Post by Adelaide d'Aquitaine on Apr 20, 2009 9:24:22 GMT -6
Visiting the Sage of Embrun
The tremendous storm the night before had not done much to improve most of the lanes winding toward the center of the city, marked by the stolid structure of Griffin Castle. Despite the recent war and the subsequent invasion of the English, Turas Lan was still decidedly a bustling, busy, and prosperous city -- if one scorched by fires and broken apart by missiles lobbed from the English trebuchets. The marketplace was the least scathed of the city, or at least, a large chunk of it was. The other half had been burned to the ground, the fires edging up the street right to the healer's back yard, helpfully clearing out her rampant collection of weeds while decimating her neighbors. After making the rounds with a few herbalists and farmers who visited from the surrounding countryside, she finally had enough fresh herbs to hang to dry in her new shop, and weaving the netting to suspend a small collection of onions was proving to be far trickier than she'd expected. Knotting away at her work while she advised customers, and occasionally cursing as her knots fell apart, so went the day of the French apothecary.
Neither crew nor captain of The Lady Moon knew what to do with their passenger. For days they'd sailed with the young woman, never seeing her except for a few glances late in the evening, when most were tucked into their bunks. Despite the time at sea the tortured girl, known only as Kye to them, still looked close to death. Only the captains insistence kept her from disappearing into the crowd the moment they made port. It was not just her condition but her heritage that made him keep a close eye on the girl. With two sailors as escorts she made her wobbly way through the streets, any attempt to assist denied by a frightened skittering and expression of pure horror. Torn and dirty were the clothes beneath the cloak, hanging from the skeletal body like tattered remains of a life that once was. It was to the nearest healer the pair escorted her. Bruises had healed but the left leg barely held her weight though light she was. Though none could see what wounds there were it seemed every movement came with agonizing pain, especially anything resembling twisting.
Ada poked her head out of the usually shuttered windows, open today since she loved the scent of a good rain, and caught sight of one of her favorite street urchins. She waved him closer. The lad had, at this point in their relationship, learned to look past Ada's oddness and tell a joke he'd heard at the docks, giggling when he realized he made the often vulgar healer blush! Ada tweaked one of his ears and sent him on his way. Or she would have, if didn't toe the ground and then look down the street toward the docks. "Some strange thing comin' up this way," he said. "Won' let any of us near to pick pockets 'r sell 'er nothin'." The boy laced his fingers behind his head. He was used to the nobles traveling by on horse or in carriage, or even with armed escorts. He was not used to creatures like this stranger having her own escort, when she barely looked rich enough to bother sticking his hand in her pockets. Ada tched, and only then sent him on his way. A boy had to eat, no? But a little compassion would not be out of order! She stepped out of her shop to look for this person, and when she saw her approach, all good fun and humor faded from Ada's usually impish face as she gestured to the escort that Ada was the one they sought. She then put a coin in the hand of her neighbor's apprentice and told him to make his way to the infirmary and alert Lady Aislin.
As they neared they apothecary one of the men broke away from the strange trio, long solid strides taking him ahead to speak to the lady healer. Catching sight of Ada he let's the casual expression shift into a stern frown, giving her warning that his appearance, nor task, where pleasurable. "Got a wee one fer yea," he offers in way of gruff greeting as he steps to her. His voice immediately lowers with their close proximity. "She 'itched a ride lookin' like Death 'imself. English or thereabouts, so the Capt'n didn't wanna let 'er run off too quick if ya know what I mean? She's still in some bad shape..." Words trail off as Kye and the other sailor come out, his hand instinctively shooting out as the girl wavers. Her own instincts cause her to jerk away, a small groan slipping past cracked lips, unsteady form toppling down. The little thing was a pathetic mess, laying there a moment. Blonde hair was stringy and uncombed, falling around that pale face like limp straw. The only life there seemed to be were in those blue eyes when they turned upward towards the strangers. If anyone, especially the men, tried to help her up she'd only scamper back in the dirt, until she could finally craw back to her own two feet, whimpering as she does.
