The Girl from the North (Pathway of the Chosen Book 1)

by Cat Bruno

  Talia knew nothing of what she had promised Pietro, which suited Louissia fine as she had no plans on splitting the coins with her cousin. Of late, Pietro had grown more demanding, and more forceful, telling her that he was running out of time, and that if she discovered nothing in the next few days, then he was going to introduce Kennet to a Rexterran woman whom he had met recently, a real beauty that shared his love for books.

  She did not doubt that Pietro would do so, as she had noticed a side of him that he tried to keep hidden from her cousin and, no doubt, most of the Academy. Kennet had confided in her once that Bronwen disliked Pietro and rarely talked to him, which Louissia begrudgingly agreed with, although she didn’t admit as much to either man. Pietro had a violent streak in him, striking out at those who disagreed with him or challenged him, and Louissia was beginning to suspect that he was much more brutal than anyone suspected. But she had given him her word, and he had promised her coin, so she walked along the broad street that would lead her to the Academy grounds, and then into the towering library that still intimidated her each time she gazed up at its massive height.

  When she finally entered Kennet’s office, he was not there, which was unusual for midday, especially since she had visited him at the same time for the last few days. With Pietro’s warning fresh in her mind, Louissia decided to take advantage of his absence and look around his office, which she had offered to clean more than once. Each time, Kennet had declined.

  His desk seemed the best place to start, although the surface was barely visible underneath piles of thick scrolls and leather-bound books. After a quick glance at the door, Louissia began to search through the papers, leaving the books where they were. Many of the papers were in languages that she couldn’t read, and some of the words scrolling across the pages looked like nothing she had ever seen. She smiled for a moment, amazed that Kennet was able to understand all that was written in the ancient books, and then her hand brushed against a scroll with a hardened clump of wax, a seal that had been broken.

  When Louissia picked up the rough paper, it unrolled, and she noticed that it was a letter addressed to Kennet, written in a dark, clean hand. And it was written in Common, a language she herself had been taught years before in school, and although she spoke it in passing well, Louissia hoped that her memory held. After she looked to the door once again to ensure that she was still alone, Louissia began to read the note.

  Kennet,

  How nice to hear from you after so many years apart. In truth, I am surprised that your letter found me at all, as I don’t often spend long amounts of time in any one place. I remember the last time that I saw you was when you were still a boy, right before you entered the Academy, where it seems you have made a home for yourself.

  I will admit to being curious as to why you wrote to me, especially since your father has disavowed me as kin, but I will not let his hatred for me dissuade me from coming to see you, as I know that neither one of us has ever been able to please him. And yes, Kennet, soon after I send this letter, I will be setting forth to Tretoria, a land that I have visited many times before, but never have I had cause to be at the Healer’s Academy. Until now, of course. Your courier tracked me to Planusterra, where I have been staying for the last moon or so, recovering from some wounds that I took in a battle. For the last several moon years, I hired myself out as a sell-sword and traveled extensively throughout Cordisia and points in all directions. But, the latest blow leaves me wanting to take some time away from the battlefield. I believe that I am recovered enough to travel without delay and should arrive within a half-moon.

  What exactly am I needed for, I wonder? You made mention of a friend needing my help? Does she have coin to pay, Kennet? Especially if my other talents are needed, as you seem to suggest.

  It will be nice to see the man you have become, my nephew, and meet this special friend of yours. Until then, stay well.

  Aldric

  After Louissia finished reading it, she dropped the parchment to the desk, before Kennet returned. She walked across the room and sat on the extra chair that he had recently added, for herself, she assumed. While she waited for him to arrive, Louissia searched her memory for any mention that he might have made about an uncle. She knew that he had spent his childhood with his grandparents, only seeing his father occasionally, as he was a high ranking member of the Mage-Guild and resided in Rexterra nearly the whole moon year. But the uncle had never been discussed, she was certain of it, although from what was written in the letter, it didn’t surprise her, especially since Kennet’s father had renounced him.

