Chapter 2. The healer's disciple

Richard woke up early. He lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling, remembering today's dreams. But I couldn't remember anything. It was as if someone had taken everything and erased it from his memory, although there was still a feeling about the adventures and travels that he had dreamed about that night.

"I've been dreaming... that's all. And my dreams will never come true."

He got up and dressed. Why cling to some visions? And he has a lot of work ahead of him.

Stretching, the young man moved to the window, pulled back the curtain, and looked around: the morning had turned gloomy, with a silvery fog that had descended from the mountains and enveloped everything around him, like water creeping down the valley. The sun's rays could not break through this veil, which stood quite high, so everything around the house was gray-gray. But a cloudy day could not spoil Richard's mood.

He went to the basin of water to finally drive away sleep with moisture and coolness. The silvery surface, before splashing under his palms, showed the guy his face: a shock of hair—just a flash in the autumn foliage, smoky quartz of attentive eyes, a soft curve of a smile, and eyebrows—ears of wheat.

He had just turned seventeen, so he didn't have a thick beard or a lot of prickly stubble. The reflection reminded the guy that he looked like his mother and father at the same time, something transitional from youth to adulthood. Well, time will tell what kind of beard he will be able to show off someday. Before the water could tell him anything else, Richard rinsed his face and left his room, heading for the kitchen.

There's plenty to do. The guy agreed to a job in Bertleben. His occupation is not very interesting, it would seem boring to many, but it will come in handy in life, and he liked this craft.

They lived near a small town where nothing fascinating ever happened. So, he didn't complain.

The most important events that happened in Bertleben were as follows: the harvest, the opening of the fair, or a quarrel between a blacksmith and a tailor. However, once he saw wolves that approached the outskirts of the town. Such events have not been forgotten for months. They became a kind of legend, overgrown with various inventions and myths. In addition to gossip and tales, people also liked to listen to the stories of merchants and travelers who arrived from afar, but for some reason, they began to visit Bertleben less and less often.

"But spring has come, so soon the merchants will visit our town," Richard told himself, impatiently waiting for this to happen.

After all, merchants who have traveled a long way will bring with them not only a variety of goods but also new stories. Thinking about this, the young man quickly descended the stairs.

"Good morning, Mother!" Richard exclaimed happily, coming into the kitchen. Of all the rooms in their house, he liked to be here the most, in a place where the fragrant smells of herbs and food were floating, and a fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and his family gathered at a large table.

"And where is everyone?" he asked. There was no one downstairs but just his mother.

"Your father and Aurora have already left," an elegant woman with long blonde hair said as she turned around from cooking breakfast. "And Veya is at home, in her room."

"Not anymore!" a girl with delicate features appeared next to Richard, and attentive blue eyes with a squint of enthusiasm looked at him. Her hair fluttered like the wings of a field grouse, and she sat down on a chair. This is his cousin, Veya. She's three years younger than he is. Girls at her age are a nightmare!

"Well, you're a dormouse!" Veya exclaimed. "I thought you wouldn't wake up at all. I already wanted to go to Bertleben alone."

"I'm not a dormouse!" the guy objected, sitting down at a large wooden table next to her. "And if you're in such a hurry, then go without me!"

Veya didn't say anything but just gave him a piercing and withering gaze. Richard, pleased that he had angered his sister a little, leaned back in his chair.

"Aren't you going to eat?" he asked his cousin, pulling a plate of porridge and bread toward him.

"While you were sleeping, I could have had breakfast ten times!" the girl replied sarcastically.

"If you eat ten times, you will soon fall from the second floor right into the kitchen," he muttered, bending over the plate.

"Very witty! And if you sleep for so long, you'll oversleep everything in the world!"

"Well, that's the way life is here," shrugged the guy. "I don't think I'll miss something important."

"It's enough to bicker," the woman said, sitting down between them. "Stop this verbal fighting!"

"Yes, yes. Indeed. Done. We are not quarreling at all, Aunt Eva," Veya smiled at everyone. "It's not serious!"

Although there were often verbal altercations between them, they were very friendly, even more than brothers and sisters by blood. In general, where did the idea that brothers and sisters should adore each other come from? Sometimes it happens quite the opposite. To look at Leonard and Aurora at least... Yeah!

Richard had a quick breakfast, then, together with Veya, helped to clear the table, threw everything he needed into a bag, and headed for the door, throwing a raincoat over his shoulders. Veya picked up a basket woven from willow twigs and followed him.

"Come back for lunch!" Eva said behind their backs.

"Good!" Richard and Veya responded, going out into the courtyard.

They breathed in the fresh, cold air. The whole sky was covered with gray clouds.

The sun, which had managed to rise above the horizon, resembled the moon: because it shone from behind a gray cloud that did not allow its rays to touch the spring earth.

"It looks like it's going to rain today," Veya said gloomily.

