by S. L. Horne
Tears stream down the child’s face. “I am well enough. And no, the master did not discover them. It upset him that his horse was not ready. The good news is, he has discontinued my service to pay off my parents' debt.” A tiny smirk peeks out from beneath his purpling cheeks. “The sire said my mother and father will hang for my lack.” He looks over at his parents who were now rushing over to their son. “He doesn’t know.”
“You must leave, all of you. Do not come back. Leave the kingdom entirely.” Denton speaks in hushed tones to the parents, although the urgency of his words is clear. They nod in agreement, and the boy's father scoops his son into his arms, and they turn to depart. Glancing back only as they get to the door, the older man directs a solemn nod of appreciation at Denton before they disappear.
Elara sits waiting behind the barrels, Denton comes around the bales and extends his hand out to her. With some reluctance, she puts her hand in his, and he unnecessarily puts a finger to his lips. Together, they slip out into the night once more.
Denton moves easily through the tall grass, glancing back from over his shoulder often in response to Elara’s clumsy movements. She moves quietly as he instructed, but the moon offers little light, and the conditions are foreign to her. Every few steps a hole or burrow dug by some small animal trips her, causing her ankles to buckle, and each time she is sent tumbling forward, she places both hands on him for support.
Her hands are warm when she touches him, and even in the darkness, he can see the flush which spreads across her face. He laces his fingers in hers and picks up the pace.
They are traveling downhill, away from the castle and back toward the docks.
It is a long time before they exit the tall grass. Their clothes are now torn in places and burrs cling to the fabric. Elara’s hair is in tangles, and she blows at the stray strands to keep them out of her face. Still hand in hand, they break away from the field onto a sandy beach.
Denton pulls Elara down behind a row of boats dry docked for the night. Crouched so as to stay hidden, she follows his lead as they creep from behind one to the next.
Having decided on which would be easiest to steal, he points to a small boat and motions to her. Elara looks at him, eyes wide with fear.
With no time to spare, Denton grips her around the hips and lifts her into the boat. A stifled gasp of surprise escapes her mouth, and she lays down in the bottom as he pushes it over the sand toward the water. As it lifts from the ground and rocks with the motion of the sea, he joins her. Finding the oars next to Elara, he hands one to her and rows with the other.
Time moves slowly as the lights on the shore shrink to almost nothing and their arms grow tired. The farther out they paddle, the smaller the vessel feels. Wind rips at their skin, and Elara’s face grows pale and colorless. Denton has no doubt she is trying her hardest to paddle and do her part, and it hurts him to see her struggle so much.
He sees the oar begin to slip from her hands into the ocean. He reaches out to grab it but catches her instead as she takes a dive for the water as well. Now asleep in his arms, he notices the little red bumps that adorn her face and body, the only color on her washed-out skin. He knows instantly that she has contracted something from the dungeons, and as Elara’s health becomes his main concern, her oar floats out of reach of the boat.
With Elara’s head on his lap and her body feverish, he fears there is not much time for her. Knowing nothing else to do, he takes off his shirt and wraps it around her. Braving the cold, he picks up the only remaining oar and paddles for the shore they left behind. The wind mocks his efforts, pushing him back with every stroke. But he looks down at her beautiful face and does not stop until the boat hits land again.
The sun rises, and its rays blaze down on them. He lifts her head from his lap, sweat beading his skin, and lays her down in the boat's bottom. Climbing out, he pulls the craft onto the sand and scans the area for help.
Atop a sharp cliff that juts out into the sea, a tavern stands tall. It appears to rise from the water to rest the bulk of its body on land where it sits at the edge of the water farther down the beach. On teetering stilts, a dilapidated sign reads, “baba and ili’s tavern” the letters all in lower case and scrawled untidily on the knotted wood. A dock stretches out onto the water with two boats tied to its railing.
Denton climbs in next to Elara and taps her face, attempting to wake her. With no reaction, his worries heighten. Given no other option, he takes branches from a nearby tree to cover her from the sun and runs toward the tavern. The only entrance he can see is from the docks, but as he gets closer, he sees dirt cut away from the cliff's edge. He takes the steps two at a time up the makeshift stairs, and as he reaches the top, he bursts through the establishment’s front door.
In the corner, several fishermen sit around a pot of coffee, likely mulling over their day's tasks. A tall counter, its surface old and weathered from rough use, sits at the far end of the room, and behind it, a woman just as old and worn.
Having learned quickly enough how to address elders in this land with respect, Denton asks, “Do you know any medicine, Mother?”
“I know enough.” She steps closer to the counter, and the light from the sun illuminates her face. “What ails you, Son?” A woman of many years looks at him, concern on her face, as a grandmother would look at her grandchild.
“Not me, Mother. A friend. She has fallen ill, and I fear she does not have much time. I believe she has the red fever.” His eyes plead with her, hoping against all hope she can and will help.
“Ah, the red fever.” She takes the rag in her hand and finishes wiping down the counter. Stifling his impatience the best he can, Denton waits.
