by Cat Bruno
As she pulled on her loose-fitting trousers, she jumped, surprised by gentle tapping on her door.
Few knew of her departure, and, for a moment, she did nothing, staring at the door as if she could see through it. When the tapping returned, she slowly walked to the door, her life pulse fast and unsteady. Tied at her waist were several pouches and Bronwen reached for the largest one, letting her trembling fingers rest on the hilt of the dagger that her daughter had given her. Only then did she open the door.
“In all the hells,” she exclaimed, looking upon Kennet and Aldric. Moving aside so they could enter, she said, “I had not realized you were coming. Please excuse the mess.”
Once the door was closed again, Aldric asked, “Have you removed everything that could tie you to the High Lord?”
While he glanced around, Bronwen answered, “He has given me nothing, and the dagger is with me at all times.”
With a curt nod, Aldric neared her cot, reaching for her bags. “Is this all of it?”
“For now,” she said, knowing that Willem had told him everything.
“The sun has not yet risen, and, if we leave soon, none will see us go.”
She hurriedly put her sandals on, lacing them tightly. Kennet said nothing, but watched her intently, his eyes wide.
“Are you coming with us?” she asked.
His voice rough and low, he replied, “I wish that I could, but I would not be much help.”
With a laugh, Bronwen said, “I did not mean to Rexterra. Are you coming with us until we leave Litusia? We are meeting Willem an hour’s walk from here, where the road narrows as it heads north.”
It was Aldric who answered for his nephew as he said, “Say your goodbyes now, Bronwen.”
Looking upon her friend, Bronwen quieted. Kennet seemed ready to weep, although she was dry-eyed, much to her surprise.
“Do you have the book?” he mumbled.
Nodding, she stepped closer until she was near enough to embrace him. Unlike Sheva, Kennet knew all, and she realized that he feared he would not see her again.
Still holding him, she whispered, “It is only a moon year, Kennet. And I will have time to write to you.”
His arms hung at his sides, and, when she stepped back, Bronwen laughed, “Oh, Kennet, I will be fine. Stop looking as if she will not see me again.”
Just outside her rooms, Kennet quickly hugged his uncle, although the gesture was an awkward one.
“Let us hurry,” Aldric said, and the two of them walked on, saying little else.
Just outside the gates of the Academy, Bronwen looked back and wondered if she would see them again.
*****
The sun was peeking over the horizon when Willem called out to them. He was dressed in dark pants and boots, as if he was in Rexterra, and over his tunic he wore a fitted coat. Bronwen had never seen him looking so unlike a healer, and she paused as she watched him approach.
Is he going to try to convince me not to go?
For a long moment, they stared at one another, neither speaking. The morning sun was painting the sky yellow and orange, bathing the fair-haired Willem in gold, as he was sculpted in bronze.
Again any words that she could have said were lost, as she stood shaking. The day was new, the sun bright and rising, yet, suddenly, Bronwen could see nothing but a gray fog, her eyes blurred and burning. She rubbed at them with cool fingers, yet even then she could see nothing, misty-eyed. Around her, the air thickened, until she felt as if she could not breathe.
When she tried to call out, her throat burned, and no sound escaped her lips. Around her, the world faded as Aldric and Willem disappeared in the gray haze. Her hands tingled and she looked down at them, turning them over and over as they crackled with light.
Finally understanding what was happening, Bronwen stepped from the fog, weeping as she stared upon the girl and falling to the ground.
Bronwen knew that the girl could not touch her, yet she had almost expected the long, pale arms to lift her from where she knelt. Her daughter looked different this time, ghostly, lined in a silvery mist that sparkled as she moved. As she stepped toward Bronwen, her footsteps echoed through the valley. Yet, only Bronwen heard them even though they sounded like beating drums.
Gone were the shades of the sea that had enhanced the girl’s beauty and made her seem as if she had risen from the waves, cleansed and shimmering. Now, she shined, her hair dark against the fog and her eyes, green as ever, glittering from her colorless face.
Silver and white beads of light shadowed her, as if she was made of stars.
As if she is a god, thought Bronwen.
When the girl whispered, her words dancing through the mist, swirling and fine, as if written instead of spoken, Bronwen rose, listening, and still gently crying.
“I can’t stay long, but I know what it is that you do today, Mother, and where you seek to go. I have come to offer what I can, although it is not much.”
The girl’s words sounded of clouds and rain, soft and distant. Yet, Bronwen thought she could hear thunder edging them, and she looked around her, again noticing how the sun had disappeared. Thick, gray fog surrounded them both, as if they were about to be swept up in a growing storm.
“Your travels will be uneventful, and you will arrive with ease.”
She looked at Bronwen then, and the eyes of the girl were the same eyes that Bronwen had seen in the flashes of memory that had recently returned. They were the eyes of her father. His name was forgotten still, but his laugh rang through her head, and his smile brought new tears to the corners of Bronwen’s eyes.
“What of the king?” Bronwen whispered.
The girl paused and air hissed around her. It was then that Bronwen realized that the girl wore the mist; it encircled her, arching and dancing as the girl breathed and moved. Where one stopped, the other began, until Bronwen could not tell which was real.
