Aisling Blackwood's Arc

Chapter 4 of 10

Melora's fever climbed for three days. Aisling boiled thyme and peppermint from the garden and pressed cool cloths to her mentor's brow. Nothing held the sickness back. The wet rattle in Melora's chest grew louder each night. Aisling's herbs and cleric prayers were not enough. She knew one being could heal this fast. Zamir. But leaning on his power meant owing the deity again, and she had sworn to serve her people first. She refused to become his tool. So she chose another road. She wrapped Melora in furs, loaded her onto a cart, and set out for the deep woods. The witch's home sat under a green dome of grass and wildflowers, its round door carved with tiny knots. Bees drifted from a wooden hive near the step. The witch met Aisling at the threshold before she could knock. Granny Goodberry was a gnome no taller than Aisling's waist, her tall hat sprouting moss and small mushrooms. She looked at the shaking bundle in the cart and clicked her tongue. "You carried her all this way and never once asked what's really wrong," Granny said. "Bring her in, child. Quick now." Inside, Granny laid her small hands on Melora's chest and closed her eyes. She hummed low. Then she frowned. "This is no ordinary fever. It's a curse, tangled deep. And it isn't hers." She turned sharp yellow eyes on Aisling. "It's yours. You carried a wound from when you were small. You buried it. When you finally faced it, the poison had nowhere to go but into her." Aisling's stomach dropped. "Then I can heal her. Tell me how." "You already started the work," Granny said. "You took the shadow back. But you took it hard, all at once. The old woman shielded you for years and it hollowed her out. To free her, you must sit in the fever with her tonight and finish what you began. No spells. No deity. Just you, meeting every memory that made the wound." Aisling lay beside her mentor on the packed earth floor. Granny burned dried blossoms and kept watch. The fever rose in Aisling too. All night she walked back through the dark. The empty boat. The cold forest. The face she saw as a child that she never named. She did not run this time. She held each memory until it stopped burning. She wept and did not stop the tears. By dawn the rattle in Melora's chest had eased. The old woman's breathing came slow and clear. Aisling sat up. Her hands were steady. The grief still lived in her, but it no longer festered. "She'll wake by noon," Granny said. "You're changed, girl. You healed her without borrowing power that wasn't yours." Aisling looked at her own hands. She had needed no deity. She had done it alone. But now she understood how much her own darkness could cost the people she loved.