by Crissy Moss
I laid the new blanket out on the grass and piled my belongings on it to see exactly what I had. One blanket. One knapsack that could easily double as a second blanket if needed. Two small sacks of hardtack, which tasted terrible but would keep me moving for a while. A knife, a small spool of thread but not a needle, and Winifrey’s book.
Alone, again, on the edge of town, I sat under a bending pine on my stolen blankets and thought of my options.
I couldn’t return to Winifrey. After all she had done for me already, it wouldn’t be right to do so. Likewise, I couldn’t go home. My father wouldn’t allow me back in the home, and even if he did I didn’t want to live under the same roof as a man who tried to murder me. James had walked away with the crowd, lost in moments down the lane, unwilling to even hear my sobs. And I wouldn’t be able to go to any of the other families in Brefalls. They had already turned their backs on me, casting me out to the wilds.
There were other towns, other places where I could find work or even marriage. But did I want that life now?
My village, filled with people I loved, seemed so small now. Faced with something they didn’t understand, they chose ignorance.
No, I wanted something more. Something beyond their small-mindedness and inability to accept me. I wanted to find out who—what—I was.
I picked the book up and turned it over in my hands. There wasn’t anything particular about the leather cover. No name or symbols carved into it. But the cover had creases and grip marks, the page ends had been smudged, and I could see some folds earmarking certain pages.
I opened up the cover and found a simple map of the coast. Brefalls lay in a far northern valley with thick forest to the north and mountains all around us. The river running to the west of town flowed south into a large lake, and from the lake another river passed through the mountain ranges and out to the ocean beyond. The city of Trallaris lay at the mouth of the River Bres. That was where the tradesmen took the lumber our men gathered, and other goods from the farms. Farther to the south there were trade cities and caravans that looped their way east.
For a brief moment, I considered going to Trallaris. Surely, there would have been jobs available in kitchens or laundries. I was a fair cook, and I could clean just about anything. I knew my way around a sewing room, too.
But what if they found out about the fire? There were bound to be accidents in kitchens or laundries with boiling water or hot coals. Surely, the people working in such places had been burned more than once. What would happen to me if I fell in and didn’t burn? Would they be more open-minded to that sort of thing in a larger city, or would they cast me out, as well?
“Send her to the wizards,” they had said. And perhaps they, and Winifrey, were right.
The collegium offered another thing I couldn’t find in Trallaris: answers. If I were a mage or had some magical aptitude of some sort, then I wouldn’t know that by going to any other city. I had to make it to Kemoor. They had more knowledge locked up on their island than any other place in the world, or so the stories said. There was no better place to go if I wanted to know more about myself.
But how did I get there?
When my mother told me stories of the mages on Kemoor, she said they lived on an island to the east, beyond the mountains, in the center of a great lake. She hadn’t told me of the collegium. I grew up believing that the wizards secreted themselves away on the island, never bothering much with the rest of the world beyond a few adventures. If that’s what I thought, then maybe that’s why others in my village didn’t trust magic users.
I traced a hand over the valley surrounding Brefalls. A small lake to the south of us. A river that ran from the north to the south, beyond the lake. And a mountain chain the ringed the entire valley.
And just to the northeast of Brefalls, a pass.
I hadn’t heard of the pass before. Everyone who left Brefalls went by ship. Passage was easy to acquire, and the city, Trallaris, at the end of the short journey held enough adventure for anyone leaving.
I tapped the page, my finger going from Brefalls to the mountain pass. I didn’t know what was on the other side of the mountains or if there were roads and towns between the mountain pass and Kemoor, but I did know it would be a shorter route. Straight as the bird flew, over the mountains instead of around them. Had I been able to get onto a ship it would have been another matter, but on my own two feet that wasn’t as easy.
I sat up, suddenly realizing that I had made my decision. I was going to Kemoor. It wasn’t going to be easy; in fact, I would be risking death at any number of things that could go wrong on a journey like that, but it was my only chance for answers. And I needed answers more than anything.
Mountain pass or follow the river?
Flipping through the book, I found depictions of various herbs and plants with lists of where to find them and how to use them in medicine. There were descriptions on which were edible and which could kill you. There were a few that said the roots were poisonous, but the leaves made a good tea. A couple of others had cooking directions to make them edible.
I also knew how to make a hook and fish and how to light a fire with nothing more than a rock and my knife.
More determined than ever, I settled down to read more of Winifrey’s book. I wanted to be prepared when I started my journey through the mountains, and her book was the best chance I had.
***
By the time the sun began to set, I had made my way through a quarter of the book, skimming over plants, their effects, and how to recognize them. I didn’t really study any more than a handful of them closely, but I was able to earmark several as useful. I’d have to go back to read them in greater detail later. Some I marked to read much later because they grew in the mountains, and a few pages about insects and other animals seemed like they could be helpful as well.
There wasn’t a lot about animals in the volume, and that worried me. I had heard of bears and large cats living in some parts of the mountains, but I didn’t know where or how to find them. Or avoid them.
