Stay With Me

by Ruby Duvall

  None of it made any sense. How could she have gone from a rain-slick intersection in an ordinary town to the sunny fields of Narnia and reading magical poems about animals? Had she completely lost her mind? Was she actually staring at a wall in an asylum right now?

  A painful knot formed just under her left temple and grew larger the longer she contemplated the note. Stress was gathering between her shoulder blades and her stomach was starting to cramp from hunger.

  Wherever she was and for whatever reason, one thing seemed clear. She couldn’t go back to where it was safe. What did she have now? No family, no friends, no home. Leaning her shoulder against the tree, she stared at the river next to her, too shocked and confused to cry.

  All her life, she had battled a niggling feeling that something awful would happen to her, something dreadful constantly looming on the horizon, something more than the usual paranoia most people suffer. She thought she had already survived it back when she was fourteen but apparently she had been wrong.

  The minutes drifted by as she tried to wake up from what she hoped was a dream—or maybe even a coma—but the world around her was solid. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there but yet another gust of air incited a shiver. Rubbing away the goose bumps with one hand, she looked down at the bit of paper still caught between her fingers.

  Who was the gray lady? Perhaps it wasn’t much to go on but she knew she couldn’t sit there forever. She folded up the note and returned it to the locket. After checking that the hook and eye clasp on her necklace was still securely fastened, she stood.

  The spectacle in the village seemed to be over. Where the combatants were, she didn’t know. She was too far away to see exactly who was doing what but it seemed that at least fifty people were milling around. The village extended farther around the turn in the valley walls though, so she had no idea how big or small it was. A couple of men on horseback rode into view from a path that disappeared into another small side valley opposite the turn in the main valley. The men rode at a canter over the small stone bridge straddling the river and then continued into the village. Eventually, they disappeared behind the rise.

  She continued to watch the village for several minutes, trying to formulate a plan. Simply walking into the village was not a viable option. She had no idea how the villagers would react. She didn’t even know if she could communicate with them. She could barely speak Spanish, let alone Middle English or any other medieval European language. She couldn’t imagine a best-case scenario—only visions of being imprisoned, run out of the village or stoned to death.

  Then she spotted her.

  An old woman approached the small bridge, very slowly making her way toward the path from which the men on horseback had come. She was bent over with age and used a cane to keep her balance. Her brown dress was muddy near the bottom and she wore a linen kerchief on her head. In her other arm, she held a basket.

  Could this be the gray lady? She could only guess as to where the woman might be going but it was a safe bet that she was walking home. Every village had farms, right? Maybe the woman had gone into the village for something but was now returning home. After all, her best bet would be approaching one person, preferably an old woman who couldn’t harm her and if she followed the curve of the valley wall into the side valley, she would have enough cover to avoid being seen.

  Her heart pounded as she hesitated, too nervous to leave her hiding place. The old woman was walking fairly slowly but she realized that she couldn’t just impotently stand there until she had lost her target altogether.

  Staying low and moving quickly, she began to make her way toward the old woman, who was entering the side valley by the time she caught up to her. The closer she came, though, the more the village was revealed from behind the rise that had been hiding it.

  It was larger than she had expected, probably large enough for more than a hundred people. Behind the village was a lake, into which the river flowed. The lake also held a couple of small islands, the largest of which sat just offshore. A castle occupied the island and it was highlighted by a sea of green grass growing around its foundations. The island’s water line was clearly visible, indicating that the lake was a little drier than normal. A bridge wider and sturdier than the one straddling the river stretched from the edge of the village to an imposing gatehouse on the island. A few people were crossing the bridge either on their way to or from the castle and she could see the two riders from earlier at the open gatehouse, talking to someone.

  Looking back in the direction where the old woman was going, she kept an even pace with the bent figure leisurely making her way up the gentle slope of the path. Not venturing too close, she kept a close eye on both the woman and the path, making sure that no one from either direction would catch her flitting between trees. When the path began to descend again, she could see that they were approaching another small valley through the gaps in the canopy.

  The old woman stopped. Thinking that she had made too much noise, she squeezed behind the nearest tree.

  “What business do ye have with me?” the old woman yelled. From her hiding spot behind the tree, her eyes widened and she took a swift breath, shocked to hear modern English. Her ears detected a sort of Scottish accent, though it seemed a little off.

  Her next reaction, right on the heels of the first, was alarm. Feeling enormously shy, she anxiously peeked out from behind the tree.

  The elderly woman, however, was brandishing her cane at some spot opposite where she was hidden. Confused, she continued to watch as the old woman swiped her cane through the air to her right.

  “I dinna want any of yer mischief. Get on with ye,” she scolded. Eventually, the woman settled, nodded firmly and resumed walking. Bemused, she stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where the old woman had been, hoping to see a cat or a butterfly or something, yet nothing moved. The old woman had been yelling at absolutely nothing.

