A Cure for Love

 

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A Cure for Love

The sound of a bell caused me to throw my knitting to the ground and dive to the floor. In this harmless chiming there was nothing of malevolence; yet still I hid behind the counter and hoped they had not seen me, for I knew better.

Too many times the castle guards had dropped by to berate and demean me and otherwise make themselves feel powerful at my expense.

I had not the nerve to speak to Lord Rothmere about what his men did in Durna. Even if he did owe me a few favours.

My hand trembled as I reached out for the small crossbow mounted beneath the counter. I wondered whether today would be the day I had to use the foul contraption.

I paused before taking the weapon from its mount. Something was missing. Soft slippers trod upon the floorboards, not the heavy armoured boots that indicated the guards. I allowed myself a moment of relief.

So who had entered my shop? I stifled a curse. Only one possibility remained. On the other side of the counter was the bane of my existence; a patron.

I could not help think how dealing with patrons was like taking out a month old dead rat; necessary, but rather unpleasant.

I breathed in, inhaling not just the scent of floor wax but also a memory, lingering at the edge of my conception. I recalled how as a child I had hidden under a table at the nursery, hunkered low upon the floorboards. Tears had streamed down my face that day as I had wished for my mother to come and collect me. The memory unsettled me as I realised now, decades later I was still hiding on the floor.

“Hello?” asked the stranger's voice, “Alyssandra?”

Gathering my nerve I stood from my crouch behind the counter. My back protested at such contortions, reminding me I was no longer a young woman.

“Emlyn,” I said trying to sound pleasant, “How nice to see you.”

Her sculpted eyebrows arched upon their hinges, summoning wrinkles upon the otherwise young skin. A single corner of her delicate lips pulled up, revealing her doubtful acceptance of my sentiment. After a moment this expression vanished as her lips parted into a broad smile, as was her habit. “Alys, I need your help.”

I nodded, biting back a sarcastic remark about obviousness.

As I watched her, I noted beyond her delightful, smiling mask a darker, insidious emotion lurking. It was a pain I recognised. Whatever had happened, it was haunting her.

I picked up a book from the stack on the counter. Flipping open the cover I perused its dog-eared and aged paper, “Look around, you’ll find something to help I’m sure.”

With a twitching smile and pricking eyes, I could tell it wasn’t the answer Emlyn wanted. Still, she ducked her head and did as she was bid. From the corner of my eye I watched as she lifted her skirt slightly so as to move more freely. Her gown, I thought, was surely donated from one of her more affluent friends.

With her ankles exposed she perused her way down rows of ceiling high shelving. These tall dark obelisks of wood only furthered the cramped nature of the shop.

Upon the shelves existed an oasis of order in an otherwise chaotic world. Multitudes of bottles of varying colours and sizes stood, organised into precise rows and columns. Handwritten labels hung at the neck of each bottle, identifying the colourful concoctions within.

From my position at the counter I felt like a grand general staring upon an epic battlefield. The shelves were my army. Soldiers in tight formations arrayed before me. They stood with unshakeable courage waiting for the enemy to break down the door.

Emlyn stopped and picked one bottle up and pretended to read its label before placing it back upon the shelf.

Outside a donkey brayed as it pulled a cart down the street. Emlyn’s head spun like a bird expecting to see a predator. Her eyes fixated upon the closed curtains that covered the windows, trying to penetrate the ancient fabric I had stitched so long ago. She listened to the wagon wheels as they clunked on past the shop.

After a moment Emlyn released her pent up breath and placed the bottle she had been examining back upon the shelf. As if to distract herself she asked “Have you dusted recently?”

I allowed her question to hang in the air a moment; I always liked to watch people squirm with discomfort as they waited for my reply. I held my silence until her forehead scrunched into an old scrap of parchment and she prepared to throw away her expectation of an answer, “My dear, I dust every day as the sun rises and every night at its setting.”

I tried to keep the irritation from colouring my voice but did a poor job.

“Oh,” said Emlyn, running her delicate hand along her chin, “Of course you do. I remember when my mother first hired our housemaid, she made such an example of…” Emlyn stopped talking, checking I was paying attention to what she was saying. I stared into my book, pretending not to listen.

She continued, “…such an example of the standards you-”

“You don’t have a housemaid,” I said without looking up from my book.

Emlyn fell quiet for a moment, “This was years ago.”

“No,” I said, “You’ve never had one. I know your mother well, she doesn’t believe in hiring other people to do work she herself is capable of doing.”

“Well,” said Emlyn, “That is to say…”

She took a steadying breath before she said, “I like your dress, it’s rather becoming.”

