Let the Darkness In
Twelve

Ainesilver was taller than me and a little fuller. She rummaged through a pile of fabrics in the corner. Purples and reds flashed past, velvet brushed my cheeks. Finally, a fan of green and white landed in my arms. It was a little stained in places but only noticeable because it had landed inches away from my face. I blinked away the slight cross-eyed sensation and held it out.

Ainesilver stepped outside whilst I quickly pulled off my gown. The brown homespun garment looked like a sack as I dropped it on the floor. I had been given a dark green skirt that flared out, mercifully covering my splint. It swept the floor as I tested a twirl.

The top was a simple off-the-shoulder garment, cream and slightly stained. It hung over my skinny frame. Luckily, my companion had managed to replace a large belt that pulled it in at the waist and rested just below my chest. I ran my fingers through my snarled hair and pinched my cheeks.

I felt human. I felt like a young woman for the first time in my life.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped outside.

I was ready for anything.

Under a weak sun, the city seemed changed. With the sun replaceing the chinks and somehow pushing its way down the jumbled alleys, it was less claustrophobic. I no longer saw it through the eyes of a visitor but as a resident.

Ainesilver gained very little attention as we walked down the streets in the shroud of an old healer. My back itched furiously as I imagined hundreds of pairs of eyes fixed on the crippled stranger. I glanced about, waiting for someone to expose my secret. No shouts ever came.

As we walked down the streets, each one grimy in its own unique way, we passed through all walks of life. It was like an explosion of the village I had first visited. The place that had brought me here. Beggars lay on the floor, reaching out hands. People walked by, carrying laden baskets and crates. Some were hurrying, late for work or trying to catch someone.

The more streets we wove through, the more the burden lessened. No one thought twice about looking at my leg, hidden by my long skirt. My head remained tilted slightly out of habit, but thanks to the apothecary’s potion, my mark remained hidden.

I looked up as the shadows began to lessen. We had come into a wider road. Larger timbered houses remained politely distant from their neighbours, complete with tiny patches of green gardens bursting with flowers. A few servants tending these gardens looked up as we went by.

We came to a stop outside one of these houses. Ainesilver pushed through the gate without a moment’s hesitation. Meanwhile, I lingered, my eyes taking it all in. The house had recently been whitewashed, the walls still blindingly white. The timbers that supported the house were in good condition and the thatch on the roof seemed clean and in good repair.

A whistle bought me back down to earth. With a raised eyebrow, Ainesilver was beckoning me towards the opening door. I scuttled over, to be met with the face of a spotty youth. His blank, pasty face lifted as he saw Ainesilver.

“Morning Cuthbert.”

Cuthbert opened the door and beckoned us, staring intensely at me. I glided past, my nose tilted up. I hoped I didn’t fall flat on my face.

The walls opened up as we stepped inside. I let the gasp escape. My home had always been a single room with wooden walls and a dirt floor. If this was what the home of this town’s wealthy looked like, I couldn’t even begin to fathom what the castle would be like. I felt a whoosh down my body and was glad for the long skirts; they hid the slight buckle of my knees.

The ceiling rose high above me, beams curving among the white arch. Light from high windows bathed the walnut walls. The entirety of the left side of the room was draped in tapestries of vibrant blues and silver.

At the far end of the room, a wooden staircase led to a small landing. Two doors presided over the hall below. One of these creaked open and a figure emerged, pulling the door quietly behind. As he turned, I saw he was a youthful man, a dark beard shadowing his cheek and jaw. He was well-built, but didn’t look like he would crush you in one embrace.

He seemed to recognise Ainesilver instantly, his gaze sliding to me, the unfamiliar presence by her side. He moved down the stairs quickly and lightly.

“Morning Aine,” he greeted as he crossed the floor.

As he came nearer, I noticed a few subtle things that told me he wasn’t as young as I had first thought. Small wisps of silver glinted in his beard. When he stopped a few paces away from us, I saw the crow’s feet around his eyes, the dark shadows underneath and the creased skin on his forehead.

“Who’s she?”

I realised I had been staring and snapped my attention to the floor. My mouth opened.

“She’s my niece. My sister wants her to learn a few things.”

“Hmph.”

“How is she?” Ainesilver’s voice lowered.

“She still tosses and turns.”

“Let’s have a look...I trust my niece,” she said curtly, as I felt a pair of eyes on me.

