by Cat Bruno
“You see, I wanted this girl dead. Yet, now, I can do little without angering my father. The babe will be kin. Do you understand what that means, healer?”
With wide eyes, Pietro hastily stuttered, “Bronwen’s babe will be Tribe, as you are.”
His eyes dark and burning, the man replied, “Not my own kin, but close enough. Interesting, don’t you think, Pietro? Here, at this place, where all learn the ways of healing, will be born a child of the dark.”
Looking down, Pietro mumbled, “If the Masters hear of it, Bronwen will be forced to leave.”
Nodding, the man said, “For now, you will say nothing. I need time to prepare, as much has changed. You will watch the girl for me and ensure that she stays safe, until a time when I can come for her.”
Pietro paled, and the man noticed, “There is nothing to fear from me, as long as you do as I ask.”
With words he nearly did not recognize as his own, Pietro asked, “How did you learn of the babe?”
Rising from the table, the man again laughed, “I watched the coupling.”
Stifling a gasp, Pietro did not move, staying in the wooden chair as the Tribesman walked to the door.
“Remember my words,” he called. “If the girl grows ill or goes missing, I must know.”
With trembling words, Pietro asked, “How will I find you?”
When the Tribesman turned to face him again, Pietro nearly cried aloud. His eyes were yellow, his fingers claw-like. Reaching into a pouch at his waist, the Tribesman grabbed a small stone and threw it to Pietro.
Catching it from the air, Pietro eyed it as the man said, “Toss this into a flame when you need to summon me. I will come as soon as I can.”
As he looked upon the stone, the man departed, leaving Pietro alone with the rune-covered amulet. For over an hour, he sat, unable to move, staring at the stone. As if answers were written upon it.
55
For the next half-moon, the cramping came and went, sometimes severe, other times barely noticeable, but Bronwen attended class and returned to the clinic. Each morning, she would brew herself a strong tea of lemon balm, peppermint, and red raspberry, which allowed her to function more normally, as if the last few moons had never happened.
Master Rova had been told that the man had died from his injuries, and word was sent to the village where he was believed to be from, although nothing had been heard back in return. Sharron and she had grown closer, and, often, the two were together, although Kennet seemed to have little time for her and his withdrawal hurt her deeply. Willem was polite and respectful toward her, but he too remained mostly distant, which surprised her most of all, although Bronwen sensed that the news of the babe had disappointed him. Aldric was trying to keep himself out of sight by staying in Willem’s villa, which meant that Bronwen no longer had his support either. Aside from Sharron, she was often alone, avoiding her foster mother for fear the woman would suspect she was with child.
She had not told Sheva any of what had occurred, nor did Bronwen know if she would ever be able to do so. The idea of trying to explain to her foster mother what had happened seemed impossible, so she forced the idea from her mind. Ammon and Aldric had informed her that they thought it best that when the time came to reveal her pregnancy, Kennet would be named as the babe’s father, for which he had already agreed. However, none yet had asked, and, still, she was unsure if she wanted to entangle Kennet further.
But, Bronwen figured that she had several moons to decide what to do, even though she could feel her body changing. She tried to create her own kind of mind-lock and forget altogether that she was with child, especially a child of the Tribe. The thought that the girl would be dark-touched was overwhelming, so Bronwen avoided it, and refused to change anything, even when Sharron would raise an eyebrow at her or ask her how she was feeling, or when Willem would try to give her less to do at the clinic.
Nearly a full moon passed, and Bronwen settled back into the life that she had been living before the gods had become involved. As busy as she made herself and as much as she tried to forget what had happened, her body reminded her daily that much had changed. She ate much more than she once had, and felt stronger too, more so than she should have, she knew.
Yet, it was not the changes in her body that bothered her most. Each day, her once mind-locked memories surfaced, scattered and fragmented, arriving in pieces, broken and confusing.
Images of places she had never seen and ones that she sensed were real, flashed through her mind, soaring mountains with sapphire lakes at their bases, logged cottages lined up in the valleys, smoke rising from stone chimneys. One image that appeared often, clearer each time, was that of a redheaded child, not the one she carried, running free, trailed by two wiry-haired dogs that were taller than the child, the sound of laughter bouncing off the hills as the girl tumbled into the soft grass, green and lush. Even though she understood that the memories were her own, Bronwen still did not feel as if she was the child. Most times, it was easier to dismiss the thoughts altogether, for too often she would become lost in them.
However, the days progressed, and Bronwen focused on maintaining the life that she had created before Conri had entered it, allowing herself only moments of reflection, and nothing more for fear that she would be trapped in that past. Until a morning came when she could no longer forget what had occurred.
Arriving at the clinic around midday, a sudden chill rose up her back, despite the warmth the full sun offered. As she reached for the doors, she braced herself for what she thought was another spasm. When no pain arrived, she continued inside. Standing near to the entrance were three black-haired, golden-skinned women and two children, all native Tretorians, chattering away nervously.
The children looked well enough, without any apparent injury or illness, although all three women seemed as if they had had little sleep, with dark patches under their deep brown eyes and splotchy skin. Bronwen stepped in front of them when she did not see Willem or any other senior healer near, and asked how she could assist them, letting her eyes glance at the group once more to see if there was something that she had missed.