  Wondering if she had made a mistake in choosing to follow the elderly lady, whose cane could certainly made a formidable weapon, she hung farther back than before and the old woman was far along the path into the glen by the time she reached the tree line. The village and its castle had been nothing but shades of brown and gray, depressing colors only offset by the castle’s grassy skirt but the valley before her was the most gorgeous place she had ever seen.

  Yet another river, spilling down from a waterfall in the right valley wall, snaked and skipped in a meandering line through the valley and beyond, disappearing into small mountains in the distance. The valley floor was relatively flat and covered with a carpet of green grass. Manmade rock walls separated parts of the land into paddocks, a couple of which held large herds of sheep and just a few long-haired cattle.

  A handful of farmsteads, with houses much like the ones in the village, were spaced around the valley. A couple of the farms looked abandoned but the others had signs of life, especially the farmstead in the center of the enclosed areas. Smoke rose from the thatched roof of the house. The door was open and a dog was sleeping near the entrance. Nearby were a couple of other buildings, one of which was quite large, stretching three times the length of the house. It looked like it housed the large flock of animals now grazing in the surrounding fields. The other smaller building seemed to be a storage shed.

  “Beautiful,” she whispered, breathing in the fresh air tinged with the scent of a meal cooking. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was empty and she quickly popped another couple of breath mints. They didn’t help.

  Suddenly remembering what she was supposed to be doing, she looked to the old woman again, who was halfway to the farmstead. The dirt path that the woman walked ran between the walled-off paddocks and forked in several places, leading to other farmsteads. It then continued alongside the river into the distance, probably the road that the men on horseback had used to arrive at the village.

  Though she didn’t see any field hands, it didn’t mean that there weren’t people around the farmstead, s
o she studied the layout of the rock walls to see where it would be best to creep along and follow the old woman. Gripping the steering wheel tighter in her left hand, she jogged down to the valley floor and stopped at the nearest paddock’s rock wall. Crouching low, she made her way toward the path and then paused at the corner. Her back was completely exposed to whoever might be approaching from the village but she had no other cover and therefore no choice.

  Tossing her hair over her shoulder and peering around the corner of the wall, she saw that the elderly woman, still moving at the same unhurried pace, had turned left at the nearest fork to the farm in the center of the valley. Carefully easing around the corner, she stayed low and followed the wall. It was at the right angle to hide her from the farmstead’s main house but only for so long. Once the path forked, the paddock wall angled left. The minimal cover she now cowered behind would be completely gone and the only thing left would be to walk up to the old woman’s house and introduce herself.

  She only hoped that she didn’t give the woman a heart attack.

  Quickly glancing over the top of the rock wall, she saw the old woman enter the house, led inside by a young child with long red hair. A granddaughter? Ducking down again and continuing, she reached the corner of the paddock wall.

  Once again, she stalled. She spied upon the house for a moment, hoping to verify that only the old woman and the young girl were home. However, no one came out and she couldn’t hear any voices. If anyone was talking, they weren’t talking loud enough to carry the hundred or so feet to her ears.

  “Come on, Em. What’s the worst that can happen?” she whispered to herself. Not letting herself answer that question, she took a deep breath, reached for the top of the rock wall and stood. It took a few seconds but she compelled herself into walking around the corner of the wall and toward the farmstead. It’d be okay. It had to be okay.

  A few steps out, she froze, realizing that she had not planned what to say, or even whether or not to lie—a lie would certainly be more believable than the truth. She didn’t really even know the truth, anyway. With one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other pressed against her swimming stomach, she wanted very badly to run back and hide behind the wall.

  The little girl passed by the door at that exact second. Her heart, already beating fast and hard, nearly exploded. The young girl tilted her head to the side and stared. Then a smile broke out on her face and the girl pointed at her.

  “Dada, look! A fairy,” the girl loudly squealed. Dada? Not good. She faintly heard the deep tones of a male voice. “’Tis nae a bug! Look!” The girl stomped her bare foot, frantically pointing at her. “She has wings too,” the girl insisted, coming outside. The old woman was first to follow her out the door, eyes squinting hard in her direction.

  “’Tis a person,” the woman announced. The little girl was jumping up and down with unbridled glee. A red-haired man exited the house next, obviously the girl’s father. His mouth dropped open and he stopped just outside the door.

  “My God. Ye dinna see that every day.”

  “Move, Kenneth,” a second man said. She couldn’t help backing up a step when a tall, broad-shouldered man shoved aside the red-haired man—Kenneth—and stepped outside. The frown on his face was made only more frightening by his thick, black beard. Both men wore the same sort of loose, belted tunics as the men in the village. The big one, though, was bulging with muscles and his mere presence scared the hell out of her. Those meaty arms could probably heave a boulder.

  “Iain, what are we looking at?” the old woman asked, poking the taller man’s side with the bulbous head of her cane. Iain didn’t answer and his initially distrustful expression was now slack with incomprehension.

  “A fairy!” The girl jumped up and down. “Will she give me a wish, Dada?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at Kenneth. The man took one step toward his daughter, putting his hand on her shoulder.