"Then let's hurry. It would be inconvenient if bad weather caught us on the way," the brother nodded.

Wrapped in their cloaks, they set off along the road leading to the town of Bertleben. It's a little more than three miles from their house to the city, it's not a long walk, but you can get wet if it rains from heaven.

Clouds of steam flew out of their mouths, still quite cool for a spring day. Richard was used to such weather changes; a cold wind often descended from the mountains into the valley where the town was located, bringing with it rain or snow clouds. Snow has already fallen three times this spring.

"You know," Veya said. "I'm worried about my mother."

"What's wrong with her?" he asked, although he guessed what the matter was. Lately, Aunt Aurora was even sadder and did not differ in her talkativeness.

"I think it's all because of my father, who is the reason for it. After all, he hasn't appeared for three years!" the cousin replied. There was sadness in her voice. "Yes, and I miss him too..."

Veya's father had traveled a lot before, but one day he left Bertleben, and since then there has been no word from him. Where he went, none of them knew.

"He's fine, he just probably can't come back," Richard reassured his sister. He added, hugging Veya. "Don't worry, he may not come today, but we'll see him tomorrow."

"Thank you. Your words made me feel a little better," Veya whispered. "Just don't tell Mom about our conversation."

"Agreed."

And they continued on their way, chatting about all sorts of trifles to distract themselves from gloomy thoughts.

To the left and right of the high road along which the brother and sister were walking, fields and meadows lay in colorful patches. Farmers were already preparing for spring sowing. A little further away, the forest was visible.

Very soon, the first houses appeared. The chimneys smoked pleasantly. There was a pleasant aroma of firewood, pastries, and smoked meat in the air. Bertleben had already awakened, and its inhabitants were preparing to welcome the new day.

Merchants opened shops and laid out goods on the counters, and women hung laundry on ropes. Carts passed along the road, and shepherds drove their flocks to the meadows.

"I need to go to the market and see girls," Veya said. "See you again!" she waved her hand and disappeared around the corner of a shop.

Richard's path lay in a completely different direction. With a quick step, greeting acquaintances, he reached almost to the outskirts and stopped at a strange-looking shop. Its window was filled with bunches of a wide variety of herbs, dried mushrooms, and colored glass flasks.

A healer named Ilda lived here. Their city was too small for a doctor to settle in it or an entire hospital to be organized, so Ilda Nordwood had to deal with the health of the residents. And only in the most difficult cases, which have never happened here, of course, a doctor from the capital district could arrive.

The guy pushed open the door and found himself inside. At first, he was greeted by darkness and stuffiness. Shelves filled with various powders and bottles, as well as mortars, retorts, and other tools for the preparation of medicines, hung on the walls. He went further, to where it was freer, and the light of the lamps was brighter.

Behind a large counter sat a young woman with more than rounded figures, but outwardly pleasant without excess fullness, and her wavy red hair was disheveled as if she was running a dozen fingers through it now and then. Oh, no, it's not like she did. There were thick books in front of her. She was writing something out of them, moving her eyebrows and lips, and putting down her pen, she was mechanically pulling her hair.

"Good morning, Ilda!" Richard approached, greeting.

"Who said it must be good—" the woman drawled, looking up from her business for one second. She was looking at the young man from behind a wall of books. "Today is just a disgusting day!"

"Why is that?" he asked.

"For the preparation of one drug, I needed sunlight, I spent so much time and effort, and it was today that clouds covered the whole sky!" Ilda explained, waving her hands.

"It's a pity that it happened," the young man said sympathetically.

"Well, don't worry, we have a lot of work to do today. The jarhi are with it, with this medicine! I'll make another one later," Ilda was already smiling. "Now follow me."

Together they went to the next room, the assistant's room, as Ilda called it, with the air not so stale, but still smelling because of the presence of various natural and chemical ingredients.

Everything has already been arranged with care and not in such vast quantities. Nothing superfluous—a table, two simple chairs without backs, and cabinets with glass, where ready-made forms of medicine were stored.

Having settled down at the table, they began to cut roots for further drying, prepare powders by crushing already dried raw materials, crushed fresh leaves and stems in heavy mortars to isolate their juice. And after they began to put everything ready together, they scattered the cures, poured, and even spread medicines in jars, vials, and cases.

The guy liked this activity, although it required diligence, attention, and a lot of knowledge. Ilda taught him a lot: how, for example, to recognize poisonous and medicinal plants, how to collect and store them, and most importantly, how to properly prepare medicinal drugs.

At first, Richard thought that there was nothing complicated about this case, but very soon he realized that he was very wrong. Some plants should have been harvested only at dawn, others at full moon, so that they did not lose their properties, and it took a lot of time to prepare medicines. And they haven't even touched all kinds of chemical compounds yet!

