Sophie pushed the young man’s hair back from his eyes. “Are you saying we should hand him over?”
Rose sat up taller and glared at her young friend. “Most certainly not! I am just making sure we are all well aware of what we are risking.”
They nodded at each other, slowly, thoughtfully.
“Well then we shall have to make sure we don’t get caught.” Molly got up from her chair and went over to examine the man. “He’s got youth on his side. How long before he’s fit to walk, Ellen?”
She considered the question. “A few days at the very least, but where is he supposed to walk to exactly?”
“One problem at a time,” Molly snapped. “Now, how about we share the hiding of him?”
“All except Sophie,” Catelyn broke in. “She can’t possibly…”
“I can and I will.” Sophie’s voice cracked like a whip in the confines of the room. “There is no point pretending that if one of us is caught the rest won’t be as well. Everyone knows we are friends.”
She glared around her, locking eyes with each of the others. “Besides,” she went on, “my house has a nice false floor. Remember my Da was a sly grogger back in the day.”
They all blinked that, but it was Rose who laughed first. “That I do, best damn gin in the county.” Behind her glasses her eyes grew a little damp with the remembrance, too.
“Not yet though,” Ellen warned, “I want to keep an eye on him for the next day or two. I might not have a false floor, but I do have a root cellar.”
Morning was breaking over the village, its sly fingers working their way through the threadbare curtain to remind them all this whole situation was a reality.
Ellen could see that they were all transfixed with the revelation, so she got to her feet. “Well, I don’t think I can move him myself.”
They got the hint. Together they managed to maneuver the young man on his makeshift stretcher down the stairs and into Ellen’s root cellar. She had some old potato crates in there—even if they only held the memory of potatoes—and they moved those to conceal him at least from the casual gaze from the top of the stairs.
Then the women dispersed to their houses. Ellen watched them from her window. Catelyn entered her place directly opposite, Sophie disappeared next door, and Rose and Molly ambled arm-in-arm down the street. They were careful not to do anything to expose the nature of their relationship, but Ellen had seen it when they were teenagers. Through Rose’s marriage, and Molly’s sickness, it had not gone away. Their houses further down the road actually leaned against each other now, mirroring their love for each other.
It was none of Ellen’s business, she had decided long ago, and if two lonely, old women could find a little happiness in this broken world, then that was somehow cheering.
Usually all of the women would have been working at the mill, but with the wool shortage, their days had been cut. It wasn’t as if The Glorious Commander paid them much anyway, or that there was much to buy. Still, it had given them structure to the day.
Now, Ellen was glad of it. She levered herself upstairs to her tiny bedroom, and pulling a blanket over herself, tried to get some sleep.
Only a few hours passed before she awoke again, and though Ellen tried to get back to sleep, it eluded her. Then, the banging on the door brought her fully alert.
That was also something else new; she had barred it. Throughout the war, she had defiantly left it unlocked, perhaps hoping some desperate villager might finish her off, but last night had been different. Last night had reminded her she was still alive.
And now someone was banging on it.
It took two tries for her to get up, but once she was moving she felt a little better. Her hip was sore, but she ignored it as she stumbled down the stairs.
A quick peek out her window ascertained that her fears were real. She caught a glimpse of a tan uniform.
Taking a deep breath, she almost opened the door, but then realized there was blood on the table she had not cleared from the night before. She took a moment to wipe it down, even as the banging persisted.
When she was done, Ellen opened the door with her back bent at an angle it was not used to. It didn’t hurt to look even more decrepit than usual after all.
Easing the door open, she peered out and saw Mercier, Commandant of Doumount, standing on her top step. Ellen’s heart sunk a little. She’d been hoping for one of his minions, but obviously a downed magician warranted more seniority. Mercier cut a striking figure, his gleaming black hair slicked back, his square jaw clenched, and every one of the brass buttons on his tan uniform polished to high sheen.
Everything Commandant Mercier did and said was designed to show how important he was. Ellen’s lips twisted. He was not fooling her. She’d chased him down the street when he was only five years old for stealing flowers from her garden. Now, she wished she’d caught him and given him a sound thrashing. At this moment, he looked ready to do much worse to her.
“Jai Vinceni,” he said spinning around on his heel. The honorific came out forced and twisted from his lips, and Ellen’s heart began to race. Formality from him was not a good thing.
She bobbed her head in response. “Jar Commandant, a pleasure to see you.” She hoped he remembered the incident with the flowers, but either way she would not give him any information, as innocent as it might seem. Who knew who he had been talking to.
Behind him, two of his soldiers kept their rifles at their sides, but that could change at any moment. The commandant gestured up the road with his leather clad hand. “Last night there were reports of a possible enemy spy in the area. Did you see anything from your vantage point here?”
A spy—so that was how they were going to play it. Ellen gave a slight shrug and adjusted the shawl around her shoulders. “I don’t see much at all these days.” It was hard to keep the anger out of her voice.
