Unicorn Valley 3: Healer's Heart

by Lena Austin

  Brolly nodded with satisfaction. “Sisters brew the best feverfew tea. We will need great vats of it. Would they be kind enough to put aside their tasks to help us in this crisis?”

  “I am sure they would, for they have the women who are ill to care for.” Jacques seemed to dismiss the women, but Brolly knew his way around the prejudiced treatment of one over another. All he had to do was find a woman who would pass on the information to the female caregivers.

  Brolly took a deep breath. “For this last task, I must beg your trust, and a great favor. I wish all the moldy bread available from the kitchens, and the most drinkable of red wines.” He made a face. “It is a foul thing to feed an ill man, but I swear to you that it can aid those not too far gone, and save many. Will you trust me?”

  A choking sound erupted a few beds down. A patient who had been coughing began to spit blood, but before they could reach him, the death rattle in his throat was audible. Brolly skidded to a halt, and grabbed Jacques. “It is too late.” The man died before their eyes.

  Brother Jacques turned to him. “Many cough blood. How did you know?”

  Brolly shrugged. “My ears are very sharp. I could hear the rattle in his throat that always signals death on swift wings.” He stepped forward and closed the dead man’s eyes. He turned and begged. “Let us hurry before we lose one more precious life.”

  Brother Andrew ran from the room. Jacques stared for a moment. “I have prayed full often for a miracle to save these poor souls. Perhaps you are sent from God.” He fingered his necklace and stared skyward for a moment.

  Striding to open windows, Brolly sent Jacques a sober smile. “I do not argue with whatever brought me here, Brother Jacques. Nevertheless, here I am, and we have much to do. I must have light to see by, and air that is not foul to breathe. If I who am healthy need these things, who is to say our patients do not?”

  The mutter was perfectly clear to his ears. “It goes against all we know, but what we know is not working. We’ll do it your way. We have nothing to lose, for these men would surely die otherwise.” Jacques turned on his heel and left the room, shouting self-importantly.

  * * *

  Le-An found a fine little inn inside the gates of Claire Veaux just as dusk fell. He’d slept the night in what could have been one of Brolly’s campsites. It certainly bore the earmarks of one who took more care than most in a forest, and now he wanted a soft bed. A small copper coin pleased a little boy, who took his horse, promising good care. More coins piled on his table got him food, drink, and a smiling innkeeper at his elbow, eager to give him a room in the back and a private bath with one of the maids to tend his every wish, later.

  However, Le-An had more on his mind. “One of the guards at the gate told me of a new healer who came to town. A man with curling brown hair and brown eyes, who was taken straightaway to the Abbey.” He grinned at the innkeeper. “Now, I am a wise man. No one knows more about events than a man who runs such a fine place as this.”

  Gratified by the flattery, the innkeeper polished the table next to Le-An’s. “Aye, good sir. Why, the scandal reached us within the hour, and this morning the miracle!”

  Le-An gulped his drink to hide his terror, and smacked his lips, as if in appreciation. “A wonderful brew! Scandal and miracle from the same man? This is fascinating. Tell me more.” He slid one of the prettier golden coins toward the innkeeper when he noted the fellow’s eye upon it.

  The coin was gone in a flash. Now the innkeeper signaled the man behind a great table with his hand and sat down. “Well, then! For such a pourboire I will tell much!”

  He took a mug of the brew brought to him, and took a good drink. “It is said the young Brother walked in and took over the room where the sick are tended. He defied the Abbot and opened the windows, had the entire room scrubbed, and gave all the men a tea the nuns made. Then he made a great vat of a foul concoction and made all the sick partake of it!” He took a great draught of his mug with that pronouncement.

  Le-An tried not to choke in his own drink. His worst fears were realized. “Defied the Abbot, you say?”

  The innkeeper’s eyes were round and he shook his head. “Can you believe it? The most powerful man for three counties, and this mere boy walks in and takes over! Scandalous!”

  Le-An shuddered. “I am amazed.”