  The girl’s happy squeal woke the dog sleeping near the entrance. As soon as it spotted her, it got to its feet and loped toward her to investigate the newcomer. It looked like some sort of Border Collie and barked as it approached. She hastily backed up but the dog stopped ten feet from her, like it had caught a scent. The barking immediately ceased. With a pitiful whine, it wagged its tail.

  None of the four people standing outside the house had yet spoken to her and she racked her brain for something to say. The girl was still grinning, the old woman still squinting and the two men still dumbfounded. Hesitantly taking a step forward, she said the only thing that immediately came to mind.

  “Hello.”

  Chapter Two

  Iain checked the pottage simmering near the fire. The two farmhands had already eaten and were working in the barn but he was still waiting on his other three guests. Scratching his chin through his beard, he prepared himself for Auld Aili’s arrival. She was more unpredictable than a drunkard but she was the oldest woman in the village and due all proper respect. For washing a set of his clothes every week, he gave her a hearty meal since all her kin had passed on. He would have done so no matter if she worked for it or not but if she wanted to labor rather than accept charity, he had no qualms.

  Even so, dealing with her strange behavior was a headache.

  “Smells good, Iain,” his brother-in-law called. Kenneth’s daughter, Elizabeth, ran inside with her cloth doll in hand.

  “Uncle Iain, what are we eating?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his leg.

  Walking to the door with her still attached, he greeted his brother-in-law, who petted the dog’s sleepy head before coming inside. “The boys are still alive, so the soup is edible,” he said.

  Kenneth grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “I dinna doubt that. The question is if it tastes better than the oatcakes ye made yesterday,” he joked.

  Iain frowned. “If ye dinna want it—”

  “I’m hungry,” Beth interrupted, shaking Iain’s leg.

  Kenneth laughed. “She likes danger as much as I do.”

  “We’ll eat when Aili comes,” Iain said to the little burr clinging to his leg. He ruffled her soft, fine hair and then waddled back toward the cooking pot. Kenneth took a seat on one of the stools.

  “If it tastes as good as it smells Aili may have no complaints today.” Iain didn’t answer and continued hovering near the pot. “I still say ye should marry a girl and have her do the cooking. Ye’ll never get it right and we have nae made our own ale for longer than I care to remember.”

  “I willna marry just to get a cook,” Iain sullenly answered. Beth let go of his leg in favor of sitting on her father’s lap.

  “After waiting so long to fast hands, what will ye marry for?” Kenneth asked. “I was hoping our bairns could grow up playing together, like ye and I did but Beth is almost six now.”

  “If ye be so keen on having children, why dinna ye make some brothers and sisters for her?” Iain winced the second it came out but he didn’t say anything and continued to stare at the gently simmering pottage.

  Kenneth was quiet for a few breaths. “I suppose I shouldna meddle so much,” he said in a muted voice. “I know I’ve thought about…” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, I’m nae fond of any particular woman from the village.”

  “I sometimes see ye talking to Rossalyn,” Iain observed. His tone was both chiding and teasing.

  “All Rossalyn does is talk. ’Tis no easy thing to be rid of her. That woman’s a glutton for attention.”

  “What are ye talking about? ’Tis simple to end a conversation with her,” Iain said, briefly stirring the soup and swinging the pot just a little farther from the fire.

  “I canna be so rude so easily,” Kenneth said, “and with a face like this, I dinna look as beastly and grumpy as ye.” Iain leveled an annoyed stare at his friend. “Aye, just like that.” Kenneth pointed at Iain’s expression.

  “Can ye even grow a beard?” he grumbled, looking back at the soup.

  “Ye ken quite well that I
shave every morning. Ye should do the same.”

  He stroked his beard. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Many women dinna appreciate the feel of a beard and Father Patrick would certainly be happy to see ye without it.”

  “I dinna want to attract Father Patrick,” Iain said with a sneer, purposefully misunderstanding.

  Kenneth laughed. “It seems ye dinna want to attract anyone.”

  “Did ye ever conceive that like you, I’m nae fond of any particular woman from the village?”

  “Rossalyn is certainly fond of you. When I met her yesterday, she asked when she might come to cook something for ye. I said I dinna know,” Kenneth said.

  Iain bit back a curse. “She only persists because I dinna fawn upon her as other men do. I doubt she has ever cooked a day in her life.”

  “None of the unattached women attract ye and ye snub the ones who show interest. Will ye be a stag yer entire life?”

  Iain stirred the soup again, not answering. In the silence following Kenneth’s question, Iain heard the unmistakable thump of a cane repeatedly hitting the ground.

  “Aili!” Beth cheered, sliding off her father’s lap to run outside and usher the old woman into Iain’s home.

  “Aye, the burden is here.” Aili let the young girl pull her inside. Iain wordlessly took the basket of clean clothes from Aili’s hands and Kenneth pulled up a stool for her to sit on. Beth giggled as the old woman made a fuss about sitting down but then left Aili alone to return to her father.

  Iain offered the woman a taste of the pottage. Her already wizened face scrunched up as soon as the soup entered her mouth. “Too much salt,” she admonished. “If it is so expensive, use less of it.”