by Cat Bruno
Around the room, lines of sunlight filtered through hand-dyed curtains, casting glimmering images of blossoms across the tiled floor. Caryss stared at the nearest, a five-petal flower whose shadow shined red as wine. Keva’s room was as bright as a garden in full bloom.
None should die in such a place, Caryss thought.
Pushing fallen strands of her from her face, Caryss heard Asha utter, “It seems I have little choice then. I will not lose both.”
As if she could no longer weep, Asha’s words were calm ones.
With no further delay, Caryss ordered Sharron to inform the others that their departure would be delayed. Once the other healer returned, they would begin.
Caryss walked to the table near the cot where her pouches were spread out. If she were at the Academy, with the clinic nearby, the surgery would not be so fraught with risk. Her supplies here were limited to what she had packed, and, even then, she had left much back in the King’s City. She had not thought of Rexterra for days, and the sudden memory caused her to think again of what could happen if they were found. Grabbing an amber-hued bottle, she hurriedly uncorked it and poured the rust-colored liquid onto her hands, rubbing them briskly together. Back at the end of the cot, she reached for Keva, feeling to see if the woman had progressed. After several moments, it was clear that she had not, and Caryss returned to the table.
From one of the pouches, she withdrew several oval and blunt plantain leaves. She had less than she would have liked and, holding one up, called to Asha, “Do you have plantain here? I have also heard it called snakeweed and waybroad.”
The woman neared, examining the leaf but not taking it from Caryss’s hand. Shaking her head, she told the healer, “I have not seen it.”
Lifting another, multi-leafed and star-like, Caryss asked, “What of Shepherd’s Purse? It is of the mustard family, and the leaves are often eaten, although they are bitter.”
Reaching for the raised leaf, but not touching it, Asha exclaimed, “Yes, I have seen that one at the market!”
“Go there now and get me as much of it as you can,” Caryss instructed, her voice and focus seeming distant.
Just as Asha was about to step into the hall, Caryss called, “When you return, call for Sharron. Do not enter, Asha.”
The woman nodded and ran, her footsteps loud on the slate floors of the inn. Caryss busied herself readying the herbs, some dried, some sealed and pressed when freshly cut. Blood loss was her main concern and she emptied all of her pouches onto the table in search of ways to prevent Keva from bleeding overmuch. When Sharron entered, Caryss was still examining the pouch’s contents.
“Aldric sits with the King.”
When Caryss looked to her quickly, Sharron realized her error and put a hand to her mouth.
“Asha has gone to fetch more Shepherd’s Purse and Keva is milk-heavy. You need not worry.”
At times, Sharron still looked toward Caryss as Master Apprentice, and she herself a student yet. They were moons gone from the Academy, which Caryss reminded her, and titles no longer applied. Once she had taken the King, all had changed, Caryss knew. Once Master Apprentice, now she was more rogue than esteemed.
With a snort, she told Sharron, “We should start our own academy in the North. With regular shipments of herbs and plants from warner climes, we would need naught.”
Sharron was beside her now, cleaning the small, thinly bladed knife that Caryss would soon use. Lining up the shining tools along a white sheet of linen, the younger healer nodded. “The North has need of well-trained healers. While many dabble in the healing arts, none are as skilled as the masters.”
“Perhaps one day,” Caryss mused, mixing more poppy milk tea.
After a moment, she added, “I should have sent for Otieno. The tea might not be enough to keep her still.”
“The sisters would not have allowed it. You heard what was said about man’s hands on a woman near birthing.”
With another snort, Caryss shrugged off the comments. “I care little for such silly beliefs. If having him here would keep mother, babe, or both alive, they should care little as well.”
“If she wakes, I will find him,” Sharron agreed.
Drawing a deep breath and stretching, Caryss asked, “Do you think we have enough supplies to stop heavy blood loss? If we were at the clinic, I would not worry about what course to take, but here we are limited.”