“Please Mother, I truly fear she hasn’t much time.” He reaches out for her hand and grasps it in his.
“I assumed so, by your face, Dear.” She clasps his hand in both of hers now and looks him in the eyes. “Can you bring her to me?”
Without another word, Denton darts out of the tavern, sand giving way under his feet and making the trek feel impossibly slow. Without bothering to remove the branches, he pushes the boat into the water and paddles for the tavern with all of his strength. Elara moans as the boat jars from the waves. Water sprays Denton from the oar as he rows. The old woman stands on the dock now, waving the vessel closer, while several fishermen stand by ready to help.
“Come, come,” the woman calls out.
One man reaches out for the rope and ties the boat to the dock. The woman instructs the others to help the girl from the boat, and they toss the branches into the water. Denton watches helplessly as the men lift Elara and carry her limp body inside. He follows behind, trying to stay out of the way. They usher him into a back room where a table sits in the middle of the space with a cloth laid across it.
“Is this the girl, Ili?” An old man peers into the room, addressing the woman.
“Yes, Darling. She does not look well.” The old woman puts her hands up and orders everyone from the room. “You too, Son. Out, all of you.” The men lay Elara on the table and turn to leave as instructed. The old man limps away to take up his wife’s place behind the counter.
“Your friend’ll be all right,” the old man tells Denton. “My wife is good. I’d be long gone if it wasn’t for her. She’s skilled with medicine; fixed up all those men out there a time or two before as well. They come in for food, an illness or accident out on the water while fishing and she doesn’t let ‘em leave until she fixes ’em.” He grabs a tall glass and fills it with liquid. “Here, drink this, Son.”
“Thank you, Father.” Sitting down on a tall stool, Denton drinks greedily from the cup.
“Slow down, there’s plenty where that came from. You’re gonna be waitin’ a while for Ma to be finished. Let me fix you something to eat with that.” The old man turns slowly and disappears behind another door.
Denton settles down, his cup now empty. He was not aware of how thirsty he was until he began to drink. The room is lighter now
as the sun rises higher in the sky, and the tavern bustles with customers seeking either a meal or drink.
A long while later, Denton spots the woman they call Ili scurrying from the back room to the kitchen. The way she rushes to her husband gives Denton cause for concern. He jumps down from his chair and makes his way behind the counter. Lingering at the entrance to the kitchen, he puts his ear up to the door and hears the muffled sounds of an argument.
“That’s madness!”
“Baba, it’s the only way,” Ili pleads.
“The only way is witchcraft? When has it ever been the only way? It’s always been the wrong way. That’s the way it is!” her husband responds.
“You’re talking nonsense. The girl is too far gone; it’s like she’s not been sick from this as a child before. Like she’s not from here. And her clothes… they aren’t right.”
Denton lines his eye up to peer between the crack in the door.
“You can’t save them all, Ili…” Baba lifts his wife’s hands to his face and kisses them. “You’d be asking the boy to do the impossible.”
“I’ll do it.” Denton barges into the room. “Whatever needs done, I’ll do it. Anything if it helps her.”
The elder tavern owners send him a look of despair.
“It’s not that simple, Son,” Baba explains.
“I know that. I’ll still do it.” Denton straightens his shoulders and looks the man in the eye.
“Dear, it’s his choice.” Ili takes her hands back from her husband and is the one now holding an apology in her eyes. “I couldn’t save her, but I might save this one.”
“Our daughter was not your fault. We talked about this.” Baba’s eyes glaze over with tears and fear.
“I know, I know.” Turning her attention away from her husband, Ili pulls out a small chair and sits down. Across from her is another chair and she pats the seat. “Sit, Son.”
Baba knows his wife well enough to understand a battle lost. He picks up two plates full of food and exits the kitchen. A moment of quiet rests on the air before the door opens again to allow Baba to grab the remaining plates for his waiting customers. Ili explains what she needs Denton to do and he takes the task with a sense of pride. Doing something to help Elara was better than waiting and wondering, no matter the risk. Something about this girl draws him to her. He doesn’t understand it, and yet he doesn’t wish to either.
“I will have to wait until nightfall. Will she hold that long?” he asks Ili.
“I have given her some herbs, and she is resting well. I think she will do fair through the night. It’s the night after I do not think she will last.” Ili says. Denton stands up and bends down to hug the old woman. He says nothing more to her but knows she can feel his gratitude as she returns the hug.
She pats his back, and when he steps away, she clasps a hand to his shoulder. “Eat first, or take this with you at the very least.” Grabbing a cloth, she packs a few small loaves of bread in a bag and places it in his arms.
He ties a knot in the cloth and slings it around his shoulder to hang across his body. Stepping out of the tavern, Denton sees that the day blazes bright now, and he makes his long trek from the tavern up the windy road toward the castle.
His skin itches from dried salt water and sun and has turned dark red after long hours of exposure. He does not pay the pain any mind though. With deliberation he walks in the middle of the road, refusing to stop to rest or quench his thirst. By the time he reaches the top of the steep hill, the merciless sun sets in the sky.