  Aldric was a sell-sword it seemed, as was Louissia’s own brother, who as a middle son wanted nothing to do with their family’s farm and had signed on moon years ago with a passing band of hired men. On visits home, her brother Donatos would often tell stories of his adventures and the men, and women, fighting beside him. Many, if not most, were escaping a hard life, or trying to avoid the law, and Donatos had even feared a few of them, which had surprised Louissia, for her brother was as strong as a bull, which had been his nickname as a child. When she had asked him what he was afraid of, he had answered that bad times cause men to do bad things, and he would tell her no more, a darkness crossing his face.

  But ever since then, Louissia had grown skeptical of any sell-sword she had met, even the ones who seemed charming and smiled at her when she delivered them an ale. Of course, Talia flirted with them all, never caring what they might have done before entering the tavern. After several more minutes, she figured that Kennet must not have been in the library, and Louissia departed, deciding that since she had some time before she was due back at the tavern, she would try to find Pietro. Maybe the new information she had for him might earn her some coin.

  *****

  When Kennet finally arrived at the clinic, it was well past midday, and he hoped that he would find Bronwen inside since she hadn’t been in her rooms and he knew that she had no classes after the morning session. He had not spoken to her for over a quarter-moon, surprised that she was showing such restraint after her behavior the last time they were together. He supposed that she had heeded his warnings and was trying to focus on her studies and the clinic, avoiding the library’s temptations altogether. In her absence, Kennet had been devoting a large part of his day to Louissia, and the two were often together, although Kennet was surprised at how often he thought about Bronwen.

  After he had received the letter from his uncle, which had only arrived shortly before, Kennet had immediately begin his search for Bronwen, alternatively shocked and worried about his uncle’s impending arrival, a man that he had not seen since he was a child. And a man whom, no doubt, would receive little welcome at the Academy, especially now.

  Truthfully, he could hardly believe that Aldric was coming at all, and really had only sent the letter to please Bronwen, never believing that the courier he had hired would be able to find his uncle, and certainly never thinking that his uncle would agree to visit. Kennet’s stomach rumbled in response, and his nerves had been rattled since receiving the letter. He could hardly wait to tell Bronwen, yet hoped that between the two of them that they could find a way to keep Aldric’s presence hidden.

  Kennet stopped a young student, perhaps a third-year he thought, and asked her where he could find Bronwen.

  “I believe she is with a man that has just arrived and is badly injured, sir. If you wait here, I will try to find her, or at least find someone who knows where she is. Your name?” the girl asked, her voice clipping along, in an accent that Kennet recognized from the Eastern plains.

  He took a seat where she had pointed and called to her, “Tell her that Kennet is here, and I will wait to speak with her.”

  The young girl, hair golden and straight down her back, nodded, her pale-blue eyes appearing too young to be in such a place as the clinic, and then she bounded off, heading to an area of the clinic that Kennet had never entered. Since the girl had mentioned that Bronwen was most likely bu
sy, and perhaps she would be for some time, he searched his deepest pocket and quickly found what he was looking for, a small book, one of many that he often had with him. Making himself comfortable on the stiff wooden bench, Kennet began to read as he waited for Bronwen to finish, anxious to tell her the news.

  *****

  Bronwen nearly wept with relief when a first-year hurried up to her, mumbling that she was urgently needed. The girl trailed behind as Bronwen rushed to the back of the clinic, and then, when she hesitated, the girl shyly pointed to the corner room. For the last few hours, she had had little to do, and her boredom combined with her exhaustion was taking its toll, and she had nearly fallen asleep several times. Bronwen entered the room excitedly, her fatigue lessening with each step.

  Beside the cot stood Mathias, a senior healer himself, his hands wet and covered in blood, his white robe stained from above his waist down to his knees. Red streaks smeared across the side of his robe too. Two other healers, Donnavan and Sharron, stood on the far side of the cot, and both were similarly bloodied, their faces subdued.

