Katrina maneuvered the thick wooden stick with fast, vigorous movements through the thick maize porridge. The cauldron trembled slightly under her circular motion, the golden mixture often bubbling. Katrina winced when a bubble of scalding mixture exploded, a part of its content finding its way on her soft arm. Cursing softly, she reached towards a tattered, greasy canvas that rested on a nearby table and wiped her arm clean.
The porridge churned, spitting a part of its content into the hot, dry air occasionally. Pleased with its consistency, Katrina removed the wooden stick from the cauldron and placed it on the table, sighing. Cooking began to tire her lately, but more than that, it was the absence of her husband that troubled her. Roran's departure sapped her strength and will to work, and even though the promise of his return eased her heartache, she was still tired and lonely.
"Curse you Nasuada," Katrina whispered under her breath, using the same dirty cloth to wipe the sweat that cluttered on her brow and red cheeks. The metal support which nested a fiery blaze radiated heat. The scorching temperature in the kitchen was almost unbearable, but Katrina was used to it. The pleasure she extracted from cooking helped her overcome the physical discomfort, and the rewarding end of her meals made her heart swell with joy. But Roran wasn't here. He wouldn't eat what she was preparing for him.
Not yet,Katrina tried to soothe herself. If dedicating herself to cooking helped her reminisce the pleasant moments spent with her husband, then so it would be.
With dexterous movements and visible expertise, Katrina grabbed a large piece of cheese, cut a large chunk of it using a knife and placed it on a wooden platter. Then, she wrapped her right hand with the cloth and removed the cauldron with the bubbling porridge from the stove, yelping due to the heated metal handle.
Katrina sighed. The content of the cauldron would slowly chill and toughen, now that it rested on the stone surface next to the oven. The platter was clean and the cheese parted. Her task was done. The only missing piece in this depressing, forlorn room was a husband that sat at the table, gorging on the food prepared by his loving wife.
For a moment, Katrina stared at the table, reminiscing about the perfect times spent with her husband. She poured her sweat and love into cooking, and Roran's gratitude was all that she needed to work another day. For their family, Katrina had the stamina to do anything.
No eyes narrowed, and realization suddenly struck her. Roran was returning from his mission and he wouldn't like her food without fresh vegetables accompanying the meal. He loved vegetables.
Mumbling something incoherently under her breath, she rushed towards the bedroom with jittery steps. The clean tan carpet muffled the thumps of her steps. Only her soft displeasures disturbed the silence as Katrina maneuvered her body through the partly open door.
The room she entered was tidy and clean—Katrina had enough time at her disposal to impress her husband with what she knew best. However, there was no time to admire the uncluttered bed and sheets, or the clean rugs and dustless tapestries and nightstands. Katrina shuffled towards an armoire where most of her dresses were kept and removed a faded green one.
After removing her dirty, sweat covered tunic and leggings and discarding them in a corner, Katrina equipped the dress and shuffled towards the exit of the house.
The silky dress swished and bended in the wind, the silky material rippling and gluing on her legs. Katrina closed her eyes, inhaling the cool, moist morning air for a moment.
"You die, Eragon!" The high pitched yell sent shudders through Katrina's body. Confused, with her heart thumping in her chest, she turned around slowly. A sigh escaped her when she saw a street urchin not too far away from her, pointing a wooden stick at a defeated, helpless child.
"It's not fair!" Katrina winced and brought a hand to her face at the sound of sticks clashing against each other. "Why do you have to be Galbatorix all the time?"
"Because he is far stronger," the urchin scoffed and landed a blow on the child's leg. Whimpering in pain, he began massaging the sore area while the other child removed his stick and began landing blows at an invisible enemy. His display of prowess hadn't gone unnoticed, for the other child scrambled onto his feet and dashed away, sobbing.
Katrina frowned at such behavior, but such battles were nothing new to her. Ignoring what she had just seen, she continued her trek through the narrow alley between houses. The pungent smells of urine mixed with dirt and rotten food made her face wrinkle with disgust. Beggars often used the protection provided by the stone structures against elements and they often slept, lived and defecated wherever they wanted.
The swiftness in Katrina's pace was just a spark of the disgust and fear that blazed inside her. The dirty, disheveled figures stared at her like predators, and some had even lunged at her in their insanity. Roran always pushed them back, hitting and throwing them where they belonged. But now, she was alone.
"Do' ru' fro' me 'ady." Katrina yelled when something grabbed her ankle and instinctively jerked her foot, hitting the man who clutched her foot in the chin. What she thought it was a pile of ragged clothes turned to be a human, and now, the same beggar tried to get onto his unsteady legs, cursing and mumbling incoherent words.
Katrina ran, and her heart raced her fast steps in its frantic beating. The tight, reeking alley soon gave way to a path. Katrina continued to run despite her aching limbs and labored breath. The few people who avoided her glared and shouted foul words at her, but even then, she didn't stop.
