My first attempt at an Inkheart trilogy fanfic, so any suggestions are very much welcome (flamers will be politely ignored). Enjoy!
Yes, this is StarClan's Nightmare, but on a different account. Yes, I re-posted it. Yay. :)
Disclaimer: The Inkheart trilogy belongs completely, utterly, and most definitely to Cornelia Funke. So there.
The Smell of Comfrey
"You're so slow, Rosie!" Brianna giggled, jumping up from behind the chest. "You've got to find me quicker; I get so bored!"
Rosanna spun around in surprise. "I'm sorry," she whimpered.
"What are you doing, anyway?" her sister demanded, brushing Rosanna aside and peering at the plant on the table. She sniffed it loudly and declared, "It smells funny."
"I think it smells nice," said Rosanna staunchly, taking it from under Brianna's fastidious nose. "What is it, Mama?"
Roxane looked up from her bread-making. "It's comfrey, dear. See its white, bell-shaped blossom? That's what comfrey flowers look like."
Rosanna took another sniff. "Papa should grow it in his fields. It smells so sweet."
Roxane was about to open her mouth to say something along the lines of, "Your papa doesn't even have a field; he dances with fire', when the bitter realization of all that had happened in the past few years hit her once again: his disappearance, her marriage to Jehan, and the baby that had recently started growing in her belly.
"What would he do with a bunch of flowers?" snorted Brianna disdainfully, interrupting Roxane's thoughts.
"They're not just flowers, Brianna," explained her mother, "they have healing powers, too. I'm sure Nettle uses them all the time. Now, you two stop bickering and sit down at the table. The bread is ready."
The girls obeyed happily, for they were indeed hungry. At least, Brianna was. She ate one slice, then another, then another. Little Rosanna only had half of one slice, but this was normal.
As Brianna polished off her fourth slice, a knock sounded on the door. Roxane opened it to reveal a small, grubby-face girl among the snow that had gathered outside. She wore the tattered clothes of the Motley folk, but had a huge smile on her face.
"Hello, Danielle. What a surprise. What brings you out in this cold weather and far-off countryside?"
"My brothers found a wonderful pond that froze over solid about a week ago," Danielle replied excitedly. "We're going to glide on it. Can Brianna and Rosanna come with us?"
"Well…"
"Please, Mama, may we?" Brianna begged, running over to her mother and clasping her hands together beseechingly. "It sounds like great fun."
"Oh, I suppose it's fine. As long as you're back by dark," Roxane relented.
Brianna squealed and ran to get her warmer clothing. Rosanna followed her hesitantly, walking as if in a dream. When they returned, Brianna gave her mother a quick kiss goodbye and loped across the fields with Danielle. Roxane watched her, reflecting sadly that her seven-year old daughter was getting so big.
"Mama, Mama, I don't feel so good," Rosanna whispered suddenly, tugging on her mother's skirt. Roxane gently pushed her away and replied calmly, "I'm sure it's nothing, dear. Now go catch up to those two before they have all the fun without you."
It was barely two hours after when another knock came at the door; only this time, the rap was sharper and louder. Roxane yawned and ambled her way to the door, slightly annoyed at being woken from her sleep. But she became fully awake when she saw who was at the door.
Brianna was there, white-faced and shaking with terror. But she was accompanied by a bearded man, dressed in Motley Folk style like Danielle, carrying a very pale, completely limp, hardly breathing Rosanna.
Roxane's older daughter promptly flung herself in Roxane's arms and began to sob hysterically. "Mama, Mama, Mama," was all she could choke out between sobs. Roxane stroked her red hair comfortingly, all the while staring at the man in shock.
"She was playing on the pond, my children said," the man explained, "when all of a sudden, she fell backwards in a dead faint."
"No one pushed her, or anything, Mama," wept Brianna, "she just fell over."
"I see," replied Roxane slowly, trying to take everything in. "Lay her on the bed there, in the corner, if you will. And then you may leave us. Thank you."
The man did so, and soon Roxane was only left with one sobbing daughter and one silent one.
"Go to bed, Brianna," Roxane said tenderly, wiping the tears off the girl's face.
"Will Rosie be well by morning?"
"I don't know, darling. But if she isn't, I'm going to take her to Nettle."
Satisfied, Brianna went to her tiny bedroom. Alone, the little girl thought unhappily, the very first time without Rosanna.
Roxane walked over to the place where Rosanna lay. She caressed her face, pushing back her dark hair, identical to Roxane's own. Her little daughter was so small, so white. The contrast between her hair and her skin made her look even whiter, except for her intensely flushed cheeks. Roxane pressed the back of her hand to Rosanna's forehead; it was burning fiercely.
