by Amy Hopkins
They had pushed hard in the early hours, slowing as the terrain thinned and all signs of the cloistered jungle the remnant called home faded.
Marcus had tried to keep on, but Bette forced a stop for lunch when he swayed in his sleep. The soldier had a seemingly endless amount of fortitude, though. After some food and a fifteen-minute nap, he climbed astride again and insisted he was fit to go.
Still, Bette thought, he was only human. Marcus sweated and his normally brown face was white and sickly. How he found the energy to kick his horse into a trot when the tiny farm came into view, she’d never know.
They approached carefully. All Julianne had been able to tell them is which direction to head. The girl didn’t have much more color than Marcus, and by the way she rubbed her head, a thumping headache, too.
Bette slid off her horse and handed the reins to Garrett. “I’ll knock,” she said. “So that yer ugly face doesn’t get the door slammed in it. Ye’ll take care of the others?”
He nodded seriously, and she trusted he understood what she had meant: she would approach the farm, as the less threatening of the two, and he would stay back to protect their charges if anything went wrong.
The little brass knocker was tarnished but smooth. Bette rapped on the door three times, then reeled back as a barrage of angry barks startled her.
“Who’s there?” The voice that called out was rasped, but had a strong edge to it.
“Travelers,” Bette called back, trying to sound friendly. “We seek refuge after days of hard travel through the Madlands.” She didn’t want to admit they had injured people, not yet.
The door opened a small crack, a glittering chain stretched behind it to stop it opening further. A wrinkled face squinted out, eyes dropping to Bette. “Oh. You’re not with them priests, are you? I won’t have none of that foolery inside my house.” Lower down, a black snout pressed against the opening and growled, teeth bared.
“Priests? No. We’re just travelers,” Bette answered.
“From?”
“Arcadia.” It was close enough, and Bette guessed most outsiders wouldn’t have heard of the Heights. “We came across the Madlands.”
The door slammed, then opened properly this time. “Mind your manners, Florence. These are guests. Until I say otherwise at least. Hear me?”
Apparently, Florence was the dog. She dropped her hackles and sat, watching the visitors warily, but content with her mistress’s instructions for now.
“We apologize for the intrusion,” Bette said. “But we wondered if ye have room fer us to sleep? We’ve injured with us, and just need a day of shelter so we can recover. The barn would be fine.” She had spotted the old building behind the house. It looked weatherproof, if not much more.
“I’ll be having none of that rubbish. You’ll stay inside, where I can keep an eye on you. I’ll feed you dinner, breakfast, too. The cost is a couple of beds weeded and some shingles on the roof fixed. If you’re needing a second night, there’s a field to be tilled. By hand, mind. Got no horses left and the donkey died last month.”
Bette nodded. She knew how to hand-till a field and damned if Garrett wouldn’t be helping. “We’d be happy to help.”
The old woman hobbled inside, her gait as crooked as the hump on her back. “The pale one, is he sick or wounded? I’d be guessing the latter, seeing as where you’ve been and all.”
“Wounded,” Bette admitted. She quickly eyed the house. Only one water glass on the table, and two of the three dining chairs were covered in dust. The old woman lived alone. Bette motioned the others in. “Is there somewhere we can put our horses?”
“In the barn. Rub them down, and let them graze in the field out back. The Goddess knows there’s enough there for them to eat, and it could do with some thinning out.
Bette thanked her and headed out, catching Bastian’s arm on his way in. “I’ll need some help with the horses.”
“Of course,” he said.
They took the horses from Garrett and led them into the barn. It was a wide, airy space that sent clouds of dust as the floor was disturbed.
Bette showed Bastian how to lay out their tack and brush the horses down, a task she and Garrett had taken care of while travelling. A burr on a horse’s back could cause a pile of grief under a saddle, and their mornings on the trail were rushed and disorganized. Here, she would have time to check them over before they rode out again.
“Did ye get a peek in the old woman’s head?” she asked as they worked.