  The innkeeper nudged him. “That is not the most amazing part, my friend!” He paused for drama. “The boy wrought a miracle, it is said! The tea and the foul thing he served worked on fully half the sick! Overnight! Some are able to sit up and take sustenance on their own. Many are no longer fevered.” He leaned forward and looked around like a conspirator.

  Le-An took the hint and leaned over toward his garrulous tablemate.

  “Some dare say they will try it upon the women who are sick in the convent! A nun who serves the tea told of the miracle, and the Abbess meets even now with the Abbot! At this hour!” The innkeeper tilted his mug and finished off the last of his drink. “It is either a miracle, or witchcraft.”

  Le-An maintained the look of interest until after the man departed, saying he’d see to Le-An’s room personally. He forced himself to eat his dinner with seeming relish, and sauntered upstairs to take his bath and sport with the eager maid, as any man would.

  Only when he could politely dismiss the maid with another coin in her pocket, could Le-An sit on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands.

  “Oh, Brolly! Brolly! How will I rescue you from being burnt at the stake for witchcraft?”

  He fell on the bed and dreamed of the time they’d tried to burn him, and how much it hurt. Only this time, it was Brolly he saw writhing in agony while flames licked at his sweet flesh.

  Chapter Five

  Brolly wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of the scratchy robe the monks had given him. He felt a little silly with no breeches, and now understood why his sisters hated their skirts. To emphasize the point, a cold breeze from the opened door chased up his leg.

  “It’s not right to sweat on one end and shiver at the other,” he commented to Brother Andrew as they bathed one very sick adolescent. “But the fire keeps the sick warm, so I won’t complain.”

  Brolly looked around with a small smile of satisfaction. Many of those he’d seen the first night now recovered their strength in another room, cared for by many more of the brethren who lived here. A full two-thirds had responded to the moldy bread and wine mix his mother had taught him was the only cure for this swift-moving killer illness.

  Now he was trying something new. Something he’d never had an opportunity to try at home. “I hope this new idea of mine works, Brother Andrew.”

  “I prayed at Vespers for it to be so, Brother Brolly.” The gentle, handsome man tenderly washed the boy down with the weak peppermint infusion they hoped would cool his fever while Brolly carefully patted a ground oat poultice on each black and swollen pustule with a small paddle.

  It was so nice of the humans here to adopt him; Brolly didn’t have the heart to tell them he was already adopted. That would have made for awkward questions. A fellow could never have too many brothers anyway. Wouldn’t Lionel, Shadow, and the others all choke to know that Brolly had been taken in by a huge human family so like theirs? It was so funny Brolly couldn’t help smiling.

  “I meant to compliment you on Vespers. Such beautiful singing! I was inspired.” Brother Andrew’s clear tenor had been so beautiful to hear, he’d almost wept.

  Brother Andrew blushed like a maiden. “The Gregorian chants? I enjoy doing them. Don’t they do them in your abbey?”

  Brolly shook his head. He wasn’t about to correct Andrew’s assumption that he lived in an abbey at home. How would Andrew understand the concept of living in a cave, no matter how luxurious? “I am not so fortunate! Only the most simple of music is available at home. One of my brothers can play a lap harp, and a few sisters sing, but that’s only for major celebrations. We’re too busy healing most of the time.”

/>   “Perhaps I could teach you.” Brother Andrew gave a small, quiet smile. “I have learned much from you, and would give back a little. It would give me great pleasure.”

  “A bargain, then!”

  A small, throat-clearing sound interrupted. Another of the many brothers stood at the foot of the bed. “Forgive me, but Brother Jacques asks if you have a moment, Brother Brolly. I am to lead you to him.”

  Brolly put down his bowl of oats and added enough water to keep it moist. “I can go now, if you wish.” He turned back to Brother Andrew. “I’ll be back as soon as I can to help you with the big fellow in the corner.”

  The boy in the bed sighed, arresting their attention. He looked horrid, stained with green tea and lumps of oat poultice, but his smile was sweet in his sleep. Andrew touched the child’s forehead. “I do believe your idea is working, Brother Brolly. See? He sleeps better and his skin is not so hot.” Encouraged, Brother Andrew picked up his bowl and went for more tea and the next patient.

