Secrets and Stardust

Chapter 1

Iyana

Dried sweet peppers, coconut oil, water from an untouched oasis…

Iyana Astalle stood at her workstation, attempting to recall the last few ingredients for the potion. What was she forgetting?

She could simply ask her grandmother for the answer, but she was desperate to prove she was ready to become a fully initiated healer soon. She was almost at the end of her training, so it was embarrassing to admit that she couldn’t remember a simple recipe. Concentrated mango juice, she remembered with sudden clarity.

She reached across the table for the container. After adding the correct amount to the concoction, she wrapped her hands around the glass jar and focused. The magic eluded her as it always did. Although she knew her magic wouldn’t be fully unlocked until her grandmother blessed her and she earned the placement of the ouroboros tattoo that would encircle her wrist, there were times she almost sensed it slithering underneath her skin, seeking a way out. She called forth that elusive feeling now. It felt slightly stronger than before. Concentrating, trying to coax the magic free, her eyes drifted shut. Suddenly, a shout from next door broke her focus.

“Iyana!”

The glass jar crashed to the floor as she was jolted out of her trance. Shattered glass sprayed in every direction, and the potion was no longer salvageable.

“Shit,” Iyana muttered. Phaedros take her, that was her last glass jar, and it had been two years since any merchants had come through Imothia. Her village was isolated near the base of the mountain range separating Athusa and Istora, and not many wanted to brave the Istorian desert other than her people, who had lived there for centuries. She’d have to borrow one from her grandmother. Iyana winced; she really didn’t want another lecture.

“Iyana, I swear to the old gods if you aren’t over here in the next minute…”

She grabbed her medical bag on her way out the door. Her grandmother, Mata Imo, hated wasting time. Rushing next door, Iyana grabbed the frame of her grandmother’s hut and swung inside.

“Finally, child,” she said. “Let’s go. Imelda’s labor has started.” This was excellent news—Imelda was close to two weeks overdue, and they were almost at the point where they would have to induce labor. It was a dangerous and unreliable process for both the mother and the babe.

Iyana and her grandmother ambled towards Imelda’s side of the village. Iyana was buzzing with nervous energy and wanted to move faster, but she went at her grandmother’s shuffling pace. Huts with thatched roofs were dispersed throughout the village with no organization system—families typically lived close together, so older generations could help with the youngest. It created a cluster of dwellings without dedicated streets or property lines. Iyana loved it. She and her grandmother lived on the outskirts, where it was the quietest. A group of children ran by them, heedless of the heat, playing with a ball and shouting hello to their healer. Imo chuckled as they streaked past.

“What did you drop back there?” Grandmother asked her.

“Nothing, Mata Imo,” Iyana said sheepishly.

“Nothing, eh?” She lifted one of her white eyebrows on her tan, wrinkled face. Despite being short and stooped, Imo was great at making Iyana feel as though she was being looked down upon, like she was still a little girl and not a grown woman of twenty-six. “It sounded suspiciously like your last glass jar. I guess you’ll be wanting to borrow one of mine then.”

“Yes, please…”

Imo snorted a laugh. “Don’t break it. The arrival of the next merchant is uncertain.”

“I won’t, Grandmother.” Iyana took an internal breath of relief; she wasn’t getting lectured today.

“What were you working on?” Imo asked.

“Oh, the hair and nail potion,” she said excitedly. Iyana loved talking about all things medical with her grandmother—potions, tinctures, and poultices. “Iris asked for some. Ever since she had her babe, her hair has been falling out, and her nails are brittle.”

Imo opened her mouth, but Iyana continued talking.

“I know most women lose hair three to four moons after birth, but she’s losing more than is normal. I hope this potion will restore normal growth.”

Halfway through the village, they heard panicked shouting. Poor Imelda’s labor must be progressing quickly then. But Imo grabbed Iyana’s arm, the ouroboros tattoo on her wrist still dark despite its age. “Something’s wrong,” she said.

Imo moved swiftly, surprising Iyana with her speed. The magic of the healers wasn’t strong, but it allowed them to instinctively identify when someone was in mortal danger. It also allowed them to diagnose ailments more accurately, and increase the strength of medicines. Some potions and tinctures required magic to be activated, but most of them Iyana could make on her own—they just weren’t as potent until her grandmother blessed them.

When they entered Imelda’s hut, Iyana noticed two things instantly—the copper tang of blood, and the agonized screaming. In the center of the room, Imelda lay on a cot; it was already saturated with blood. Iyana and her grandmother fell into their practiced roles. Imo shuffled immediately to the foot of the cot, and Iyana to its head. Imelda’s mother was there, smoothing her hair back from her sweaty forehead. Her husband, Isaac, was crouched in the corner biting his nails.

Imelda’s skin pallor caught Iyana’s attention; she’d lost too much blood. Iyana reached into her bag blindly, pulled out the nettle tea concentrate, and held the vial to Imelda’s mouth.

“Drink, love,” she coaxed. “It will help with the pain.”

Although willow bark was a more effective option for pain relief, they could not use it until after the babe was born. It had the potential to create deadly heart problems for an unborn child. Nettle tea would suffice for now. Imelda drank and calmed immediately. Her mother and husband both visibly relaxed, albeit only marginally so. Iyana’s grandmother wore a grim expression.

“The babe’s shoulder is stuck,” Imo said. Iyana felt herself paling. It was a complication that could be fatal. For both patients. She and Imo glanced at each other, having a silent conversation—they both knew what needed to be done.