“Yes,” Bastian said. “Only a quick one. She has some rudimentary shielding ability, but nothing as strong as a trained magician.”
“I assume she’s safe, then, or ye wouldn’t be out here.” Bette slapped her horse’s back side, sending it out to munch on the long grass outside before moving to brush down Cloud Dancer.
“I think so. She seems wary, like there’s trouble she’s not telling us about. She trusts us for some reason, though.”
“And ye think she’s got some kind of magic?” Bette raised her eyebrows, skeptical.
“I wouldn't go that far,” Bastian said. “Probably just used to the occasional traveler. Marcus said that’s pretty much the only way through the Madlands without adding another three days to the journey.”
“Aye, I suppose.” Finished with the second horse, Bette wandered outside.
She soon spotted the water pump, and an old trough that was still in decent enough shape to hold water. Bucketing water into the trough, she explained the basics of horse care to Bastian. “The water is warm, so the horses can drink. If ye ever feed a horse cold water after a ride like that, it’ll likely be dead by morning.”
They finished up and Bette insisted they wash before going in, then chastised Bastian for attempting to step inside with his muddy boots still on.
“This woman has let us into her house, don’t you dare go slopping mud on her floor. And if anyone leaves so much as a plate unwashed, the Bitch will smite ye down and bless ye with an ugly wife, if I don’t get to ye first.”
“Thank you, young lady. It’s good to see some manners in these parts again. They’ve all but gone by the wayside in recent days.” The old woman wiped her hands on her apron and shook Bette’s hand.
Bette stole a look around at the room. The old farmhouse had been grand once and was still well looked after, but age had taken its toll.
“I’m Mariana, but you can call me Annie. Most do. Most don’t deserve to, but that’s another matter. I sent your friends out to wash. Have you eaten a midday meal?”
Bastian ducked his head self-consciously. “Yes, thank you. We really don’t mean to impose, we can leave some of our supplies behind—”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that. Since my boys left, the garden’s been serving up more than I can eat. Can you peel potatoes?”
“Yes, ma’am. In the Temple, I was—”
“Temple?” Annie interrupted him again. “I thought you said you weren’t no priests.” She narrowed her eyes at Bette.
“Not priests. Mystics. They have the power of the mind?” She’d heard stories about odd beliefs in the villages across the Madlands, but this woman didn’t even know what a mystic was?
Annie frowned, then let out a sigh. “Well, you don't talk like them at least. You asked instead of told me you'd be staying. Least you’re not wearing them ridiculous robes. Oh, no offence to you, young man, at least yours are somewhat humble. No, the priests around here like gold in their thread and silk in their britches.” Old timbers creaked as voices filtered through the hallway. “Looks like your friends have finished unpacking.”
Marcus and Julianne came in and Bette shot them a questioning look.
“Danil is going to lie down for a little,” she explained. “And Garrett went off to scout the area.”
Bette nodded and looked to Annie. “Is there somewhere I can stitch up my friend? The wound isn’t too bad, but it’ll at least need cleaning again. I dinna want to poke at it on the road with all th
ose beasts about.”
“I could do without it being poked at entirely, thanks.” Marcus twisted his mouth into a tired smile.
“You just sit him at the table here, and I’ll go put some water on to boil.” Annie moved towards the back room, but paused at the door. “Do you have needle and thread?”
“Aye,” Bette said. “I just need good light and a wee bit of water.”
Annie sent Bastian outside to gather some vegetables for their dinner, her instructions echoing loudly from the kitchen. “You do know what beans are, don’t you? Never can tell what they’ve got in these foreign lands.”
He scurried off with firm instructions not to come back until his bowl was full.
Marcus stretched back in the wooden chair and closed his eyes. “If I flinch, it’s because I’m tired, right? Not because I’m in pain, or terrified of a tiny little needle like that.” He studied the tool as Bette expertly threaded the eye.
“What? Big brute like you, fighting out there, and you’re scared of a wee needle?”