  “Another reason to see Brother Jacques and tell him the good news.” Brolly smiled in triumph. He followed the portly brother out the door, his step light.

  After what seemed innumerable stairs and corridors, his escort brought him to a fine set of carved doors. Brolly knocked politely on the frame, and easily heard the call from within to enter.

  Brother Jacques sat behind a desk Brolly’s mother would have loved to set her claws in and make her own. It dominated a fine room with carpeting on the floor, walls of books, and a fireplace that warmed the chair of whoever sat at the desk.

  An older female sat in a chair to one side, all but her wrinkled face covered by layered robes. Brolly bowed politely to the lady, who looked enough like his Grandma Sedna that he instantly warmed to her. She even had twinkling blue eyes.

  As Brolly straightened, he caught the scent of the illness. It was fresh, and new. When he had a moment, he would tell Brother Jacques to stay away from the newly sick.

  “Good morning, Brother Jacques. You sent for me?”

  “Good morning to you, Brother Brolly. Yes, I did.” Jacques gestured to the lady. “May I introduce you to the Mother Superior of the convent of Claire Veaux?”

  Brolly smiled and bowed again. Ah, so this was the mother who adopted all these wonderful people? What a kind woman, then! “It is my pleasure to meet a lady of such generosity of spirit.”

  “The Mother is most pleased with your moldy bread and wine. It has helped many of the women. I understand you have attempted some new treatment as well, today. How did it succeed?”

  Brolly smiled at both of them. “I’m pleased to say it appears to be working well.”

  “Excellent!” The mother’s voice rasped as if she’d spent all her life breathing smoke. She shoved parchment and pen at him. “Would you write it down for me?”

  Brolly waved his hand. “It is so easy, Mother, you don’t need paper. It is weak peppermint tea, rubbed all over the body.” Brolly breathed a sigh of relief at the mother’s nod. The only written language he knew was Vampiric.

  Brother Jacques coughed. The scent returned. Brolly leapt forward. “You are sick! You have caught the illness. Come! It is time for you to go to bed.” He went around the desk and grabbed Brother Jacques’ elbow, even as Jacques’ protests were interrupted by another spate of coughing.

  The mother rose calmly. “I will see to it Brother Phillip is called, Jacques. I agree with Brother Brolly. Go to bed.” She picked up her paper and left.

  Jacques followed Brolly meekly to his confinement. “Can I at least be ill in my own room?”

  Brolly looked back at the luxurious room. “If your room is as fine as this, I don’t blame you. Come on then. Show me where it is.”

  * * *

  Le-An laughed and clapped the gate guard of the abbey on the back. “My thanks! Third level, to the right. Merci!”

  “Bon chance! I hope you find your cousin quickly!”

  Le-An sagged against a wall as soon as he sauntered around the corner. He let out a whoosh of breath in relief at hearing Brolly was still safe within, and still working his “miracles.”

  For all that Brolly was slightly shorter and stockier, the fact that both had brown hair and brown eyes had worked in their favor. It had been easy to shrug it off by saying their mothers were cousins as well. The guard had simply nodded and offered to point out the barracks where mercenaries stayed. Le-An made a note to come back next time he needed mercenary work to liven up his life. He’d figure out what “escorting monks on pilgrimage” meant later.

  Le-An had waved the offer away. “No need, my friend. I am staying at the Black Ewe.”

  The guard’s eyes had turned respectful. Le-An pondered that anomaly even as he entered the huge doors and made his way up the stairs. What was so special about being able to stay elsewhere?

  It was easy enough upon reaching the third level to guess where to go. Le-An could hear coughing and smell the stench of illness coming from a room with huge double doors thrown open. As if that were not clue enough, light and fresh air poured from the doors, unlike the rest of this dark, dank place.

  A thin fellow in a brown robe saw Le-An lurking in the doorway as Le-An scanned the room for Brolly. The thin man approached Le-An with a gentle smile. “How may I assist you, Sir Knight?”

  Le-An recognized the speech as Latin. Not his favorite language. He hoped the fellow understood French. “I am looking for my cousin Brolly, monsieur.”

