3. Chapter 3
Isla pushed open the door to the village apothecary. Larissa looked up as Isla stepped over the threshold, smiling. Like Isla, she sported dark circles under her eyes, the fine lines seeming to have etched themselves deeper into her face in recent years.
Isla returned her smile, though it stirred a familiar flicker of grief.
She’d grown up trailing Larissa almost as much as her own mother.
After Isla’s mother died, Larissa had transitioned seamlessly into the role of Rowanmere’s head healer.
Being near her now filled Isla with a confusing mixture of comfort and longing.
“How are the Porters?” Larissa asked. “Any new symptoms?”
Isla sighed. “The cough seems to have worsened, even since yesterday afternoon. So far, it seems to be progressing at the same pace as it did for Neve. No fevers yet, but I’m sure they’re not far off.”
Larissa nodded grimly. “And Neve?”
Isla’s grip tightened on her satchel to mask her trembling hands. “The fever still rages. Her exhaustion seems to be worse, and there is pain now,” Isla reported, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I thought I might bring by a sedative today to help her sleep. Perhaps sleep will help.”
Larissa reached for Isla’s free hand, squeezing it. “I think that’s wise. You are doing everything you can, Isla.”
Isla nodded, blinking back the sting of tears, clearing her throat. It felt raw with overuse, like the rest of her.
“I wonder whether you might be able to see to Clive’s sun scald treatment again today?” Larissa asked. “It would give me some time to check our inventory.”
Isla nodded. “Of course. I’m headed over to examine Leona now, and I’ll see to Clive after. I thought I’d bring Leona something to help settle her labour pains once they arrive.”
Larissa hummed low in her throat. “That’s right, she’s nearing her time now.” She flicked through the supplies. “Where is the moonleaf?” she asked a young healer across the room.
The girl handed Isla a bottle containing crushed blue leaves, smiling. “It’s the last one,” she noted.
Larissa’s brows drew together, “The last one? Didn’t you forage in the south clearing this morning?”
The girl’s smile slipped. “I did. That’s all there was. Even the sage has wilted - it’s like the earth has stalled.”
That curl of unease twisted in Isla’s gut as she tightened her grip reflexively on the last, precious bottle. She nodded, murmuring, “She’s right — I’ve noticed it, too.”
Larissa frowned, the lines on her brow deepening with concern. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to make do,” she murmured, eyes scanning the contents of their table once more. “I’ll send someone to the eastern woods — perhaps there will be more growth near the lake.”
“How are you feeling?” Isla asked, running her hand gently over the woman’s swollen belly. The babe was head down and had begun to drop lower. Good signs.
“Large,” Leona grumbled, shifting with discomfort. She tucked a brown ringlet behind an ear, frowning. “Like I’ve swallowed a goat.”
“You look radiant, love,” said Leona’s husband, Luke, dropping a chaste kiss on her forehead as he swept by to pluck his hat off a hook by the door.
“Shut up,” she snapped at him, “This is your doing.”
“I remember,” he wiggled his eyebrows, brown eyes glinting suggestively.
“Insufferable man,” she grumbled, but a faint flush rose to the points of her amber cheeks.
He sauntered back over to the divan she reclined on, and Isla pretended to ruffle through her satchel for something.
Luke dipped his head again, planting a different sort of kiss on Leona’s lips, his darker skin contrasting with her lighter, more golden hues.
Isla smiled, marking the sweetness of their banter and wondered idly if she’d ever find such easy comfort with someone.
Leona swatted Luke’s cheek. “Get off me you beast,” she chided, the flush on her cheeks now more pronounced. “You’re lucky I can barely move, or I’d be making you pay for last night.”
He chuckled, rising and setting his hat on his head. “I’ll be back later. I love you.”
The door swung shut behind Luke and Isla raised a brow at Leona, a smile playing on her lips.
“Kept me up coughing all night.” Leona waved off Isla’s sudden look of alarm, misinterpreting it as concern, “It’s alright, I’m already up to use the privy every fifteen minutes, anyway.”
But Isla’s blood had cooled, her vision seeming to darken at the edges. She swallowed, tamping down on the mingled fear and heavy exhaustion. Leona’s eyes met hers, her eyes narrowing slightly as she ran her hand protectively over her belly, “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Isla said, smoothing her expression. “Newborn babes can be sensitive to illness, so we’ll just be cautious. But I’m sure that cough will be gone in no time.”
