Awakening (The Guardari Chronicles Book 1)

by Raven Bouray

  She thought back to only a short while ago when she nearly hit him. His hand, glove really, caught her arm and she could swear now that his thumb had caressed her inner wrist just so gently but that was ridiculous. And Muliera forbid that she become like some captives do and fall in love with their jailor. Bellus take him and grind him to dust. Master Telgrin had also offered that lesson some time ago when speaking about the land slaves and bondservants. They were often taken advantage of, but that practice had been outlawed nearly three hundred years ago.

  So with a deep breath to steel herself, she marched to the door, opened it, and trotted down the stairs. As her bare feet hit the wooden floor in the common area, she heard all talk cease once more. With a cursory look around the small, dingy, moderately lit room she found a shrine to Arator on the far wall and another shrine, this one to Mercatum, behind the bar atop the shelves for drinks.

  From which she learned, despite probably already knowing, that this town was most likely a farming community, or at least one with a fair few laborers. Mercatum was in nearly every shop and inn that she had ever been in, aside from the Grand Temple in Brecirin’s capital Metrine .

  The room was half full with men who were covered in dirt, dust, and smelled of animals and fresh earth. She could imagine that the smell never quite left this small room except for when the scent of fresh bread warred with it from the kitchen.

  The smell of warm wheat and yeast made her mouth water, and she stepped from the bottom of the stairs and walked over to the bar. Emmaline knew that every set of eyes followed her in the short time it took to do so.

  The barkeep looked up from his task of washing the bar with what looked like an dingy cloth. What was probably once white now looked brown and ill used, and she knew that she wanted nothing that she ate to touch the wooden top of it. “Hello, girlie. Where’s that hooded fellow headed off to?”

  “No idea.”

  “As long as he don’t cause any trouble, then I don’t care anyway.”

  “Who knows with him?”

  “You well, girl?” He bent over the bar and gave her a look.

  “Fine. Yes. Hungry. What do you have in your kitchen, good sir?”

  He let out a guffaw. “Sir? There isn’t a sir here, girl.”

  “Sorry. I--.” She began.

  “Fine, girl. But you talk like one of them nobles. All ‘sirs’ and that accent.”

  “Yes. Perhaps.”

  “And what is that frock you are wearing? Yer face be dirty and yer hair has a bit of leaf and twig in it. Not looking like any noble I be seeing.”

  Emmaline hadn’t been in front of reflective surface since before her birthday celebration. And she stole a quick look down and found her light nightdress covered in dust. Her mother would be rolling about in horror if she saw her now. “We’ve had a long journey through less than ideal terrain. Is there a bath here?”

  “Bathhouse out the back. But you have to fill it yerself. Boil the water, the whole bit.”

  Perhaps not. There was no way she would ever use a public bath where everyone else in the village probably bathed. The dirt and grime and sweat of all those filthy people would not be touching her skin in this life. “What do you have to eat?”

  “Bit of bread and porridge. Some pig, maybe chicken. Have to ask the wife.”

  “I’ll take whatever you have that isn’t meat.”

  “Will that hooded fellow be footin’ the tab?”

  “Yes. He will. You have my word on that.”

  The innkeeper eyed her but left the bar to the curtain that must have led to the kitchen. “Mam, I need some rabbit food for a customer.”

  “Rabbit food?” A gruff female voice answered. “Whatcha mean?”

  “Nothin with meat.”

  “Are there walkin’ plant eaters in our inn now?”

  “Hushup, woman. Just get it.”

  “Fine. Quit yer spoutin.”

  Emmaline heard heavy footsteps and the sound of wooden things hitting one another before the innkeeper pulled out of the curtain with a wooden plate of bread and perhaps some fruit, or vegetables. She wasn’t for certain. When the plate was placed in front of her, she schooled her expression and looked up at the innkeeper with gratitude. “Many thanks, sir. Might I trouble you for a bit of water as well?”

  “Fine by me.” He shrugged and turned around to pull down a wooden mug from a shelf and activate the lever which brought water in from some system that was probably outside and hopefully from a moderately clean well.

  “Thank you.” She nodded after he put the cup down next to the plate.

  “Eat up, little rabbit.” He chuckled at his attempt at a joke before turning from her to walk back into the kitchen.

  Emmaline looked down at her plate more fully. Wilted lettuce, nearly bad apples, a root vegetable of some kind that looked at least mostly edible and a quarter loaf of bread, which did actually look and smell rather fresh. She picked up an apple and bit into it. The bitter fruit made her wince but her hunger was greater than her distaste and so she chewed and swallowed before taking another bite. Careful to avoid the parts that looked the worst, she consumed most of the apple before lifting the mug to take a drink. The water tasted stale and woody but slaked her thirst well enough. The bread was actually rather good and tasted sweet. It was at least something done properly here. Finally she poked at the vegetable with her finger and decided to try to use her wooden utensil to pierce the flesh of it. Light orange/yellow greeted her and she looked at it curiously before taking a tentative bite.

