Next, I seek out the tufts of beach wave, or thrift, which use rocks to shelter from the buffeting winds and salt-laden tides. I pick the flowers and bundle the pink petals into my pocket, ensuring the needles aren’t digging into my skin. I scramble up the cliff, following the grooves I’ve worn into my route over the years. I used to think of inviting Malostra down here, but it was beautiful to have something just mine. We are so rarely alone here; to stand and watch the waves come for me, to slowly take me away, is a secret pleasure.
The other Sisters are running frantically, their focused murmuring just audible on the wind. Everyone has split off now; there are no alliances anymore. I spot Nusi with an armful of lavender, clumps of soil trailing her as she rushes back to the temple. The fool has pulled up whole plants by the root. Has she no respect?
I head to the garden and hide in the now empty stone shelter as the chaos unfolds. It’s easy to blend in when you’re not drawing attention to yourself. Animals have learned this, as have plants; I mimic them, my movements slow and deliberate as I kneel on the ground, the wet mud soaking through my dress. Parsnips cure stomach ailments. The dirt nests under my fingernails as I gently extract a plantfrom the soil. The leaves are full and verdant green, and the tuber is fat and a deep burnished orange.
Malostra is right about lavender: it is good for sleep, fertility, and pain, among other things. I gather that last, once the other women have foraged the best from the coastal meadow. I’m left with the meadow’s scraps, but I think that it is enough. Through the gaps in the stones, I spy women darting back and forth from the kitchens, their faces red from the heat of their experiments. I slink inside and make to grab a pot. A sharp elbow digs into my side. It’s Malostra.
‘All the burners are occupied,’ she says coldly.
I look around and see that it’s true. There are women waiting eagerly, glaring over their neighbour’s shoulders as they finish up, as if their eyes could make their Sisters’ remedies fail.
I take the pot from the fixture and dash outside; afraid someone will take it from me. It’s the ill-favoured vessel, one prone to sticking, misshapen from being dropped too many times. It will have to do, for I have no other.
I return to the cove, finding driftwood and piling it to create a small fire. If the burners are occupied, I suppose I’ll make my own. I know how. It is not a skill we use frequently but when I read about it in the temple library, it kindled a memory. It was before I was taken to Aistra, so I must have been very young. It’s a smudgy remembrance of woodsmoke and a warm voice. Two big strong hands with dirt under the nails, sparking two stones together, showing me the best shape and texture. The stones catch and the spark jumps into a fireplace. A deep laugh.
I look for suitable stones and copy the motions in my head. I spark two stones, and the fire smokes the kindling. I put my face on the rocks and blow to encourage the embers. Eventually it catches,but not until after I’ve a lungful of smoke and soot on my cheeks. I hang my pot from a branch over the fire and slowly add all the ingredients, stirring frequently lest it stick to the bottom of the pot and burn. My hands are covered in the sticky residue of my ingredients. I hold beach stones, rubbing my fingers across the whorls and patterns, listening to the soothing clink of them against each other.
I can hear the voices of the dead above me. I’m directly below the Tree of Life, and when I touch the walls of the cave, I can feel the roots reaching out, twitching inside the soil. The murmuring whispers are white noise, mingling with the sweet shush of the waves. I fall into a reverie as I stir, watching everything melt together into a salve.
Give of yourself to the remedy.
The voices coalesce to a command. I listen again to the instruction and feel a sting on my thumb. I’ve caught it on the sharp corner of one of my stones. How hard had I been pressing down? A bead of blood wells to the surface and I make to put my thumb in my mouth, to suck away the dark liquid.
Give of yourself.
I hold my hand over the pot and watch the bead of blood fall into the mixture. I stir it in, the streak of crimson disappearing into the mixture. It takes me a moment to recognise the bell above the waves. The temple bell, which usually calls us in for prayers. I look out across the water. The sun is much lower on the horizon now, peeking from the clouds that seem to hang permanently around the Winter Isle. Nearly three hours must have elapsed.
I gather my things quickly, ensuring I pour seawater over the remnants of the fire. I would not burn down the temple. I hold the pot steady as I scramble back up the slope. By Paranish, were we supposed to decant it for presentation?
I rush to the temple, pushing open the doors to the main hall. The other Sisters are gathered by the benches, holding vials neatly stoppered.
I must look a sight; hair whipped in the wind and cheeks ruddy. The remedy has almost sloshed out of the battered pot, and I try to compose myself. Malostra looks me up and down and I notice the dried flecks of mud and sand on the hem of my dress.
‘Sister Hanan. We had almost given up on you.’
A few of the Sisters snicker and I blush.
‘Apologies, Mother Joca. I did not have time to decant my remedy.’
‘Well, let’s study it before it goes cold.’
Mother Joca crooks a finger, beckoning me to the front of the group. Mother Lin goes first, stirring the mixture and letting it slop off her spoon.
‘Consistency is not bad, although it could have done with a little longer to infuse.’
Mother Lin takes a tentative spoonful and makes a sound I can’t decipher. Mother Joca follows suit but does not share her opinions with the class.
It is excruciating, waiting for them to sample everyone’s remedies. The fire in the main hall needs to be stoked and I am numb from the cold by the time all the Sisters have been assessed.
‘Go and ready yourselves for supper. We must discuss.’
Malostra doesn’t speak to me when we’re back in our room and flounces out after freshening herself at the washbasin. I take a damp cloth and try to scrub the dirt from my gown, but it requires hours of scouring I don’t have. I clean up as best I can and change into my spare clean dress.
I hurry down the narrow circular staircase from the top floor, where the oldest Sisters reside, nearly tripping over myself. The smell from the refectory is somewhat enticing today and my stomach growls, but I ignore it and turn into the main hall. I’m almost the last there. I suppose everyone is eager to receive their assessment. We stand by the benches, waiting for the Temple Mothers to take their place at the top end.
‘Mother Lin and I would like to commend several Sisters on their efforts. Nev, your tonic was well conceived but a little thin for the requirement.’
Nev looks crestfallen and several of her neighbours pat her on the shoulder.
