She rolled onto her back and stared up into the rafters where patches of stars twinkled in the gaps between them. Now that she was warm and comfortable, exhaustion quickly overcame her. Her last thought before she fell asleep was to hope for pleasant dreams.
Desta stood in front of a stone cottage with a peaked roof that was surrounded by a white picket fence. A short distance away from the house was a larger building. Somehow, Desta knew it was a workshop. The scent of fresh ink and paper filled the air, and long green grass swayed gently under a surreally perfect blue sky. The peaceful scene looked like it came straight from the pages of a storybook.
As she watched, the front door swung open, and she realized it was hinged at the top like a pet door rather than on the sides like normal. Six black-and-white rabbits hopped out into the yard. Desta watched in wonder while they cavorted in the sunlight, flipping their ears and wiggling their tails while pulling bright orange carrots from the garden and arranging them in the yard.
First they placed the carrots in neat lines to form a perfect triangle. There was something important about the shape, but in her dreamy state Desta couldn’t place the significance. The rabbits paused in their play only long enough to eat the carrots, and she laughed to see them devoured with comical speed. Once every bit had been consumed, green tops and all, they then began pulling a second set from the garden.
This time, they were arranged to form letters and Desta watched with rapt attention as each word became clear. “Help us,” she read aloud. It was so peaceful here, and they had been playing without a care in the world, so why did they need help? Were they asking for her help?
There was a bright flash of light, and the rabbits fled in a panic, one cotton tail after another disappearing through the door. Desta heard a low, snarling growl from nearby. She turned toward the sound, and three wolves popped into existence, their lips curled back menacingly as they slowly circled her. Instead of having a pair of fangs, each wolf had a single, oversized fang that extended well below its muzzle. The wolves lunged at her in unison, hitting with enough force to send Desta tumbling backward, the air pushed from her lungs as she contacted the ground.
Desta shot upright in her bedroll, gulping desperately for air even though there was nothing to impede her breathing. She glanced around the barn, half expecting wolves to appear, but they didn’t. Everything was just as it should be. One of the horses stamped its foot and snorted softly while the remnants of the fire burned low. Cole’s silhouette reclined, undisturbed, in the open doorway where he kept the night watch. Beside her, Caeneus stirred in his sleep, muttering something incoherent before rolling away.
“What’s wrong?” Raysel whispered.
Desta flinched in surprise and looked to the left to find Raysel propped up on one elbow with his other hand wrapped around Thorn’s hilt.
“I had a nightmare about rabbits and wolves,” she replied as she slid back under the blankets. “I’m sorry that I woke you.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” he offered.
She rubbed her eyes and lifted one of the shutters from the glow lamp sitting on the ground between them. “Thank you, but no. I’m going to make some quick notes and then go back to sleep.”
Raysel pulled Thorn back into the bedroll with him and yawned. “Alright, but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Desta smiled at his little joke, and he gave her a sleepy grin in return.
She pulled her notebook out from beneath her pillow and tugged the pen loose from the spine. The dream had been both vivid and detailed, similar to the one she had on the night the Senka operatives attempted to raid their camp. But that dream had been so realistic that she didn’t realize she was asleep until she actually woke up. This one was different. She had known it was a dream the whole time, and it didn’t seem to carry any clear message. Still, could the carrot triangle have symbolized that it had some connection to the books the group was seeking? Or was it just a collection of her random thoughts from earlier in the day?
It didn’t matter which answer was the right one. Desta recorded the dream in as much detail as she could recall and then shuttered the lamp, but it was a long time before she was finally able to fall back to sleep again.
In her second dream of the night, she found herself in her mother’s kitchen. As she sat at the table writing in her notebook, an army of gingerbread men began to pour forth from the oven in a steady stream. They swarmed over her feet, impotently nipping at her toes with their tiny icing mouths.
It was the third dream of the night—in which the gingerbread men returned, this time streaming in from the garden through the pet door and swinging carrots like swords—that led her to write off the visions as mere absurdities created by her imagination rather than meaningful foresights. When she closed her eyes again, she finally drifted off into blissful, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 11
Turnabout
Nerissa
By midmorning the next day, Nerissa and Alba plodded behind the wagon on the road leading to Kisoji. The surrounding foothills were covered in a light fog, which was not so dense that it significantly impaired her vision, but it was hazy enough to match Nerissa’s mental state. Although it had become a habit to go to bed early and rise with the sun each day, her body would never grow accustomed to doing so. It simply wasn’t in her nature. And so, while the others passed the time by trading light banter as they rode, Nerissa remained silent, her drowsy mind lost in her own thoughts.
She had experienced a peculiar feeling of being out of place ever since she set foot in Marise. It was not because the land itself felt foreign. After all, the trees and dirt on one side of a bridge were no different from those on the other, even if they were separated by a line that could only be seen on a map. Her discomfort came from the awareness that these were the lands ruled by Casimer. Never mind that he also controlled her country at the moment—Chiyo was still her country no matter who held the throne. Being in Marise had summoned to the forefront of her mind a thought that she had been suppressing for a long time.
