Chapter 46
Avice
Avice strapped on her satchel and shoved on her straw hat, her head now injury free. The combination of healing waters and singing crystals had healed her the previous night. She scratched Bramble’s ear and turned to Ashling, who hovered by the door.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“I have improved, but I am still tired,” he replied, his flames a little duller than usual.
Avice scrunched her face. “I am so sorry the ritual drained you so much.”
And I am sorry that I could not help, Bramble whined, tucking his tail between his legs.
“I have no regrets. It was the right thing to do.” He dipped in the direction of the hearth. “My fire will not be as warm for the next day or so.”
The midwife offered her hand, and he landed neatly in her palm. “I can light the hearth when I return, you can just rest.”
Ashling flared indignantly. “Avice, leave me some dignity.”
She giggled at that. “Alright, alright.” She nuzzled him. “We must be off. The sooner we get going, the sooner we return.”
And the sooner you see the Well King tomorrow, her familiar sniped.
“Yes, thank you, Bramble.”
Ashling floated over to the hearth and settled into the glowing coals.
She waved at him as he tucked himself in amongst the ashes.
Together, Avice and Bramble exited the cottage.
Avice drew the key from beneath her bodice, hearing it clang pleasantly against her pendant before she locked up.
The peal reminded her that she had not yet heard from Trewoofe about the children.
Avice sighed as they stepped out from under the eaves and into the bright Sunshine. She squinted beneath her hat, the colours and smells of her garden almost overwhelming her senses. She sighed again. She missed her sweet Knucker, despite seeing him only yesterday.
What is it? Bramble asked. I can tell something is bothering you, and it is not just because you are a lovesick pup these days.
She ignored his teasing. “I had hoped I would have heard from Trewoofe about Hope and Boarden by now. I was planning on cutting through the woods to the sheep fields to see Goodwife Joan first.” They started down the garden path.
“I believe she would have had a difficult time recently, and good news of her daughter would bring her some comfort.”
Because her husband is awful, Bramble observed.
“Well, yes.” Avice’s stomach turned at the thought of being married to someone like the shepherd. “She deserves better.”
You may hear from him yet. The walk there takes a little while, and time moves differently in the Underneath, her familiar responded.
A flurry of orange winged butterflies burst from the flowers. Then came the Pillywiggins, darting after them in a chaotic swarm. Lipless mouths crunched the butterflies down. The Queen paused mid-flight, her wings beating the air to keep her in place. She cawed and bobbed her head at the pair.
Avice touched the edge of her hat and dipped her chin in acknowledgement. “Good morning, my Lady.”
She squawked and continued her hunting path with the rest of her flock. Avice paused for a moment to pluck a handful of Trewoofe’s blooms, stuffing them into her satchel, hoping that they might brighten her patients’ day.
Together they stepped out of the humming ward and into the woods beyond the boundary. Spring had truly sprung, even compared to the day before. The greens were deeper, flowers more vivid, and the voices of ardent woodland animals competed in their quests to find a mate.
Avice found the path – carpeted with springy moss – that led to the sheep fields. They set off through the trees at a steady pace. She delighted at every woodland animal she saw and heard. She did not realise how much she had missed their presence until they returned.
“Time moves differently in the Underneath,” she mumbled.
Bramble, a stride ahead of her, looked back and cocked his head. What was that?
“How do you know how time passes differently above and below?” she asked.
He blinked slowly. Do you remember when the Lord said ‘he just knew’ that the hurt Pillywiggin was the Princess?
“Yes,” she replied, falling into step with him. “So, it is like instinct or intuition?”
Somewhat. Two rivers of time flow through my head. I can sense the time of day or night when in the Underneath. Then I can make an accurate assumption as to whether it is morning, noon, or night, he explained.
“So, Trewoofe would be the same?” she asked.
Most likely. If you want to know how he specifically does it, you will have to ask him. Bramble took the fork on the path that led to Goodwife Joan’s home.
“Remarkable.”
Avice mulled on that revelation as she ran her fingers over the soft blossoms. They grew up to her waist on either side of the path. She sucked in a breath, welcoming in the balmy air.
Her pendant pulsed on her chest. “Talk of the Knucker!”
“Avice, are you there?”
She scrambled for the jewellery. “Lord!”
“Good morning, little witch. Did you sleep well?” he purred, vibrating the crystal in her grip.
