Page 15 of The Source of Storms

Not far from the spring were the gardens, which were irrigated with spring water carried through pipes and ditches. She showed me the chicken coop, the cold storage, and another tool and supply storage shed. Everything was tidy, everything had its place. It would have been a lot to maintain on one’s own, even though it was small. I wondered if she had always been here alone, or if she was widowed, but I did not ask.

That evening after dinner I wrote a letter to my mother. I did not tell her exactly where I was, just that I had found a place near Skeioholm with a kind woman and was earning my keep on her steading. I told her not to worry, that I was healthy and safe. I did not mention the nuckelavee or my injury, nor when I might return.

I had no intention of returning. Not for a long time.

∞∞∞

The first week at Eilith’s passed in a groggy blur. I slept ten hours a night, and sometimes napped during the day. I felt useless with my lack of energy, like a bad house guest, in those early weeks. Yet even though I was weak, foggy, and stupid most of the time, Eilith was determined that I would earn my keep and her healing services in what small ways I could.

The first thing she taught me was the recipe for the tincture that I was taking three times a day. I had burned through the last stores of it in the first few days, and as it was winter, all the ingredients needed were already cut and dried from the previous season. The main ingredient was lion’s mane mushroom, which was combined with roasted chaga fungus, St. John’s wort, sage, and rosemary. Eilith showed me the amount to weigh of each, although she had to remind me every time I made it because my injured brain could not retain the information. We then combined it with strong distilled grain alcohol.

Next, she taught me how to make the salve she had been spreading on Anam’s wounds. This one was easier, and consisted of mostly dried yarrow with calendula flower and honey. I was surprised by how much honey was used, but Eilith explained that she kept the bees herself, and they always provided enough.

I discovered she had not been exaggerating on my first trip to the cold storage. The hillock it was in was not a natural hill, but an old earthen dwelling left behind by people long passed. Flat limestone plates had been stacked and fit snugly together to frame the doorways and make the outer wall, with a dome of earth capping the top. The doors faced south, away from thecold north winds, and the structure curved into a semi-circle. It would have made a cozy communal living space, with a flat area for a fire pit in front. I ducked through the squat doorway and stepped down into the dark.

The ancient dwelling turned cold storage was filled with earthenware jugs and glass jars of all sizes: Jars and pots of honey, jams, and preserved fruit; jerky; dried fish; and barrels of salted meats. My concern over eating all of her winter stores eased as I surveyed the shelves for what I needed. There was enough here for us both for two winters at least.

After a few days of rest and heavy applications of Eilith’s healing salve, Anam’s wound began to heal. He started to eat again, much to my relief, and his vitality slowly returned. I took him for gentle walks around the steading as his energy increased. He was a bit stiff in the hind legs, but walked without too much effort.

As both Anam and I recovered from our injuries, I fell into a routine. In the mornings I would work around the steading, helping Eilith with chores and preparing any medicaments she deigned to teach me. In the afternoon, I’d take Anam on a short walk before making dinner.

Eilith was a peculiar woman. Kind, knowledgeable, and particular, but with eccentricities I did not immediately understand. Sometimes I would see her crouched in the snow, a pail of oats or fresh goat milk beside her, as if she had just stopped while walking between chores. She’d stay there, eyes closed, bare hands plunged into the snow. Then she’d stand, brush her hands off on her coat, and go on with her day.

She was organized and strict in her systems, a quality that made me feel inept at first but which I learned to appreciate. If things weren’t done a certain way––her way––she would either redo them herself or, more often, tell me to do them again, with no extra words of reassurance to spare my feelings. Somedays it annoyed me greatly, especially in the early weeks of our friendship. I took her corrections as personal admonishments.

Usually though, I would complete a task her way and see there was a purpose behind her instruction, whether that purpose was efficiency, organization, or something I could not identify immediately. Sometimes, the deeper purpose was simply to benefit me, even if it was not clear right away. These lessons were always the most annoying.

Early in my days of learning her recipes, Eilith walked me through the steps patiently, reminding me over and over when I forgot the amounts and ingredients. She saw my frustration with my slow, muddled thoughts as my brain recovered.

But, after some time, she quit helping me. She’d bark a list of tasks from across the room and leave, expecting to come back and find them done. Then she’d scold me if I’d done them wrong or forgotten a task she’d asked me to complete. Several times, I cried with frustration at my own inadequacy, my own helplessness.

I began to rely on writing out lists and recipes. But after a few days of this, Eilith rattled off a list of ingredients for something I had not yet made. I began to scribble it down and she slapped the lead from my hands.

“Memorize it, Halja! No writing.”

I stormed away in frustration, knowing she had set me up to fail, confused that a woman kind enough to house and heal a stranger could be so needlessly cruel. And, sure enough, I forgot the recipe and had to tromp out into the snow to find her and ask for it again. After it happened more than once, I began to resent her for it. Was it fun for her to watch me struggle? Was she just toying with me? It felt callous and cold.

Yet, slowly, my cognitive abilities began to improve. I memorized shorter, simpler recipes. I completed tasks withoutforgetting what I was doing halfway through. My mistakes became less frequent.

One night, I was finishing a new tincture she had dictated to me. I had just strained the last of it, squeezing the remaining yellow-brown juices from the cheesecloth into a bottle when Eilith paused in her preparations of dinner to check my progress. I watched her in anticipation, my fragile ego on the edge of shattering. I did not want to cry in front of her again.

She tasted the tincture and smiled. “Good,” she said. “Now you couldn’t have done that three weeks ago, could you?”

She smiled knowingly at me, and I realized she had been training me. She had been putting my brain through paces, making it work, getting it back in shape after the injury. In the same way I was exercising Anam to stretch his scar tissue and rebuild his muscle tone, she was making me use my injured mind. Just as everything had its place, every task had its purpose.

I thought of how much I had learned in my first weeks here. How many healing tinctures and infusions I could make that I had never known existed before. How I appreciated Eilith’s guidance. Her corrections may be direct, yes, but they were never harsh, never judgmental. She was just as committed to teaching me as I was to learning, even though I was a total stranger. A half thawed, fae-touched ice block that had just appeared on her doorstep one day.

“Eilith, can I ask you something?” I ventured as she corked the bottle and swirled the contents.

“I’ve always disliked when people say that. Just ask, Halja. And if I don’t want to answer, I won’t.”

“I feel like I ended up here for a reason. I don’t think it was chance that Byrgir found me and brought me to you.”

“There’s no such thing as a coincidence,” Eilith nodded in agreement. “But that wasn’t a question.”

“I like learning from you, being here. Can I… Can I stay and be your apprentice?”

“What did you think you’d been doing?”

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