The Edge of Hope: Wrak-Ayya: The Age of Shadows Book Eleven

by Roberts, Leigh

  “These are the papers showing that your mortgage with the Wilde Edge Bank has been settled. Grayson Morgan the Third, Mrs. Jenkins’ grandson, instructed me to take care of this for you. You’ll have no more trouble with it. He also had me set up a trust to provide for your welfare. The papers explaining how it works are with the others.”

  “That’s very generous,” answered Mr. Webb. “We have fallen on tough times since I had my accident.”

  “There’s also provision to compensate a local family to continue helping you with your farm work. Should that fall apart for some reason, you’re to contact me, and we’ll make other arrangements,” he explained.

  “I see; thank you,” said Mr. Webb. “And where is your business?”

  “Up until recently, I’d have said in Millgrove. That’s the town nearest Shadow Ridge. But now that Mrs. Jenkins and her new husband are gone, I find myself at a bit of a loss as to how to continue.”

  “Well, we’d be glad if you would stay for supper,” Mrs. Webb told the lawyer. “And if you don’t have other arrangements, you’re welcome to overnight here as well,”

  Newell Storgis took a moment and looked intently at the family members gathered around him. “I appreciate the thought.”

  “While you think about the offer, let’s show you what Grayson and Ben did for us,” Mr. Webb put in. “We also have a son, who helped out a great deal, but he’s not here at the moment. He wants to become an animal doctor, and he’s out on rounds with our current one.”

  “Now that we have help around here, he can spare some time to go after that dream,” added Mrs. Webb as they left the house.

  Grace tugged on one of the barn doors, and slowly it swung open. The warm scent of hay and animals wafted out from inside.

  Watching where he stepped, Storgis entered. He immediately spotted them. “These look like Morgan horses.”

  “They are,” responded Mr. Webb. “Grayson left them with us. He couldn’t immediately take them, but I imagine he’ll be back before long.”

  Storgis looked over the stunning beasts. “Definitely Morgan stock, such superior horses. It was terrible about the accident.”

  “Oh, I know,” Mrs. Webb said. “I didn’t realize you knew about that. I imagine Grayson wrote you somehow? Yes, we were anxious for a while that Miss Vivian might not recover.”

  Storgis’ head snapped around. “Miss Vivian? You mean Mrs. Jenkins?” he asked carefully, and his eyes darted about as if looking for a stronghold.

  “Yes. Miss Vivian is what she told us to call her,” she answered. “And we were told to call her husband Ben. She said it was too formal to address them as Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. I meant no disrespect.”

  “I— I didn’t realize you knew them.”

  “We knew Miss Vivian from when she first came to get Grayson,” explained Mrs. Webb. “But we hadn’t met her new husband, Ben. As you said, there was the accident she had crossing the river. We truly were afraid she’d die of pneumonia. Though Grayson and Ben got her here as quickly as possible, she was still chilled to the bone.”

  Storgis dared not move lest he betray his inner turmoil. “And this was when?” he asked in a measured voice, his brows in a hard knot.

  “They left a bit under a month ago,” she said. “I’m sorry, Mr. Storgis. I thought you knew about this. I guess Grayson didn’t want to worry you, so he didn’t mention it.”

  “Perhaps if you start at the beginning?” he suggested.

  “There isn’t much to tell,” she said. “Grayson and his grandparents—he calls them that even though we know Ben isn’t a relation—were on their way through. Crossing the river, the horses spooked. Miss Vivian was standing up in the front seat of the wagon because she was worried about Grayson. He’d jumped into the water to lead the team across. Then the current shifted the wagon, and she fell overboard. Grayson rescued her, but she was drenched and caught a chill. Our Dr. Miller brought her back to health, and they went on their way. But Grayson didn’t want to fool around with the two extra horses, so he left Rebel and Shining Rose here and said he’d be back.”

  “Rebel?” Storgis nearly choked.

  “Yes, why?” she asked. Storgis could feel Mrs. Webb scrutinizing him, searching his face for something.