Without looking up from the steaming pot of water, Sharron replied, “The capsella applied over the incision and steeped for drinking should cause the blood to clot quickly. Peppered ale has been known to staunch blood flow as well.”
“Ah, yes, I know of such an ale. Do you have supplies enough to make it?”
“I have no ale, but I can use the milk the poppy was mixed with.”
“Hurry then,” Caryss told her as the sleeping woman began moaning anew.
When all was prepared, and the table moved closer to the cot, Caryss asked, “Have you ever seen a babe cut from a body?”
“I have read on it, but have never seen it done.”
“Were you not at the clinic either time I attempted it?”
Shaking her head, Sharron told her, “I heard of it after. Both babes survived, as well as one of the mothers.”
Closing her eyes for a moment, Caryss sighed. “It is not an easy thing. If we had time to wait, I would be inclined to give her a few more days. I feel as if I should not wear the robes for admitting such.”
“Before you even came upon Keva she had lost two babes. If you were not here now, she would lose a third, and Asha would most likely lose a sister as well. You have chosen well here, Caryss.”
“Then let us get on with it. Keva grows more ill by the hour.”
Hurriedly crossing the room, Caryss kicked the door closed, then walked back to stand beside Sharron. Beneath her tunic, her life pulse beat fast, thumping hard against the light garment that she had purchased at the market that morning. Her hands were steady, moon years of training had made certain of that. She thought of Willem, remembering how he had been with her on the two other occasions when surgery had been necessary.
“Mix the poppy with the dried pepper. I will open her mouth while you pour it in,” she told Sharron, trying to force the thought of Willem from her mind.
“If she wakes, give her more,” she warned, “And, Sharron, if need be, hold her down. She must not move.”
With little more than a nod, Sharron moved quickly, and, together, they fed Keva the mix, with little response from her except throaty mumbles.
Caryss’s hair was pulled back from her face, tied at her neck with haste. Eyes clear and focused, she reached for blade. Keva lay nearly naked, a thin blanket covering her face and neck.
In a voice free of emotion and history, Caryss intoned, “I will cut from side to side, just above her pelvic bones and only large enough that the babe can be pulled through. Once the babe is out, I will stitch up the skin. Then we will lay the leaves across the incision. Have enough strips of linen ready to bind her, and enough to change the dressings several times in the next quarter-moon. Asha will have to be taught what to do, for we cannot stay much longer in the Cove.”
With the tip of the knife pressed into Keva, Caryss stated, “Have a needle ready.”
Those would be the last words spoken.
With pale hands, long-fingered and steady, Caryss drew her knife across Keva, cutting from left to right, about a hand’s length under her umbilicus. Keva moaned, twisting to her side, but she was so weak with fever that it took little effort for Sharron to hold her shoulders against the bed. Blood trailed where Caryss sliced, red and wet, bubbling before thickening into a stream.
Caryss wiped the blade on a square of white cloth before setting it aside. With no hesitation, she reached for Keva’s skin, parting it with some force. Her left hand held open the skin while her right one reached back for the knife.
Again she cut, deeper this time, ripping open skin and muscle. Once the knife was
placed on the table, she used her free hand to pull apart the freshly cut skin, nodding toward Sharron, who understood what was needed. Leaving Keva’s side, Sharron grabbed a pile of cloths and hurried to wipe at the blood that darkened Keva’s body and Caryss’s hands.
Wasting no time, Caryss lifted her hands for Sharron to clean. Once they were again ivory and dry, she forced them into the narrow opening that lined Asha’s lower abdomen. From the beginning, she knew that she would not have much time once the incision had been made. With that knowledge, she reached for where she had earlier felt the babe’s feet, low and close to the birth opening. Moments later, she felt the babe’s ankle, and clasped it with slippery hands.
Using her other hand, she searched, until shoulders were felt and cupped the babe’s shoulder. As both hands grasped the babe, she pulled, drawing it from Keva’s womb. With one final push to open the area that she had cut, Caryss lifted the babe from Keva, gently holding him as air replaced water.