  Her mouthful broke apart easily while she chewed. The flavor wasn’t unpleasant but it was rather foreign, but like the rest of the plate, she continued to eat out of necessity rather than pleasure.

  The innkeeper had come back to the bar just as she finished eating and took her plate from her.”That suit ye?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “So.” He leaned in. “I’ve been tryin’ to puzzle out some things and I was wondering if ya could help me with them.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You don’t much like that companion o’ yours, do ya?”

  “Not particularly,” she answered, knowing that he might be listening and not caring one bit..

  “You look like you’ve crawled through the underworld.”

  “Just the woods.”

  “In what looks like a nightshift.”

  “You are astute.”

  “I don’t know what that means but I can see that you are no common girl.”

  “I am not.”

  “Do you need any aid?”

  “No,” she answered but caught the innkeepers brown eyes and held them for a moment.

  He nodded in response, “Aye. Well then. Good luck on yer travels. Where do ya be heading?”

  “I’m not sure yet. My companion is not much of a talker.”

  “Well if ya need directions, let me know, eh?”

  “I shall. Many thanks.” She paused as a question came to her. “What is this village called?”

  “Canbir. In Lord Kebbon’s land.”

  Lord Kebbon was an older lord and a neutral party with her father as they had done business on occasion. His land was directly north of her father’s. Perhaps an ally. “Lord Kebbon. Does he come around her often?”

  “Every few months or so. We are not a prosperous place so he only sees us when he wants ta.”

  “But you are on the road.”

  “Ya. On what road there be.” The innkeeper turned from her and pulled out a writing tablet from under the desk. “When that fellow comes back, ya owe four coppers for that meal.” With scratchy handwriting he made a note in the chart.

  Emmaline knew that he was gouging them for the room and the meal but she didn’t feel too badly about it as it was not her funds, this village was not rich, and the innkeep needed all the money he could to keep it running.

  “You know how to write?”

  He shrugged. “A bit of cipher. My da taught me when I grew up. Numb
ers. Some other things as well.”

  “May I see it?”

  Another shrug before he handed the tablet over with the charcoal ciperstick. Emmaline lifted the thin page before using the thick tool to write a small note.

  My name is Emmaline D’Terin. My father might come looking for me. Point him the right way. Please.

  She returned tablet and put a finger to her lips. He looked at the written word for a while, as if puzzling it out, and his visage grew slightly pale. He looked up at her with wide eyes, and still she kept her finger against her lips before pulling her thumb back and pointing at the door. He nodded and put the tablet away. “Your writing is good. I didn’t expect it.”

  “Not many know how to write around here. Or read. But this way I know people don’t cheat me.”

  “Good.”

  The door opened to the inn, and she didn’t have to turn around to see who it was. “Come wit me.” He spoke at her back, and she heard the door shut behind him.

  She sighed and stood before following him up the stairs. While walking up, she noticed that he had a sizable burlap sack across his shoulders. Emmaline’s curious nature emerged, and she could not help but wonder what was within.

  He opened the door at the top and stepped through, and she followed not three steps behind as he shut again. Her captor took the burlap sack and upturned it over the rickity bed. Cloth tumbled out of it to land in a pile, and Emmaline eyed it with curious distaste. “What do you have there?”

  “What do look it? Cloth. Ye a mess.” He said it with no inflection, but she still bristled.

  “A mess? Now who’s fault it that? You couldn’t have picked a better time then to drag me out of my home?”

  “Oi try tha’. Ye loud.”

  “And I will only get louder.”

  “Be loud.” She saw his shoulders lift in what she assumed was a shrug. “Dress off an’ this on. Or no. Long way.”

  “To a mystery place, then? Will you really tell me nothing? Not that you’ve been much help anyway with that barely decipherable Common.”

  “No. Dress. Ye eat, yes?” His sentences were getting no better really, and it took all of her comprehension to gather his meaning. She hoped it wasn’t like this the whole time.

  “I ate, yes. The innkeep is expecting payment.”

  “Humans an’ coin.” He sounded disdainful, coarse even, before he sniffed and made for the door once more. “Sun down soon. Like the bed.”

  “Like the bed?”

  “Rest it.”

  “I’m not sleeping in that bed with you. For one, it's too small, and for two, I don’t like you.”

  She heard a chuckle, mirthless, but still a sound of amusement lay within. “No tha’. Oi be up.” He pointed to the roof.

  “Oh.” She answered lamely before he opened the door and disappeared down the stairs.

  The door shut behind him, and she crossed slowly to the bed. She reached out and picked up an item. A pair of trousers unfurled and hung from her grasp. They were a light brown and made from material that scratched against her hand. Maybe untreated wool, or burlap, or some other common cloth. It was nothing like her soft wool, silk, satin, or supple leather that she wore everyday. But it was either this poor garment or her dress, and so she sat down upon the bed and pulled the breeches up her legs, fastening them tight with a belt of stretched wool.