“What does that mean?” Isaac asked from the corner.

“It means,” Imo explained, “I will need to break the babe’s collarbone in order to deliver it safely.”

Imelda lifted her head. “No!”

Imo’s voice softened. “I know it’s not what anyone wants to do, my love. But it’s our only option. The babe will heal. If we continue on this way, we may lose you both.” Imelda collapsed back onto the cot, weakly waving them on. Imo looked toward Iyana and gave a slight nod.

One drop of a tincture under Imelda’s tongue helped her immediately relax into the cot. Her breathing evened out, and her eyes fluttered closed.

“What did you give her?” Isaac exclaimed, concerned.

“Only a sleeping draught of valerian and lavender,” Iyana said. “We want to make sure she doesn’t fight against us too much. She’ll wake in fifteen minutes or so.”

Imo cleansed her hands, then reached for the babe. With a quick motion, she broke the collarbone and pulled the arm through the birthing canal. Once the arm and shoulder were free, the rest of the babe slid out easily. There were a few tense seconds of silence, but after some swift slaps to the bottom of the babe’s feet, the hut filled with cries. Everyone let out a sigh of relief. Imo cut the umbilical cord once it stopped pulsating and wrapped the babe in a cloth, handing him over to his father. Imelda was still caught in the effects of the sleeping draught and would hold her newborn son later. For now, there was still danger. Imelda was hemorrhaging. Imo massaged her now deflated stomach and delivered the afterbirth. Once done, Iyana gave Imelda another tincture, this one made of the ergot fungus in order to constrict her blood vessels and help slow the bleeding. Imo continued her massage, and eventually the hemorrhaging slowed to an acceptable trickle.

Imelda roused from the sleeping draught, reaching for her still wailing babe. “It’s a boy,” said Isaac with tears in his eyes. Imelda gave a sleepy smile and cuddled the child to her chest.

Imo began to pack her equipment. “Keep the babe warm. It’s best if his skin is against yours. And start feeding him as soon as you can. It will help keep the bleeding at bay.”

“Thank you, Mata Imo,” Imelda said weakly.

“It was my pleasure, dear. Call for me if you need anything.” Imo patted Iyana on the shoulder. She would stay with the family awhile longer, while Imo went to rest. It was difficult being in this line of work in your eighties. Iyana beamed at the new mother and set about clearing up everything.

Idris cornered Iyana that night as soon as she left Imelda, Isaac, and baby Ian.

“What now, Idris?” she sighed.

Idris stalked towards her, backing her until she was up against a wall, his body far too close to hers. Iyana hated being short, forced to look up into the man’s face. His lips curled into a smirk. “I know what you did for Isaac’s family, and I wanted to tell you how impressed I am.” He twirled a lock of her dark hair around his fingers.

She batted his hand away. “I don’t need or want you to be impressed with me.”

Idris laughed, but to Iyana, it sounded forced. “Come on, sweetheart, we had fun before, right?” He leaned in so his lips were brushing against her ear. She fought the urge the cringe away. “I could make you feel good.”

Iyana peered up at him while batting her lashes and biting her lower lip, then placed her hand on his shoulder and slowly dragged it down to his chest. Idris’s grin grew, and he hooded his eyes. As he leaned in to kiss her, she pushed him away. Hard. The smile on his face was instantly gone, but had now found a place on Iyana’s instead.

“How many times do I have to tell you it was a onetime thing, Idris, before you can get that through your thick skull?” she said, making sure her voice sounded overly sweet. “Besides,” she added in an exaggerated whisper. “I faked it the whole time. You overestimate your greatness.”

Idris was now fully frowning at her, which only made her grin so widely her cheeks hurt. “You’re getting beyond marrying age, Iyana. Soon, none of us will want you. You’ll be too old.”

Iyana’s hand flew to her chest as she let out a gasp that was louder than it needed to be. “Oh, no! Whatever shall I do without a big, muscular man to provide for me?” The ire on his face only made her want to push him even further. She flicked her hair behind her and adjusted her medical bag. Looking him straight in the eye, she deadpanned, “Good,” and sauntered away. She didn’t turn back, but she really hoped Idris was fuming. The good mood carried her the entire way home.

As she returned to her home, there was a candle still lit in Grandmother’s hut and it sounded like she was brewing tea. “Good night, Mata Imo,” she called while passing by.

“Good night, Iyana. You did well today.”

Her heart warmed at the words; Imo wasn’t one to hand out praise easily. It made her hopeful she might become a full healer in a couple more moons. Iyana absentmindedly brushed her fingers over her bare wrist where her own ouroboros tattoo would reside. The snake devouring its own tail had been the sigil of the healers for millennia, and she was determined to study harder to join their ranks. Ducking into her hut, she let out a contented sigh, brewing her own cup of tea.

The hut wasn’t much, but it was hers and had all she needed—a small bathing chamber, a straw-filled cot, a cozy hearth for cooler nights, and plenty of shelving for all her medicinal ingredients. And she lived right next door to Grandmother, which was convenient if she needed help with any particularly difficult patients. She glanced at the night sky through the window.

“Do not stare at the stars, Iyana,” Imo chastised from next door. Iyana chuckled. Somehow, the old woman always knew when she peeked. Ever since she was a little girl, it was always the same. Do not stare at the stars, Iyana. The stars are not what they seem, Iyana. It only served to make her more curious about the flickering lights in the sky, and why her grandmother was so wary of them. Iyana had asked that question multiple times and never received an answer.

Soon she snored gently on her cot, the cup of tea forgotten.