by Crissy Moss
I narrowed my eyes at him. “And what price would I pay for such a valuable offer? I do not have gold or silver. And you are a trader. There must be some profit in it.”
He laughed, a great big belly roll that echoed across the grasslands.
“A smart girl,” he said.
He patted the log next to him, and I sat down, stretching out my feet toward the fire. I soaked in the warmth for the first time in what seemed years. I could feel the moisture in my clothing starting to evaporate, and all the layers of dirt were suddenly noticeable.
“As I’ve traveled across the planes for near on a decade,” he began, “I’ve noticed a few things about the people who travel. There are those who do so to seek their fortunes and those who seek knowledge. Those of the latter half are more trustworthy, by far, and sometimes work twice as hard as everyone else because they value hard work as much as knowledge. You don’t have the look of a fortune seeker about you.”
“I’m not a fortune seeker,” I admitted. “I intend to learn as much as I can from the mages, if they’ll have me.”
“Good,” he said. “A noble purpose. I would be glad to have you travel with us. Of course, all those who travel with a caravan are expected to pay their way, either with gold or with service.”
“I…I have no gold,” I stammered.
“That’s fine,” he said with a smile. “I expected as much. If you had gold, you wouldn’t have been wandering alone on the plains.”
I colored at that. He was right, of course, but the truth still stung. But I didn’t worry long because he was already moving to reassure me.
“If you’re a mage, perhaps you’ve some knowledge that might be of value to a caravan?” he prodded.
Knowledge? My hand went to the bag where Winifrey’s book still nestled against me, one of the few things I had left after the attack from the thunderbird. I knew some herb lore now after weeks of reading through Winifrey’s book, but much of what I learned had to do with edibles and staying alive. I had my ability with fire, but what good was being able to withstand fire? It did not seem a skill that would keep a caravan safe. There had also been some herbs and flowers in the book that mentioned healing properties.
“I’m not a mage yet,” I started, “but I might have something useful. I know something about plants, but not a lot. I know what we could forage to eat, and some healing herbs.”
“Good, good. Tomorrow you can work with Akwulf then,” he said, nodding toward the portly man hovering over the campfire. “We’ll discuss it more later, but for now you can bunk with Ayrula. I’ll introduce you to the rest in the morning. For now, you need to get some food, then sleep.”
He did not have to ask me twice; my mouth was already watering from the smell of the food.
Sleep
“Akwulf, can we have another bowl, please,” Edwum called as he ushered me into the light of the campfire. “We’ve got another mouth to fill tonight.”
I could smell the soup on the kettle as it bubbled away and heard my stomach gurgle in anticipation.
“I suppose I’d better be quick about it,” a fat man with a thick black mustache said. Akwulf, I presumed. “Here, lass. It’s not much, but it will cut the cold in the middle of a blizzard.”
I accepted the proffered bowl and took a much deeper breath of the steaming stew. I could smell rosemary and sage in with the thicker pieces of garlic and onion. A dark meat, I assumed rabbit, sat on the surface with small white pieces—potatoes?
As I picked out the individual smells and textures in the bowl, I saw the effect reading Winifrey’s book had on me. Not just the book, of course, but my mother’s love of her herb garden, and the ravishing hunger that seemed to heighten all my senses and made my mouth water.
I took the spoon and found a seat next to the fire, digging in without a second thought. The meal could have been poisoned, and I still would have eaten it just to have a chance at having something other than twigs and berries in my stomach. A few bites in, I felt the warmth settling into my middle. I was already getting full off just a few bites. Had I been away from food that long?
“Take your time,” Akwulf said from the fire pit. “The stew isn’t going anywhere. You can always come back for more when you’re ready.”
I looked around, and everyone gazed back with unchecked curiosity. Ayrula sat on the far side of the fire, a bowl in her hands. On either side of her sat two large muscular men, one with sandy red hair, the other with jet-black hair tied back in a tail. Akwulf, the cook; Edwum, the caravan leader; and an older woman that seemed to be very close to him. His wife?
There were seven people sitting right by the fire. I saw a few others wander through the camps, ducking into tents or disappearing into the trees. There was a picket of horses at one end of the camp, munching on oats and a young boy brushing them down. A small caravan, it seemed. There were only four larger wagons, and two smaller ones.The rest of the party had small tents scattered around.
Yet I felt more welcome among these strangers than I had in my last moments in my own village. And Edwum and Ayrula knew what I was. The others had no idea who, or what, they were welcoming into their midst, or where I had come from. They just went about their morning as usual, though they did seem curious about me. I think I would have been more concerned if they hadn't been curious, though.
Taking another spoonful of stew, I carefully chewed the meat before swallowing, savoring the feel of real food again.
“She’s sharing your tent,” the dark-haired man next to Ayrula said. “A pity.”
“Don’t worry,” Ayrula said, leaning into him with a smile. “I’m sure we’ll make time.”
“You always do,” said another voice from across the fire. Everyone laughed, though I could tell it wasn’t malicious, just friends sharing a joke.
“Don’t you worry,” Ayrula said, her eyes focused on me. “I’m sure we’ll get along fine.”
