Ch. 172 The Work of Waking

Chapter 172: The Work of Waking

Brother Oren’s letter arrived with a parcel of apple cuttings.

The gardener took the parcel.

Mary took the letter.

I was permitted to carry the string.

“Useful morning,” Evelyn said as we crossed the yard.

“I have been trusted with something.”

She glanced at my hands.

“Try not to lose it.”

The cuttings were slender, bare, and considerably less impressive than the tree I had imagined.

Aurelia stood beside the potting bench while the gardener unwrapped them.

He examined each one.

Then read the note tucked inside the cloth.

“Good,” he said.

That appeared to settle their prospects for the present.

Aurelia touched one lightly.

“From the tree beside her grave?”

He nodded.

“Brother Oren says the branch was growing toward the path. It needed shortening.”

She smiled at that.

I thought Aveth might have approved of being remembered through something that also saved people being struck in the face.

We left the gardener to his work.

Mary waited outside.

Oren had written three pages.

Thesra had come to Lethmere.

She had spoken to him and both attendants.

She had told them that her silence had been deliberate.

Oren reported this in the same hand he used to describe lamp oil and damaged shutters.

Then came a sentence he had crossed out.

He had rewritten it beneath.

I was pleased to hear her voice. I was angry once I understood what she had used it to say.

Aurelia read that part twice.

Evelyn sat beside her.

Neither spoke.

There were records.

Not all the records Thesra had promised, but enough to begin.

Several houses had once used a deeper form of enchanted sleep for patients in severe pain.

In some, the working had been dismantled.

In others, its use had faded as keepers died and their successors learned different methods.

Three houses still appeared in recent accounts.

Oren had written to two.

The third lay outside Westmere.

He had already received an answer.

Mary laid the final sheet on the table.

“There is a woman there who has been asking to wake.”

I looked at her.

“How long?”

“The keeper’s letter says she becomes distressed whenever they reduce the working. They restore it.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“No,” Mary said. “It wasn’t answered.”

Aurelia put the papers down.

For a moment, I expected her to stand.

Instead, she looked at Evelyn.

“We need Ilyen.”

My wife nodded.

“And someone who knows how she was before they began,” Aurelia added.

Mary drew the letter back toward her.

“I’ll ask for that too.”

I looked at the names on the page.

The house was called Willow Court.

The patient was called Mara Fenwick.

There was a daughter.

A brother.

An injured back.

Beyond that, we knew very little.

It was enough to make waiting difficult.

It was not enough to make us ready.

Ilyen read the letter standing beside the infirmary window.

Then she read it again.

“Sleep may have spared her pain,” she said. “It may also have hidden what needs tending.”

“Can you come?” Evelyn asked.

“Yes.”

Aurelia looked toward the beds behind her.

Ilyen noticed.

“Nessa can manage here for a day. Soren will stay.”

There was no argument.

Before supper, Mary had arranged a carriage from Westmere’s gate and sent notice ahead.

We would leave in the morning.

Thesra was asked to meet us there with the instructions for the working.

Aurelia wrote that message herself.

Willow Court had blue shutters.

One hung crookedly.

Smoke rose from two chimneys, and someone had cleared the front steps before our carriage arrived.

It looked like a place where people were cared for.

That unsettled me more than a locked door would have.

A woman in a wool shawl waited beneath the porch.

She introduced herself as Keeper Selwin.

Then she looked at Aurelia and forgot the rest of what she had intended to say.

Ilyen stepped forward.

“Where is Mara?”

Selwin led us inside.

Mara’s daughter stood beside the bed.

She was perhaps twenty.

A patch on her sleeve had been sewn with thread that did not match.

“My name is Anwen,” she said.

I gave her mine.

She nodded as though kings visiting sleeping rooms had become a minor concern.

“How long has she been like this?” Ilyen asked.

“Since late summer.”

Aurelia looked toward the little brass vessel beside the bed.

A fine strand of light ran from it beneath Mara’s pillow.

Evelyn remained near the door while Ilyen approached.

“Did she agree to it?” my wife asked.

Anwen nodded.

“For a night.”

Her mother had fallen from a cart.

At first, the sleep had allowed her to rest through the worst pain.

Then there had been another night.

And another.

When they tried to wake her fully, she cried out.

Her brother had asked the keeper to let her sleep again.

Anwen had agreed.

She said that before anyone asked.

“I thought it meant she was getting worse.”

Ilyen examined Mara’s hands, then carefully drew back the blanket.

Anwen watched her face.

“I used to come after work,” she said. “Now I come before as well.”

“Does she speak?” Evelyn asked.

“Sometimes.”

“What does she say?”

Anwen looked at her mother.

“She asks me to open the curtains.”

The curtains were closed.

I crossed the room.

“May I?”

Anwen nodded.

I drew them apart.

Grey daylight entered.

The room was ordinary.

A washstand.

A chair with a worn cushion.

A little shelf holding folded clothes and a chipped green cup.

On the bed, Mara’s eyelids moved.

Her daughter leaned closer.

“Mother?”

There was no answer.

But one hand shifted against the blanket.

Thesra arrived while Ilyen was examining the old injury.

She stopped when she saw Aurelia.

Our teacher stood on the far side of the bed.

“There,” Aurelia said, indicating the vessel.

Thesra approached it.

She did not touch anything.

“This is one of mine.”

“Can it be ended gently?”

