Altered Destinies- Earth Reborn, Page 5

  She had kept her fear locked away in some cramped recess deep in her mind, never to be acknowledged. Now, that lock had been sundered.

  Phaera rocked back and forth, continuing to weep, whispering, “Mama,” over and over until she had no more tears left. Slowly some semblance of calm returned and she could bring her thoughts to the present. Even then, she whispered them aloud, as though Mama was with her and could hear her.

  “Must I die, like you, Mama? Is this my duty, my destiny?” When she received no response she fell back into silence. Is this why I became a healer … so I could save other women when I could not help Mama? Is this why I fear marriage so, why I extracted that promise from Papa? The realization that she had never admitted this possibility allowed some clarity to enter her mind. I never knew. I never told Papa. He doesn’t understand. Will it make a difference if I tell him? … No. It changes nothing. He will tell me I will be fine, that I will not die, that duty is more important than one life when many could be endangered. I cannot tell him. He will think me weak. Mama said I must be strong.

  Another wave of panic swept over her. Hugging her knees again she rocked back and forth until it subsided. Finally, stiff from remaining so cramped and small, she unfolded herself and rose to her feet. There she stood, inert, unable to think what her next move should be. Somehow her trembling hand found the candle in the wall and lit it, hardly having the strength to hold it upright. She turned slowly in a circle, taking in her familiar sanctuary as the flame chased the shadows and revealed the details of table, jars, mortars, and pestles. A measure of calm returned. She made her way to the door and pulled back the heavy bar with effort. She cracked the door open and was met by total darkness outside. Have I been here that long? An answering rumble from her stomach confirmed that it had, indeed, been that long.

  Seeing that no one waited outside, or walked the path back to the castle, she opened the door the rest of the way, blew out the candle, replaced it in its sconce, walked out, and closed the door again behind her. She kept to the familiar path that led to her private entrance and her chamber so no one would see her or could accost her, or notice that she had been weeping.

  Once in her chamber, having eluded her ladies, she fell, exhausted, onto her bed and wept silently again until sleep overtook her.

  She still had not read the scroll.

  Chapter Seven

  BAIN MAKES A VOW

  After weapons practice Bain washed up and strolled around the castle wall, only mildly surprised to find himself standing at the door to Phaera’s apothecary. She draws me as a moth to flame, even when I am not aware of it.

  What did surprise him was that the young lad who ran up to the door ahead of him found it closed from the inside. He turned to Bain. “Sir, my mother sent me to find my Lady. She is usually here, or if she has gone to help someone she leaves the door open so we know to wait for her return.”

  Bain shrugged. “I am as surprised as you. Are you in urgent need of assistance?”

  “I do not think it urgent. My sister fell out of the apple tree and her ankle is painfully swollen. Mamma fears it is broken, but I do not. Jess can stand on it some. Mamma frets too much.”

  “Perhaps you are correct but it is best to be certain. Show me where you live and I will look at your sister’s ankle.”

  The lad’s eyes narrowed. “You, sir? But you are a man.”

  Bain laughed. “Indeed I am, but I am also a trained soldier and we must know somewhat about caring for battle wounds.” He will accept that better than telling him I am healer trained.

  “Oh, pardon sir. Our home is this way.” He turned back the way he had come, looking over his shoulder once to see if Bain followed.

  “I am Bain, of Marston. What is your name, young man?”

  The lad turned back and waited for Bain to come alongside. “P..pardon sir. I am Larn.”

  As they resumed their walk side by side Bain spotted a young girl sitting on a fallen piece of log outside the door of a hut. Her face was tear-streaked and she clutched her left ankle.

  A woman came out into the doorway and, seeing Larn, called out, “There you are. And who is this? Where be Milady?” She raised a hand as if to cuff Larn’s head.

  Before she could do so Bain raised his in greeting. “Madam, I am come in her place. Lady Phaera was not at her apothecary. Let me take a look at our daughter’s ankle.”

