Shadow Jasmine
Title: Shadow Jasmine
Written for brigits_flame , June 2010, week 1
Prompt: Jasmine, forever
Words: 1375
Warnings: brief mention of warts, in case that's a problem....
Shadow Jasmine
Alenvia closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Crushed forest grass, various plant saps and mouldy wood. Still no trace of the scent she was hoping for. Since she had entered the forest before sunrise, she had smelt nothing but these ordinary forest scents, occasionally mingling with a brief whiff of overripe berries or an animal that had used the trail shortly before.
Opening her eyes, Alenvia resumed her trek along the barely visible path through the forest. Sunlight filtered through the trees above, painting bright spots on the damp, leaf-covered ground. Although the sun would still climb for several more hours before reaching its highest point, the temperature was already rising steadily. It wouldn‘t be long before the rain that had fallen in the night would evaporate and make the air heavy with humidity.
It hadn’t been long since Alenvia had left the cool mountains with her small cart of herbs and other supplies for her second year as a helerim, a travelling healer. Still, she had little difficulties facing the hot, humid days in the Woodland. Alenvia assumed that her body still remembered how to deal with the climate from the childhood days she had spent there, although nobody would ever expect this, since she had the fair colouring of her mother‘s mountain kin.
As Alenvia crossed a small, gurgling stream, her sensitive nose finally detected the scent she had been searching for. Following the fragrance, she finally came to a tree trunk with dark green vines twined around it. Carefully, Alenvia examined the white flowers of the vines. A smile spread across her face when she saw the lightest hue of pink at the base of the petal. It confirmed what the trace of bitterness in the flower‘s odour had already suggested: she had indeed found Shadow Jasmine.
Alenvia pulled a small sickle out of the bag slung over her shoulder, cut one of the vines and carefully wrapped it in a piece of cloth she moistened in the stream. She would be back in time to perform the wedding ceremony that evening and she was sure that nobody would notice the slight aberration. After all, nobody had a reason to suspect anything and tradition dictated that there were to be no suspicions on a wedding day, for they would cast ill fortune on the union. Tradition was held in high esteem in the Woodlord‘s household, especially on the day his only son, Liodrel, would marry.
The sun had already slowly begun its decent when Alenvia reached the cart she called her home. She had left it at the edge of the town, knowing that nobody would dare to touch it. Although it was common knowledge that helerim took an oath to do no harm and not to use their skills on their own behalf, nobody wanted to put this to test. After a brief meal, Alenvia set up her blue and yellow tent and before long, people began to arrive looking for advice on various problems and ailments.
The first people to enter her tent were a little girl and her mother.
“Good afternoon, how can I help you?” Alenvia smiled reassuringly at the girl, who was attempting to hide behind her mother.
The mother picked up her child and sat down on a stool, setting her daughter on her lap.
“Good afternoon, Helerim. I’m a bit worried about the wart she has on her foot,” she replied, pointing to the growth.
Alenvia took a look at it and nodded.
“Don’t worry, that can easily be taken care of.” She quickly looked through her supplies and took out a jar of ointment.
As she gently treated a little girl’s wart, Alenvia found her mind drifting back to her own childhood. She had been about the same age as her patient when her mother had caught a common Woodland fever. Shortly before, her father had left his wife, daughter and infant son in the care of his younger brother to go on a mission protecting the southern borders of the Woodland. When he returned, his wife had already succumbed to the fever. His brother had deemed it so harmless that he hadn’t even called a helerim, not taking into account that, being from the mountains, she was not accustomed to the same diseases as the Woodland people were. Shortly afterwards, Alenvia’s father had fallen in a battle in the south. Deemed to be a burden and an unpleasant reminder, Alenvia had been sent to the mountains with a helerim, where she was taken in by her grandmother and later became a helerim’s apprentice.
Her thoughts returning to the present, Alenvia filled some of the ointment into a smaller jar and handed it to the mother.
“Put some of this onto the wart every day and it should soon disappear.”
“Thank you, Helerim! I am so glad you could help us,” she answered, paying Alenvia with a loaf of fresh bread.
“Are you going to the procession to celebrate Lord Liodrel’s wedding tonight?” Alenvia asked.
A brief look of discomfort crossed the other woman’s face before she warily put on a neutral expression.
“Yes, we’ll be there like every dutiful citizen,” she replied stiffly, before quickly saying farewell and leaving the tent.
After seeing the other visitors, Alenvia put away her healing supplies. She changed into her ceremonial dress, took everything she needed for the ritual and headed towards the Woodlord‘s hall, where she was met by the delicate smell of cooking food.
