I'd just have ta make some plans ta visit tha south meself, then, she resolved, though she knew it was unlikely to happen. She was almost thirty years old and she'd not been anywhere except Nucalif and Mt. Voco. All those trips had been work-related. She would visit the South only if Zardria declared war on them -- while that might secure demitasse for Athering's exclusive use, it was something Anala didn't want to see happen.
Another silence stretched, the silence of two people eating. Anala put all her concentration into her food, for despite the good taste her stomach roiled with tension. As much as the treatment was good, why were they honouring her so? Technically she was an enemy to them. Not that she was complaining about her fine rooms and dinner, but they did make her nervous. There had to be a catch somewhere.
More than once she found her gaze straying to the third chair at the table, which remained empty. She was sure it was someone's regular seat, for the chair was far from dusty and looked well-used. Where was its occupant? And who? The mysterious Lady Exsil Vis?
She finished her mouthful of food and took a small swig of wine. When she'd swallowed she cleared her throat hesitantly; Lord Exsil Vis looked up expectantly.
"Begging pardon, Yer Lordship, but that third chair -- are we waiting for someone?"
A light came into Lord Exsil Vis' eyes that frightened her, and Anala regretted asking. "Ah, yes," he replied, silky smoothness defining his voice. "My lady wife has been...delayed in arriving tonight. She bade me send her apologies, but I'm afraid my manners forgot me." Anala did her best to return his smile, but she felt that a rictus of fear had taken her face instead, thought she could not have said what made her so scared. "Lares!" he shouted suddenly, and Anala jumped in her chair.
Silent as a cat, Lares appeared at his lord's side and bowed deeply. "Yes, My Lord?" he said, and Anala saw the dour-faced dandy she now knew so well.
"Find the Lady Hope and tell her supper gets colder the more time she spends primping," Lord Exsil Vis said, anger riding his voice.
Lares bowed deeply again. "Yes, my lord," he said, and retreated, as silently as he appeared.
"Woman's addicted to her vanity," Lord Exsil Vis muttered, picking at his food in a pique. Anala swallowed, trying to keep calm. In an abrupt change of mood he continued, "I shouldn't complain, though. She's a good woman, and a good mother."
Anala nearly choked. "Ye have children?" she said, trying to keep incredulity out of her voice.
Lord Exsil Vis smiled indulgently. "Oh, yes, at least two -- daughters both, though the eldest I've not seen in some time."
"Oh?" she said, feigning interest. What Goddess would let a man like this father children? "Why not?"
"I told you Hope was a good mother -- as good a parent as I am a bad one, I daresay. When my daughter was still a babe Hope engineered it for her sister and the child to escape to Athering, where I could not reach them. She had no such chance with Miranda, however, and so I have had opportunity to dote on her as much as I would have the first. I would appreciate, however, a chance to apologise to my other daughter for not being a better father to her...and it looked like God has granted me that chance." He was staring at her intently.
Anala's blood froze in her veins.
She swallowed nervously, her throat as dry as the Southern Desert. Hesitantly she met his gaze. "What do ye mean?" she asked, regretting it instantly, for she feared the answer intensely.
"Have you not wondered, Anala, who your real parents are?" he asked, overly casual.
She cleared her throat and broke the eye contact. How could he know of her adoption? She'd known for only a day now! He would know if what he's suggestin'd be true, Anala, a small voice inside her pointed out but she slapped it ruthlessly. Somehow she managed to speak in a steady voice. "I figured they would've come forward afore now, if they lived or cared."
At this he laughed, a low rolling sound that made all the small hairs on Anala's skin stand on end. She grabbed her wine glass, wishing it was full. "Oh, my dear, live we do, and care -- well, your mother hasn't shut up about you in twenty-eight years. But able to take you back? That was another matter, and God knows I tried. Besides, you seemed happy enough," he said, leaning back in his chair.
Anala managed to put aside her instant denial of what he was claiming (how could he claim that -- does he mock me?) to let the anger at his last statement flow.
