“He was so worried,” Penna agreed.
“Boy-? Athan?” Dnara looked around the cottage as Jenny gingerly took her arm in hand.
“He’s gone into town,” Penna answered Dnara’s questioning glance around the room. “Should be back soon.”
“Something about a mule,” Jenny said, carefully scooping a boney finger through the salve pot then dabbing the salve on top of one of the more angry looking blisters. “Not sure what a mule is, and I think he’s tired of all my questions, so I didn’t ask.” As Dnara sucked in a breath, Jenny stopped. “Sorry, did that hurt?”
“A little,” she lied. It hurt like getting lashes had stung. “It’s okay. Thank you. And a mule is like a horse.”
“Oh!” Jenny smiled at the explanation then dabbed the next blister.
“I don’t think Athan means to be cross with you, Jenny” Penna said, heading back to the unlit hearth as Tobin let out a hushed string of curses. “He just needs a good night’s rest.”
“We all do,” Tobin said as he disgruntledly tossed the unlit log onto the dead fire before looking to Dnara. “And good morning to you. Would you like some...” He glanced to the cold teakettle and sighed. “Cold water and cheese?”
Dnara’s brow furrowed. “You can’t get the fireplace to light?”
“Not the fireplace, nor a log, nor an oil lamp,” Tobin listed. “I can get flint to spark, but not a single flame will catch, even on the driest of wood.”
“How is that possible?” Dnara wondered aloud.
“Beothen thinks the blight has cursed our hearth,” Tobin answered. “He left to go check on the town, and we haven’t heard tale since. Hopefully, Athan brings news from him.”
“Well, you can ask him yourself,” Penna said as she leaned into the small window looking out onto the cabin’s front yard. “Athan’s back with his mule.”
Dnara’s chest swelled with the thought of Athan’s return, and she stared at the door, waiting for it to open. The stinging from the salve being applied to her blisters faded into the background. Last night, she had admonished herself for having become so dependent on Athan’s presence, but now she wanted nothing more than to see his smile and take comfort in the assurance it offered. When the wood door opened, her breath hitched and time seemed to slow. He walked in, boots heavy in their footsteps, and lowered his hood. A frown weighted down the smile she had hoped to see.
“What news?” Tobin spoke first, his own worry mirroring Athan’s expression.
“Not good, I’m afraid,” Athan replied. “Your neighbor’s hearth is out as well. In the town, the lack of fire is sporadic. When I arrived, the blacksmith’s furnace continued to burn, but the men’s bathhouse couldn’t produce a single flame. Beothen has begun organizing a way for people without fire to cook their meals, but as I was leaving, one of the blacksmith’s forges had gone out and couldn’t be relit.”
“Faedra have mercy,” Tobin prayed. “It’s spreading, then? Like the blight?”
“Appears that way,” Athan answered gravely. “I’m not sure what-” He stopped, his eyes finally settling on Dnara as she sat on the hay with Jenny delicately tending the blisters. “You’re awake.”
The way he said it, as if a great weight of worry had been lifted, made her heart ache in appreciation. Someone had been worried for her; someone had hoped for her to reawaken and be all right. How could she have contemplated running away from such concern? And the way he looked at her... It made it hard for her to form words in reply.
“Just woke up, she did,” Jenny said, filling in the silence as Dnara and Athan stared silently at one another. She put away the salve pot. “There, that should do for now.”
“Thank you,” Dnara managed to speak to Jenny just fine, but her words were less certain as her eyes meet Athan’s once more.
Penna let out a tiny tittering snort then headed from the door. “Jenny, Tobin, I could use your hand in bringing up more water from the brook for the washing.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jenny quickly jumped to her feet and headed out the door without question.
“How’re you going to do the washing without warm water?” Tobin asked, even as Penna began tugging him out the door by the arm.
“The old fashioned way,” she answered. “Elbow grease.”
“What’s that?” Jenny could be heard asking as the door closed, along with more protesting by Tobin.
