Beneath the Bitter Roots

Nico stared in confusion at the small vial of black powder in his trembling hand, turning it over in the dim light. Then he looked at the crumpled sheet of paper shoved in his other hand.

“It is the gift of life. You must keep it safe, especially from the doctor.”

He nodded slowly as he looked up, meeting the Herbalist’s gaze. She smiled back at him with a hint of sadness on her face.

“They will come for it. When the others need it, you will know what to do. Now go! There is no time.”

With a final, lingering glance Nico slipped into the darkness, making his way home under the cover of night. He thought about the Herbalist’s strange warning, not knowing that soon everything would become clear. Once home, he hurriedly read through the instructions written on the page, mixing the contents of the vial with water to form a thick, black slurry. He eyed the drink warily before swallowing it in one large gulp, ignoring the bitter taste. Then he went to bed. He could feel the mixture fighting against his sickness as he drifted off into a restless slumber. His thoughts swirled and the Herbalist’s words echoed in his mind – especially from the doctor.

Dr. Victor Reynard was the only doctor in the village. A son of the soil, he grew up in the same slums as Nico but everyone that knew him knew that he would make it out. He was a clever boy with much ambition and charisma, but he was also a scoundrel. He learned from a young age that opportunities didn’t just come freely, they had to be created, so he did whatever he could to secure the type of lifestyle he wanted. Medicine was the path he eventually settled on. If you asked him, he would tell you he was inspired by the passing of Mama Tally or Mr. Withers, whomever came to mind that day, claiming he felt the need to bring modernized health care to the village. His practice grew over time, and he was the go-to for those who could afford it. Occasionally, he would offer his services at half price to the poorer children, often giving out candies he said were made by his wife who was an exceptional baker and confectioner. Some say it was out of kindness; some claim it was to maintain his image as a man of the people. Others believed it was because he had not forgotten where he came from.

Alternatively, the village’s poorer residents would rely on the remedies of the Herbalist. Although she was no trained physician, her powerful elixirs were known to heal many ailments. So much so that many people would turn to her first. Her small, humble shop stood on the outskirts of the village, just before the forest where she would often forage for her ingredients. The woman herself was very eccentric. Often seen talking to herself, she walked slowly with stooped shoulders, her hands folded behind her back. She wore her greying hair in long dreadlocks of different lengths. She had a smooth, youthful face with wild eyes. The kind of eyes that saw everything. She would always know something that was never said out loud and some suspected that she was a clairvoyant. She mostly kept to herself, and the villagers would not bother her unless it was for her remedies. Some feared her but everybody had a deep respect for her, even the doctor himself.

While the Herbalist tended to the poor, the doctor’s reputation continued to grow among the wealthy. However, it was an encounter with a particular businessman that really increased his popularity. Mr. Sterling, an up-and-coming mining magnate, had recently moved into the village after hearing rumors of mineral deposits in the nearby hills. He brought with him his wife and a small entourage of wealthy associates looking to settle into the village.

One day, the doctor received an urgent call to Mr. Sterling’s estate. He hurried over and was quickly ushered into a room where Mr. Sterling lay in bed, covered in sweat, his clothes completely soaked through. His face was pale and there was a bucket on the floor next to him.

“What has happened?” the doctor asked in bewilderment.

Mr. Sterling groaned, clutching his stomach. He explained that he had returned from a trip to the hills just yesterday and had been in bed ever since. Suddenly, his eyes went wide as he leapt out of the bed, rushing to the nearby bathroom and slamming the door behind him. The doctor watched with concern. After a while, Mr. Sterling returned with an embarrassed look on his face.

“What have you eaten on the trip?” asked the doctor.

“Uh… Sunday’s roast.”

“And how long were you away?”

“Maybe four days,” Mr. Sterling replied, slightly confused.

“Ah.” The doctor rummaged through his bag, removing a bottle of dark liquid. “Drink this three times a day to settle your stomach. Get lots of rest and you’ll be fine by the end of the week.” And he was right.

Mr. Sterling had been singing the doctor’s praises ever since, touting him as a miracle worker to anyone who would listen. Over time, the doctor’s main clientele shifted as Mr. Sterling’s recommendation brought him more wealthy patrons. He still made efforts to see the poor children, at the insistence of his wife, but the visits were few and far between and eventually they completely stopped. He still gave out candy whenever he was out and about and, even though he was less available, the children still loved him.