Instinctively I looked down at my dress. I had sewn it myself from the nicest fabric the markets had provided for several years. Still, it was little more than a sack that hung upon my body, attempting to avoid any notice from wandering eyes. With an uncomfortable nod I returned to my book.

“How come you by such a vast library?” asked Emlyn, gesturing at the shelf filled with books above the back counter.

I turned to look at the aged tomes, “I’ve never missed Lord Rothmere’s endowment. Not for the last forty years. While everyone else is fighting over his leftover scraps of food, I’m always picking through the donations looking for books.”

Emlyn nodded, leaning against the counter staring into a small empty cauldron, “That’s impressive.”

“If you keep complimenting me, you’ll force me to ask whether you’re here to win my heart and spirit me away to your castle,” I said flatly.

Emlyn blinked, a red tint spread upon her face, faintly visible beneath the skin coloured powder she had applied.

“I’ve much work so if you’re here for more powders and ointments,” I said pointing at the other side of the room, “You know where they are.”

I watched as Emlyn glanced at the powders and then back. An obvious struggle raged within her but I refused to ask and become a part of her dramas. Still, she remained intent as with a mighty breath she summoned the appearance of courage and said, “I’m not here for that.”

“Then why, may I ask, are you here?”

She stepped back to the counter and whispered softly, “You’re the best herbalist in the world.”

It wasn’t a question, but I still inclined my head.

“You saved Lord Rothmere from his fever, he told me himself,” she glanced at me to make sure I was paying attention.

I gazed into my book, paying her no heed.

Clearing her throat she said, “It’s rude not to make eye contact when people are talking to you.”

I raised an eyebrow and still looking at my book observed, “It’s also rude to make up stories. No one would believe Lord Rothmere would meet with a commoner like you.”

Emlyn gasped, “That’s not true,” she threw her hands up in front of her, “He has a lot of time for his subjects.”

“You need not try to impress me, girl. I’m too old to either care or be fooled.”

Emlyn ground her teeth. With a deep breath she stood tall and collected her bearing, “Well however I learnt the information I know you helped when he came down with the pox. The ladies’ maids were even talking about how you helped Lady Brolter with a boil on her…” Emlyn’s voice ground to a halt, “It’s just, I need...”

Rolling my eyes, I placed my book upon the counter with a dull thud, “If it’s a boil girl then-”

“I’m with child.”

My words died in my mouth. I could feel her words pulling at me; driftwood upon a tide she would drag me into the drama of her life. The skin around my eyes tightened and my lip curled.

“That is none of my concern,” I said folding my arms, “If you’ve gotten yourself embroiled in some misbehaviour then it’s between you and whichever man you’ve bedded.”

Her next words struck me with a heavy sense of dread, “I know what happened to you,” she leant forward with a look that told me she spoke of my darkest memory, “When you were my age.”

A knot hardened in my stomach and I allowed myself to glower at the girl.

She continued, “I don’t mean to drag up painful memories but you are the only woman in the village who understands what I’m dealing with.”

I gasped, wondering if she had befallen the same ill fate as me.

“No not like that. He didn’t...” Emlyn’s eyes narrowed as if she were concentrating, “I mean, what happened to you was different, worse. But you know what it’s like to bear the results of an action you didn’t think would end the way it did.”

“Whatever you’ve heard, it’s not true,” I thrust the focus of the conversation back on her, “You knew well what could happen should you allow a man under your garments.”

“You spend every day shut in this shop hiding from the world. People don’t do that unless something awful happened to them,” She fixed me with a probing look before continuing, “You’re right though, I knew what could happen if we slept together. It’s not that I didn’t know it’s just, I didn’t care. It’s like he placed a spell on me, a bewitchment. It’s just a manipulation of another kind, more painful than any other; I am in love.”

I scoffed, “You’ve filled your head with clouds.”

Emlyn nodded, “Yes! I’m not thinking straight. See what he has done to me, I cannot seem to get my life together no matter how hard I try and now,” she swallowed with visible effort like she must send the implications down her throat to digest them, “If you don’t help me... This child, it will ruin my life.”

I allowed silence to fill the room as I thought upon her predicament. Straightening the mortar upon the counter I observed, “If you love him then bearing him a child will be a great honour. A girl like you could convince the man to marry you with no troubles I’m sure.”

“He’s not free to marry,” she breathed, “He’s with another.”

I did my best to prevent my judgement from sprawling across my face, “I see.” Reaching beneath the counter I produced a small skin of ale, “Most of my collection is on my bedside table, but I keep this here for those days when… well, days like today. Here.” I offered her the skin.