  “Oh, nothing, nothing. I see,” he said. “I’m sorry; I must be tired from the trip. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take you up on the offer of staying here. It’s very kindly of you.”

  “You’re welcome,” smiled Mrs. Webb. “Come on, let’s get you inside. Do you have bags with you?”

  “Yes, but only one.”

  It was decided that Ned would immediately go into town with Mr. Storgis to help the lawyer bring back his things.

  At supper, Storgis was still reeling from the shock of learning that Miss Vivian and Ben were still alive.

  Once everything had been passed around, and plates were full, Mrs. Webb asked him, “Do you have a large practice back at Millgrove?”

  “Not since the—since Mrs. Jenkins—Miss Vivian—and Mr. Jenkins left town. They were my primary clients.” He changed the subject. “This sure is some good home-cooking. I don’t get much of that.”

  “Are you not married? Do you not have a family?” Grace asked.

  Mrs. Webb frowned at Grace for asking such a personal question of someone they didn’t know. Storgis saw the look pass from mother to daughter and said, “It’s not a problem, Mrs. Webb. No, Grace, I don’t. I suppose that’s why I feel the loss of Miss Vivian so greatly. She and her first husband did a lot for me. Helped me get established. In a way, they were like family,” the lawyer explained.

  “That must have been hard for you then—their deciding to leave,” Mrs. Webb said.

  “Yes. Very much so,” he answered.

  He next addressed Mr. Webb. “You said young Mr. Morgan would be back for the horses. Have you any idea when?”

  “No, but I suspect before too long due to the weather turning. And Grayson said he ordered some supplies that he’ll need to pick up at the General Store before heading back.”

  “I have some business I’d like to look into tomorrow,” Storgis said after a moment. “I may be gone all day.”

  “Certainly. You’ll be back for supper?” asked Mrs. Webb.

  “Yes, thank you, I will,” he replied gratefully.

  That night as they lay together in bed, Mrs. Webb said to her husband, “What a decent fellow. But he seems disturbed in a way I can’t quite put my finger on. I imagine he’s just distraught over Grayson’s grandparents leaving Shadow Ridge. It’s a shame he’s all alone in the world, isn’t it?”

  “Now, Nora. Don’t be getting any ideas about Grace and that lawyer man. He’s much older than her. And you don’t want her moving away, now do you?”

  His wife sighed. “I suppose. But there isn’t anyone here she’s interested in. And it’s not unusual for a grown man to wed a younger girl. She is of age. And she’d be well taken care of; I don’t want her to struggle if I can help it.”

  “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. Mr. Storgis isn’t staying, and there isn’t time for anything to grow between them. Let’s go to sleep, and you can get that notion out of your head.” Mr. Webb rolled over and turned out the light.

  Like many small towns, there was the customary local establishment where men gathered to trade, gossip, and drink. Storgis stood in the doorway and glanced around. Several men sat at the bar while others were sitting at the scattered tables. As he entered, he noted a tall man in tattered clothing leaning against the wall to the left of the door. Storgis crossed the roughhewn floor to the bar.

  The bartender called out, “What will ya’ have?”

  “Whiskey.”

  The bartender brought it promptly. “You’re not from around here. What’s your business?”

  “I’m just passing through, but I’m considering bringing my business here,” Storgis said and threw back the shot.

  “Guessing by how you’re dressed, you’re a b
anker?”

  “Lawyer,” Storgis responded.

  “As long as you’re not up to making trouble, you’ll find yourself welcome here.”

  “There’s something you could help me with,” Storgis said, taking a coin out and placing it on the table.

  The bartender looked down, and his eyes widened. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I’m looking to hire a tracker. Know any?”

  The bartender glanced over Storgis’ shoulder. “Might. What’re you looking to hunt? Bear? Cougar?”

  “Not hunting. Tracking. And it’s not an animal; it’s a man.” He glanced back to see what had the barkeeper’s attention.