Where are you Roran?Katrina thought, her sprint coming to a stop. Panting heavily, she placed a hand on a nearby house for support. Dizziness and nausea threatened to take over, and her limbs began shaking softly. Katrina closed her eyes and tried to regulate her sporadic breath. She needed to calm herself. There was no danger following her. She was completely safe.
Due to her mental discipline and self control, her body slowly began to recuperate. Her vision was clear again and the ill feeling vanished from her system. Katrina sighed in relief and adopted a straight posture, gulping emptily. She was Roran's wife. People needed not to associate her image with weakness for the sake of her husband. For Roran, she had to be strong and courageous, and the wide paths thumped under the feet of the many that swarmed through Feinster.
Dust gave way to chipped cobblestone when Katrina reached one of the main roads. She stopped for a moment, looking around. The clanging of a few hammers provided a small irritation in contrast with the importance of rebuilding Feinster, but unlike the other days, only few were carrying planks of wood, hitting nails with the hammer or helping the others.
No carts trudged their wheels down the road, no horse whinnied and every men or women seemed to watch the others warily. Clutters of people whispered among themselves, some looking at the ground thoughtfully while others raising their voice and gesturing at something only they were aware of.
Katrina moistened her lips apprehensively and tidied her dress before she ventured into the crowd. Her eyes glanced at the groups of people as she passed by them, her ears trying to catch the faintest clue about the subject of mysterious discussions. The noise was too prominent, however, and the ringing of hammers was not an ally to her plight.
After a short walk, Katrina finally reached the rim of the marketplace. Nothing seemed unusual compared to the past few days. The ever-present crowd of hungry people still waited for their turn at a hearty meal provided by several curious merchants, some others were still waiting for a buyer that would never come in the distance and many just passed by, impassive and solemn as ever.
A groan coming from somewhere nearby roused Katrina's awareness. Turning around, her alert eyes met the gnarled figure of a boy who clutched his belly tightly, a continuous guttural groan rumbling in his throat. His face was contorted with pain, and the man and woman around him talked among themselves, occasionally pointing at the boy.
Struck by a perverse sense of curiosity, Katrina shambled towards them.
"It's the water, that's why so many sick," the man said.
The woman ran a hand through her hair, a look of desperation on her face. "Care what it is not! Cure for Aldo, that matter!"
Katrina tidied up her dress. These people barely knew how to talk, but the fear and worries that coated their voices made her feel uneasy. The image of the boy in pain amplified her distress, and before she knew it, Katrina stepped forward and betrayed her presence.
"What want?" the man asked. His skinny face and deep dark eyes unnerved Katrina, but she kept her calm.
"I know a healer. Her name is Gertrude and—"
"No healer because no money!" the man shouted, motioning her to leave.
The woman's reaction was even more unusual. With stark green eyes, she glared at her and then began to mumble something angrily before taking the boy's hand and leaving in a hurry.
Words tried to make their way through Katrina's lips, but the barrier did not allow them passage. Katrina couldn't help but feel responsible for the boy's pain and suffering. Her reply had forced the ones she believed to be his parents to leave in great hurry. Their motives were a mystery to her, and regret is fleeting, especially when her husband was more important than a stranger.
Sighing, Katrina rolled on her feet and moved with uncertain steps towards what she thought was the stall with the vegetables. There weren't many people on the road, and the group of hungry ones waiting for a meal was now behind her. Still, the groups of people she passed by continued to lure her attention more effectively, now that she witnessed the pain of that boy. The man said something about the water, sprouting unnecessary worries in Katrina's already troubled mind.
"…the water." Katrina stopped. The words were faint, but still clear enough to understand their meaning. Confused, but with her interest piqued by the unusual worries of more than one people, Katrina tidied her dress and moved towards a group of people that sat near an empty stall. Her eyebrows met into a frown when she realized that one of them was sitting on the wooden frame destined for goods, not for people, his legs crossed and hands intertwined below his beardless chin.
"I don't know Fran," a small, scrawny man dressed in black said. "It's unusual. Too many sick." He was walking in circles constantly, his fingers knitted together tightly.
"It has to be the water. I heard it happened before." The tall and imposing man who spoke with a deep voice was definitely a guard. His muscular frame was clad in clean, polished armor, a rare acquisition for one among the Varden.
"Lady!" Katrina did not know how to react, and her eyes immediately looked elsewhere. What could she tell these men? That she was not a healer, but could send them to one?
"Lady, you have to help us." His voice seemed closer now, and Katrina almost froze when she found herself face to face with the short and skinny man.
