Chapter 4 #2
Faye’s meaning was not lost on Ronan. Their settlement survived only because most people had no idea they were here. But if a noblewoman ended up here? That might bring attention they could do without.
“Ye know our rules,” he said to the healer. “It doesnae matter who she might be. All who need shelter are welcome here. When she wakes, she is free to leave if she wishes, but should she wish to stay she’ll be extended the same courtesy as everyone else.”
Faye scowled at him, an expression that he knew all too well. “And if she brings trouble down on us?”
Ronan snorted softly. “Then she wouldnae be the first would she?” He fixed the healer with his gaze and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “All will be well. Ye’ll see.
Faye just scowled all the harder. “I hope ye are right.”
Ronan sighed, scrubbing a hand through his sweaty hair. “So do I, my old friend. So do I.”
ELODIE HAD NO IDEA how long she’d been asleep. When she woke this time, golden evening sunlight was slanting through the windows, indicating that the storm had blown through and sunset wasn’t far off.
She blinked several times then looked around.
To her dismay, she found herself still in the same rustic cottage as before.
She groaned. So it hadn’t been a dream then.
However, wherever she was, it was clear that she was being well cared for.
A rough blanket had been pulled up to her chin and she felt deliciously warm beneath it.
Her headache had receded and now she felt only a groggy kind of lassitude, as though she’d slept too deeply and too long.
From nearby she heard someone humming quietly. She turned her head and saw the woman from before kneeling by the hearth, throwing logs onto the fire where a kettle was suspended. What had she said her name was? Faye?
Slowly, Elodie got her elbows under her and carefully pushed herself up. She expected the pounding in her head to return, along with the nausea and dizziness she’d felt earlier, so she was pleasantly surprised when there was only a faint twinge of pain in her temple.
Her movements alerted the woman who turned to look at her. “Back in the land of the living, eh?”
Elodie rubbed the lump on her forehead. It still felt tender but not as sore as before. “Just about,” she replied. “I think.”
Faye tossed another log into the fire, dusted off her hands, and came over to Elodie’s bedside. She pressed the back of one cool hand against Elodie’s forehead and nodded in satisfaction. ”Ye dinna have a fever. How do ye feel?”
“Better than I did,” Elodie replied. Then, remembering her manners, added, “Thank you for taking care of me.”
Faye waved a hand. “There’s no need for thanks, lass. Ye needed help. I gave it.” She seemed to think this was explanation enough.
Elodie examined the little room. Everything seemed to be made of either stone or wood and she saw no switches, wires or pipes that would indicate electricity or running water.
Who was this woman? Some kind of hermit who shunned modern technology?
She’d heard of such people—usually featured in documentaries on the TV—but she’d never expected to meet one.
And especially not here, out in the middle of... wherever this was.
“How did I get here?” she asked.
“The chief found ye,” Faye replied. “Out in the hills. Ye’d fallen and hit yer head.”
“Chief?” A memory stirred again, a memory of being carried, of feeling safe and warm in someone’s arms. “I... think I remember that.”
“Indeed?” Faye leaned closer. “What else do ye remember? How ye came to be on that hillside in the first place perhaps? Or why ye were coming to the waymeet?”
“Waymeet?”
“Aye. Do ye recognize the word?”
“I don’t.”
Faye didn’t seem to like this answer. Her expression turned into a frown.
“Um,” Elodie said. “This might seem like a strange question. But can you tell me where I am?”
Faye cocked her head. “Ye dinna know?”
When Elodie shook her head, the healer’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps ye hit yer head harder than I thought. Ye are safe. That’s all I can tell ye. If ye want to know more, ye’ll need to speak to the chief. If ye weren’t on yer way to the waymeet, he’ll need to be sure of ye before he tells ye more.”
Elodie wasn’t sure what to make of this. What was a waymeet? And who was this chief? And, more to the point, why would Faye not tell her where she was?
“Where can I find this chief?”
“Ye shouldnae be getting out of bed yet. Ye took quite a knock on the head.”
“I’m fine.” Elodie waved away the healer’s concern. “I need to talk to him.”
The older woman sighed. “Fine.” She hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “Ye’ll find him in the smithy over yonder.”
“Thanks.” Elodie threw back the covers and swung her feet out of bed. She braced herself for a wave of dizziness and was pleased when it didn’t come.
