Chapter 1
Iyana
Dried sweet peppers, coconut oil, water from an untouched oasis…
Iyana Astalle stood at her workstation, attempting to recall the last few ingredients for the potion. What was she forgetting?
She could simply ask her grandmother for the answer, but she was desperate to prove she was ready to become a fully initiated healer soon. She was almost at the end of her training, so it was embarrassing to admit that she couldn’t remember a simple recipe.Concentrated mango juice, she remembered with sudden clarity.
She reached across the table for the container. After adding the correct amount to the concoction, she wrapped her hands around the glass jar and focused. The magic eluded her as it always did. Although she knew her magic wouldn’t be fully unlocked until her grandmother blessed her and she earned the placement of the ouroboros tattoo that would encircle her wrist, there were times she almost sensed it slithering underneath her skin, seeking a way out. She called forth that elusive feeling now. It felt slightly stronger than before. Concentrating, trying to coax the magic free, her eyes drifted shut. Suddenly, a shout from next door broke her focus.
“Iyana!”
The glass jar crashed to the floor as she was jolted out of her trance. Shattered glass sprayed in every direction, and the potion was no longer salvageable.
“Shit,” Iyana muttered. Phaedros take her, that was her last glass jar, and it had been two years since any merchants had come through Imothia. Her village was isolated near the base of the mountain range separating Athusa and Istora, and not many wanted to brave the Istorian desert other than her people, who had lived therefor centuries. She’d have to borrow one from her grandmother. Iyana winced; she really didn’t want another lecture.
“Iyana, I swear to the old gods if you aren’t over here in the next minute…”
She grabbed her medical bag on her way out the door. Her grandmother, Mata Imo, hated wasting time. Rushing next door, Iyana grabbed the frame of her grandmother’s hut and swung inside.
“Finally, child,” she said. “Let’s go. Imelda’s labor has started.” This was excellent news—Imelda was close to two weeks overdue, and they were almost at the point where they would have to induce labor. It was a dangerous and unreliable process for both the mother and the babe.
Iyana and her grandmother ambled towards Imelda’s side of the village. Iyana was buzzing with nervous energy and wanted to move faster, but she went at her grandmother’s shuffling pace. Huts with thatched roofs were dispersed throughout the village with no organization system—families typically lived close together, so older generations could help with the youngest. It created a cluster of dwellings without dedicated streets or property lines. Iyana loved it. She and her grandmother lived on the outskirts, where it was the quietest. A group of children ran by them, heedless of the heat, playing with a ball and shouting hello to their healer. Imo chuckled as they streaked past.
“What did you drop back there?” Grandmother asked her.
“Nothing, Mata Imo,” Iyana said sheepishly.
“Nothing, eh?” She lifted one of her white eyebrows on her tan, wrinkled face. Despite being short and stooped, Imo was great at making Iyana feel as though she was being looked down upon, like she was still a little girl and not a grown woman of twenty-six. “It sounded suspiciously like your last glass jar. I guess you’ll be wanting to borrow one of mine then.”
“Yes, please…”
Imo snorted a laugh. “Don’t break it. The arrival of the next merchant is uncertain.”
“I won’t, Grandmother.” Iyana took an internal breath of relief; she wasn’t getting lectured today.
“What were you working on?” Imo asked.
“Oh, the hair and nail potion,” she said excitedly. Iyana loved talking about all things medical with her grandmother—potions, tinctures, and poultices. “Iris asked for some. Ever since she had her babe, her hair has been falling out, and her nails are brittle.”
Imo opened her mouth, but Iyana continued talking.
“I know most women lose hair three to four moons after birth, but she’s losing more than is normal. I hope this potion will restore normal growth.”
Halfway through the village, they heard panicked shouting. Poor Imelda’s labor must be progressing quickly then. But Imo grabbed Iyana’s arm, the ouroboros tattoo on her wrist still dark despite its age. “Something’s wrong,” she said.
Imo moved swiftly, surprising Iyana with her speed. The magic of the healers wasn’t strong, but it allowed them to instinctively identify when someone was in mortal danger. It also allowed them to diagnose ailments more accurately, and increase the strength of medicines. Some potions and tinctures required magic to be activated, but most of them Iyana could make on her own—they just weren’t as potent until her grandmother blessed them.
When they entered Imelda’s hut, Iyana noticed two things instantly—the copper tang of blood, and the agonized screaming. In the center of the room, Imelda lay on a cot; it was already saturated with blood. Iyana and her grandmother fell into their practiced roles. Imo shuffled immediately to the foot of the cot, and Iyana to its head. Imelda’s mother was there, smoothing her hair back from her sweaty forehead. Her husband, Isaac, was crouched in the corner biting his nails.
Imelda’s skin pallor caught Iyana’s attention; she’d lost too much blood. Iyana reached into her bag blindly, pulled out the nettle tea concentrate, and held the vial to Imelda’s mouth.
“Drink, love,” she coaxed. “It will help with the pain.”
Although willow bark was a more effective option for pain relief, they could not use it until after the babe was born. It had the potential to create deadly heart problems for an unborn child. Nettle tea would suffice for now. Imelda drank and calmed immediately. Her mother and husband both visibly relaxed, albeit only marginally so. Iyana’s grandmother wore a grimexpression.
“The babe’s shoulder is stuck,” Imo said. Iyana felt herself paling. It was a complication that could be fatal. For both patients. She and Imo glanced at each other, having a silent conversation—they both knew what needed to be done.