Once the door shut, the cabin fell to silence. Dnara continued to stare up at Athan, and he continued to stare back. Several unspoken words passed through his eyes before he finally stepped forward and knelt by the hay.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Warm,” she answered, though uncertain it was the fever’s doing.
He hesitated then palmed her forehead. “Seems your fever’s gone down.” His hand slid from her forehead down to her cheek, lingering there for a moment before he withdrew its touch. “You had me- all of us worried.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, unsure what else to say and still dazed by the touch of his hand on her cheek. “I don’t know why I keep fainting.”
“The magic,” he said, his gaze now examining her arms. “Beothen said his sister would pass out from time to time before she learned to control the magic. Even using a small amount of magic can make a mage tired. But...”
As Athan hesitated to say more, a chill crawled up her spine. “But, what?”
His eyes rose back up to meet hers. “He’s never heard of anything like this. You... You expelled the blight from Penna. I think it scared him, and Beothen is a hard man to scare. Scared me, too, honestly, seeing the blight like that. And then the screaming... I’ll never forget that sound as long as I live.”
The memory his words evoked sent another harsh shiver up her spine, but the blues, greens and browns melding within his eyes took some of the fear away. The colors latched onto a another misplaced memory within her mind. They reminded her of a meadow next to a lake with a large tree standing watch on the hill as she and her sister-
She blinked away from the thought before the memory could find its roots, and her sister’s laugh faded with it back into the inky darkness where the forgotten times before the tower existed. It felt painful to go there, to step foot where she’d been told time and time again to never venture. There would be an answer waiting there, she believed, but she lacked the courage to seek it.
“Dnara?” Athan asked, his palm returning to her cheek.
She forced a smile past her cowardice. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” he said, taking his hand away.
Despite the fever, she missed the warmth of his palm pressed to her cheek. “For what?”
His mouth opened and closed, one thought changing his expression followed by another. “I’ve frightened you,” he finally said. “You should be resting.”
“I’m okay,” she tried to assure him, but he gave her a skeptical once over. She rolled her eyes and gave in to the obvious. “All right, so I’m a bit warm, and tired, and my arms are painfully blistered.”
“That doesn’t sound okay,” he replied, but at least he smiled as he said it.
“I’ve been worse.”
His smile faltered. “Really?”
His frown hadn’t been her intention, but perhaps he needed know more of where she’d been to understand how blistered skin and a few fainting episodes weren’t the worst times she’d had. “Really,” she said, her straight face bringing an end to the remainder of his smile.
“The tower?” he asked after a breath of hesitation, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to answer the question, either, but after all he’d done for her, he deserved that much. “My keeper... He is, was, a man of strange contradictions.” And part of her couldn’t help but remember those contradictions fondly. “There were times, Athan, when I almost believed he liked my company, when he would tell me stories or ask me to sit in his library with him simply so he was no
t alone. Sometimes, I would catch him smiling at me. That seemed to make him the most angry.”
The fondness in her heart trembled to pieces when she remembered his rage. It came from a place she could not understand. And with it always came a sadness he could not hide, after which he would lock her away in her room for days in solitude. As punishment or to save himself from her presence, she had never been sure.
“He would beat you?” Athan asked, breaking into her thoughts.
She nodded. “He favored the lash, first to my thighs as a child, then to my back as I grew older. It stung quite harshly, much like these blisters.” She looked down to her salve coated arms and wrinkled her nose. “These would probably hurt a great deal more if I wasn’t accustomed to the pain, so perhaps I should thank him for the scars across my back.”
“Never,” Athan said, bitterness on his tongue. “A keeper is never deserving of anyone’s thanks, especially not one who would hurt a child.”
With that, she could not argue, so she merely nodded and looked to the window where sunlight mingled with the trees outside to create dancing shadows upon the glass. Her keeper had been cold; cruel even in the few moments of kindness she remembered with such clarity. Like the shadows, that kindness had been fleeting, full of false hopes that would keep her compliant, like a second invisible collar. She had begun living for those moments when he would smile, or teach her something from his books, or share his tea and biscuits. She had held onto those times with more fervor than the times that left scars across her skin, and so too the memory of them.
