Deathless (Editing)

Chapter 1: A Pound of Cure

The wilderness was a verdant green and smelled of honeydew and freshly turned grass. It shouldn't though, I reminded myself, as it was autumn. It should be full of vibrant colors, as life slowly leeched out of the leaves, setting them on fire. It should smell like frost and dahlias.

The summer had lingered too long in the Silts, and I hated it. Especially, right then, as it pounded my shoulders and neck with its heat.

I sought respite under a thick canopy of pine and leafy birch trees. The sunlight dappled me on above as I picked at the clutches of flowers and plants, placing the most useful specimens carefully inside my wicker basket. Sprigs of foxglove (for the heart), rue (for the eyes), bloodroot (for the lungs), and god's breath (for the mind) peeked up at me next to the vials of medicinal elixirs, solutions, and syrups that I had purchased in the market earlier that morning.

Now, all I needed was to hunt for the red begonias that I used to make homemade paints for my six-year-old sister, Azure, who I liked to think would be a budding artist if properly nurtured. Hours spent forging for medicinal berries and herbs in the wilds that edged along the Silts, however, did not pair well with the inescapable burn of the sun.

Lethargy eventually forced me to move on to my next chore: return to the Inn to begin muddling the herbs and flora into healing balms and salves.  With my wicker basket swinging in the bend of my arm, I brushed the leaves and soil from my simple hemp dress. My plan was to cut through the market and take the brown cobblestone pathways bridging the town's canal system to the Inn. This seemed like a great idea from where I stood in the forest. Less so when I finally reached the crowded market.

The stones soaked up the sun, deflecting it back at me in sheets of rippling air. The heat was further intensified by the other equally over-heated bodies ambling along the streets, moving from vendor to vendor on the hunt for the next hard-earned bargain.  

Internally, I braced for the sizzle of hot stones, closed my eyes, inhaled a deep breath, and plunged into the soupy market air, which was filled with the pungent scents of sweat, stagnant canal water, and boiling cabbage.  My first step was the hardest one, and I let out a small hiss of pain as my foot left the moist earth of the dirt path and landed on the paved street of the market. The cobblestones burned through the thin soles of my well-loved slippers, prickling my feet. Pain, however, was an effective motivator, forcing me to move with purpose across the walkways over the canals, careful to thread my way through the crowds.

"Did you hear about the last attack?" It was the fishmonger's wife gossiping with the baker outside his small, wooden shop.

Caught in a slow-moving tide of market-goers, I paused and lent my ear a little longer to hear. In truth, the war efforts shouldn't have concerned me. As a young Sullied girl, I was at no risk of being conscripted. But, I couldn't help but eavesdrop. The River Lee may have separated the Silts from the warfront, but the dread in my stomach reminded me that the river wasn't enough to stop the Bone Priest and his minions should the Imperial Guard falter.

"Yes, apparently another fifty men lost. It sent the Lieutenant and his squadron across the river for aid and supplies. Can you believe it?" The question was rhetorical, as the baker did not appear in the least concerned. Indeed, he looked amused, his dark eyes gleaming like wet mud.

Fear pricked me.

It was tempting to brush the idle gossip off as just that. Gossip. What was harder to ignore, however, was the endless parade of Imperial supply wagons that clogged the main streets for hours on end.

Initially, the cargo wagons had begun to stream in during the late evening hours. But, now, they tore through the town beginning in the late afternoon and never stopped. Mistress had told me to start worrying when they started to come in the morning or stopped entirely.