She looked at it hesitantly; picking it from my hand she took two long draughts, wincing as it flowed down her throat, then returned it.

I followed her lead and took four longer draughts. I had no need to wince; ale and I were well-acquainted friends.

“Please Alyssandra, there must be something you can do,” she looked at me with such vulnerability, such reliance I felt a slight inkling to take pity on her, “It’s not fair. They get to do as they please with no repercussions. That’s not justice.”

A stab of pain rolled through my body as she said the same words I had uttered when I had been just a few years younger than she was now.

I had always found Emlyn to be vain, self-absorbed and manipulative. Seeing her in this state I couldn’t help see her as the small child she had once been, coming into my shop with her mother and making a mess.

Heaviness formed in my bones as I thought of a life I would never live and children I would never have.

If this was my daughter, would I not help her?

With a stony face I stared at a single cobweb dangling from the ceiling. I thought upon her request. “Men,” I scoffed.

“At least they pay attention,” said Emlyn folding her arms, “The only thing women seem to care about is who you’re married to or how much your dowry is worth.”

“Men are not interested in you for the reasons you think,” I said as I returned my attention to her, “Now, I have a herb, a weed actually. When ingested it will…clear things up for you,” I hid my sympathy for her so well, it sounded as if I spoke of nothing more than curing a cold.

Emlyn closed her eyes as her head rocked forward in a tender nod, “Thank you so much! You don’t understand what you’re doing for me. You are saving my life. If you ever need anything, please let me know.”

“Understand I offer this to you out of respect for your mother. She’s a good woman not worthy of having a daughter like you.”

Emlyn’s chin trembled, and she ducked her head, “I know. Please, you mustn’t speak of this to anyone. If Magan found out…”

“Magan from the castle?” I asked, surprised she was friends with the infamous Lady’s maid.

Emlyn nodded.

I shook my head, “If you spent a little less time with her you wouldn’t be in this mess,”

I turned, cursing the dull pain from my year's old ankle wound, and hobbled through the small arch behind the counter leading to the storeroom. It was nothing more than my old childhood bedroom. Bookcases lined the walls filled with glass vials. In each vial were a variety of plants and other substances I had collected or bought over the many years of my travels.

I ran my hands over the collection, naming them in my head as I went. Milkweeds from Felci, Ashen Tears from a market in Bonda, even the rare Death Bloom which only grows three days after a large battle. I couldn’t help feel standing in this room was like standing in a library of my memories.

Selecting the vial I wanted and several other ingredients I returned to the counter where Emlyn was standing rubbing her hands together absently.

I produced a pale of water from under the counter. Carefully I poured a small amount into the cauldron. With several strikes of my flint, sparks flew into the steel bowl beneath the cauldron and ignited the small kindling.

“This will take several minutes to brew; did you have any other business in town?” I asked clasping my hands together on the counter and growing still.

She shook her head, “I have errands to take care of but I can’t be bothered with them now.”

“We all have responsibilities we must take care of,” I said, trying to persuade her to leave my shop, “You should see to yours.”

Emlyn ran her hands through her side braid, “I don’t feel like it today.”

I felt my shoulders droop and my lips pressed into a hard line. “From what your mother has told me you never feel like it,” With practised hands, I emptied the vial’s contents into the mortar and ground the ingredients into a pulp.

“She speaks rather highly of you,” observed Emlyn, as though she did not consider my comment worthy of her reply.

“Mmm.”

I picked up the mush of ingredients from the mortar. It felt wet and sticky between my fingers. With a practised shake of my hand the mush dropped into the small cauldron on the counter.

As the water boiled, I watched to make sure the ingredients weren’t burning. After a moment longer, I lifted the concoction out of the cauldron with a ladle and poured it into a vial.

“It will have to cool before you take it, be sure it’s at night before you sleep,” I said placing the vial on a stand to let it cool, “There will be bleeding.”

Emlyn looked faint, “How did I get into this mess?” after a silent moment no longer than a breath her shoulders drooped and her face collapsed, “He doesn’t even love me.”

She sobbed into her hands with such raw pain I could feel the scabs over my own heart begin to crack.

I watched as she cried, unsure what to do.

She lifted her head from her hands and looked at me. The tears had streaked the powder beneath her eyes and smudged the dark charcoal the ladies used to shadow the surrounds of their eyes. Looking more a demon than a young girl she once more had a look of intense need, “He’s cheating on me, I know he is. Every time I’m with him I can smell the other women on his clothes. How can I go on with a man who…”

I sighed loud enough to interrupt her sob story, “Get over yourself and leave the boy alone. Don’t be so useless.”