The evening went quickly with wine and food flowing like water. My eyes started to flutter closed, lulled by the security of having so many people nearby.
“Come on,” Ayrula said, taking my hand and pulling me from the ground where I’d been lounging. “You’re about to fall asleep where you sit. We can’t have you ending up in the fire now.”
“Oh come on, Ayrula,” the sandy haired man said. I’d learned his name was Ludele, a wood carver from the coast. “It’s early yet; you should let her sit with us.”
“She’ll be with us awhile, Ludele, don’t worry. You’ll have your chance. She needs to rest now.”
Have his chance at what? I wasn’t allowed to find out as Ayrula pulled me to my feet and bustled me off to one of the tents.
Her tent sat on the edge of the encampment, covered in a slick brown skin, with dappled paint to make it less noticeable. It was tall enough for me to walk into standing upright and wide enough to spread my arms out wide without touching the sides. Furs and pillows were scattered around the floor, and one chest sat up against the back wall of the tent. I didn’t care as much about the furs and pillows as I did the warmth. Though a tent could never keep out all of the draft, there was a great deal less than sleeping outside, under the stars.
“Get some sleep,” Ayrula said. “Take as many furs as you like; I’ll be fine. And don’t worry if you don’t see me the rest of the night,” she said with a wink.
Before I could ask her what she meant, she was off, letting the tent flap fall behind her and leaving me alone in the darkness. I blushed a little when I remembered the man by the fire and their quick banter. Far better to busy myself with making a pile of thick furs and pillows.
I slipped down into the pile of furs, pulling a few soft lambskins over me and tucking a pillow under my head.
The moment my head hit the pillow, sleep fled from me. I lay awake staring at the ceiling of the tent, listening for any signs of movement beyond the walls. Horses chuffed, their hooves stamping in the dirt. There was the sound of giggles and chatter around the camp. Low murmu
rs from people still chatting around the campfire, and more intimate conversations from tents near my own.
Everywhere, sound assaulted my ears. I’d been locked away in the wilderness, alone for so long that being around this many people had an unnerving effect. I had no idea how long it had taken me to cross the mountains and get across the plains. One month? Two? I could feel the autumn turning to winter, but I couldn’t even be sure of that. Nothing felt the same here. Not the wind or the grass beneath me or the way the clouds moved in the sky. Even the air felt colder, damper as the sun shifted farther south on the horizon. Did that show snow on the horizon or just an autumn evening?
Perhaps sleep would have come easier if Ayrula had slept in the tent with me. With all the unfamiliar noises and voices, her familiar face would have calmed me. I could have heard her breathing, felt her turn in the night, and felt a little less alone in the darkness.
But she never came back to the tent.
I tossed and turned, jumping at the crack of a twig or the shuffle of feet outside the tent. I tried letting my sleep-weary body succumb to dreams, focusing on nothing but my own breathing. It felt as though the night stretched on around me.
And somewhere in the tossing and turning I must have fallen asleep because morning began warming the tent, and light trickled in wherever it could find a way. I woke to a soft rustling among the furs and turned to see Ayrula going through the trunk at my feet.
“Morning,” I whispered, not wanting to startle her.
“I knew you’d wake up eventually,” she said, holding up a thin shirt of green cotton. She smelled it then tossed it into a small pile of clothing before reaching for another. “Did you sleep well?”
“Well enough, I suppose.”
“That’s a diplomatic way of saying no.”
I gave her half a smile. “I suppose it’s been a while since I’ve been around people. It takes some getting used to.”
“Were you a hermit up on the mountain before this?” she asked, pausing in her rustling to take a closer look at me.
“Not exactly,” I said, looking away. Memories of my father throwing me into the flames and of our friends and neighbors casting me out came back. I could feel my cheeks burning with shame, unable to tell her what happened up on the mountain.
Thankfully, she let the subject drop and turned back to her wardrobe.
“I’ll probably spend the night here tonight,” Ayrula said. “Mykul is losing some of his charms.”
“Mykul? Is that the dark-haired man with the mustache that I saw beside you last night?”
“Aye,” she said, “he’ll do for the time.”
“For the time?”
She gave me a sly smile and shut the lid of the trunk but said nothing.
She stripped off her tunic and breeches, uncaring what eyes might fall on her half-naked body. I tried to avert my gaze but found myself unable to look away.
Ayrula was a beautiful woman under the baggy men’s clothing that she wore. Pert breasts, wide hips and a tapered waist, strong and lean muscles with a hint of a woman’s softness to her. But there was also the crisscrossing of scars across her thighs and back. Razor-sharp lines in red and white from knives or whips. Most were old, their edges pulled apart as she grew. Some were newer, their edges still slightly pink from healing.
“Where—” I began but managed to stop myself.
She looked over her shoulder as she pulled down the clean shirt she’d been putting on then glanced down at the scars on her thighs.
“There are worse things than leaving your family,” she said after a moment.
She pulled up her trousers and cinched the opening shut then turned on her heel and left.
I sat there, stunned, for a while after she left. In all the stories I heard from my mother—the tales of knights and wizards—I never once heard a story that would result in scars like that. I could not imagine how she came by them, what had been done to her, or what she’d done in return to earn them.