  The tired blue eyes widened with recognition and pleasure. His smile was instantly welcoming. In French, he replied, “Your cousin tends Brother Jacques. I will take you. I am Brother Andrew. I was on my way there.”

  Brother Andrew lifted a bowl of what smelled like peppermint tea, and gestured with it to the right. Le-An followed the man with relief up the stairs.

  Le-An held himself rigidly under control when he saw Brolly, dressed in those strange brown robes, tenderly putting another man to bed. “I never expect you to like it, Brother Jacques. But if we have caught it soon enough, you may have a fever overnight and be uncomfortable for a while, but you will live. This is the most important thing.”

  Le-An hated Latin. Confounded convoluted language. But at least he understood it.

  Brother Andrew moved quietly into the room and set his wooden bowl down in front of the fire, obviously with the intent to keep it warm. He then left without a word.

  The sick man took the bowl Brolly handed him with a grimace of distaste. “It is said that medicines rarely taste good if they work well. I must bear my burden.” He took up a spoon and ate, his face mirroring the fact that the stuff was truly foul to the palate.

  Brolly looked up then, and his eyes met Le-An’s. An unholy joy flared in Brolly’s eyes, and Le-An dared to hope that perhaps things could be mended between them. Le-An winked, then strode in. “Forgive me for coming, cousin.” He hoped he made himself understood in this cursed Latin. “I’ve come to escort you back home when you are ready.”

  The man in the bed choked and put down his spoon. Once he’d gagged down the stuff in his mouth, he smiled. “Ah, I see the Lord provides for you again, Brother Brolly. A mercenary cousin to see you safe on your pilgrimage back.” His forehead beaded with sweat. “Oh, I do begin to feel -- ACHOO! -- badly.”

  Le-An felt somewhat sorry for the human. He handed him a square of cloth from his pocket to wipe his streaming nose. Then he turned to Brolly. “While I wait for you, how may I help? I am ignorant, but strong.” His eyes pleaded with Brolly to let him remain.

  Indecision flitted across Brolly’s face. His hands twisted the towel in his hand. He was so agitated, he spoke in the common tongue of the Valley. “Le-An, you could get sick.”

  “I’ll risk it.”

  Brolly’s eyes softened, and his hands stilled. “You’d just stand outside the gates of the abbey and wait anyway, wouldn’t you?” His gaze lingered on Le-An’s lips, as if he’d love to kiss Le-An now, dignity be damned. “I’ve missed… home.”
r />   Le-An knew damned well what he missed. The ice around his heart melted, just a little.

  “Ah-choo! Excuse me, but I don’t recognize your tongue. What language is this?” The sick man in the bed had finished his bowl and now his face was alive with curiosity.

  Le-An smiled and bowed. “Forgive us, Brother. We were rude to speak the dialect of our home village on the other side of the mountains. I am Le-An, Brolly’s cousin. I hope to persuade him to let me serve while I wait, rather than be bored with nothing but my horse for company.”

  Jacques took in Le-An’s sword, boots, and muscles. “A fighting man, who wishes to aid a healing brother? Well, if you wish to humble yourself rather than be idle, then you should do God’s work, certainly. You are as welcome as your cousin! I am Jacques.” He stuck out his hand.

  Le-An had seen this gesture before. He clasped hands. “Well met, Jacques. But judging by the heat coming from your hand, it is time for Brolly to do his good work.” He released Jacques’ hot, sweaty palm.

  Brolly’s lips quirked as he handed Le-An the bowl of tea, still warm from the fire. “Well then, let’s get to work. We’ll have a long night of seeing to Brother Jacques’ comfort.” Then, quietly in his own language, he muttered, “Then you and I will talk.”

  Chapter Six

  Brother Andrew appeared late in the night, and immediately took the bowl from Le-An’s hands. Le-An looked up blearily and watched as Andrew gently removed the rag from Brolly’s. “Brother Jacques’ fever should break within a few hours. Go, and rest. There is little you can do until the illness releases him.”

  Brolly climbed to his feet, aided by an equally weary Le-An.

  Brother Andrew smiled sweetly. “The room next door is empty of brothers. They were among the first to die before you came. I took the liberty of having it prepared for you and your cousin.”