With a wave, the man strode outside. I followed Ainesilver up the wooden stairs, nearing the ajar door. As we drew nearer, the smell of sickness wafted out. Taking a deep breath of the relatively clean air, I stepped into the fetid dark.

A few candles sputtered an oily yellow glow on the walls, outlining the figure on the bed. Her breathing was rapid and it sounded like incantations spilling from her lips. I hung back as the apothecary approached. Pulling up the stool that stood next to the bed, she sat down, gently feeling the woman’s forehead.

She rummaged in her satchel, the bottles clinking raucously in the heavy room. How she could see anything in this dimness amazed me.

After a painful minute, Ainesilver whipped out a small bottle followed by a slightly larger one the colour of piss. I watched as she uncorked it, lifting the patient’s head gently and pouring it down the unwilling throat. The woman gagged.

A small snuffle sounded in the murky corner opposite me. I started, my mouth dry and grainy. My eyes fell upon a small wooden box tucked away. Quietly edging over, I peered down. At first, I thought it was a doll swaddled in blankets but there was a small sucking noise and the eyelids flickered. A tiny face glowered in slumber, the hand clenched.

I felt my heart contract. I reached down and stroked the chubby cheek, ever so slightly. The baby stirred and I panicked, terrified I had woken it.

“Three days old and a mother abed with fever.”

“Will she survive?”

“Fate has already chosen whether she will live or die.” The apothecary was staring trance-like at the figure on the bed. Snapping out of it, she flashed me a grin. “But I like to meddle.”

I couldn’t help but smile back.

A few words with the husband and strict instructions to give his wife her medicine twice a day, and we were out the house. As the crisp air hit my face, I breathed in deep.

We spent most of the day darting in amongst the poorer inhabitants’ village. They had no luxurious halls, or even a bedroom to lay in. Many of the sick men, women, and children we visited lay on a pallet of filthy blankets in a corner of the room. Some had a dubious-smelling stew or concoction simmering away under the fire. Acrid smoke, the odour of bed-bound humans….it was all I could do not to gag. More than once, I had to step away to inhale some air.

As we left the cottage of a man who had lost a finger in a brawl, my stomach rumbled. I felt a hollow swoop. Somehow, the sight of blood and infection had done nothing to upset my appetite. Ainesilver chuckled and with a gesture, moved back towards the centre.

We bought two steaming pies from a rotund man with a beard as silver as the moon. Heat unfurled in my hands as I held it. As we sat on the wall, surveying the vibrant market, I took a bite. Golden pastry fell apart in my mouth, soft tender bits of pork surged over my taste buds. I could feel the explosion of gravy escaping its buttery casing. Even Ysymay’s pies had never been this succulent.

Fuelled for more apothecary duties, we spent the rest of the afternoon finishing our rounds.

Finally, Ainesilver, looking a little flushed but otherwise unflustered, headed towards the gate. My heart started thumping in protest as I took in the two sentries. But the gates were flung wide open and people were passing to and fro unchecked. Still, I drew my hood up and shuffled closer to Ainesilver.

We passed through the gates unaccosted, even though my body was tensed for a hand to grasp my shoulder.

The immediate change was the air. Gone was the stench, the overlay of a city exuding the lives of humans. This land felt fresh, untouched - the mud squelching under our feet bought back the power that hummed beneath the land. I had seemed to forgotten about the sheer potency, but the jolt seemed to bring me back. The stone walls had shut this out like a door closing.

My eyes travelled the land - seeing the forest where I had come from, the road that led out of the city to who knew where. The gibbet, tucked away at the entrance to the trees. I paused, trying to imagine the king dangling from its unrelenting grip.

Ainesilver sensed I had come to a stop. Following my gaze, her eyes took on a slightly glazed look.

“That’s where we all ended up...if we couldn’t hide our identity. They say a powerful plant grows on the ground beneath the gallows.”

“The mandrake,” I butted in. I had read about these plants. Plants that caused madness and delirium if given in large doses. I felt a fire ignite though I wasn’t sure if this came from my head or my heart. It was said to scream if pulled out by human hands...

We ate dinner back in the cottage, a thick soup with meat and beans, and laced with some of Ainesilver’s herbs. I sat with her after as she began to take me through the hundreds of bottles and pastes she held. Garlic for inflammation, cinnamon to help with indigestion, a concoction of pressed oil and valerian to make the air smell sweeter.

I could feel my eyes grow heavy and the pull of sleep threatening to overcome me.

I had to stay awake this night.