THE KING'S DAUGHTER - Chapter Five (The Healer)
The journey south did not last long. As soon as Sorja and the messenger left the courtyard of the Castle, they turned towards the river, passing through old oaken forests, each tree trunk covered in moss, and a few hours later were in a decrepit township. It was obvious that not many passed this way, for the road was overgrown with stinging nettles and tall weeds that brushed the sides and bellies of their mounts. The messenger rode ahead, letting Sorja follow his lead. He led her to the best looking house in the settlement, for instead of wattle and daub,it was of stone and thatch. Smoke rose from many of the chimneys, indicating that whoever lived here, was of some means. The path to the house was lined with fragrant blue roses that perfumed the air with their potent scent. As they neared the house, a small boy came running from around the abode, and promptly grabbed the reins of their mounts.
The messenger dismounted his steed, and helped Sorja off of hers. Then he proceeded to unstrap the herb chest hanging off the back of the horse. Setting it down, he told the lad, ”This ‘ere is the healer, so tell Mother that I’ve done me job.” Abruptly turning about, he mounted his swaybacked steed and rode east.
The lad had hold of the carved wood handle and proceeded to drag the engraved trunk to the steps of the gray stone domicile. The carved door swung open and a pleasantly plump woman of middling years came out onto the steps. “Ach! ‘Tis time for ya ta have gotten here! I canna stand anymore of ‘is caterwaulin’-- there must be somethin’ ya can do?” The Fey woman exclaimed, her hands gesturing wildly as she made her point clear. She looked to the boy, “Where did Meruvik go ta?”
“He said that he did his job, then he left.” The boy flashed his mother a winning smile. “He went east, probably to Molivi’s house. I can get him, if ye like.”
Sorja interrupted the conversation before the mother could speak. “Who is hurt? If you could point me in the right direction, I’ll just get out of your way, for you surely have more important things to tend to.”
With his mother distracted, the young lad took hold of the mounts again, and walked the horses into the cool darkness of the stables.
“I’ll take ya up meself, for the bugger is rantin’ and ravin’ somethin’ fierce. This way, follow me.” The large woman hefted the herb chest onto her shoulder and walked into the dwelling.
Up a flight of dimly lit steps, down the narrow hallway, they traversed, each step taking them closer to the din that came from the room at the end of the hall. “Well, ‘ere ‘e is. I don’t envy you, healer.” And with a graceful turn the fleshy woman went back downstairs, leaving the chest next to the door. Sorja smiled at the deferential 'h' that the Innkeeper used.
Sorja rapped upon the door, which opened upon the third knock. A manservant let her in and fetched the chest which he placed upon a large wooden counter, cluttered with candles and papers. Turning about, Sorja looked around at her surroundings. She was in an antechamber, decorated in light colored woods and frescos of lush green woodlands painted lovingly onto the walls. It was bright and cheerful, until you opened your ears to the ruckus coming from the next room over. Low, guttural moans accented with loud thuds resonated throughout the whole building. Then the heavy footfalls came. A hoarse voice bellowed, “Tell whoever is here to go away! Now!”
The manservant called to his master, “But ‘tis the healer!”
The tone of the man behind the door changed drastically. “Oh, already? Well, send him in, send him in.”
The servant opened a door with a latch that was hidden in the wainscoting. It lead to a richly decorated bedchamber, done in masculine tones of rich blues and opulent gold, accented by inky black lacquer. A man sat in the large chair that faced the fireplace, humming quietly to himself.
Sorja spoke up, speaking softly in the voice she learned from the Master Healer she had been educated by. It was a voice that was gentle, calmed fears and soothed sore souls. “Please tell me what ails you, good sir, and I shall try my best to heal you. I am the most skilled healer in this kingdom, I may assure you.”
“Are you great enough to repair this?” and to emphasize his question, he stood up and let her behold his injury.
“If I was to lay judgment on you, Urlian, I would have to say serves you right.” Her voice changed from a sympathetic tone to a rather dry and sarcastic one.
“I do not care what you think, other than if you can repair this!” he gestured to his nose, now blackened with congealed blood. The tissue surrounding the proboscis was almost as bad, but not nearly as swollen. His face was so badly distended that he could not close his mouth completely, and a little trickle of spittle had formed on one side. He held a silken handkerchief to his lips to dab it dry, and to keep it off his topaz dyed velvet robe.
“Oh, I can fix it, but I do not think you will like the method too much.” She chuckled to herself, for it was not often that the Viscount was in a position of being less than his normal conceited and arrogant self. It was rather refreshing to see him so.
“Is it going to involve any sort of Pixxi enchantment?” He cringed as best he could.
“Oh no, I can repair this without the aid of Magick, and it shall be much quicker too.” She turned and went back into the antechamber. She unlocked the sliver bolt on the box and lifted up the lid. The smell of sweet earthy herbs rose to dance in her nostrils. She lifted up the topmost tray and placed it next to the trunk, cradled on a bed of parchment. She reached in and drew out a blown glass bottle of cobalt blue, a stone jar sealed with green wax and several small linen bags, each containing a different herb. With these items nestled in the safety of her arms she entered the bedchamber again. She set the items carefully onto the nightstand that stood next to the great bed, hung in dark blue silk with silver threads woven into it. “Come viscount, you shall have to lay down for this.” She gestured to the bed.
