“And the others?”
Hunter hesitated before answering. “The others use them in spells and potions.”
Nessa didn’t like that thought, and it must have shown on her face, for Hunter continued. “Some people buy them just to release them back into the wild, you know, that kind of thing. Either way, no matter what the buyer does with the water sprite after purchase, Helen makes a lot of money out of it. Money stealing witch is expanding her business.”
“Do they actually bring you good luck?” Nessa asked out of morbid curiosity.
“I doubt it, in all honesty.”
“How sad.”
Hunter made a sound of agreement.
They conversed throughout the day, sticking to more pleasant subjects. Hunter delighted her for a time by telling stories of the trouble he would get himself into with the aid of his friend, Orm. Nessa hadn’t known Hunter for long, but she knew that he was a natural born trouble maker; she could see the mischievous glint often in his amber eyes. Apparently, Orm was a kindred spirit.
As the sun began its descent, the terrain they crossed slowly changed from rolling farmland to natural meadows intersected with clusters of young trees. The streams dwindled in number until, just before nightfall, they stopped coming across them all together.
The light faded and Hunter deemed it safe enough for them to camp out in the open, so they settled down for the night on the brow of a low hill. They fell into the same routine as the one from the previous night. Nessa busied herself collecting firewood while Hunter saw to Betty. Dinner was a quick and simple affair, and they were soon tucked away in their sleeping bags, worn out by the day’s march.
Hunter was instantly asleep, but Nessa found herself unable to keep her eyes closed for long. Although tired, sleep eluded her for a time, her mind buzzing with noisy questions. Nessa supposed that it wasn’t too bad, though, because otherwise she would have missed the night’s sky coming alive.
At first there was just the moon and a scattering of stars, beautiful without the pollution of urban light marring their gentle radiance, but not an otherworldly sight. But then bursts of colours began to unfold, reds and purples, blues and greens. It was as if a god had spilt watercolour paints across the blackened sky. It was breathtaking; the slow swirl of gently shifting colours calmed down her turbulent thoughts and eased some of her worries.
So Nessa watched the nebulae until her eyelids grew heavy.
∞∞∞
It was happening again.
This time, at least, Nessa knew what was going on. Her vision filled with foggy light that faded away to muted darkness. She knew that if she looked at her hand or down at her body, it would be translucent, barely there, as if she were a wisp of smoke.
Nessa’s eyes slowly adjusted, and she found herself standing in the middle of a circular room, a room she was familiar with. It was there that Margan had abandoned her to solitary confinement until she had escaped through the roof with Hunter. Nessa peered up and frowned, finding no sign of the hole they had made. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any holes up there at all. The roof looked new, as if it had just been constructed.
Nessa looked over her shoulder, finding that the iron door had been fixed too, or perhaps, since it was now free from rust, replaced. Nessa had an odd feeling. How had they done all of that so quickly?
She began pacing around the room, just as she had done a hundred times before, wondering why her waking dream had brought her back there, and more importantly, how the hell she could wake up from it?
Nessa was just about to finish her first lap around the edge of the room when she narrowly missed tripping over someone. So still and silent and hidden by the darkness, Nessa didn’t notice the figure until she nearly stood on them.
Barely perceivable, huddled against the wall, was a lone man. His hair was long and shaggy, hanging around his face in a knotted mess, and he sat with his back to her, one shoulder propped against the wall. In his hand he held a broken spoon, the handle of which was snapped in half. He was using it to scratch something into the stone wall.
Nessa watched him with pity, and her heart went out to him, whoever he was. She knew what it was like to be locked away in that horrible room with nothing to occupy your mind. Nessa remembered the gut-churning loneliness.
After a fevered moment of scraping, he flung the spoon away and turned around, pressing his back against the wall and wrapping his arms around his legs. He buried his face in his knees, shoulders shaking with sobs or from the cold. Nessa moved closer, feeling the need to try and comfort him somehow.
She knelt in front of him, reassured by the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to see her, and placed a hand on his shoulder. The fabric of his tunic was torn, and through the rips, she could see the dark marks of bruises and cuts from harsh beatings. Nessa hoped that in someway he would be able to sense her and not feel quite so alone.
Nessa’s eyes were drawn up, and she felt a spike of apprehension at what she saw.
Freshly etched on the wall was the word Kinlandi.
“Impossible,” she whispered.
It was the name that she had ran her fingers over just a short time ago, the name that had been etched into the wall long before she had been locked there…
But it was the one that she had ran her fingers over.
But that would mean...
“I’m in the past.”
The man stilled, shoulder tensing beneath her hand. He raised his head and stared at Nessa as if he could actually see her.
Nessa reared back, shocked.
Shadow looked at her with mournful eyes, eyes that weren’t quite the colour they should have been. Threads of purple were woven into the midnight blue. They hadn’t been like that the other night, when his sword had been at her throat, and when the rain had been falling around them in a spellbinding moment.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Shadow said, his voice rasping and broken.
Nessa’s vision wavered and turned black.
∞∞∞
Nessa’s eyes snapped open. Sweat covered her forehead and her heart thundered away as loud and as fast as a galloping horse. She sat up, shaking and wrapped her arms around herself, as if she might hug away the fear and uncertainty that grew as a painful knot in her stomach.