With words dripped in fog, she answered, “I know little of him. Do what you can for him, but he is not why you are needed there.”
With each word that left her lips, the girl faded, the light around her dulling.
“Wait!” Bronwen cried, “If not to heal the king, why must I go?”
It was too late, and Bronwen’s question was lost as the clouds parted, allowing the rising morning sun to further melt them. The mist rose and the girl was gone.
Still, Bronwen rapidly looked around, straining to hear the echoes around her, to spot a shimmer in the diminishing fog. When nothing could be seen or heard, she found her eyes drawn back to where Willem and Aldric stood.
Before she could speak, Willem rushed to her, and called, “Bronwen, what just happened? It was as if you had disappeared. Yet, when I looked again, you were standing as if you had never left.”
Her face was as dry as her words now. “I had a visitor, nothing more. Although, I suppose it was enough. She wishes us well and assures me that we will have safe travels. As quickly as she came, she left. She seemed less, well, real this time, as if coming here has become more difficult.”
Aldric walked near, having heard the exchange between the two, and said, “I do not know how she does such a thing, Bronwen. I can only imagine the amount of power it takes and what a toll it would take on her body, regardless of how strong she may be. It is not a simple thing that she does. Few could even attempt it.”
Then, he added, “But now is not the time to discuss such things. We must hurry before the roads fill.”
“Of course,” was all that Bronwen could reply, keeping the girl’s final words from them.
When Willem hugged her, she barely felt his thick arms around her. When she looked up at him, his eyes were nearly all gold.
“Bronwen, be safe. Rexterra is not Tretoria, you will do well to avoid the games of court. Do what you were sent to do and then be on your way. Send word if you have any need and I will do all that I can to help.”
He seemed to want to say more, but, instead, he simply released her, and she n
odded, unfeeling, remembering a time when he had offered to take her from the Academy. For the two of them to escape, to start anew, hidden from Conri, although the idea now seemed impossible. As if I could ever be free from Conri. Not now. Not anymore. Not with his daughter growing inside of me. How different life could have been, though, if I could have gone with him. The North is calling, and soon, very soon, I will be able to answer, but it is not Willem who will take me there.
64
By nightfall, Aldric and Bronwen were halfway to Pacanna, a small village northeast of Litusia. Having only stopped briefly a few times to eat and rest, they had walked with ease, although for the first half of the day, Aldric had asked often how she was feeling, until Bronwen insisted that he quit doing so. She knew that her words had not been kind ones, but it would be a long journey and she did not want it to be one where she was coddled and pitied. And so they traveled much in silence, although at times he would tell her of areas that he once visited, which, Bronwen could admit, make the long hours more enjoyable.
“Just ahead there is a rather well-designed town with an inn that is clean and near the main road. We have come far today and should rest until the morning.”
She still wore her healer’s robe, although soon she would have to better disguise her identity. Yet, Bronwen knew well how a Healer Journey should be and wanted to adhere to the rules, knowing that soon she would not be able to do so.
“It is not permitted to pay for a room. If one is offered, then we can accept,” she answered, hearing the sleepiness in her words.
Over the last few hours, her legs had ached, yet she did not want to admit to Aldric that she would soon need to stop. He had spent half his lifetime in such travel, and she was beginning to think that he could walk for days without respite.
With a sigh, he said, “Bronwen, little of this trip will be as how you long planned it, but I will do as you wish.”
As they neared the town, Aldric pushed a small cart laden with their supplies. In addition to the coin, Willem had given them two sleeping rolls and a large tent, although Bronwen had not yet seen it. They still had food, which Sheva had insisted Bronwen take when she last visited her, and water, and the night was clear and warm.
A full day of travel and Bronwen had not once stopped to heal, nor had she spoken with anyone but Aldric. The thought troubled her.
“For as long as I can, I must try to earn my Master’s robes. I know I am needed in the King’s City as soon as possible, but if there is need before then, I will be bound by oath to help. I will not sleep under any roof that has not been offered freely. We can make camp wherever you think it safe, as I know you were on this road but moons ago.”
“Let us make our way to the inn. I wouldn’t mind a properly cooked meal and a comfortable chair for a short time. I will not ask about a room, and, with your robes still on, we will see if you are needed anywhere.”
Unable to argue, she nodded and followed on. Soon, the road widened; large red bricks lined a neatly paved street. The houses were not unlike the ones in Litusia, sun-whitened and stone, yet they were now hours from the coast and grass replaced sand. Aldric had not been wrong, Bronwen noticed, and the town was small, but well-planned, with even roads leading to the center of town. Orb-lights lined the streets, casting a gentle glow across the mostly pale buildings. The large inn was easily spotted, and, when they neared, several people were arriving as well.
One woman, small and dark-haired, smiled at Bronwen and said, “We do not often see your kind here.”
Smiling back, Bronwen asked, in Tretorian, “Have you no healer here then?”
Laughing as she opened the door to the inn, the woman answered, “I did not mean healer. Your hair marks you from the North, if I am not wrong.”
The door closed behind her, and Bronwen stopped, looking back at Aldric.
