The Warded Man

CHAPTER 26

HOSPIT

332 AR





“AY, JIZELL!” Skot cried as the old Herb Gatherer came to him with her bowl. “Why not let your apprentice take the task for once?” He nodded at Leesha, changing another man’s dressing.

“Ha!” Jizell barked. She was a heavyset woman, with short gray hair and a voice that carried. “If I let her give the rag baths, I’d have half of Angiers crying plague within a week.”

Leesha shook her head as the others in the room laughed, but she was smiling as she did. Skot was harmless. He was a Messenger whose horse had thrown him on the road. Lucky to be alive, especially with two broken arms, he had somehow managed to track down his horse and get back in the saddle. He had no wife to care for him, and so the Messengers’ Guild had produced the klats to put him up in Jizell’s hospit until he could do for himself.

Jizell soaked her rag in the warm, soapy bowl and lifted the man’s sheet, her hand moving with firm efficiency. The Messenger gave a yelp as she was finishing up, and Jizell laughed. “Just as well I give the baths,” she said loudly, glancing down. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint poor Leesha.”

The others in their beds all had a laugh at the man’s expense. It was a full room, and all were a little bed-bored.

“I think she’d likely find it in different form than you,” Skot grumbled, blushing furiously, but Jizell only laughed again.

“Poor Skot has a shine on you,” Jizell told Leesha later, when they were in the pharmacy grinding herbs.

“A shine?” laughed Kadie, one of the younger apprentices. “He’s not shining, he’s in loooove!” The other apprentices in earshot burst into giggles.

“I think he’s cute,” Roni volunteered.

“You think everyone is cute,” Leesha said. Roni was just flowering, and boy-crazed. “But I hope you have better taste than to fall for a man that begs you for a rag bath.”

“Don’t give her ideas,” Jizell said. “Roni had her way, she’d be rag-bathing every man in the hospit.” The girls all giggled, and even Roni didn’t disagree.

“At least have the decency to blush,” Leesha told her, and the girls tittered again.

“Enough! Off with you giggleboxes!” Jizell laughed. “I want a word with Leesha.”

“Most every man that comes in here shines on you,” Jizell said when they were gone. “It wouldn’t kill you to talk to one apart from asking after his health.”

“You sound like my mum,” Leesha said.

Jizell slammed her pestle down on the counter. “I sound like no such thing,” she said, having heard all about Elona over the years. “I just don’t want you to die an old maid to spite her. There’s no crime in liking men.”

“I like men,” Leesha protested.

“Not that I’ve seen,” Jizell said.

“So I should have jumped to offer Skot a rag bath?” Leesha asked.

“Certainly not,” Jizell said. “At least, not in front of everyone,” she added with a wink.

“Now you sound like Bruna,” Leesha groaned. “It will take more than crude comments to win my heart.” Requests like Skot’s were nothing new to Leesha. She had her mother’s body, and that meant a great deal of male attention, whether she invited it or not.

“Then what does it take?” Jizell asked. “What man could pass your heart wards?”

“A man I can trust,” Leesha said. “One I can kiss on the cheek without him bragging to his friends the next day that he stuck me behind the barn.”

Jizell snorted. “You’ll sooner find a friendly coreling,” she said.

Leesha shrugged.

“I think you’re scared,” Jizell accused. “You’ve waited so long to lose your flower that you’ve taken a simple, natural thing every girl does and built it up into some unscalable wall.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Leesha said.

“Is it?” Jizell asked. “I’ve seen you when ladies come asking your advice on bed matters, grasping and guessing as you blush furiously. How can you advise others about their bodies when you don’t even know your own?”

“I’m quite sure I know what goes where,” Leesha said wryly.

“You know what I mean,” Jizell said.

“What do you suggest I do about it?” Leesha demanded. “Pick some man at random, just to get it over with?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Jizell said.

Leesha glared at her, but Jizell met the gaze and didn’t flinch. “You’ve guarded that flower so long that no man will ever be worthy to take it in your eyes,” she said. “What good is a flower hidden away for no one to see? Who will remember its beauty when it wilts?”

Leesha let out a choked sob, and Jizell was there in an instant, holding her tightly as she cried. “There, there, poppet,” she soothed, stroking Leesha’s hair, “it’s not as bad as all that.”

After supper, when the wards were checked and the apprentices sent to their studies, Leesha and Jizell finally had time to brew a pot of herb tea and open the satchel from the morning Messenger. A lamp sat on the table, full and trimmed for long use.

“Patients all day and letters all night,” Jizell sighed. “Thank light Herb Gatherers don’t need sleep, eh?” She upended the bag, spilling parchment all over the table.