Ada usually welcomed pleasant visits, and did always love some pleasant visitors, but she was not so strange as to lack a sense for when seriousness was needed. Despite all appearances to the contrary, she was a capable hand at herbalism and medicines. Just slightly over the average height of the day at barely 5'2, and plump enough to fill out that dress just enough that most men had to be redirected upward, and even more swatted when they gave her rear a familiar pat, she looked more like a merchant's wife from a Chaucer story than what she claimed to be, yet she waved aside the sailor with a brusque, French nonsensical noise. "My stars, did you give the girl water? She is not a cat, mon ami -- pick her up and follow me." She held open the door for the lot of them, giving the sailor a rather droll look if he thought she was at all joking about picking the woman up. The back of her shop only had two rooms -- a large room with her still and herb press, with a small pallet on the floor that she indicated with a pointed finger. The other room was barely a closet, particularly with all of her books and work bench filling the limited space. Ada went back out into the main room with the L-shaped counter and walls lined with jars and wicker baskets of herbs. To the two sailors, she pursed her lips momentarily and then fished in her pocket for a few more coins. "Bringing her here was a wise decision, but unless you have personal investment in her well being, I will not require further assistance." Perhaps she misread them, and they were interested in the girl's help beyond the orders of their captain, in which case they could wait. Otherwise, she placed coins on the counter top and threw over her shoulder a brief, "For your trouble," before disappearing into the still room and crouching down beside the pallet. "Bonjour, madame. I am Ada de Sauveterre, the owner of this shop. Do you know where you are?"
Kye would have flatly refused to be touched by the big man IF she'd had any say in it. With a dissatisfied grunt to the healer he firmly snatched the young woman up and did as told. Lucky for him Kye didn't have much fight left in her right now. Once depositing their charge on the indicated cot the escorts took the offered coin for their trouble and departed, mumbling all the way. On the cot Kye instantly rolled from her back to her side when she was set down, a gulp of air sucked in from the pain of anything touching it. Though she had to remain on her right side, and therefore couldn't roll away from the healer, she hid by dipping her head down into the cloak. Those intense blue eyes were kept diverted, looking anywhere but at the other woman as she laid there. For a long moment the question brings no response, before finally a small movement of the head is given--a shake. Kye hadn't the faintest idea where she was. She'd only made sure the ship was going away...away from France, from Ponthieu, from the English.
"Ah, now." Her voice softened. She could be sharp with those she had no concern for, but she was first and foremost a good healer. She faced the wall behind the woman's head, pulling her knees to her chest as if they were girlfriends sharing some great secret, though Ada had a rather exceptionally large basket full of all supplies necessary to healing at her left hand. "You are in Turas Lan, the capital city of Skye. I am only newly arrived myself, so this does bode well, hmm? Tell me what hurts?" She was not chatty, just saying what needed to be said, adjusting her own natural bright attitude to suit her patient's needs, all the while her dark brown eyes scanned the woman's body for visual confirmation of injuries. Some sort of back injury. Dehydration. Malnutrition. An injury to the ... ah ... left leg, yes. She had noted the limp before the collapse. But what else was this child hiding?
At nineteen the young woman would've balked at being thought of as a child at any other time in her life, but in so many ways that was exactly how she felt right now. A broken, frightened little girl without a clue to what she was doing. Though right now she was quite aware of the fact she was hiding every inch behind that cloak. She'd heard of Skye. They were at war with the English weren't they? This wasn't good at all. It didn't matter that Kye herself had a bit of English in her blood, she didn't want to be anywhere their armies might show up. "I...I'm fine. I have to go..." The voice was barely a whisper and cracked from disuse. It was impossible to tell her own exact lineage from it, though there were hints in features...if she would let Ada get a close enough look. "Merci," is added quietly though she shifts around, fully intent on getting both booted feet to the floor to stand and...hobble out.
