Firebrand

Lucky Clovers

Glunday passed without significance, and before Martel knew it, a fiveday had passed, leading him to his second lesson in the infirmary. If it could be called such, considering he did not seem to learn much, certainly not about magic; it felt more like his Solday duty of assisting Master Jerome.

Like last time, the nurses put Martel and the other novices to work with practical chores. Yet in between, the head nurse took the time to explain something about this or that patient, such as showing the students how to clean and dress a wound before assigning them another chore. In this manner, Martel oscillated between changing sheets and learning the basics of treating those in need of medical help.

Working his way from bed to bed, Martel reached the unresponsive patient whom he had once shared classes with. Just as it had been the case for the last several months, Gerard of Islemont lay with closed eyes, breathing so faintly one might have mistaken him for dead.

"Dreadful what happened to him." Sister Grace shook her head as she uncorked a potion and began to drip its contents carefully into his mouth.

One of the younger nurses, Sister Grace was easy-going and never scolded Martel for doing something wrong, but simply showed him how to do it right. Martel liked her. "Do they know what happened to him?"

"Not a clue, except some kind of magical attack. That's why he is being kept here rather than returned to his family. Besides us supplying the potions needed to keep him alive, Master Kelsos is the only one with a chance to understand what has happened to him."

"How do they know it's a magical attack?" Martel had heard of people who hit their head so hard, even if it did not kill them, it sent them to sleep from which they never woke.

Done with administering the potion, Sister Grace pulled the covers away from Gerard and lifted his nightshirt up. Above the heart, a mark could be seen on the skin. It did not look painted, but rather branded or cut with a knife. Martel had never seen anything like it. It consisted of a circle with some kind of swirling pattern inside, though he could not deduce any meaning from it.

"That is the mark of evil, I tell you," the nurse declared solemnly before pulling the cover back over the unconscious Gerard.

~

For once, the apothecary was empty, and Martel had to lock himself in. He found a note on the table detailing his labours for the bell; simple tasks that did not require supervision. After washing his hands, he began.

He had been at work for a while, humming and singing the few songs he knew, when the door slammed open. Startled, he swung around with a chopping knife in his hand, but relaxed as he recognised Mistress Rana. She had bags under her eyes, and her hair looked frazzled. A strange sickle hung from her belt, and in one hand, she held a herbalist's pouch, which she emptied into a clean bowl. Craning his neck, Martel noticed several red clovers.

"You found them!"

"Of course I did."

"Do you want me to dry them out?"

"And have you ruin my hard work? Stick to your own tasks," she snapped. "These are far too delicate."

His head hanging low, Martel did as told. "Lucky that such a rare plant could be found so close to the school," he muttered.

Mistress Rana gave an unexpected laughter. "Yesterday, boy, these were ordinary, green clovers. Luck has nothing to do with it."

Arresting his chopping motion, Martel looked at the decidedly crimson-coloured clovers in the bowl. "So how do they become red?"

"You harvest them at night during the right conditions using a bronze sickle."

"When Perel is ascendant," Martel mumbled.

She ceased her work plucking the leaves from the stalks and gave him a scrutinising gaze. "That's right. But not enough. The herbalist must draw the magic from the plants in order for the effect to take hold. And not all clovers are equally useful for this. Took me half a night's walking to find some willing to cooperate."

"How do you draw magic from plants? And how do you know which ones are useful? Can you teach me?" he asked eagerly.

"I'll teach you when you are ready to be taught," she barked at him. "Now see to your work!"

~

For the evening meal, Martel chose a solitary seat in the corner of the dining hall, just like at the other meals. He still felt unfairly treated by Maximilian the other day, and until the mageknight saw fit to rectify matters, Martel saw no reason for doing so either. And when he sensed someone approach, it was not the young viscount, but Martel's other friend.

Eleanor sat down with a smile, carrying her own meal. "Just curious, did you tell Mistress Rana about the recipe?"

"Oh yes! She's already begun preparations, she went out and got the rarer herbs last night, and I imagine she has everything else already."

"I am guessing everything's ready, then," she remarked.

"It should be ready in a couple of days. We could dry them faster with magic, of course, but Mistress Rana seemed reluctant to do so. I guess because it is such a rare ingredient, or maybe because it has magic in it already."

"I will be most curious to find out whether it works as we hope. There is something thrilling about discovering old magic and finding a way to bring it back to life, even if it is just an elixir."

"I wouldn't say 'just' about alchemy," Martel protested, feeling a need to defend what might be his chosen profession.

Eleanor raised both her hands to indicate defeat. "Far be it from me to disparage other forms of magic," she admitted. "Enlighten me. Tell me of what you have learned under Mistress Rana's tutelage."

Happily, Martel prattled on.