Things took a turn when, one by one, the poor children of the village started getting sick. At first, it was one or two a month, but then it became more frequent. So much so that people had resorted to stopping the doctor in the street, begging him to see them.

“Doctor, doctor!” A frail woman rushed up to him one day, clinging onto a very sickly child. “Please! He has been throwing up all day. The medicine you gave us last time is not working.”

He looked at the child with pity, frowning. “I’m sorry, my schedule is very full,” he said, retreating. Then he paused for a moment before turning around. “Make sure to keep up with the medicine and get lots of rest. Here.” He rummaged through his pocket, fishing out a small red candy. “This should help to settle his stomach. It’s a new flavor,” he said with a sly smile, placing it in the child’s hand. Looking up, he noticed the Herbalist across the way staring at him intently with wild eyes. He shivered before turning the corner and walking away.

A few days later, word spread across the village that this same child had been lost. The Herbalist, having provided her own proven remedies, was left perplexed at the outcome. Neither she nor the doctor could save this child. Haunted by the failure, she became more and more unsettled. She was seen speaking to herself more frequently in public, her eyes became more erratic as if constantly searching for answers.

One after another, the children of the village continued to be affected by this strange plague. With the doctor’s noticeable absence, the Herbalist saw an increase in visitors to her shop. One by one the children were dropping in a worrisome pattern but none of her elixirs were working.

One day, the Herbalist visited the butcher shop to collect bones, an important ingredient for one of her remedies. She tightly grasped the package as she exited, catching a glimpse of Mr. Sterling and one of his associates across the way. She eyed them curiously for a moment before crossing the street towards them. With her head lowered, she slowly shuffled past them, keeping a slight distance. They did not even notice her.

“Soon we will be able to bring the others over.” said Mr. Sterling.

“But where will they stay?” asked his companion. “There’s hardly any space and it will take years to expand.”

“Don’t worry. We’re working on that.” replied Mr. Sterling. Looking over his shoulder, he finally noticed the Herbalist close by. “Crazy woman,” he mumbled, a look of disgust on his face as he and his companion turned leave. The Herbalist pondered the conversation she had just overheard as she made her way home.

Later that night, Nico entered the Herbalist’s shop at the edge of the village. Before him, the woman stood with her back to the door, stooped over as if looking for something. Empty jars had been tossed about and debris littered the floor. She had not heard him enter.

Nico observed her quietly for a moment before finally speaking up. “Ma’am, I need medicine. My friend is really sick.”

The herbalist stood up with a jolt before turning around. She stared at him for a second, her head tilted.

“Sick? Sick how?”

Nico clenched his jaw in annoyance. “The same as all the others. The fever, the vomiting, the fainting.” His shoulders dropped and his expression shifted. “Please,” he pleaded. “He’s only a boy. The doctor won’t do anything except give him that blasted candy!” He slammed his fist on the nearby table.

“Candy?” The Herbalist raised her brow in confusion.

“Yes. To settle his stomach, he says. It doesn’t even taste good.” He rolled his eyes.

“Interesting,” she mumbled to herself before calmly gathering some herbs into a pouch. “Make this into a tea,” she said as she handed it to him. “Three times a day until it is empty. And this,” she held up a small vial of white powder. “Sprinkle it on his food.”

Nico took it from her, but his skepticism was obvious.

“Bone marrow powder,” she said with a reassuring nod. With that, Nico thanked her and left, slipping into the darkness of the cold, quiet evening with a renewed sense of hope. What he did not know at the time was that his friend would not survive the night. Soon, there would be wailing and crying in the village as another child was taken by this plague.

A few days had passed since Nico had been to see the Herbalist and now, he was back again. But this time, it was for himself. He staggered through the door, his skin slick with a light layer of sweat from head to toe but this was not the work of the sun. His face was gaunt with tired eyes. His movements were noticeably slower than before. He could hear the sound of pots and pans banging about in the back of the shop where the Herbalist was as she frantically mumbled to herself. “Where is the shade? Gone! Gone!” He could not make out the rest.

He called out as loud as he could muster “Please!”

Catching her attention, the Herbalist made her way to the front room. As soon as she saw him, she became alarmed. She rushed over to him, eyes wide with concern. She touched his forehead with the back of her hand. Then she led him to a nearby chair to sit down.