"Ahem." Though she was seated, she placed both hands on her hips and even tapped a foot. In her twenty-six years, she had easily perfected The Look, a stare that reduced men to blubbering tears. Women stopped in their tracks and, though the healer was just barely over five feet tall, considered the possibility that the diminutive woman could flatten them six ways with her little finger. In other words, she was damn scary. "If you move one more inch, we are going to have a problem," she said pleasantly, rising to her feet. She kept a bucket of water and a ladle near the still, as she often worked such long hours, doing such intricate processes, going out back to draw water from the well was an impossible distraction. She took both the bucket and ladle to the woman's bedside. "Drink. Slowly. Tell me, have you had fever within the last month?" Ada, like most from port cities, lived in fear of plague ships, but her crewmen knew the laws of the land, and the dock master would not have cleared the ship if he had seen any signs of contagion. While the era did not know the cure, it certainly knew the symptoms. "Diarrhea? Vomiting? Bloody stool?"
Kye wasn't nearly as frightened of Ada as she was of the English. But she wasn't stupid. In her condition the healer wouldn't need to flatten her! "Please..." she tries one last time, but of course to no avail. Holding the cloak tightly around her body that pale face is turned upwards, blue eyes locking pleadingly on the healer's. Even with barely noticeable bruises and dark, sunken sockets, you could still see a hint of the beauty that might show up with fifteen or twenty pounds added to her. Not gorgeous, but an interesting mix of French, Norman, and English heritage that formed large, exotic eyes and high cheekbones. When the water ladle is handed over she diverts her gaze again, quickly, as though just realizing she'd dared lift it. She did as told and took a couple of slow, small, sips, then set the ladle aside. It was all she wanted. In answer to the questions, Ada would receive not another word, but a series of headshakes.
"Good, good. This is good," Ada murmured, running down her checklist. It occured to her then that what the young woman was trying to communicate wasn't discomfort, but fear. Fear over what? Ada tried to picture herself on a ship for possibly weeks at a time, receiving news only from passing vessels, if at all. Ada had not been on a ship when she heard the news of Skye's battles and the victory over the British barricades, but on her way to the Isle itself, stupidly following the instructions of her deceased Master in opening her own apothecary in Turas Lan. "Skye is safe, my friend. She was invaded nearly a week ago, but we defended the city. It came close, but the English, they are defeated, and on the run in their own land. The High Lord is sending some unheard of amount of men south in pursuit -- I hear as much as 100,000 troops gathered from Scotland, Wales, and Ireland. And now we have naval supremacy -- with the destruction of the blockade, so fell King Edward's ships." Those words sounded so fantastic, Ada would understand if the young woman didn't believe her. But it was true. Ask any of the relieved merchants on the street recovering from the invasion, and cheering on the impossible. "Now. Will you stay a while and tell me where it hurts?"
Of course she wasn't going to believe Ada. All of her life she'd lived under English rule and seen what they were capable of, yet their occupation was not so old that people didn't remember the days before them. In Ponthieu people didn't hate England, they feared it. And Kye learned first hand why. "Don't make me...please...just let me go..." She also learned shame. It was enough to know what happened to herself, but for anyone to see it was unbearable. She knew she'd just die. Or wished she would. How could anyone look at her and NOT see though? It felt as though they'd writ it across her forehead, branded it into her body and soul. People would know that like Ponthieu she'd been made to be a whore...
"All right." Ada sighed. The woman was broken and battered spiritually and physically. Without an understanding, they would have this debate all evening, but with no progress made. She decided to take a gamble, resting back on her heels and eying the woman, who still hadn't given her a name. "I tell you the truth about Skye, yes? If you can get up and walk to my neighbor, and ask him anything to confirm my story, you may believe whatever you like, find the next ship to a safer port, and be rid of me. But if you cannot leave my front door of your own free will, without grabbing onto counters, shelves, or my customers, you will become my patient. My dear, you do not believe a single word I have said aside from my name, so please, if this will help you to believe I am genuine, and that you are safe, I beg you to accept this arrangement." She briefly considered barring her front door. The woman had, after all, walked from the docks to her shop. Well, she would not be difficult to find if Ada happened to be wrong.