As if in explanation, he whispered, “I did not think it wise to keep us warded here.”
“Have we been warded since leaving Litusia?” she asked, suddenly realizing why no one had approached her.
Before answering, Aldric looked around, then leaned in closer to Bronwen and said, “It is the safest way, but we should not speak of it here. Let us find something to eat.”
Their dinner was a quiet one, although Bronwen was aware of how the two of them were watched closely. Seated at a small table near the back of the large inn, she nearly fell asleep after eating, the thick stew a nice respite from dried meat. Across from her, Aldric was sipping on a mug of ale when suddenly she saw his hands tighten into fists. He hurriedly set his mug down and gave her a quick nod, and, turning, Bronwen saw a man behind her. His dark hair hung partly across his face, yet she could tell he scowled.
Before she could move, the man huffed, “What brings a Northerner so far south?”
Uncertain how to answer, Bronwen looked at Aldric, whose face had reddened, before glancing back at the man.
“I am healer-trained and have not seen Eirrannia in over ten moon years,” she stuttered.
With a grunting laugh, the man said, “We know what type of healing your kind do and don’t want it here.”
In a voice she had not heard from him, Aldric hissed, “Do you not see her robes? Or are you as blind as you are foolish?”
When Aldric stood up, she gasped. He grabbed her arm, whispering, “We need to go. Now.”
Faster than she knew what happened, the man had her other arm, pulling her toward him until she fell into him, yanked from the chair.
“Release me!” she yelled, trying to pry the man’s fingers from her upper arm.
Around them, there were screams and cries as tables emptied. A woman who had been behind the long bar hurried toward them.
Aldric had let go of her but his eyes were blazing, angrier than she had ever seen him before, and she could feel heat coming from his body, as if he was aflame. When she looked to him, she noticed the tiny fire swirling in his hand, the same one that had just been holding onto her. The inn was crowded, although none looked anything other than Tretorian. The odds were not in their favor, Bronwen knew.
No one seemed to notice Aldric as it appeared as if all eyes were on her and the man who held her. When the woman neared, Bronwen again pulled her arm from the man, hoping the barkeep would notice.
“Be gone from here!” the woman spit, her words slurring through cracked lips and missing teeth.
Aldric stepped closer to the man and called, “I will tell you only once more to let go of her.”
His words silenced the room, the threat obvious to all.
When the man laughed, spittle dampening her cheek, Bronwen locked gazes with Aldric and shook her head, knowing what he would do.
“We wish no harm upon any,” she said, trying to keep the fear from her voice.
She was still pressed to the man’s side and looked again to the woman to see if her words were heard as she had spoken Tretorian.
It was not the woman who answered, but the man, who flung her from him until she fell to the floor, scraping her face against the table and landing hard on her knees. Bronwen felt blood dripping into her mouth as a warmth spread over her body. Behind her eyes, she saw red, but knew, this time, it was not blood. Anger filled her, hot and thick, as if she too could draw forth flame. With a quick breath she jumped to her feet and faced the man.
Before she could speak, though, Aldric pushed past her, his skin hot and wet, until he was standing in front of the man.
“Run!” he whispered to her, his breath smelling of smoke and ash.
Knowing not what else to do, Bronwen listened, holding shaking fingers to her bleeding cheek as she sprinted for the door, knocking down chairs as she escaped. None tried to stop her and soon she was standing outside the inn, breathing hard as she searched for Aldric. When, after a few moments, he did not appear, she reached for the door, flinging it open until it banged against the side of the building. Before she could make her way back inside, she stumbled back as fire filled the room and ran. Just a
s she reached the cart, left near the edge of the street, the doors opened again as people fled the room screaming.
Afraid that they would come for her, Bronwen grabbed the cart, frantically looking around for somewhere to hide. Dragging it behind her, she made her way for the far edge of town, back toward the main road. Aldric would have to find her, she thought, pausing for a moment in indecision.
As she worried what to do, a voice called out her name, and, with a cry, she turned to find Aldric hurrying toward her. Behind them, the inn was fully aflame, streaks of fire billowing from the windows.
“Run!”
And so they did, stumbling over the bricks as they both pulled the still-laden cart. The sun had long set, and, soon, they were on the open road, without orb-light to guide them. She knew that Aldric would not risk lighting his own, and so they continued in the darkness, clouds overhead blocking the light from moon and star.
After some time, when it was clear that they had not been followed, Bronwen let go of the cart, slowing her pace and breathing hard.
“We can’t yet stop,” Aldric said, panting heavily.
Without stopping, she asked, “What of the inn?”
Once recovered, Aldric answered, “Even my flames cannot destroy stone. It will stand.”
Shaking her head, Bronwen cried, “That is not what I meant! What did you do?”
His voice steady and his face blank, Aldric replied, “I did what I had to. You were well-warned that the journey would not be an easy one.”
“What if someone died back there?”
“Most got out,” he answered, providing little comfort.
She stopped then, shaking, and hissed, “What do you mean most?”
He, too, stopped, walking back to where she stood, and said, “I warned him to let you go, but he refused. His life means little next to your and the babe’s.”