Speaking Tretorian, the oldest of the women said, “Several days ago, we received word that a healer had come looking for my daughter. When the man arrived from the Academy, we were all gone from the town and know not what he wanted. We have come as soon as we could.”
Bronwen gently asked, “And who is your daughter? Has she been ill?”
“No,” the woman muttered, with a shaking voice.
“My name is Bronwen, and I am a healer here. I will do what I can to help you find your daughter.”
Shaking her head, the woman said, “It is not my daughter that is here.” The woman’s wrinkled face was flushed and her eyes wet. “We have come for my daughter’s husband, who was here at your clinic a moon or so past, after an accident aboard the merchant ship he had been working. We had no word of his accident until just recently when a man he had been hired with returned home. He told us that Byron had been brought here and that, when last he heard, my daughter’s husband still lived. We came as soon as we could, and it is sad news we bring him. His wife is dead.”
When Bronwen heard her words, she dropped her head, unable to look at the woman as understanding came.
Slowly, she mumbled, “Yes, I know the man you speak of,” keeping her voice as even as she could manage, “and I myself treated his injuries.”
Shaking herself free of the surprise, she asked, “Has his wife recently died?”
Stepping forward was one of the other women, who said, quietly, “My sister Anunca was in perfect health, the mother of these two children here. Half a moon past, she was killed, although she was a woman without enemies. We do not understand what was done to her, and first thought it might be her husband who had done so. Yet, when Jaziere arrived and told us that Byron was here, we knew it could not have been him. Then the healer arrived, while we were burying her, and soon after learned of Byron’s acciden
t.”
Bronwen nodded in reply, unsure if words would come now that knowledge had.
With a cry, the old woman said, “A monster got her. No animal could have ripped out her throat the way it was. Not where we live. Her head was nearly hanging from her body when I finally got to her,” the woman sputtered, words full of anger and pain.
Backing away, Bronwen mumbled, “I am sorry for your loss. Let me find the master here. Follow me.”
After leading them to an empty room, she hurried off, uncertain where to find Willem, although she knew that he had been spending time with Aldric at his villa. On her way through the clinic, Bronwen spotted two young healers folding linens, and she instructed them to bring the waiting women some fresh cooled tea and a few trays of food. As she was about to walk away from the two girls, Bronwen noticed Mathias watching her, a strange look across his face. He had been distant toward her, even more so in the past moon, and occasionally Bronwen wondered what she had done to earn his distrust. But she had little time to worry about it now and dropped her gaze before heading for the doors.
She hurried to Willem’s villa, where she hoped that she would be able to find some answers. As she ran, a deep unease settled upon her as recognition of what Conri had done overcame her. He was the animal the woman had mentioned. It was he who had mauled her daughter. When the bloody image surfaced in her mind, Bronwen could not stop the bile that rose up from her stomach, and she quickly crossed to the edge of the stony road and vomited, grabbing her hair and pulling it to the back of her neck as her stomach emptied.
Wiping at her mouth, she cried, “Oh gods, what have I done?”
Wanting nothing more than to head back to her own rooms, Bronwen sat down hard on her backside, letting her head fall into her arms as they lay across her raised legs. For several moments she sat that way, hearing noises coming from the city center, far enough away to go unnoticed. Over and over the words played through her head, of how the woman had been found, how Byron had been found.
With the same mouth that had kissed her, Conri had ripped the life from two people, and Bronwen would not even allow herself to attempt to figure out how many more he done the same.
Breathing slowly, Bronwen tried to slow her life pulse and stop her tears. Yet, nothing helped, and the face of Conri, the handsome, sleek face, flashed and streaked across her memory, even as she squeezed her eyes closed. How did I think that he had some light in him when he was the son of darkness? How have the gods of the North led me here?
Bronwen cried out then, an anguish-filled yell that echoed and rolled, thundering in the quietness of the gentle afternoon. Over and over she yelled, until her throat ached, raw and raspy, leaving her with tears rolling from her face onto the sandy ground.
After her screams faded, she closed her eyes and fought hard against the images that clouded her head. She knew not how long she sat at the edge of the road.
When a hand gripped her shoulder, she could do nothing but glance up, weak and sickened by the knowledge of who Conri was. Through tears that clung to her lashes, Bronwen gazed at Willem. Still, she could not speak.
“Bronwen, come with me. Let me take you home,” he offered, his voice calm and steady.
“You know?”
He kneeled beside her then, taking her tear-stained face into his hands, “Yes, Bronwen. I arrived at the clinic just after you left and have spoken with the Tretorian women. I told them that he did not survive his injuries, even after all that you did to heal him. They seemed to accept it well enough. I also informed them that there is no body to claim, as we feared disease and buried him soon after. I have promised to show them his gravesite later this day.”
Bronwen shook her head back and forth, over and over, then looked back at him. The sadness in his eyes caught her breath, and Bronwen murmured, “What have I done?”
