There was laughter from most of the group and even Erik had to chuckle.
“You earned your nickname all over again this morning,” she informed him, crossing her legs comfortably and sipping her tea. “You didn’t sleep well last night?”
“Not until the wee hours of the morning,” he answered honestly. “Grae and I stayed up late talking.”
Siobhan blinked. Then blinked again. “You and Grae. Talked. For hours.”
With a shrug, he raised his mug and drank deeply.
“Well, well, well. You realize that the people that Grae comfortably talks to can be numbered on one hand? No? Yes, it’s quite true. Welcome, Wolf, to a very exclusive club. You are now counted among the people that Grae trusts.” Leaning forward, she murmured for his ears alone, “And that is no mean feat.”
He had absolutely no idea what to say to that. Or how to feel about it, for that matter.
Smiling, she drained the mug before plopping it loudly on the table. “Alright, everyone, let’s move out!” she called. Getting to her feet, she clapped her hands, motioning for people to go. Under her directions they went, shuffling around each other and grabbing up bags of personal belongings and weapons as they headed for the door.
Erik, of course, was right behind her.
Loading and unloading the caravan was oddly enough the perfect opportunity for pickpockets and sneak thieves to attack. With people coming and going, and all of the activity mixed in on the city streets, one more person could mix in without being noticed. It was for this reason that Erik did not join in and help with hitching up the teams, but instead stood so that he could see most of the wagons. Beirly and Siobhan were also positioned around so that they could cover the angles he could not, preventing thefts as much as possible.
Grae stood near the front of the caravan and several feet away from him, his neck craned so that he could look toward the sky. He was muttering under his breath, although what, Erik didn’t know. Over the bustle and noise of the morning traffic, he couldn’t hear him. Like as not, it was calculations dealing with their departure this morning. Grae was the careful sort, who weighed and measured everything three times before doing.
Erik’s eyes almost slid past him, the sneak was that good. But from the corner of his eye, Erik saw someone slip just too close to Grae, his hand slipping in the direction of the Pathmaker’s pockets. Grae was too absorbed with his own thoughts to notice.
In three strides, Erik reached the boy and caught him by the scruff of the neck. Shaking him like a mother cat would a naughty kitten, he lifted him off the cobblestone just enough that he could still loom over the kid.
It was only then that Grae seemed to realize something was going on, as he jerked around and watched in astonishment.
The thief squirmed and protested wordlessly, trying in vain to get Erik’s grip to loosen. Coming in closer, he caught those wide brown eyes and breathed menacingly, “Return it. All of it.”
“I ain’t done nothin’—” the urchin argued in a whine.
Erik lifted his iron hand so that it sat right in front of the boy’s nose. “Now.”
The thief eyed the appendage with open fear. Hands shaking, he took a leather purse out of an inner pocket and obediently handed it over.
“Grae.”
The Pathmaker darted forward and took the purse.
“Count it. And check your pockets, see if anything else is missing,” Erik directed.
Obediently, Grae did just that, his fingers quick and deft as he made sure that everything was accounted for. When he was satisfied it was, his shoulders relaxed. “It’s all here, Wolf.”
Not done with the kid, he made his voice even darker and more foreboding. “No one touches this caravan. Spread the word.”
Nodding jerkily in agreement, the thief squirmed again. This time, Erik let him drop. His feet had barely hit the cobblestone before he was off like a shot.
Grae watched him go, scratching at his chin. “Now when did he lift my purse?”
“While you were busy calculating,” Erik answered dryly. “Do us all a favor, and the next time you want to think, do it while standing next to me? Thieves don’t bother me for some reason.”
Grae looked up at him, brow quirked in wry amusement. “Yes, I wonder why that is.”
Grinning at him—they both knew good and well why—Erik turned and went back to watching the caravan load up. His eyes caught sight of Siobhan. She seemed worried that something was happening, so he waved a hand in reassurance. It worked, and she went back to watching over her own area.