  “And what know you of broken bones?” She gave a derisive sniff, set her hands on her hips, and glared at Bain.

  “Mamma, he is a soldier and they know how to care for battle wounds.”

  Bain sent the mother his most reassuring smile. “Indeed, missus. Your son has the right of it.” Without waiting for permission he knelt in front of the girl and reached for her leg. “Larn tells me you fell from a tree.”

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the mother move to intercept him, and then step back again. She still hovered close behind his shoulder, arms crossed.

  Bain ignored her. “So, lass, how is it you were climbing trees instead of helping your mother?” He sent the girl a conspiratorial wink. When she relaxed with a small smile he turned his attention back to the ankle. “I see that it is swollen, but Larn tells me you can stand on it. Will you show me?”

  When he held out his hand to the girl she took it with a shy smile, showing a dimple in one cheek. “Yes, but it hurts.”

  Bain nodded. “I can see that it does. Now let me see you take a few steps.” He let go her hand and moved his arm out of the way. When the girl hesitated he gestured for her to go ahead. She gingerly placed her weight on the foot, wincing, and took a short, limping step – more of a hop.

  “Good, now two more steps.” When she complied Bain turned to her mother. “Madam, I do not think it broken. Do you have any clean rags I may tear into strips. I will bind the ankle. She must keep it bound for three days, then unbind it at night but keep it bound during the day for another three days.”

  The mother gave a curt nod, disappeared into the hut and came back with some rags of dubious cleanliness. Bain took them without comment, tore them into strips, and set about binding the ankle. “Watch, missus, so you can do it again.” When he finished he patted the girl’s knee. “There. You must stay off it as much as possible for today and tomorrow. No running for a week. No more tree climbing until it is better.”

  He rose to face the mother.

  She stood there, arms still crossed. “I have nought to pay ye.”

  “I need nothing. I am glad to be of assistance.” He touched his forefinger to his brow in salute and strode back in the direction of the castle. The complaining from his stomach told him not to waste time or he would miss the evening banquet.

  He looked for Kort as he entered the hall but did not see him so he grabbed a platter and, remembering his purpose in coming here, found an empty space at a table filled with young men he had not yet spoken with. “Gentlemen, I am Bain of Marston.” He recognized one man from weapons practice. Nodding to him he said, “I saw you sparring this afternoon. You acquitted yourself well, sir.”

  The young man straightened his shoulders and sat taller. “Next gathering I will best Garent, mark me.”

  His companion snorted. “Next gathering Garent will be even better, too. No one bests him.” He turned his attention to Bain and stretched out a hand. “I am Galton, of Krellin. I saw you there as well. You made Garent fight for his victory.”

  Bain took the proffered hand and shook it warmly. “Ah, our ally to the north. I thank you, sir.” Being tested by Garent was a piece of luck. I have risen in the estimation of some. The rest of the meal was spent dissecting the skills of the other young lords amid lewd comments about how that would attract the attention of certain ladies.

  When Bain headed back to the barracks with the sense he had made some progress with his reputation he spied Kort. Kort kept to the shadows of a narrow alley and gestured for Bain to join him. Sensing that this meeting needed to be unnoticed, he kept silent until he an
d Kort were well alone. “Is ought amiss?”

  Kort made a wry face. “You would do well to take more account of general opinion, my friend. I have taken to heart milady’s warning that my taint must not sully your reputation. We must not too oft be seen together.”

  When Bain made to protest Kort forestalled him with a gesture. “Nay, my friend. It is not so dire. But Lady Phaera did indeed tell me you ‘must beware your reputation if you are to find a bride’, and she has the right of it.”

  Before Bain had a chance to question him further Kort continued. “There is news I think you will do well to hear. Changes are afoot. You know of Mathune of Belthorn, do you not – the arrogant one who accosted you at table?”

  Bain nodded but said nothing.

