Chapter 8 #2
“I’ll let no one harm you, on that you have my word,” he whispered close to her ear, his cheek brushing hers.
She forced a smile, wondering if that would prove true, after what the vision had shown her, and she slipped through the gate, her heart thudding.
To rein in her disturbing thoughts, she focused on the tidy garden she passed, every plant trimmed and flourishing. Rows of drying herbs hung from the porch eaves, and the faint hum of bees carried in the air though no hives stood nearby. Elara knocked softly on the door.
It opened almost at once, a woman who appeared to be in her middle years stood there. Her auburn hair was touched with streaks of blonde, her posture straight and graceful, her eyes a lovely shade of blue.
“Come in, lass,” she said, her voice gentle. “The evening chill finds its way into the bones before you notice.”
Elara stepped inside. The warmth struck her immediately, along with the lovely scent of herbs simmering over the hearth. The walls were lined with shelves of jars and bottles, all neatly labeled.
“I am Dea, please sit,” the woman said, pointing to one of the two chairs at a narrow table, then turned to stir the pot hanging over the hearth’s flames.
“I am Elara,” she said, sitting, though kept steady eyes on her. “I am an herb-scribe.”
“How delightful.” Dea smiled. “I am envious. Knowledge of the forest plants is essential to healers. I do not know what healers would do without herb-scribes. But how can I help you, surely with your vast knowledge you know how to treat ailments.”
“I do,” Elara said. “But I did not come here for healing. I came because I am seeking knowledge of another healer. One said to defy death itself.”
Dea’s hand went still on the wooden spoon. For a heartbeat, silence pressed heavily in the room. Then she set the spoon aside.
“Why do you seek this information?” Dea asked, joining her at the table.
“Surely, word of the king’s pursuit of the mythical healer with power over death has reached Wedderlie. I seek the truth to help healers, so necessary to the kingdom’s well-being.”
Dea kept her voice low as if divulging a secret meant for their ears alone. “She is not a myth. She is real. Those who say otherwise are fools. When the Kingdom of Scotara needs her most, she will reveal herself.”
Elara’s heart gave a hard, uneven beat. “So, you’ve heard of her?”
“Every healer has heard such a tale, but only the wise know the truth of it,” Dea said, her voice calm but certain.
Elara’s throat tightened. “By any chance have you met her?”
“Nay, but I’ve felt her. Every healer has felt her though most don’t realize it. She moves like a current beneath our craft, the spark that ignites knowledge in all healers.”
“Do you have any idea where I might find her?”
She went to shake her head then stopped.
“There is one who might know more than most. An old healer named Feena. She’s lived far beyond her years, her hair white since her youth, her hands still as steady as mine.
Some say she remembers the first healers of Leighfeld and the old ways before the kingdom divided. ”
“Where might I find Feena?” Elara asked, eager to meet the old healer.
“In Barloch, a small village near Caerith that clings to the northern wood. Few go there now, it lies too close to the king’s home, and no one crosses the borders of Caerith without the king’s permission.
But if you truly wish to know, Feena is the one who will speak of things the rest of us fear to say. ”
Elara frowned. “That’s deep within the king’s reach.”
“Aye,” Dea said. “Closer than is wise. But wisdom is seldom found where comfort reigns.”
Elara felt the weight of her words, like the hush before a storm. She went to ask more, but Dea’s next words froze her.
“Your visions will grow stronger with time and belief.”
The words struck her like a chill wind. “My visions?”
Dea’s eyes turned thoughtful, almost puzzled.
“You’ve seen things that come to pass, have you not?
I can feel it about you. A shimmer. It bends the air when you stand still.
” She frowned, studying her more closely.
“There’s something else about you I can’t quite grasp.
As if a veil lies between what you are and what the world sees. ”
Elara stood abruptly, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.
“Forgive me. I speak too freely when I am tired. You have a good husband,” she said in that same calm, knowing tone. “A man who will give you a good life, though there will come a time you doubt that. Trust him and all will go well.”
Unease crawled up Elara’s spine. Healers didn’t predict, they mended. To speak of what might come rather than what could be healed went against every teaching she’d ever known.
