“Gods above!!” bellowed Millie, hanging onto the knotted sheets for dear life. They had one end tied to the bedpost; the other she pulled on as she bore down. Bronwyn laid a cool wet cloth on her forehead, making soothing noises.
“Ah, Millie, ‘tis not all that bad now, just breathe deep, love, and I’ll get you some more kingsfoil for the pain.” Millie nodded, gasping as her eyes bulged in agony. Bronwyn turned, opening the jar easily and extracting a thick stem of kingsfoil, knowing that chewing even the dried stems would release the pain-relieving and muscle-relaxing compounds. She slipped it inside Millie’s mouth. “Bite, love, bite hard and suck on it!” Millie obeyed, and Bèatrix looked up from her position at the foot of the bed.
“I can see his little head now, Millie, and fine dark hair she’s got.” Bèatrix knew, of course that it was a girl, but she always took care to mix the genders when she talked about an unborn baby, as though she didn’t know.
“Shh, Millie,” soothed Bronwyn in almost a singsong voice. “Your baby’s head is out, and a fine daughter or son she will be.” Millie screamed and gave one last great push, and suddenly the baby was in Bèatrix’s hands, bloody and wet, covered in a caul. Bèatrix whipped it off and busied herself cleaning the infant, while Bronwyn whispered words of congratulations and praise in Millie’s ear.
But Millie didn’t hear any of it. She had passed out, and now, unseen by Bèatrix busy with her daughter, she was bleeding, slowly at first, but then great red squirts began pulsing from between her legs.
Bronwyn saw them and cried out, causing Bèatrix to turn her head. In what seemed like a dream Bronwyn reached out, her hands crackling with blue energy, focusing it at the blood as she ran to the foot of the bed. She stuck her hands deep inside Millie, her eyes closed and her energy seeking the source of the blood, healing the torn tissue and restoring rent blood vessels.
Bèatrix watched her charge apprehensively. This was most unusual; Bronwyn had shown hardly any inclination toward the Path of Healers before now, and Bèatrix had been increasingly worried that Enru had been mistaken in his assessment.
But this, this was amazingly complicated and energy-consuming, what Bronwyn was doing. The older woman reached out and touched her shoulder, lending her own strength to the younger woman.
A good twenty minutes passed before Bronwyn collapsed against her mistress, exhausted, and Millie took a breath and began whimpering. Her eyes opened and she looked about, taking in Bèatrix holding her Apprentice up and dragging her to a chair.
“Wh-what happened?” mumbled Millie Thatcher.
Bèatrix turned her head slowly, her blue eyes burning with anger. “My Apprentice nearly killed herself Healing you,” she said, her voice smoldering. But though Millie was the recipient, she was not the intended target of Bèatrix’s rage.
She shrank against the pillows, white as ever, and glanced at the wailing infant. “Is that-?”
“Your daughter, a fine healthy girl.” Bèatrix’s expression softened. “Here…” Leaving Bronwyn propped against the chair, she wrapped up the baby and handed her to her mother. “You know what to do. I imagine she’ll be hungry.” Millie beamed down at her new child and began cooing at her while Bèatrix gathered up her herbs.
Master Thatcher, Thomas by name, peeked in through the doorway. “Millie?” he whispered.
“A girl!” she cried joyously. “Finally, a little girl of my own!” The Thatchers had five sons.
“Master Thatcher, I would appreciate it if you would harness my mares again. My Apprentice has taken ill and needs to be transported back home as quickly as possible."
Thomas Thatcher took one look at Bronwyn, pale and unconscious at the small dressing table in their bedroom, and nodded.
“Aye, Bèatrix, I’ll get you girls saddled. Jonathan!” he called loudly. A boy of twelve appeared at the door, hay sticking out of his straw-blonde hair. “Go harness the midwife’s mares to her wagon. Quickly now, they have a sick one on their hands!” The boy disappeared with a flash and patter of bare feet, and Bèatrix gently lifted Bronwyn’s head, crooning softly in her ear.
In minutes the boy was back and helped carry Bronwyn to lay in the hay he’d placed in the wagon’s bed. He held her with exaggerated care, as though she was made entirely of glass, and it was clear by the expression on his youthful face that he was stricken by her.
Bèatrix climbed into the driver seat and took up the reins. “Congratulations, Master Thatcher. Do come see me if your wife or daughter have any trouble.” She gave him a brief smile and then was off, clicking the horses into a canter.
Bronwyn was lost in a swirl of blue patterned light. It was almost as though she were swimming in a deep, clear lake, the bottom sandy, the waters still and crystalline. She heard a few muffled sounds, but they were very far away, and it was so comfortable here…She lay her head down, sinking deeper, watching the light play…
A sharp pain brought jagged flashes of red across her vision, and she was going up, up, up…the world was becoming lighter, then…
She opened her eyes and it was very bright. Squinting, Bronwyn lifted her hand, surprised at how heavy it was, to shade her face.
