Chapter Twenty-One #3
She coaxes orphaned children from the shadowed corners of the streets with biscuits from her pockets and the promise of more should they follow.
Only the young ones, Eira warned her. The ones too young to recognize the magic working under their feet.
Some of them don’t trust her intentions enough to come with her.
Most of them are too hungry, too desperate, to risk staying.
Some of them are so weak, Anna has to carry them back herself.
The pressure on her heart feels heavier than the weight of their bodies.
A month later, Anna looks over the dozens of children sprawled out in the living room—a patchwork of yarn and quilts decorating the floor—and feels her stomach twist.
“There’s too many,” Anna breathes, heart seizing. “What will we do when there’s no more room?”
“We’ll need tents.”
It’s a good solution for now, when the days and nights are warm enough to feel comfortable, but Anna remembers how unforgiving the winters can be.
The thought of an army of half-starved children camping in the meadow while the snow falls thick enough to bury them makes her heart lurch. “And in winter?”
Eira is silent for so long, Anna fears her answer. “The older ones will stay until the weather turns. Then we’ll have to send them off.”
“Send them off?” Anna echoes, horrified. “Back into the jaws of starvation? You may as well place them between the teeth of wolves.”
“Not back,” Eira says, shaking head. “Elsewhere. Somewhere unaffected by the famine. Somewhere warm.”
“You’re suggesting we abandon them to a foreign country and expect them to find a way to survive? We’d be leading them into more heartache and misery.”
“We’d be giving them a chance.” Eira’s face is sympathetic—Anna can see the truth haunting her eyes. “We can’t save them all. You know this.” She brings an aged hand to her temple, turning her back to the children lining the floor and heading into the kitchen.
Anna follows, unable to let the conversation die. “We can’t just leave them to fend for themselves, Eira.”
“If you have any ideas, I’m open to hearing them,” she grumbles, reaching for the jar of her favorite summer tea blend. “Until then, kindly spare me the lecture.”
“I’ll stay with them. If I know it, I can teach them the local language—”
Eira scoffs. “And leave me here, alone, with mouths to feed and no way to provide for them.”
“I could travel back and forth.”
“You’re immortal, not a master over time.” She takes a generous scoop of tea leaves and deposits it unceremoniously in the strainer before filling the teapot with boiling water. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with the same amount of time in the day as the rest of us.”
She stares at the teapot, tracing the patterns of dragons imprinted on the china. Ching Shih had one similar. Anna thinks of all she was able to accomplish with the power of a fleet behind her. The answer is as simple as it is difficult. “We need help.”
“Oh? Well, by all means, call in your cavalry. I certainly don’t have one.”
No, Anna doesn’t have an army, but she thinks of the dark eyes and warm smiles that made her days in the swamps of Louisiana just a little bit brighter. “Silas would help.”
Eira sends her a baffled look. “Who?”
Of course—that wasn’t his name. Not truly. “Khiran called him The Shepard.”
The older woman stills, considering her carefully. For a moment, Anna thinks she’ll agree, but she waves the thought away at the last moment. “No, no. There are no loyalties between us—I know him only by title and not by name. There is no guarantee we can trust him.”
Anna frowns, her brows rising skeptically. “With the children?”
“With you.”
Anna remembers the stiffness in Khiran’s shoulders when he first saw Silas in the doorway—remembers Silas’ words to her, It’s you, Miss. You’re the secret.
She hadn’t understood the depths of his meaning, then. She still doesn’t—not truly—but knows that whoever it is that Khiran fears finding her would have done so decades ago if Silas hadn’t kept his word.
“He already knows about me. We can trust him.”
Eira’s lips purse, thoughtful. “You know him?”
“I’ve worked with him,” Anna answers, hope as bright as the embers burning in the fireplace. She knows this will work—can feel it. “I consider him a friend.”
Gnarled fingers drum against an empty teacup, once, twice, before Eira pours the tea. The steam curls over the rim, the scent of jasmine softly filling the room. “Don’t get your hopes too high, Child. I have no means of finding him.”
Anna’s smile stutters. “But, you found me.”
A small scoff. It sounds as old and ancient as she is, like the rustle of old books no one’s taken time to care for.
“I could find you anywhere, you silly girl. You lived under this roof for years. This house is my heart.” She looks to the timbered ceiling, a glimmer of appreciation in her gaze.
“And it recognizes you as easily as I do.”
Throat tight, Anna ducks her head. There’s a warmth in her chest, kindled by Eira’s words, but the disappointment douses it before it can spread.
Eira sighs. “You know, there’s one person among us that has gained quite the reputation for avoiding the others. I suspect he’d be just as skilled at finding one of them, were you to ask.”
Anna looks up, catches the pointed hint in Eira’s raised brows, and scowls in understanding.
The same person she needs is the last one she wants to see.