The next morning Roxane went straight to Nettle, leaving her husband Jehan to keep an eye on Brianna. The sour moss-woman shook her head when she inspected Rosanna. "It's the fever that's going around," she said, confirming Roxane's worst fears. "I will do all I can, but I am not sure it will do much."
The distressed mother listened attentively to Nettle, as she taught her the right herbs to treat the illness, and then applied them to Rosanna herself. But Rosanna made no response; her breathing stayed shallow and rapid, her cheeks remained vividly flushed; the fever raged on.
Roxane left Nettle in a desperate situation. She rode with a limp Rosanna all the way to the Infirmary, where he had spent his childhood. But the Barn Owl simply shook his head when she arrived. "We have so many patients with the same illness, and we have lost many of them. Your daughter will not be cured here."
He did, however, let them spend the night in the Infirmary. Roxane hardly slept a wink; she hovered over Rosanna, praying that her daughter would at least open her eyes, say a word, do something. But morning came and there was no change in her condition.
As Roxane rode back to the farm, she had a sudden thought. The fairies. They had legendary healing powers, and they were friends of--him. Yes, they were the ones to go to. How could they refuse to heal his own daughter?
She turned her direction towards the forest, riding faster than the horse probably wanted to. In the dusk, the trees seemed crooked and twisted; they loomed over any passersby menacingly. But Roxane had no time to be frightened. She carried her daughter to a small grassy patch near where she knew the fairies resided.
"O powerful fairies, please grace me with a gift. This young girl you see is Rosanna. She has a violent fever, so high I burn my finger when I touch her forehead. She will die if you do not help her now," Roxane intoned in a trembling voice.
Not a sound.
"Please, fairies, I beg of you."
Nothing.
"Please, please."
No flutter of wings.
"She is Dustfinger's daughter!" Roxane cried out desperately, speaking his name for the first time in months.
Two tiny, fiery red heads peeked out from behind a tree. Roxane breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, fairies."
Watching the woman warily, the fairies flew to the spot where Rosanna lay. They peered at her intently, and then began talking to each other in quick, outraged tones. They turned their angry, pointed faces to Roxane, chiming in fury. Roxane did not understand their language, but she figured out the meaning of their anger. They thought she had tricked them, because Dustfinger looked nothing like this girl.
"She is his, I swear it!" protested Roxane tearfully. "I am her mother, she takes after me! Our other daughter, Brianna-"
The fairies would hear no more. They zipped away, still full of annoyance.
Roxane fell to her knees, fists clenched. She wanted to shout her anger at the fairies for not healing her daughter, at Dustfinger for leaving, at the whole stupid, unfair world for not caring at all. Instead, she cried. She moaned and let the endless stream of tears fall down her face. Some dripped onto Rosanna's face, but they were not magic, life-giving tears. The dying girl stayed motionless and white. So very, very white.
Many days later, Roxane sat on Rosanna's straw bed with her daughter cradled in her arms. The fever was at an unbelievable high point now; Roxane knew the end was coming soon. "Five years I had you, darling. Five beautiful, golden years. You were such a charming girl. So sweet, so gentle, so accepting. I hope your father remembers you. He only knew you for three years, sweetheart, but he loved you. Do you remember when he made fire-flowers for you on your second birthday? You laughed and clapped your hands. You had such a pretty laugh, Rosie. My Rosanna."
At those two words, the unthinkable happened. Rosanna opened her eyes a tiny bit and said exceedingly softly, "Mama."
Roxane could hardly keep from gasping in amazement. "Mama," Rosanna repeated, struggling because talking was clearly an effort for her.
"Yes, Rosie?"
"Com-com-frey-com," Rosanna rasped.
"Comfrey, darling? You want comfrey?"
Rosanna was silent. Roxane rapidly grabbed the comfrey from the table and lifted it to her nose. Rosanna took a small sniff, and, just for a second Roxane swore she saw a smile on her small lips. Then her breathing got slower and heavier, slower and heavier, slower and heavier, slower and heavier…
Rosanna was buried a few days after. Jehan, Brianna, and Roxane stood in a tight circle around her grave. The grave marker stated simply, "Rosanna". Brianna was unusually quiet, trying to muffle her sobs through her hands. Jehan looked somber and deeply hurt. Roxane had finished with her tears; she was all shriveled and empty inside.
She had placed a single comfrey plant on the mound of dirt. I promise I will grow a whole field of comfrey for you, Rosanna, thought Roxane in sudden inspiration. And other herbs too, so no other little children will have to die like you did.
"You okay, Roxane?" Jehan asked, putting his arm around her shoulders.
"Yes," she answered absently. "Jehan, would you mind if I started growing herbs?"
He looked surprised. "Of course not, if that's what you'd like."
"Good." And for the first time since Rosanna's illness, Roxane smiled.
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