Chapter I: Six Jars

After Ralnor Dirthitryn is mauled by a bear and bedridden, his daughter, Talaedra, begins learning from an herbalist and healer. Later, a messenger comes to collect a debt.

               Ralnor was nothing if not stubborn. Though he was wounded, he would not let himself accept that his injuries could be the end of him. The bear-inflicted wounds had left him bedridden for over a month. He was relieved that he had taught Talaedra his trade, but he felt great shame in his uselessness. Every morning Talaedra went out with their group of loyal loggers, every afternoon she would come home to tend to Ralnor before returning to work, and after dark she would finally come home for the night. She could not do everything alone at the mill, but she worked the hardest of all the sawyers; without the coin that came from the lumber, they would have nothing. 

     Though he was grateful that Talaedra had so eagerly taken the lead in their business, he had not expected it. Ralnor had come to accept that with his debilitation and Talaedra’s lack of brawn, they may be without any money. In preparation for this outcome, he had done what he had always told his daughter not to; he had dealt with thieves. He had persuaded a neighbor to do him a favor and take a letter to the thieves’ den, the old fort built in the wood during the war and abandoned after the army was downsized. Their leader, called Merek, had agreed to give Ralnor a fair amount of silver, for a time. Ralnor lied and told Talaedra it was coin he had been saving, and had given it to her to feed them. The money the mill made them had gone directly to the other loggers, sawyers, and woodcutters, and none remained. There was less demand for lumber without a war. 

     That had happened a week ago. Today, Ralnor spent sat up in his bed, tediously awaiting his daughter’s return. Soon after the sun had set, Talaedra . The usual questions followed. 

     “Papa! How do you feel today? Is there anything new?” Talaedra asked, eager for news of a miracle. 

     “I’ve been in bed for a month, my girl, and I’ve only grown worse” Ralnor frowned. “I’m sorry. I hate being so…” He looked away. “Pathetic. Children shouldn’t have to take care of their fathers. Not so young."

     “Don’t talk like that.” Talaedra felt her father’s forehead with the back of her hand. “You were mauled by a bear. We’re lucky you’re alive.” At that, Ralnor grunted. “Elof, the logger,” Talaedra walked to the hearth and began starting a fire. “I’m going to visit with his wife tonight. She offered to teach me a bit of herbology.” 

     Ralnor had received no treatment for the wounds, and they had festered gruesomely. Blisters had formed in some parts of his skin, and in others, black spots had made their mark. Their cabin stunk of rotting flesh, and the caravaneering merchants wouldn't be travelling through Errusten for another week. 

     “She's going to teach you witchcraft." Ralnor snorted. He had always found the concept of magic abhorrent, even if it was healing.

     "She's an herbalist and a healer, not a witch." Talaedra argued, and then sighed. “It’s important to me that I go, papa. If I learn from her, your wounds will be less severe when the caravan comes through town, and then we can go to the city and find a proper surgeon.” 

   

     Ralnor could not tell his daughter of his deal with the thieves. He could not tell her that he knew one of Merek’s men was going to come to collect the silver in question. Ralnor wanted Talaedra to know him as an honorable man, as he had been taught by own parents to be. Not a man who needed to be cared for by a fourteen-year-old girl, and not a man who would deal with thieves when poverty struck. So, instead, Ralnor looked at his daughter and nodded. She'll be far enough from me when the trouble comes. 

    “Don’t worry, papa, we’ll have time together before I go.” Talaedra smiled at her father, whose sad eyes chilled her with worry. Talaedra prepared dinner for the two of them. It was a simple stew, as it had been for a while. It was flavorless, gritty stuff, but Ralnor was too hungry to mind. Talaedra grabbed a chair from the small round table in the middle of the house, and dragged it beside Ralnor's bed, where she sat with her stew. They did not make conversation while they ate, and the silence allowed Ralnor's worry to worsen. 

     "Elof's wife, then," Ralnor began. Talaedra lifted her head up, her eyes widening.

     "Lola," She smiled. "Her name is Lola." "Tell me, Talaedra," Ralnor took a slurp of the stew. "What is the difference between a witch and an herbalist?" Talaedra's ears perked up.

      Talaedra had only met Lola a few brief times before, but the woman had always treated her warmly. Elof and Lola had been living in Errusten longer than anyone else. Fourteen years ago, Lola had helped Relisandre deliver Talaedra. Now, she helped Talaedra in keeping Ralnor alive. Elof and Lola lived in a small, charming cabin a short walk up the road from the mill. When Talaedra was let in, she was taken aback by the smell of their home; herbs, spices, flowers, and incense all hit her at once. 

   Their rooms were clean and brightly lit, and the air felt crisp. Used to a damper air and a sickening smell, Talaedra was charmed by the cabin's sights and smells. Herbs were hung from drying racks on the ceiling, and dozens of jars on shelves were labeled with names Talaedra had never heard; names like frankincense, calamus, and horehound. Books were stacked on tables and in corners on the floor; Talaedra only knew the basics of reading, but she recognized Lola's oddities as instruments of healing, as tools she could use to keep Ralnor alive, and she was eager to learn. 

     Lola saw Talaedra staring wide-eyed at the herbs and jars and books, and gave a small laugh. "I'm sure it all looks very strange to you right now. We'll go over one thing at a time, how's that?" Talaedra blinked and slowly moved her gaze to Lola, nodding. Lola walked toward the jar-lined shelves. "We'll start with the ones most important for your needs." 