Truths, woven with lies, and seeded with hope.
Isla stepped into the Brewers’ cozy cottage to a warm greeting from Hannah. She shrugged off her cloak, hanging it on a hook by the door. Sitting just next door to the forge, the air always carried the faint tang of smoke and warmth from the nearby flames.
Clive sat at the kitchen table, his jaw already set in a stubborn line. He looked more like a man preparing for battle than one awaiting a visit from his healer. Isla’s eyes swept over his boots, muddy to the ankle, and trousers bearing the dust of a long work day.
She raised her eyebrows. “Odd how you managed to get muddy while on bedrest.”
The old farmer harrumphed, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “Nothin’ll get done with me sitting around all day.”
“And how much will get done if you’re dead?” Isla asked.
Clive glowered at her. Hannah pressed her lips together, stifling a smile as she turned to the kitchen sink.
“Dying then, am I?”
“Despite your best efforts, it would seem not.” Isla dropped her satchel on the low table, investigating the remnants of his sun scald. Old blisters had become dry, flaky skin, peeling in droves. “Are you using the salve?”
“Aye,” Clive grunted, at the same time Hannah said “No.”
Isla pierced him with her best, most motherly look of disappointment. “Clive.”
“How am I supposed to feed my family if I can’t work the fields?”
“From what you’ve told me, there are hardly any fields to work,” Isla chided gently, uncapping a jar of salve. His failing fields were a sore spot, and deservedly so. As the crops wilted, so too did his family’s comfort, especially with autumn approaching.
He grumbled low in his throat as Isla began to spread the salve gently over his cracked skin. “At least it’s not just my fields anymore. We can all starve together.”
Isla looked up, her brow knitting. “Someone else’s fields have failed?”
“They’re all failing. Every one of ‘em. Wilting early, with the growing season nay more than half over. Drying out, despite the rains. Rotting, despite the earth.” He shook his head.
Isla swallowed, tension collecting in her jaw. That ever-present feeling of wrongness stirred at the base of her spine.
“How —” she cut off abruptly. Hannah had begun to cough, covering her mouth with a kitchen towel as if to muffle the sound. Isla paled, turning to the older woman. “Hannah, how long have you had that cough now?”
Hannah waved a hand dismissively, “Oh, it’s nought but a tickle in my throat, dear. Just started a few days ago.”
“It’s been a week,” Clive corrected.
Isla had been so focused on Clive, she hadn’t spared Hannah more than a glance. Now, she noted the pallor of Hannah’s skin, the way she continuously sipped at her tea, as though soothing an irritated throat.
“And has it worsened?” Isla asked, trying to keep her tone light and curious while tamping down on the dread that clawed at her.
“No,” Hannah said, at the same time as Clive said, “Yes.”
Hannah frowned at him, and Clive smiled widely, revealing a missing tooth lost long ago.
Hannah’s mouth twitched. But Isla was recapping the salve, rifling through her satchel and trying to keep her breathing even and her hands from shaking.
Her hand emerged, gripping a jar of willowbark.
“Here,” she said, handing the jar to Hannah.
“Steep this into a tea. It will help suppress the cough. And please call me if it gets any worse, or if Clive starts coughing too.”
“Well as to the last, that’s already happened,” Hannah quipped, raising an eyebrow at Clive.
“A man can’t clear his throat now and again?” Clive grumbled. “It’s nothing, lass.”
Isla swallowed, her own throat feeling suddenly thick. She forced herself to smile. “The tea for you, too then, Clive. And I’ll be back to make sure you’re using that salve.”
Trying not to look like she was hurrying, Isla gathered her dwindling materials amidst Hannah’s thanks, bidding the Brewers goodbye as she stepped outside of their cottage and back onto the earthen village streets.
She walked slowly toward the forge, taking slow, measured breaths as she fought to slow her racing mind, the early-fallen leaves crunching beneath her feet.
A curl of smoke stretched up and out of the old stone chimney, and Isla watched it climb to the treetops.
She closed her eyes, listening to the familiar, comforting sounds of clanging steel and Oren’s father whistling as he worked, letting it ground her.
Suddenly, the whistling broke off, replaced by a cough that rang through the open window.
It struck Isla like an arrow to the chest.