  The tall, rugged fellow pushed off from the wall and sauntered over to the bar. He leaned down and looked Storgis in the eye.

  “A drink for my friend here,” said the lawyer, meeting the man’s gaze and laying another coin on the bar.

  After a few days, Storgis announced to the Webbs that he’d be returning to Millgrove but that he might be back someday as he was considering moving his business to Wilde Edge.

  “Is that what you were doing in town?” asked Mr. Webb.

  “Part of it. I met with the banker there, and he assured me they could use a local lawyer. Surprised me, given the size of the town, but apparently, with all the homesteading going on, there’s a need. It seems a lot of land out here is unclaimed.”

  “Odd to think our little town might grow, but I guess that’s what they call progress,” said Mrs. Webb.

  “I did check with the bank, and all the arrangements that young Mr. Morgan put in place are holding up. I’ll be leaving today, and I thank you for your hospitality. May I avail myself of it one last time and get a ride to town later today? There’s a carriage heading back that leaves at five o’clock, and I’d like to catch it.”

  “Of course. I’ll take you myself,” said Mr. Webb.

  “May I go too?” asked Grace.

  “Yes, you may come this time,” said Mr. Webb, giving his wife a look as if to say again, don’t get any ideas.

  On the way into town, Grace politely asked Mr. Storgis what it was like to be a lawyer. They chatted good-naturedly, and from what Mr. Webb could tell, Mr. Storgis didn’t seem to mind.

  I wonder if Nora is right. They do seem to get along. And if he is moving his business here— Well, I won’t rule it out altogether. But I’m not going to encourage it either. The last thing I want is for Grace to get hurt. He’s far more sophisticated than any of us around here. Though Grace would make anyone a fine wife. She’s as smart as a whip, a great cook like her mother, and very good-natured.

  Chapter 7

  Accompanied by Harak’Sar’s males, Khon’Tor trudged through the damp leaves, headed out on what they all believed to be an impossible task. Still, they were committed to giving it their best. A lost offspring was a heartbreak no one should endure. Several had families of their own and understood that if there was any chance at all of finding the young one, they had to take it.

  As they talked together in silence, Khon’Tor’s thoughts returned to Tehya, and he wondered what she was doing in his absence. He knew she was being cared for, but he longed to return home to the comfort of her arms. Home. Will the Far High Hills ever feel like home? Will the longing to return to Kthama ever cease?

  * * *

  Khon’Tor, so seldom separated from Kthama by any distance, had been practicing what his father taught him about the energy lines that flowed throughout Etera. The lines the sentries and watchers used to navigate. Lines that would lead him to distant communities of the People. He had let this ability lapse, having had no need of it as, for the most part, he only accessed the communities further up the Mother Stream. He knew his sensitivities were nowhere as strong as those of the watchers, but he felt as if they were now on a fairly direct line toward the Far Flats. When the group stopped for a rest, Khon’Tor asked, “Am I correct that the current feels as if it is broadening?”

  “Yes, it is indeed less focused here and a little more dispersed, but it still leads to the west,” said the lead watcher.

  Khon’Tor ran his hand through the silver white streak in his crown and was silent a moment. “I feel we would be wise to split up a bit, perhaps a watcher and two guards together. The first three sweeping slightly north, the other three keeping to this, the main path, and I will follow the lines further to the south.”

  “Will you be able to find your way?” the watcher asked.

  “Yes, I believe I will. I have been working on my long-neglected abilities to feel the currents. We all know that without preparation, Berak would not have survived much farther than this. And we are about at the limit of our supplies; if we are to make it back ourselves, we need to turn around within the next few days. I suggest that we continue in these differing directions, and if we do not find any sign of him in that timeframe, each group should independently head back.”

  The watchers and guards nodded and headed off as instructed.

  The cold air chilled his lungs, and he wrapped his cloak around him more snugly. His feet were protected from the newly frozen ground, twigs, and stones, and on such a long journey, he was glad for the foot coverings. There was no path where he was heading. Along the way, he kept his senses peeled for any sign of unusual activity. A broken tree limb, trampled leaves hinting at a sleeping area. Each time he paused, he ran his hand up and down through the crown of his hair. Then he set out again.