“What the hell was that?” she whispered.
Nessa wished that it had been a dream, a nightmare, but no amount of arguing would make the voice that told her it was real go away. The way the room had felt, cold and damp, the air smelling of mildew, had been all too familiar. And Shadow... his words… his eyes... His eyes looked like they had once been a deep purple, but were slowly transitioning into the sapphire blue she recognised.
A part of her, deep down, felt that her waking dream was a warning. Of what, Nessa didn’t have the faintest idea, but that was the impression it gave her.
Hunter groaned and rolled over, opening drowsy eyes. He spied Nessa awake and did a double take.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Has something happened?”
Nessa opened her mouth, ready to tell him what she had seen, then snapped it shut, teeth chinking together. A voice whispered to her that it was a secret, something between her and Shadow, and it wasn’t her secret to tell, not yet. “Nothing,” she lied. “Just had a bad dream.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, just a dream. Nothing more.” Nessa forced herself to lie back down. “You should go back to sleep, get some rest.”
Hunter didn’t argue, curling back up on his side. Nessa listened as his breaths slowed, and when he was back asleep, she rose from her sleeping bag, too riled up to even contemplate trying to lay still. It would be time to get up in an hour or so anyway, she thought, judging by the lightening sky.
The fire had burned out during the night, reduced to a few ruddy embers. Nessa knelt beside it, adding a handful of twigs and a few branches, nursing it. It was slow to catch, but eventually the flames sparked and b
egan to slowly climb over the firewood, and Nessa took the opportunity to change into some clean clothes.
Once she was dressed and the fire was burning nicely away, Nessa decided that she would be the one to cook breakfast today. Rummaging through the supply bag, she found a pan, which she placed on the fire to heat, and selected some sausages and a couple of thick slices of smoked bacon.
While Nessa waited for the sausages to finish, she pulled over her messenger bag and opened it, taking out the orb and setting it on her lap. It glowed, just as it always did, and she smoothed a hand over its surface, enjoying the gentle warmth it emitted. Hunter groaned and rolled over, making Nessa pause, ready to shove the orb back into the bag. For some undisclosed reason, Hunter didn’t like it, periodically eyeing her bag throughout the day like it contained a severed head.
Something tapped against the orb’s surface, and from within the purple haze, a shadow moved, shifting against the flow of mist and light. For a second, Nessa thought that she had imagined it, but then it came again, gently rubbing against the inside of the orb, making the surface vibrate beneath her hand.
Very quickly, without dwelling on the matter, Nessa stowed the orb back in the bag, deciding that she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be dealing with any more weirdness. Waking dreams were one thing, an oddly glowing orb that seemed to be changing was something else entirely. Separately, Nessa would almost be able to convince herself that everything was relatively normal. However, having both of them happen at once was too much to deal with before breakfast. Which, as it happened, was pretty much ready.
Nessa turned the sausages one last time as the bacon sizzled to perfection. It would be a modest meat feast.
Hunter awoke, nose twitching.
“Breakfast?” he enquired hopefully.
“Breakfast,” Nessa confirmed, scooping up some bacon and sausages and wedging them between two rustic slices of bread. She handed it to Hunter, who marvelled at such a magnificent invention, and Nessa quickly made her own, devouring it.
“What a beautiful way to start the day,” Hunter said around his mouthful. “I’m glad I helped you escape from Ironguard.”
“Me too, Hunter,” Nessa absently murmured, staring at her bag. Was it just her imagination or did it look fuller, as if the orb was growing? “Me too.”
The second day of their journey passed much like the first, with lots of walking and a few periodic breaks to rest their feet, have a drink and eat a snack. On the third day, clouds began to form overhead, offering a reprieve from the balmy weather, something that Nessa was extremely grateful for.
On the morning of the fourth day, Nessa woke to the sight of a dreary grey sky. It started drizzling soon after, the fine kind of rain that misted the air and soaked into your clothing without you noticing until you were wet through. Nessa didn’t mind it overmuch, although it did make her top stick uncomfortably to her back. She found it rejuvenating, fresh. Hunter, on the other hand, whined about the weather near constantly, much to Nessa’s amusement. He had a way with words that few possessed. While no stranger to swearwords, Nessa still learnt a few new ones that would blister the ears of any hardened, foul-mouthed sailor.
They took turns cooking their meals, which gradually grew simpler as their supplies dwindled, and Nessa and Hunter fell into a kind of rhythm with one another, splitting the chores evenly between them. During that time, the homesickness that Nessa had felt for a month steadily faded away, and she slowly began to realise that she and Hunter were something akin to kindred spirits. They had known each other for a mere four days and yet, to Nessa, it felt as if their friendship had spanned years, such was how relaxed they were around one another.
Each night, Nessa snuggled into her sleeping bag, fearful that she would have another grim waking dream. So far, though, she hadn’t had another one since. That made it easier for her to ignore the issue, to pretend that nothing abnormal had happened.
What was hard for her to ignore though, was the orb.