Willem smiled, although there was nothing joyful about it, and answered, “I had hoped you to be at peace a little longer, before any doubts surfaced, Bronwen. You did not do this for him. You did it for the girl, the one who can heal and time-walk and who knows what else. I shall never forget the peace that she brought me when she visited me the once. Let her bring you that same peace now. You do all this for her.”
Clinging to him, she asked, “Why did you let me go that night, Willem? Did you not know what would happen?”
“Bronwen, your path has been etched by stronger hands than mine. I could do nothing to alter your choice, which you well know. What is done is done. You must accept it, and accept that the girl makes this all necessary.”
“The girl! I think of nothing else! But do not forget who has fathered her, Willem!” Bronwen shouted, although her voice was raw and her words low.
“Do not forget who her mother is, Bronwen,” he countered, reaching out to hold her to him, her back against his wide chest.
She cried again, whispering through the sobs, “Willem, what have I done? I have ruined everything. And now his child grows inside of me.”
“Come with me,” he replied, lifting her as if she was in truth no more than a child.
He carried her the whole distance back to her room. With her eyes closed and her face pressed into his thick shoulder, Bronwen noticed nothing, surprised when he gently placed her down in front of her own door. Raising a shaking hand to her door, she pushed it open as the warding gave way, and entered slowly, heading toward her bed even as the sun streamed in the windows.
Laying her head on her pillow and rolling onto her side, Bronwen called out to Willem as he stood just inside her doorway.
“If I thought he could not find us, Willem, I would have gone with you.”
Her words were unexpected, yet she knew they were true ones. Willem said nothing. But, as he turned and closed the door behind him, she noticed that his eyes were shining.
56
Another moon passed without incident, much to Bronwen’s relief, and while she was still slim, she could feel her body softening. Sometimes, she was exhausted, hurrying home after class or time at the clinic, and sleeping, occasionally through the evening meal, which would often cause a visit from Sharron. Willem continued his normal routine, splitting his time between the clinic and his villa, where Aldric seldom parted. Bronwen was surprised that his presence was not causing more concern, yet the Academy often preached a message of peace as well as healing, and Aldric had caused no alarm since his arrival.
Kennet spent his time in the library or with Louissia, who Bronwen liked less and less, although she could not say why. It was clear that Kennet was developing feelings for the girl, and while Bronwen did not wish her friend a life of solitude, she was finding it difficult to no longer be his closest friend.
Bronwen avoided Pietro as much as possible and could not recall speaking more than a few words to him over the last moon. Even then, he filled her with worry as a smirk crossed his face and a glint entered his thickly lashed eyes. Also, it seemed that he was growing closer with several members of the Master Council, as she had twice watched him be invited to meetings that she did not attend. If she had had more time and less to fret over, Bronwen might have grown concerned about her own status as Master Apprentice, but as it was, she was only trying to survive each day, occasionally allowing herself to think on the days to come and how she would face them.
She still had not spent much time with Sheva, having seen her little in the last two moons. Twice she had visited her foster mother, and both times had been strained. Bronwen had fidgeted with her robe, worried about the way she must look, and kept glancing about the room, eyes darting everywhere, as if she had not spent moon years in the same room, seated on the same couch. Even though she knew that there was no real difference in her body, Bronwen could not help but think that Sheva had been staring at her midsection, and after nearly an hour, she excused herself, telling Sheva that she had work to complete.
Other times she would see her foster mother in the dining hall, yet there too she was ill at ease, embarrassed by the amount
of food she would eat.
After a long day and nothing to eat in her rooms, Bronwen hurried to the dining hall, throwing on an oversized robe. As she walked, the setting sun cast a red haze over the sun-whitened buildings. A cool breeze blew, sweeping down from the North, and Bronwen inhaled until her stomach was full, smelling the pines and tasting the snow of her youth. She shook her head to be free from the memory, yet it persisted.
Instead of the image of a child sprinting across a high-grassed field, with the two large dogs trailing her, another picture surfaced. A woman and a man smiling at her as she splashed in a clear, ice-blue lake, the man’s hair as bright as a red moon and the woman’s as dark as a raven. The man’s eyes were a laughing, shining green, not as brilliant as her daughter’s, but peaceful and content. The black-haired woman’s eyes were a light shade of brown, earthy and nurturing. Bronwen paused for a moment and put her hand to her cheek, touching the freckles that she knew dotted over her nose, the same ones that played across the face of the smiling man. Her father, and, next to him, her dark-haired mother.
Why did I believe that it was my mother whom I resembled?
Bronwen shivered, as if she could feel the icy water next to her skin as her younger self played in the shadows of the still snow-capped mountains.
When she entered the doors to the dining hall, she kept her head down, lost in the memory.
Only when she heard Kennet calling her name did she look up, smiling into the surprised eyes of her friend.
“Bronwen, I have not seen you here all quarter-moon! Thank the gods I did not come earlier or we would have missed each other. You look well-rested, I must say,” he added sheepishly, knowing how Bronwen was quickly hating all of the extra scrutiny upon her.
“Oh, I am feeling fine, Kenny, and do not need to be treated as if I am dying! Between you and Sharron, I might have to disappear altogether or risk being suffocated with your worries!”