They quickly separated out correspondence meant for the patients, and then Jizell grabbed a bundle at random, glancing at the hail. “These are yours,” she said, passing the bundle to Leesha and snatching another letter off the pile, which she opened and began to read.

“This one’s from Kimber,” she said after a moment. Kimber was another of Jizell’s apprentices sent abroad, this one to Farmer’s Stump, a day’s ride south. “The cooper’s rash has gotten worse, and spread again.”

“She’s brewing the tea wrong; I just know it,” Leesha groaned. “She never lets it steep long enough, and then wonders at her weak cures. If I have to go to Farmer’s Stump and brew it for her, I’ll give her such a thumping!”

“She knows it,” Jizell laughed. “That’s why she wrote to me this time!”

The laughter was infectious, and Leesha soon joined in. Leesha loved Jizell. She could be as hard as Bruna when the occasion demanded, but she was always quick to laugh.

Leesha missed Bruna dearly, and the thought turned her back to the bundle. It was Fourthday, when the weekly Messenger arrived from Farmer’s Stump, Cutter’s Hollow, and points south. Sure enough, the hail of the first letter in the stack was in her father’s neat script.

There was a letter from Vika, as well, and Leesha read that one first, her hands clenching as always until she was assured that Bruna, older than ancient, was still well.

“Vika’s given birth,” she noted. “A boy, Jame. Six pounds eleven ounces.”

“Is that the third?” Jizell asked.

“Fourth,” Leesha said. Vika had married Child Jona—Tender Jona, now—not long after arriving in Cutter’s Hollow, and wasted no time in bearing him children.

“Not much chance of her coming back to Angiers, then,” Jizell lamented.

Leesha laughed. “I thought that was given after the first,” she said.

It was hard to believe seven years had passed since she and Vika exchanged places. The temporary arrangement was proving permanent, which didn’t entirely displease Leesha.

Regardless of what Leesha did, Vika would stay in Cutter’s Hollow, and seemed better liked there than Bruna, Leesha, and Darsy combined. The thought gave Leesha a sense of freedom she never dreamt existed. She’d promised to return one day to ensure the Hollow had the Gatherer it needed, but the Creator had seen to that for her. Her future was hers to choose.

Her father wrote that he had caught a chill, but Vika was tending him, and he expected to recover quickly. The next letter was from Mairy; her eldest daughter already flowered and promised, Mairy would likely be a grandmother soon. Leesha sighed.

There were two more letters in the bundle. Leesha corresponded with Mairy, Vika, and her father almost every week, but her mother wrote less often, and oftentimes in a fit of pique.

“All well?” Jizell asked, glancing up from her own reading to see Leesha’s scowl.

“Just my mum,” Leesha said, reading. “The tone changes with her humors, but the message stays the same: ‘Come home and have children before you grow too old and the Creator takes the chance from you.’” Jizell grunted and shook her head.

Tucked in with Elona’s letter was another sheet, supposedly from Gared, though the missive was in her mother’s hand, for Gared knew no letters. But whatever pains she took to make it seem dictated, Leesha was sure at least half the words were her mother’s alone, and most likely the other half as well. The content, as with her mother’s letters, never changed. Gared was well. Gared missed her. Gared was waiting for her. Gared loved her.

“My mother must think me very stupid,” Leesha said wryly as she read, “to believe Gared would ever even attempt a poem, much less one that didn’t rhyme.”

Jizell laughed, but it died prematurely when she saw that Leesha had not joined her.

“What if she’s right?” Leesha asked suddenly. “Dark as it is to think Elona right about anything, I do want children one day, and you don’t need to be an Herb Gatherer to know that my days to do it are fewer ahead than behind. You said yourself I’ve wasted my best years.”

“That was hardly what I said,” Jizell replied.

“It’s true enough,” Leesha said sadly. “I’ve never bothered to look for men; they always had a way of finding me whether I wanted it or not. I just always thought one day I’d be found by one that fit into my life, rather than expecting me to fit into his.”

“We all dream that sometimes, dear,” Jizell said, “and it’s a nice enough fantasy once in a while, when you’re staring at the wall, but you can’t hang your hopes on it.”

Leesha squeezed the letter in her hand, crumpling it a bit.

“So you’re thinking of going back and marrying this Gared?” Jizell asked.

“Oh, Creator, no!” Leesha cried. “Of course not!”

Jizell grunted. “Good. You’ve saved me the trouble of thumping you on the head.”

“Much as my belly longs for a child,” Leesha said, “I’ll die a maid before I let Gared give me one. Problem is, he’d have at any other man in the Hollow that tried.”

