Ruseppa was, by nature, a suspicious woman; yet she knew that when Arwa swore an oath before the gods, she would keep her word.

  In this world, the will of the gods was an inescapable fact of life. When people swore an oath, they bore its full weight. Should they break their word, they believed they would suffer the wrath of the gods.

  That was precisely why Ruseppa trusted Arwa. Though we had spent only a short time together, Arwa’s unwavering faith in me moved me deeply. I had to do everything in my power not to betray that trust, not to shake the belief she placed in me.

  Preparing medicine from herbs was no longer a riddle to me. What I had learned from Arwa and Siri had formed a vast treasury of knowledge in my mind about how different plants could combine to bring healing. I crushed the herbs I had selected against the cold metal surface, releasing their essences. The sharp yet strangely pleasant aromas that rose from them drifted gently through the room, as though the deep secrets of nature were being whispered aloud.

  As I combined the mixtures, Arwa watched attentively and nodded in approval. Then she rose from her stool, drew a deep breath, and went to Ruseppa’s side in an attempt to calm her.

  I gently took Essa from her mother’s arms and settled her against the head of the bed. The little girl’s weary eyes locked onto mine, holding both exhaustion and sorrow within them. I offered her a soft smile and helped her swallow the medicine slowly. Even as her small hands trembled, she showed a strength beyond her years. She finished the draught in silence, closed her eyes for a moment, and drew a deep breath. Only time would tell whether Essa would escape the grip of her illness—or, as the believers of this world would say, whether the gods would decree her fate.

  Though Arwa did not care for Ruseppa, she shared the sorrow of a mother weeping for her child. The woman’s despair was etched upon her face by tears.

  “Mother Arwa, our past may not be a bright one, but please pray to the gods—not for me, but for my daughter,” Ruseppa said, her voice trembling. By the time she had finished speaking, Arwa was already seated at the child’s bedside.

  She placed her hands gently upon Essa’s forehead, drew a deep and heartfelt breath, and closed her eyes tightly. Her voice echoed through the room like a faint melody as she began to pray:

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  “Tarhun-Tata, who reigns in the highest heavens, hear our prayers! Grant healing to this little girl’s body, peace to her soul, and strength to her mind. Instead of sending her to the dark earth, allow her to remain upon this world, that she may live to see her children’s children. In the name of the gods, grant her life and keep her spirit safe in your sacred presence!”

  When Arwa withdrew her hands and opened her eyes, the atmosphere within the room had shifted. We had done all we could; there was nothing left but to wait and see whether Essa would recover.

  “Ruseppa, do not grieve. We are but poor servants of the gods. They give life, and they take it away. If Essa’s fate lies in their hands, then we must submit,” Arwa said, fixing her aged eyes upon Ruseppa.

  The woman remained silent, yet I could see many emotions warring within her gaze. For a mother, the hardest thing was surely to wait in helplessness. But we had done what we could. I gathered the basket of healing herbs, and Arwa and I left the room. Ruseppa stood at the door to see us off. She hesitated for a moment, lowered her eyes, then looked back at us.

  “Mother Arwa, please wait a moment. I do not wish you to leave without repaying my debt. It will not take long—I shall return at once,” she said, her voice softened.

  Arwa shook her head. “Ruseppa, I was here for your sake and your daughter’s. The gods have already granted me all that I desire. You need give me nothing in return.”

  But Ruseppa was resolute. “No, Mother Arwa, you have done much for my daughter. And I regret what I once said about you. Please forgive me and accept my gift.”

  Arwa looked into the woman’s eyes for a moment, then said gently, “When a person recognises her faults and seeks forgiveness, her heart is purified. I thank you sincerely, Ruseppa. Whatever the gift may be, I shall accept it.”

  Ruseppa bowed her head in gratitude and went inside to fetch the basket.

  “Arwa, what did she say about you in the past that she now seeks forgiveness?” I asked curiously. For a moment, the old woman’s face darkened.

  “My child, she once told me the tale of a calamity long past. My heart cannot bear to speak of it further. Please ask no more on this matter,” she said, her voice trembling. I regretted my question at once; I wished I had not asked it.

  After a short while, Ruseppa returned with the basket in her hands.

  “Mother Arwa, we are a poor family; we have little to offer. But I ask you to accept this basket with sincerity. I shall also have your apprentice’s soiled clothes washed and sent back. The garments he wears now are our gift.”

  Arwa accepted the basket in silence. “I shall pray to the gods for your daughter’s health, Ruseppa,” she said softly.

  “Thank you for the clothes,” I added. My eyes searched for Walma, yet she had not come to see us off. Arwa and I set off quietly on the road home.