“Have you eaten?” Athan asked after letting her be for a quiet, reflective moment.
She shut the memories away and tore her gaze away from the dancing shadows. “Not yet, but I’m not all that hungry.”
“You should still eat something.” He stood and offer his hand. “Are you all right to stand?”
“I think so,” she answered with some uncertainty but took his offered hand up. After sleeping on the floor, her legs tingled as she stood. A warmth rose from her neck up to her head and the room spun within her vision. Her first step stumbled, but Athan caught her before she could fall.
“Careful,” he warned, his voice soft and breathless.
His hands expertly avoided her blisters, grasping her elbows instead. The hold drew her in closer, her cheek brushing his chest. She could smell the outside on his clothes; wet grass, pine, and mint leaves kept within a breast pocket. She suspected the mint had been intended to mask the smell of sweat that came from all the walking and riding he’d done that morning. She didn’t mind the proof of his hard labor, but the mint did make her smile.
“Thank you,” she managed, head ducked to hide a blush as she found her footing. Her hands, however, refused to let go of his clothing. One deep breath in, the mint tickling her nose, then a long exhale. Yes, she thought. Here is where she felt safest.
“Dizzy?” he asked when she didn’t step away.
“A bit,” she answered, but the room no longer spun, and the fever had stopped being the cause of her flushed skin. Tempted by the proximity of his face, she looked up through the loose black strands of her hair to see his eyes. His lips, too, were close, and as his eyes met hers, those lips parted to speak.
The door opened, Tobin stepping in with a call of “Beothen is back!”, then falling silent as he stopped mid stride. “Oh. Begging your pardon.” He cleared his throat and made a quick retreat.
Dnara’s heart fluttered wildly within her chest, the fever no match for the heat that took hold up the back of her neck as she stepped out of Athan’s embrace. Athan stood there, arms still held out as if supporting the shadow of where she had been. He, too, cleared his throat then scratched the back of his neck.
“I should see if Beothen has news,” he said, voice unsteady.
“Yes. Of course,” she replied pithily, her own voice restricted as her pounding heart made it hard to breathe. “Hopefully the news is good,” she added after a hard won breath.
“Hopefully,” he agreed then stepped to the door before pausing. “You should eat. There’s cheese there, on the table.”
“Thank you. I will,” she stuttered as he left, closing the door behind him. Sitting down at the table, she reached first for the pitcher of water and an empty glass. With unsteady hands, she filled it then drank it all within one go. The water helped cool and calm her. One glance at the cheese made her nauseous. But, heeding Athan’s advice, she cut off a chunk and chewed.
The door opened and Penna entered. “Oh, good, you’re eating. Would you like some bread to go with it?”
Forcing the cheese down her throat even as her stomach recoiled, she thought bread did sound more appealing. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
Penna opened a wooden box and pulled out a cloth-wrapped loaf then set the loaf on a cutting board. “Cornbread. It’s the only bread these days, with wheat refusing to grow and any oats going to livestock, or beer,” she laughed at the last part then sighed as she sat down. “Of course, now that’s gone sour, too.”
“I don’t mind cornbread.” Dnara took the offered cut piece and nibbled. Her stomach didn’t protest, but instead her hunger ignited. “It’s very good.”
“Thank you, dear.” Penna smiled then looked to the blisters on Dnara’s arms. “It’s not healing like last time? Your arms, I mean.”
Dnara swallowed the larger bight she’d taken. “Doesn’t appear so. But, they don’t hurt, not really. The salve is helping.”
“That’s good.” Penna nodded softly at that, her eyes never leaving the scars. “I can’t imagine what it’s like, having the magic or it doing that to your arms. And I can’t ever thank you enough for what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Dnara protested against having anything to do with her using magic. “I don’t know how to use magic, I swear.”