He was pale, skin as white as the two lesedas who stood to either side of him, staring at him with wide eyes. Blue tinged his skin, but his size was fair, and Caryss quickly handed him off to Sharron, who waited with blanket in hand.
Once her hands were free, Caryss cut the cord that attached mother and son. Behind her, she knew, Sharron held the babe, rubbing on his chest in small circular motions. Caryss held linens against Keva’s skin, soaking in blood.
When the babe’s whimper filled the room, Caryss turned, looking at him with her gray-green eyes. As the whimpers turned to shrieks, she looked to Keva.
“Your son lives,” she told the woman, who dozed, heavy with poppy milk, unaware of what had transpired.
Caryss moved her fingers to the woman’s neck, feeling for her life pulse. When the slow throb vibrated against her fingers, Caryss exhaled a sharp breath. With speed, she grabbed the threaded needle, thicker than most she used when at the clinic. Over and over, she stitched, only pausing to wipe blood away from where she worked. Across the woman’s body ran a trail of dark crosses, stars threaded into her light brown skin.
The room had quieted, and she called, “Sharron, what of the babe?”
In reply, the other healer walked toward the cot, lifting the swaddled babe for Caryss to see.
His eyes open, storm-cloud gray, the babe watched.
“Bigger than I would have thought. And more serious too. But his breathing came easily and his coloring is now fine. A strong boy, I think,” Sharron told her with words thick and raspy.
Caryss suspected that, if she looked, she would find tears on Sharron’s cheeks. Her own were dry, but her life pulse still banged heavy and loud.
Several stitches later, Caryss rinsed her hands, and then reached for the plantain and Shepherd’s Purse, laying the leaves - some dried - some not, across Keva’s stomach.
“If you take the babe, I will bind her,” Sharron called.
But Caryss knew that she could not hold the babe.
“I will wrap her. He seems content with you.”
Again she laid fingers against Keva’s neck. Her life pulse was slow, but steady. Atop the poultice of leaves and tonic, Caryss wrapped the strips of clean linens, until Keva was covered from hip to breast with white cloth. A few times she had had to pause to lift the woman, but she finished quickly, sighing loudly as the last linen was tied.
“Her skin burns yet, but her life pulse is solid.”
From near the window, Sharron called, “What of the bleeding?”
“I have seen worse. She will be weak for a moon or so, but it was not so bad as to cause me concern. I fear infection more than anything.”
“Is it not so with most we treated at the clinic?”
As Caryss placed the blanket over Keva, she answered, “We are not in Litusia. We are at an inn in the Southern Cove Islands, which houses people from lands neither of us even know. Many enter and exit here each day, bringing with them all sorts of illness.”
“Asha will do what she must for her sister. And for the babe. What of a wet nurse? Surely Asha will be too weak to provide milk for the boy.”
Shaking her head as she crossed the room, Caryss told Sharron, “She will be weak, but she must try to feed him. It will aid her recovery even.”
“What must come next?”
“Thrice daily, Keva will need to drink a tea spiced with pepper. I do not want her to have any more poppy milk, despite the pain she might be feeling. We have seen the problems that come of that. I have some Lavender oil that I will leave with Asha, to be applied onto the cotton wool. It does a fair job as cleanser. I have some Helenium root, as well, which can be mixed with the oil. The paste will do much to prevent infection, if applied each morning. I should have thought to bring some moss with us, but the cotton wool will have to do for dressings.”
Gently rocking the babe, Sharron mused, “Asha will have no time to run the inn.”
With a shrug, Caryss answered, “We have coin still. Enough to hire them some help.”
Stepping away from the window, Caryss walked back to the cot, placing her hand across Keva’s forehead, “By the morrow, we will have a better idea of what will come. For today, we can each sit with her.”
“What of the King?” Sharron asked in between humming to the babe.
Uncertain about the question, Caryss replied, “I suppose I should turn my attentions to him. It often takes a moon or more before the poppy thirst lessens. With him, it might be longer.”
