Page 15 of These Immortal Truths
It’s infinitely better than being labeled a leper.
Even Elizabeth, who spent countless hours training her in midwifery, never seemed interested in her friendship. She does her duty, teaches her with a patience that is both short and sharp. The older woman only lives six more months. Enough time for Anna to feel regret over her passing, but not sadness. It’s almost a relief—being alone. She only has herself to worry over and no one to mourn when the time comes to leave.
She only stays in that tiny town for six years. Enough time to feel settled, but not enough for anyone to notice the way her skin never ages and her hair never grays. Short enough for her acquaintances to never bloom into friendships. It’s better that way. Easier.
When she picks up and moves on, she never feels like she’s leaving anyone behind.
CHAPTER FIVE
She’s filthy, the stench of her as violent as the people in streets. For a moment, he is certain he has damned her to an eternity of bitterness—believes that whatever light he saw in her was too fragile to survive the realities of the world. Then she asks him about a floating city, and he decides there’s still hope for her yet.
NORWICH
1272
She doesn’t dare offer treatment the way Eira did—it draws too much suspicion from all the wrong people. Herbalists are treated with more suspicion than not, and Anna knows being a woman is only going to make her more likely to receive accusations of witchcraft than customers. She travels as a midwife, instead.
It’s a good fit.
The work is never ending, and it’s one of the few thingsthat grants her pay and a moderate amount of respect in a world otherwise dominated by men. It allows her to heal, to help. And when her mothers go into labor, she keeps the rooms dim and the candles lit low, and no one sees the patches decorating the skin of her arms when she rolls up her sleeves.
She enjoys the work, despite the bad days. Stillbirths are hard; losing the mothers is harder. Even when she knows she’s followed Eira and Elizabeth’s teachings, when she’s utilized every bit of reading Khiran has provided her and employed knowledge that went beyond even the most seasoned midwives, she still feels the sting of guilt for every life lost. She knows Eira would scold her for it, and sometimes Anna whispers her words to herself when the world is dark and quiet.
“Not everyone can be saved.”
A reminder, a mantra, to get her through to her next healthy birth. Soothe her until she hears that screaming wail of success. Right now, a reminder doesn’t feel like enough. She could shout the words from the highest of rooftops, and it still wouldn’t soothe the ache over her heart.
It’s been a week full of loss. Mrs. Pritcher went into labor far too early, the child unable to live outside the comforts of her womb. Mrs. Kelly around the corner, belly large with what Anna suspected to be twins, fell to dysentery before the children could be brought into the world. It’s almost enough to distract her from the tension that’s been settling over the streets of Norwich.
It’s been there since she arrived, a subtle prick along her senses. Annoyingly persistent and impossible to ignore, but so far more irritating than harmful. Like a pebble in her shoe, it’s slowly worn her down enough that she’s learned to look past it.
Still, it feels sharper lately. Less like a pebble and more like a spear point—edged and ready to draw blood. Anna’s gaze flits over the market stalls but finds nothing amiss. The street is as busy as any other day; the merchants peddling their wares as usual. She can find no reason to warrant the sudden, inexplicable feeling that something is about to break.
“Are you well?”
She starts, turning toward the accented voice and relaxing when she sees the concern on the merchant’s sun-worn face. His dark hair and beard is peppered with gray. “I am. Apologies, I didn’t mean to block your stall.”
He stands, gesturing for her to come inside. “Please Signora, take a seat. You look troubled. Rest your feet and ease your mind.”
She shouldn’t, but there’s something friendly in the creases around his eyes—a rare kindness she finds soothing. Still, she hesitates. “I don’t want to cause you trouble,” she says.
He scoffs, waving a hand as if he could physically shoo away the thought. “Bah, what trouble can there be entertaining such a pretty woman like yourself?”
Anna flushes, her free hand clutching at her collar to reassure herself that it remains fastened. He wouldn’t say so if he knew what she was hiding, she knows, but for just a moment she allows herself to pretend his words are true. She smiles, ducking her head. “You’re certain?”
“I would be delighted.” The smile in his brown eyes convinces her that he means it. “I am Marco.”
“Anna.”
“Ah, a lovely name for a lovely woman. It is a pleasure.”
She sits on the stool and lets her eyes wander over his wares. It’s clear that she is not his ideal customer. There’s linens and silks dyed in colors she hasn’t seen—blues so deep they rival the evening sky. She knows better than to waste his time asking for a price, no matter how beautiful she finds the fine fabrics. Instead, she asks, “Where do you hail from?” His accent is unfamiliar to her.
He sits across from her on an overturned bucket, the curve of his mouth turning wistful. “From the most beautiful city in the world.” It’s a bold claim, but he doesn’t seem ashamed. “These eyes have seen many a town and city, but none of them can compare to The Floating City.” He shrugs, a teasing light in his eyes. “Of course, it helps that these old eyes have gone so long since seeing home.”
Home. A word she knows but hasn’t felt in so long. “The Floating City?”
“Venice,” he says, as if the name itself holds part of his heart. “Where there are more canals than streets, and the homes seem to float on the water.” He sighs, leaning back with his hands on his knees. “It is truly a sight to behold.”