The few times that Nessa had taken it out of the bag, the eerie shadow had moved within, and while it was hard to prove without the help of a tape measure and scales, she swore that it was growing, getting larger and heavier with each day that passed. Not enough to be completely definite, but enough for it to continuously plague her thoughts. Nessa was tempted to talk to Hunter about it, to tell him what she thought was happening. Each time she went to open her mouth, though, she got tongue-tied, the words, the worries, refusing to leave her tongue. They were her secrets to keep, it seemed, and keep them she would, adding them to the pile with all the others.
On the fifth day, they came upon a small village.
Sat far in the distance, all they could see were the vague shapes of buildings and the smoke that rose from a few chimneys.
“Do you think that we should go in for some more supplies?” Nessa asked, squinting against the glare of the sun, which was slowly setting behind the houses.
Hunter looked up from his map. “I think we can risk it. It’s small and remote, so I doubt that any bounty hunters will come this way, and no one would bother sending out a wanted poster either. It’s unlikely anyone there would be able to read it.” He rolled up the map and stowed it away. “At least, I hope so.”
They started off again, walking across the sprawling grassland, just as they had been all day, and the day before, and the day before that...
The village was tiny, scarcely more than a few houses clustered around a dirt road that barely extended outside the settlement. The buildings were small and roughly made, a step above being a wooden shack. Their shutters were tightly closed, which Nessa found strange since it was still light out, and the village was quiet, too quiet. Whilst tiny, she thought there would be someone around at least. Nessa knew it wasn’t completely deserted, for a handful of chimneys spewed dark smoke. It seemed that the inhabitants were reluctant to venture outside their dwellings.
In the middle of the village was a square. A post stood in the centre with a small number of aged posters tacked onto it. Hunter hurried over, his eyes running over them, instantly relaxing. There was nothing related to them on there.
Nessa eyed the village square with a critical eye. Though small, it had an alehouse, which was strangely boarded up. A few benches and tables were set up out front, sheltered from the sun by a tarpaulin, and a small group of rough looking men dozed in the shade. Opposite them were a few stalls made from planks placed on top of wooden crates.
They were crude, but Hunter made his way over to them, saying, “These look like our best bet.”
Nessa trailed after him, keeping a watchful eye on the sleeping men, making sure that Betty kept close to her. She didn’t like the look of them at all. They made her uneasy.
Hunter perused the stalls with a keen eye, picking up an item or two before putting them back down. It was a random assortment, Nessa thought, bits and pieces that mainly consisted of dented pots and pans. A few trinkets were dotted around in the mess too, little jewellery boxes and some hair clips. Hunter pocketed a couple of small items, and after a rummage around in a pile of fabrics, found a knotted length of fishing wire.
“Excellent,” Hunter said, grinning from ear to ear. “This was just what I was hoping to find.”
“If you say so.”
“I did want to get more bread and cheese, maybe some veg too,” his eyes darted to the sleeping men, “but I’ve since changed my mind. This will fix us up with a decent dinner. Nothing’s better than a freshly caught fish smoking over a hearty fire at the end of the day.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Just you wait and see.” He looked around, frowning slightly. “Who am I meant to pay, I wonder?”
“Not exactly lively here, is it?”
“No,” Hunter agreed. He fished out a pair of copper coins from his money pouch and placed them on the tabletop. “I’m not liking the vibes this place is giving off.”
“Good to know that I’m not the only one.
”
Hunter stowed away his fishing line and together they hastily left the village, Betty trotting beside them. They kept a fast pace, eager to put some distance between them and the settlement. They didn’t slow until it was nothing more than a brown smudge on the horizon.
Bringing them to a stop, Hunter spread his map out on the ground and studied it, seeking their location. “Now, if I’m correct,” he said, “we should be right about here.” He pointed to a bare patch between a dot that marked the village and a thin squiggling line that traced its way through much of the map. “We’re just a mile or two from the river Nyland.”
∞∞∞
Less than an hour later, the river Nyland stretched out before them like a gigantic blue snake. At a quarter of a mile wide, the water ran slowly and smoothly, and was crystal clear. Both banks held a thin covering of trees, and weeping willows trailed leafy fingers in the cool water while silver birches reached spindly arms into the sky.
They made camp in the trees, where trunks and branches would help shelter them from the wind that blew in off the river. The patch they had chosen was nestled between two mighty oaks, their roots creating an indentation that was filled with a thick layer of moss. Nessa was looking forward to sleeping on something softer than hard earth.
Hunter swiftly unsaddled Betty and had their bags in a pile on the ground. He then sat on his sleeping bag and pulled out the tangled fishing line, working at the knots, slowly, arduously. While he did that, Nessa went about her task of gathering wood for the fire, a task that was made considerably easier since they were in an established wood. By the time she returned back with her second armload of firewood, Hunter had succeeded in untangling the fishing line, and was busy making some crude hooks from some needles he had found amongst the junk. Nessa dumped her load on the ground and started to arrange it, just as she had seen Hunter do each night.
Just as Nessa finished, Hunter went over and handed her his fire pouch. She took it with bemusement, setting it down on the ground like it was the most bizarre thing in the world.
House of Fear and Freedom (The Wyrd Sequence Book 1) Page 15
