Chapter Two #2
Anna’s feet ache, but they do not blister.
Pain is as constant a companion as the man leading her.
It makes her legs tremble and her back throb.
She’s not sure how her body doesn’t give up on her completely, but it doesn’t.
She follows him, pain filled step for step, until he stops at the edge of a forest not too unlike her own.
There’s no one else in sight.
“I’m afraid this is where I leave you. Eira isn’t overly fond of my presence at the moment.” He gestures to a small footpath weaving through the trees. “The trail will lead you to her home. She’ll take you in.”
Her hand fists in the fabric over her chest, heart drumming in her ears. “How can you be certain?”
Khiran glances at her hand. Anna has the uncomfortable feeling that he too is thinking of the skin hiding beneath the cloth. “It’s what she does. She will not turn you away.”
The trail is not all that different from the ones she used to travel back home. Still, she hesitates. “Why doesn’t she like you?”
“It seems her fondness for stories doesn’t match my own. Now go, before the sun sets. She won’t be happy if you find yourself lost.”
Anna doubts she’ll be happy at all, but when she turns to voice her concern, she finds Khiran gone. Vanished between one blink and the next. It feels just as impossible as the first time.
The forest looms ahead of her like a shadow, the sun at her back a burning reminder that time will not wait for her to find courage.
She passes the tree line, her footsteps soft on the bed of mulched leaves.
The shadows grow longer, the forest darker.
Anna is afraid of the unknown that lies ahead, but has learned to fear the darkness more.
Her strides quicken. She doesn’t know how far she has to go, but she knows she’s running out of time to get there.
She is at the mercy of the last echoes of sunlight when the trees thin into a glade.
The path winds through the tall grasses, following the curved lines of the creek cutting through the landscape, to a modest cottage at the center.
Candlelight spills from the cracks in the shutters, proof that there’s life within its walls.
Anna falters, unsure. It’s only the chill on the breeze and the moonless sky that ushers her forward.
Her hand lifts, ready to knock, when the door swings open.
The face that greets her is weathered with age, thinning gray hair tied back and showing off sun spotted skin.
Beneath her thick, wiry brows, she scowls.
“What is this, then? You don’t look sickly enough to risk the forest at night. ”
Anna trembles, hands wringing in front of her. “He sent me.”
Cornflower eyes narrow. “Who?”
“Khiran,” she murmurs, wincing. “At least, that’s the name he gave me.”
The change is instant—suspicion melting into curiosity. “Did he now?” Her aged fingers grip Anna’s chin, examining her face. “Hm. Yet he didn’t bother to bring you himself?”
“He said he wasn’t welcome.”
Her scoff is loud in the quiet between them. “He isn’t. That hasn’t stopped him before, that traitorous gossip,” she says, but the words lack bite. Her chin tilts, eyes narrowing. “Instead, he sends you to my door alone and desperate, knowing I won’t refuse you if you have nowhere else to go.”
She chuckles, a dry sound like sun-bleached grasses whispering beneath a passing hand. “Clever that one. Very well, come in and out of the cold, then. Let’s see what’s so special about you.”
The moment Anna steps through the threshold, the scent of drying herbs and stew on the fire envelopes her. She stands, soaking in the warmth as her eyes trace the array of greenery hanging over shelves of pottery. The question slips from her lips before she can think to stop it. “What’s it for?”
The old woman—Eira—follows her gaze. “Medicine, mostly.” She ladles a large serving of stew into a wooden bowl and gestures to the small wooden table at the corner of the room. “Sit. You look overdue for a good meal.”
The stew smells amazing, but it still doesn’t prepare Anna for the burst of flavor on her tongue.
It’s rich, layered in taste and texture.
Everything that the food she’s been surviving off of lacks.
She takes another bite, and another. The woman’s stare pricks at her skin, but she’s too hungry and too enchanted to care.
“You are a scrawny thing, aren’t you?” Eira mutters, taking the bowl to refill it. Anna can’t be sure when she even finished. “You act as if this humble stew is the best thing you’ve tasted.”
“It is,” she murmurs, frowning at her hands. “Other than …”
She thinks of the taste of summer, the tingling sweetness and touch of magic on her tongue.
“Hm? Speak up then. Other than what?”
“He called it a tao.”
The bowl slips from Eira’s hands, hitting the cobbled floor with a dull clatter—stew splashing across the floor.
Anna jumps, alarmed to find the woman’s widened eyes on her instead of the mess on the floor.
“He didn’t,” she mutters, stepping forward.
She takes Anna’s face in her hands, tilting her head so she could inspect her in the light.
Anna stares back, a quiet terror buzzing under her skin. Every instinct she has is torn between fleeing and stillness—a deer staring down a bow drawn back and wondering if it’s death or destiny that awaits her.
“He did,” she whispers, rough palms slipping away from Anna’s cheeks. She sits in the opposite chair, a time-worn hand reaching up to rub her temple. “Of all the foolish things …” Sighing, she lets her hand drop to the table. “Do you understand what he’s done?”
Anna shrugs, picking at the hem of her sleeve. There is so much more that she doesn’t understand. It feels like a lie to say she does. Instead, she offers the only irrefutable truth she has. “They—they tried to burn me, but I didn’t.” She swallows, her throat dry. “I didn’t burn.”
Eira’s sigh is soft. Sympathetic. “No, you wouldn’t.” Her eyes scan her body. Anna holds the cloak closer to her chest. “You’ve been dealt a hard life, haven’t you? I can see the weight of it on your shoulders.”
Anna’s throat feels tight, strangling her voice until it sounds scratched and hoarse. She ducks her head, stares at the tips of her shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of her dress. A week of dirt and travel and they’re still nicer than anything she’s ever owned. “Yes.”
Eira nods. “He was right to bring you. If you don’t know how to live, his gift will become a curse.”
Frowning, Anna looks up. “I’ve lived on my own for years.”
“No, Child. You survived.” Her expression softens, mercy in her smile. “I will make sure you learn the difference.”