"Happy?" she rasped out, turning her bellica-glare on him. "Oh, sure -- I s'pose a childhood where I had ta fight tooth and nail ta survive les' me foster-siblings take it in their minds ta drown me, could be considered happy ta ye, Lord Exsil Vis -- after all, only those tha' live get succession here, ain' that right? And I s'pose, too," she said savagely, gesturing with her hand at the table, "ye would consider never havin' enough ta eat, fer yer foster-parents thought ye no had earned tha right ta live, fun-filled, would ye no? And even maybe, maybe considerin' the kinda man ye'd be," she was standing now, screaming at him, her voice echoing in the room, "ye'd see me screams o pain from me foster-brother havin his way wit' me as screams o joy, sure. I mean, what thirteen-year-old wouldnae want that? Certainly tis better than what ye could've given me. Tell me, ye who claim ta be me father, though I dinnae see how even ye could be so cruel as ta suggest it, tell me," she slammed her hands down on the table, shattering the glass she held and driving the shards into her skin, "if ye'd kept me here, would ye have waited til I was older ta kill me best friend, or would ye have done her in in front o me seven-year-old eyes?"
She stood there, leaning on the table, blood dripping down her hand, breathing heavily, glaring at this man, this demon, claiming such horror. Against her will tears pooled in her eyes, but whether they were from fear or anger or pain she couldn't tell.
He smiled. Smiled and chuckled at her, at the litany of pain she'd laid in front of him. Her mouth dropped open, aghast. The sheer and utter gall of this man!
"Oh, Anala, you are just like your mother, I tell you. She'll be so happy!"
Anala screamed in frustration and pulled at her hair. "Well, if'n I am I'd be sure ye wouldnae know, for what ye're saying'd be impossible! Some day I will find me real parents, and they willnae have you in the pairing!" She gestured wildly with her arms and heard a resounding smash and tinkle as her plate met the floor with the force of her anger.
Lord Exsil Vis stared calmly at her where she stood, chest heaving, hair a mess, blood dripping from her face now as well, and she felt like laughing maniacally.
A voice from behind her, cool and womanly, cut through the silence in the room and the madness in Anala's head.
"I'm sorry, Darling, but he speaks truth. You are our daughter, our first born. And I've missed you very, very much." The voice broke with the thickness of tears unshed, a sound Anala knew too well. The bellica turned slowly, willing herself to wake up from this nightmare, and came face to face with...a mirror. Why had someone wheeled a mirror in here? Why was it speaking to her? But no, she was wearing black, not the purple this image wore, and her hair was straighter than the curls this woman boasted. The woman was the same height, with the same colour hair and eyes and facial structure and the same golden tint to her skin. Anala could not deny that they were related.
But not me mother. She'd be too young.
For the woman -- Lady Exsil Vis, this must be -- did not look much older than Anala. She'd have to be well over forty years to have given birth to the bellica.
"Ye cannae be," Anala said, a whisper she desperately wanted to be true.
The woman shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart. I am."
Anala shook her head viciously, and almost convinced herself it wasn't true -- she was dreaming, she had to be, there was no way this reality could exist, she'd wake up safe and warm in Aro's arms -- oh, Aro! how would he feel about this? He must never know, and would never know, except if she related this to him as her crazy dream to -- because it was just a crazy dream and tomorrow she'd find it had never happened, that she was just Bellica Anala Tanner, c
hild of loveless parents from Harbourtown, and life would go back to normal -- but then the woman opened her mouth and began to sing, and Anala's life crashed down around her ears.
Now I lay me down to sleep,
flame-sprites watching over me my Lord,
now I lay me down to sleep,
flame-sprites watching over me....
It was enough. Anala opened her mouth in a wordless cry that could have been "No!" or could have been "Momma!" as the memories flooded her mind. Being rocked to sleep, playing with her mother's hair, her mother looking just like this woman, now. She hadn't aged a day. It wasn't possible.
It had happened. Was happening.