She hadn’t embarked on this journey with the intent to take control of Marise from Casimer, yet the reality of the situation was becoming harder to deny with every passing day. In the back of her mind, she had always known that it wouldn’t be possible to retake Chiyo without first completely removing Casimer from power. He had already proven that he was not the kind of man who could be dealt with through diplomacy. She simply hadn’t wanted to acknowledge to herself that when she deposed Casimer, she would take control of all of Renatus by default. It didn’t matter how justifiable her motivations were. In the end, she and Casimer would be the same—usurpers who stole a country from its rightful ruler. The thought disgusted her, but it didn’t weaken her resolve. Her one choice was to keep moving forward, trusting that the remaining portions of the prophecy would contain a solution to her conundrum. The prophecy’s reference to the “lost suspension technique” gave her at least a spark of hope. Once Casimer was neutralized, she could consult with the Chiefs to determine the best approach to transition to power in Marise.
“I can see the village from here!” Desta exclaimed, snapping Nerissa out of her reverie.
The village situated at the bottom of the slope was tiny, perhaps only slightly larger than the one Shae and Desta called home. The stream running along the eastern edge of the settlement was wider than the road that passed through it. Given its size and remote location, it was no wonder that Kisoji was omitted from most maps.
As expected, their entry into the village created quite a stir. A group of young children discarded their toys and scurried right up to the wagon. Men and women peered out of windows or called out greetings from their workshops.
“Are you traders?” a small boy asked.
He was promptly shoved out of the way by another boy who asked, “More importantly, do you have candy?”
“Chocolate candy!” a little girl repeatedly exclaimed while twirling around in circles.
“Dangerous to who? Us or their parents?” Raysel replied with an impish gleam in his green eyes.
“Do you suppose traveling candy trucks come this way often?” Desta murmured.
“I don’t think there is such a thing,” Eloc began.
“But they may be onto a lucrative business idea,” Cole said, finishing his brother’s sentence.
Jarold leaned down from the front of the wagon to answer the children’s excited inquiries. “I’m afraid we don’t have any candy to sell, but we do have antiques and books.”
“Who would want those?” the first boy lamented as three youthful faces turned crestfallen in unison. Having completely lost interest in the newcomers, the children scurried back to resume their play as if they had never been interrupted.
Leal chuckled while Jarold watched the children run off. “I think I’ll have to get some sweets to bring home with me,” Jarold said wistfully.
“I’m sure your daughter would love that,” Leal said. “Be sure to bring something for your wife too, or you might not have as welcome a homecoming as you expect.”
“That’s an excellent point,” Jarold replied with a laugh.
It was then that Rian stuck his head out from the side window of the wagon. “When is someone going to get around to opening the back door? It’s bad enough that I have to be tucked away like a useless lump when we’re on the move. Do you plan on keeping me locked in here while we’re stopped too?”
Raysel sighed patiently as he dismounted, and he handed Borak’s reins over to Nerissa. “We’ve only been stopped for a short time. And you know you’re not actually locked in. The stairs just block the door when they are folded up.”
“I may as well be locked in,” Rian groused. His eyes met Nerissa’s briefly, but she looked away too quickly to see his expression brighten.
It wasn’t that she was intentionally avoiding him since their conversation at the hospital in Rhea. Yet there was a part of her that felt relieved that Rian had to spend the greater part of recent days inside the wagon. She still hadn’t figured out how to behave around him. Although, deep down, she wanted nothing more than to talk to him, whenever the opportunity arose, she reflexively shied away. It wasn’t like her to be intimidated by someone, but the situation she found herself in now was anything but normal.
She felt her cheeks warming and her lips turning upward automatically at the memory of the way he said he would never forget her eyes. Her desire to talk to him was motivated as much by wanting to get to know him better as by the fact that he might be able to fill in some of her missing memories. Ironically, it was the same desire that caused her to distance herself as well. Although she had managed to keep her true identity a secret so far, Rian was too observant for her to feel comfortable letting her guard down around him.
Raysel unfastened the latches holding the stairs in place and had to jump back as Rian sprang from the wagon like a cat from a water basin.
“What should we do first?” he asked eagerly.
“Caeneus and I will talk to the residents to find out if any of Barr’s relatives still live here,” Raysel answered. He gestured toward a handful of townspeople who were making their way toward them. “Jarold and Leal will stay with the wagon to handle any purchases or trade inquiries. You will stay here with the others and help tend the horses.”
Rian huffed in frustration. “I’m perfectly capable of coming with the two of you to look for Barr’s family.”
Raysel reached out and patted Rian’s lower back in a seemingly amiable gesture that caused Rian to flinch. “You’re also perfectly capable of pouring oats into the horses’ feedbags.”
Rian’s hand drifted automatically toward Bane’s hilt, but he turned away without another word. Nerissa was surprised to see a wicked, almost triumphant-looking smirk flicker across Raysel’s face. She barely heard him mumble something that sounded like “turnabout” under his breath before he took back Borak’s reins.