  At nightfall, Khon’Tor looked for a small overhang to provide protection from the elements. Gathering mosses and leaves, he made a place to sleep and covered himself with fronds and fir branches. He turned his thoughts to Tehya, warm and snug in their quarters under the wolf pelts they had brought from Kthama. He comforted himself by thinking of Arismae tucked safe and cozy into her little nest. Khon’Tor did not know how long he would be gone but was committed to continuing until his heart was satisfied that he had done what he could to find the offspring.

  Every so often, he paused and searched his gut feelings for where he should go. At night, he checked the constellations, keeping his direction consistent. Though he was in unfamiliar territory, he knew if he traveled far enough along the magnetic lines, he could easily retrace his steps.

  Maybe being stripped of everything that defined me will teach me how to recreate myself. Open me up to a different way of being. All my life, I have been a Leader. Perhaps now it is time to learn to be a follower—to follow something other than my own reason, will, feelings. To tune into the wisdom the Great Spirit gives to those who ask. It is true that I am no longer who I was; perhaps this is helping me figure out who the krell I am supposed to be now.

  He pushed himself each day, along the way gathering what he could of roots and foliage, supplementing it with a ration of dried meat from his satchel.

  Time passed until Khon’Tor’s supplies reached breaking point and he knew he would have to turn back the next morning. Then, almost at nightfall, he detected a nauseating stench not far ahead. He decided to continue and find the source.

  Before long, he was standing over the rotting corpse of what had been one of the People. It could only be Berak; of this, Khon’Tor was suddenly certain.

  So, you were headed to the Far Flats, after all, he thought as he looked down at the decomposing mess. But where is the offspring? My son. Another son I can never claim.

  Khon’Tor searched the area but could find no sign of the offspring. There was nothing—not a torn piece of hide, a discarded cloth, a tiny body. All he could do was to turn back.

  Having for days pushed himself to exhaustion, he dropped to his knees and leaned forward and doubled over in anguish, his head in his hands. You cannot even give me this peace? I do not care that Berak is dead. Better for everyone, but where is the offspring? Though it would not absolve me of my crime against the maiden, if I could at least return the offspring to them alive, it would be some small atonement.

  He finally straightened up and ran his hand over h
is crown as was his habit. A strange feeling washed over him, and he became very still. The offspring is alive; I can feel it. But where?

  After Khon’Tor had taken care of what was left of Berak, he turned and started the long trek back to the Far High Hills, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he had not found any sign of the offspring. It was clear that at the time of Berak’s death, U’Kail had not been with him. Along the way, he called out in case the others could hear him, but knowing that in time, if they had not already, they would also trace their way back.

  Word had reached Tehya that Khon’Tor was close to the Far High Hills, and she was impatient for his arrival. Estimating his time of return, she had left Arismae with her parents so she would be free at any time to go and welcome him.

  Finally, Hollia, Urilla Wuti’s Helper, came to find her, excited. “He is almost here. Come! Urilla Wuti is also on her way!”

  The Helper did her best to keep up with Tehya, who sprinted through the passageways to be there when he walked in.

  Harak’Sar was already waiting, and Urilla Wuti and Iella showed up shortly.

  Before too long, Khon’Tor’s silhouette appeared in the entrance and Tehya ran to him.

  “You are back. Oh, Adoeete,” she cried and buried her face in his chest.”

  “Saraste’, please, I am in great need of cleaning up,” he said, though kissing the top of his mate’s head.

  “I do not care. You are back, safe and sound,” Tehya exclaimed and stepped back to look at him.

  The color drained from her face. Khon’Tor’s foot coverings were practically in shreds and his tunic was grubby and tattered. His beard had grown far longer than he ever kept it, and his hair was greatly in need of care. He had also lost weight.

  “Let me tend to you please,” she asked, pulling him by his hand to lead him away.