5 PLUNGED INTO DARKNESS
NORTHEAST.
A SIMPLE answer.
But in the heartbeats that followed, the idiocy of what Ailsa was about to do slapped her across the face. She was alone in the dark, armed only with a blade, a pouch of salt, and her fists.
Her life had been sheltered until now. The margins of her world in Braewall were narrow indeed. Kayla had protected her fiercely over the years, and Ailsa had let her.
And now, she was ill-prepared for this crisis.
“They took the road to Farnoch,” the woman rasped. “It’s a five-day journey, mind.”
Five days?
With shaky hands, Ailsa dug into her satchel and pulled out a water skin. She handed it through the bars.
The druid seized it with trembling hands, gulping greedily before lowering it again. “Thank you.”
Ailsa stepped closer, peering at the iron cage. She couldn’t simply walk away and leave the woman suffering.
“No use looking for a way to open it,” the druid said hoarsely, pushing the bladder back. “Only Niall has the key.”
Ailsa took it, pity stirring beneath her ribs. “What did you do?”
“I served him.” The woman’s face twisted. “Until he decided I was the High Queen’s spy.”
“And are you?”
The druid snorted. “Our king sees enemies in every shadow.” The wind tugged at her ragged clothing and whipped her tangled hair about her face. “You’d best get going.”
Ailsa hesitated before nodding.
“Watch yourself,” the woman warned then. “There are worse dangers in the night than the men you follow.”
Averting her gaze, Ailsa busied herself by tucking the empty skin away. “What’s your name?”
“Nenia.”
“I wish I could help you.” Indeed, she did. It was clear this woman had been wronged.
“You already have.”
Nenia’s fate weighed on her chest, but Kayla’s face rose in her mind. Every moment she lingered here was taking her mentor farther away from Braewall.
Ailsa took a step back from the cage. Then, drawing her cloak close, she departed.
Only the shriek of The Whistle accompanied her.
For a time, she jogged slowly, determination burning in her chest. Once again, moving forward helped settle her nerves. It gave her something to focus on. If she paced herself, perhaps she might close the distance before dawn.
But The Wolds were vast, and the night seemed endless.
She wasn’t used to being in such an open space either. Too late, she saw Braewall’s walls as protective rather than confining.
The moon climbed high, silvering the rolling hills. When clouds swallowed its light, the road vanished beneath her feet, and she stumbled blindly until it returned.
Soon, Braewall’s woods fell behind her, replaced by open hills that rolled like frozen waves beneath the dark sky.
Every shadow seemed alive. Her hand itched to grip the hilt of the blade in her boot. She kept glancing over her shoulder.
When a sudden howl tore through the darkness, Ailsa froze. She did reach for her knife then. Fast.
The sound came again—long, wild, and bestial.
Fuck.
Her heart thundered as she scanned the hills.
It’s just a fox, she told herself. Or a wildcat.
Even so, she broke into a jog once more.
When something hissed in the darkness behind her, her courage failed, and she ran.
The cold wind tore at her cloak as she fled up the road, legs burning, lungs screaming. Only when her strength began to fail did she slow, staggering to a halt.
She bent double, gasping.
Nothing followed. Still, she peered into the darkness, eyes straining for any sign of movement.
The night dragged on, and as it did, she eventually slowed to a walk.
Her boots rubbed her heels raw, and thirst gnawed at her throat. When at last she found a shallow burn cutting across the road, relief nearly buckled her knees.
Finally, something was going right.
She drank deeply and refilled her water skin.
Refreshed, she pushed on. However, a while later, as dawn began to bleed into the sky, her belly cramped.
At first, it was a dull ache.
Then it twisted hard enough to double her over.
Swearing, she stumbled off the road and squatted in the grass.
The cramps came in violent waves.
“Idiot,” she muttered through clenched teeth. Kayla had warned her often enough about drinking unboiled water.
Another reminder of how little she knew about surviving beyond Braewall.
Eventually, the pain eased.
Ailsa cleaned herself off with handfuls of grass, rose stiffly, and emptied the rest of the water from her skin.
Then she set off again.
Her body ached, her feet throbbed, and exhaustion tugged at her limbs. All she wanted was to find a sheltered spot to lie down and rest.
But Kayla was out there somewhere.
And so, she kept moving.
The village huddled on the banks of a river edged in reedbeds.
The settlement was tiny, little more than a collection of stacked-stone roundhouses with conical sod roofs gathered along the road north.
Shepherds lived here, and they were taking their flocks out to graze when Ailsa hobbled in.
Bleary-eyed, they whistled to their dogs and guided their flocks out of the enclosures and onto the hills.
Some of them watched Ailsa as she limped by, no doubt wondering what a lass was doing traveling alone through The Wolds.
Ailsa didn’t blame them. After the night she’d just had, she wasn’t looking forward to another on her own. From now on, she’d travel during the day and find somewhere safe to sleep at night.
Her feet dragged this morning, and her limbs felt leaden, yet she wouldn’t rest.
She couldn’t. Not yet.
A few yards into the village, a woman was carrying a basket out to the river for washing. She was young, around the same age as Ailsa, her belly swollen with bairn. Spying the newcomer, she halted, her eyes narrowing.
“Good morning,” Ailsa called out. “Can I trouble you for a skin of ale?”
The young woman scrutinized her for a few moments. She then frowned.
Ailsa dredged up a smile. “I have coin … I can pay for it.”
The lass’s mouth pursed. She put down the basket and rested a hand on her protruding belly. “All right then. Follow me.”
Relieved, Ailsa followed. She then handed over the empty water skin.
Waiting outside the roundhouse, she looked around at where the other women were getting on with chores while their men tended to their flocks.
A crone sat nearby, crushing oats with a stone, while a few yards distant, a lass scattered grain for the fowl that strutted around, clucking self-importantly, while another woman milked a goat by an enclosure.
All of them watched Ailsa.
She shifted uncomfortably.
Aye, she’d be an odd sight—a lanky young woman with a pallid complexion, traveling alone—nonetheless, she didn’t like being stared at.
Instinctively, she curled her fingers into her palms.
She didn’t want the women to see her nails.
Moments later, the pregnant lass reappeared with a jug of ale. Wordlessly, Ailsa handed her half an iron penny. Only then did she fill her empty water skin.
“Have travelers passed this way today?” she asked as she stoppered the skin.
“Maybe.”
“A group of warriors with a pony and cart?”
The lass’s lips thinned.
“Is that an ‘aye’ or ‘nay’?” Ailsa knew she should ask more sweetly, yet she was tired, and this woman’s unfriendliness was getting to her. She needed a straight answer.
“It’s an ‘aye’,” she replied sullenly.
Silence fell, broken only by the croak of a nearby raven.
“We don’t want any trouble here, lassie,” the elderly woman crushing oats called out then. “Best be on your way.”