Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Wedderlie
Edge of the Forbidden Land
The forest thinned as they walked, giving way to a wide slope bathed in pale morning light. The mist drifted higher, revealing rooftops below, dozens of them, smoke rising in neat curls against the sky.
Elara slowed to a stop, a whisper falling from her lips. “Wedderlie.”
It wasn’t what she expected. The village spread wide, thatched roofs well-kept, and market stalls bright with wares. Children ran laughing through the lanes. Women drew water from a well, lingering to talk. There was no sense of decay or fear—only abundance.
Dar came to stand beside her. “You look surprised.”
“I am,” she said, confusion in her eyes. “You made it sound like a foreboding place.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied the scene below. “Aye, that’s what it should be.”
She glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
He pointed to the surrounding fertile land. “Do you see any planting fields?”
Elara frowned, scanning the landscape. The land beyond the village lay untouched, thick in parts with heather and other parts wild growth. No furrows, no ploughed earth, no livestock grazing.
Dar’s voice dropped, steady but edged. “No crops. Few animals. And yet they thrive.”
Elara’s stomach tightened. “Perhaps they trade with other villages.”
“There are no villages nearby,” he said. “Wedderlie sits too close to the border of the forbidden land. No one comes here unless they must.”
“Then where—”
“Do they get their food?” he finished for her. His gaze shifted toward the distant, mist-veiled ridges. “Or who do they owe their abundance to?”
A prickle ran down her spine as the question hung between them, heavy as the silence that followed.
Dar touched her arm lightly, his eyes still on the village. “Stay close, wife.”
She didn’t argue, though his reference to her as ‘wife’ had become all too common to the point that it almost seemed real.
They descended the slope into Wedderlie, the hum of village life growing louder with each step.
The scent of fresh bread and wild herbs drifted through the air, mingling with smoke from the many hearths.
The sound of laughter, light and carefree, spilled from the market square where women bartered cheerfully for wares that seemed far too plentiful.
Children darted past them, their faces clean, their clothes new. One boy carried a basket brimming with berries though Elara had seen no berry brambles on the way in.
“This doesn’t make sense,” she murmured.
Dar gave no answer. His hand hovered near the dagger at his belt, eyes sweeping the square, weighing every motion.
Relief was not something she expected to feel when his other hand reached out and took hold of hers, closing warm and firm around it.
She gave it a squeeze, a silent response to let him know his presence was appreciated.
Or was it more than that? Had she come to rely on him without realizing it?
Had she trusted him that easily? And should she?
They were thoughts that had to wait and she pushed them away, turning her focus on the village.
She noticed when the villagers looked their way, it wasn’t with suspicion… it was with welcome, smiles wide and unguarded. It should have eased her, yet it didn’t.
An older man stepped toward them as they approached the heart of the village. His back was straight despite the years etched into his face, and his white hair was neatly bound with a strip of leather.
“Welcome,” he greeted warmly, though his eyes were sharp. “Welcome to Wedderlie. I am Adelar, elder of Wedderlie and official welcomer.”
Dar inclined his head slightly. “We thank you, good sir, for the hospitable welcome.”
The man’s gaze shifted between them, lingering on Elara’s hand hooked with Dar’s. “Husband and wife, then. You’ll find welcome enough at the inn. Bella keeps clean beds and hearty meals.”
Elara hesitated, then asked, “Do you have a healer in your village?”
The man’s brow rose, his eyes suddenly filled with concern. “Are you ill? I can summon Dea to the inn right fast.”
“Nay. Nay.” Elara was quick to assure him. “I am an herb-scribe and would enjoy speaking with her.”
Concern replaced a wide smile. “Dea will be thrilled to speak with you. Her cottage sits just beyond the mill stream, on the rise where the rowans grow. You’ll know it by the pleasant scent. Always something brewing there.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I would speak with her when time allows.”
Adelar nodded, his smile remaining broad.
“Dea is a kind, giving woman as are all healers. But you’d best see to yourselves first. You’ve the look of those who’ve walked long roads.
” He gestured toward a timbered building at the edge of the square.
“There’s the inn. Tell Bella I sent you. She’ll see you right.”
They thanked him and crossed the square, the scent of stew and baked bread wafting in the air as they got closer to the inn.
