Chapter 1: Herbs and War
Nirel
Note: This is the true first chapter that I wrote for Nirel. I have grown a lot as a writer since then. You will notice this piece is not as polished or well written as my current work, but I think this is also a fun way to show you how much a person can improve over two years.
‘The world seeks balance, Nirel. There is light and there is darkness. The world requires both.’
Father’s words echoed in my mind as I balanced on the willow branch in my thin linen slippers. I snipped the small twigs that would regrow when spring came.
Fall harvest was a busy time for everyone in our little village. As the apothecaries, my brother Warren and I harvested the willow bark so we all would have enough willow extract to soothe the headaches winter brought. Small shears in hand, we climbed the willows in the forest closest to our village and clipped the small branches.
“Poets should write more songs for apothecaries,” Warren said as he snipped.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because who else prunes a tree and then makes the most coveted medicine in all the village? We do two jobs for the price of one!” he said with a twinkle in his green eyes.
I snorted. “Not funny.”
Despite the nip in the air, sweat dripped down my back. I adjusted the slits of my green dress to let more air flow through my linen shift and cool my legs.
“Do you think the Lord of Trestaine had anything to do with the murders?” asked Warren as he carefully placed his foot one branch higher.
“I don’t,” I said firmly. We heard news that an assassin had murdered the King’s brother along with his wife and four children in the province just south of us, Lisaire. The King’s eldest son, Zarin, had been visiting and was murdered, too. All seven provinces of the Laeviin Kingdom had felt the horrific shockwaves of the news. Even the ground grieved. An earthquake was felt throughout the kingdom days later. Three buildings in our village were damaged.
“A traveler at the inn said the King blames the Lord of Trestaine and is demanding he relinquish his title.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s ridiculous. You’ve seen him with his own children. He’s a doting father. No good man would have anything to do with such an evil act.” I snipped a couple more twigs forcefully. “I hope the King figures out who really did it. Trestaine had nothing to do with it. It happened in Lisaire. He should look there first.” I paused and held the shears in my mouth so I could retie my long, blond hair behind my head.
“Oh, Saints, curse it!” exclaimed Warren, dropping his shears. They thudded against the tree roots.
I pulled mine out of my mouth. “Watch your tongue, Warren, before the Saints actually curse something,” I scolded. He looked up at me and showed his hand covered in blood. My eyes widened.
“Oh, Saints curses! What happened?”
Warren began climbed down his tree and I descended too. I tucked my star necklace under my shift to climb down faster without risking it being pulled. The flaps of my over-dress caught on a couple branches on the way down and I hastily pulled them down with a rip.
“I was holding the branch too close.” He left bloody handprints on the tree as he climbed.
I reached the bottom a little before he did. He jumped down the last bit and held his hand. I stepped closer to look and recoiled with a wince. The shears had cut his palm two inches wide and down to the bones inside the hand.
“Warren, this is bad.”
He grimaced.
“Let me heal it or you cannot help at during the rest of this harvest … you might even have permanent functional damage to your hand.”
“Mother would not approve,” he said through pursed lips.
“No one knows you are hurt. No one will know it was me. Please let me do this. Why in the Saint’s names am I a healer if I’m not allowed to heal anyone?”
“Shush! What if someone hears you?!”
I looked around the forest.
“You’re right. We’re surrounded by people. Let me just wrap this up with linen then,” I teased.
“Just heal it already,” said Warren.
“Since you asked so nicely,” I said with an arched eyebrow.
Warren sighed. “Please, Nirel, it really hurts.”
“I’m sorry, yes. Here.”
I positioned his hand on my left palm and brought my right over the bleeding gash. Warm drops of my brother’s blood dripped from my knuckles as I pulled up my light. My fingers tingled as the energy of the light ran between my fingers and then into his hand. Warren gasped as the light heated the injury and began to knit his flesh back together. My light had the ability to heal quickly, but the flesh still felt all the pain of the muscles and skin going back together. A guttural yell pushed through Warren’s gritted teeth. I held his hand steady and kept the light flowing into the injury.
“Almost done,” I said softly. The skin was closing up. A raised pink scar formed. His arm relaxed, and he released his clenched jaw. I pulled up a bit more light, and the scar softened to a pale pink. I stopped.
Warren gasped and held up his limb to inspect it more closely. Both of our hands still had wet blood, but his was healed with just a small, knotted scar.
“That will never get old,” he said in amazement.
I smiled softly and pushed his shoulder.
“I’m glad you are alright.”
“Thanks to you.”
“You are worth it, Warren.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Glad I’m worth something.”