They finished hitching up the teams and everyone loaded up. With the use of Grae’s path outside of the northwest gate, they would travel directly to Brevik, which should only take about an hour’s time.
And after that….Reske.
Chapter Seven
It took five long days to ride to Reske. Erik didn’t enjoy one moment of it. He oscillated between being ecstatic to see his family again to being worried about what would happen to him when he finally arrived. He wanted to go there, no doubt. He just wasn’t sure about staying.
When he got his first look at the mountain village, his doubts fell silent for several blissful moments. Finally. Home. It hadn’t changed at all in the past seven years, not to his eyes. The stone and wooden cottages were still spaced snugly together, with tall evergreen trees packed in around them, offering protection against the winter winds. At this time of the year, there was no snow, but the air was colder up here than it had been in the valley. People that he knew well were going back and forth on their daily business.
It was so heart-wrenchingly normal that tears sprang to his eyes.
Siobhan kneed her horse around so that she could come to his side. Ducking her head to the side, she asked tentatively, “Alright, Wolf?”
He had to clear his throat and blink hard to quell the tears. “Fine. It’s like I never left.”
She seemed to sense what he couldn’t say and nodded in understanding. “Let’s go down, alright?”
Eager now, he spurred his gelding forward, and they took the one lane road across the bridge, through the open gates, and inside. Once there, he impatiently tied the horse to the first hitching post he found and then strode through the main street.
As he walked, several people stopped and stared, whispering to each other in uncertain tones. They probably thought they recognized him, but weren’t sure. He’d changed so much since leaving here he wasn’t sure his own parents would recognize him.
He was almost to the main well that stood in the center of the village, when he finally found one of the people he was looking for. His mother stood directly in front of him, a basket of loaves hanging on one arm, her free hand gesturing as she spoke to their next-door neighbor. Erik’s feet stumbled to a halt as his eyes drank her in. There was perhaps more grey streaking through her blonde hair, a new wrinkle or two around her blue eyes, but she was still hearty and strong as he remembered her.
Somehow, without him saying a word, she sensed something and stopped mid-sentence, turning to look about her. When her eyes fell on him, she went abruptly still, as if even breath was beyond her in that moment. “Erik…?” The tone was half-incredulous, half-uncertain, as if she were disbelieving her own eyes.
For a moment, just a moment, he felt like he was fourteen again and there was nothing wrong in the world. The years of separation fell away and he reached for her as he had done his entire childhood. “Mooir.”
Tears welled up in those clear blue eyes and she dropped everything in her hands, running for him. He had to duck so that her arms could come around his shoulders, and he put his good arm around her waist, hugging her tight enough to make ribs squeak. She didn’t care, her embrace just as fierce. He soaked her in, the warmth, the solid feel of her, the way her hair smelled of sunshine and bread, the tears that were seeping into his shirt, all of it. His heartache eased as he realized that finally, finally he had made it home again.
People around him
burst out into cries of joy when they realized who he was and before he knew what was happening, he was swarmed on all sides, everyone trying to reach out and touch him. He put his mother back on her feet so that she could see him properly, his smile wide with uncontained happiness.
Grabbing his arms, she shook him gently. “Where have you been?” she demanded, voice choked.
“Lost,” he responded sadly. “But through good fortune, I met with an amazing guild, and they helped me get to you.”
Her eyes fell to his iron hand, and a strangled gasp of pain burst from her mouth. Tentatively, her fingers trailed along it. “What happened…” she whispered, horrified.
Erik had absolutely no intention of ever telling her the full story. His father, maybe, but not her. It would wound her heart to hear it. “I was in a bad fight,” he responded, cutting down the story to its bare bones. “But this is part of my good fortune. If I hadn’t lost the hand, I would never have made it here.”
“Erik’s here?” a very familiar, gruff male voice demanded.
Through all of the people, Erik couldn’t see properly, but he didn’t have to see to know. He lifted his voice to be heard over the crowd. “Faoir!”
