16. Diversion #2
Mariana stood. “They’ve been getting bolder, as of late.” She lifted her chin and called out. “Hello? Is anyone here?”
Faren’s throat squeezed as he thought of the homesteaders—along with his horse, Sunny—being attacked. His grip tightened on his sword. “Orna?” Faren joined in, his voice piercing the eerie silence. “Pete?”
There was no answer.
Faren looked around, searching for a sign of life. Something pale blue fluttered in his periphery, caught on the wooden fence leading around back, toward the barn. Faren went to it, running the cloth through his fingers. It looked like the sleeve of a dress.
“Mariana,” Faren called.
She came to his side, frowning at what he’d found.
Her expression grew stony as she observed the rubble of the cottage, the splintered fencing, and the torn-up ground.
She continued along the side of the house, skirting the wreckage slowly and methodically.
The mud was thick, but too pockmarked to discern any fresh tracks.
Behind the cottage, the barn was miraculously intact, with deep scratches and scorching marring the wood. The double doors were closed. Faren and Mariana rushed to the barn, calling out.
“Orna? Pete?” Faren boomed.
Mariana hit the wood with the flat of her hand. “Is anyone in there?”
“Hello?” came a reluctant, feminine voice from inside.
Faren’s heart leapt as he heard the drawbar inside being removed.
Then the doors were swinging open, sunlight flooding into the dark barn.
Two dogs bounded out, tails wagging nervously.
Orna stood before them wearing a blue nightdress, one sleeve missing.
Behind her, the sheep, milking cow, and—thank the Fates—the horses were crowded into a trio of stalls.
Chickens pecked at the straw littering the floor, clucking softly, seemingly roused by the sudden light inside their shelter.
With a tearful gasp, Orna rushed forward, collapsing against Faren’s breastplate. His arms came around her slight form, holding her up.
“Thank the Fates you’re here,” Orna whimpered. “At last, we’re safe.”
Faren darted a glance at Mariana, who stood off to the side, her expression flat and unreadable. He was struck by a deep sense of inferiority. Was Orna safe, now? After last night, he wasn’t sure he could live up to the promise of his armor and Order.
Faren gripped Orna’s shoulders and met her gaze. “What happened? Where’s Pete?”
Her eyes were wide and haunted. Wordlessly, she turned and led them to a bay at the back of the barn, where Pete was reclined on a pile of hay.
It took a moment for Faren’s vision to adjust to the dimness, but when it did, he saw that Pete’s eyes were closed, his brow sweat soaked, and his leg…
deep gashes lined his calf, and diseased veins were already blackening the surrounding skin.
The sight made Faren’s own gash throb; as a Mighty Knight, he’d had plenty of training in basic healing techniques, but as a touch magician, the sight of bad wounds never failed to make him tense.
And seeing what his own gash could’ve turned into did not help his feeling of unease.
Mariana elbowed past Faren and Orna and knelt beside Pete in the hay. “When did this happen?”
“Before sunrise,” Orna replied. “He seemed fine at first—in pain, but lucid—but as time has gone on…”
Mariana procured a vial from her pocket. Without pause, she wrenched Pete’s mouth open and poured the liquid down his throat. Then she closed his jaw, holding it shut. Pete stirred, coughed, struggled against her hand.
“Swallow,” Mariana ordered.
Pete squirmed a little more, then settled.
“I need water and rags,” Mariana said. When neither Faren nor Orna immediately moved, she added a harsh, “Now.”
A quarter of an hour later, equipped with the supplies she needed, Mariana tended to Pete’s wound with a set jaw and brusque manner.
Orna and Faren watched as she cleaned away the dirt and blood, gradually revealing the raw flesh beneath.
Orna clung to the railing of the bay with one hand and patted one dog’s head with the other, looking faint.
“Why don’t we go sit elsewhere?” Faren offered.
Orna shook her head, still staring at her husband’s leg. She did not ask whether or not he’d be okay. Faren left them for a moment, searching the barn for a chair; he returned with a milking stool and placed it just out of Mariana’s way, guiding Orna to sit. Her trembling hands curled in her lap.
Faren knelt in front of her. Both dogs crowded close, attempting to lick his face, and he pushed them gently away. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Orna’s gaze went distant, and she let out a small sob.
“I know it’s hard,” Faren said, patting her knee, “but the more you can divulge, the better we can help.”
Tears wobbled in Orna’s blue eyes. “I…”
“You were attacked,” Mariana said, still tending to Pete.
“You escaped inside, and the—” She broke off abruptly, restarted, speaking in vague terms. “Your cottage was destroyed. Pete tried to fight back. He was injured. A fire was set—either by accident or on purpose—and in the distraction, you escaped into the barn. The flames were a deterrent. Is that correct?”
Orna gasped softly. “Yes.”
“Any other pertinent details?” Mariana inquired.
“It was…huge,” Orna whispered, as if speaking any louder would summon it. “Grotesque.” She shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “What in the Fates…?”
“You know we can’t say,” Mariana replied. With Pete’s wound cleaned, she had moved on to applying the same salve she’d given Faren.
“You’ve encountered them before?” Orna asked.
Mariana didn’t reply. Faren opened his mouth, then remembered his Oath.
Orna covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Faren scooted closer on his knees and rubbed the woman’s back. She was cold, shaking. He removed his cloak and wrapped it around Orna’s shoulders. “You’re safe now,” he soothed, hoping that wasn’t a lie.
Pete grunted, drawing everyone’s attention.
His eyelids fluttered, then he blinked awake.
Orna launched from her stool and collapsed beside her husband, whimpering and kissing his cheeks.
Faren stood, holding the dogs’ collars so they didn’t leap on their master in their excitement and jostle his injury.
“Welcome back,” Mariana said. Pete tried to lift his head, but she laid a hand on his shoulder, willing him still. “Best you not look at the damage.”
His leg was a mess of red blood, black veins, and gooey salve. It didn’t look better, but Faren knew Pete was better off from Mariana’s care. Faren wondered what sort of tincture Mariana had given him, what she thought of his leg.