Fennel Thistledown's Arc

Chapter 5 of 21

Two days later, the fresh stores hung drying by the window. Fennel had just set her students to sorting when a fist knocked hard on the door. A farmwife stood there, holding her son. The boy's face burned red. Sweat plastered his hair. "They said you heal," the mother gasped. "Please." Fennel's hands moved on their own. She needed feverbloom, steeped and cooled. But she also needed to watch the girls, or they would ruin the dose. She sat the boy on the bench and pressed a cool cloth to his brow. "Lily, the pink and orange blossoms in the tall jar. Bring the whole plant." Lily fetched it. Fennel showed both girls the soft leaves. "Three flowers, no more. Too many stops the heart." She turned to steep the water and heard the traveling girl reach for a fourth. "No," Fennel snapped, spinning back. The girl froze. The boy moaned. Fennel could not stir the pot and guard their hands at once. She felt her knees threaten to buckle. A wagon wheel creaked outside. Fennel looked up. A stout man led a hippo to a stop in the yard. His wagon spilled fruit and cloth over its sides. She knew him at once. Cornelius Goodwain came through twice a year, and once he had sold her a copper pot she still used. He filled the doorway, thumbs in his belt, eyeing the sick boy without alarm. "Fever," Cornelius said. Not a question. He set a crate of apples on the floor. "I've hauled sick folk before. Tell me what to do." Fennel did not waste the gift. "Hold the water at a low boil. Not a hard one." He nodded once and took the pot. Freed, she stood between her two students. "Now watch me, both of you. Three flowers." She counted them into the girl's palm. "Drop them in. Count to twenty. Lift them out." The traveling girl obeyed, slow and careful this time. Lily watched, arms crossed, learning without touching. The brew cooled to pink. Fennel held the cup to the boy's lips. He drank. Within minutes his breathing eased and the red drained from his cheeks. The mother wept and clutched Fennel's apron. "You saved him." "We did," Fennel said. She looked at the crowded room. Cornelius drying the pot. Both girls silent, steady, having done it right. She had not managed alone, and she had not needed to. Cornelius shouldered his crate to leave. At the door he paused. "Word travels," he said, flat. "Two farms over, they're all coughing. They'll come." He climbed to his wagon and rolled off. Fennel sank onto the bench. She had treated one boy and kept her students right, but only with a stranger's hands. Cornelius was gone now. More sick would come, and she could not borrow help each time. She looked at Lily and the traveling girl. Soon they would have to treat without her standing over them at all.