As they walked, Elara leaned closer, her hand hugging his just a bit more firmly, and whispered, “They welcome strangers so easily.”
Dar’s gaze never stopped moving. “That’s what troubles me.”
At the inn, a plump woman with red cheeks and bright eyes bustled to greet them before they even reached the threshold. “Travelers! May the gods bless you both, we’ve not had a new face in weeks. Come in, come in.”
Elara started to explain that they had little to offer in payment, but a quick tug to her hand had her holding her tongue.
“Don’t fret, wife,” he murmured for her ears alone. “My charming tongue will see it done.”
She didn’t doubt he would. After all, wanderers were known for their ability to find lodging and food without sparing a coin.
Within moments they were seated at a small corner table near the hearth, the warmth chasing away the chill of the forest. Elara glanced around. Villagers filled the room, talking easily, laughing freely. Not a gloomy face among them. It was as if no fear had ever crossed this threshold.
Dar thanked their hostess with practiced ease, his words smooth and unhurried. Bella laughed at something he said and promised to fetch food and drink.
Elara leaned closer, whispering, “You’re far too good at that.”
He met her eyes with a faint, crooked smile. “A useful skill. You’d be surprised how much a man can earn with words.”
She meant to press him, find out more about the stranger she had come to trust, far too quickly, but the smell of stew reached her then—rich, savory, thick with herbs. Her empty stomach betrayed her with a low growl.
He smiled again, the kind that made a woman take notice of his fine features like the few women in the room did. And she found herself doing the oddest thing. She moved closer to him, as if letting them know he belonged to her.
“Fill your complaining stomach,” he urged playfully, wondering at her sudden closeness though not complaining about it. It served their story well about being husband and wife and also that she had come to trust him, rely on him, something he hadn’t expected.
“Then we’ll see about the healer,” Elara said.
A burst of laughter caught her attention.
And Elara looked around once more at the perfect abundance and the content faces.
How could a village sitting this close to the forbidden land feel so alive and thrive so abundantly?
There was not an ounce of fear that the evil of dark magic would touch them. But had it already?
An unease had her leaning even closer to Dar until she felt the brush of his arm against hers.
He didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned closer to her and the feel of his solid arm muscle soothed her and gave her a sense of safety.
She continued watching the smiling faces around them and could not help but wonder what shadow might lie behind all that light.
The meal had been a filling welcome after two nights of eating the little that was left of the food given to them at Thornleigh. Her stomach was finally full and satisfied and the hot cider had been delicious. She was ready and eager to talk with the healer.
When they stepped back into the open air, dusk was near to falling. Torches were being lit along the pathways, their glow soft and golden.
Dar took hold of her hand and her hand closed around his warm one.
She felt a sudden catch in her chest at how pleasant it felt to hold hands with him.
A simple act she had never given thought to, yet now realizing how the touch of a man’s hand in hers could spark such pleasure.
Or was it a particular man who could spark pleasure?
“Stay close,” Dar ordered, interrupting her thoughts. “If this place is as harmless as it seems, I’ll eat my boots. I’ll wait outside while you speak to the healer. She will no doubt talk more freely to you without my presence. I will speak with anyone who passes by and see what I can learn.”
They followed the path Adelar had pointed out, a narrow lane leading toward the edge of the village where the trees grew thick again. The healer’s cottage sat beyond a small bridge of smooth stones spanning a clear stream. Smoke rose from its chimney, carrying the scent of rosemary and lavender.
Dar paused at the rough wood gate, his gaze sweeping the quiet woods beyond. “Be cautious with your trust,” he warned and reluctantly released her hand.
The vision came swiftly and was over just as swiftly. Her hand was clasped in his, words were being muttered, a ring slipped on her finger, binding them together, and yet she felt nothing but dread.
“Elara. Elara, what’s wrong?”
She heard his anxious voice, felt his hand steadying her, but she could not answer him, the vision had yet to release her, the dread growing heavier.
His arm went around her waist, drawing her close in a gentle hug, and he whispered softly, “Elara, I am here. I will keep you safe. You have nothing to fear.”
Her breath hitched as if she’d been holding it the whole time, though she hadn’t. “I am fine, a bit of fright, that is all.”