He slips into the castle, the music of the evening dinner making it easy to enter unnoticed. He makes his way through the long corridors, knowing where he must go and waiting for the perfect time. An old maid retires to her chamber for the night, having put her charges to bed. Denton moves off into a vacant room to eat his bread, drink his water, and rest until the right time. His eyes begin to drift closed, and he stands up to make himself alert. He does not have much more time to waste, and fear of falling asleep urges him to continue on his task.
The chubby little boy’s chamber is quiet and dark. The little ingrate of a child sleeps peacefully in his bed as Denton carefully enters. A small smirk adorns the boy’s pinched weasel face as he dreams, probably of playing tricks on his little sister. Denton squints in the dark and with slow, quiet steps moves toward the bed. He stubs his toe hard on a stone jutting up from the brickwork of the floor. Covering his mouth as to not exclaim aloud, he rocks back and forth until the pain subsides before continuing. Closer now to the bed, he reaches out as carefully as he can and plucks a strand of hair from the boy's head. Holding his breath, afraid the removal might have awoken the ingrate child, Denton backs away slowly. Still facing the bed and keeping a close watch, Denton places the hair protectively in his pocket.
Without looking away, he creeps the rest of the way to the door. Once out of the chamber, he completes pulling the door shut behind him and his heart jumps as the click of the latch echoes through the long hall. Without a second to waste he sprints full haste out of the castle.
The click of the door startles the child awake, and he sits up in his bed, confused. Having woken from a dream he was having about playing a trick on his nasty nanny, he climbs out of bed relishing the thought of making his dream come true. Unaware of Denton padding out of the castle, the child exits his room with mischief on his mind.
Chapter 16
The walls and doors rush past Denton as he runs at full speed out of the castle. With his heart pounding and his mind racing, his feet barely touch the ground before they’re in the air again. The steep hill helps him travel down toward the shore, so much so that he trips and tumbles down the side. Bouncing and sliding down the grass, he does not put his hands out to slow himself, and instead tucks his body and encourages the roll, wanting nothing more than to get as far away from the castle as possible. The stars twinkle in the sky as if watching him fall brings them joy.
The chimes above the door to the tavern sound as Denton bursts inside. Disheveled, he spots Ili across the room and greets her with a smile so large it could crack his face open.
“I got it!” He pats the pocket of his jacket and promptly falls to the ground. The old woman hurries to him and removes the small strand of hair from his pocket to transfer it to a glass vile pulled from her apron.
Baba comes in from the kitchen, having heard the ruckus and gasps, “Is the boy all right, Ili?”
“Foolish, and bruised, but well.” A look of pride fills her face as she leaves Denton on the floor to attend Elara.
Feeling every bit as bruised as Ili suggested, Denton doesn’t even attempt to move. Through eyes barely able to focus, he watches Ili disappear into the back room. Baba limps over, removes his coat and folds it neatly to place under Denton’s head, then mumbling to himself, he heads to the counter where Denton first found Ili so many hours before and makes busy with his chores.
Denton’s eyes flicker open, and he looks around, unsure at that moment where he is or how much time has passed. He stares up at the ceiling above him to see nails that jut through the plaster and rafters that hold odds and ends of fishing gear and bits of unused wood for repairs. He hears mumbling and with difficulty pulls himself up, his body sore and his mind still fuzzy.
“Baba?” he calls out. “Is...”
Interpreting his question, the old man answers, “Ah, yes. My dear Ili is tending to your young lady now. You did good, Son. You did good.” He sets the plate he’d just washed on the counter and tilts his head in a gesture to Denton to join him. “Sit, Son. I’m too old and weak to carry you, but you seem well enough to move on your own now. I’ll pour you a drink.”
Denton picks up the coat still warm from his head that lay on the floor and with stiff limbs takes his place at the bar.
Not a moment later, Ili comes through the door, and Denton’s eyes grow wide in question. “She is fine, Son.” The woman opens her arms and wraps him in a hug. Pressing her lips to his hair, she adds, �
��Thanks to you.” For the next long minute, no one speaks. Candles flicker in the room, and the rhythmical sound of water lapping at the dock is the only sound that fills the room.
“Who is this girl to you?” Ili asks after a time. “You have gone to an awful lot of trouble to help her.” She moves her hands to his shoulders and holds him at arm’s length in an effort to study his face.
Denton does not answer right away, and the old woman eyes him with suspicion. “I just met her, really,” he replies. “I was fishing and she just floated up. I pulled her out of the water, and it’s been a journey ever since, Mother.” He looks between the two and can see by the looks on their faces that his answer was not enough to satisfy their curiosity. “I’m a Traveler, and I think she is, too. I’ve never met another one like me, but she’s definitely from a different time. I can’t understand her language, nor she ours.”
“She is more than a Traveler, Son.” Ili looks down at him, now seeming to have a secret of her own. She lets go of Denton and allows him to return to his stool. She pulls out a seat for herself and takes her time before looking back up at him.