  “I hear things that others do not.” Kort put his finger to the side of his nose. “I have friends in strange places, you see.” He barked a short laugh. “It appears young Mathune has plans that may spell chaos for the rest of us.”

  Bain slunk further into the alley, to Kort’s other side, looking about to make sure they were alone. “What do you mean ‘plans’ and what has that to do with me?”

  Kort explained the same news Lord Danza had given Phaera. Mathune was gathering forces to overthrow Exalon, and annex it. “He makes a show of befriending Erstine of Exalon, all the while plotting to take his fief from him. Erstine is a sot and a fool. The people of Exalon are ready to revolt against Erstine, though they fear what will become of Exalon under Mathune as well.”

  Bain said nothing for several moments. “Kort, if this is so we must all look to our allies. I fear this may upset old allegiances.”

  Kort nodded. “Just so, my friend. And your position is not a secure one.” He cleared his throat, “Being a bastard and all.” He looked sideways at Bain and when Bain took no offense he added, “So you see why it is even more important to safeguard your reputation as a man.”

  Bain barely heard him. He leaned his back against the wall, deep in thought.

  After some silence Kort repeated, “So you see, do you not, that it is even more important - that you must not be seen to be too friendly with a lover of men?”

  Kort’s worried tone shook Bain out of his reverie. “I do see. I also see that there will be even more pressure to find a bride to strengthen alliances. Kort, I thank you for this information and will be grateful for any more you can glean.” He stood straight and faced Kort. “You know there is only one woman I desire. I cannot, in good conscience, wed another.” He ran his fingers roughly through his hair. “As you know, Kinterron borders Marston. We are allies already and must remain so. A union between Phaera and myself would make both our fiefs stronger.”

  Kort sighed. “Ah, my friend, I fear you set yourself up for heartache … and political chaos as well.”

  “But you see, do you not, that it makes sense?”

  “Indeed. I do, but the lady will not.”

  “Then I must find a way to make her agree.”

  Kort shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  Bain changed the subject. “Kort, you must visit me in Marston. I have need, not only of a friend, but of information. It is much to ask, but I must. May I rely on you?”

  Kort brightened, grinning. “I do love a good intrigue. This could prove most entertaining.” He stuck out his hand. “Shall we shake on it?”

  Bain could not help but smile, though he did not share Kort’s glee. This was much more than an adventure. He took the outstretched hand and gripped it firmly. “I will, my friend. But have a care. This is not child’s play.”

  “Do not fear. I have learned how to hide in plain sight. It is a skill my kind develop early.” With a broad wink he added, “Oh, and if I can help your cause with a certain frosty lady know that I am your man.” With that he turned on his heel and strode down the alley whistling a merry tune just loud enough that Bain thought he recognized it.

  Bain watched him go, and with a bemused shake of his head, made his way to the barracks to seek out his bed. Sleep, he knew, would not come easily. Too much had transpired today and in three days he would have to return home to Marston. He must make contact with Phaera again. And he vowed to show her he had more to offer than the hand of a bastard.

  Chapter Eight

  PHAERA HEARS A CHALLENGE

  Once the angry tears subsided the stillness of her beloved apothecary had the effect of clearing Phaera’s mind. In that comforting darkness she found again that core of determination she had relied on through the struggles of learning her calling, and of convincing her father that he could not force her to wed a man of his choosing.

  The memory of how she had come to be a healer calmed her, so that she could once again think clearly. Though it did nothing to convince her she had no say over her destiny. She faced a duty, to be sure. But it need not be the one her father had laid before her.

  After her mother died in childbirth Lord Danza had indulged his adventurous and curious daughter with far more freedom than her rank should have allowed. Not only did they discuss history and politics over many pleasant dinners together, so that she had a keen understanding of those subjects, but Phaera had been given free rein to roam the city unaccompanied once she had completed her lessons. She had been able to convince him that everyone would recognize her and no one would ever harm her. He had come to realize that Phaera had a way of slipping from sight, so attempts to guard her were doomed to failure in any case.

