by Kara Jaynes
He started to reach for the child, but I leapt to defend her with a snarl. He lifted his hands in a peaceful gesture. “It is because of your ignorance that you defend her, so I shall let it be. I hope we meet again.”
He turned and melted into the night, yelling out in a language I didn’t understand. Several dark shapes ran past me, following the man, leaving the village alone.
5
Aaric
The little village was a plethora of noise when Aaric stepped outside of the inn. People ran in every which direction, yelling, crying, calling out individual names. Several patrons of the inn ran past him and out into the inky black night.
Aaric heaved a sigh of relief when he spotted Adaryn in the snow just a few feet away. She was kneeling in the snow, wrapping her shawl around something. He ran over to her.
“What’s going on? Adaryn, are you all right?”
Adaryn stood, holding what Aaric could see to be a child, a little girl. “Where did she come from?”
The nomad woman held the child to her chest, cradling her protectively. She jutted her chin out in the direction of a ramshackle house several paces away. The door was open, and a woman lay on the ground.
Aaric strode over to the fallen woman and rolled her onto her back, checking for a pulse. There was none. He looked up, stricken, at the child Adaryn still held. “She didn’t make it.”
Adaryn’s arms tightened around the child, who stared down with wide, unblinking eyes at the woman. “Momma,” she whimpered, and was silent.
“Shh.” Adaryn smoothed the child’s hair back from her forehead. It looked white. “It’s all right, baby. We’re going to find someone who can help you.”
Aaric searched the house, but found no one there. He emerged, shaking his head at Adaryn. “There’s no one else.”
“Do you have a papa, baby?” Adaryn asked soothingly, looking into the child’s face. The little girl stared back and didn’t answer. Aaric sighed. “Let’s find the mayor of this village and find out what’s going on.”
They found him in the center of the village, a large man with a long, drooping mustache, roaring out orders to people to clear away bodies and to set more guards. He turned when Aaric approached, eyeing him suspiciously. “Who are you?”
Aaric made hasty introductions, and then motioned to the child. “Her mother didn’t make it. Is there a father to take the child?”
The mayor shook his head. “Father died two years ago. I doubt the child remembers him.” He started to turn away, but Aaric stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “A family member, then? Someone the child is related to?”
The mayor shook his head and strode away, calling for more light. Aaric stared after him, exasperated. “There has to be someone who can take the child.”
“She’s going to get cold,” Adaryn said. “Let’s take her back to the inn and ask the innkeeper what’s happened.”
Together, they trudged through the icy snowdrifts. Aaric offered to carry the child, but Adaryn refused.
The inn was quieter than it’d been when they left just a few minutes ago, but there were still a few patrons, huddled around their mugs of ale, talking excitedly to one another.
Aaric sat down at one of the more crowded tables. “What happened out there?” he asked. The men quieted, looking at him suspiciously. He sighed, and ordered a round of drinks for them. Everyone seemed more willing to talk after that. Half of it didn’t make any sense—the men had already had too much to drink—but from what he gathered, they’d been attacked by the Twyli.
“They’re heathens, that’s what,” a gray haired man slurred. “Attacking poor villagers and stealing their children.”
“They kill any of us who resist,” a tired farmer spoke up, his eyes shadowed. “I only have my eldest son left.”
“Why?” Aaric asked. “Why do they take them?”
No one could answer that, and eventually, Aaric gave up and went to his room. Adaryn was already in bed, her form curled protectively around the child’s. Aaric tiptoed over to see if they were sleeping. Adaryn was, but Aaric’s eyes found the girl’s, looking back silently at him.
He put a finger to his lips, signaling for quiet, but she only continued to stare. Keeping his coat on, Aaric undid the ties on his blanket roll and spread it on the floor. Lying down, he thought of the child and wondered what they were going to do with her. The innkeeper didn’t look like a kindly lady, but perhaps, given enough gold, she would take care of her.
6
Adaryn
I stood in a white fog and turned in a slow circle, trying to get my bearings. Something was out there. Something . . .
