Prologue #2
Rivulets of sweat ran under my armour. I disliked the unnatural heat of the land I had found myself in after two months of travelling.
I held the sleeping babe in one arm and used my free hand to lead my stallion off the river raft.
Paying the ferryman his fee, I gladly left his probing gaze and not-so-subtle questioning behind me, continuing my journey south.
The ominously red waters of the river drew my eye.
‘What is wrong with this place, Little Worm?’ Her grey eyes were open and alert now, and from the way she was squirming, I knew she was hungry and desperate for her linens to be changed.
‘How can people survive in this heat?’ Talking to her, I discovered, kept the child distracted until I could find her next meal.
Finding a goat or a cow still able to produce milk was becoming increasingly difficult in this unfruitful land, but the constant throbbing in my head urged me to continue.
She sucked noisily on her tiny fist as her legs kicked against my breastplate.
The nickname I had given her suited her well; the only time this child stilled was when she slept.
I discarded my armour under a withered tree. I was more likely to die of heatstroke than be attacked by a farmer or a travelling peddler.
By the time we had reached the huddle of lopsided cottages, my Little Worm was crying fitfully; the cloth I had soaked in water from my flask no longer satisfied her.
The first person I encountered was a plain, middle-aged woman with tattered shoes and a holey shawl.
‘Good day. Can you direct me to someone who can sell me goat or cow milk?’
She peered at the babe, sucking furiously on her tiny fist. ‘Follow me. I know someone who might be able to help you.’
I wasn’t sure I should trust someone who wore a woolen shawl in this heat, but my choices were limited.
She led me to a farm a few miles up the main road. We entered through a rustic gate and approached a small but well-kept cottage. The smell of rosemary and thyme surrounded us, and I spied a pumpkin patch beside the thatch-roofed home.
The woman knocked on the cottage door, and it opened to reveal a man the size of a bear.
‘Evening, Olaf.’
‘Evening, Edda.’
‘How is Esma doing?’ Edda asked.
The bear-sized man looked towards the tree in the yard, the only living tree I had seen since leaving the village itself. My arms tightened around Little Worm as I saw the tiny mound of dirt marked by a white wooden marker.
‘Esma is resting.’ The shadows under the man’s eyes and the downturn of his lips spoke of exhaustion and grief.
‘This man is looking for milk for his child, and I thought she could help.’
Noticing me for the first time, Olaf looked to where I stood. His gaze rested on Little Worm, who was snuffing and wriggling in her wet linens.
‘Esma is resting,’ Olaf repeated, broadening his stance in the doorway and placing his hands on his hips.
Little Worm cried loudly, and I saw the curtain covering the cottage window twitch.
‘I will feed the babe.’ A woman’s voice came from inside the cottage.
Olaf turned his enormous head. ‘You don’t have to do this, my love.’
He stepped aside as a woman who only came up to his elbow appeared beside him.
‘I have what the child needs.’ The woman with soft brown eyes and a small heart-shaped face surrounded by a cloud of chestnut waves gestured for me to come forward.
‘Move aside, love.’ Esma smiled gently at her husband, who was still blocking my entrance.
With a sigh and a warning glance, he stepped back so I could enter the cottage.
I placed Little Worm in Esma’s waiting arms. She looked down at the child with a watery smile, and I couldn’t help but feel a tug of pity for the grieving woman.
‘What pretty grey eyes you have,’ she murmured to Little Worm, who watched Esma with wide eyes. ‘I may need your help,’ Esma said to Edda, who had come to stand beside her.
‘There’s a knack to it, but your body will know what to do.’ Edda guided her to a pair of rocking chairs set by the cold hearth.
I averted my eyes and looked out at the thriving pumpkin patch as Esma, with the help of Edda, guided Little Worm to her breast.
Esma let out a cry of surprise as Little Worm latched on hungrily. The room was filled with the sound of her hungry gulps.
‘That’s it, you are doing just fine.’ Edda patted Esma’s shoulder.
‘Come, Olaf. You must see her pretty eyes,’ Esma called to her husband.