Immersed in his work, the healer's disciple did not notice that several hours had already flown by.

"Nice, we managed to do everything today!" Ilda clapped her hands, then counted the vials with ready-made tinctures and infusions, decoctions and extracts, powders and pastes, when they completed all the work for today.

"Yes, we managed," he agreed, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Here you go," the healer said, handing Richard several books. He looked at the spines, expecting to see medical work, but judging by the names, it turned out to be a romance. She walked over to the shelf and took a few small vials from it. The young man put everything in his bag.

"This is all for Granny Morag. Take five args from her, and keep the coins for yourself. This will be your salary."

"Got it," he nodded, intending to ask about the books, but didn't have time.

"And here is a list of herbs that you need to collect," Ilda handed him a scroll. "There was only one thing: you needed to do it at night."

He did not quite understand why he should cut herbs at night because he would carry them to Ilda in the morning in the light of the sun. And how will they differ, if they are plucked during the day? But there was a mystery here, something like superstition, or, rather, tradition. Well, you need it at night, so at night.

"Okay, I'll do it!"

Richard said goodbye to Ilda and left the shop.

Chapter 3. Thunderclouds

Granny Morag was not at home, and Richard had to wait for her. He was thinking about reading these books to pass the time somehow, but for some reason, it seemed to him like an empty idea, which he immediately dismissed.

Then, he wanted to leave everything on the doorstep, but then he would have to go to her for money another day. Since you've already come, do everything to the end.

Richard returned home later than he had expected. Aunt Aurora opened the door for him. Veya is an exact copy of her. His aunt has the same black hair, blue eyes, and delicate features, but her gaze is colder than the fiercest winter, and her beautiful face has acquired a shade of some kind of rigidity.

Aurora looked upset as if she had just cried, and her eyes were red.

"Hello, Richard," she said in a slightly hoarse voice. "Where did you stay so long? Everyone has already dined."

He greeted her and briefly explained that he had delivered the order, and there was a problem with that. Throwing off his raincoat, he and his aunt went to the kitchen.

Veya and Richard's parents had already finished their meal, and now they were just sitting, talking, and waiting for him.

"How are you, Son?" the father asked. He looked a little older than his years. He had a thick mane of brown hair and kind eyes.

"I'm fine, and everything is nice," the guy answered, and put his bag on the floor.

"It's a pity that you didn't come on time. Everything has already cooled down," his mother shook her head.

"Work is work, nothing can be done," Richard said, happily eating a slightly warm roast and a pie.

"I'm going into the forest tonight. So don't wait for me, I'll spend the night in our hut there."

"Mother, can I go with Richard?" Veya looked at her mother with a pleading look.

"No, you're still too young to wander through the forest at night!" Aurora snapped, looking sternly at her daughter.

"But Mom! Mom—" Veya resisted. "I'm not a child anymore!"

"Sister, nothing will happen if you let her go to the forest once," Leonard intervened. "The girl will understand: nothing is interesting there, and she won't ask for it anymore."

Aurora didn't answer him. A heavy and uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Leonard and his sister sat without looking at each other.

"I think I'll go to my room," Richard got up, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door.

"Wait, I'm with you!" Veya also jumped down from her seat and followed her brother.

"What's going on with them?" He asked as soon as he and his sister came out of the kitchen.

"I don't even know—" she shrugged. "When I came back, they must have already swayed and sat pouting."

Richard didn't like this disagreement that had settled in their house. After all, they have always lived amicably. What's going on?

Together with Veya, they went up to his room, which was furnished quite simply: in the corner, there was a large chest and a table littered with books and scrolls, a hanger was attached to the wall by the door, a bow and a quiver of arrows hung on one of the wooden hooks among the clothes. There were still wooden horses and soldiers on the shelves, some he had carved, others by his father and Eric. He no longer remembered when he even turned them in his hands. He had become too adult for such games, but he could not put them in a box.

"So you're not coming with me?" Richard collapsed onto his bed.

"I don't want to upset Mom, it's already hard for her without it."

"Well, then let's read something before I leave—" suggested her brother. "Granny Morag gave me a couple of books for Ilda, but she won't mind."

He took out several books of different sizes and in different covers from his bag.

"Yes, we need to distract ourselves a little—" Veya picked up a weighty volume in a slightly shabby black velvet. "Hmm, 'Heartfelt sorry'..." she muttered, opening the book and running through the pages, which she turned over with her thin fingers, it seemed in search of that very forgiveness from the title. "This should be interesting," she concluded, returning to the beginning.

"Or sad," Richard added, burying himself in another love novel with the title 'Violets smelled of the lilac.'

The heroes were expecting happiness at first, but it turned out to be a mirage. All these sufferings lasted for a good half of the composition, and then everyone was happy again, even more than before, and they lived for a long time. Where do you do without it? Especially from children's fairy tales, these very adult works did not differ.

