A Matter of Honor by Ann Gimpel Page A

of her face, Melis eyed her battered body. Many of the knife wounds were shallow. The cold water had worked a small miracle and sealed the cuts so blood merely trickled from the worst ones.
    Hoping infection wouldn’t set in from the polluted water, she yanked her kit sack open and felt around for her things. Her skin was still so numb she barely felt the pricks from her bone suture needle as she stitched up the worst of her injuries. Once finished with immediate medical needs, she took blade in hand, cut some of her underskirt into strips, and used them to bandage her wounds.
    She pulled out her cloth bags of herbs. Soaked . The hyssop and comfrey would be worthless after all that time in the river. An herbal decoction to fight infection would have to wait. She was too tired to hunt down fresh plants.
    She struggled with the knots in her leather bootlaces, gave up, and sawed through them with the steel blade, wincing because she was probably ruining its edge. Once she’d removed her stockings, she stuffed her feet back into her boots, got up, and walked into the nearby forest, intent on finding something dry enough to burn.
    She gathered tinder and arranged it carefully between three rocks. Next came larger pieces. She set those off to one side. When she thought she had enough fuel to last the night, Melis extended a hand and chanted to bring fire. Nothing happened. After another failed attempt, she pulled her flint from her sack.
    Soon the flames from her fire crackled. She held out her hands, grateful for its warmth. If she could find shelter, food, and dry clothing, she might make it. Exactly what she’d do or where she’d go wasn’t clear. She couldn’t go home .
    Melis didn’t want to be a healer—or a witch—anymore. That was why the mob had tried to kill her. She snorted. As if I could walk away from the magic running through my blood. No more than I could change my hair or my eyes.
    Egged on by the Church, poor, ignorant souls without a dram of magic had taken matters to hand. They’d firebombed coven gatherings and sought out suspected witches, hanging them without benefit of a trial. The Austrian government had turned a blind eye. No one ever championed witches.
    Although she had taken a circuitous route through little-used Viennese side streets earlier that day, a mob had waylaid her walking home from her secret abortion practice. Thank God she’d been carrying her medical supplies along with a few other items in a valise she’d designed to wear across her back. Afraid she would be cut off from either her home or her office, she was never without her kit of medical tools and herbs.
    Melis shook her head; sadness washed through her. She swallowed hard around a thickening in her throat. Home, with all her precious things, was definitely out. The anti-witch thugs had finally found her.
    Not much I can do about that right now.
    Weariness made her limbs heavy. Her eyes fluttered shut. Forcing them open, she piled more wood on the fire. She could afford to let herself sleep for a bit, but she needed the fire to keep animals at bay. Wolves roamed these woods—so did coyotes. A woman alone ran other risks as well. Once she’d rested, she could use magic to protect herself against a single assailant or maybe even two. Right now, she was as vulnerable as a newborn. Sending a prayer to the goddess to see her safely through the coming night, Melis let sleep take her.

    Music thrumming through the darkness woke Melis with a start. Eyes wide and staring, she scrabbled for her clothing and dragged the sodden lumps of fabric closer. The damp night air had obliterated whatever good the fire might have done drying them. Because she couldn’t stand to have the wet garments next to her skin, she made do with her shift and tattered petticoats. They were close to dry since she’d kept them on.
    She wrapped her arms around herself and clamped her teeth together so they wouldn’t chatter and give her away. The fire was