“He is taking half now of what he once was,” Sharron told her.
Caryss knew that she owed Sharron much, for the woman had tended to the King since their departure from the palace. Each day, Sharron would feed and wash the King, even on the boat. In truth, she was more healer to him than Caryss had been.
“You have done much for him. In the coming days, I will share the burden.”
Any further discussion was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“You should show her the babe,” Sharron whispered.
Shaking her head, Caryss sighed. “There is much I must still do.”
She was beside Keva when Sharron reached the door, the babe asleep in her arms, still swathed in a blanket. With one hand under the babe, Sharron opened the door, stepping back to reveal Asha, frenzied and fear-soaked, her hair escaping the ribbon at her neck.
“The babe!” she gasped, falling into the wall, a hand to her mouth.
Caryss’s sight grew foggy and her throat burned. It took much to stop the tears from falling onto Keva.
Sharron smiled, holding out the babe to his aunt.
“He is well. Born awake and alert and of good size.”
Shaking hands reached for him, and only when she had the babe pressed against her did Asha speak.
“What of my sister?” she asked, unable to look to the cot.
It was Caryss who said, “She sleeps and has not yet seen the babe.”
Asha walked to the edge of the room, half-falling into a chair and cried, “She yet lives?”
“She is young and strong,” Caryss told her, “But there is much that will need to be done. For the next moon, she must rest often and move little. Few must see her, and she cannot work at all. Her dressings will need to be changed daily and poultices applied. Keva did not bleed overmuch, but she still has a large wound from where I had to cut.”
Lifting her still-trembling hand to wipe away tears, Asha sobbed, “I know not how to thank you.”
“The Great Mother brought you to us and Keva’s son lives because of you. When she wakes, I will tell her of all that you have done.”
“I am healer. I did what any would.”
“No,” Asha cried, “You are more. You are blood-kin. Your child will be ours and always welcome here as family. Your path leads you from the Cove, I have heard, but a home will always await you here.”
Caryss bowed her head, no longer able to stay as detached as she was wont to be as a healer. Her meeting with the two sisters had been nothing short of chance, yet as Asha�
�s words crossed the room, Caryss wondered if it had been more.
If, again, the gods watched. If the Great Mother had known her path, the one her daughter would walk.
With her head low, Caryss whispered, as if the words were weapon and dangerous, “My daughter will need warriors. For there are many who will seek to harm her. Who better to defend her than blood-kin?”
Caryss stumbled across the room and knelt at the woman’s feet.
“Teach the boy to fight. With sword and air. With water and earth. And when he is ready, send him to her.”
Once spoken, the words hung heavy. Caryss rose, fearing she had overstepped. But when Asha next addressed her, she knew why she had come.
“It will be done, Caryss. And not just the babe. I will find others. The inn will be home to all who will vow to defend her.”
Moons before, Caryss would have wept.
Now, she simply bowed her head.
“Your Great Mother has honored me with your kinship, Asha.”
The Islander’s face was now dry as well. She was, Caryss suddenly realized, a woman like few others.
“The Great Mother gave me breasts and womb, leseda, but I wanted neither. From the time I could walk, I longed for sword and shield, so much so that my father would whip me and force me to the kitchen. Aye, I learned to cook, but when he was not looking, I would steal knife and dagger. And, then, moon years later, a bow from across the seas was left here. Once in my hand, it rarely left. You will find few who can shoot as straight or as quickly as I. This skill I will teach the boy and the others as well. What I do not know, I will learn. So the Great Mother has shown me.”
Biting at her lip and with stinging eyes, Caryss whispered, “To have so much offered leaves me silent.”
Asha laughed, a hardy, deep sound that made the babe bounce in her arms.
“I have waited over thirty moon years for cause to take off this skirt. You have given me reason, and none would dare object.”
Even Sharron laughed now, the three women more joyous than Caryss could recall.
*****