Kerlina had caught The Fever merely a month ago, or at least that was when she had first begun having the symptoms and her husband had called upon Merle for help. The illness had quickly taken root within the woman and she had been confined to her bed for nearly two weeks now, too weak to perform even the simple task of braiding her daughter's hair. Luckily with Mirabel and Fenrir both being Goddess-blessed The Fever posed no risk to them, it was a small mercy in a terrible situation.
Laying my hand against her forehead, her skin was burning hot.
The paleness of her hair was dampened with the sweat that coated her body, the dull light that filtered in through the window highlighted the pallidness of her sallow skin—as if the rich brown had been leached from her body. A rash had started to form upon her arms, and my eyes caught where it peeked from just beneath the neckline of her nightshirt. The rash hadn’t been there when I’d checked in the week before and a lump formed within my throat. The rash was always a beginning to the end.
“It’s nearly time, isn’t it?”
Tearing my eyes away from the reddened, peeling skin, my gaze flitted to Kerlina’s. Her green eyes, so much like her daughters, filled with the deadened knowledge that she wouldsoon leave behind this life.
I was saved from answering when another cough racked through her, breaking me from the thoughts I had become trapped within. The sound spurred me into action.
“Mirabel, sweetie, could you grab your mother some water?”
She nodded eagerly at my request, clearly pleased to be of help in some way as I set down my pack, clicking the latches and tossing open the lid. The vials were neatly placed within, pads of cushioning fitted between each of the glass bottles to avoid them rattling and breaking against one another on my rounds. I pulled out the first, carefully eyeing the clear liquid to make sure none of the swirling blue powder settled at the bottom of the vial.
Satisfied, I turned back to Kerlina, adjusting the pillow beneath her head as I uncorked the potion. “You already know this one, my dear. Peppermint extract with a bit of sunpane powder to ease your cough,” I said as I gently tilted back her head to ease the potion down her throat. The peppermint, while it certainly helped, wasn’t necessary. Its use was almost entirely in the fact that it alleviated the putrid taste of the sunpane powder.
Mirabel came then, a cup of water clutched in a tight grasp.
“Thank you,” I said, my hands gentle as I took it and helped Kerlina take a few sips.
“I want to be a Potion Master like you one day.” Mirabel’s resolute tone had me once more glancing from my patient, taking in the determination that was set like stone upon her face. Her fierce green eyes were bright, yet filled with a sadness that one so young shouldn’t yet know. My heart fractured at that expression, at the future that I already knew awaited her.
Potionary would never be an option for a Luanthian born child, Solerian convert or not; she would most likely work in scullery.
But I didn’t have the heart to correct her, nor did I want to. Dreams were the driving force of youth and already so many had been ripped from her.
“You would make a fine Potion Master, of that I’m sure.”
Her smile was that of a thousand stars glittering upon the night sky, bright and instantaneous.
“Mirabel, my love,” Kerlina rasped as she ran a hand over her daughter's hair, “could you go next door for a bit? See if Ms. Harper needs anything and let her know the Potions Apprentice is here, will you?”
“Okay mama,” she answered, placing a kiss on her mother’s cheek as she left with one more uncertain glance over her shoulder. I reached for the next potion, but Kerlina’s hand upon my knee gave me pause. My body stiffening the slightest bit.
I knew the questions that would come next, as they always did. Death was an unknown—a terrifying thing that so many of the ill feared.
As much as I loathed these conversations, I was not the one who was suffering. Not the one who would soon leave behind those I loved, the one who was scared. I was there to comfort, to show compassion in whatever way I could. That was my only job, here within this small home. There was no room for anything else.
“How much longer do I have, Syra?”
With a sigh, I placed my hand over hers, still atop my knee. The sickness was eating away at her, her fingers thin and so fragile beneath my comforting grip. “The Fever is unpredictable, but you already know that. It could be days, it could yet be another month or two. However, this rash,” I swallowed, my fingers hovered in the air above the reddened, welting skin of her arms, “is always an indication that it won’t be any longer than that.”
She seemingly melted back into her pillows, lips pinching with a cry I knew she held back. “My poor, poor girl.”
Another fracture in my heart.
Eyes trailing to the door her daughter had just left through, grief clouded in the depths as she spoke. “She knows I’m sick, knows of The Fever, but I’m not sure she trulyunderstands. Fenrir says we shouldn’t worry her with explaining it, that she’s too young to know such a terrible truth.” Her breath caught within her throat, guilt tightening her grip on my knee. “But what will she think once I’m gone? Once I’m no longer—”
Another wracking cough stole her words and I brought the water carefully to her lips once more, urging her to drink.
“In my experience, it is always best to explain it in a way that she canunderstand. She is young, but she is smart. You and Fenrir have raised her so well, Kerlina. Your daughter knows that she is loved, and cherished beyond measure.” Empathy coating my words, “Spend as much time as you possibly can with her. Speak to her of what is to come, prepare her for it—do not push her away for fear of what will happen. Some have found it therapeutic to write letters to those they care for, to lay their love out with ink and paper before The Fever takes them to the Kingdom of the Goddess.”
“A letter,” she mumbled softly, “yes, I will write each of them a letter.”
My fingers rubbed soothing circles upon her hand, feeling the heat beneath her skin begin to rise. I knew from the way her eyes roamed—twitching and hazy—that soon a bout of delirium would overtake her, as it always did when one’s temperature climbed too high. So far, Kerlina had been able to break through each one, but I could never be sure which would take a patient to the point of no return.
She mumbled incoherently as I poured the bright amber potion down her throat, taking extra care to make sure she didn’t choke on it.
