3. Irina

Chapter three

Irina

A s a candidate for apprenticeship, I knew I should have been nervous about the Master's probing of my knowledge. The amount of understanding required to earn a blue smock was daunting and required years, if not lifetimes, of study. I had never spent time with other apprentices, but Father said that, while many entered a Master's service, few earned their smock. The success rate alone should have sparked fear in my young heart, but healing lived in our home. It was part of our lives and had been since I was old enough to speak my own name. Mother and Father had likely drilled years of training into my head without me even realizing it. The Master's tests were simple by comparison to their ceaseless prodding.

Despite the advantage my parents afforded, I tried to answer with sincerity and humility, two traits Mother said were more important to a physiker than any potion or tool. Was I proud of my knowledge? Did I enjoy confounding the Master and his questions? Absolutely, yet I also knew enough to understand just how little I understood.

I suppose that was a lesson in itself.

This was also the first time I had ever left home. My whole world revolved around Mother and Father. We were rarely apart. I had never even slept under another roof without my parents in a room nearby. As we bounced from one examination room to the next, I couldn't help wondering if the Master's infirmary would ever feel like home.

And then there was the Master himself.

He seemed nice enough, but Rist was five times my age and a relative stranger. I'd met him a few times while attending various gatherings with my parents, but he had barely acknowledged my presence.

Now, I was the center of his attention.

Now, I was in his care.

Oddly, as I trailed my fingers along the stone walls of the hallway, I felt no fear at being separated from Mother and Father. I wasn't some jumble of nerves or filled with gloom about being on my own. I felt only anticipation for what lay ahead.

When we finished, Rist did not conclude the tests. He never said, "We're finished," or "Nicely done. That ends your exams." He simply opened the door, glanced back, and said, "Follow me," then led me down the eternal hallway to the far end of the building. As we stepped into yet another chamber, I froze in the doorway, a jolt of childish alarm stilling my heart.

Seated along a rectangular table at the center of a large room, spooning a brothy stew and chatting, were two boys and a girl, each wearing the white smock of an apprentice. Rist waddled around the table toward a counter on the opposite wall, where he ladled stew from a large iron pot.

The others ignored their Master, just as he had shunned them in favor of his dinner.

Conversation died as the trio turned and stared at me.

"Hullo," a foppish boy sitting nearest to the door said, raising his spoon as if to wave. I knew apprentices were not admitted before their twelfth summer, but the boy was a scrawny thing I doubted would rise to my shoulder when he stood. He reminded me of the brother I never had but always pictured in my mind. The awkward innocence in his eyes made me smile.

I lifted my hand in a sheepish wave. "Hi."

"Don't just stand there. Come and eat. Get to know the others," Rist said as he settled himself into a chair at the end of the table. When I didn't budge, he motioned toward the young boy who'd greeted me. "Colin, this is Irina. Please introduce everyone?"

"Yes, Master Rist," Colin said, scooting his chair back to stand. "Want some stew? It's pretty good tonight."

My stomach growled in reply.

"That's Finn," he said, pointing to the other boy who could've been his older brother. Both had curly brown hair and eyes so round they looked perpetually surprised.

Finn grunted through a mouthful and bobbed his chin in greeting.

Then Colin motioned to the girl, the elder among us, four or five summers beyond me. Her straight blond hair hung well past her shoulders and shimmered in the lamplight. She sat straight in her chair. "That's Siena. She's the senior apprentice."

I smiled, glad to see another girl in the Master's care.

She neither waved nor nodded. There was no warmth in her eyes or greeting on her lips. She barely acknowledged my presence.

Colin walked me to the counter, climbed a step stool, and dished some of the meaty broth into a bowl.

"Spoons are over there, cups and water at the end." Curls cascaded as he motioned to the far end of the counter with a tilt of his head. Then he leaned toward me, still at eye level thanks to the stool, and whispered, "Don't let Siena scare you. She is always mad."

Despite everything, I giggled.

It only took a few days to catch onto the Medica's steady routine, though I feared far more time would be required to understand the dynamics at play between my fellow apprentices. Colin was the easiest. Though we were of the same age, he acted with the maturity of a boy several years younger. His eyes widened each time Master Rist taught something new, and he cried so easily I wondered if he might shatter into a thousand pieces if someone nudged him a bit too hard. Despite his frailty, Colin's easy smile was infectious, and I found myself caring for him as I might a brother.