People were kind enough to shift to the either side so his father could worm his way through. When father and son saw each other, it was like another homecoming all over again. Throwing his hands up in an expression of pure elation, he reached for his son and grabbed him in a bear hug that almost lifted Erik off his feet. Pounding his back, he laughed aloud. “Son!”
His father, too, had not changed. Still strong as a bear, beard down to his chest, hair so blond as to be almost white. It relieved him to see his parents well. Erik was sure that if he were any happier than this, he’d burst from it. When his father finally released him, and he saw the gathering of all of the friends and relatives still patiently waiting to get their turn to hug him too, a part of him wondered why he hadn’t already burst from happiness.
“Where were you?” his father demanded. “And who’d you donate the hand to?”
Yes, his father was taking this more in stride than his mother had. Erik decided to tell him the full story later, when his mother and sisters were safely out of earshot. “Lost the hand in a fight four months ago,” he answered. “And I’ve been all over, fighting. Wynngaard and Robarge, mostly.” Reminded, he turned, and gestured for people to move enough that he could call, “Siobhan, Grae, Beirly, come here.”
“Fighting?” his mother pressed. “Fighting who?”
“Whoever I was told to fight.” Erik’s smile dimmed at the memory but he shook his head, clearing it. “But I want you to meet the people that saved me. Without them, I’d never have made it home again.” Turning again, he found Siobhan at his elbow, a warm and tender smile on her face. He beamed down at her. “This is Siobhan Maley, Guildmaster of Deepwoods. She was the one that first rescued me. Siobhan, my parents, Araan and Saira Wolfinsky.”
His mother reached out and grasped Siobhan’s hands. “Thank you for helping my son. You are very welcome here for as long as you wish to stay.”
“Thank you,” Siobhan responded, squeezing in return. “I’d hoped to stay a few days and see what Wolf’s home was like before we go back.”
“And this is Beirly—he’s the one that made the new hand for me—and Grae, a master Pathmaker, who brought me most of the way here,” Erik continued.
There was a round of how-do-you-do’s and expressions of thanks all around before his father asked, “You keep saying they rescued you, or they brought you here. Son, just where have you been? What did they save you from?”
The elation of being home faded as reality set back in again. Resigned, Erik forced a smile and suggested, “Let’s find a shady spot to sit and talk. This…will take a while.”
ӜӜӜ
It took almost four hours, after all was said and done. His family was torn between being horrified by his recounting or being thankful he had survived it. Erik felt emotionally drained by it all and was very glad when his mother called a halt to it so they could prepare dinner.
Siobhan, Grae, and Beirly sat and listened, even though they knew half the story already, and patiently waited it out. When everyone scattered to their own homes to make dinner preparations, Erik focused on them and saw them settled in his family’s home. Being professional travelers, more or less, they took this all in stride. Siobhan even went into the kitchen with his mother and youngest sister, helping with the cooking. Several times, as Erik passed, he could hear them laughing as Siobhan traded funny stories back and forth on things he had done. It made his heart warm just listening to it. Hearing people laughing was the most pleasant music a man could hear, to his mind.
He ventured up the stairs to his old bedroom. The door creaked slightly as he pushed it in, his breath held in his throat. It had been seven years, after all, he’d understand if his parents had lost hope at some point and chosen to use the room for other purposes. But at the first glance inside, he knew these fears to be groundless. Everything was exactly as he had left it. The room smelled musty from the disuse, but everything was clean, so someone was coming in here regularly to keep the place tidy.
Despite the fact that he had slept here every night for nigh on fourteen years, it felt odd to step inside the room. It felt even stranger to sit on the edge of the bed. This place felt so much smaller to him now, almost constricting. Looking about, he tried to regain the feeling of being home again, but this quiet room felt more alien to him than anything else.
“Feels strange to you, doesn’t it?”
Glancing up, he found his father in the doorway. “Faoir.”