WARN THEM.
I jumped, startled. The voice seemed to come from everywhere, yet nowhere. WARN THEM.
I jolted awake, staring into a pair of solemn blue eyes—so blue they were almost violet. The child was already awake, but she hadn’t stirred from my arms. I brushed her pale blonde hair from off her face. “How are you feeling, baby?” I smiled soothingly at her, hoping to coax a smile. She blinked, but otherwise I got no reaction from her.
“Would you like some breakfast?” I sat up, realizing with a grimace that our bed sheets were wet, proof that the child hadn’t moved. We both needed to bathe.
I saw Aaric on the floor, his mouth slightly open, snoring softly. I’d slept so soundly I hadn’t heard him come in last night.
“Aaric.” I spoke softly, but he sat up immediately with a snort, rubbing his eyes blearily. His hair stood on end.
“Is everything all right?”
“We need some bath water,” I said. I looked down at the little girl. She was stick thin. “Breakfast too.”
An hour later and the child was squeaky clean and sitting in my lap at one of the common room tables in front of a large bowl of porridge and fruit. I had to spoon-feed her; the toddler seemed to have no will of her own. I had to do everything for her. I thought of the woman with blood on her face—her mother. What had happened in that cottage before the woman’s death? I visualized the child being ripped from her mother’s grasp . . . and firmly put my imagination away. It wouldn’t do to stress about what might have happened. I gave her a little hug, looking up when Aaric entered the room.
He’d bathed as well, and was in a clean change of clothes. He wore his dark gray vest, the sleeves of his white button-up shirt rolled up. His hair was tousled from being scrubbed dry with a towel. He smiled as he sat across from me, his reading spectacles folded and hanging out of his collar. He liked to keep them close in the event he felt like reading.
“Have you eaten yet?”
I nodded, not telling him I’d only managed a spoonful of porridge. Food sounded terrible right now.
“We need to find someone in the village who will take the child.” Aaric smiled kindly at the little girl. “How are you feeling today?” The child looked back silently. Aaric sighed. “Not one for talking, is she? How old is she, anyway?”
“How old are you, sweetie?” I asked kindly. The girl sat there. I was beginning to think she might be deaf, when she slowly held up three little fingers.
Aaric and I laughed. “She’s not deaf, anyway,” Aaric said, confirming that we’d had the same thought.
“Why won’t she talk?” I asked as I continued to spoon-feed her.
“I think she’s traumatized,” Aaric responded. He’d put his spectacles on and was studying the child intently. “I’ve read about it. Sometimes, when a young child witnesses or experiences something terrible, such as last night, they stop speaking.”
“Will she ever talk again?” I asked, dabbing the toddler’s face with a napkin. The poor thing.
“I don’t know,” Aaric admitted. “Given time, probably. It was just something I read in passing though. I don’t know much about it.” He stood. “We need to see who in the village is willing to take care of her.”
I clutched the toddler to me instinctively. I didn’t want to give her up. It soon became clear, however, that no on
e would take her. They were worried the Twyli would come back, and no one was willing to risk their neck for a child that wasn’t theirs. Asking the innkeeper if she would take the child nearly got us thrown out before we could pack our things.
“Stupid old biddy,” Aaric growled, tying up his blanket roll. “Everyone here is a blasted coward.”
I held the child. The few times I’d set her down ended with her clinging to my skirts frantically, her eyes wide with panic. “We will take her,” I said firmly.
“Doesn’t look like we have much choice.” Aaric was packing his books. “I already talked to the mayor about it today when you were bathing her. He wouldn’t take her in himself, and claimed that there wasn’t a soul who would. Rotten excuse for a mayor, that’s what I say. Who would let a child go homeless?”
I smiled at him. Aaric was obviously flustered by the idea of taking the child himself, but he would rather be inconvenienced than allow the child to fend for herself. He was a good man.
“The mayor did mention a city. Bleaksdale. It’s several miles east, but he said the travel was easy, and it should only take us a week or so to reach it. We’ll find a caretaker there.”
