The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Bêthberry]

Of course, not all the denizens of The White Horse fell upon the telling of this tale. For some, newly arrived, the hectic pace and sudden intrustion of fear, derring-do and fisticuffs, raised dire warnings. Odessa looked at her brother Faleron. This was what Ioreth had sent her here to learn! Healing! Healing! The sacred arts of care and nurture and the secret powers of plants against the wicked of this world. Odessa could not believe her apprenticeship had arrived so quickly. Moving away from the scene of the most recent arrival and action, she whispered to her brother.

"Faleron, I overheard them! I know what I can do! Come, come, Aunt Ioreth will be so pleased with us!"

Faleron for his part was loathe to remove himself from this tale of knuckle-busting and he frowned upon his sister's insistence, shaking his head and nodding his wish to remain. She refused to allow him that satisfaction, pulling upon his sleeve, and drawing him away, out towards the kitchen, stopping on the way to speak with Frodides, and then curtseying their withdrawal, moving quickly out the back door while the faithful cook's back was turned as she answered a call from Ruthven.

At the back, Odessa quickly sought the herb garden. She had often observed her Aunt Ioreth in the early morn in her herbarium and watched her actions. Odessa decided now to imitate those actions. Faleron protested but meekly, remembering the injunction laid upon him, and submitted to his sister's impetuous plans.

The two sought out the raised beds of the herb garden, the wattle fences of which could hide them if they slunk down amid the herbs and plants and shrubs. The sun had set, but what was that to such neophytes? No one had told them that the healing herbs must be harvested at sunrise, under oath of silence, and facing west, where shone the beams of the rising sun. Instead, the last flickering rays of the sunset skimmed their heads and pointed to the perfidious east.

Nor did either child really know the rituals of harvesting herbs. Neither bore silver blade nor iron blade and instead wacked and cut and slashed whatever plant Odessa could remember hearing about. Thus did they raise the ire of the natural world against the protections which Bethberry and Ruthven had called upon. The mort myre fungi in particular protested against their rough feet and the mandrake cried when stepped upon. The snape grass blew back and forth in the wind and whistled a silent news unheard by the two earnest but unfortunate youth.

"There," pronounced Odessa, as she tied into a bruised bundle a bunch of monkshood and snapdragon, wrapping it with nettle instead of blackberry vine. "We have made more amulets to ward off evil. Bethberry will be pleased with us!" Faleron was not so sure, for it had been he who had cut the stinging nettles, at the edge of the herb garden, and he had paid for his efforts. Angry red welts were appearing on his hands and arms.

The two snuck back into the kitchen, removed the small sliver of a knife which they had used to prop open the door, and, skirting around the room, made their way out towards the main hall unobserved. Where Bethberry and Ruthven had hung an amulet, they hung their own amulet, using hemp instead of red wool. Little did they imagine what their efforts could lead to.