Fennel Thistledown's Arc

Chapter 16 of 21

Two mornings after Oliver healed the fevered stranger, the traveling girl came to Fennel with dirt still on her hands. She had learned faster than the others. She had crossed hills to reach this door. Now she set down her basket and did not meet Fennel's eyes. "My own village has no healer," she said. "People there fall sick and no one knows the herbs. I think I should go home." Fennel gripped the arm of her chair. Her knees ached, but the ache in her chest was worse. She had trained Lily to doubt herself. She had trained Oliver to keep his hands steady. But this girl she had only watched from across the room. She had never once let her stand alone at a bedside. "Not yet," Fennel said. "You leave when I know you can work alone. Not before." So Fennel made a test. She told Lily to fake a sickness. Lily lay on the cot and pressed a hand to her belly. "My stomach turns," Lily said. "I've been cold since dawn. I drank from the low stream yesterday." She added, "That last part matters, I think. It should." The girl knelt and took Lily's wrist. "Pulse is fast." She leaned close and smelled her breath. She asked about the water, the shaking, the twist in the gut. Fennel watched from her chair and said nothing. Oliver stood by the door, arms crossed, ready to speak. Fennel lifted one hand to hold him back. "River fever," the girl said. "Bad water. It needs bitter root, boiled with salt." She rose and went to the shelf. She found the root Marisol had left. She shaved it, boiled the water, stirred the salt. She tasted the brew before she raised the spoon, the way she had seen Oliver do. Her hands did not shake. Fennel leaned forward. "How much root?" "A thumb's length for a grown woman. Less for a child." The girl paused. "And I would check her pulse again after, to see it slow." Lily sat up and grinned. "She got it right. Even the part I nearly forgot to test her on." Oliver dropped his arms. "She didn't freeze. She just worked." He said it plain, the way he said hard things. Fennel sat back. Her chair creaked. The girl looked at her, waiting. For weeks Fennel had feared this moment. Now it came, and she found she was not afraid. The girl had a fast pulse under her fingers and had named the sickness. She had found the root and dosed it clean. She had done it with no hand on her shoulder. "You're ready," Fennel said. "Go home. Heal them." The girl's face broke open. She gathered her basket. She would leave at first light, and Fennel would lose her best student to the road. Three trained. One leaving. Two still at her side, and her knees no better than before.