As she arrived, the Woodlord Aldred came towards her.
“Good to see you, Helerim! Do you have everything you need?”
Alenvia nodded.
“Splendid! I’ll leave you to set everything up. Let me know if you need anything, I need to make sure everything is ready for the procession and the feast!”
As he walked out, Alenvia took out a silver pitcher, which she filled with water. She also carefully placed the jasmine into a basket woven of silver thread. Its fragrant smell wafted through the hall, adding to the reverent atmosphere already created by the torches flickering on the walls.
Alenvia waited as the guests slowly took their places in the hall, admiring the intricately carved pillars of the hall and the tapestries on the walls depicting Sacred Jasmine, the most essential part of the wedding ritual, it would bring prosperity, fertility and happiness to the couple. Finally, Liodrel and his bride Henoa entered the hall together, Henoa dressed in a trailing dress of light green and silver, Liodrel in a darker green garment with his sword in a magnificent scabbard on his silver belt.
As she watched them walk towards her, Alenvia’s mind was briefly clouded by doubts. Hadn’t she sworn not to act not to use her skills on her own behalf, neither to gain advantages or in revenge?
In her mind’s eye, she saw her little brother, who had been seen as more of a threat than she had been. She had never seen him again and doubted he had been as lucky as she had been. Perhaps he wasn’t even alive anymore.
And what about the look that had flitted over the face of the little girl’s mother when she mentioned Liodrel? Alenvia sensed she was also acting in the interest of others, but if she was honest to herself, she knew that she would have followed through with her plan no matter what.
She looked at the couple now standing before her. The time for making decisions was over.
With a smile, Alenvia began the ceremony, leading the songs to bless the couple and the jasmine that would bind them to each other. At last, she murmured the incantation to strengthen the vine, knowing the jasmine in her hands was not Sacred Jasmine but its cursed relative, Shadow Jasmine. It wielded the power to enhance all of the negative characteristics of the couple before her to make their marriage long, miserable and childless.
Alenvia carefully bound Liodrel’s and Henoa’s hands together, her resolve strengthening from the conviction that her brother should rightfully be standing in front of her instead of her cousin. She took the silver pitcher and poured water over the couple’s joined hands.
“May this bond be sealed by jasmine, forever!”
Written for brigits_flame , June 2010, week 1
Prompt: Jasmine, forever
Words: 1375
Warnings: brief mention of warts, in case that's a problem....
Shadow Jasmine
Alenvia closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Crushed forest grass, various plant saps and mouldy wood. Still no trace of the scent she was hoping for. Since she had entered the forest before sunrise, she had smelt nothing but these ordinary forest scents, occasionally mingling with a brief whiff of overripe berries or an animal that had used the trail shortly before.
Opening her eyes, Alenvia resumed her trek along the barely visible path through the forest. Sunlight filtered through the trees above, painting bright spots on the damp, leaf-covered ground. Although the sun would still climb for several more hours before reaching its highest point, the temperature was already rising steadily. It wouldn‘t be long before the rain that had fallen in the night would evaporate and make the air heavy with humidity.
It hadn’t been long since Alenvia had left the cool mountains with her small cart of herbs and other supplies for her second year as a helerim, a travelling healer. Still, she had little difficulties facing the hot, humid days in the Woodland. Alenvia assumed that her body still remembered how to deal with the climate from the childhood days she had spent there, although nobody would ever expect this, since she had the fair colouring of her mother‘s mountain kin.
As Alenvia crossed a small, gurgling stream, her sensitive nose finally detected the scent she had been searching for. Following the fragrance, she finally came to a tree trunk with dark green vines twined around it. Carefully, Alenvia examined the white flowers of the vines. A smile spread across her face when she saw the lightest hue of pink at the base of the petal. It confirmed what the trace of bitterness in the flower‘s odour had already suggested: she had indeed found Shadow Jasmine.
Alenvia pulled a small sickle out of the bag slung over her shoulder, cut one of the vines and carefully wrapped it in a piece of cloth she moistened in the stream. She would be back in time to perform the wedding ceremony that evening and she was sure that nobody would notice the slight aberration. After all, nobody had a reason to suspect anything and tradition dictated that there were to be no suspicions on a wedding day, for they would cast ill fortune on the union. Tradition was held in high esteem in the Woodlord‘s household, especially on the day his only son, Liodrel, would marry.