“We had better wash up before we go home. Mother might be overly concerned.”
“Yeah.” He glanced at his bloody hands. “I think you’re right.”
We couldn’t risk being caught. Despite my frustration at not being allowed to heal, the reason was sound. Healers like me were valuable to nobility. If anyone besides Warren and mother found out I could heal, I’d be sent to the Lord of Trestaine where I would be forced to serve as his healer. I’d heard stories of healers who died just months into their forced servitude from trying to heal too many. They overextended their bodies and their hearts just stopped.
I wanted to heal, but I wanted to have my own life, too. Servitude to the Lord of Trestaine? I shuddered at the thought. No. I belonged here, with my family and herbs.
Warren and I scrubbed the blood from our hands in the creek not far from the willow trees. I was glad that I wore my dark green dress today. The bloodstains were not visible. I pulled my necklace back over my dress. The normally cool silver was warm. We went back and gathered all the willow branches. We tied the larger ones into a bundle that Warren hauled on his shoulder while we put all the small twigs into a basket that I carried home.
The apothecary stood a bit beyond the forest. The Merchant Road was visible in the distance to the east. Warren and I carried our willow harvest through the path between the orchard and herb garden until we reached the back door of our home. Warren pushed the heavy wooden door open.
“Mother?” he called as we both entered.
“There you are, children!” she called from the front room.
Warren and I exchanged glances. I was twenty and he was almost eighteen, but mother could not stop the habit of calling us children. We had given up on correcting her at this point.
“We brought a lot of willow!” I called as I placed my basket onto the table by the stove. Warren left his bundle by the basket.
“Good!” she said as she entered the kitchen. “We can start preparing the bark for making extract tonight.”
“I thought the same,” I said as I stepped to the water basin by the stove to wash hand my hands. I lathered the rosemary soap onto my hands and forearms. A sprig of rosemary floated in the water when I dipped my hands in to rinse. Rosemary helped keep putrefaction at bay. We used it in most soaps and antiseptics. I moved to let Warren scrub and turned to ask mother about what we should make for dinner when the words caught in my throat. Mother held Warren’s healed hand and was looking at me with her large amber eyes wide and worried.
“What is this?” mother asked us, pointing to the pale scar and blood on the white hem of Warren’s sleeve. I had forgotten about the hem.
“Um…”
“Did you heal him?” she asked in a whisper.
“It was to the bone,” Warren started, “I would not have been able to help with the harvest if we had left it.”
“I did not ask you,” said mother. She looked at me with pleading and anger. I looked at the wooden floor.
“Yes,” I said softly.
Mother let Warren’s hand go and raked her fingers through her blonde hair with agitation. Her breath quickened.
“You know you cannot do that!” she said quietly and fiercely. We could not risk anyone hearing this conversation.
“He was hurt! Sisters help their brothers!”
Mother came closer and grabbed my shoulders and looked me in the eyes with tears welling in her own.
“Do you want to be ripped from your family? To die exhausted and in pain from overextending yourself?!” She whispered harshly.
I closed my eyes. Her words were like daggers to my heart.
“If the governor finds out you are a healer, he will send you off to the city to meet the Lord of Trestaine. He would compel you to stay as his healer. You will lose any say over your life! Your father and I worked too hard to free this family from that fate. He would roll over in his grave if he saw this!”
I held up my hands.
“I know! I’m sorry I’m a healer. But I am. And when my brother is hurt, I have to help him.”
“You do not have to, Nirel. You have a choice!”
I glanced at Warren to see him rubbing his new scar and pushing his back into the corner between the door and rows of dried herbs.
“Why don’t you want me to heal him? I don’t understand.”
Mother clenched her jaw.
“It’s not that I don’t want him healed, Nirel. Your brother’s body will heal just fine on its own. You have dreams of running your own apothecary. Heal with herbs. That is the only way you will be safe.”
I pursed my lips and nodded. She released my shoulders.
“What does it matter if I’m a healer anyway … when I couldn’t save father,” I murmured.
Warren jumped from the corner. “That was not your fault!”
I crossed my arms over my chest. Mother bowed her head and squeezed my elbow.
“No one can heal the Malaise, little love,” she said softly. “Not even you.”
The Malaise devoured father’s body from the inside out, leaving him a shriveled shell of the strong man he had once been. I had tried to save him. Mother had to pull me away before I died from pouring everything into father.
I pushed the gaping emptiness deep into my chest. I could not deal with this right now. Tears threatened to overflow my eyelids. I sniffed.
“Let’s … um… let’s make dinner,” I said.
