CHAPTER NINETEEN
ALYSSUM
Perhaps everything they let us believe was a lie.
I couldn’t dispel the thought as Catrin escorted me down the village road—a victim of time and neglect, much like the rest of Grenythwood Village, it seemed.
Only the most stubborn of cobblestones peppered the way, the others having long ago succumbed to dirt and shrubbery.
The narrow path wove through the village, and the dwellings that guarded its sides were unevenly shaped.
They appeared to be made primarily of timber, but the covering of moss clutching to their oddly sloped roofs made it seem the wood was ready to reclaim them.
A damp fog blanketed Grenythwood, and its chill had begun settling in my bones.
I drew my cloak tight, hoping to ward off the cold and dissuade further commentary on my clothing.
Not that there was much of anyone to notice.
The streets were eerie in their quiet, save for the occasional passersby who kept to themselves.
At one point I spotted a group of children playing with wooden dice on a dilapidated porch, and although they paused their game to observe our passing, they did not return the hesitant smile I offered.
I bid their expressionless, unwashed faces and thin clothes out of my mind.
The trees were different here. With trunks twice as wide as any ironbark, the sheer height of them was startling; I imagined not a soul in Morwyn could climb to the top of one of those.
They loomed over us, upholding a layered canopy of leaves that hadn’t yielded to the creeping frost. I doubted much sunlight made its way to the forest floor, even on cloudless days.
“Not quite like home?” Catrin said gently, our elbows linked as if we truly were family.
“Indeed.”
The most polite response I could afford her. Compared to Lunamor, it seemed someone had drained the color from Grenythwood entirely.
We walked primarily in silence with only the trickling brook and occasional birdsong to pierce the quiet. So when a voice echoed from beneath a stone bridge as we passed by, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“She the one wearin’ those Hollow clothes?”
The deep, weary voice snaked a shiver down my spine.
As I lifted my chin to assess the man before me, it was all I could do to mask my contempt; it was a jarring experience, suddenly being a commoner that any lowlife felt they could speak to.
Or, even worse, intimidate. He leaned up against the stone wall casually, cloaked in brown, a small knife in one hand and a bit of wood in the other.
His wiry frame, stringy hair, and large, bulging eyes were just as unsettling as the overwhelming urge to stay far, far away from this man.
“Got somethin’ to say, Hollow?”
“She isn’t a Hollow, Merl. You know that,” Catrin said with unmasked contempt.
“Do I, though?” He spoke through a crooked smile, clearly finding pleasure in the fear that prompted the pursing of my lips. He angled his knife back and forth, what little light there was seeping through the canopy above causing the metal to gleam.
“Vayen does,” a boy said from behind Merl before popping into view. Milo had both hands pocketed, and he maintained eye-contact with the man as he made his way over to my other side. I still didn’t understand how that child could exist comfortably in the cold without a shirt.
The man sucked on his teeth before spitting into the brook. He looked unconvinced, but Milo’s words had clearly prompted some hesitation.
“Vayen’s got eyes on her?”
I found his phrasing odd, but I appeared to be the only one.
“Indeed,” Catrin said, holding onto me tightly. With the other hand, she readjusted her pink skirts as if this were a rather bothersome occurrence.
“Vayen…” I repeated the name, reaching for Milo’s earlier words. “You mentioned they were the one who—”
“She carried you to Master Catrin’s,” Milo said. “I tried my best, but… no offense, Lyssa, you’re heavy!”
“I bet everything’s heavy with arms the size of yours,” I quipped back, relishing the horror-stricken expression transforming his boyish features.
“So if you’re concerned with my niece’s origins,” Catrin began, successfully interrupting our bickering, “perhaps you should take it up with Vayen herself.”
“No, no, that won’t be… no,” Merl said quickly, pushing himself from the wall. “Sorry to bother, just trying to keep the village safe.” The nervous, lopsided grin that brought his thin eyebrows together rendered him unrecognizable from the brute that accosted us mere moments ago.
Milo balked. “We don’t need you to protect us, and your desperation for wrongdoing shows it!”
“Will others be fitted in the coming days?”
Linus’ voice, always an unwelcome intrusion.
I knew there was a part of him that wished calamity on Lunamor just so he could have the honor of receiving metals.
The thought soured my mouth, and I wondered how long it would be until my family’s voices and faces faded into little more than a distant memory.
Merl’s smile settled into a thin line. “It’s not as safe here as your lot likes to think,” he spat. With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared beneath the shadow of the bridge.
“That man is a nuisance, always bothering the newcomers,” Catrin said, shaking her head disapprovingly. “If he weren’t so skilled at his trade, I wager he’d be the one in the dungeons by now.”
“So he doesn’t spend all of his time accosting strangers, then?” I could not disguise the distaste on my tongue.
“He’s an importer,” Milo said, scuffing his foot in the dirt. “Calls himself a Shadowmonger. Claims he can find anything you need, even if the shadows have hidden it.”
“He obtains things for people,” Catrin clarified. “From beyond the Threshold, all the way to Grenloch.”
“I haven’t heard of Grenloch,” I admitted. “Is it in Grenythwood?”
Milo’s eyes darkened and he avoided my gaze entirely as he spoke. “I best be off. Vayen will be looking for me by now.”
Before I could inquire further, he was trudging down the path, away from the heart of the village.
“Did I say something wrong?” I asked, concern needling its way into my chest.
“Grenloch is where Milo’s people are from. Once the Threshold appeared, they had to come to Grenythwood.” Catrin pulled gently on my arm, guiding me once more along the path. “He gets that same look in his eye whenever Grenloch is mentioned. It was my fault for saying anything to begin with.”
“Hm,” was all I managed as we continued on our way.
We walked in silence, but it wasn’t long before we approached a large building at the center of a fork in the road.
“That’s where you’ll be staying, at least temporarily,” Catrin said. With a slight gesture towards the painted sign out front, she spoke the words aloud: “The Ugly Tankard. Not quite sure why Winnie landed on that name… it’s not all that inviting.”
The name may not have been inviting, but it was the only building I had laid eyes on thus far that didn’t appear to be falling apart.
It looked quite sturdy with its timber frame, stone foundation, and rock walls crawling with ivy.
The frontmost section of the building was a large triangle, consisting primarily of a large circular door.
The thatched roof came to a point above the entrance before cascading down each side, hugging its edges all the way to the forest floor.
A golden glow spilled from the rounded windows peppering the exterior, warding off the encroaching darkness that had frosted my fingers and toes.
The lanterns swinging gently from iron hooks along the veranda were unlit, and I wondered if the Ugly Tankard was accepting visitors at all.
“I so very much wish we had an extra room at our house, but alas.” A twinge of sadness was detectable in the soft sigh emitted through Catrin’s lips.
“You’ve done more than enough,” I insisted. “I only wish I could repay your kindness somehow.” But I was coinless, with nothing more than the clothes on my back and the rations in my leather bag now nestled alongside the meal Catrin was firm I bring along with me.
“Still, I’d like to do more,” Catrin said with a gentle squeeze of my arm.
I smiled weakly, all too aware of the growing exhaustion that made each step feel heavy. The burst of energy from Catrin’s salted myrtle had dissipated long ago, and I knew the moment my head rested on a surface even vaguely resembling a pillow, I would be rendered unconscious.
“Poor thing. Let’s hurry in and get you a room.”