He knows it is the morning. He must be able to sense it like Bramble. Her gaze flicked to her familiar. “I did. I am just on my way to begin my rounds. How are you?”
“The hunt continues for the Tall One who hurt you, but I am closing in. I have enquired after Hope and Boarden, their caretakers said they are thriving,” he reported.
She grinned. “Thank you. I am so happy that I will be able to report that to their mothers today. It makes me…”
She tried to find the words. How could she explain she wanted to tie off any loose ends? Make sure everyone was as well as they could be? Because, what if when she visited the Underneath, she decided to stay, just as he had offered?
“Avice?”
She heard a chinking, and she giggled at the thought of him tapping at a crystal in the Underneath with his talon.
“It makes me happy,” she continued, “to know when you take me to your home, that my patients will be as well as they can be.”
“If you are happy, then I am happy,” he said. “Well, I will be, once I have found this Tall One. I have his scent now, and as much as I love to speak with you. I must—”
“Continue with the hunt,” she finished for him.
“There you have it. Goodbye, Avice. I look forward to seeing you at tomorrow’s twilight.”
“Tomorrow’s twilight,” she agreed.
She tucked her pendant back under her bodice and smiled down at her familiar.
Feeling better? he asked.
“Much,” she replied, crossing the threshold from the lively woods and into the sheep fields.
Her jaw dropped.
The green pasture was up to her waist, and the courting insects sung. Blooming buds of flowers kissed the top of each blade of grass. The Sun beat down on her hat as she stepped out from the shade of the trees, dotting her upper lip with beads of sweat.
“I have never seen anything like this,” she murmured and looked down at Bramble. “Have you?”
He snuffed at the nearest blossom and let out a loud sneeze. Never. He pricked his floppy ears. What exactly happened the night of the ritual?
They began to battle their way through the green. Bramble took the lead, using his large paws to squash down the grasses to make the way easier for Avice. Just as he was about to pounce on another swathe, she spotted gold.
“STOP!”
Bramble tripped over at her cry. He righted and shook himself, looking up at her with worried eyes.
What is it? he asked.
“Lambs!” she exclaimed, pointing down at them. “You nearly trod on them.”
At least… they looked like lambs. The twins were tucked up against their mother’s woolly side. Their fleeces gleamed golden under the Sun and their tiny nubbed horns twisted in a winding pattern.
The mother ewe eyed Avice warily and gave her a short, sharp bleat in warning.
She held her hands up in surrender. “I will not touch your babies,” she promised, though her fingers twitched to touch the spun gold of their wool. “You have done a fine job,” she praised, side-stepping around the wary ewe. “Come, Bramble.”
They continued their battle through the pasture, occasionally spooking a trilling bird into flight and the field mice into their little nest homes.
At last, they stumbled into Joan’s garden.
Avice caught herself on the trunk of a towering apple tree, sending a murder of startled crows from the garden and into the sky.
She squinted up as they circled, cawing their protests down at her.
They had been picking at the fallen scarlet apples, each larger than her balled fist. She plucked one from the grass, turning it this way and that.
It was perfectly round, except for the where the crows had hacked at it with their beaks, revealing the light flesh beneath.
She brought it to her nose and sniffed. It was heavenly, sweeter than honey, and made her mouth water.
There was a dozen or so surrounding the base of the tree, all partially eaten.
Her eyes swept up the trunk and focused on the branches above.
“It is not possible,” she murmured.
Bramble – who had been snuffling around the roots – popped his head up. What is ‘not possible’?
Avice dropped the apple, and it thudded into the grass at her boots. “The tree has flowers and fruit at the same time. It is not right. Blossoms come in Spring, and apples come in Autumn.”
It towered above her. Thousands of tiny pink blooms dominated the cascading branches. The tree dipped with the weight of the fruit on its branches, some larger than her head.
Bramble looked up. What kind of magic is this?
“I was hoping you could tell—”
A stifled scream from Joan’s cottage stopped her mid-sentence. Her heart picked up into a gallop and she flew across the remainder of the garden, ignoring the wonders that surrounded her.
She burst inside – the door unlocked – to find Joan shoving her husband away. She tripped over her skirts and landed on their pallet with a painful thud.
Avice did not even pause to think.
She flew at him, tackling him to the ground as he stepped towards his wife with his hand raised.