He had been a mean child, and he had grown into a cruel man. He’d strung up two boys in the village square only a month ago for the crime of selling their own wool to support their families. Supposedly, the owners were allowed to sell some in order to make a living, but in reality, the country wanted it all. Mercier had trumped up charges against the lads, executed them, and driven their families off their farms. The flocks of sheep had been absorbed into the patriotic effort. That happened to a lot of things.
If he knew that the women were knitting for their families, they would be lucky to be flogged. It was a good thing her needles and work were hidden in the library.
“Well, we are searching all the houses.” The commandant stepped back and the soldiers pushed Ellen aside without any warning at all. She nearly fell but managed to catch herself against the doorframe. She felt lightheaded and positive this was it. This was how her life was going to end.
They were going to find the magician, and Mercier would think up some truly dreadful thing to do to the circle. It was not for herself Ellen felt the cold clamp of fear on her throat, but rather for Catelyn and Sophie who still had living to do.
To calm herself while the soldiers tramped around her cottage, Ellen took out her embroidering which she kept near the window. Fabric was also hard to come by, but not illegal. She had washed and beaten and scrubbed one her old flour sacks until it was quite soft. It was only a little thing, but it would make a nice dress for Sophie’s youngest—if she was alive to finish it.
The cottage creaked and groaned as the men turned over her bedroom upstairs. Ellen tried to block it out by sitting on her stool by the door and working on the dress. She had already stitched a series of wild roses in pink around the collar, but she set to picking out some bluebells to go with them. The fine needlework was a challenge with her eyesight, but if she kept the fabric right near her nose she could manage. While she drew the thread, the thumping and gruff comments intruding into her house died away. A small hum grew in her throat. It was a song her mother had sung to her as a child, and even if she could no longer remember the words, the rhythm gave he
r comfort.
For a long while there was only the fabric and the moving needle. Soon enough, they would find the magician in her root cellar and then such small delights would be snatched away.
Except they weren’t.
“Jai Vinceni,” Mercier broke her concentration by standing directly in her light. “You be sure and tell us if you see anything. We’ll be checking on your neighbors now.”
And with that they trumped out, slamming the door behind them. Perhaps they were as disappointed as she was surprised.
Ellen carefully finished the flower she had been working on, and then put down the fabric. The breath she drew in after that felt as sweet as any from her youth.
“But how…” She shook her head, mystified by what had happened. Getting to her feet, Ellen went to the root cellar. It took her far too long to get down there, but a tumble would serve no one. She hated being cautious as well as puzzled, but she made it to the bottom and lit the oil lamp.
There he was. The young magician was visible even to one with poor eyesight like herself. The boxes did a poor job of hiding him, so how had two perfectly healthy soldiers missed him?
A frown added to the creases on her face as Ellen checked on her houseguest. His color had improved, and his breathing had a good pace. A peek under the bandages showed no sign of inflammation.
She patted his hand. “You are a lucky young man, and I am a lucky old lady…somehow.”
Her elation eventually died down, and she was able to sleep through the day, because that night the circle met in the library. Even the fear of discovery did not put them off their regular schedule.
“They turned over my house and didn’t find him,” Ellen explained to them. “I didn’t think at my age I could be surprised by anything, but there you are.”
The women kept knitting, the sound of their needles curiously comforting in the half light.
“My house is next,” Sophie said quietly. “The soldiers already turned it over, so it should be safe. The children will be asleep, if we want to take him up to the attic tonight.”
Rose grunted a little. “Damn, dropped a stitch.”
They all tutted comfortingly at her, and nodded at Sophie’s suggestion. Ellen didn’t like it, but all of them wanted to share in the danger, and it wasn’t like she could berate them into doing what she wanted. She had tried that with her own children, and all it had done was get them out of the door and into the war faster.
Once her fingers tired, she got to her feet. “Let’s do it then.”
They all packed up their needles and projects, hid them under the floorboards once again, and trouped back to her cottage. Sophie and Catelyn went with her down into the root cellar to see the young man.
“No sign of aether contamination,” Ellen told them, and a surprised smile formed on her lips. “The joy of being young and healthy. Enjoy it while you can, ladies.”
“I miss bouncing back like that,” Rose muttered from the top of the stairs.
“We all do,” Molly said with a snort. “I might not have lost my hair if the sickness had hit me then.”
The two youngest managed to get him back upstairs, and Ellen climbed up after. Barely had they put the stretcher down when the wail of the air-raid siren went off. It had been a while since any of them had heard it, but they moved quickly into action. Sophie darted out the door. “I’ll bring the children,” she shouted over the howl of the siren.
“Back into the root cellar then,” Ellen barked, though she immediately realized, with only Catelyn left, they’d have no hope of moving him back.
If only the damn thing had sounded a fraction earlier, she thought, as the four remaining women stood stock still in her kitchen.
Just when the young man lurched upright was hard to say. Ellen glanced down and locked gazes with her tousled-haired patient. He was handsome she realized, in a long, lanky way, but he looked so confused she wondered if his head was muddled.
“Wonderful timing,” Rose yelled, and with a jerk of her head to Catelyn, she slipped her arm under his.
