Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
The familiar smell of lavender, mint, and bark soothes my mind as soon as I step into my small apothecary.
It smells like home. The moment I step through the door, I sink into my comfort zone, the one place where everything is familiar and certain.
Jars of different herbs and barks line the walls. Anything and everything someone might be looking for to cure their ailments can be found in this small room. Whether it’s raw ingredients, premixed teas, balms or ointments, I try to keep everything regularly replenished.
It’s also always been the one place I can clear my head, the place where I can disappear into my work and let everything else fall away, even if it is only for a moment, and that kind of relief is what I need today.
I haven't been able to shake the weight lying heavy on my shoulders after my encounter with that councilman at the lake yesterday. I haven’t been able to forget the sordid look in his eyes as he fixed his gaze on me.
The faint sound of rustling has my eyes darting around the small shop. When I realise it was simply the petals of the flowers hanging from the ceiling shifting as they dry, I draw in a deep breath through my nose, letting my body slump against the worktable as I close my eyes.
I am the only person in this room.
I am alone.
No one can hurt me here.
It’s not as if this room is big enough that someone could be in here without me noticing. I try to find solace in that certainty. I open my eyes and press my palm to my stomach, willing it to calm before I busy myself with my work.
The stone of the pestle warms in my palm as I work ginger into the mortar, grinding it down as fine as I can before I combine it with liquorice root, and the honey I keep on the top shelf.
It almost cost me more than the rest of this shop combined on my last visit to the apiarist—or honey farmer—west of Lenthara, but that was many moons ago. In fact, as I slowly add a small dollop of the golden honey to the herbal mixture, I notice I am running scarce.
I watch as the dry herbs and the smooth honey bond together whilst I combine the mixture, adding a bit of each ingredient until it forms the perfect consistency.
I reach for my quill and tear away a piece of parchment to label a jar as a ‘Soothing electuary’.
Electuaries are a type of herbal paste, often mixed with honey to make them more palatable and easier for patients to consume.
This one is perfect for a scratchy throat or respiratory issues, and I've been seeing far more patients than usual after something to help ease these kinds of afflictions—at least for this time of the year.
I tuck the jar away on a high shelf, reminding myself to let it sit for a while to allow the herbal extracts to infuse the honey.
The sound of heavy hooves on dirt and the clacking of a wooden cart has me peering out the small window edged in mildew. I can barely make out Mr. Bagley, his salt and pepper hair blown back in the wind, as he approaches in his cart led by two Clydesdales.
The sight of the horses and cart is jarring. My mind immediately forges images of a cart tipped on its head before I swallow down the bile in my throat and reach for the mixture of henbane and hemlock that Mr. Bagley came for before I slip out the door.
He pulls on the reins, slowing the horses’ stride, but he doesn’t get out of the cart as he yells out to me. “Afternoon, Everleigh!” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bagley. How are those joint aches coming along?” I say, walking towards where he has pulled his cart to a stop.
“Oh,” he starts with a shake of his head, “still as prominent as ever.”
“Well, this should help,” I say before handing the small tin to him.
“Thank you, dear,” he says, his blue eyes tired.
I just nod and make my way back to the stairs leading to my cabin to take a seat. “How was the trip to Lenthara? How was your cousin?”
Bagley looks down, his hands busying themselves with turning over the small container I just handed to him. “It was nothing like the Lenthara I visited only two years ago.”
His tone immediately sets my nerves on edge. “What do you mean?”
His gaze slowly comes back to mine. “It was like the entire town was dead. Windows were boarded up on nearly every home. The businesses were empty. No one was around. The only people who were walking the streets were the occasional men dressed in black from head to toe. They looked anything but afraid, but I didn’t stop to speak to any of them. ”
With every word from his mouth, the image paints itself in my head, and it’s not a pretty picture.
“But the people were there, hidden behind their boarded windows, scared to so much as walk out their front doors. So afraid their neighbours would see them and jump at the chance to accuse them of something.” He shakes his head.
“Witch hunts have stifled Lenthara, the fear choking them until they couldn’t bear it any longer. ”
Witch hunts.
That image in my head contorts, the homes and businesses now those in Sylvan. I imagine our town just as he says, choked with so much fear that no one dares to leave their houses. It makes me feel ill.