Faye said nothing, only watched with a critical eye as Elodie straightened.
“Ye might want to dress before ye go see the chief,” she observed.
Elodie blinked, looking down at the night dress she was wearing. “Oh. Yeah. Right. Where are my clothes?”
Faye curled a lip. “Being washed.” She nodded to the corner where a long dress was hanging from a peg. “I’ve managed to borrow a dress that I think will fit ye.”
Elodie tottered over to the peg. The dress was made of linen dyed a sky blue, a big long thing that looked like it came right out of a period drama.
Faye expected her to where that? She considered insisting on having her own clothes returned whether they were clean or not, but didn’t have the energy to argue.
“Right,” she said instead. “Thanks.”
She untied the night dress, pulled it over her head, then took down the dress. It took some getting into but Faye helped her, pulling tight the ties that went around her waist and doing up the laces at the back.
“Hmm,” Faye said, looking her over. “I was right. It fits ye well. Although ye’ll need to put yer own boots back on as nobody had any spare shoes.”
Elodie nodded. She felt ridiculous and suspected she looked it too but wasn’t about to turn her nose up at Faye’s generosity. She put on her boots then tottered towards the rickety door and pulled it open. “Down there you say?”
The healer nodded. “On the outskirts of the village to reduce the risk of fire. Ye’ll know it when ye see it.”
“Right. Thanks.”
She walked out of the door into the golden light of sunset. The sky, black and angry earlier, was now a riot of red and gold along the western horizon although in the other direction she could still see clouds piled up like towers in the sky.
She recognized exactly nothing. There was no sign of the community center or anything else familiar.
Instead, she found herself surrounded by a collection of single-story stone buildings much like Faye’s, all roofed in thatch, all with shutters rather than glass windows, and all with small enclosures out the back that held goats, chickens, ducks and pigs.
The village itself—if it could be called that—seemed to have been hacked out of a thick woodland that ringed it on all sides and this in turn seemed to be hemmed in by tall cliffs.
Elodie pressed a hand to her chest to still the rising panic that began to bloom.
No. There was a rational explanation for all this.
She just needed to figure out what that was.
A group of children were playing a game of catch with a ball that seemed to have been woven out of twigs, but as they noticed Elodie standing there, they stopped their game and stared at her.
Elodie forced a smile and waved. “Hello.”
None of them answered.
“Can you tell me where to find the smithy?”
One of the older boys—an unkempt youth with a shock of messy black hair—pointed solemnly in the direction of the setting sun.
“Thanks.”
Elodie set off, walking along the village’s only street although it was little more than a dirt track worn free of grass and vegetation by the tramp of many feet.
Her head swiveled to and fro as she walked, trying to make sense of all this.
Villagers pottered around, men and women dressed in patched and faded clothing—and a few even called out a greeting.
These Elodie responded to with a smile and a wave before hurrying on.
It’s okay, she told herself as she walked, trying to keep the panic at bay. Everything is fine. You’re fine.
As she reached the end of the street, she spotted a larger structure set apart from the rest. It was built of stone but unlike the rest of the buildings, this sported a roof made of clay tile rather than thatch.
The front of the building held two huge wooden doors, both of which stood open, and through this Elodie could see the glow of molten metal within.
The sound of metal hammering on metal came from inside.
Elodie sucked in a deep breath and walked through the doors.
As she crossed the threshold, heat slammed into her like a hammer, forcing her back a step.
The interior was dim, lit only by the light from the glowing forge which stood at the back, and a molten metal bar that currently lay on an anvil in the center of the room.
A man stood with his back to her, stripped to the waist except for a leather apron and leather gloves, and was hammering the piece of metal, sending sparks showering into the dirt at his feet.
She couldn’t see his face but the muscles in his arms and back rippled with the movement.
She’d been rescued by a blacksmith? That made about as much sense as anything else today. Who practiced blacksmithing these days? Weren’t metal goods all made by machines?
Suddenly the man straightened, lifted the bar with a pair of tongs, and carried it over to a water barrel sitting nearby. He thrust the metal into the water which gave off a loud hiss and a plume of steam.
Elodie jumped, letting out a little gasp. The man spun around sharply, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on her.
Elodie swallowed thickly. “Um. Hello.”