Rather than argue, Marcus just grit his teeth. He didn’t notice when Julianne quietly slipped in, Annie on her heels.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“So, Annie,” Bette said as she cleaned the wound. “It sounds like ye been having some trouble in these parts. Some people in fancy robes?” She shot a look at Julianne, who stayed silent but leaned in to listen.
The mystic’s eyes, however, were on Marcus’s stretched, muscular torso. Bette wondered if her tongue was about to fall on the ground. She shook her head, then carefully pierced Marcus with the needle. He tensed and sucked in a sharp breath.
“Yes, that’s right. Moved in a few months ago, they did. A whole tribe of them, and their prissed up leader in his jewels and finery.”
“What did their robes look like?” Julianne asked.
At her voice, Marcus’s eyes shot open. With a weak smile, he glanced once at the strand of thread pulled out from his side, and closed them again, suddenly still and quiet.
“Blue, with golden trims and pretty gems on their buttons. Funny little sun shape on the sleeves, I guess because of the name they gave themselves.”
“The New Dawn,” Julianne said softly.
Annie looked surprised. “Yes, that’s them. I take it you’ve had dealings with them before?”
“You could say that.” Julianne’s voice was carefully neutral, but Annie wasn’t fooled.
“They take someone of yours, too?”
“Take them? They killed two of the Temple Guards. They were my friends,” she added, face hard. “If their words are true, they mean to do much worse than that.”
“You mean like take a village hostage with their mind tricks, leaving children to starve while their parents work to the bone? Taking men from their homes and setting them to work the farms and the mills, for no pay and no food and discarding them when they work themselves to an injury?”
“Bitch take me,” Julianne muttered, her eyes widening a bit.
“There’ll be no use of the Goddess’s name like that in my house, I’ll thank you.” Annie tapped her left breast with two fingers.
“Of course. I’m sorry, Annie. Where we come from, the Bitch and the Bastard are… worshipped quite differently.” Julianne spoke carefully, not wanting to offend the woman who’d taken them in.
“Fair enough. I heard about some strange religions over the border, so I don’t blame you for having your ways.” Annie ducked her head. “Though if you’ve got the magic, that no doubt changes things anyway. You’re touched by the Goddess?”
“Touched?” Julianne asked. “You mean with magic?” Annie nodded. “Ahh. The teachings in our land say that everyone has the capacity for magic. Some are just stronger than others. I’m… well, quite strong, but only in mental magic.”
“Many of our preachers say the same, that the Goddess has touched all, but some got a helping heap of her favor. They’re the ones what can do the real magic. Not like me, all I can do is whistle the plants up and keep them growing. Not that I need that now.” Annie cast a forlorn look at the mantelpiece. On it were two hats, both overly large for the frail old woman.
“Annie, who did the New Dawn take from you?” Julianne asked quietly.
“My sons.” Annie coughed, clearing the sudden huskiness in her voice. “They resisted, better than most. Eventually, they fell to the magic of the priests. That’s no act of the Goddess. What those assholes do? Remnant have more heart.” Her eyes glittered and Julianne reluctantly dropped her probing questions.
Instead, she dropped her eyes and fiddled with her dress, trying to calm her mind enough to ignore the nagging headache. It was no good. The smell of coppery blood soaked the air, sending a frisson of anxiety along her skin. Her thoughts jangled inside her head, unwilling to sit still or give her the space to block them out.
Julianne wanted to pace, to work off the nervous energy. She wanted to growl and curse and rip the heads off the people perverting her magic. She wanted to avenge Annie, a woman she barely knew but cared about the moment she’d invited them in. Most of all, she wanted to grab Marcus’s pretty face and press her…
Shoving her chair back with a screech, Julianne quickly stepped over to the nearest window, pretending to look out. She rested her head against the cool glass and willed the flames from her cheeks.
And with Marcus? What in the ever-loving world am I thinking? She thought. Bitches oath, but I’ll be glad when this wears off. At least she had the sense to lock down her shields.
Vaguely, she realized the conversation had turned from religion. Raging emotions now tightly under control, Julianne turned back.