Though they were strangers, the villagers were initially warm and welcoming to Nerissa and Raysel. None showed any hesitation to chat, and some even invited them in for tea or coffee. However, a consistent trend emerged immediately upon the mention of Barr’s name. The talkative miller, who had been reclining on his porch swing on a self-described day off, suddenly remembered a pressing task he had to attend to. The housewife next door to the miller sniffed the air, claiming to smell a burning pie that was apparently beyond sensory perception. The poor potter had been so startled by the mention of Barr’s name that his clay had collapsed and spun right off the wheel.
Nerissa’s feet dragged in the dirt after the fourth such departure. “Going back to the wagon won’t get us anywhere,” she whined.
Beside her, Raysel clenched and unclenched his fists in frustration. “Talking to more of the villagers obviously isn’t going to help either. I’m afraid, if we upset them too much, they might run us out of town. Then we’d really be at a loss.”
Seeing an unexpected movement out of the corner of her eye, Nerissa turned. On the other side of the street, a brawny, weathered-looking farmer was sitting on the back of an unhitched cart laden with a variety of gourds. Having caught her attention, the man waved again.
“Come and see my pumpkins—they’re fresh off the vine. I’m sure I have exactly what you’re looking for,” he beckoned, wiggling his eyebrows significantly as he said the last part.
Nerissa grabbed the back of Raysel’s shirt and gave it a tug, but he had already spotted the man and stopped walking as well. He glanced over his shoulder at her and shrugged. “It won’t hurt to talk to him especially since he seems willing to talk to us.”
“Hopefully, he wants to talk about more than just pumpkins,” Nerissa murmured.
The farmer reached behind him as they approached. When he turned back, he was holding one of the most perfectly formed pumpkins Nerissa had ever seen. “Isn’t this one a beauty?” he asked, not bothering to hide his pride.
“It’s lovely,” Nerissa replied awkwardly as he pushed the pumpkin into her arms. “It would seem a shame to eat it.”
The farmer frowned and shook his head slowly. “It will go to waste if you don’t eat it. The real shame would be in not using it to its fullest. Even the seeds will be delicious if you roast them with spices and a bit of sugar.”
“You seem like a practical man,” Raysel said. “How much do you want for it?”
The man nodded sagely. “I am a practical man. You must seize every opportunity presented to you to make a living as a farmer.”
“You have a point,” Raysel replied. “How much would it be for two pumpkins and a half dozen squash?”
Nerissa’s head turned back and forth between the two men as they talked. She did not understand why Raysel was buying gourds instead of asking what the man knew of Barr’s family, especially when her arms were beginning to ache under the weight of the pumpkin.
The farmer nodded, satisfied. “Fifteen gold for the lot. If you make it twenty-five gold, I’ll throw in something extra.”
Nerissa scowled as the situation became clear. The farmer wasn’t trying to sell pumpkins, or rather, that wasn’t his sole reason for getting their attention. He wanted to sell information. She seriously questioned the scruples of anyone who would withhold information for money.
Raysel, however, didn’t seem phased in the slightest by the man’s tactics. “Twenty gold now and five more once I see the quality of your ‘goods,’ ” he said.
“That’s fair enough. First, why exactly are you looking for Old Barr?” the farmer asked, smiling shrewdly as Raysel handed over the coins.
“How did you know who we were looking for?” Raysel countered instead of answering.
The farmer pulled off his hat and blotted at the dirt on his cheeks with a cloth. “I could overhear your conversation with the miller from her
e.”
“We were entrusted with delivering to him a modest inheritance from a distant relative,” Raysel said. The lie rolled off his tongue so smoothly even Nerissa almost believed it—and she had helped him invent the story. “Their will noted that if Barr had already passed on, the items should be given to his immediate family instead.”
“Old Barr never had any family as far as I know, though he does have a housekeeper and her son living up there with him. Or, at least, he did. There’s no telling if he’s still alive in that ancient mansion of his or not.”
“So his home is not actually in the village?”
The farmer seemed to find the question quite funny. “Oh, no indeed! That grand estate is likely larger than all of this place put together. It was here long before this little village was founded and likely will be here long after too. You’ll have no trouble finding it if you follow that path north for a handful of miles.” He paused long enough to point to a dirt road that was even more worn than the main one. “You’re likely to find quite a bit of overgrowth on the road though since no one ever goes up that way.”
“No one comes or goes from the house?” Nerissa asked. “That’s somewhat abnormal, isn’t it? We noticed your neighbors are reluctant to talk about him. Is that a part of the reason?”
“It’s all a load of foolishness, if you ask me,” the farmer replied. “The rumors around here say there’s something unnatural about both Old Barr and his house. They claim he’s hundreds of years old and that some magic about his house makes him immortal.”
“And you don’t believe those rumors?” Raysel prodded, giving no hint of his own opinion on the topic. Considering Alden’s great-grandfather’s claim that Barr was over 300 years old, Nerissa herself wasn’t so willing to dismiss the stories as baseless.
Reflection- Thorn of the White Rose Page 10