“Easily solved,” Jizell said. “Have children here.”

“What?” Leesha asked.

“Cutter’s Hollow is in good hands with Vika,” Jizell said. “I trained the girl myself, and her heart is there now in any event.” She leaned in, putting a meaty hand atop Leesha’s. “Stay,” she said. “Make Angiers your home and take over the hospit when I retire.”

Leesha’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“You’ve taught me as much as I’ve taught you these years,” Jizell went on. “There’s no one else I trust to run my business, even if Vika returned tomorrow.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Leesha managed.

“No rush to say anything,” Jizell said, patting Leesha’s hand. “I daresay I don’t plan to retire any day soon. Just think on it.”

Leesha nodded. Jizell opened her arms, and she fell into them, embracing the older woman tightly. As they parted, a shout from outside made them jump.

“Help! Help!” someone cried. They both glanced at the window. It was past dark.

Opening one’s shutters at night in Angiers was a crime punishable by whipping, but Leesha and Jizell gave it no thought as they threw open the bar, seeing a trio of city guardsmen running down the boardwalk, two of them each carrying another man.

“Ay, the hospit!” the lead guard called, seeing the shutters open on the lamplit room. “Open your doors! Succor! Succor and healing!”

As one, Leesha and Jizell bolted for the stairs, nearly tumbling down in their haste to get to the door. It was winter, and though the city’s Warders worked diligently to keep the wardnet clear of snow, ice, and dead leaves, a few wind demons invariably found their way in each night, hunting homeless beggars and waiting for the occasional fool that dared defy curfew and the law. A wind demon could drop like a silent stone and then spread its taloned wings in a sudden snap, eviscerating a victim before grasping the body in its rear claws and swooping away with it.

They made it to the landing and threw open the door, watching as the men approached. The lintels were warded; they and their patients were safe enough even without the door.

“What’s happening?” Kadie cried, sticking her head out over the balcony at the top of the stairs. Behind her, the other apprentices were pouring out of their room.

“Put your aprons back on and get down here!” Leesha ordered, and the younger girls scrambled to obey.

The men were still a ways off, but running hard. Leesha’s stomach clenched as she heard shrieks in the sky. There were wind demons about, drawn to the light and commotion.

But the guards were closing the distance fast, and Leesha dared to hope that they would make it unscathed until one of the men slipped on a patch of ice and went down hard. He screamed, and the man he was carrying tumbled to the boardwalk.

The guard still with a man over his shoulder shouted something to the other, and put his head down, picking up speed. The unburdened man turned and rushed back to his fallen comrade.

A sudden flap of leathery wings was the only warning before the head of the hapless guard flew free of his body, rolling across the boardwalk. Kadie screamed. Before blood even began to spurt from the wound, the wind demon gave a shriek and launched skyward, hauling the dead man’s body into the air.

The laden guard passed the wards, hauling his charge to safety. Leesha looked back to the remaining man, struggling to rise, and her brow set.

“Leesha, no!” Jizell cried, grabbing at her, but Leesha stepped nimbly aside and bolted out onto the boardwalk.

She ran in sharp zigzag as the shrieks of wind demons rang out in the cold air above. One coreling attempted a dive attack anyway and missed her completely, if only by a few inches. It tumbled into the boardwalk with a crash, but quickly righted itself, its thick hide unharmed by the impact. Leesha spun away, hurling a fistful of Bruna’s blinding powder into its eyes. The creature roared in pain, and Leesha ran on.

“Save him, not me!” the guard called as she drew near, pointing to the still form lying on the boardwalk. The guard’s ankle was at an odd angle, clearly broken. Leesha glanced at the other form, prone on the boardwalk. She could not carry them both.

“Not me!” the guard called again as she drew close.

Leesha shook her head. “I’ve a better chance of getting you to safety,” she said, in a tone that brooked no debate. She got under his arm and heaved.

“Keep low,” the guard gasped. “Windies are less apt to dive at things low to the ground.”

She hunched as much as she could, staggering under the big man’s weight, and knew they were not going to make it at the shuffling pace, low or not.

“Now!” Jizell cried, and Leesha looked up to see Kadie and the other apprentices run out onto the boardwalk, holding the edges of white sheets above their heads. The fluttering cloth was almost everywhere, making it impossible for the wind demons to pick a target.

Under this cover, Mistress Jizell and the first guard came rushing up to them. Jizell helped Leesha as the guard fetched the unconscious man. Fear gave them all strength, and they covered the remaining distance quickly, retreating into the hospit and barring the door.

“This one’s dead,” Jizell said, her voice cold. “I’d wager he’s been gone over an hour.”