She nodded. I turned away and inspected the shelves to see what we should make. I wiped my eyes. The bell on the front door jingled and mother hurried to the front room.
“Ah, Darin! Lovely to see you! What can I get for you?”
Darin the sheep farmer tended to get a variety of fresh herbs like sage and tarragon for cooking, rosemary soap, and extract of willow for his frequent headaches. Warren closed the door so we could work unobserved. He moved close behind me.
“Mother was too hard on you,” he whispered in my ear.
“It’s alright.” I sniffed and straightened my back.
“I was the idiot who hurt himself. She should have scolded me.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head, “you can’t always help an accident. It was my choice to risk it. I still think I did the right thing.”
Warren smirked. “You are stubborn, you know.”
I rolled my eyes. “I had no idea.”
“But do you think it’s as bad as mother says? That you will have no say over your life if someone finds out?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Probably. She doesn’t want to lose us, Warren. I don’t think she could take anything happening to either of us after what happened to father. But I do wonder sometimes … if healing others would be worth it.”
Warren thought for a moment.
“I wonder that, too. Then I realize I’m being stupid. You must never leave me, Nirel. Promise. We will run the apothecary together.”
I turned to face my brother. His blonde hair was windswept across his face and his cheeks were still flushed from earlier. I took his hand and squeezed it.
“Warren, I promise that your big sister will always be here for you. And we will have the best apothecary in all of Trestaine.”
His smile lit up my soul. He wrapped me in a hug that only wonderful brothers can give. He released me.
I peered over the shelves of dried beans and lentils, grains, and home preserved fruits and vegetables. We were making good progress on our winter provisions. We had a lot more hidden in the root cellar under the floor.
“I’m hungry already,” I murmured.
I grabbed the black pot from the bottom shelf and scooped two measures of lentils. I poured fresh water into the pot along with bay leaves and placed it on the stove. Warren put a couple pieces of wood into the stove. I grabbed a few walnuts for a snack while the lentils cooked. Healing always made me so hungry. I smashed one with our cooking hammer.
“Want one?” I held a cracked walnut out to him.
“Thanks.” He held the walnut thoughtfully. “Nirel.”
I glanced at him as I prepared to crack another walnut. My stomach growled.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to say to Robert?”
The hammer fell too hard, and the walnut shattered. Bits flew across the room.
“Whoops.” I cracked another. I’d sweep after. It was a good distraction from Warren’s question. He knew me too well to fall for it.
“You have to answer him soon,” he said as he popped the walnut in his mouth.
“I can’t, Warren. I can’t marry him,” I said.
He nodded. “Good. He’s a swine.”
I laughed. Robert was a swine, but he was also the governor’s son. He would have been a good match were he not cruel. I would never forgive him for turning in Esme to the priestesses for lewdness. She’d been whipped before the whole village. It was seared into my head.
“I’m afraid of what he’ll do when I say no,” I admitted softly.
“He can’t force you, Nirel. Only Lords and Kings can do that. You tell him no and he has to accept it,” he said.
“He might strike me,” I said. I put the hammer down and stirred the lentils. They were almost boiling.”
“Not if I’m there. I’ll strike him back,” said Warren darkly.
“No. Never give him a reason to lash out at you,” I said fiercely. Warren looked taken aback.
“Alright. I won’t.” The lentils began to boil and he stirred them while I stuffed a walnut into my mouth.
“I’ll grab some fresh greens and potatoes to go with this,” he said and went out to the garden.
I watched him go down to the onion patch, then balled my fists and then released them as I devoured a few more walnuts. I pushed down the anger, the rage that father was gone. It had been over a year and the ache would not go away. I swept the walnut shells.
I needed him. He would have kept Robert away from me. The gaping hole in my chest was screaming and there was nothing that could fill it. He was never coming back. I understood the reality, but my heart and mind did not. I let out a low cough as I forced the pain down and focused on the task at hand.
We ate as the sun went down. Stewed lentils over mashed potatoes with fresh greens and garlic oil. I quietly filled my stomach with food, feeling the pleasant heaviness inside. The warmth of the food, the savory flavors of the spices and garlic, and the soft light of the candles eased the strain of the day. I ate until I could not hold another bite, then somehow stuffed in another couple bites. Mother noticed but said nothing. Most parents would be concerned that their daughters would become plump and unattractive to potential husbands. I had gained some flesh since father died, but it was not excessive. I think she somehow knew that it helped me feel better and I loved her even more for never finding fault in my appearance.
“War!” shouted a voice outside. Someone banged on the front door. Mother’s fork fell out of her hand with a clatter onto the table. We all stood up and made our way to the front door. There were three men with lanterns banging on doors nearby and shouting about war.
