Chapter 2 #2
Light debris lay strewn about the floor although there should be more.
With a door so well intact, it would make sense that if the fortress had not lost its roof, the interiors might still have some trace of their original furnishings and finishes.
Finding anything else in the dark proved treacherous with her first few steps into the fortress.
The few architectural details she could discern in the gloom suggested refitting after the initial castle build, much of it in better repair than she could imagine for a structure so old.
The front doors entered upon a great hall, and though she might have contented herself with settling there, with her dampened hair and burdensome soaked outer layers, the prospect of a hearth lured her onward.
Gathering up the bits of wood she found strewn about in the great hall, she constructed a sizable pile before she found her flint strike-a-light in the folds of her underskirt, setting a single piece of kindling alight and using it as a torch to explore the nearest rooms. She also grabbed a shard of glass and bound its end in strips of cloth from a damaged wall hanging to keep as a tool.
She poked her head in the first doorway she found and let out a strangled gasp.
A pristine room greeted her. The unease that settled upon her earlier returned.
She expected a few extant finishes and furnishings but in disrepair and only hinting at the wealth that the occupants once enjoyed.
Although little in the way of furniture, woodwork built-ins lined the far wall and a worn upholstered chaise occupied the space in the center of the room.
She shuddered at the irrationality of it all.
The hearth at the other side took her mind away from worrying how such an intact room still managed to exist at all.
Her spirits lifted at the prospect of warmth, and all other inquiries subsided in the face of an evening’s comfort.
She set the lit piece of wood in the hearth and went back to the great hall to gather the rest of the wood.
She wasted no time in getting the room bathed in rosy light, laying out her discarded clothing to dry, and setting herself up to bask in the heat while she contemplated her next move.
She should wait until the storms subsided.
She should wait until she could at least look around and discover anything useful.
She had a horse to buy and a wheel to repair if indeed her vyardin was still there when she went back for it.
If not, she had a whole new life to rebuild.
She could wait a few days, tend her wounded feet and legs, perhaps mend her clothing, and maybe even find food she could take with her.
She needed it if she had to dedicate every valuable item she could find to obtain a new horse.
With her outer clothing drying, her skin warm, and momentary fears of being hunted by unwelcoming villagers put aside, her spirits rose enough to make an initial exploration, encouraged by her belly proclaiming its emptiness.
She fabricated another makeshift torch from the fire and drew the chaise between her nesting area and the doorway, just in case.
The great hall would benefit from a cleaning, but its shelter more than satisfied her requirements.
Her light failed to illuminate the ceiling above the rafters, though she could look at it tomorrow when the afternoon light would better serve the endeavor.
She took comfort in the faded finishes of the great hall and the small cave-in of masonry and beams that blocked another passageway, their deterioration fulfilling her expectations of a place long forgotten.
Her next exploration took her down a corridor off the midsection of the great hall.
She extinguished the makeshift torch in favor of a candle she discovered in the sconce leading down the corridor.
Several additional candles in subsequent sconces also found their way into her possession.
The corridor gave way to a spacious kitchen, dim light poking through its dirty glazed leaded windows.
The larder proved empty and she did not try the back kitchen door to look through the vegetation, having endured enough of the wet ground on tender feet already.
Still hungry but her curiosity satisfied by an unexpected bounty of candles, she returned to the solar. Tomorrow she could search out food. Tomorrow, after a night of sleep by the fire, she could investigate further.
Three steps into the room she halted. The wafting perfume of a roast chicken greeted her at the doorway. She was alone, yet a steaming food platter awaited her in front of the hearth.
Her stomach bottomed out. Was someone watching her? The dust and debris around the floor of the great hall nearest the solar remained undisturbed by feet other than hers, and her few possessions remained untouched. Her mind raced for rational explanations and came up short.
“What’s wrong with you?” She asked of the fortress, hoping not to receive an answer. She breathed again when silence prevailed.
Although she was not one for dramatic displays, she almost swooned with hunger and the siren call of warm food.
Her stomach betrayed her and let out a piteous growl.
She crossed over to the little pallet she made for herself, just in front of the platter.
She blew the candle out and emptied her bounty.
The extravagance of beeswax candles in such a lonely place flummoxed her.
But then so did the tray heaped with food and served on a dish of silver with a wine-full goblet of equal fineness.
With tableware this fine, whoever provided the meal could not have known who or what she was.
They more likely would have sent her away with stones thrown at her backside.
Unless whatever delivered the food had not had the intelligence to discern who and what she was?
She fought the instinct to set into the meal with gusto.
Oh, she wanted to! But unseen hands delivered this feast. She hefted the goblet up to contemplate it and almost groaned.
It was not wine, but heated, spiced cider.
She stuck her nose in the goblet to enjoy the scent without having to commit to drinking.
Nothing on earth could smell this good. She whined at the horrible decision she had to make — to give in or not.
Something must have delivered the food and if there were no people about then what did that leave?
Magic was not something that she disdained or avoided.
Her own people were known for the works, although the bloodline gifts had been reduced by discrimination and genocide over the centuries.
She possessed no gift herself, but the Rivani passed on magic in their bloodlines just as they did dark brown eyes and straight noses.
And yet, magic without an obvious source disarmed her.
If there were other Rivani about, she would have known.
And even if there had been, such magic as this had long been destroyed in the Great Persecution or passed out of their bloodlines.
Wild untamed magic then? But if so, how did it know to provide meals to a solitary traveler?
And what kind of wild untamed magic served food on a platter?
If natural magic were so inclined to feed, would it not be in the form of edible berry bushes, a freshwater stream, and an injured rabbit?
With the continued annoyance of her belly, she set to the food with vigor.
If the Magic meant to beguile or trap, at least it would happen on a full belly.
She was a survivor, after all. She lacked the luxury of making long-term plans.
Of course, it was immediate decisions and not long-term planning which caused her to make one poor choice after another today.
She became all the more skeptical of whatever Magic provided this food with the exotic fruit glaze on the chicken. How would anything get ahold of citrus here? Her stomach twisted with the idea of malevolent spirits and the tales of The Kind and Fair.
“Thank you,” she said while dining, to no one in particular, eager to rectify any misstep.
She must have committed a dozen sins by now if this Magic was of the kind she had been warned away from as a child.
“I will clean and tidy in exchange for Your generosity and I will make an offering to You from my plate.” She would not take anything away, glancing over at the candles with regret.
Although no reply to her offer followed, the oppressive silence suggested that the fortress listened.
No wonder no one lived here. No one could bear this haunted isolation for long.
She could not endure this place for more than a few days even if it could provide the shelter and safety for which she so longed.
Her instinct was to chatter to herself about nothing, about everything, to talk to the house and the food and the goblet, to talk to anything to fill the suffocating silence, but she refrained from a lingering sense of wariness.
She did not even hear the call of birds and that stillness unnerved her.
She enjoyed the food, gorging herself on the variety of tastes and textures on offer. She had not planned on gluttony, but the platter and goblet never emptied. The warmth and the illusion of safety made her lax. Before much longer, she curled up on the chaise and slept.