Realms of Infamy - James Lowder [108]
The first time I saw Ashana, I was working in my apothecary. That's what I call it. It's really just a glorified shed in which I keep the various components I use for my work. I hang branches and leaves to dry in the room, and I have grinding stones and shelving there. I bottle various components and catalog them carefully-everything from octopus ink to zinc powder and a few gemstones.
I was dicing the tender branches of a sweet brandyroot plant into fine slivers for drying when I saw her through the open door. Her hair was dark auburn, and it glistened in the spring sun. She was tall like me, but with none of my ungainliness. Neither did she crouch as some tall women do. She walked quickly and surely toward me.
"Tine?" she inquired.
I nodded. I should have been more polite, said something more, invited her in, but I stood mute, staring, admiring. She stepped toward me. I backed up against a long work table, taking in the elegance of her movement as she stepped past and then turned to speak to me.
"Bokun, a cleric in the village, suggested I come," she said.
I nodded again. I remember thinking I should smile or say something, but I'm not sure if I did.
"My father is ill. It's a growth the healers can't stop. I've talked with several of them. And I've read everything I can find in the library-" Her words spilled out with a sense of urgency. "I've tried everything… He has this, this mucous-" She put her fingers to her neck and moved them lightly up and down. "It builds up in his throat, so thick he has trouble swallowing." She gulped hard, moving her chin down and up again with the effort, imitating his struggle.
I was immediately taken with her intensity. She gazed at me, unblinking, and then spoke again. "Bokun said you have many herbs, rare ones. He thought you might have this…" She paused to unfold a paper that had been clutched in her left hand. She moved very close to me and smoothed the note flat on the table alongside us.
As I turned to look at the paper, I found myself so near to her that I was overwhelmed by her fragrance-a whispering cleanness that made me want to close my eyes and inhale deeply. I forced myself to look at the note. The cleric's prescription was penned in large, fluid letters: Hsin-feng ku gen.
"I have it," I said. "A small piece."
She stood still, watching as I scanned through my catalog and then the shelves of my apothecary, searching for the datelike root. She talked to me all the while-in the gentle, friendly tones of a neighbor or a close companion. That's when she told me her name and where she lived.
I marveled at how easy it was for her to keep up a conversation. I groped for words to say in response. "This is the herb. It's used by the Wa people. My notes say the name means "bitter root of the fresh wind."
Ashana was impressed and said so. I could see from her eyes that her interest was genuine. I am no healer, but many of the tools of my work can be used to positive effect if applied differently, and I am not ignorant of their other functions. I scraped shavings from the wrinkled root and then mixed the herb in a paste with an inert powder and water. I explained to Ashana as I gave her a vial of the sticky mixture that her father must coat the back of his tongue and throat with the paste and leave it there for several minutes before washing it down with water. "It's exceedingly bitter. He'll think he's being poisoned," I explained, "but mixed at this proportion, it should be harmful only to what ails him."
Ashana gripped my hands in hers as she thanked me. My first reaction was to pull away, but I felt a warmth unlike anything in my experience. I have always felt dreadfully awkward around women, and few have shown any interest in me. I didn't take her touch as a sign of interest, but from that day on, I took every opportunity to ride to the neighboring town she lived in. I watched for her and tried to think of things I could offer to help her father… to make her notice me. And she did notice me.
I know I said I think of myself as a researcher,