1. The Praecant
I stooped over the shivering, groaning form of the slight woman laying in the bed before me. The herbs were not enough; her fever was not breaking. I wiped the sweat from her brow with a cool cloth before standing upright and glancing around nervously. Magic was not permitted outside the King's court, but if I didn't do something, the woman might die. /And if you're caught,/ I thought to myself grimly, /you surely will./
The villagers knew me as an herbalist and a healer; both of these were true enough, but none knew the secret behind my high success rate. A few of the more wary souls had their suspicions, yet lacking solid proof, they still turned to me in their times of dire need. As was the case with Amina--the frail, middle-aged woman in front of me now. Her husband, Jarrod, typically gave me a wide berth in the village square, and more than once I had caught him casting a sideways glare my way as he muttered bitterly under his breath. However, when Amina fell ill and none of the alchemists had answers, Jarrod's frantic knocks had awoken me in the early morning hours, pleading with me to save his wife.
As the flushed Amina tossed and turned beneath the covers, I weighed my options once more. /Options--ha! Good one, Lynarra./ I couldn't very well let this woman die and leave three young children behind to be raised motherless. I knew all too well the pain that came with growing up in a home devoid of motherly love. Besides, despite Jarrod's attitude towards me, Amina had shown nothing but kindness. So it is to be risking my own neck...once again.
I quickly crossed the small, dimly lit bedroom and closed the rickety wood plank door. Returning to Amina's side, I rifled through the worn leather satchel containing my herbs. There it was--at the bottom, hidden beneath a bundle of dried wolfsbane--a tiny, stoppered bottle containing the light blue tincture which would allow me to pull this woman back from death's door. Having drained the bottle into my mouth, I turned my attention back to Amina as I felt new energy warming my bones. The magic would come from me, but the tincture would ensure I had the strength to perform the incantations without draining too much of myself and fainting in the process.
"Bruhaji swegthir plotara…" I whispered as quietly as I could, willing the magic to flow from me and heal whatever malady threatened to steal this kind woman away from the land of the living. I passed my hands across the length of her body, hovering just above it, until I no longer felt my energy seeping away. Sinking into a nearby chair, I rested my chin on my hands and stared at her, waiting. I had done all I could. /Gods willing, the magic will be enough./ As I watched, Amina's color slowly returned to normal. Her breathing became more regular and less ragged. The uneasy writhing of her limbs calmed. /Yes./ I smiled wearily. She would live to see another day.
Just then, the door burst open to reveal the surly figure of Jarrod, eyeing me with a slight madness. "So it's true after all," he exclaimed with a mixture of fear and disgust. "You are what I suspected. A praecant...a...a witch." A glint of metal caught my eye and I just had time to register the knife in his trembling hand before he was lunging across the room towards me.