She took a step forward, then another, reaching out her arm as the woman reached out to her. Then the floor rushed up to meet her in a crushing wave of inky darkness, and she drifted away, ignoring the cries of her name.
Ghia
Jourd'Juno, 34th Decima
Ghia woke with a gasp, clutching her blanket to her chest. For a moment she panicked, forgetting where she was. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she saw she was in the healer's quarters in the castle, where she'd been bunking for eight nights.
Normally she would have stayed at the tavern, but when she'd waked from her three-day nap, just in time to celebrate Kore's Mass, she'd had a strong feeling that staying at the castle would be a prudent decision. A good thing, too, for another epidemic of swiftshock fever had broken out in Atherton seven days prior, and this time Helene had fallen ill with it. No surprise, for the woman was not very young anymore, and worked too hard, besides. Ghia was now acting Head Healer, while her mother was kept in quarantine. She wanted to use her healing powers to cure Helene but the woman had blistered Ghia's ears forbidding it before she fell into a coma, saying Ghia needed to concentrate on the rest of the sick -- as well as keep the hospitalis running smoothly.
She could not argue, for she could not tell her mother about her new training and Magea Rosa. It vexed her, but deep down she knew Helene was right.
And when she had attempted to do something for her mother, somehow that meddler Jules had known, and stopped Ghia dead.
"Are you crazy? Atherton needs you right now, more than your mother does, more than they need her. You may be part Magi, Ghia, but you're not a deity," he'd scolded her, concern and anger making his voice harsh.
It had stung, but she refused to let him upset her. Instead she just assigned him to Helene's care on top of his other duties. She outranked him now, especially as Yarrow had relinquished command of her medicorps for the duration of the fever. Much to her chagrin he had agreed happily, not even a little upset at the extra work. Could she do nothing to vex him?
One thing, she remembered now, swinging her legs out of bed. Jules hated it when she didn't take care of herself, and she'd only been asleep for a few hours now, after a three-day run without rest.
It wasn't as if she could get back to sleep, now -- not with a nightmare like that. She wished she could remember the details. All she could remember was west; so it must be about Anala. All the times she'd tried to touch the bellica's mind, to assure herself of the woman's safety, she'd hit a wall, right around Voco. She couldn't get around it. As soon as Anala had sailed past that border she might as well have fallen off the face of the earth, for all Ghia could reach her.
She sighed. There was nothing she could do about it, but she resolved to talk to Rosa when she got a break. She'd not had a chance to see the Magea in the eleven days since Anala's departure, let alone bring Yarrow to meet the tree-being. She should, soon. Time was running out, although time before what, she couldn't say. In their brief mental contact, Rosa had assured Ghia it could wait out the fever's course through the city.
Slowly, she got out of bed, bracing herself against exhaustion. Despite the little sleep she'd had, she was wide awake. She grounded and centred, replenishing her stores, and went on rounds.
All hospitalis beds were full, with some spares filled up as well. Not all patients were castle staff: Ghia had ordered people from the city taken in because she had the room and ability to do so. The empreena had not been pleased, but as far as Ghia was concerned, Zardria could sod off. The treecat might rule the country, but the hospitalis was Ghia's territory, and her word was law. Anyone who disagreed could take it up with her. The Head-Healer-apparent doubted anyone would dare. It was dangerous to cross a healer on her own territory, be you peasant or empress.
Ghia stopped in the middle of her rounds, surprised at herself. All this power must be getting to me -- I've never felt so...defensive of this place. She shook her head and continued checking patients. Maybe she'd like being Head Healer after all. So long as I could travel, she thought. I doubt mother's had any sort of trip since she took the job all those decades ago.
Her rounds finished quickly, for all the patients had been under expert care for days. They were stable, and would either pull through or pass quietly, now that the worst part was over. Out of the highest-risk patients, Ghia had been forced to make the children the priority for treatment. It was a hard decision, for naturally she'd not wanted anyone to die, but the hard truth was that the birth rate had been down the past few years, and, at the rate people were dying, it was more important to save the younger people than the older. A general outcry had arisen when Ghia had assigned special care to Helene, who was almost considered elderly at this point, and not for the other older patients, some of whom had now passed. Ghia had silenced it by saying Helene's knowledge was keeping them all alive -- she still needed the Head Healer's expertise.