“Useless? There is nothing that can be done for affairs of the heart. With love I’m as defenceless as the next person.”

I pressed my lips together, realising my words were not getting through to her. Just like everyone else she only heard what she wanted to hear, “How can you love someone like that?”

“I just do. With every beat of my heart and every breath I draw I feel think of him. When I close my eyes, I see him and when I hear someone laugh, I hear his voice whispering such fanciful things into my ear. There is no life for me without him, but to live with him is destroying-”

Again I cut her off unable to stomach her waxing eloquence, “There is no herb in the world that can make a boy into a man.”

“No but...,” an idea came to her for she illuminated with renewed hope, “...there is to make a man fall in love with you!”

With a heavy sigh, I pointed at the sign hanging beside the door, it read: I do not do love potions.

“Oh please!” she cried after reading the sign, “You must. I need this.”

“There is no such thing as love potions,” I said throwing my hands up, “It’s just a gimmick someone made up to make a lot of money. I’m no pretender; I shan’t sell something that doesn’t work.”

“You’re the best herbalist in the world; you must know of something,” she grabbed my arms and pulled at me, “Please help me. If he falls in love with me, he won’t cheat on me anymore. If I can just make him want me.”

“Enough!” I shouted yanking my arms out of her hands, “I have helped you as much as I can. You ask the impossible and I shall not indulge the spoilt wishes of a brat. If you want a man to fall in love with you then first find one worthy of you. I cannot trick them into loving you, even if I could I wouldn’t, he doesn’t deserve you, all he deserves is...”

Death, the word came to mind but did not leave my lips.

Emlyn once more spewed tears forth from her eyes. Her desperation grew so manic I knew not whether she was being childish or rather suffering from the madness of romance. Perhaps it was the same thing.

Would I not be reacting the same way should Lear treat me so?

My ego rejected the notion, but I could not help acknowledge that there were women with soft hearts and a desire to give them away, destined to fall prey to boys who cared little for the destruction their tiny pricks caused.

I stared at the sputtering flame beneath the cauldron. An idea began to form, one so terrible it churned my stomach. Yet despite my desire, my sense of morality could not shake it free. Emlyn’s boy was hurting innocent women; hearts too lonely or too idealistic to guard against his gilt tongue. Would not the moral thing be to pull the root out at its core?

I allowed my teeth to press down upon my lip as I thought over the repercussions. Emlyn was right, I was the best herbalist in the world, I could make an undetectable poison so subtle not even she would suspect me. But why would I stop at just Emlyn’s boy? There would be thousands of other boys out there preying upon women. Twisting their emotions up in knots and breeding bastard children within them. I could hunt them like a farmer does a rabbit.

Yet was I brave enough to see it through? I had spent so many years behind this counter wishing the world away - was I capable of making a difference? And if I were capable, would it even be the right thing to do?

Mothers would lose their sons, sisters their brothers. Could I bring so much pain to so many? I thought then of the life that was forming in Emlyn’s womb. Countless would be the children who never saw their first sunrise; snuffed by the circumstances of their conception. Worse still were the children who survived.

Bastards who grew up without a father. Every day these boys lived with the shame they bought upon their mothers. Weren’t these same bastards the next generation of boys who would repeat the cycle?

So the hurtful boys would die. Was that any more pain than what I had been through? I had wished I would die that night. Even now, years later I could still feel their touch upon my skin. I could still hear Mais’s cry as they killed her.

A knot formed in my stomach as an ancient pit of anger swelled within my chest. Boys took what they wanted and cared little for the repercussions because the repercussions were so insignificant to them. But what if an avenging angel existed? Someone who would find those with hearts of cruelty and extract the life from them to defend the innocent and the weak.

Would they not grow to fear such a beast? Learn to hesitate walking alone at night? Even begin understanding what it’s like checking over their shoulder every few seconds to make sure they weren’t followed?

My jaw set in determination as I realised this moment had been building my entire life. Every foul deed at man's hands, had built another step upon an endless staircase of pain. Emlyn’s predicament had forced me to acknowledge that I was not alone in my despair.

With this realisation I now faced a decision. Would I accept my burden of steps and continue to pull myself up the stairs, hoping for things to get better? Or would I cast myself off this endless climb and see what lay at the bottom of the yawning darkness beyond?

Looking at Emlyn with full comprehension of the doom I now welcomed I sealed my fate with three small words:

“I’ll do it.”

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