I nodded silently. I looked down at the toddler. Her head lay on my shoulder, eyes finally closed in near-sleep. I felt a surge of affection for the tiny thing. She’d lost her mother, and was now shunned by her village. My hands clenched in determination. I wasn’t sure what awaited her in Bleaksdale, but in the meantime, she would be cared for as if her real mother was still with her.
7
Aaric
“Bake-a-pie, fast as you can.” Adaryn laughed, clapping her palms against the toddler’s. The child watched her with large eyes, a ghost of a smile on her lips.
She still wasn’t talking, but had warmed up to Adaryn considerably, and tolerated Aaric’s presence. They had spoken to the mayor again, right before leaving the child’s village, and from him learned the girl’s name: Dahlia.
“Put it on the fire for Dahlia and meeeee!” Adaryn reached for the child and tickled her armpits, the toddler snorting with giggles.
Aaric smiled, watching them. They had been traveling for several days, and the more time they spent with the child, the more Aaric grew fond of her. He looked at Adaryn. Her stomach looked a little more round to him, but it was hard to tell. She definitely hadn’t gained much weight, if any. There were dark shadows of fatigue under her eyes. Aaric made sure they traveled at a slow pace, but was it slow enough? He wished pregnancy was a subject he had studied more back in Ruis.
“Look, the real pie is ready,” Adaryn exclaimed, still talking to Dahlia. She turned to the campfire, pulling the pan from the flames. She’d made a small pie from flour and salt Aaric had purchased from the village, and filled it with root vegetables and rabbit. “Careful, darling, it’s hot.” She chatted animatedly to the child as she broke off chunks of the pie, distributing it on plates.
The remainder of the evening passed peacefully, and it wasn’t long before Dahlia was fast asleep, nestled in Adaryn’s arms. The nomad gently brushed the white-blonde hair away from the child’s face. “I can’t do it, Aaric.”
“Can’t do what?” Aaric asked, but he already knew what she meant.
“I can’t give her up. At Bleaksdale. She needs us.”
“We’re going to have our own child to take care of, love,” Aaric reminded her.
“So?” Adaryn frowned at him. “Who says we can’t take of both?” She leaned over the slumbering child, kissing her lightly on the forehead. “We can’t just leave her at Bleaksdale and assume she’ll be safe or happy. She needs parents, Aaric.”
“Let’s wait and see what Bleaksdale holds,” Aaric said, but he didn’t argue. Adaryn was right.
8
Adaryn
“It’s so . . . dark.” We walked through the gates to the city of Bleaksdale.
The city walls were made of dull gray stone and the streets and houses were grimy. It was smaller than Ruis, and while the streets were busy, they weren’t nearly as crowded as the cities we’d visited. I wore my cloak with the hood up. The people didn’t recognize my nomad dress, and as long as I didn’t summon my enchantment, couldn’t identify me as a magic user.
Aaric led our horses as we walked, Dahlia perched in one of the saddles. She looked around with bright eyes, but didn’t say anything. We hadn’t told her that Bleaksdale might be her new home.
“There.” Aaric pointed to a vendor at a cross section of the street. “Let’s get something to eat.”
The fare was a bowl of stew with turnips and onions and tough bits of beef. Aaric wolfed his portion down in thirty seconds flat; I shared mine with Dahlia, eating at a much more sensible pace. I peered at a young woman standing near the food stall selling brightly colored streamers with shiny beads attached. I poked Aaric in the ribs and gestured toward the woman. “What are those?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. They look like necklaces of some sort.”
I pulled Dahlia out of her saddle and together we walked over for a closer look.
“They’re good luck charms,” the young woman explained. She looked to be barely eighteen. “The red and blue braided together is said to ward off evil spirits, the green and yellow are to bring wealth.”
“What about this one?” I pointed at one that was white, threaded with silver and gold thread. The beads caught the sunlight and gleamed.
“The white is supposed to keep the wearer safe from harm.”
“Are they magic?” I asked absently, not realizing my mistake until after I spoke.
