses, Quen burst into tears. “Mommy….”
Alessia risked a peek around the edge of the trunk, and amid the fighting and burning houses she spied a green-badged soldier running toward them. Their eyes locked. “No….” She scrambled to notch the arrow.
The soldier appeared above them, ogreish and snarling with a blooded hatchet in his hand. “Out, this is my spot now!”
“But there’s nowhere else to go!” Alessia stood halfway and raised her bow. “You get back….”
“Piss off!” He raised the hatchet and moved toward Quennet.
“I said get back!” The arrow seemed not to actually cross the short distance. It was simply resting taut on the bowstring one instant and the very next buried inside the soldier’s skull and poking out through one eye. He dropped the hatchet and fell back, shaking. A stench rose to announce that the man had voided his bowels as he died.
Alessia began shaking too, not believing what she’d just done. But there was little time to reflect – out of the corner of her eye she saw her hospital engulfed in flames, and the corpse at her feet was forgotten. “Quen, stay here.”
“B-but what—”
“Stay!” Heedless of being seen, she tore back toward the building. The heat nearly drove her away but she forced herself to dive through the smoke-filled doorway and grab her rucksack and whatever was inside – there was no time to save anything more.
Between her and the tree stump a group of men now fought and died, and horses with smoldering manes bolted every which way. One of them knocked Alessia back ten feet and she lost her way in the gloom, cut off from Quen. The last thing she saw with clarity was her hospital succumbing to the flames at last, like everything else.
She ran directionless into the forest, overcome by terror and despair. What a stupid girl I am! she thought. To think I could fight against just a tiny bit of this. Dusk fell and she found herself lost and alone. Again. Cuddy was right. Whatever we build, they destroy it. Over and over.
Stumbling in the twilight, she tripped and fell down a slope carpeted with brambles, dragging her precious few possessions with her. When she stopped falling, Alessia lay still, waiting for the pain to come and tell her what was damaged.
Face, all over. Scratches, ignore ’em. Leg, below the knee. She reached down and felt a slight wetness, then cringed. She tried to move it. It hurt but it worked. Not broken then. She sat up. Above, a full moon peeked through the treetops to illuminate her unfamiliar surroundings. She couldn’t smell Firleaf burning or hear any shouts. Had she run so far? Guilt at losing sight of Quen gnawed at her. I can’t even protect one life. If only—
A sound. Something big, moving on her right. Something close. Animal? Anything not scared off by her thrashing fall could be dangerous. Certainly I couldn’t have been followed. She rummaged through her pack, hoping she hadn’t destroyed everything. The bow was gone, dropped somewhere up the slope. She felt the smooth horn handle of an eating knife and whipped it out while ignoring the pain it took to stand.
“Come out,” she said, feigning a confidence she didn’t feel. “Come out and…I’ll let you live.” She stepped forward, quivering, then brushed aside a swath of ferns.
He wasn’t from the village; she could tell that straight away even in the moonlight. Times were tough, but not that tough. He looked bedraggled and half-mad with wild, twig-ridden hair, torn clothes and a smell like week-dead deer.
“Stay away!” He held up his fingers as if Alessia’s very presence blinded him. “Leave me be!” He sounded more terrified than threatening.
The adrenaline surging through Alessia’s body told her to strike, but she fought against it. “Who are you? You didn’t come from Firleaf.”
“Firleaf? N-no. Is it close?”
“Not anymore I fear.” She lowered the knife to have a better look at him in the moonlight. “Your hand, it’s cut to bits. It’ll get infected if it’s not seen to.” She took a tiny step toward him. “You should let me—”
“No! Stay back I said. I’ll…I’ll hurt you.”
“What happened?”
“I killed— I mean I think I killed a man.”
“You think?”
“I can’t remember. I cut my hand on…whatever I used. There was so much blood. I think it was a soldier.”
“Are you a soldier?”
The man gave her a shocked look, as though horrified by the idea. “No! I’m— I mean I was a farmer. Think I’m a fugitive now.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re very sorry.”
“No. I ain’t. I do know that much.”
“What’s your name?”
“…Ulnoth.”
“Ulnoth, I’m Alessia. Let me help.” She took a step forward.
“Help…me?” He took a half step back, but only half.
“Why don’t you let me have a look at that hand? I don’t think you’ll hurt me.”
“…Okay.”
Chapter Seven
The Spymistress
“What did you actually hear him say?”
“That the mercenaries would be at Taurix’s disposal when they arrived. That they’d march on Everwest as though to retake it for the queen, then lay down their arms before the walls as proof that they’d turned. As long as Pharamund’s pay came in advance, of course.”
“Of course. And this person the company’s captain spoke with. Describe him.”
“Describe him?” The agent gulped. “Well, I don’t know, he was just—”
“What was he wearing?”
“Clothes. Just, I don’t know, tunic and chausses. Dark-colored. And a coat.”
“What manner of coat?”
“One of those long fog-wicking things the dockworkers up there wear. You know the kind.”
�
��How long did the meeting take?”
“About ten minutes, more or less.”
“Well, which was it? More than ten minutes, or less?”
The agent felt his gut twist. “Look, what’s that matter? I told you—”
“It matters because I’m fucking asking you. After they parted which direction did this stranger go?”
“South, I think. To the inns.”
“You think, or you know?”
“I think! Please, I’m telling the truth!”
“We’ll see. How tall was he?”
“I didn’t get close enough to take his measurements! Average.”
“What color were his eyes?”
“I don’t know, it was dark!”
“Are you lying to me? Trying to make up your story as you go along, is that it? But the questions are coming too fast—”
“No, I swear!” A hand appeared out of the darkness from behind him and took a hard grip on his wrist. A manacle built right into the chair flipped up and around, locking him in place. “What the—”
“Swear all you like, I’m no temple sister to care. Now, his eyes!”
“I don’t know!”
“You do! Tell me or I’ll have you sliced up bit by tiny bit from foot to crown and fed to the fish. It’ll take you weeks to die.”
“No! Please, that’s all I know!”
“Answer! Answer, you lying, traitorous pisspot!”
He shrank in the chair, sobbing and defeated. “I don’t, don’t know….”
A pause. “All right. I believe you.”
“You…you do?”
“Of course, no one would notice such insignificant details. Well, I would, but not you.”
“Then, then why—”
“I needed to know you wouldn’t lie to me, even on pain of dismemberment. Now I do, mostly. Congratulations.”
“So….”
“So, now you can go. But not too far, I might need to interview you again.”
The agent rose slowly from his seat after the manacle was unlocked, his legs quivering jelly. As he stood, the weak light revealed a wet stain that spread down his leg and across the chair. No matter, that chair had endured far worse during its service.