Annie peeked over at Marcus. “That wound doesn’t look good.”
“No,” Bette said as she tied off the stitching. “I have some antiseptic, though. It should be enough to fix it.”
“That some kind of standard issue stuff? My husband, bless his soul, did a term with the rangers up in Arsa. The stuff they hand out is weaker than a crooked barman’s beer.”
Bette shrugged wryly. “Seems some things are the same wherever ye go.”
Annie stood. “I’ve some tincture of lavender and seal. It’ll sting, but it’ll clear that fester up in no time.”
“I might check on Bastian,” Julianne said.
She followed Annie to the kitchen and through the back, almost bumping into Garrett as he returned.
“Everything well?” she asked in a low voice.
“Aye,” he said. “No sign of remnant this far out, and the nearest farmhouse was abandoned.”
That gave Julianne a measure of unease, but she waved him in the direction of the dining room and left him to it.
The vegetable garden, a small, fenced-off section of the overgrown farm, looked like an absolute jungle. Tomatoes stretched high, stalks strong despite the lack of trellises for support. A pumpkin vine wound its way over one fence, and a thick, bushy plant dripping with beans over another. Seeing the untouched beans, Julianne frowned. Bastian should be almost done by now, and she expected more from him than to shirk off such a simple duty.
The gate screeched in protest as she pushed it open and a dark head popped up from the back corner. “Master Julianne! I’m sorry, am I taking too long?” Dirt smudged Bastian’s face, and a leaf jutted from his hair.
“What in the world are you doing?” Julianne carefully picked her way through a matted clump of thyme surrounding an overloaded eggplant, then took a large step to straddle an overgrown parsley. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting beans?”
Bastian held up a wooden bowl. “I did! Julianne, this garden… the old lady must have some kind of druid magic. These plants are as healthy as I’ve ever seen. The weeds are atrocious, though.”
Julianne finally got close enough to see what he’d been doing. A pile of scraggly, uprooted weeds lay in the corner, while a large square patch of garden had been freshly tidied. The soft brown dirt had been smoothed over, and a drooping vine wound back over the
fence posts.
“Wow.” Julianne looked at him with new admiration. “You’ve really made a difference here.”
“It needs a lot more work. If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep going. After the trip we’ve had, it feels good to sink my hands into something familiar.” Bastian waggled his dirty fingers.
“Actually, that’s why I came out. My brain is still too fried to mind-read, and I really need to know what the New Dawn have been up to here. I wondered if you could look at Annie's memories to see what’s been going on.”
“Ah.” A crestfallen look crossed Bastian’s face, making Julianne hesitate.
“It can wait,” she said. “Here, I’ll take the beans in. Just make sure you wash up before you come inside.”
“What is it with women?” Bastian grumbled, just loud enough for Julianne to hear. “It’s not like I was born in a barn.”
She hid a smile and hoisted the bowl to her shoulder and carried it inside.
“Annie?” she called, depositing it on the counter. “I’ve got the beans, Bastian wants to continue working in the garden.”
“Working?” Annie ducked into the kitchen, face glowing. “I must say it’s appreciated. My back isn’t what it was and now my boys aren’t here to help, I just haven’t been keeping up with things like I should be.”
Julianne chewed her lip. “Annie, how would you feel about putting us up for a few more days? I can pay in Arcadian coin, and we’ll do what we can to help while we’re here. Between us, we should be able to make some progress.”
“Well now, that would be just wonderful. My big old house has been far too quiet, I was already beginning to think I’d miss you when you’re all gone.” She smiled at Julianne, the wrinkles in her face creasing around it. “Keep your coin. If you’re happy to work for your keep, that’ll do me just fine.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Bastian didn’t come in until dinner time, by which time Garrett had been roped into helping him fix the fallen fence around the garden. Bette re-shingled the roof of the chicken coop while Marcus watched on, and Julianne mucked out the long-abandoned horse stalls. When dusk fell and the temperature dropped, they tumbled inside with dirt on their clothes and smiles on their faces.