"I…I can't," she stuttered, despite her best attempts to sound convincing. "I know a healer, Gertrude—"
"Come," the man beckoned her to follow with fast, desperate motions. Sighing, Katrina obeyed. She felt slightly uncomfortable when she realized that she became the target at which everyone stared at—including the man sitting on the wooden frame. Katrina smiled meekly as she looked at each of them in return, expressing her pleasure to meet them. The other men nodded in acquaintance without sharing any words.
"She is a healer," the one who lured her into this said.
"Well?" The man on the elevated position demanded, his dark eyes scanning her with indifference and superiority. "What is the cause of Feinster's mild discomfort?"
"I'm…not sure," Katrina stuttered. Her perplexed mind was clogged due to apprehension, and no convincing lies emerged.
"Maybe it's not a single factor…" she trailed off.
"It's the water." Fran—the man who was sitting on the wooden frame- dropped to his feet and dusted off his clean brown tunic. Unlike the one who forced her to join them, Fran radiated coolness, close to arrogance. His clean ruffled hair and austere green eyes gave him an intimidating appearance. The man was intelligent, a trait that posed a great menace to Katrina.
Lying to a distressed fool was one thing, but toying with Fran was a different dish.
"The lady here can confirm us," he said, analyzing her with the same stare that almost made Katrina shudder. "That's what healers do, confirm what we already know."
Fran pressed his last words, the tone of his voice revealing what Katrina interpreted as a subtle spite. Unnerved, with her previous confidence and curiosity numbed by this man's presence, Katrina tried to do what was necessary. Parting her lips, a confirmation almost escaped her before an arm clenched around her wrist.
"Come with us," the jittery man requested. However, it was more of a demand, for Katrina's feet practically intertwined in her maladroit shamble when the man pulled her away with a jerk of his arm. "No matter the water, the food or the gods themselves, there are people you have to heal."
"Easy, Mardo," the guard with the deep voice intervened. "Don't pull a lady as if she is a cart."
Katrina felt the pressure on her wrist lessening, but the grip did not falter. Sweat moistened her delicate hands, and she felt hot and constricted in her large green dress. Mardo threw a quick glance at her wrist, but said nothing as he continued to lead her away from the marketplace.
The group of men was unusually silent. The lack of words allowed Katrina to hear the groans of pain coming from the people they passed by, or observe the apathy that suddenly engulfed the Varden. The roads were almost clear, for most people kept to the sides or chattered idly near a house or a distant stall.
Katrina glanced nervously at each stranger, her swift fearful eyes never settling on one of them. She felt apprehensive and calm at the same time. The desperate man assumed she was a healer, so he probably followed his instincts that were manipulated by panic combined with lack of knowledge. They were good people, albeit crude at diplomacy.
"It's not long walk," Mardo said reassuringly, "and we need a healer."
Katrina smiled faintly, her fake attempt to calm Mardo proving quite effective. The man relinquished his grip and increased his pace until he was in front of everyone.
"Shouldn't a healer always carry an herb pouch?"
Katrina shuddered violently. The clatter of metal against stone tricked her senses, and Fran's proximity was less than she expected. The man was practically breathing on her neck.
"I was going to the market to—"
"Aren't you supposed to be prepared at any given time?" he inquired.
Katrina barely refrained from glancing at him with the corner of his eyes, but his very presence unnerved her. Roran often spoke of men and how vile they can be when tricked, and Fran's aloof attitude would not allow her to earn his trust.
"What is a healer without herbs, or healing reagents?" Fran said smoothly. "Books, we have enough, and knowledge is fleeting and unreliable. Unless it manifests physically, we have a dilemma, healer."
"Fran, show the lady some respect!" The soldier scowled thunderously. "I'd rather hear her elevated explanation on this matter."
"Ah, Lehmontecte," Fran drawled, seeking some escape from his boredom. "Independence of opinion comes hard when a wrong word sends you to the whipping post."
"Shh, too many words," Mardo complained and pointed towards a decrepit and small dwelling that resembled a cottage. "Indulge people with deeds, not promises, that be what my father said."
The soldier shrugged, impassive to Fran's taunting. He was stoic and firm of thought, almost like Roran.
"They boiled the water as I suggested, I presume," Fran added unworriedly. "If they didn't, the lady healer herself is not going to save those fools."
Mardo seemed lost in his thoughts, for he completely disregarded Fran's remark. Instead, he dashed towards the building and pushed the door aside forcefully, sneaking inside faster than a rat in the kitchen.
Nervous and still uncertain of the people's irrational request, Katrina tidied her dress when Lehmontecte, the soldier, looked at her with the corner of his eyes.
"It's only sick people," he said, almost soothingly. "Nothing unusual for you, eh?"
Katrina smiled weakly.
We'll see,she thought. When she reached the door, however, the acrid smell made her stomach lurch and turn upside down.
"After you," Lehmontecte beckoned politely, opening the door for her.
What did you think? Surprising eh? You probably have more questions than answers in this chapter, but the following ones are going to get better.