The Pear Tree Court

Valeria draped a crisp linen sheet over her work table before ushering her new patient in. The young lad was clearly in pain, clutching at his side where blood bubbled sluggishly between his fingers. Matrica, her apprentice, grunted as she lowered him onto the table, crinkling her nose in disgust when his blood-sodden hand gripped her tunic.

"Please," he gasped, "help me."

When Valeria nodded briskly, he held her gaze for a moment before succumbing to unconsciousness. Turning around, Valeria grabbed the worn leather apron from the hook next to her apothecary cabinet, dropping it over her head and tying it firmly around her sturdy waist.

"Who is he?" She asked warily. It wouldn't be the first time that her kindly apprentice took pity on those that couldn't pay.

"He carries the Calcolo dialect," Matrica muttered, scuffing her worn boot across the floor.

"That means nothing in today's world. After the accords," Valeria scoffed, batting her hand dismissively, "everyone has left their homes."

"Not us. We haven't left." Matrica rolled up her sleeves and began scrubbing her calloused hands with a bristle brush as she spoke.

Snatching up one of the many baskets under the table, Valeria began to draw supplies from her stores, confirming the contents by holding the corked jars up to the light so she could read the labels. "Why do I do this, Matrica?"

"Because even the best practitioners can make mistakes," her student recited, echoing a warning Valeria often gave.

"Remember that. Now, how would you treat the patient's wound?"

Matrica began to cut off the patient's tunic, discarding the bloody scraps of cloth into a wooden bucket. "Well, I would start with boiled water and gauze. Then I suppose," Valeria held up her hand, stopping her student mid-speech.

"You suppose? Are you certain, or are you not?"

Nodding her head in acknowledgment, Matrica continued, "I'm sure. First, I would choose thyme and lavender oil to add to the water as a disinfectant and anti-inflammatory. Then I would apply a little bit of goldenseal balm as a coagulant and pack the wound with a yarrow poultice. Finally, finish it up with a few wooly lamb's ear leaves as dressing."

Glancing at the contents of the basket, Valeria smiled approvingly. "Good. You're learning. You can lead his treatment." Matrica blushed sweetly from the praise. "Now, why don't you tell me where you found him?"

Her shoulders slumped. "He'd collapsed on the ground, maybe five minutes walk from here."

Valeria's golden brows snapped together, a scowl pinching at her heart-shaped mouth. Beginning to fear the worst, she demanded, "Where was he, Matrica?"

"Just as I told you, he was on the main road, five minutes from here. He was just off the path; he could have come from any number of places." Matrica trailed off, knowing her argument was weak.

"Did he say how he was hurt?" Valeria pushed, unrolling the gauze so Matrica could start washing the wound. Despite their current predicament, Valeria couldn't help but be proud of Matrica as she effectively debrided the wound and surrounding tissue.

"He said he took something that didn't belong to him. Something that didn't belong to anyone. That's what he kept saying anyway."

"Matrica, we've talked about this! You can't get involved in affairs above your station. You'll get yourself killed." When the silence stretched, she probed further, "what do you have to say for yourself?"

"He was dying! I couldn't leave him there, in the dark. In the dirt! And if you were honest, you'd admit that neither could you."

"Apply that thicker. The wound is deep."

Matrica took a deep breath before reaching for a fresh swab. Twirling the cotton-tipped reed into the strong-smelling ointment, she smoothed another layer onto the ragged gash.

"Good. Do you swear that is all you know?"

Jutting her chin out mulishly, Matrica deftly began to apply the poultice under Valeria's watchful eye. "Yes."

Valeria walked over to the dark knapsack that lay forgotten on the floor. When Matrica had muscled the mysterious stranger into the room, she'd kicked it under the table.

"What are you doing? It's not right to pry into people's belongings."

"It isn't right to endanger those who are trying to help you either."

"You don't know he's dangerous."

"Exactly. Which means I don't know he's safe either." Holding her slender hands a few inches above the worn fabric, Valeria closed her eyes and reached deep within herself, teasing out a thread of silver magic. Within her mind's eye, she wove the cord around the bag, checking for mage traps. Not sensing any, she broadened her awareness, probing at a filmy magical haze that surrounded a book. Her magic lightly brushed the tomes shroud. Biting back a yelp, she withdrew, prickling with excess power.

"There's something in here."

"And you tell me I'm always getting into trouble." Matrica rubbed her hands clean on a fresh towel before chucking it into the heaping bucket of bloody fabric. She walked over to the sink and began washing her hands once more.

Not bothering to answer, Valeria picked up the knapsack, upending it so the contents could clatter onto the wooden floor. She realized Matrica was watching her when the metallic clip of scissors paused.

A golden pear and a thick, leather-bound grimoire glinted brightly amongst a pile of mundane objects.

"Oh no," Matrica whispered. She'd just finished applying the dressing to the wound. She placed her wrist onto her patient's forehead, checking for a fever. After taking his pulse and noting it in the medical chart at the foot of his bed, she sidled over to her teacher. Taking a deep breath, she asked, "What now?"

"You know what this is?"

Nodding her head gravely, she recited what sounded like a passage from a textbook, "a gilded pear is the sacred fruit of the courts, gifted to mortals as an invitation to join the Seelie lands as one of the fey. Imbued with centuries of magic, the fruit is known to be the rarest of gifts, only bestowed to precious few as a token from the queen herself."

"Correct."

"What's the book?" Reaching forward, Matrica made to grab the grimoire.

"Don't!" Slapping her hand away, Valeria shot her student a glare.

"What was that for?" Matrica asked glumly, rubbing her wrist for dramatic effect.

"That is the Book of Harvest. It's been lost for centuries."

"Oh."

Valeria could tell from the awe in Matrica's voice that she'd heard of the spellbook before. "Which makes this invaluable."

"What are you going to do?" Matrica walked over to her patient, casting a wary glance back at her teacher.

Please forgive me, Valeria thought desperately as she pulled the spell key from the chain that always hung around her neck. The widening of Matrica's eyes told her that her apprentice knew what was about to happen.

The snapping of the white oak tree twig brought time to a slow, sticky halt. Wasting no time, Valeria cast off her apron and strode out of her workroom and into her small bed-chamber. Rifling to the back of her closet, she tugged out a black bundle of cloth. Unrolling it, she donned the cloak, scooping up the soft leather satchel that contained a spell kit, money, medicines, a map, wool socks, a purifying flask, and a sturdy pair of boots.

Dashing back to the workshop, she looked past the horrified expression on her frozen student. Valeria reached into the satchel and withdrew a spelled square of fabric coated in protective oils and herbs meant to store magical artifacts. She scooped up the pear and grimoire, wrapping them carefully several times in the length of oily cloth. Then, satisfied, she dropped it into her bag before lifting it onto her chest, lacing the straps around her back.

"I'm sorry," Valeria whispered as she slinked out of the door into the inky darkness. She felt terrible, but she had no choice. Her first duty would always be to her coven. Given the opportunity, she couldn't turn her back on the chance to return a powerful spell book that had been stolen for centuries. For years, rumors had persisted, claiming that the Unseelie queen had orchestrated the theft, but today Valeria had been presented with proof.

It was time to return home. It was time for war.