I also found a helpful page about inks and paper and how to make them. Perhaps I could make my own book and expand upon the knowledge in Winifrey’s, but that would come much later. Survival was the most important thing at the moment.
I managed to find some pine needles described in Winifrey’s book as being good for tea and a fern growing at its base. The fern smelled of licorice when I picked it, and I scrubbed it over my skin to wash away the stink of the day. I couldn’t make tea without something to brew water in, but I did chew on the leaves to suck out the flavor since the hardtack was so plain and dry.
Fed and smelling of licorice, I contented myself with making a fire and falling into a fitful sleep wrapped in my stolen blankets.
Docks
I woke to aches and pains all over. Small rocks had wedged themselves under the soft bits of my flesh, bruising and straining my already hard-worked body.
The fire had gone out in the night and there was a thin layer of dew over my blanket, but I was relatively warm and dry under the wool. Thank the four dragons it was still summer, though I could feel fall starting to creep up on us. The nights were starting to cool, but they were still warm enough to sleep comfortably in the open. I didn’t know how I would survive a winter on my own in the wilderness, especially if I wanted to cross the mountains. I had to find shelter long before that, preferably somewhere near Kemoor.
I got up and started packing everything back into the improvised knapsack. It wasn’t much, so I couldn’t afford to leave anything behind. The fact that I had already identified two wild food sources thanks to Winifrey’s book had buoyed my spirits a bit. I still had a long way to go before I would be able to travel safely, but I had hope. At least at the edge of the village I could sneak in and steal food or warm clothes, but that wouldn’t last long either. Winter, and the snows that came with it, would end all of that. My former neighbors would be able to track me easily through the snow banks, if hypothermi
a didn’t kill me first, and I did not think they would appreciate a thief living at the edge of their town.
The biggest problem I had was water. At the moment, I had several streams nearby to drink and wash in, but I had no idea what to expect in the mountain pass or on the plains beyond. I had also discovered that many of the plants described in the book required water and cooking to make them edible. Without water and a pot to cook in I would be limited in what I could eat. And without skins to carry water in, I wouldn’t even be able to travel far from the valley.
Then there was the traveling. I didn’t know how far it was to Kemoor, but I knew that it would take a lot longer by foot—especially if I was carrying waterskins and food with me.
I thought of Gracy back in her stall. My father would be hitching her to a plow soon to help bring in the last of the summer crops. Or I could sneak back into town and steal her.
A horse was more than a farm animal; they were livelihoods for any family in the valley. A family lived and died because of their horse. They could haul huge loads, help erect buildings, and they made plowing fields a fraction of the work it would be by hand. An injured or stolen horse, however, could be a death sentence to many people.
I had no doubt that my father would find help among the community if he lost Gracy. With his wife dead and his daughter gone, they would take pity on him, helping him while they cast me out. Stealing Gracy might even make things easier for him. A stolen horse would just add to the list of their pity. But that might push them into hunting down the thief and taking the horse back.
Did I dare to take her from my father? However much it hurt that he—and the entire town—had abandoned me, he was still my father.
The consequences of stealing a horse couldn’t be worse than being lost and alone in the woods, unable to travel quickly. Just having her there, to help carry food and supplies, would make traveling faster. But I’d also need to feed and care for her while on the road. How did you find grain for a horse while in the mountains?
Shoving the second blanket back into the knapsack, I realized the choice had already been made for me. I needed to get to Kemoor before winter, and Gracy was my best chance to do that.
***
Sneaking back into town was simpler than I thought it would be. After the initial backlash from my mother's funeral, the townsfolk had gone back to work in their fields and the forests, happily forgetting the neighbor’s daughter that did not burn when tossed into the pyre. I could understand why they didn’t want to remember. Scandles did not help the gardens grow, or the trees falls. And if my father was as unstable as he must have seemed he might become a burden to the village.
They could blame it on his distress over my mother’s death, but I knew the truth. The distress started long before my mother’s ailment.
I avoided the roads, skirting the edge of town, out of sight of the farmhouses. I didn’t want to risk running into James again, or any of the younger children. I couldn’t bear to see the look in their eyes when they caught sight of me.
I made my way to the east side of town, closer to the water, docks, and the inn. There were always water kegs near the back of the inn. Used for watering animals, a quick drink by the locals, or just a good dunking for a drunk, the barrels were kept topped off and relatively fresh.
I slid into the backyard, keeping to the edge of the building, away from any stray lights from the windows. Thankfully, all the windows out back were high up on the wall to protect them from the occasional drunk. They let in light during the day but did nothing to help them see a thief, even a bad thief like me, sneaking onto the property.
There were four barrels beside the back door. A small metal bowl sat next to them, something to pour water for the thirsty sailors. It would serve just as well for me to boil my water in.
I grabbed the metal bowl and tucked it into a pocket. I also managed to find an empty waterskin behind the barrels, forgotten during a shipment.