Thus, with Catelyn on one side, the elder woman on the other, and the man keeping his feet under him, they struggled down the steps. Perhaps the howls of the sirens were mere precautions, perhaps it was another of the commandant’s damn tests.
When the screams of the munitions rose above the klaxon though, it seemed she was going to be disappointed in this world once again.
The detonations shook the cellar, and the women all crowded together for protection and comfort. They didn’t leave the young man out either. He was stuck in the middle of them, wide-eyed and confused. Ellen hoped he wouldn’t end up dying in ignorance.
At first, the impacts sounded a long way off, somewhere in the hills outside of Doumount. Sophie burst into the cellar just as they began to shake their way closer. She had her baby on her hip, and a terrified Julia clutching her hand.
Ellen opened her arms, and the child ran to her. Only five years old, she had never known a world outside of the war, and that thought haunted the old woman most of all. Her babies might be dead—daughter, sons, and grandsons—but at least they’d had that.
Julia buried her head against Ellen’s side, while Sophie crowded in with her son, Corwin, clutched to her breast.
The explosions were now so loud and so close that her little cottage seemed ready to shake apart. Surely, there was only so much thatch and stone could take. The air filled with the taste of dust and charcoal, and that was when Ellen found that she didn’t want to die. Odd, since she had cared so little about it that very morning.
She mulled it over as pebbles dropped on their heads, and the tiny lamp-flame flickered backwards and forwards.
Perhaps it was the pointlessness of being killed in a barrage, as compared to standing up to the commandant. Perhaps it was because she had found a new purpose. Or maybe it was because she hated that damn klaxon.
If it wasn’t so loud, she might have enjoyed the sensation of being hugged tight, of feeling Julia’s solid little body pressed against her side, of having everyone she still cared for in one room.
If she had kept her faith in the gods, she might have prayed, but that had died with the last of her children. Instead, she held on tight, and hoped it would be quick.
The barrage stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The last explosion echoed through the valley like a sullen giant forced to go home. And then all was quiet.
Julia looked up at her, her eyes wide, but a slight smile forming on her lips. What a world it was where the end of a military bombardment could make a child smile. She should smile for much better things than that.
Slowly, the women untangled themselves, but Ellen felt the sense of regret each of them had in doing so. Rose and Molly might have each other, but for the rest of them, hugs were in short supply.
“What was that?” the young man’s voice abruptly reminded them that they were not completely safe.
“What do you mean,” Ellen snapped. “Those were Mensognes’s bombs.”
He raked his hair back from his face, and winced in pain as he stepped from their embrace. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but Ulluran does not use machines at all.” At their blank expressions, he cleared his throat. “I know you call my country Mensognes, but that is not what we call ourselves.”
Catelyn leaned down and peered into his face.
He looked around at all of them, obviously confused and also a little frightened. “I mean we do not make bombs. We only have magic to protect us from the Corrupt Commander’s guns. We have been fighting for years to keep the invasion from happening…”
“Invasion,” Molly straightened herself upright, and gave voice to the general confusion. “You have been trying to invade us…”
Their patient only shook his head mutely. Ellen could feel the understanding rising around her. Maybe the bombardment had shaken something loose, or maybe she’d suspected something all along. They had all been part of a war machine against an enemy none of them rea
lly knew. A machine of deception to keep the population under the thumb of someone far worse than Pareiz’s neighboring country.
Ellen let out a long sigh, seeing the same understanding dawn on the other women’s faces. They had lost so much, and it had all been a lie. Sophie looked on the verge of tears. Rose and Molly held hands. Catelyn stared at the floor, her hair obscuring her expression.
TOUCHING HIS SHOULDER, ELLEN FOUND herself the only one capable of words. “It seems we have been living a lie all this time, but nothing can surprise us these days—except you. What is your name, young man?”
“Nico,” he replied in a quiet voice as if it would get him into more trouble.
“Well then, Nico, you will be spending tomorrow in Sophie’s attic, and then after in Molly’s priest hole.”
Her friend recovered enough to state, “It’s a priestess hole, from two hundred years ago when the they were being hunted and…”
“Perhaps no history lesson tonight,” Rose ground out, patting Molly on the shoulder. “We all have had a bit too much excitement and a lot to digest.”
They had indeed. Ellen squeezed them all as they left, one by one returning to their homes. Nico remained in the root cellar. She heard him moving around, getting as comfortable as possible.
What he had said made sense, as awful as it was. The State had easily fooled the populace, fed them lies about the evil others which lay beyond their borders, and they had fallen for it.
Ellen leaned against her front door and tried to breathe, but it was hard. Memories of her father, her husband, and sons all going off to war filled her head. Sometimes they had seemed happy about it, serving their country, but her sons—now she looked back on it, recalled their faces—she wondered if they had not somehow known.
She felt foolish to have swallowed the lies, and she felt foolish that she had fed the war machine—not only with her labor at the mill, but also with her family. Tears filled her eyes, her hands clenched against the door, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t matter.
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