The girl’s eyes widened and she took a step backward. “No,” she said emphatically. “No, I don’t hold with magic. No Denali does.”
“It doesn’t have to be magic to be lucky. In fact it would be quite the opposite. Magic can be a blasted nuisance, wouldn’t you say, dear?”
Aaric stepped over to stand next to me, smiling at the young woman, his expression bland. “We’ll take two of the white. One can’t have too much luck in these parts, it seems.”
The girl smiled hesitantly at him and procured two of the charms after Aaric paid. He knelt down, placed one around Dahlia’s neck, and gave her a tender kiss on the forehead. Standing, he placed the remaining necklace around my throat. He smiled at me reassuringly. “Shall we go?” Taking me by the arm, we walked back to the horses. I stole a look behind me. The young woman was still watching us, and she wasn’t smiling. I bit my lip. “I think she’s suspicious.”
“I do too.” Aaric put Dahlia back in the saddle and we walked back down the street we’d come.
“I don’t think mentioning magic is a good idea,” Aaric continued in a low tone. “Not here.”
I nodded miserably. “I’m sorry.” I put my hand up, running my fingers over the smooth silk rope of the charm. “Thank you for the necklace.”
“You’re welcome.” Aaric squeezed my hand reassuringly. “It’s been too long since I’ve bought something nice for you.”
My ears perked up as we passed a tavern. Despite the cold weather, there were several men seated outside, drinking and talking.
“The mayor’s been paying them solid gold to keep the city safe,” one said, a narrow rail of a man with an enormous mustache. “Maybe we should join them.”
“They’re outsiders,” another replied. “I trust them about as much as I trust the Twyli, maybe less.”
“They’ve killed Twyli,” the mustached man protested. “They can’t be all bad.”
We’d passed out of earshot, leaving me wondering who or what they were talking about.
“Let’s get some supplies and leave,” Aaric said suddenly.
I looked up at him, confused. “We just got here.”
Aaric’s eyes never stopped shifting as we walked, surveying the crowd and surroundings—a habit he picked up from Bran. “I don’t trust these people. You saw how that girl reacted; she was still spooked after I tried to smooth things over. And those men by the tavern, if they
’ve killed Twyli . . .” He let the unspoken implication hang in the air. I swallowed. Perhaps I’d be killed if they found out I could wield enchantment, even if I wasn’t a Twyli. The farmer had thought I was. They might harm Aaric and Dahlia, simply for being associated with a magic user.
I nodded. “Yes, you’re right. We should.” The unspoken thought that neither of us spoke, but knew: We couldn’t leave Dahlia here alone.
In less than two hours of entering the city of Bleaksdale, we left.
9
Aaric
Adaryn wasn’t eating enough. Aaric glanced at her anxiously in the fading light. Her face was pale, and she looked exhausted. They’d been riding for the better part of a week, leaving Bleaksdale far behind. He’d coaxed, demanded, suggested and begged her to eat, but she couldn’t seem to eat more than a few mouthfuls of whatever their meal consisted of without throwing it back up. She could keep water down, thankfully. He worried about her health, and that of their unborn child. What if the baby didn’t get the nourishment it needed?
“Let’s rest here.” Adaryn reined Sorrel to a halt and pointed to a small clearing of trees off the side of the road. The child sat in front of her. She hadn’t said a word since the night her mother was killed, despite the affection Adaryn showered her with.
“Seems as good a place as any,” Aaric agreed. He dismounted and led his horse to the area she indicated, clearing some of the snow to make a place for them to sleep.
Adaryn and Dahlia spent the next few minutes gathering dead twigs and branches for a fire. Aaric secured the horses and pitched their tent. He remembered a time when it took him the better part of an hour to get up. Now it took only fifteen minutes. He crawled inside and laid out bedding and blankets. By the time he emerged Adaryn had started a small fire, its flames greedily licking the dry wood. Dahlia watched it, her little face expressionless. He walked over to sit next to them.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked, and blinked in confusion when Adaryn glared at him.