A shed stood back behind the inn, the doors slightly ajar. There was little inside other than large casks of ale and wine, too heavy for anyone to carry away without drawing attention to themselves.
I moved inside, searching around the barrels for anything that might be useful. On a high shelf, I found a small knife sunk into the planks. I pulled it out and wrapped it, shoving it inside my pack as well.
With that bit of luck, I could safely travel—and cook the food I managed to get—without much trouble.
I tried the cellar doors as well, but they were locked tight—a pity. It would have been nice to find a small round of cheese or some dried fruit to pilfer, but I had other places to look before I lost hope. Waterskins were a fairly plentiful item. Lumberjacks, farmers, and fisherman all had to take them out with them when they plied their trade. But that didn’t mean you could find one just lying around in the open.
I slipped back out into the night and slowly closed the door behind me before making my way toward the docks.
I had only been to the docks a few times before. The first time, there had been three ships in port, each making ready to take away a large order of timber and dry goods at the end of summer. My mother had scooped me up in her arms and pointed out all the ships, their crewmen, the colors they wore, and the merchandise they bartered.
Each time I returned after that, I watched for the same colors, the same symbols and flags. Sometimes it was the same ships; other times there were new colors and flags. Almost all of them came to take away lumber, leaving behind ale, fabrics, and spices from far-off places.
As I stood at the edge of the pier, looking down at the one lonely little ship in port, I realized I knew next to nothing about them, or about the people that tended them. But the sight of the barge in port gave me a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach as I remembered that first time on the docks with my mother.
There was also a dull ache. Where there were people, there was bound to be food. Tea and breakfast cakes only lasted so long, and I wanted to be careful with my meager supplies.
With one ship in port, it wasn’t as bustling as it had been before. Most of the activity was centered around a large wagon that had pulled in next to the ship. Men were wrestling large crates down the gangway and up to the gate of the wagon.
I made my way up the wharf a bit, checking around the crates and boxes for anything that might be useful. A forgotten knife, or a waterskin, would have been perfect, but I only found scraps of paper and fruit rinds left over from someone's meal.
Poking around a large stack of boxes on the far side of the dock, I heard a cough. A man staggered out from behind the crates, his hands busy buttoning up his fly. When he saw me, he abandoned the buttons, letting his pants hang open halfway and giving me a long leer.
I could smell the booze on him before he got close. I tried to shy away to the other side of the wharf, avoiding him, but it was too late. He’d already locked his sights on me and was coming closer.
“Hello, girl, come to have a go of it?” he asked, trying to get between me and the shore.
I tried sidestepping him, but even in his intoxicated state he wasn’t having it. He reached out for me, his fingers brushing my forearms before I managed to pull back. I could feel a greasy stain left behind where he’d pawed at me.
“No,” I said, my voice sounding weak, even to me. “I’m not interested, sir. Please, I’m just trying to go home.”
“Come on, girl,” he said, leaning forward. He pushed me up against a crate, one hand on either side of me. “I only want a bit of fun.”
His rank breath washed over me, leaving me nauseated.
I pushed, hard, and he teetered back, giving me just enough room to scoot out from between him and the crate. But I wasn't safe. There were more crates blocking me in, and I was still afraid to announce my presence to the men at the other end of the dock.
“Too good for me? Is that it?” he asked, lunging again. His greasy hands grasped my shoulders, and I heard a rip.
“Unhand me, now!�
� I said, this time sounding a bit stronger, though still a loud whisper. “I don’t know what you think you’re about, but I am not that kind of lady.”
“Horas, let her go,” said a gruff voice.
I looked over the drunk man's shoulder, hope blooming for one brief moment before the fear clamped right back down again. No one in this town would be happy to see me. I quickly lowered my gaze again, trying to hide my face in the shadows, and resisted the temptation to look at my rescuer.
Horas loosened his grip but didn’t let go.
“Come on, Captain, I was just having a bit of fun with the lady.”
“She doesn’t seem to be having fun. Unhand her this moment.”
Horas let go, pushing me away with snarl, but said nothing as he turned away. He quickly pushed past the captain. I heard him yelp before he could disappear into the darkness and saw the captain holding him by one pinned arm before I hurriedly looked away again.
“Now then, girl,” the captain said, “look at me, please. I want to see that you’re all right.”
I hesitated. He was a captain of a ship; surely he didn’t know about the girl from the fire. Even if he had heard the story, would he really know my face, or believe the tale? Chancing it, I looked up at him.
Tall, handsome, dressed smartly in a uniform of the merchant seaman, he seemed young for his position. To his credit, he did not betray any disgust or malice when he saw me. He almost seemed concerned when he saw the ripped shoulder of my garment and my grease-smeared face.
“I’m sorry, sir, I wasn’t looking for trouble. I was just…” I couldn’t say it. I was looking for handouts? Looking for people’s trash to take home as my own? And what kind of home did I have?
I could feel my face warming with shame, and I twisted my skirts in my hands, trying to look anywhere but at the young man.