She is awake, said a voice, unfamiliar, with some relief. Welcome back, little one.
Bronwyn? Enru sounded terrified. She blinked, and he was crouched on her chest, his nose almost touching hers. Are you alright, Bronwyn?
“Don’t speak, child.” Bèatrix’s voice was extremely weary. She sounded, for the first time since Bronwyn had known her, old. “You delved too deeply into your well of abilities to save Millie Thatcher. She didn’t deserve it, not your life.”
“My life?” croaked Bronwyn.
“Hush. Yes, your life. If I hadn’t been there you would have poured your entire life’s energy into her to stop her bleeding. Sometimes you need to know the herbs and other healing ways before you use your Ability.”
Indeed. You delved so far into your inner wellspring that in order to restore you, Bèatrix needed my help and Enru’s. Bronwyn moved her hand; the voice was emanating from a great horned owl perched on the foot of her bed. Noting her confusion, the owl seemed to smile. I am Yldan, Bèatrix’s familiar. I dwell in the forests about here, keeping tabs on the surrounding area. Bèatrix is the Guardian of this province.
Bronwyn was quiet. Guardians were very powerful, and why she hadn’t realized this before struck her as odd. But before she could comment on it Tristan appeared in the doorway. Enru curled protectively on his mistress’s chest, glaring at the young man.
Bèatrix rose, holding out her arm. Yldan fluttered to it, carefully gripping her with his sharp talons. “I shall take my leave now,” she said gracefully, and nearly floated out of the room, leaving an almost tangible aura of smugness in her wake. Tristan pulled back to allow her to pass, then hung in the doorway.
“I see you’re awake,” he said softly. Enru noted the hammering in Bronwyn’s chest and glared harder at Tristan as he took a few shy steps forward. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He looked down awkwardly.
“Thank you,” whispered Bronwyn. She felt incredibly weak, but Tristan’s presence gave her enough strength to sit up a little, dislodging Enru, who settled in her lap.
“Listen, Bronwyn, I wanted to apologize for the other day. You were right; to insult a familiar is to insult his Sorceress. I am sorry.” His eyes dropped and his pale cheeks flushed, just a little.
Bronwyn waved her hand slowly, dismissing his apology. “No worry. ‘Tis already forgotten.” She smiled at him, and Tristan felt a strange twinge in his belly. Her dark hair, usually plaited severely away from her face, now fell in dark glossy waves that spilled over her pale shoulders, and her dark blue eyes sparkled.
“Bèatrix says you did very well, until you overexerted yourself,” offered Tristan.
“Oh, did she?” asked Bronwyn. “I’d never seen a birth before. I was so very scared at first, but then I guess my Gift took over.” She stopped self-consciously, blushing a little.
“Yes, she said you took care of Millie Thatcher so well.” The way he said her name made Bronwyn tilt her head.
“Do you know Millie?” she asked, curiously, but also trying to sound casual.
Tristan snorted. “Aye, I do, and a dumber girl you couldn’t find. She’s not Thomas Thatcher’s first wife,” he said. “She’s his third. He’s had boys by all of them, and Millie’s had seven stillbirths, premature all of them. You’d think she’d take the hint and stop breeding, or trying to.”
“She seemed nice,” said Bronwyn timidly. “She was trying very hard.”
“Oh, aye, because of the rumors of Thomas’s second wife. She couldn’t bear him children, and he needed sons to run his farm, so rumor has it that he went out of the province to see a witch and she had five boys in five years before the sixth killed her, and him with her.”
Bronwyn stared in horror at Tristan. “Why are you saying these things?” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “That’s so awful!”
Tristan burned with shame. “I am sorry, Bronwyn,” he said rather earnestly. “I did not intend to upset you. I just…Millie is not very smart. And she got herself in a world of trouble when she lay down with Thomas Thatcher and got herself with child before they were even betrothed. A bad way to start a marriage; the child did not survive. Nor did any after till now. And you helped to save her life.” Tristan smiled and patted her foot; he’d shuffled forward to the edge of the bed.
Bronwyn considered this, and smiled. “I did. I did something good, didn’t I?” Tristan nodded and smiled back.
How touching, interrupted Enru. Bronwyn, you should get back to sleep. You need to replenish your energy; you’ll be bedridden for days as it is.
“Days!” cried Bronwyn in distress. “I’ll get so bored!”
“I’ll bring you some of my books,” said Tristan.
And you can practice your mending and other lessons. Like meditation. Enru snorted softly; Bronwyn didn’t have the attention span for meditation. In any case, I think this visit should be over soon.
“Alright,” said Tristan, raising his hands in mock defense. “I know when I’m not wanted.” He smiled at Bronwyn again, his manner remarkably warmed since the beginning of her visit.
Bronwyn slid back down in the covers, closing her eyes with a happy sigh. She felt so girlish and stupid, but, she thought with glee, I think he likes me…
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