  Mathias addressed her almost immediately, his voice strained, “Bronwen, I had not believed that you would be needed, or I would have sent for you sooner. But I cannot seem to stop this man’s bleeding, despite what we have tried.”

  “Tell me what happened?” she asked, nearing the cot while rolling up the sleeves on her long robe.

  “He was carried in by a few sailors and hasn’t regained consciousness. One of the men who brought him in said that he had slipped off the deck of their boat and had fallen upon some rocks. His chest and stomach are nearly torn off, yet still he breathes. I don’t think he has much time, though.”

  Bronwen had spent the early part of the afternoon on the other side of the clinic, mostly observing and working with some late-year healers who were nearly ready to treat patients on their own. She hadn’t noticed when the men had brought the sailor in, or she would have joined Mathias in his efforts. She only hoped that she was not now too late.

  As Bronwen looked upon the man, her skin prickled, and had she not noticed that the man’s upper chest rising and falling, she would have thought him to be dead. How he was still alive was surprising, even more so after she did a quick examination of his wounds, which were severe.

  Bronwen’s quick examination revealed enough. It seemed that he had fallen upon the rocks with significant force, striking his chest rather than his head, which would have resulted in instant death. The impact had scraped the skin from his body, although there was a chance that his organs had not yet been damaged beyond repair. Her first idea had been to stitch what little skin had been left, pulling it from the right side of his body and stretching it across to his left hip. Within moments her hands were as red as Mathias, sliding off his skin as she tried to grasp it, covered from fingertips to elbows in blood, which caused her the most concern.

  She yelled over her shoulder, “Get me yarrow and agrimony. Fresh leaves, if we have any. And you,” Bronwen said, now pointing with her elbow at the wide-eyed and pale first-year who had summoned her, “reach into my large pouch and hand me the small bottle with the corked top.”

  Donnavan ran from the room, and she hoped that he was searching for the herbs that she had requested. The young girl hesitated, and Bronwen was about to scold her, but then she stepped forward and placed her clean, small hands into the largest of the pouches that she wore on her belt, and delicately, albeit with shaking hands, grabbed the correct bottle, handing it to Bronwen.

  When Bronwen uncorked it, the smell overpowered the room, causing the girl to step back with the back of her hand pressed over her mouth. Even Mathias looked concerned, and although he did not interfere, Bronwen could see the questions lingering over his face.

  While it was not necessary that she seek his approval, as she was now above him in rank, even though he had been at the clinic longer than she, Bronwen said, distractedly, “It is a mixture that I have been working on. A mixture of a few herbs recommended in a book of medicine from the Eastern world. A few moons ago, I sent for some dried herbs from across the Three Seas that would staunch heavy bleeding. I have been working with these herbs for a moon now and believe that now is the time to see how they work. If this does not work, though, then nothing will. His blood loss is staggering. I am surprised he still lives.”

  Remembering that her new position would require her to take on a larger role with the younger healers, Bronwen added, “The main four herbs that I have mixed into this poultice are thistle, although not what we find here, the dried buds of a sophoro flower, some powdered ginseng, and rubia root. None of the four can be found anywhere in Cordisia, and I had all of them imported from Lapana, a nation of islands across the Three Seas.”

  As she pulled the skin more tautly, Donnavan came back, carrying bright-green leaves with him, some with notched edges and others that were long and thin, almost feathery. When she saw what he carried, Bronwen nodded her approval, recognizing the agrimony and the yarrow.

  She called out, to no one in particular, “Now, I will need one of you to hold this flap of skin while I douse him with this tonic.”

  Mathias stepped up until he was near enough that he could hold onto the sheet of skin that was only barely still attached to the man’s body and watched in disbelief as Bronwen unfurled the skin again, opening up the man until his lower stomach muscles were spread out before them. Mathias paled, yet he held tightly to the skin and waited as Bronwen poured the pungent, thick liquid into the man, trying hard to resist gagging when the sharp, bitter smell reached him.