Olaf was hovering between the doorway where I stood and where his wife held a baby to her breast for perhaps the first time.
‘I shall be back to collect her before nightfall,’ I said.
Edda waved me away, and Esma continued to call for Olaf to see the child.
I took one last look at Little Worm and her enchanted audience before slipping quietly out the door.
The pounding in my head would not let me wander too far from Little Worm, so I left my stallion in the abandoned barn we had passed earlier and then doubled back to the cottage.
Was this where I was meant to leave her?
I set up watch as night approached. When Edda left the cottage, I crept to the side window and peered in.
‘I think she wants to be fed again.’ Esma was rocking back and forth with Little Worm in her arms.
‘I can’t believe a father would just leave his child with strangers like that,’ Olaf said, glaring out the open door.
‘We don’t know his circumstances,’ Esma replied. ‘Edda said he may have gone to the village to get supplies. The time probably got away from him, is all. Edda will find him and bring him back.’
‘He didn’t even leave clean linens.’ Olaf frowned into the fading light.
‘I think when she sucks on her fist like this, it means she’s hungry,’ said Esma.
‘Do you think he is even her father?’ Olaf tugged on his wiry beard.
‘They both have fair hair …’ Esma said, touching the golden fuzz on Little Worm’s head.
‘That means little. My hair is fair too.’ Olaf pointed out.
‘Please close the door, my love. Come sit with us. I will feed her again before her father comes for her.’ Esma tucked Little Worm into her arm and brought the babe’s head to her breast as if she had been doing it for years, not hours.
‘If he ever comes for her,’ muttered Olaf after closing the door.
I watched him take the rocking chair opposite his wife with a deep sigh.
‘What is it, my love?’ Esma looked up at Olaf, a line between her brows.
‘Watching you with a child at your breast is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And the most painful.’
She smiled at Olaf with a warmth so profound, it took my breath away.
The endless throbbing in my temple had gone from a consistent drumbeat to a flutter of distant thumps, and I wondered if Esma and Olaf’s care for Little Worm was lessening the Curse I was under.
I eased back into the darkness, deciding it was safe to leave Little Worm for the night.
Days turned to weeks, and soon, a month had passed. The thumping in my head stopped, but I stayed close, hiding in the dilapidated barn. I would check on Esma and Olaf every few days to see how Little Worm was.
Her cheeks grew round and ruddy, and loose golden curls replaced the fuzz on her head. She thrived in Esma and Olaf’s care.
I spied Olaf carving a rabbit out of soapstone in the yard. He spoke to Little Worm who sat upright in a basket propped against rolled linens.
I stayed out of sight to listen to the one-sided conversation.
‘Tomorrow will be your name day, and I will claim you as my daughter. I only hope I can be the father you deserve.’
I shifted uncomfortably, feeling as though I was intruding.
‘You are no ordinary child, are you? You are a gift from the gods, little one.’
He leaned in close to her, and she grabbed his beard with a gurgle. I smiled.
I would miss that sound.
Olaf held up the carved rabbit, and she let go of his beard to try to take it, but Olaf pulled the carving away.
‘Nay, it’s not finished, little one.’
Her bottom lip extended with a quiver, and I thought she was about to cry, when a thin spindle of smoke left her hand and wrapped around the carving in Olaf’s open palm.
I tensed, ready to run across the yard to scoop Little Worm up and run. Olaf became immobile, watching the rabbit fly towards her tiny outstretched hand.
She grasped it and immediately brought it to her mouth. Olaf broke from his trance and picked her up with a whoop. ‘I knew it!’
She continued to munch on the rabbit, unfazed by Olaf’s antics.
‘What is all this about then?’ Esma appeared with a basket of washing propped on her hip.
‘Just excited for tomorrow!’ Olaf grinned, cradling Little Worm to his chest.
Esma moved to the washing line, humming as she worked.
I strained my ears to hear Olaf as he whispered to Little Worm. ‘You must be careful.’ Olaf’s brows drew together. ‘Never let others see what you can do.’
?
I watched from the back of the crowd that had gathered for Little Worm’s name day. I had stolen my disguise – a hooded cloak and a walking stick – from a house in the village.