I had known life outside the village would be difficult, but what had I gotten myself into? How different were the customs on the outside? Up until that point I had assumed people lived and worked much like they did in our valley. Clearly, that assumption was wrong.
But whatever differences there were outside the valley, I had found the edge of civilization again. There were people who lived, ate, and worked, whatever else they might do. They couldn’t be that different from the people back in Brefalls, could they?
I shoved the furs aside and looked down at my tattered clothing.
I had no luxury for trepidation any longer. I was here, and I had nowhere else to go. Either I learned to fit in with the new customs, or I went off to be a hermit in the woods like Winifrey.
Picking myself up from the carpet of furs, I decided I at least wanted to try to live on the outside.
Love
“Ah, Sybel, I trust you slept well.”
Edwum smiled, his round cheeks making his stubby beard stand up on end as I approached the campfire. Akwulf, the portly man from the night before, stood over the fire stoking the flames.
“Yes, thank you,” I said and took the bowl of porridge he handed me.
“I think today would be a good day for you to work with Akwulf and see what you can do together. He’s very curious about those herbs you mentioned.”
“Of course, I’d love to help.”
I dug into the porridge and couldn’t help but make a face at the bland taste. I’d been living off sweet flowers and earthy roots for too long, but the porridge had no flavor. After the savory and aroma-rich stew the night before, the porridge was surprising.
Edwum chuckled and patted my shoulder. “Always the breakfast. He’s never cared much for it.”
“I can tell,” I said. I couldn’t afford to say no to any food after months with so little, so I kept eating.
“You can help him; I’m sure of it.”
I sighed, taking another bite of the porridge, but smiled up at him encouragingly. I would try—to save myself if nothing else.
Edwum left, and I watched the normal bustle among the men and women of the camp. Several were introduced, but I quickly forgot names in favor of some distinguishing mark or trait. The young girl with the twitching lip that brought supplies from the wagon. A scout in a green hood that came in, grabbed food, and was gone before I could catch his name. An older couple traveling to the next city to see their daughter.
“You watch everything,” Akwulf said.
I looked up, confused at first, then realized he was right. I’d been watching each person as they arrived, studying them and categorizing them as they came and went. Artisans, fighters, travelers, and farmers. Each with their specific skill or place in the caravan.
“I suppose I was,” I said. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been around people. I’m just taking it all in.”
“The fire’s a good place to do that. Everyone comes to the fire eventually, even if just for a moment. We all need to eat, or warm ourselves.”
“It certainly is warm,” I said and wiggled my feet next to the stones. “I haven’t been this warm in a month.”
“No fire up on the mountain?”
“Sometimes. Other times it wasn’t very practical, or I didn’t have any way to light it.”
He nodded, grunting noncommittally.
“Edwum said I was to help you,” I prodded.
“Aye. There isn’t much helping to be done, but I expect he wants to give you something to do and help you feel useful. If you are half as good at foraging as he seems to think you are, then maybe we can have something new to eat. Who knows? You survived up on the mountain alone, so you must have found something.”
“You should have her go out with a scout,” a voice behind me said.
I turned and saw Ayrula coming up behind us. She walked toward me, her feet silent even with leaves and stray grass beneath her, and sat down near me, taking the proffered bowl from Akwulf.
“About
time you showed up,” he said.
“I had to talk to Edwum about our plans. We weren’t supposed to stay here an extra day, but it seems things have changed.”
I blushed, thinking of Orin and the ifrit. Things had changed, all right. I had come along.
“Everything’s always changing,” Akwulf said, thought he made no comment on the changes my vary presence caused. “Nothing new about that. But we’ll get along; we always do. I expect we’ll be breaking camp first light and heading toward Ashton.”
“Ashton?” I asked. It was the first mention of anything resembling civilization. Of course, without maps or a guide I wouldn’t be able to find it, but knowing it was out there, somewhere in the grass, made the world a little smaller.
“Ashton is about four days’ journey to the east,” said Ayrula. “Give it five with the caravan, but we’ll be making good time. Edwum doesn’t like to dawdle.”
“What happens once we get there?”
“We trade,” Akwulf said with a wide grin. “We’ll see some of our travelers off, and others will join up with us. We’ll deliver a few things that were promised. Then we’ll try to find the best prices for what we have left and pick up more to carry with us to the next location. It is the way of all caravans. Safe passage and trade.”
“Ashton is out on the edge of the plains,” Ayrula said. “They herd cattle, goats, and sheep. They’ll have leather and wool, which is useful for making other items. We take raw goods north, to Ludwald, and trade it to craftsmen who make it into items that will be resold. Then we pick up those finished products and head south, where the cycle continues. Round and round we go, in a never-ending circle.”
“Ah now,” Akwulf said, “there’s a bit more finessing with it than that. You have to know who wants what you have and how to get the best price for it. And when they want it. You can make all the woolen socks you want, but if it’s high summer and everyone’s swimming in the river, you won’t sell a single pair.”
“True,” Ayrula agreed. “In the winter, some of the girls sit around the fire making socks. Always better prices if you’re the one who made it.”