Dea stood and returned to stirring what cooked in the pot. “Go now, Elara. Night falls quickly near the border, and the surrounding area does not always welcome.”
Elara hesitated, her hands cold despite the warmth of the room. “Thank you for your time.”
“Be careful, Elara. The quest you are on is riddled with secrets and lies. Dig deep to find the truth.”
She hurried outside to see Dar standing by the fence, speaking idly to a passing villager.
Dar turned and when he saw the unease on her face, and how she appeared frozen in place, he hurried to her. “What happened?”
All she could bring herself to say was, “She believes the healer is real.”
“There is more than what you say,” he said, his hand going to her back to nudge her forward and through the open gate. “We will return to the inn and our quarters. You can tell me more there.”
As they turned back toward the village, Elara couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder. The cottage stood quiet in the gathering dusk, its windows glowing softly, but for just an instant she thought she saw a figure watching from the trees beyond—still, tall, and dark as shadow.
When she looked again, it was gone.
They walked back through Wedderlie in silence, the torches casting dim light along the pathways as night rushed in to sweep dusk away. The air felt too still now, too careful. Every smile they passed seemed to be practiced or forced.
Dar felt her unease and slipped his arm around Elara’s back as they walked, keeping her close as he guided her through the narrow lanes.
Elara stirred an interest, a curiosity in him whereas most women stirred him physically, not that he hadn’t given that thought.
She was, after all, a beautiful woman and any sane man would have such a thought.
But there was something different about her and he couldn’t quite grasp what it was.
The inn came into view, and he hurried them inside.
The warmth of the hearth met them first, along with the faint scent of stew.
The common room had emptied for the night, only a few men lingering over mugs of ale.
Bella greeted them with a broad smile and led them to their room upstairs, a small chamber with a single window, a narrow bed, and a fire that burned low in the grate.
Elara slipped out of Dar’s embrace and crossed to the window, pushing aside the curtain. The village slept peacefully, too peacefully, and she wondered what lay beneath that peace since there was more, much more to this village than the eye could see.
Dar shut the door behind Bella after she pointed out that extra blankets were in the wooden chest beside the bed and that a bucket of fresh water would be left outside the door come morning.
Finally, alone, he asked, “What did the healer tell you?”
Elara hesitated, then turned. The firelight flickered over his face, highlighting the blue flecks in his gray eyes and she had the nonsensical thought of rushing into his arms for comfort, but only briefly.
She had to stay strong, rely on herself, trust herself, her instincts.
He was a wanderer and could leave her anytime.
It wasn’t wise of her to rely on him. And yet she had done just that.
“As I said, she believes the healer exists. But she also believes that she will reveal herself when the time is right.”
“Did she seem believable to you?”
That was a good question though she didn’t know how quite to answer it. Dea had known about Elara’s visions, which proved what? Was she a healer or sorcerer? A healer she could trust, but sorcery? That came from the forbidden land.
“That you don’t respond quickly tells me that you struggle with the answer.”
She rubbed her arms against the lingering chill, though the room was warm.
“I am not sure what to believe. She spoke as if the healer were part of every healer, igniting knowledge. The strange part is that healing has had a rapid growth of knowledge these past few years. Discoveries have been made with plants that offer relief to many.”
“And you think it is due to this particular healer?”
She shrugged, puzzled. “I have no idea. Herb-scribes learn from the forest and the animals. How the plants grow and what ones the animals eat and what ones they avoid. We share and combine the knowledge, which can bring great strides. So, it is difficult to say it is the work of one when there are such benefits from the work of the many.” She took a breath.
“Dea mentioned another healer. An old woman named Feena who has lived far beyond her years, longer than any healer should. Dea said her mind holds the memory of things long forgotten, and that she might know more about the healer who defies death.”
“Where does this Feena live?”
“Barloch,” Elara said, “a small village tucked against the northern wood, close to the king’s home. But if Feena remembers the old ways, she just might know something no one else does.”
He frowned, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. “Hunters swarm that region. It’s the last place we should wander.”
“What choice do we have? We must go to her.”
He scoffed. “And here I thought Wedderlie was reckless.”
“Truth is seldom found where comfort reigns, or so I’ve been told.”