“DO NOT TOUCH HER!” she spat, scrambling to her feet.
Robert staggered up before rounding on her. “You little hag!” he snarled.
Bramble corporealized by her side, making the shepherd jump back with a yelp.
His hackles were up, teeth bared, and a savage snarl ripped from him.
The Grim stepped slowly towards Robert, distancing the man from the two women and herding him towards the door.
Avice swept to Joan and helped her sit up.
The young woman was thinner than ever, her eyes wide with fear, and she was paler than a corpse.
“You have no right to hit her!” Avice growled, holding Joan to her chest.
She shoved down the fear that threatened to freeze her to the spot.
The man who assaulted her when she was still a child was dead.
Trewoofe was on the hunt for that odious Tall One in the Underneath.
No one would ever touch her again without her permission, and she was determined to make sure the same would happen for the young woman trembling in her arms.
“I have every right. I am her husband!” Robert yelled.
Bramble crunched down on the man’s thigh. Robert let out a gurgling scream. The tearing of flesh and smell of blood made Avice’s stomach turn, and the midwife covered her patient’s eyes when Bramble went for a second bite.
Robert turned and fled through the open door, the Grim in hot pursuit.
Avice dropped her hands from Joan’s eyes. The woman blinked – dumbstruck – and sat still as a stone on the pallet, her chest rising and falling in ragged pants. The midwife fumbled for her pendant. She clasped it, the cool crystal soothing the blood roaring in the ears.
“Goodwife Joan?” Avice croaked, her eyes roving her face.
She focused on the midwife, shaking uncontrollably.
“It is alright.” Avice released her pendant and fumbled for Joan’s wrist. She pressed her patient’s palm to her chest. “Breathe with me…” She took a long slow inhale, and then an exaggerated exhale.
Joan chewed her lip and nodded. She copied Avice’s steady breathing pattern, again and again, until some colour returned to her face.
“Th-thank you,” she stuttered, a little colour returning to her cheeks. “You stopped him.”
Avice nodded. “I am glad we ended it before it escalated.”
Bramble trotted back in then, licking a drop of blood from his nose, and made his way over to the pallet. Is she alright? Tell the pup I am sorry we did not get here sooner.
The pup. Avice blinked back tears, even her familiar knew Joan was too young for a life like this. “He wants to know if you are alright?” she asked, gesturing to him.
“I think so,” Joan replied. She reached to pat his shaggy head. “Thank you…” She turned to Avice. “What is his name?”
“Bramble.”
Joan scratched behind his ear, and he closed his eyes with a huff. “Thank you, Bramble.”
Avice unstrapped and rifled through her medical satchel. “Hold this to your bruise,” she instructed, pressing a crystal to the purple mark on her cheek. “And drink this.” She handed her a bottle of healing waters.
She pushed herself up. Now the excitement was over, her limbs felt heavy. Her hat had fallen off in the scuffle. She stepped over to retrieve it, her gaze sweeping the messy cottage. Clearly, Robert had not been keeping up with the housework during the storm and while Joan was lying in.
Avice faced her patient. “I originally came to check in on your health after the birth.”
Joan took a gulp, placed down the bottle, and curled her shaking fingers into Bramble’s fur. The shaking woman dipped her head in agreement.
“But you cannot remain here. It is not safe,” Avice continued. “I think it would be wise for you to stay with your sister, for the time being.”
“But Robert, he is on the Moot council,” Joan replied. “Surely he can get them to order me back.”
Avice chewed the inside of her cheek. “Perhaps, but Goodwife Catherine is bold, and we both know she has her husband’s will in the palm of her hand.”
Joan gave her a sad smile. “Mister Lionel is very sweet on her. It must be nice.”
Until very recently, the midwife knew exactly how lonely Joan felt.
“And he is a member of the Moot. He could vouch for you, with a little prodding from your sister.” At least, that was what Avice hoped.
“That is the plan, then. A quick check on your health, pack some clothing, and go to your sister’s? ”
Joan smiled up at her and gave Bramble another pat, much to his delight. “Thank you, for giving me hope.”
The small bud of friendship between the women – the one Avice first felt when she went to check on Joan the day after the birth – tentatively bloomed.
Avice returned to the pallet-side, ready to begin her examination. “Speaking of Hope, I have some news for you.”