He walked to the bed and lay down, wary of whatever the treatment was going to be, for the people of Misthaven-- healers in particular were odd in their prescriptions. “What is it you are going to do to me?”
“Firstly, we must drain the blood from your face so you may close your mouth. I will do this in a relatively painless fashion. Then for the bruising, a poultice of mugwort and comfrey is just the thing. I also will make an infusion for the pain. Send for your manservant and have him fetch boiling water from the kitchen." She noticed his apprehension and remarked upon it. "You are aware, just because I am Pixxish, does not mean you have to be so distrustful of me. I did take a vow to heal where needed, so you have naught to fear.”
Urlian did as he was bid, calling out to Balin, who waited in the antechamber. For as soon as he was healed, he could be rid of her! Why did she come? He surmised that when he had sent the footman to reserve the room here at the inn, that he told the Innkeeper to fetch a healer, so the Pixxi was sent for. It was known that she was respected among the peasants, for not long ago she saved many lives in a plague that had swept through a village a few miles away. She was a local heroine to them. Ahh, oh well, he reasoned. Might as well have the best, for Pixxi healers were in high demand throughout the lands. They were skilled surgeons, herbalists and healers. They had an innate sense of what was wrong and how it should be cured. He could trust her not to disfigure him further, out of spite for her dear friend’s injured pride. He hoped that the Princess was shamed before all, for it was whispered widely among court just exactly what the relationship was. False, all of it, but it was fun nonetheless, being on the tip of everyone’s tongue, an object of envy and jealousy.
“Close your eyes while I administer to your wound. Why don’t you take a little nap or daydream?” she suggested with a hint of sarcasm.
Closing his eyes, he unconsciously snuggled deeper into his featherbed. He heard the removal of a cork, then some fussing around. Urlian’s mind began to drift until he felt something cold, slimy and wet put on either side of his nose. His eyes flashed open and he tried to focus on the heavy substance. “What is that you are putting on me?” he asked.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes!”
She smiled before she answered. “Leeches.”
The Viscount froze, shocked with the treatment. His eyes widened as he felt the leeches move just a little bit. Then he started trembling as he got an overwhelming urge to scream like a little girl with a skinned knee whilst flinging the fat black slugs off his face.
“Could you not lance it, like a blood letter? Must you use leeches?” His voice had risen in pitch, almost to a squeak. “You do have a blade and cup for bleeding, do you not? Surely you do not have to resort to leeches.” Only the poor used leeches when they could not afford the price of a blade and cup for blood letting.
“I could lance it. However, it would scar your face. Surely you are not shy of these little fellows?” Sorja gestured to the cobalt blue bottle, containing liquid and several more leeches. ”They shall do a better job than the most skillful surgeon, let me assure you.”
Changing tactics, perhaps to focus on something other than the little wiggles on his face, Urlian asked, “Are you not curious as to how I got this way?” Urlian studied the Pixxi with his peripheral vision.
“Not in the least. Looks to be a subtle warning, and by the size of the damage, I would wager that the warning was issued by the King’s cousin.” She chuckled.
“You really do not find that amusing do you? I did naught to the brute, and this,” he pointed at his nose “was what I got for speaking my mind. Surely you do not condone such behavior.”
“The type of behavior I do not condone is that of a lowly rogue, creating discord where there should be peace, and possibly damaging the betrothal of a certain young Princess… I am sure you know exactly what it is I refer to, my lord.”
"'Tis not your concern, Pixxi, what I do, with whom I wish. The maid came to me, and when she showed interest, was I supposed to ignore her beauty and charm? She is most charming, is not she? Luscious too." Urlian saw that his bluff had struck a nerve with Sorja. She was about to open her mouth to reply when there was a door slammed in the antechamber.
It was then that Balin entered, carrying a kettle of steaming water and a goblet. He placed them on a sideboard before leaving silently. Sorja continued to place leeches on the young man’s face, which she left a while to do their job. Giving her full attention to the kettle of steaming water, she poured a drought into the silver goblet, followed with a goodly amount of herbs from the linen bags. She named them off in her head as they were added to the makeshift cauldron; valerian, hops, bark from the white willow tree and a pinch of mistletoe.
She placed the goblet near the fire, letting its golden warmth infuse the water with herbal goodness. Giving her attention back to her patient, Sorja checked on the progress of the leeches. They had grown plump feeding on the blood that disfigured the Viscount’s face.
The swelling had gone down a bit, but not enough. Sorja tossed a few more leeches on for good measure. He was almost able to close his mouth-just one more mere scant of a centimeter. Fetching the posset from the fireside, and standing it on the nightstand, she let it cool off enough so that it was palatable. Then came the removal of the leeches, fattened up on the Viscount’s rich blue blood. Like fat black slugs, they sat heavily on his face. His look of extreme concentration betrayed his dislike of the leeches feeding off of him. Sorja could only assume what his feelings were concerning the leeches; whether or not it bothered him that for once he was the host, rather than the parasite.