He would have preferred books about seafarers or travelers, but Ilda and Granny Morag loved that. Merchants also loved what they all bought. This is what they are rich in. And many in Bertleben did not read at all, for reasons of lack of free time for such useless mental pleasures.

Richard and his cousin could read. There was nothing special about it, their parents too, but it was possible to catch them with a book in their hand, except before going to bed. It's more of a ritual for them. His father flipped through the same book for years, reading one page a day, sometimes even returning to a place that he must have forgotten. This book about life in the Foothills would be the envy of any other if the books were capable of feelings. It will never be put away on a shelf where it will gather dust, it will never be given away, and it will never end.

Before they went to school, Aunt Aurora taught them letters. And Eric just loved to read to them before going to bed. He, of course, as the young man later realized, added his own stories to the plots of fairy tales, but this did not interfere at all. When they learned to read by syllables and were only allowed to read, they took up a book of fairy tales and realized that something completely different was written there. Maybe that was the point? You just need to read a couple of lines, and then invent your own story.

The teaching of reading occupied all their studies at the Bertleben school from the age of ten to thirteen. They also mastered writing, counting, and other literacy. You don't need more for a farmer, but it's not enough for a healer.

Veya graduated from school a year ago, and this deliverance made her insanely happy. It's been four years since he graduated. It seemed to him that it was only yesterday, but time was spinning too fast.

It became quiet; only the steady breathing of the brother and sister could be heard. They both plunged into reading, forgetting about everything.

Books about love have their benefits. You can look at how the characters behave and learn from their mistakes. Unlikely, but it could come in handy. For example, if you invite Nora Berett for a walk, maybe there were answers to their other questions as well?

What was happening between their parents was very disturbing to Richard and Weya. But they decided not to interfere in these matters yet, believing that maybe everything would work out by itself.

"It's so strange—" Veya suddenly said, looking up.

"What do you think is strange?" her brother asked, putting down his book, in which one heroine, as it turned out, posed as a man, and a girl fell in love with her. He thought, 'happily ever after' in this case may not come. Deception is always revealed, and a 'Heartfelt sorry' may not be enough to make everything the same again.

"How do we sit together and read," replied the cousin. "I am so glad that I have a close person on whom I can rely, share my feelings and thoughts with him. Here they are the bonds of love and friendship!"

"Hmm, and who is this lucky guy?" Richard smiled. "Oh! Yes, I understand, I understand! Don't look at me like that!" he rolled his eyes. "Romance novels seem to have a bad effect on us, sis!"

"Oh, yes! But that's probably the point. Change yourself and say a heartfelt sorry to everyone, give them heartfelt love, and a heartfelt 'Get away from me, asshole!'"

"Even though you can be a pest, I love you with my whole heartfelt-sorry love!" he imitated a dozen air kisses, handing them out to Veya with both hands.

"Help me! I was overtaken by a wave of sudden brotherly love!" Veya laughed, answering him in kind. "Get a hurricane of kisses of my adoration!"

So they whiled away the time until the evening. Their parents did not bother them with housework, knowing that Richard would spend the night in the forest.

When it began to get dark, the guy started packing, and Veya helped him pack his things. He once again studied the list of plants and mushrooms necessary for Ilda and put them in a bag. He hung a knife on his belt and a quiver with arrows and a bow on his back.

Veya wished him good luck and went to her room with a book in her hand, intending to continue reading.

"See you tomorrow!" the guy went downstairs.

Just as he was about to light the lantern, a soft cry reached him.

"Aurora, stop thinking about him!" the father's voice rang out. His tone was assertive and biting, but very quiet, so as not to spread throughout the house. "That bastard left you! How can you not understand this?"

"Don't you dare say that! Eric may have died! And you, Leonard..."

"It's us bending our backs here, and he's having fun somewhere, not knowing the worries!"

Richard tried not to listen to them. He walked quickly to the door. Aurora and his father did not notice him; it was good that he did not light a fire. The brother and sister continued to hiss at each other like two cats. But, no matter how much he wanted to get it out of his head, every word sounded clearly in the evening silence.

"If you want, then I'll go after him..." Aurora sobbed when he jumped out of the door, carefully closing it behind him.

His heart was bleeding, but now he was also tormented by the fact that he had unwittingly witnessed this quarrel. It was as if he had entered the pages of Granny Morag's books.

But if in a book you can turn the pages to the very end and see the cherished words, then in life everything is different.

"Happily ever after," he almost shouted to himself as he walked away. "They lived happily ever after."

Deciding not to tell Veya about it, unless, of course, she heard everything herself, the young man walked through the courtyard into the purple twilight. Only when he had gone a considerable distance away, did he light his lamp, and not without trembling in his hands and almost dropping the matches. Then, without looking back, he ran toward the trees near their farm, which soon surrounded him from all sides.