Never in her life had Kye felt so tired. Too tired (emotionally, mentally, AND physically) , in fact, to dare try to take that challenge. The simple fact was that no matter what she said, or how much she pleaded to leave, Kye hadn't a clue as to where to go. And she probably wouldn't make it very far if she was honest with herself. Head dropping, limp blond locks fall forward to frame the frail face and consequently hide the tears trying so hard to break free. Without a word the young woman shift's on the healer's cot, shaky fingers working the cloak fastener. After several tries she finally manages to get it to release so the garment could slide off. She couldn't bring herself to tell Ada, so she shows her. Despite all the fear and timidness she isn't shy at all about pulling off the baggy brown tunic she'd been wearing beneath. Most of the bruising on her arms were healed, and if there was any damage to the chest she turns too soon for the healer to catch it. What she shows her is her back, the most painful and possibly dangerous of her problems. Over old scars were healing tears of flesh. One needed only a single glance to notice the precision in which the whip had been yielded to do such damage. The scars and crusted scabs were layered in nearly perfect criss-cross patterns across the pale flesh.
"Ah! Merde!" It was not a shout so much as an inhaled curse. Ada put her hands to her mouth to stifle whatever else came out of her mouth before her brain had a chance to catch up. She did not touch any open sores, but she put her skilled fingers to the scarred tissue, and that which was firmly covered by scabs that examination would not open the wounds. "Let us take care of this first, yes? Lie down on your stomach. I will get you a pillow to make you more comfortable." The pillow was another blanket shoved under the cot. Nights were chilly still in Skye. She helped the woman reposition herself. "Here is what I am going to do. I will clean the wounds with a mild soap and soft cloth, to soften the skin and help it repair itself faster. Then I will put a salve on your scabs to reduce inflammation. It will be a little chilly, but I think it will feel good. Then I will cover it all with gauze to protect it. While I do that, how about a cup of tea?" Friends of Ada's rapidly realized she rarely asked questions without already having an answer. It made her seem much smarter than she actually was. The water was already at low boil on the fire, and it took just a few moments to pour some aside to cool for a wash, and another cup to steep with a selection of bark and herbs that likely wouldn't be pleasant to the taste, but sweet enough that it could go down without struggle.
An involuntary flinch is given at Ada's exclamation, giving weight to Kye's belief on how terrible it must look. She couldn't see it, but her brother's reaction when he'd finally found her had been even worse. She'd done what she could for herself, which was just enough to keep it from getting infected (mostly) but that was it. She holds her shirt tightly in front of her, balling it up in her hands while the other woman inspects the old wounding. The first touch nearly made the girl jump off the cot, but she did her best to hold still. Silence seemed to have over taken her now as she just keeps her eyes turned away and does as told, finally not arguing. On her tummy she lays, rolled up blanket set at chest level for her arms to go over it, that way she could partially sit up for the tea. Nothing tasted good right now, so the flavor didn't really matter. At least, she was trying to drink it though.
"Your back is healing nicely," Ada offered, finding the jar of salve. She did not eat animal products, but she frequently worked with them. The herbs she used now were pungent, but in a good way -- a clean, medicinal way. Yarrow and foxglove for inflammation and pain, lavender and chamomile to soothe, and the balm itself was a blend of oil and goose grease that would soften the tissue and keep the scabs moist. Rather gross work for the uninitiated, but Ada had healed her fair share of lashings. Paris saw a good deal of sailors, though it personally made her grit her teeth to see these wounds on a woman and not a burly sailor punished for drinking extra rations of water. Her touch was gentle, but she knew the wounds were still tender to the touch, and went as carefully as she could in the washing and dressing process, eventually resting cool gauze scented with lavender over her back. "Are you hungry?"
Kye had to wrap some nasty cuts and bruises in the past, and has helped birthed more horses than you'd believe, but she couldn't imagine a job like Ada's... If she ever tried to at least. Thinking about what her back must look like would only lead to madness, so instead she focused on the tea and various scents. That was a healthy way to occupy her midn wasn't it? She figured so. Most of them were common enough and easily categorized, but the goose grease stuff was beyond her knowledge. So she thought about that particular one, trying to place it even though she already knew she wouldn't be able to. Only the question of food pulled her attention away, back to the present situation. The mere mention of food immediately brought a growl from her belly and shake from head, because the mere thought of food also made her nauseous.