“What do you mean they are afraid of their neighbours accusing them of something? Accusing them of what?”
“Of witchcraft.”
“Their neighbours?”
He merely nods, his expression defeated. “They are so terrified they will be accused themselves that they turn on each other, hoping they can save themselves in the process.”
My eyes go wide; I can only imagine the chaos and fear. “Why is anyone accused in the first place?” I ask. Witches aren’t real, but King Wyndbrook seems to have everyone convinced, or paranoid at the very least.
His head shakes once more. “Their healers are all dead; they were the first to be accused of healing through malevolent means. People lost hope, especially after Hawthorne executed the last two healers in the area on his way through. They started getting frantic. The king has such a hold over everyone in Nameria now, convincing folks that witches are among us. People are looking for things that aren’t there, but they are finding them, nonetheless.
They’ve resorted to killing their friends for reasons like seeing a simple frog on someone’s doorstep, or a black cat walking at their side, saying that these animals are possessed with dark energy. ”
My back stiffens. “Dark energy?”
Bagley nods, his posture sagging. “Farmers are accusing others of meddling with their crops. It’s a sickness, and it’s spreading like wildfire.”
I can feel the fear he speaks of; it’s coursing through my veins as I sit here listening to what has become of a place that used to be so full of love and wonder.
Lenthara isn’t far from here, only a two-day ride, but it sits close to the border of Tarragon and Rynwood. It seems that King Wyndbrook’s influence has seeped through the border, reaching the people of Lenthara and holding on tight.
I can't help but think of Dahlia. This fear that I can taste on the tip of my tongue consumes her. It has devoured her.
Those healer’s journals lay scattered around my cabin, though despite my efforts I am yet to find anything about the correct dosage of belladonna, and I wouldn’t feel right administering a dosage based on a whim alone.
That would feel too much like tempting fate, and I don't ever want to know what it feels like when fate isn’t on my side.
“It was like walking into my worst nightmare,” Mr Bagley goes on. “All I can hope is that is never what becomes of this place.”
He places the container at his feet before picking up the reins once more. “Thanks for this.”
I just nod as he whips the horses into motion and leaves me sitting on my front steps with an image in my head that I fear will plague my dreams tonight.
“Okay, so you jinxed it?” Hazel’s voice floats through the kitchen with a hint of humour in her tone.
“Don’t even use the word jinx,” Cedar whispers. “It sounds too witchy.”
Hazel merely rolls her eyes. “Okay, so without using that word, you said how bored you were, and then within a minute the mayor appeared right in front of you.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you are a witch.”
“HAZEL!” Cedar smacks her arm. “That is not funny.” Now she is pointing at her.
“If we can’t laugh about it, we will be consumed by it, and I don’t particularly fancy drowning in fear.”
Her words take me right back to thoughts of Dahlia, and my conversation with Mr. Bagley. My stomach churns as I walk their tea over to the lounge they are both draped over.
“Are you all right?” Cedar asks.
I nod, placing their teas down on the low table that sits in the middle of the room. “Actually, no.”
Both of them sit up straight, waiting for me to elaborate as I sit on the floor opposite them, folding my legs in on themselves.
“Mr. Bagley stopped by today. He was on his way back from Lenthara.”
“That’s where the witch hunts have been rampant, isn’t it?” Cedar asks.
I just raise my brows and tilt my head before letting out a heavy sigh. The blow of my breath makes the candlelight flicker in the room from where the flame wiggles on the table in front of me.
“It seems the two women Sir Hawthorne prosecuted were far from the first,” I say. “Bagley said it feels as if the town is dead. No one goes out. They are too afraid their neighbours will accuse them of witchcraft and that they will be hanged like the healers were.”
The light in Hazel’s eyes winks out, and Cedar’s lips press into a frown.
“They have boarded up their windows, afraid that people could see them doing any kind of normal task and accuse them of something sinister. Fear has left them cowering in their homes.”
I leave out the part about animals being linked to accusations, knowing my friends would worry for me. I worry for myself. If people see something as innocent as a cat walking in a garden, what would they think of fish swarming at my feet, or birds gathering at my windows?