The Quiet Sun

Chapter one

Icouldn’t breathe.

I stood there, staring at the near-lifeless woman lying in front of me on the cot in the apothecary as every part of my body screamed for me to look anywhere but her.

What have I done?

Looking down at the last, now shattered bottle of medicine I had, this was a healer’s nightmare come true.

I tried to swallow the lump that rose in my throat.

The woman in front of me was so pale.

She had lost almost all her color in the last hour.

Just a moment ago, she started struggling, moving her head in a hasty discomfort, nearly choking on her own dark-colored tongue.

I had been rationing the last of her medicine, but at her rapid decline, in the midst of panic, I rushed and shattered what could have helped her last until tomorrow.

Without waiting another moment, I rushed out of the apothecary to find another bottle of medicine.

Sprinting down the cobblestone streets, passing the occasional glare and hiss, I couldn’t help the tears running down my face and the slight tremble in my legs as they drove me to the only place I could hope for.

After what felt like an eternity, I reached the worn-down red door and pounded on it with my fist.

The wooden door creaked open, and a tall man with peppery hair stood in the way.

“What did I tell you last time you came by, witch?” he spat.

If only he were right.

Maybe then I could heal this woman who lay in the apothecary nearly lifeless, breaths shallowing every second I wasn’t with her.

“Away from here!”

He was about to slam the door in my face before I placed my palm on it.

“Please, you have to help me.

Shipment isn’t arriving until tomorrow, and I need laudanum.

She isn’t going to make it to tomorrow,”

I pleaded, barely holding it together.

The man lowered his brows and clicked his tongue.

“Tell Fenrah we don’t have any more.

The last bottle was used two nights ago on a crying babe.

You’ll have to wait until—”

“She won’t make—”

“There’s nothing I can do to help.”

The man took a step back.

“I suggest you leave at once.

Don’t come back, she-devil.

This is your last and final warning.”

The door slammed, air hitting the tip of my nose.

The store across the street was no different.

The owner shook his head.

They didn’t have any.

Although, even if they did, I didn’t think they would tell me.

I was breathless by the time I stepped back into the apothecary, but I halted as soon as I did.

Fenrah.

My mentor and owner of this apothecary was cleaning the shattered pieces of the broken bottle on the floor.

She had an apron wrapped around her middle, her brown hair with white streaking at the roots pulled into a neat braid.

Fenrah was the age my mother would have been, but the years had nothing on Fenrah.

She was vigorous to a fault.

“Here, let me.”

I sniffled, grabbing what was left of the glass.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Fenrah knew what I was asking but shook her head with pursed lips.

My chest tightened even more, feeling like there wasn’t enough air in this room.

I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

She must be disappointed in me. No one had died under her care in many years. She had trusted in me.

Death was approaching this apothecary.

And as the village healer’s apprentice, it was my fault.

After cleaning the mess I had made, I stood by the cot.

For the thirtieth time today, I went over my options.

I kept coming to the same conclusion Fenrah had: there weren’t any.

I couldn’t do anything but hold the woman’s hand and stare at her.

It made this moment of death ten times worse.

Waiting for something so cold and inevitable.

Her eyelids were weak, neither lifted nor closed. Though she wasn’t past her thirties yet, her time was coming, and it was coming quick. I swallowed the painful lump at the back of my throat.

I couldn’t help but think about the deaths of my own family, though their deaths were not the same as this dying woman’s.

I missed them in a body-aching, gut wrenching way.

I’d been living a life without my family for several years, and I still hadn’t quite grasped the true concept of me being alone in this world.

Maybe it was because I was truly afraid to admit it out loud.

It didn’t feel right. It was not fair I was living and breathing but my mother, father, sister, and brother were gone—dead.

The woman’s chest rose and fell softly.

Too softly.

I doubted she had many more breaths left in her.

Mine painfully faded alongside hers. My hand trembled as I lifted the damp towel and pressed it to her forehead, trying to do as much as I could to make her comfortable before she left this world.

I did this to her.

“These things happen, Solei.”

My name rolled off Fenrah’s tongue, and it was strange to hear it.

My parents named me Solei, after the sun, because of my bright copper hair, but most people in my village called me “girl,”

“witch,”

“wench,”

“her,”

sometimes even “it.”

Looking over my shoulder, I found Fenrah now sitting on a hard wood chair nearby, waiting with me.

Dark, heavy air filled the apothecary.

Though this day had not turned out the way I had expected, I was grateful for Fenrah and for her guidance and presence in my life.

My family was the only thing in my life that had ever felt normal.

They never saw me as different; they treated me the same as they would anyone else, or better, because I meant something to them.

I was family.

Now, the only time I felt normal was at Fenrah’s apothecary working with medicine grown straight from the land.

The regular customers were wise enough to know I wasn’t a witch or a she-devil, and they treated me as any other healer.

Well, maybe there was a touch of skepticism.

Sometimes they’d smile at me, and I’d smile back.

I hated to admit it, but it would always make my entire week.

I lived for those moments—the moments where they would see me as an actual person.

That feeling was like finally letting out a deep breath after holding it in for eternity.

I glanced back at the woman lying on the cot.

I didn’t think I’d ever feel the same way about that cot now.

And if that made me weak, so be it.

That was my favorite cot, and I had the best sleep on it.

It was far more comfortable and inviting than the thin cot I slept on at home, a tiny space shared with two other women, Kryst and Brijet, neither of whom cared for me.

And we all shared one cot.

But how could I feel the same way after this?

My chin quivered, my eyes stung and begged to release a few tears.

But I couldn’t—it wasn’t professional.

After some time, Fenrah stood beside the woman as she let out her last breath.

I let out a silent sob as men came to take the lifeless woman’s body away.

I couldn’t keep it in anymore.

In my eyes, it was my fault that the woman died.

I had failed her.

Fenrah smacked my cheek.

“Stop crying, child! You stop crying, or else it will get worse.”

My eyes widened.

I cradled my cheek as it stung, but I held back the tears that screamed to be freed.

I stared into her cold, brown eyes.

I was speechless.

“You did the best you could with the tools you had in front of you.

We are healers, not miracle workers.”

Fenrah glowered.

“Don’t let this eat you alive, or you won’t be able to heal anyone else again.”