“And I believe you,” Penna said with an understanding smile and tears gathering to redden her eyes. “You said it last night, though. I heard it. You said ‘I only wanted to help’. You wanted to help me with my coughing, and somehow, be it magic or some wind spirit that’s latched onto you, or simply the gods hearing your prayer... You did help me. You got that vileness out of me, and I can breathe again. For that, for this gift, I can’t ever thank you enough, but I’ll try. So, thank you.”
A gift.
The voice whispered through her mind as clear as it had come from a shadow sitting on her shoulder. Afraid of it as she may be, she could not deny that it had helped Penna. So, she swallowed her next bite, gave Penna a timid smile and said, “You’re welcome.”
And in her heart, she could feel the wind smile with her.
16
“Are you certain you’re okay to travel?” Athan asked for the fifth time that morning.
Dnara scratched Treven’s long nose and tried her best not to be annoyed by Athan’s concern. “I’m certain.” After eight days of well-intended cloistering within the cottage, she could feel the wind tugging at her skirt, urging her to get moving again. To where, she had yet to figure out, but staying in one place had brought her no closer to discovering the answer.
“You can ride in the wagon with Penna,” Tobin said as he patted the lowered back gate on the horse-drawn wagon that served as his bread stall in town.
“Thank you,” she replied, accepting his kindness and Penna’s hand up into the back.
“There we go,” Penna said as they settled, their legs dangling down over the edge a few feet from the ground.
Athan gave Dnara another long look of uncertainty but gave in when it became clear he was the only one against her going into town. Next to him, Jenny mounted her black horse, which she’d named Rupert after hearing Penna’s tale of the smart mouse named Rupert who had saved King Haverashi from the vile vizier’s plot to overthrow the sultanate of Ka’veshi some six hundred years ago. A fanciful tale, for certain, but entertaining on a dark night when no fire would light in the hearth. Dnara had thought it an odd name for a horse,
but supposed it was no less a strange name for a horse than Treven was for a mule. Staring into Treven’s clever eyes as Athan finished loading the saddle that Treven refused to let Athan ride in, she wondered if an equally fanciful tale lay behind Treven’s unusual name and peculiar tendencies.
The three coils of rope hung from Rupert’s saddle, but their magic had not returned. Unlike the ropes, Jenny’s clothes had remained black and stitched with the royal crest, but Penna had accidentally lost the embellished vest in the river while washing it. Jenny didn’t seemed too concerned and quite happily accepted some of Tobin’s old clothes in return, preferring pants to skirts and being more his size. Now, striding atop the large Rupert, Jenny looked more like a farmer riding a plow horse to town, complete with a straw hat that had a hole in the brim. Part of Dnara felt guilty to keep Jenny’s true identity from her, name unknown or not, but the more she spent time with Jenny, the less she wanted Jenny to ever know she’d been a king’s blackrope. Jenny smiled at her now, like a caring mother to a child, and followed the wagon as it jostled along the road into town.
The forty minute ride to town took them past land and cottages Dnara hadn’t been conscious to see on her journey to stay with Penna and Tobin. The other cottages were near identical to theirs, practical and cozy, surrounded by wood fences that kept sheep or pigs in, or out if the owners farmed corn. There were many farms with newly plowed brown earth, hopeful the corn would sprout and grow before the preserved remains of last year’s hard won harvest ran out. None of the cottages they passed had smoke rising from their chimneys, a sign the fires there had gone cold, the hearth unwilling to relight.
From one field holding a few thin looking sheep, a flock of ashbirds rose then flew overhead and danced in a upwelling swirl before breaking off to the east. Their grey wings made the sky look full of smoke, and their chattering song directed the path they took before fading into the distance. Then came a bird she’d never seen before, its large black figure landing on the cottage roof next to the sheep. Then another landed next to it, a strange muttering shared between them. Then, another landed. And another. The sheep bleated and backed away, and Dnara felt the birds’ large black eyes upon her as a cool wind shivered across her back.
When the Wind Speaks (Starstone Prophecies Book 1) Page 13