“I heard about your friend,” she said somberly. “You have the same thing?”

Nico nodded weakly. The Herbalist walked over to her shelves, methodically grabbing half full bottles here and there. Then she made her way to the fireplace, lighting it quickly. The fire came to life instantly. Using the ingredients she had set aside, she made a small potion for Nico to drink, filling the room with an earthy smell mixed with the smoke from the fire.

After drinking the potion, Nico settled into the chair, closing his eyes. The Herbalist kept close watch as he rested. After some time, he awoke, blinking slowly. He felt a little lighter and his symptoms had eased. He looked around briefly, noticing that it was now nighttime. Nearby, the Herbalist was working over the still lit fireplace. She looked over at him with a smile.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good… good. Progress,” she mumbled to herself before speaking louder. “Come back around this time tomorrow and I will have more for you.” Then her demeanor shifted. He could see the seriousness in her eyes. “Do not take anything else from the doctor. Understand?”

He felt slightly suspicious but since he was already feeling so much better than when he arrived, he chose not to question her advice. Nico nodded as he slowly pushed himself up from the chair. He was steady on his feet and despite the death of his friend, he still had some faith in the Herbalist. He gave her a hopeful glance before stepping out into the night, closing the door behind him.

The following day brought grey skies and a gloomy atmosphere, a sharp contrast to the day before. There was a sense of danger in the air, as if something was about to happen. The streets were empty as Nico made his way back to the edge of the village. The quietness around him added a sense of dread as he passed house after house adorned with black ribbons, a symbol of mourning. Some were worn and tattered while others were brand new. Although the Herbalist’s brew had helped, he did not feel like this was quite over.

He thought about her warning about Dr. Reynard. The same doctor who had all but abandoned the poor ever since his rich neighbors moved in, who refused to tend to the sick unless they could pay his outrageous fees. The same doctor who gave out those useless candies just to get you out of his way so he could get to his rich clients faster.

Darkness approached as Nico continued his walk and, before he knew it, he was at his destination. The door was slightly ajar, so he pushed it quietly and stepped inside but what he saw surprised him. Before him stood a disheveled Herbalist, her greying dreadlocks completely covered in black soot. Her clothes were dusty and there were black smudges all over her pale face. The entire room was covered in a layer of ash. She stared back at him with bloodshot eyes.

“Yes! Come, come,” she beckoned him over. “I have the cure.” She placed a vial of black powder on the table, which he took. Then she pulled out a sheet of paper, thrusting it into his other hand. Nico looked down, the force catching him off guard. “It is the gift of life.” He looked back at her in confusion, seeing the sincerity in her sad eyes. She knew something.

Once he returned home, he quickly read through the note. He followed the instructions and then laid down to sleep. As he did so, his mind became consumed by his encounters with the Herbalist. Mumblings of missing shade, the candy, her soot-covered face, the warning about the doctor, the black powder that she called a cure. These thoughts swirled in his delirious mind until he drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep as the cure worked its way through his body.

The next day, Nico woke up feeling slightly groggy and disoriented. He had slept through the morning and into the late afternoon. His clothes had soaked through with sweat during the night, but his temperature was now back to normal. The tightness in his stomach was gone and his limbs no longer ached, granting him a sense of relief.

Just then, there was a commotion outside. People could be heard running down the street and yelling. Fire! Fire! Nico rushed to the window to see what was going on. A man ran right past him.

“Where?” Nico yelled.

Without stopping, the man yelled back. “The Herbalist!”

Nico looked towards the edge of the village where he saw a huge pillar of dense, black smoke rising into the air. The smell of burning herbs and wood intensified as the fire raged. There was chaos everywhere as villagers rushed to try to help but the fire was too big to contain.

In the opposite direction, Nico could see a small group standing by, observing the frenzy. He recognized the doctor, who seemed unmoved, and Mr. Sterling, with a smile on his face. They looked on, arms folded in indifference and making no efforts to help.

Too weak to do anything, Nico stumbled back into a chair. He glanced over at the note the Herbalist had given him across the table. He had only briefly read the instructions the night before. He unfolded it now with shaking hands, turning it over. Written in neat handwriting, it read: Nightshade poisoning. Treat with activated charcoal. Mix powder with water and drink da

ily until symptoms go away. Do not eat the doctor’s candy.