“Yes.”

Ilyen looked up.

“Then you’ll wait until I tell you we’re ready.”

Thesra bowed her head.

“I will.”

Aurelia watched her.

Then turned her attention back to Mara.

We moved the bed nearer the light.

I held its weight while Selwin adjusted the legs and Anwen gathered the things beneath it.

There were shoes.

A covered basket.

A mending bag.

Anwen took that last item into her lap.

“She’ll ask for this.”

“Today?” I asked.

“Probably.”

For the first time, she smiled.

Then the smile disappeared.

“What if she hates us?”

I had no good answer.

Evelyn sat beside her.

“You can tell her why you were frightened.”

“That won’t give her the months back.”

“No,” my wife said.

Anwen gripped the bag.

Evelyn stayed beside her.

Ilyen spoke to the keeper in the passage.

I heard only parts.

How often Mara had been moved.

What she had eaten when partly awake.

Whether anyone had examined the places where lying still had hurt her.

Selwin answered quietly.

Once, she began explaining how short-handed they had been.

Then stopped herself.

Ilyen did not raise her voice.

When they returned, she gave everyone something to do.

Fresh water.

Clean linen.

A cushion beneath one knee.

She asked Anwen to remain where her mother could see her.

Then she looked at Thesra.

“Begin slowly.”

The light beneath the pillow thinned.

Mara’s breathing changed.

Her fingers curled.

Anwen took her hand.

“Mother. I’m here.”

The woman moved her head.

A sound caught in her throat.

Thesra’s hand rose toward the vessel.

“Wait,” Ilyen said.

“She is in pain.”

“Yes. I’m attending to it.”

Evelyn stood beside Ilyen, holding a basin.

Aurelia watched the fading strand.

I stood at the foot of the bed and discovered how little there was for strength to accomplish in that room.

Mara opened her eyes.

At first, they did not settle on anything.

Then she saw Anwen.

Her face tightened.

“Where—”

“Willow Court.”

Mara swallowed.

Ilyen helped her take a little water.

Her gaze moved toward the window.

“The leaves.”

Nobody answered at once.

Outside, bare branches stirred above the garden wall.

Anwen bent her head.

“It’s winter, Mother.”

Mara stared at the window.

Then back at her daughter.

“No.”

Anwen began to cry.

We waited while Mara understood as much as she could bear.

She asked for her brother.

He was away buying wool.

She asked about the house.

Anwen had kept it.

She asked the date twice.

Then she closed her eyes.

Thesra shifted beside the vessel.

Mara’s hand tightened around Anwen’s.

“Don’t.”

Aurelia spoke from the other side of the bed.

“We heard you.”

Mara opened her eyes again.

She looked at Aurelia for a long moment.

Then nodded.

The rest took most of the afternoon.

There was pain.

There was anger.

Once, Mara told everyone to leave.

Ilyen asked whether that included Anwen.

Mara said no.

So we went into the passage.

Selwin stood against the wall, holding the fresh linen she had forgotten to put down.

Thesra remained near the doorway.

Aurelia moved farther along to a small window.

I joined her.

Below us, someone was carrying ashes toward the garden.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

She kept watching the path.

“I would like to be somewhere else.”

“We can leave.”

“Soon.”

I waited beside her.

After a while, she added, “I’m glad she said it.”

“So am I.”

Before we left, Ilyen arranged for Mara to have regular help moving and eating, and for a healer from Westmere to examine her again the next morning.

The keeper wrote everything down.

Thesra emptied the vessel of its remaining light.

Eleanor would be able to examine the metal later.

There would be no need for Mara to keep it beside her bed.

When Selwin carried it toward the door, Mara watched every step.

Then she looked at Anwen.

“My green cup.”

“It’s here.”

“I can see that. Bring it here.”

Anwen gave a small, startled laugh.

She brought the cup.

Aurelia went back into the room before we departed.

I remained by the open door.

Mara looked at her.

“You know her.”

It was not a question.

“Yes,” Aurelia said.

“She said the dreams would help.”

“They may have helped you rest at first.”

“I wanted to come home.”

Aurelia sat beside the bed.

“I know.”

Mara studied her face.

This time, the words seemed to reach her.

She looked toward the window.

“I don’t know what to do now.”

“Neither did I.”

“What did you do?”

Aurelia glanced toward the passage, where Evelyn stood beside me.

“I let some people stay.”

We reached Greykeep after dark.

Ilyen went straight to the infirmary.

Evelyn followed her to check on the farm patient before coming upstairs.

Aurelia and I walked together as far as her door.

She rested her hand on the latch.

“I won’t come to supper.”

“Shall I ask someone to bring a tray?”

“Yes, please.”

I nodded.

Then she looked down the passage toward the nursery.

“Are they awake?”

“I expect so.”

“Perhaps I’ll sit with them first.”

Carol had filled a basket with wooden rings and a cloth fish.

She emptied it when Aurelia sat down.

Then placed the fish in her lap.

Our teacher picked it up.

One crooked eye stared toward the ceiling.

“Thank you.”

Carol reached for it again.

Aurelia returned it.

This continued for some time.

I sat nearby, unlacing my boots.

When Evelyn arrived, she paused in the doorway.

Then she came to sit beside us.

Nobody asked Aurelia to tell the story of the day.

For a while, our daughter kept handing her something soft, and Aurelia kept giving it back.