  At ten years old, two years after the death of her mother, she had come upon a commotion in the street and wormed her way to the front of the gathering crowd to see what drew their attention. A wagon loaded with potatoes on their way to market had fallen over and pinned the merchant underneath. As she approached she saw men lift the wagon and two more drag the man out from underneath. The man’s leg bled profusely. Someone had shouted, “Fetch the healer - fast!” No sooner had he spoken than the crowd parted to admit a woman carrying a large basket.

  The woman rushed to the injured man and put pressure on the leg above where it bled. She shouted over her shoulder, “I need someone to keep the pressure on this.”

  The images made Phaera smile. She still did not know how she had found the audacity to jump forward and kneel beside the woman. “Where shall I press?” The woman had not even looked up to see who had come to her aid, merely taken both Phaera’s hands, placed them on the leg above the bleed and said, “Here, press as hard as you can. If you do not, this man will surely die.”

  It had taken some badgering to get Mergana to accept her as an apprentice, and even more to convince her father to allow it. He had relented once he realized his willful daughter would do as she pleased with or without his permission. She kept regaling him with her adventures to demonstrate that fact. Her enthusiastic tales, at their dinners together, of what she had learned, wore him down. She had simply acted as though she already had permission. Phaera still felt some guilt over deceiving Mergana into thinking she had her father’s consent before she actually did.

  The memories soothed Phaera. She had to admit that her duty lay with her people first, and that her father had no choice but to cement an alliance through having her wed, but she was determined that the choice of husband must be hers. She could not become a broodmare to any man whose name she suspected her father had written on that scrap. She refused to even look at it. And surely she had a few days before he would require her decision. And that is what it would be … her choice.

  As she calmed, and her resolution cemented itself in her mind, her natural curiosity got the better of her. She lit a lamp and searched for the crumpled scroll under the table. With shaking hands she smoothed it out and held it to the light. One name shocked her. There, at the head of the list, she read, “Bain of Marston”. The bastard? Her father actually considered him a suitable candidate for her hand? She sat back down on the stool, not bothering to read the other two names on the list. I suppose Marston is our biggest and most important ally. The more she thought about it the more
she saw where the decision to include Bain had come from. Next to Kinterron, Marston was the largest and most powerful fief of the seven included in their loose alliance, and they shared a large boundary. The other, outlying fiefs did not bear serious consideration. Lord Danza had always respected Lord Makin. Belthorn also shared a partial border with both Marston and Kinterron, but Belthorn was the actual problem. Lord Makin is still hale and could rule yet many years before Bain must. Is Papa counting on that? And Papa must be aware that his mother is a healer….

  When Phaera emerged from the apothecary, darkness had fallen. She drew in a deep breath of the crisp, evening air, squared her shoulders and took the narrow path that would allow her to enter the castle and reach her chamber unseen. Her two ladies would be in the adjoining one, as she had trained them. They knew better than to wait up for her. Often they would sneak off of an evening to spy on the court from the balconies. Phaera suspected one had a suitor but had not seen fit to question the girl about it. There was nothing conventional about this arrangement but it suited Phaera to keep it that way. It gave her the privacy she desired and offered more freedom to her maids. She strongly suspected the two young women felt the same way.

  The next morning Bain arrived at the apothecary just as Phaera opened the doors.

  She made a dismissive gesture. “I have no need of assistance today, nor am I in the mood for company.”

  “Then I shall not remain long, milady, but I ask your indulgence for a few moments.” Bain took a deep breath and pressed ahead. “Sleep eluded me last night. As you know, the gathering comes to an end and I must return home to Marston in two days.”

  “That is none of my concern.”

  “Perhaps. But as I lay awake I gave our conversations a great deal of thought. You made it plain that you have no desire to wed, suggesting that such a union would curtail your freedom to continue with your work, and that you do not wish to submit to any man for the purpose of supplying him with an heir. Am I correct?”