Finn was not as transparent as Colin, though he was not very clever. A handsome lad with rich brown curls and even deeper eyes, he was nice enough and had an easy humor that made him hard to dislike. I caught myself smiling and staring each time he entered a room.

Unfortunately, Finn knew the effect his charisma and sparkling smile had on people. He strutted like a peacock, as though a subtle grin or wink might win him favors. Unfortunately, no amount of charm could make up for how he struggled to retain information.

Master Rist had none of it, demanding lengthy study sessions and additional tests to ensure important facts and formulae stuck in the boy's head. And yet, all the memorization in the world could not overcome his lack of comprehension regarding the application of information he learned. He was a pretty flame, but his wick would never burn brightly.

I knew he would never have been accepted into the Medica without strong recommendations and even better entrance scores; still, I doubted he would rise beyond a middling physiker, if he was lucky enough to graduate his apprenticeship.

Siena was, by far, the most complex—and infuriating—girl I had ever met.

Like Finn, she knew too well how her golden hair and smile turned men's legs to jelly. It didn't matter if they were boys of Colin's youth or men as old and round as Rist, all she needed was one coquettish flutter of her lashes, and they were hers to command. From what I saw, she enjoyed ensnaring them, too, wielding her vixen's prowess like a swordsman swings a blade.

Worse, she was brilliant, grasping even the most complex concepts the moment they left the Master's lips; while the rest of us required multiple retellings and even more practical examples to absorb whatever principles were involved. Siena rarely studied, as new recipes for potions or unguents buried themselves in her brain.

I would have admired her if she hadn't flaunted her genius as often as she flicked her stupid hair.

I tried—quite unsuccessfully—to win her over with gentleness and praise. She was everything I dreamed of becoming: smart, clever, strong, and sure. On top of everything, she was beautiful—and not simply pretty for a rural girl raised among boys. No, she was that girl who made minstrels falter the moment she entered the dance floor. The Spirits had granted her every quality one might dream of, save one—humility.

I didn't understand why Siena sneered when our eyes met.

And so I loathed her presence almost as much as she shunned mine.

This dynamic blazed like sunlight beneath a glass when it became clear my own knowledge, hard won through years of learning at my parents' sides, nearly matched her own—and I was five summers her junior and a newcomer in the Medica. Venom swirled in her eyes whenever Master Rist praised my answers before the others. I felt her gaze burning holes in the back of my smock.

For his part, our Master was stern yet gentle, severe yet kind, demanding yet understanding. He was what one hoped for in a teacher—and everything one feared when we failed to meet his expectations. Our youth mattered little to his instruction; and yet, when candles burned low, he often told stories or jokes to let us dream and laugh.

Each day, Colin and I sat through a lecture with Master Rist. Most of our first year was consumed with memorizing all the bones, muscles, and other parts of the body.

Some days, the lecture was brief.

On one such occasion, as Colin and I sat quietly around the table where we took our meals, Master Rist rushed into the room, his hair sticking up in every direction, and huffed, "Memorize everything from pages twenty-four through twenty-eight." Before we could think to ask if there would be an exam at the end of the day, he bustled through the door and was not seen again until the next morning.

It was more common that the Master's lectures began at sunrise and rambled until patients demanded his attention.

While we studied or listened to lectures, Siena and Finn prepared the exam rooms for the day's patients. If the first folk to enter bore minor injuries or simple illnesses, Siena would tend them without the Master's supervision. Anything more challenging than a runny nose required our rotund leader's personal touch.

The closest Colin and I came to a patient during our first year was accidentally entering an exam room too early. When not studying, our primary job was to clean and reset the exam rooms. We were never to interact with patients or engage in speculation. Colin took these instructions in stride, but I missed the days when my father let me sing to children or make some grandmother smile. I missed getting to hear the questions he asked and watch how he treated various illnesses. Most of all, I missed being around people older than my substitute baby brother.

Our first year passed slowly.

So slowly.