  Instantly her skin seemed to rebel against the assault and she itched as it rubbed against her sensitive flesh. Hopefully it was just the texture and not any unwanted pests present.

  She rifled through and brought up a loose shirt, but this was a greenish color, and it seemed slightly softer than the breeches did. She looked around and quickly pulled her nightdress over her head, exposing her naked chest before quickly putting the shirt over her head. She pulled it down securely and pulled her hair out of the back of it. Her usually soft tresses were rough, tangled, and greasy from being unwashed and put through the trials of an unexpected camping trip.

  There was no mirror to speak of in the room, but she can’t imagine that she looked well. Perhaps she could go down and use some well water to wash off her face at least. The last item was a pair of leather boots. After pulling them up her feet, she was surprised to find that they were nearly perfect in fit. She wiggled her toes and stood to walk around the room. Shadows flashed against the wall, and she looked around the room that was getting darker by the second. Emmaline opened the door to descend the stairs and found that her captor was nearly surrounded by the patrons who had been sitting at the corner. While she had been in her room, she hadn’t been paying much attention to the goings on down the stairs, but by the looks of it now, things were not going well for anyone.

  Chapter 14

  Four rather imposing looking men surrounded her captor who appeared to be eating a plate of food in no haste. Looking rather menacing, they all leaned in as a parody of companionship. “So, fine sir, what be ya doing with such a fine but dirty looking girl? She looked a bit scared of ya.”

  A second smacked his lips. “Should we ask her about ya? See if she needs some assistance?”

  “Yeah. Proper gentleman wouldn’t let such a poor girl run about in a smock. Unless you’ve stolen her away from her proper place,” a third man added.

  “So ye thin’ ye gentmen?” He stopped eating for only a few moments before beginning once again. A bit of bread and cheese he picked up and lifted to his hood.

  “Better than ya,” the first one threw back. “That poor thing looked ragged and cold. I could take better care of her than ya are.”

  “But what would some hooded man want with a pretty girl like that? Hooded folk aren’t much trusted or obliged here. You got something to hide?” The third man again.

  “Unless ya plan on selling her. Slavery isn’t looked kindly here.”

  “Sellin’ ‘er?” Came her captors voice, but it sounded off, odd, perhaps even a bit angry.

  “You leave her here, and we look the other way, yeah?” The second one had lowered his voice, as if his offer of help were a secret. He shifted slightly, and Emmaline saw his cape move but not what lay beyond it.

  The only signal had been a tightening of his fist before he exploded in movement. He clipped the first man in the jaw, swung around and drove that same fist into the gut of the third. Ducking a clumsy, slow strike from the fouth man who had been silent, he drove his fist into the bottom of his jaw and swung around to grab the second man’s fist which had been on a path to his face. The gloved hand tightened, and he flipped his wrist. Emmaline gasped in horror at the ensuing snap of bone and scream of pain from the man. The innkeeper roared his displeasure, and Emmaline turned and fled up the stairs. She threw open the door at the top and slammed it shut, locking the deadbolt and rushing to the hard wooden frame of the straw bed. She drew her knees up and locked her arms around them like a vice.

  Her blood was pumping fast and hard, and she could hardly quiet the roar of it pounding in her head. It made events of nights past flash through her mind as if she were back there. The screams, the scent of fresh metal, the look of fear in the eyes of the dead and dying. Emmaline had ever been a peaceful person, abhorrent of violence despite her want to train with Uracen and the guard. She knew that violence had a place, but it should be far removed from her. The cries of the broken handed man could be heard through the door from downstairs, and Emmaline unlaced her hands to place them over her ears to block out the sound from below, but still the sounds of her memory echoed about her skull in such a way that she nearly shook from the force of it. Her skin still itched from the rough fibers, and she wanted to scream. She wanted to go home and forget everything as a nightmare. But it wasn’t a terrible dream. And that was the true horror of it.

  The daylight, or what remained of it, was fading fast through the window and the nighttime sky and stars within could be glimpsed if she cared to look. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall with her hands still over her ears. For a while she stayed in that positio
n, that is, until she sensed something amiss in the air around her. Eyelids raised slowly, and she spotted, in the slightly lit darkness a hooded figure. After a quick glance at the door, she knew that he hadn’t come from there but instead the window which she had neglected to close. An oversight that wouldn’t happen again. He could sleep out on the roof or on the ground or never come in again for all she cared of it.

  His steps seemed to slow as she watched him approach. But once he reached near the edge of the bed, he knelt down in front of her She couldn’t help but stiffen slightly at his proximity and her memories a short time ago. If he noticed her rigid posture, he did not pause as he reached up with the same hand with which he had dealt violence and cracked bone. With a firm but gentle motion, he pulled at her wrist, and she let him uncover an ear. Her eyes met with the dark hood, and she heard him sigh.