The sun had already slowly begun its decent when Alenvia reached the cart she called her home. She had left it at the edge of the town, knowing that nobody would dare to touch it. Although it was common knowledge that helerim took an oath to do no harm and not to use their skills on their own behalf, nobody wanted to put this to test. After a brief meal, Alenvia set up her blue and yellow tent and before long, people began to arrive looking for advice on various problems and ailments.
The first people to enter her tent were a little girl and her mother.
“Good afternoon, how can I help you?” Alenvia smiled reassuringly at the girl, who was attempting to hide behind her mother.
The mother picked up her child and sat down on a stool, setting her daughter on her lap.
“Good afternoon, Helerim. I’m a bit worried about the wart she has on her foot,” she replied, pointing to the growth.
Alenvia took a look at it and nodded.
“Don’t worry, that can easily be taken care of.” She quickly looked through her supplies and took out a jar of ointment.
As she gently treated a little girl’s wart, Alenvia found her mind drifting back to her own childhood. She had been about the same age as her patient when her mother had caught a common Woodland fever. Shortly before, her father had left his wife, daughter and infant son in the care of his younger brother to go on a mission protecting the southern borders of the Woodland. When he returned, his wife had already succumbed to the fever. His brother had deemed it so harmless that he hadn’t even called a helerim, not taking into account that, being from the mountains, she was not accustomed to the same diseases as the Woodland people were. Shortly afterwards, Alenvia’s father had fallen in a battle in the south. Deemed to be a burden and an unpleasant reminder, Alenvia had been sent to the mountains with a helerim, where she was taken in by her grandmother and later became a helerim’s apprentice.
Her thoughts returning to the present, Alenvia filled some of the ointment into a smaller jar and handed it to the mother.
“Put some of this onto the wart every day and it should soon disappear.”
“Thank you, Helerim! I am so glad you could help us,” she answered, paying Alenvia with a loaf of fresh bread.
“Are you going to the procession to celebrate Lord Liodrel’s wedding tonight?” Alenvia asked.
A brief look of discomfort crossed the other woman’s face before she warily put on a neutral expression.
“Yes, we’ll be there like every dutiful citizen,” she replied stiffly, before quickly saying farewell and leaving the tent.
After seeing the other visitors, Alenvia put away her healing supplies. She changed into her ceremonial dress, took everything she needed for the ritual and headed towards the Woodlord‘s hall, where she was met by the delicate smell of cooking food.
As she arrived, the Woodlord Aldred came towards her.
“Good to see you, Helerim! Do you have everything you need?”
Alenvia nodded.
“Splendid! I’ll leave you to set everything up. Let me know if you need anything, I need to make sure everything is ready for the procession and the feast!”
As he walked out, Alenvia took out a silver pitcher, which she filled with water. She also carefully placed the jasmine into a basket woven of silver thread. Its fragrant smell wafted through the hall, adding to the reverent atmosphere already created by the torches flickering on the walls.
Alenvia waited as the guests slowly took their places in the hall, admiring the intricately carved pillars of the hall and the tapestries on the walls depicting Sacred Jasmine, the most essential part of the wedding ritual, it would bring prosperity, fertility and happiness to the couple. Finally, Liodrel and his bride Henoa entered the hall together, Henoa dressed in a trailing dress of light green and silver, Liodrel in a darker green garment with his sword in a magnificent scabbard on his silver belt.
As she watched them walk towards her, Alenvia’s mind was briefly clouded by doubts. Hadn’t she sworn not to act not to use her skills on her own behalf, neither to gain advantages or in revenge?
In her mind’s eye, she saw her little brother, who had been seen as more of a threat than she had been. She had never seen him again and doubted he had been as lucky as she had been. Perhaps he wasn’t even alive anymore.
And what about the look that had flitted over the face of the little girl’s mother when she mentioned Liodrel? Alenvia sensed she was also acting in the interest of others, but if she was honest to herself, she knew that she would have followed through with her plan no matter what.
She looked at the couple now standing before her. The time for making decisions was over.
With a smile, Alenvia began the ceremony, leading the songs to bless the couple and the jasmine that would bind them to each other. At last, she murmured the incantation to strengthen the vine, knowing the jasmine in her hands was not Sacred Jasmine but its cursed relative, Shadow Jasmine. It wielded the power to enhance all of the negative characteristics of the couple before her to make their marriage long, miserable and childless.
Alenvia carefully bound Liodrel’s and Henoa’s hands together, her resolve strengthening from the conviction that her brother should rightfully be standing in front of her instead of her cousin. She took the silver pitcher and poured water over the couple’s joined hands.
“May this bond be sealed by jasmine, forever!”