There are only so many parts of the body to memorize, and few of them sparked excitement when viewed on the yellowed pages of an ancient tome.

In my sixth month, I was granted the opportunity to sit for my one-year examination. The Master formed a testing panel consisting of Finn, Siena, and himself. The questions began simply enough.

"Name the bones of the hand," Rist demanded.

"What are the muscles along the back of the leg called?" Finn asked.

And so it went.

Around the fourth hour of questioning, as we resumed following a heavy meal of meat and cheese, Master Rist's eyes fluttered closed, leaving the others to lead the questioning.

"A patient presents with a high fever, chills, and swollen lymph nodes. What would be your diagnosis and recommended treatment?" Siena asked.

Finn's head snapped up, and he glared almost as intently at her as I did.

"That isn't an anatomy question," I said, crossing my arms. "That isn't even a second-year question, is it?"

"When you sit on this side, you get to choose the questions." Siena cocked a brow and raised her quill. "Should we mark this as a miss? I hear no objection from Master Rist."

She glanced to where the Master snored.

I tried to keep the fires in my eyes from blazing across the room, but the smug set to Siena's mouth made that impossible.

I decided to fight in the best way I knew, to answer her stupid question.

"The symptoms, as described, could be several things, from a simple catarrh or imbalance of humors, though one would expect a runny nose or cough to accompany such a diagnosis. Absent those, these symptoms could indicate presence of the Black Death, an unlikely case, as the blackness has not been seen in the Kingdom in centuries."

"Treatment?" Siena tapped her quill against her parchment. I sighed. "Immediate isolation, an unguent of garlic, aloe, and myrrh. Some suggest a potion of dried toad to draw out toxins and reduce swelling of the organs."

Finn shifted in his seat, though I wasn't sure if it was from the question or my ready explanation.

"Are those the only treatments?" Siena pressed.

She was relentless.

"One might try bloodletting, though I believe that to be a waste of time and blood, almost as useless as a posset."

Siena leaned forward. "You doubt the efficacy of possets?"

I didn't mean to laugh. It just flew out. "You think spoiled milk and ale helps illness? It is more likely a recipe for an upset stomach and an angry patient."

Siena made a mark on her parchment—then another on top of the first.

"Was that an ‘X' on that question?" I was livid.

She nodded. "You failed to mention theriac, which is a commonly accepted antidote to plague or poison. You also left out prayer, which I am sure our divine brothers would find objectionable."

"Master!" I shouted loud enough to rouse our drowsy leader.

"Wha—what? Where are we? Arteries? Have we finished—"

"Master," I said, before Siena could spin a tale, "I challenge the last question, as well as a number of others asked while you were, um, indisposed."

"Challenge? Questions? Dear girl, really?"

I nodded. "Master Rist, I declare an official challenge."

His bushy brows furrowed as his lips smacked together a few times and blinked away sleep. "Fine, apprentice. Challenge recorded. Read the questions in—well, in question."

His lack of formality would've been funny if I hadn't been so angry.

Six of Siena's questions were stricken despite the fact that I answered four correctly.

Two hours later, with over four hundred questions asked, I had missed a grand total of eight, three of which were Siena's discarded queries.

"Congratulations, Apprentice Irina. I have never had an apprentice advance so quickly." Rist beamed as he draped a new white smock adorned with two sky blue bars on one sleeve across my shoulders.

As I slid my arms into the garment and smiled up at Rist, Finn and Siena caught my eye from over his shoulder.

Siena sneered, unable to grant me credit for even a brief moment.

Finn didn't meet my gaze, as his eyes were fixed on his shoes. I wondered at his reaction until I noted the two bars on his sleeves—despite him being three years my senior.

Six months later, when my first full year came to a close, Colin faced the same firing squad I had encountered. I was allowed to observe, though midway through the questions, I dreamed of being anywhere but in that chamber with my flailing friend. As he answered less than half correctly, Master Rist reclaimed the boy's smock and ushered him to the front where his parents waited.

I leaned against the cold stone of the hallway as Colin pried himself from his mother's arms and turned back toward me. As our eyes met, he raised his hand to wave, just as he'd done on my first day—though this time, I saw no joy on his face.

That was the last time I saw my friend.