Plop! One by one, the miniature bloodsuckers were pried off the Viscount’s somewhat better looking face and went home to the blue bottle. When they had all been removed, Sorja made a wash of goldenseal and calendula, and bathed his face clean of all traces of the leeches.
Taking the stone jar, Sorja broke open the green wax, revealing a salve of comfrey and mugwort. Lathering it onto his face thickly, and efficiently, Sorja made no bones about being in a rush to get out of there.
But there was one thing Sorja wanted to do before she left. It was time for a little revenge for the slander of Aibell's honor.
"Now, Viscount, if you want the bruising to go away, there is a very quick treatment to be had. I was unsure if you were open to such a treatment, but if you were to go through with it, I am sure your nose would be right as rain within a week. It is a Pixxish treatment, so you may be afraid of it."
"What? I am afraid of no man, nor beast, let alone a treatment of such fine healers, such as the Pixxi." He said with false bravado. Sorja remembered his trembling beneath her leeches.
"Very well. Call your manservant. I need him to fetch the ingredient I need."
Again, Balin heeded the call of his master, and came into the bedchamber. He noted the wicked gleam shining in the Pixxi's eyes and wondered what mischief she was up to.
Addressing Balin, Sorja laid out her request. "I need you to go to the stables and find the warmest horse apple. It must be fresh, steaming preferably. Hurry now, your master would like his nose to be righted as soon as possible." All this was said with a perfectly straight face.
"Hold now! What is this about horse droppings? What do you need horse manure for?" Urlian grasped Balin's arm, preventing him from leaving on the healer's business.
"The ingredient I need is fresh, steaming horse manure. I figured you would have thought of that yourself, since you called your servant in to do my bidding." Speaking again to Balin, she said, "Hurry! You never know when there will be a fresh one. Go now!" Sorja tried so hard not to giggle at the look on Urlian's face-- the arched brow, the half-grimace, the scared eyes.
"Wait! What are you going to do with the manure, Pixxi?"
"I shall wrap a small bit of it in several layers of muslin, so you can insert it into your nostrils. I will make one for each nostril, so you will heal evenly."
"I fail to see how horse manure will help my nose."
"It is quite simple really; however it makes you think of the first person to discover such a treatment-- was it an accident, perhaps? Anyhow, the warmth will help the blood circulate and remove ill humors, while the vapors will help remove the sting."
"You Pixxish actually stick horse manure in your noses?" Urlian had closed his eyes, trying to imagine why an otherwise enlightened race such as the Pixxi stuck horse shit up their noses. It was atrocious! He opened his eyes to block out the mental image that haunted him.
"Only when the case is truly horrid do we resort to such a treatment, my lord. I mean, if you do not want your nose perfectly healed by next week, then by all means, skip this treatment. I will not think any less of you." She smiled. He thought it was because she was being helpful. It was really because she was trying not to laugh at the hopeful yet distrustful look upon his broken face.
He paused and closed his bright green eyes in contemplation. A moment later he croaked, "Very well. Balin, fetch the ingredient."
Sorja turned before Urlian could see her triumphant smile. She went over to the herb chest and rummaged in the bottom, pulling out two small, empty linen drawstring bags and a very sharp, black handled knife. Sorja began to split the bags open and remove the string. By the time she had completed her task, Balin had returned with the "special ingredient".
Breaking off two sizable pieces, she wrapped them not so tight in the linen. When completed, they were warm and squishy, had an awful odor, and were the perfect weapon to right an injustice. She held them out in the palm of her hand, each nose plug half as long as his pinkie, but as round as his thumb.
"What I am to do with those?" He knew exactly what to do with them, but he hoped he was dead wrong.
"You are to insert them into your nostrils, and leave them there overnight. You can take them out in the morning, but each night you must sleep with them in. In about a week your nose should be healed, or nearly so. Go on, take your treatment."
Never had she seen such a hesitant hand inch its way to her palm. Urlian picked them both up, frowning at the squishing within the linen. A look of total repulsion graced his face as he tried inserting one in his nose. He forced it in there, trying not to think of the horse feces gooping from his nose like the world's nastiest mucus-covered, alfalfa-infused pendulum. He repeated the insertion, breathing through his mouth in little pants.
"I can smell this stuff! Ugh! I think I might vomit!" Urlian cried out, as the rankness of the fresh bit of apple wafted about.
"Should you vomit, make sure to hold the plugs in tight so they do not dislodge. If you want your nose healed, you will leave them be and follow the treatment. Now that my work here is finished, I shall take my leave. Good day."
Sorja turned about and walked out of the bedchamber to collect her things. She wanted to be back at the Castle by sundown, and there were only a few hours of daylight left. She left the stone jar with the Viscount, and instructions with Balin. Packing her trunk quickly, she never noticed the piece of parchment that stuck to the bottom of the topmost tray as she replaced it in the chest, glued to the wood by wet ink. This was the one time the Pixxi let her guard down, the one time she did not notice the little details, the one time she put her friend into the lion’s den.
Thank you for reading! If you’d like more of the story, help yourself to the rest of the posted chapters: