My Soul Tattooed In Black- Part 6

“Sabrine you must pay attention child! How do you expect to be able to lead the family if you can’t even concentrate on what I am telling you.” My Baba is frustrated with me again. She expects me to be able to recite what different stones are used for, but she won’t give me a gemology book to study from. I must commit them to memory from her voice alone.

“Baba I am paying attention.” I wish I could explain to her that the words make sense but after a quarter of an hour of her telling me the properties of this and that stone everything gets all mixed up in my head. They bounce around inside my memory, like children singing riddles and spinning in the winding alleys of Krisa. I learn better by reading, but Baba won’t let me see the family books until I have my first tattoo.

“No you are not! Recite back to me the properties of Alexandrite.” My Baba’s blind eyes stare in my direction, eyebrows raised waiting for an answer that I know will be at least partially wrong.

“Alexandrite is supposed to strengthen intuition and creativity…umm it is also considered lucky?” I can’t stop my voice from rising in pitch at the end. My Baba latches onto that like a starving mongrel.

“Don’t answer me with a question. You either know or you don’t. Is that all Sabrine?”

“Yes? I mean yes that is everything.” I pray to Astridore that Baba accepts my answer.

“You forgot that it promotes love little peacekeeper.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath in.

“Sabrine I gave you four properties of Alexandrite.”

“You are right Baba. I’m sorry.” But she cuts me off before I could tack on the last property Astridore had helped me with.

“The last property is that it promotes love Sabrine. Be sure to remember. It often goes into marriage tattoos.”

“Yes Baba, may I go now?”

“Go? Where do you have to go in the middle of the week? Market day isn’t until Saturday.” Baba had crossed her arms so tightly her smock and ample chest look like they are trying to escape their confinements.

“I’m meeting a friend in town today.”

“Is it that boy again?”

“Yes Baba.”

“You know there is no guarantee that his name will appear on your skin.”

“I know Baba.”

“There is no guarantee any name will appear at all. Astridore may think your time would be better spent memorizing properties then meeting with boys.”

“Yes Baba.” My Baba does not like when I leave the temple. If she had it her way I would never leave the manor unless it was to meet with her for my daily lessons.

“I want a report on everything we covered today by tomorrow.”

“Yes Baba.” I don’t know why she wants that. She can’t read anymore.

“You are dismissed.” I scramble to escape the small closet she uses as the classroom. I throw my satchel over my shoulder and shove my chair into the old table. Tossing out a quick goodbye as I flee the room. I bolt down the steps of the Temple and across the courtyard, ignoring the people watching my mad dash from the temple grounds. I told Cyrus I would meet him in the University library today, the ancient’s section. Cyrus and I had been studying the origins of our families recently. I thought all the books on my family had been lost in the Temple fire when I was six, but Cyrus had stumbled upon some old records while taking philosophy and history classes with his tutors. By the time I get to the library I am half an hour late and I pray to Astridore that Cyrus hasn’t left yet. This past week Baba has been extra harsh in my lessons and sometimes I wonder if I will ever live up to her expectations. I am just about to turn the woven copper handle of the library door, when someone turns it from the other side. Cyrus swings the door open and I see his eyes widen the minute he actually recognizes that it’s me.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“No it’s fine.” Cyrus and I still haven’t moved out of the doorway.

“It’s not fine. You were about to leave.” Cyrus looks down at this statement. His hand releases the door handle and wraps around his chest. I watch as the flat of his palm braces his chest from moving. His breathing is shallow, he isn’t moving his ribcage, and there is a little sweat of his forehead. “Did something happen this week.”

“I have it handled, don’t worry about me.” He has averted his gaze again.

“By all that is blessed by Astridore! That is not going to happen. You are my friend. I care about you therefore I am going to worry about you.” I carefully maneuver myself around him into the library and grab the hand that is not bracing his ribs. I have a healer’s kit in my bag and hopefully Cyrus will let me help him this time.

“You have your own things to worry about. Was your Baba any nicer this week?” Cyrus follows my guiding hands as we cross the large empty library to our little alcove in the ancient’s section. The shelves are two times as tall as Cyrus and made of a deep mahogany. The shelves here are filled with books that have been turned backwards to preserve the spines. The titles and authors have been written on the pressed together pages of the books, so you can still tell which is which.

“We aren’t going to talk about that until we take care of you.” I help him sit in the large armchair and toss my satchel on the table.

“I am fine. I have broken my ribs before. It’s just a long healing process.” I open my satchel and start pulling out tins and containers of balms and little boxes full of my family’s herbal remedies and finally a flask of willow bark tea that I had started carrying around for Cyrus. The tea was my family’s recipe but I had tweaked it a little. I added small doses of Capsaicin, turmeric, and cinnamon to help block out the pain and bring down any inflammation.

“Well you don’t have to be in pain the whole time. Here drink this.” Cyrus takes the flask and sniffs at the mouth before scrunching up his face.

“What is this?” I can tell he doesn’t want to drink it but I only need him to take a few large gulps.

“It’s good for you. Drink.” I watch him to make sure he does as I tell him. After the first sip I can tell he wants to spit it out. “Swallow it.”

“Are you trying to poison me?” Cyrus is sticking his tongue out like he wants it to separate from his body so that he doesn’t have to taste the tea anymore. I know that look only too well. Baba makes me try all of our herbal remedies, so I tried this when I made it for Cyrus. It works, but it tastes like you are drinking bitter water with spice in it. It also turns your tongue yellow, but I don’t think I’ll tell him that.

“It will stop the pain and bring down any inflammation, so don’t complain.”

“Don’t you have anything that doesn’t taste like a hot pepper?”

“I do but you have to drink the tea first. I made it just for you, you know.” I snicker at the face Cyrus makes.

“Oh by all that is blessed and holy, we may be friends but you obviously don’t like me very much if you make this just for me.” I watch him take the next few sips. I can tell it’s started to work. His shoulders have relaxed and his hand has stopped bracing his ribs; He also started making jokes, definitely feeling better.

“You can stop drinking that now,” I say, reaching for the flask.

“Thank Astridore.” I raise an eyebrow to that reaction. It’s not that bad, especially because it works.

“You feel better though don’t you?” I watch him taking stock of his pains.

“Yes.”

“Good, so now that you trust me you won’t mind this next part.” I turn back to my satchel.

“What next part?” Fear has crept into his voice as I turned around with a jar of Yiayia’s balm. My aunt Irene says she started making it because my father and my uncles were troublemakers. Sometimes I think they still are.

“Lift up your shirt.”

“What?” His eyes have widened again. This is not that hard.

“Life up your shirt. This is my Yiayia’s bruise balm. I swear to Astridore that it works miracles.” I unscrew the cap and hold the jar under his nose. This one smells nice.

“What is that? It smells like summer.” He’s curious now and when I motion for him to take off his shirt he does. The lower left side of his ribcage and his abdomen are discolored bruises. The area over his ribs is a deep purple that looks black and it all fades out to a rust color and a sickly yellow green. I grip the jar in my hand like it’s King Cadeyrn’s neck and busy myself with getting enough of the balm to work into those bruises.

“It’s a mix of aloe, ginger, eucalypts, Kava Kava, and Valerian root. It promotes healing in bruises and scrapes as well as blocking pain at the sight of injury.” After covering my right hand with balm I set the jar down and rub my two hands together to warm it up. That activates the Valerian root and Kava Kava. I gently put my hands on the worst part of the bruise and start spreading the balm around. I follow the trails of where the blood has pooled because I know that there are damaged muscles underneath. Cyrus has tensed under my ministrations. “I’m sorry if this hurts. It will be over soon.”

“It’s fine. Distract me.” I continue to work the balm into his skin, silently asking Astridore to ease his pain.

“What do you want me to talk about?” He winces when I put pressure on a particularly nasty part of a bruise.

“How was your Baba this week? Were your lessons any better?”

I glance up at his face before I start talking about my strained relationship with my Baba. His eyes are earnest, shining with interest. I know he wants to help me with my Baba, the same way I try and help him with his father. “They were fine I guess. She’s expecting a lot from me when I am not allowed to look at our family reference books. I can’t focus enough in my lessons to retain everything she says, but she expects that. My dad says I should ask my Aunt Irene to tutor me, she learned everything years ago, but I can’t learn anything without the books. Sometimes I think forced ignorance based on a control of resources isn’t what Astridore wants.”

“You would be right little peacekeeper.” I jump at Astridore’s voice in my head. Cyrus looks sideways at me.

“You okay?” I just nod my head. He doesn’t need to know Astridore talks to me. He stares at me for a moment until I finish rubbing the balm into his chest and sit back. He pulls his shirt down and speaks slowly with tentative consideration. “You might be right about your Baba withholding information, but I don’t think you have to go to your Aunt Irene for everything pertaining to your lessons.” I raise my eyebrows at him, waiting for an alternate solution. “We are in a library Sabrine. I’m sure the scholars have books on almost everything.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” I grab his hand to help him from the chair and we go looking for a solution to my missing knowledge, forgetting the family records we originally intended to look at.