  He continued to watch as the brownish sap oozed over the deep lacerations, sticky and opaque, intrigued by what Bronwen had created.

  He heard her say, “Give me the agrimony leaves, one at a time.”

  Donnavan, well-trained and calm-eyed, handed her the leaves, which Mathias knew to be a gentle astringent and had made great use of himself. Bronwen placed them across the man’s body, where the bleeding seemed to be the worst, and where, moments before, blood had spurted.

  “Now the yarrow.”

  When the feathery leaves were handed over, Bronwen placed them beside the agrimony, allowing the herbs to work in unison, almost weaving them together, and Mathias understood now what her intentions were once so applied.

  He asked, “Bronwen, how will you stitch this man up when there is not enough skin to cover him? Your work might go for naught in the end.”

  She shook her head, ignoring his question, as she crumbled up the leaves, a pleasant lemony scent temporarily masking the stench that had overtaken the room. Mathias watched as Bronwen stepped back from the man and wiped the back of her hand against her forehead, leaving a streak of red there. She briefly paused to stare at the man’s stomach.

  All the healers in the room waited nervously to see if the natural tannins in the herbs would slow the bleeding.

  Into the silence Bronwen said, “I need a long needle, preferably Rexterran steel. The longest one we have. Also, I will need some valerian oil and milk of the poppy. This man might regain consciousness at some point, and he will have to be sedated.”

  She took no notice when Donnavan shuffled from the room. After drawing a deep breath, she stepped back beside the cot, letting the lavender-scented blanket that covered the man’s face and upper chest remain. When she bent close to examine his stomach, a few strands of her hair escaped from the tie at the back of her neck and became edged with the man’s blood, darkening her tresses until they looked brown. Bronwen paid little attention as the bloodied strands stuck to her cheek and allowed herself a slight smile as she inspected the injury.

  Intrigued by her reaction, Mathias leaned in to see what had caused it. He gasped aloud when she pushed aside the skin, to reveal clotting blood, and, underneath the gore, a deep, pulsing slice shined up at them, one that could indeed be sewn back together.

  When Bronwen began to speak, Mathias wasn’t certain if she was talking to him or the others, but he listened,
his interest heightened.

  “We are far from being finished. The bleeding has stopped, for now, but we must proceed with great haste and even greater caution, for the slightest misstep could cause the bleeding to begin anew. I do not think he will survive losing even another drop of blood. First, I must remove the leaves, then I will begin to stitch this diagonal tear. Something, most likely a sharp rock, must have penetrated him deeply. Then, after the internal stitches have set, I must find a way to reattach the skin, forming a boundary against exposure and infection.”

  Everyone in the room was quiet, listening to her as she laid out her plans, her voice steady and sure, the tone of a Master instructing a class on the proper method of stitching. Mathias turned when Donnavan reentered the room and watched as the fair-haired healer offered Bronwen a small linen, the light reflecting on the metal needle that lay atop the fabric. She wiped her hands on a clean towel that Sharron, the other senior healer, held out to her. Then, she nodded toward Sharron, indicating that the girl should thread the needle. The tall, light-haired woman gently grabbed the needle, threading it with a fine fiber specially harvested for the Academy from sheep intestines from a nearby farmstead. The thread was thicker than normal, but Bronwen seemed pleased that Sharron had chosen well and complemented her on the choice.

  And, then, Bronwen began. After removing the herbs, she stitched slowly, carefully moving the steel needle through the long wound, breathing evenly as she worked, the room still and quiet. After several moments, Mathias eyed Bronwen as her arm began to tremble, slightly. When he sensed that fatigue was setting in, he offered to take over, which Bronwen declined.

  She continued, steadying her hand as she worked from the left side of the man’s abdomen to his right. When she had reached the end of the slice, Bronwen crossed her thread back and forth, then delicately tied a tight knot at the end, stepping back when she finished.