Chapter 2 #2
I skirted around the edge of the crowd coming out of the fields and heading back into town for their lunches.
There were more people than usual, due to families gathering to celebrate Gaelthine, the autumnal equinox.
I quickly counted the days in my head and realized the High Day was in fact today, a cause for celebration in most houses.
But the influx of people made me wary. The noise level that always existed in the back of my thoughts increased tenfold when I came close to a crowd.
It could become deafening if I was in the midst of one.
I took a deep breath, trying not to give in to the thoughts and feelings lashing out at me, and followed the dirt road toward home.
Trees lined the path back to town, separated from the road by a low stone wall. The remaining leaves were already shades of red and orange. Our summers and winters were long, our springs and autumns short.
The changing of the seasons brought little change to my life. Someday, and someday soon, I was going in search of change, I promised myself.
Approaching our cottage, I tried to brush some of the filth off my pants and kick the mud from my boots but eventually gave up as a lost cause.
My back was filthy, my hair still soaking wet from my halfhearted attempt to clean it by dunking it under a water pump.
Nana was going to give me the same wry look whether I had some mud or lots of mud on me. Might as well save myself the effort.
Voices whispered through the open door of the cottage and I stopped, all thought of mud disappearing.
A stranger was sitting at our worn kitchen table with Nana.
I couldn’t remember the last time Nana had a visitor who wasn’t a villager I had known my entire life.
And this was clearly not a social visit, not with how stiffly they both held themselves.
I could just make him out through the split door, kept open to let in the crisp autumn breeze.
Overgrown sandy hair with a slight curl flopped over his forehead and a few days of scruff shadowed his strong jaw, as though he was too busy to keep himself groomed.
He appeared close to my age but carried himself with an authority that seemed older.
His rugged appearance was at odds with his fine black clothing, which was utilitarian but far too nice for a town like this.
A tailored vest with intricate stitching laid snuggly over a black shirt, and his broken-in boots still had a slight shine despite our dusty roads.
A long overcoat, also of fine black material, was slung over a chair.
Two swords were strapped across his back, their scabbards pitted and scraped from frequent use.
I heard my name several times as I crept closer, along with something about an “earth channel.”
“Rose, you took her beyond the Veil,” the man accused, in deep, measured tones.
Nana didn’t back down, holding herself regally, unbending in confrontation. “And he has his sights set on the Veil. There’s nowhere in there she would have been safe. Lexa was much safer out here.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I do know that,” Nana fired back, poking a finger at his chest. “The fact that you, even assisted”—she raised her eyebrows—“had to wait for Gaelthine means that Lexa was, in fact, safe here. Besides, you don’t think I put into place all manner of precautions?”
I had to lean in to hear his next words.
“The Veil is failing. It’s time.”
All the fight went out of Nana as she collapsed inward.
Her hand came to her mouth as she sank backward into her chair.
Nana was the strongest person I knew. But this news, whatever it meant, made her look as if she’d aged ten years in the past moment.
I didn’t actually know how old Nana was; that was another one of the questions she was exceptionally good at avoiding.
But those words had broken something in her.
I was torn between running in, demanding to know what was happening, and staying hidden, listening.
The man leaned forward, earnestly, continuing to speak, but his voice was too soft for me to hear.
As I inched closer, Nana’s head shot up and looked directly at me. I sighed, straightened, and approached. The stranger’s head whipped around, his posture stiffening as he rose to face me.
He was tall—the top of my head barely reached his chin—and striking in a way that had nothing to do with any single feature.
His sandy hair and bronze skin spoke of time spent outdoors.
His shoulders were broad, a warrior’s physique suggesting years of training.
An air of quiet authority radiated off of him.
Eyes that couldn’t decide if they were green or brown met mine.
The world tilted on its axis.
A feeling crashed through me, so intense I almost staggered back.
Like being doused with a bucket of cold water when you least expected it, except somehow, this water set my essence ablaze.
My heart stuttered, then galloped. Heat bloomed in my chest, spreading outward, a warmth so profound it was almost feverish.
A gold haze filtered through my mind as something was jostled loose, deep within me. Not a memory. Something deeper than a memory. Something ingrained, etched into the fabric of my soul.
His eyes never left mine as he braced his shoulders and his face went carefully blank. His jaw clenched, the only betrayal of whatever it was he was working so hard to control.
I should have been terrified. Instead, another wave of the impossible rightness of this moment flooded through me, as his weight shifted from side to side.
Ready or not, I knew with absolute certainty that my life was about to change forever.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked.
“My name is Griffin Narvene.” His voice was deep, like rumbling thunder. “I’ve come to take you home.”