“What’s the news?” called mother.
“War!” shouted one of the men. “The King has declared war on the Province of Trestaine!”
My breath caught in my throat. The king was at war with us?
“Why?” I shouted.
“Our Lord of Trestaine has declared independence from the Kingdom,” the man shouted, “But everyone needs to begin preparations! Royal soldiers already march the Merchant Road to Trestaine!”
My eyes widened. The Lord of Trestaine wanted to leave the Kingdom? This had to be a misunderstanding. Four hundred years ago, Saint Stella had set up the One Kingdom of Laeviin, turning the seven small kingdoms of Laeviin, Damai, Trestaine, Northumbrich, Lisaire, Kerulen, and Erisundu into provinces. We all thrived together with merchant trade throughout the provinces. Fewer people starved and knowledge grew as books and tradition were shared. If we left the Kingdom, we would lose imports from the south. We grew our own food, but even within the apothecary world, we traded herbs. Surgeries would be problematic if we lost access to poppy extract. The province north of us, Northumbrich, would also be cut off from the Merchant Road if we left.
The men continued into the heart of the village, pounding on doors that war and soldiers were coming and to flee before they arrived. They were news runners. They would warn everyone here then run up the Merchant Road to the next village.
“Go inside, children,” mother told us.
Warren and I went back to the kitchen table and sat in our chairs. Mother closed and locked the front door then came back to us.
“Forget the willow extract tonight. We must flee north to the City of Trestaine. The Lord of Trestaine and his army will be there and the stone walls will protect us. Tonight, we pack. We begin the walk in the morning.”
Fear and energy coursed through my heart.
“What about our home? And the rest of the harvest?” I asked.
“Finishing the harvest does us no good if enemy soldiers eat it,” she said, “and our home will hopefully be alright. It is against the Code of Laeviin to burn the homes of peaceful citizens, though we do not know what kind of men head this way. They may have honor. They may not.”
Warren patted my hand. “Come, Nirel, let’s pack all the important things.”
I nodded and stood from the table. Warren grabbed several brown bottles of willow extract. I took three jars of calendula balm for wounds and an astringent tonic of witch hazel. We placed dried herbs in linen bags: lavender, lemon balm, mint, paxim, rose, and more. As I scooped dried chamomile into a linen bag, mother handed another to me. This one was already full.
“What is this?” I asked, opening the bag. Inside were small, dried roots that I did not recognize.
“It is assero flower root. I bought it from a merchant last time I was in the city. It needs warmer weather, so it does not grow in the North.”
“What does it do?” I asked.
Mother looked away, and her forehead creased.
“Sometimes soldiers take what is not theirs from women like us.” She motioned to the assero roots, “These will protect your womb so you will not carry a child if such a thing happens.”
I clutched the herbs to my chest with wide eyes.
“That is not going to happen!” I said fiercely.
“Just promise me you will eat some every day. Just half a spoon is enough. If you do not want to, then please do it for me.”
I nodded. “I will, of course. But I will kill any man who would even attempt…” my voice trailed off. I did not want to even think of it. Mother smiled weakly and returned to organize the herbs in her bag. I tied the assero root bag closed and put it in my apron pocket.
While Warren and mother finished packing herbs, I walked to my parent’s room and pulled the wooden memory box from the top shelf of the closet. I took off the lid. It was all of father’s small things that we could not bear to part with after he died. I rummaged through the box: there was father’s silver ring, his favorite cologne, a dried rose he had given mother for an anniversary, and then my fingers found the silver bracelet. I pulled it out and cradled it in my hand. Father’s attachment bracelet to mother.
I used to admire the bracelet on his wrist as a child and he promised me, “One day, little love, you will give this to the man you choose, and it will show everyone that he is yours.”
I smiled at the memory and placed the bracelet into the breast pocket of my shift under my dress and buttoned it closed so I would not lose it. I carefully placed the lid back on the box and lifted it back into place. If our home did burn, I would at least have a small piece of father left. Actually, I would have two pieces. The star necklace around my neck that he gave me the day I turned eighteen and this bracelet.
It was late into the night by the time we had finished packing. We did not own a cart or ox, so we would have to carry everything on our backs.
Sleep would not come that night. I held father’s bracelet and the assero roots in my hands. My heart hoped they would save me from whatever tomorrow brought. When my eyes finally started to close, I heard the whispers.
“Nirel…” Soft voices whispered my name. The sound swirled around my head. I felt dizzy.
“What?” I whispered back.
They never answered. They just called my name a few more times and then dissipated into the night.
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