"Hmm. Well, I can see if Master Duncan's wife made any stock recently. Let us see if you can keep that down." She went away for just five minutes, to find her neighbor on the other side and make a few inquiries. Master Duncan's wife had a fine, healthy brood of eight children. A woman did not have such a successful number of children past infancy without knowing a thing or two about cooking. Agnes did indeed have some stock on hand -- chicken, it turned out, made with Sunday's hen. Putting some in a small pot, which Ada pledged to return as soon as the contents were transferred, she returned to her shop. The front was blessedly empty, and she kept it that way by putting a block up against the corner, not willing to lock it in case Lady Aislin or one of her cohorts responded to Ada's message. She placed the contents of the pot in her much larger pot already on the flames and moved the pot so that it would heat as quickly as possible. The peace and quiet of her shop, scented even here in the still room with the subtle blend of so many herbs and spices always brought peace to Ada's often energetic soul, though strange places often bred strange shadows and even stranger dreams. She was sure to knock before entering the still room. She glanced at the girl. What question could she ask? She only wished to make conversation, to built a rapport with her patient, as trust was lacking, and any touch, no matter how gentle, sent the poor thing skittering away. "Have you ever heard of Embrun?" she asked instead, settling into a chair. "I would not blame you if you have not. It is in les Hautes-Alpes, far to the south and east in France. We are famous for nothing, really, but that is not a terrible thing."
The tea couldn't even be finished, though she did at least try this time. About halfway through it's set aside, exhaustion turning her entire body into what felt like a roiling, vibrating mess. She'd slept so little, even on the ship. With Ada gone she wiggles around on the cot, pulling the rolled blanket up to lay her head on, and turning her face towards the wall. She couldn't believe there were still more tears to fall after all this time. By now that well should've been dried up, like the rest of her. But obviously not because they still came, falling, it felt, in a constant river whenever her thoughts strayed to herself or her family. Why couldn't they have just been left alone? She didn't have time to ponder on an answer for Ada finally returned, and now seemed intent on drawing Kye into some sort of conversation. Quickly wiping at her eyes a shake of her head is given, indicating she didn't know where Embrun was. But then, in a quiet little whisper offers, "I know of les Hautes-Alpes...." Though her voice was still raw she had no problem with French pronunciation. Indeed it flowed off her tongue surprisingly well.
Ada smiled slightly. "It is my favorite place in all the world. When I dream, my best dreams are there. I am hauling buckets of milk down the mountainside, and my shoulders are sunburned and freckled. There are little flowers spread out like a carpet beneath my feet, and the trees wave in the wind, their leaves sounding like the ocean. But what does a girl born in Embrun know of the sea, save that it is wet? I did not see the ocean until I left my home at sixteen, all full of ideas of finding myself out there, and learning all the things that cannot be learned in a tiny hamlet like Embrun. But sometimes," she added, pausing, "sometimes, I like to dream of places I have not yet been. I read in an account of herbs the Orkney Isles, and how desolately beautiful they are, with pine forests and glacial pools, and people who speak a strange language that is like that of the Vikings, but different, no? Ah, well. You probably wish to sleep now." This, actually, was a question. She saw, but did not acknowledge, the wiped tears. If the young woman wished to talk, Ada was an excellent listener. But if she wished sleep, Ada had gardening to tend to, a pot to return to Goodwife Duncan, and a shop to re-open. Ah, if only she had an apprentice! There were not enough hours in her day to do half of what needed doing.
Though she'd not admit it, Ada's voice was a comfort. The reasons were varied, including the familiar accent of France. Sure she'd only been there to hop on a ship but situated as Ponthieu is upon France's northern shoreline the country had certain influences over the Norman people. Between the soothing salves on her back, the tea, and Ada's kindness Kye was pretty close to asleep already when asked. So all she really does is give another nod.
