CHAPTER 5

DESPITE Gabrielle’s feeling that her world had changed overnight, life continued much the same as ever. She was aware that meetings were being held, envoys sent, but for her there was the usual trickle of patients to care for, Danaïs’ leg to finish healing, FirstHarvest Feast to plan with her mother ... and medicines to prepare. This last she came close to forgetting. It was with a start she realized the hawkweed had come into bloom and the moon was almost full.

“You will have to do your exercises by yourself tomorrow,” she told Danaïs that afternoon. She had added stretching and strength work to his daily walks. She patted his head as though he were a small boy and put on a sugary sweet voice. “I’m sure you’ll do your very best.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Féolan here will come and glare at you sternly to make sure you don’t skimp.”

“Yes, ma’am. Where are you going to be, ma’am, if I might ask?”

“I need to gather some herbs, especially the hawkweed flowers, which are strongest when they first bloom. I was taught it’s best to gather on a waxing moon. I’m not really sure there’s any truth to it, but I like to honor the old traditions.”

Danaïs dropped the humble patient pose. “Why don’t you take Féolan along? He’s a lazy sot, not much use really, but at least one of the horses would get exercised.”

“Yes, of course.” It was nice of Danaïs to make the suggestion for her. “Féolan, if you’d like to, you’re most welcome. I’m going to ride into the upland pastures east of here.”

IT WAS A PLEASANT RIDE, first through the southern tip of the town of Chênier, which sprawled in a rough semi-circle at the castle’s feet and crowded up against the Avine River’s eastern bank, and then east along a country track through open farmland. Gradually the orchards and ploughed fields gave way to rougher, hilly country, scrubby woodlots and livestock pasturage. Gabrielle turned off the track and headed up a farm lane.

They met the farmer himself repairing a break in the fencing. Squinting up at them, he scrambled to his feet and managed an awkward bow.

“Hello, Luc. How’s your family?”

“Very well, I thank ye, m’Lady. Come for the hawkweed and that, have ye?”

“Yes, if it’s still all right with you. Is it thick in that back pasture again this year?”

“Whole field’s orange with ‘em. You’re more’n welcome.”

Thanking the man, Gabrielle turned her horse and led Féolan past the farmhouse and through a series of fields, until they reached an untrimmed pasture snugged up against a strip of woodland. Sure enough, the hawkweed glowed orange and golden in the sun.

They worked side by side for about an hour, snapping off the flower heads and packing them into Gabrielle’s big gathering bags. Later she would dry and grind them. The flowers eased inflammation and fever and were mildly sedating, and Gabrielle used them both as a poultice for wounds or sprains and in medicinal teas.

As the two bags filled up, Féolan turned to Gabrielle.

“How much do you need?”

Her face darkened. “I don’t know. Normally I just take the one bag. This year, though ... maybe we’ll need a lot more.”

They filled a third bag together and stopped for a break. Gabrielle had packed ale and cheese and strawberry pie, and she stretched out on a smooth, sunny outcropping of rock and savored the rich fruit. “That’s the taste of summer,” she sighed.

As they ate, Féolan asked, “How did you learn your craft? You have a rare gift.”

“I suppose I do,” Gabrielle replied. “I have never met another who could do it. But then, I have only met three or four bone-menders in my life, and there are many more than that. I see no reason to assume I am unique.”

“Did someone teach you the hand-healing?”

“I discovered it quite by accident,” Gabrielle laughed. “I fell off my horse when I was fourteen, landed on a rock and cut my knee pretty badly. The blood scared me a little. I clapped my hands over the cut, wanting to cover it from sight. But then I felt something start to happen in my hands. And even though it was so strange, it didn’t feel frightening. It felt right. So I just let it happen. And my knee stopped bleeding.

“I didn’t dare tell anyone at first. And it didn’t occur to me it would work on another person until over a year later, when one of our sheep dogs was savaged by a wolf.” Gabrielle remembered it vividly. The poor dog had dragged himself home, barely able to walk, and fallen in a bloody heap.

“He was all ripped up, and Jacques, the kennel master, was going to kill him. Oh, it broke my heart, such a brave, loyal dog he was. I knelt beside him and stroked him, and I felt it in my hands again—you know, they feel warm and bright and sort of tingly as the healing flows through them. My heart started just hammering in my chest at the thought.”

“And you saved him?” said Féolan.

“Yes. The hardest part was getting rid of Jacques. Imagine this haughty stripling of a girl, staring him down and ordering him off. The poor man turned nearly purple and stormed out. I was sure he was off to fetch my mother and have me dragged home.”

Féolan snorted, and Gabrielle grinned. “I know, it wasn’t very diplomatic of me. But I was frantic.”

“You must have caused quite a stir when you healed that dog.”

“Well I didn’t totally heal him, of course. I didn’t know how to stitch or dress a wound. Even now it takes ages to seal a wound fully the other way. But I did stop the bleeding, and I managed to perk him up considerably. When Jacques came back, a long time later, the dog looked more alive than dead, rather than the other way around. He took one look, sort of hissed between his teeth and disappeared. A minute later he was back with an armful of bandages. And I was so worn out I keeled over and fell asleep in the straw beside them.”

“How did your parents react?”

“Oh, they were wonderful,” said Gabrielle. “Well, eventually. Not at first. At first they didn’t believe it. They thought I must have tricked the kennel master somehow, though they could hardly believe that either. Practical jokes weren’t exactly my style.

“There was some shouting from my father and tearful protests from me, and finally I grabbed a kitchen knife and cut my arm and proved what I could do. Rather melodramatic, I’m afraid. There was dead silence then. My mother burst into tears, and so did I, and when everyone calmed down I told them I wanted to study to be a bonemender. I couldn’t have such a gift and not use it. They agreed. The day after my sixteenth birthday, I started my apprenticeship with the Chênier bonemender.”

Old Marcus had not been eager to accept her, Gabrielle recalled. He had taken her, in the end, only because his king and queen had requested it, expecting to be saddled with a spoiled princess indulging a passing whim. In the first weeks her teacher had taken pains to strip away any glamorous notions she might have held: Gabrielle had scrubbed bedpans, vomit, soiled bedsheets and the clinic itself, ground herbs until her arms ached and healed not a single person. After three months, Marcus had acknowledged that she was serious; he soon discovered she was also quick to learn, and the years of her apprenticeship had been deeply rewarding for both of them.

Gabrielle shook herself out of her reverie. Marcus, and the other bonemenders too, should be alerted to the coming danger. Probably the whole country should be stockpiling extra bandaging and herbs. She would speak to her father about it.

“I’d better get back to work. I want to harvest the comfrey while we’re here,” said Gabrielle. “It grows all over these hills. This is dirtier work, I’m afraid.” If there was war, then this herb, known for its virtue in helping bones knit and wounded flesh regenerate, would be essential. For this she needed the whole plant, roots and all. Féolan helped her dig the hairy, rambling plants from the stony ground.

“I know this one,” he exclaimed. “It grows in our woodland too. We call it, oh, I guess it might translate into ‘knitbone’.”

“Some people call it ‘ass ear’,” she said, smiling as she stroked the fuzzy leaf. “But knitbone is a very good name.”

As they worked, Féolan told Gabrielle about the Elvish healers and what he knew of their techniques and medicines. The time passed quickly, and as they rode home the late afternoon sun slanted over the fields, illuminating each blade of grass. The sight set Féolan to daydreaming about Gabrielle’s eyes: a softer green, they were, but with that same impression of golden light under the surface.