     Carefully, she pulled one jar from the shelf and placed it on the table. Then another, and another, until there were six jars in a neat line on the table. "Coriander, cloves, myrrh, yarrow, saffron, and thyme." Lola listed, pointing to each jar as she named its contents. "Can you remember those names?"

     Another nod from Talaedra, who came close to the table. 

    "Put some coriander in your cooking, for the fevers." Lola urged. "The cloves will ease the pain. Those, the myrrh, and the thyme will help with infection." Lola paused. "What do the wounds look like?" She inquired, wincing slightly at her words. 

    "They're festering." Talaedra blurted. She looked down. "They're wet. They stink of death. My father can hardly move." She kept her head pointed down as her eyes filled with tears. She would not cry. She stifled the urge to sob and lifted her head back up. Lola's cheerful expression had dropped. Instead, the look she gave Talaedra was one of pity. 

    "Your father is a good man. I'm sorry he's suffering. But if you learn from me, I'm sure he'll start getting better even before you travel west." Talaedra gave a small, sad smile. Lola retrieved and gave two books to Talaedra; one was a guide to edible plants, the other on healing herbology. "One of those books will help you understand when and how to use these herbs." Lola explained. "And the guide?" Talaedra asked. "Oh, I thought you might enjoy using that one. The same stew grows tedious after a while." 

     Talaedra walked back home, carrying her lantern in one hand and her two books in the other. A satchel hung over one shoulder, weighted down with the six jars. There was a spring in Talaedra's step. She was hopeful for the future of her father's recovery, and excited for the end of his suffering. Just one more week, Talaedra thought, one more week of living like this, and then we'll get help. She knew that her father would be fast asleep by the time she got home, but in the morning she would tell him all about her visit with Lola. 

     When Talaedra was near her home, she saw that the door or their cabin was wide open, the candlelight from inside flooding the dirt road. She ran towards the open door as fast as she could, but quieted her feet when she was close enough to be heard. She knew someone else was inside; Ralnor could barely move, much less walk far enough to open the door. A very sloppy intruder was lurking in her home. 

    Talaedra blew out the flame in her lantern and set down her things outside. Ralnor's woodcutting axe was leaning against the wall out the cabin. Hesitantly, she picked it up and went inside as quietly as she could. Crouching in the shadows, picking through Ralnor's belongings, desperately searching for something, was a man. A young man, who dressed in a mix of different leathers and cloths, a hood obscuring his face, and a dagger strapped to his thin frame. "You need to leave." Talaedra really had tried to sound intimidating, but between being an adolescent girl and stuttering nervously, she was certain the intruder would laugh in her face. Of course, that was exactly what he did. "You're quite frightening, holding an axe as tall as you are. I'm quaking in my boots." He mocked. His voice was lighter than that of the local brawny, stern men like Ralnor and Elof. Mostly, he sounded like someone from Errusten, but he had an underlying accent that Talaedra doubted was from Tavaun. 

    "As frightening as you are, I'm afraid I can't leave until I've been given what your dearest papa owes me." 

    Talaedra held the axe in a more threatening, preparatory stance. "He doesn't owe you anything. You need to leave" She repeated.

     "Oh, but he does." The man stood. Talaedra raised her chin in false confidence. "Do you know who I represent, girl?"

    Talaedra was quiet, so he continued. "Of course not. Your father, the deep sleeper beside us, practically begged our leader for silver. That was a loan. A loan for a week. This is the eighth night, and I've come to collect what he borrowed." Talaedra slouched and furrowed her brow.

    "You're thieves." The man nodded. "He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't ask thieves for help." But her tone was weakened now, and far less convincing to both the thief and herself. She remembered her father handing her the coin purse full of silver. She remembered his lie, that he had been saving the funds in case they were needed. 

    "Right. I didn't come all this way to debate a dying stranger’s morals with a child. The silver. Or Merek will send a harsher message your way." 

   Talaedra put the axe down, but hesitated to do anything else. 

    "By the looks of your father, I wouldn't think you'd want that sort of message to arrive, but business is business." 

    "Wait," Talaedra said, softly. She went to the shelf and removed a large book; behind it, a small, simple pouch had been hidden. Talaedra plucked it down and approached the thief again. From where she stood now, the light allowed her to see the thief's face. He's handsome, Talaedra thought, ashamedly. Handsome by foreign standards, perhaps, but handsome nonetheless. His features were darker than she was accustomed to; much unlike the pale skin of her neighbors, his skin was bronze and soaked in the yellow candlelight. His hood had begun to slide off of his head, revealing the edges of his dark, cloudy hair. Flecks of gold sparkled in the dark eyes that bore into her own. Talaedra felt embarrassed for taking in his appearance so thoroughly. 

    "What is your name, thief?" Talaedra asked, voice just above a whisper. 

    "Fawkes." He held his hand out for the bag of silver. 

    "Talaedra." She let the pouch drop into Fawkes's hand. The hushed jingle of the coin was deafening in the silent cabin. 

   "That's a terrible name." Fawkes chortled rudely. His fingers curled around the small bag, clutching it tightly. Abruptly, he left the cabin, seemingly disappearing into the dark.  

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[KyLaQz]

Yay! Im only 12 days late, but, yay!