This was not true. Ghia did not need any more training in healing from her mother, but she could not unassign those healers watching over Helene. Regardless of whether her training was finished, she still needed her mother.
She had a feeling that all too soon Atherton would need Helene, too. So she worked on keeping the woman alive while she treated Athering's bright future -- all the young people in her care. At best, the orphanages would have new additions; at worst the population would suffer a massive blow.
At a loss for something to do, but too awake to go back to sleep, Ghia checked her stores of swiftshock powder. They were running low, and while she doubted the hospitalis would need more in the near future, grinding up more would be something useful to do. Her mind set, she headed to the garden.
Whether the fever was named for the plant that cured it, or vice versa, no one was sure. Mayhap the two names came about simultaneously, for the plant was known to shock those who did not gather it properly, and the fever was characterised by a swift shock to the nervous system, rendering some patients catatonic. Those who survived.
Or mayhap the plant causes the fever, she thought as she entered the Forbidden Section of the garden. Certainly convenient, to have cure and cause in one little plant.
She shuddered a little at the thought, glad she knew how to harvest it. Granted, she was immune to the fever, as were the other healers, for since Helene had taken ill, Ghia had snapped shields around them all. Why had she not thought of it before her mother got sick? Helene had always seemed so Goddess-like to Ghia -- she thought her mother was immortal and infallible.
The more fool I am, she thought savagely as she knelt in front of the copse of swiftshock. Its deep purple-and-silver flowers were open to the moonlight, with fuzzy black stamens moving in the cool breeze.
Perfect. The plant's defenses were up, meaning the powder would be that much more potent. Gently she blew on the stamen, making sure the heat of her breath reached the inside of the flower. The stamen wiggled, and then the purple-silver petals closed up, creating a bud which then rolled down the stem until the entire plant was rolled into a purple-silver-black spiral in the dirt. Satisfied, she grabbed her copper sickle and cut the plant's stem at the base and placed it in her basket before turning to the next, where she repeated the whole process.
It was a simple task, but tedious and long, and by the time Ghia was finished her throat was dry and she was a bit dizz
y. She grounded and centred quickly, and moistened her throat with the dew in the air. Dizziness gone, she went inside and got to work drying the plants.
This proved a bit trickier. Their dehumidifier was old and finicky, needing to be coaxed through its job. She lit the coals in the bottom tray and set the swiftshock flowers in trays far above, setting it to medium speed. Then she watched the wooden trays move slowly on their tracks, far above the coals, letting the hot air suck the moisture out of the petals. Occasionally a tray would stick, and Ghia would have to reach in to get it moving again, careful not to let the sweat on her forehead drip onto the flowers. By the time her crop was through the machine and dry, Ghia's face was red, she was soaked through and her fingers were fairly burned.
The hardest part was done, and she gratefully went to powder the flowers and put them into one-dose packets. She stood for hours, methodically measuring and chopping and grinding and packing, until finally she finished the last flower. Bemusedly she looked up and saw dawn's light in the garden.
Suddenly she was very tired. She packed up her supplies and placed the new packets in the stores cabinet, behind the old ones. Then she crawled back into her cot in the sleeping room, waiting for sleep to take her away.
~
She'd not been out for three minutes before there was someone shaking her shoulder urgently, asking her to wake up. Ghia opened one eye and stared at the young acolyte who was so determined to ruin her sleep.
"Please, Head Healer, there's a messenger for you," the girl said, fear in her eyes.
Ghia snarled and got out of bed. "It better be an Althea-damned emergency, girl, or you'll find yourself on bedpan duty indefinitely," she growled.
The girl said nothing; only led Ghia to the hospitalis anteroom, where a young man waited, anxious and pale.
At the sight of groggy grumpy Ghia he flung himself to his knees before her and took her hand, kissing it gratefully.
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