I promised myself that after today I would go, though I didn’t know where. I had no memory of where I had been all these years – the last home I remember was my parents’. But I knew it was time to leave Little Worm with her new family.
Esma’s soft voice flittered over the waiting villagers.
‘While my other children wait for me in the underworld, the gods have answered my prayers and given me a child to love in this world too.’ She whispered into Little Worm’s tiny pink ear before addressing her friends and neighbours again.
‘The name I give her means love and grace.’
Little Worm’s smoky grey eyes remained wide and curious as she stared at Esma. If she had cried, Esma would have chosen another name for her to approve.
‘I wish to give our child a name that means kindness and strength,’ Olaf declared loudly. He leaned over Esma’s shoulder, ensuring he had the infant’s attention. ‘Esma,’ he said, softly.
Tears ran down Esma’s cheeks as Little Worm gifted Olaf a sweet, gummy smile. Olaf hugged them both tightly and shouted joyfully to the waiting crowd.
‘Come meet our daughter, Caris Esma Ironside!’
?
The hot days and even hotter nights in the south had grown on me.
I began a new life on the other side of Red River as a blacksmith, just like my father would have wanted.
Using the king’s gold, I had a forge and a cabin built on the dry riverbank.
It was quiet, and the work was slow. Gradually, as my memories faded and I became forgetful, I began to appreciate my simple life, although the loneliness that crept in year after year persisted as I remained unmarried and childless. I wondered what was left.
‘Help me! Help me!’
I woke to the dark, disoriented, with the echo of a child’s desperate voice filling my head.
Leaping from bed, I dressed quickly. I fetched my armour and sword, unsure if I would need to fight.
The life I had built here as a Red River blacksmith had no cause for me to wield a sword.
I had to hope that the strength I had maintained over the years would compensate for any weaknesses I might have in my long-unused combat skills.
As I grabbed my helmet, a dark thought made me pause. What if this was my illness? My deteriorating mind playing a cruel joke on me? I shook off the question, unable to ignore a cry for help.
Although timeworn, my stallion navigated the darkness well. Grey eyes flashed in my mind, and then nothing – no more calls for help, nothing further to guide me.
Movement high in the trees caught my attention. At first, I believed I saw a woman shrouded in shadows. I closed my eyes tightly, opened them, and searched the trees again.
Golden orbs broke the darkness – an owl.
Its perch shook as the enormous bird launched into the air and then rested a few trees ahead of me.
It swiveled its darkly feathered head backwards and blinked.
I rode forward, and the owl took to the air again, landing further down the tree line. It was leading me south.
The owl led us miles from home, and I began to worry again that this was all in my mind. Hours passed, and the sky began to lighten.
Dawn was almost here, and the owl was gone – vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
Waiting on the riverbank, I saw that a tree had fallen into the river, its twisted roots exposed as though it had grown too old and weary to hold on to the dry, accursed earth below it.
The river’s high waters had washed something against the semi-submerged tree.
Not something.
Someone.
I leaped from my horse and waded into the river. This was the only time of year the river was high, not that it helped the plant life struggling to survive on its tainted banks.
The sun broke the horizon as I lifted the unconscious child into my arms. Her wet hair clung to my armour the moment it made contact.
When I reached the bank, I removed my gloves and attempted to rub her long limbs back to life. The young girl was limp and cold, like a wrung-out rag.
‘C’mon, Little Worm.’ I knew it was her. Who else would have the power to call for me? It had been eleven years, but her mother’s Curse still bound me to her protection.
I pushed her hair back from her face to see her in the dawn light. My hand encountered a lump on her head. ‘What happened to you?’ I whispered, looking for other injuries.
Both of her hands were cut deep and wrapped in a torn-up shirt. Her smoky grey eyes opened. She stared at me vacantly, then blinked, and her brows furrowed.
‘Where are your parents, Little Worm?’
Her bottom lip trembled, and then her face crumpled.
‘Dead,’ she sobbed.
Fate was cruel.
‘I’ve got you, Little Worm.’ I stood with the tearful child in my arms. ‘Let’s go home.’