Taking this as an invitation, he walked all the way in. “That bed won’t fit you anymore. It’s a good foot short.”
Erik studied it for a moment and then snorted. “You’re right.”
“I imagine not a single thing in this room will fit you anymore.” A strange timbre was in these words, his father’s face unreadable. “You’ve outgrown everything.”
“Aye, I probably have.” Erik had a feeling that neither of them were talking about the bed or the clothes anymore. “Faoir, I half-expected this room to be different. Did you and Mooir never give up on me?”
“We knew you were alive, somewhere.” His father’s expression relaxed into a sad smile. “We felt we’d know, somehow, if you weren’t. Or maybe it was just that we couldn’t bear to think of you as truly gone. We held on to the hope that eventually you’d find your way back to us. I’d never imagined it would take a guild to bring you back, though.”
“I wouldn’t have made it without their help,” Erik replied honestly. “I was branded as a dark guildsman, I had not a penny to my name, and my arm was in bad condition when Siobhan first laid eyes on me. It’s purely through her generosity and good reputation that I was able to travel here.”
His father’s eyes fell to the iron hand resting in his lap. “There’s more to the story of how you lost that hand, isn’t there?”
“Aye,” he confirmed grimly. “But I think only you should hear it. It’s…gruesome.”
“Then tell me later, when there’s no chance of interruption. It’s well now?”
“Oh, aye. Siobhan made sure of that before Beirly put the hand on.” Lifting it in the air, he added, “I know it disturbed Mooir to see it, but in truth, I’m rather glad to have it.”
“Because by losing the hand, you were able to escape that dark guild?”
“That and it’s as good of a weapon as a sword, some days.” Erik grinned in memory of a time or two where he’d put the iron hand to good use.
“Come down and eat!” a voice commanded from below.
His mouth watering in anticipation, Erik immediately got to his feet. “Let’s have dinner.”
Chuckling, his father led the way down the stairs. “I think your mooir fixed all of your favorites.”
Erik certainly hoped so.
ӜӜӜ
For three days, it was like a
never ending festival in Reske, and Erik was the main attraction. Everyone wanted to have dinner with him, or lunch, sometimes even breakfast. He was invited everywhere, he and the members of Deepwoods. As he went from place to place, talking with old friends and family, sometimes helping them with chores while catching up, Erik felt this strange feeling grow in his chest. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. This place was nostalgic and familiar and he knew it like the back of his hand. Yet somehow he felt displaced, as if he no longer belonged there among them.
It was perhaps because of this, and not because of his short bed, that Erik found it impossible to sleep that night. Giving up, he crept down the stairs, doing his best to move soundlessly so he didn’t wake anyone else in the household. He was halfway down when he realized that the hearth fire was still burning. Pausing, he cocked his head and listened hard. Two voices were conversing quietly with each other, the words too soft to be distinguishable. But he knew them: his father and Siobhan.
Having no compunction whatsoever about eavesdropping, he eased down the last six stairs and braced his back against the wall so he could listen unobserved.
“—seems lost sometimes here,” his father was saying sadly. “I’m afraid his experiences over the last seven years have changed him too much. He no longer feels as if he belongs here.”
“I’d wondered if anyone else saw that aside from me.” Siobhan’s tone was gentle, sympathetic. “It’s not a bad thing, Araan. Wolf has experienced more of the world than this whole village combined. He loves the people here, but this small village feels confining to him now that he knows what life outside of it is like.”
“Will you take him back with you, then?”
“I would love to, but that’s not my decision to make.”
Erik’s heart skipped a beat, eyes flaring wide. Go back with her? Stay in Deepwoods? He had that option?
Oblivious to her silent listener or his inner turmoil, Siobhan was still speaking. “Wolf has proven to be an invaluable enforcer and a good friend. He still has his rough edges, granted, but that just needs time. I’d selfishly prefer to keep him with me.”
Origins: A Deepwoods Book - a Collection of Deepwoods Short Stories (Deepwoods Series 0) Page 9
