Phoenix Unbound
Page 19
Gilene’s stomach rumbled in answer, and both women laughed. Halani stood. “I’ll be back with some broth and a little bread.”
The scent of herbs filled the wagon’s small space when she returned and set down a bowl of warm broth and a hunk of bread on a tray atop a storage chest. She helped Gilene sit up, tucking pillows behind her as a back rest. “If you’re too weak, I can feed you.”
Keeping her hands as steady as possible, Gilene reached for the bowl and spoon Halani offered. “I can do it.” She hated the aftermath of her magic use as much as the reason for using it. Left weak as a babe for several days, and just as pitiful, she had to rely on her family’s help. Coming from strangers, it was even worse. She’d eat the soup on her own if it half killed her.
The first sip made her eyebrows lift. “This is better than good. Did you make it?”
Halani chortled. “I only wish I possessed such skill with a cooking pot. That’s Marata’s doing. He’s the caravan’s cook and used to run the kitchens on a Kraelian nobleman’s estate. If my uncle had to get rid of all of us save one, he’d keep Marata.”
“Your uncle is the caravan leader?” The chime of small bells sounded outside, the mark of those who refused to join the Trade Guild and obey its stricter laws.
Halani straightened the blankets at Gilene’s feet before offering her a napkin. “Aye. When it’s safe enough and there isn’t a war or two going on, our caravan travels most of the hinterland roads. Our best profits come from the garrisons.” She frowned. “I’m sorry to hear the thieves took your horse and goods. Your husband said they even stole your dye pots.”
Gilene tried not to choke on her broth. Azarion—Valdan, whatever he chose to call himself at the moment—spun a false tale better than a spider did a web. And she was forced to validate his lies. She dabbed at her lips with the napkin. “All can be replaced. We’re just lucky to be alive.” The last, at least, was a hard-won truth. Between the Rites of Spring and the predator in Midrigar, it was a wonder neither of them was dead yet.
She surrendered her now empty bowl to Halani, who nodded. “Indeed. Some who thieve think nothing of murdering their marks. You’re fortunate your husband knew how to fight.” A wistful note entered her voice. “He’s a handsome man who obviously cares for you. That’s a treasure none can steal.”
Gilene was saved from replying to that profound misconception by the arrival of a woman older than Halani but with similar features. The space in the wagon grew a little more cramped as she lingered at the entrance and grinned, eyes bright with a child’s curiosity.
Halani gestured to her. “This is my mother, Asil. Mama, this is Gilene, Valdan’s wife.”
Asil waved, and again Gilene had the notion that she faced a child wearing an adult woman’s face. She recalled Azarion’s earlier threat to kill their hosts if Gilene revealed his identity. He had said Halani’s mother was simple.
Even Asil’s voice was that of a much younger girl, high and sweet. “Hamod says come to the front, Hali. He wants to talk to you.”
Halani sighed. “Hamod is my uncle,” she clarified for Gilene. “I’ll return soon. Mama, can you help Gilene if she needs it while I’m gone?”
As soon as Halani exited the wagon, Asil scooted closer, and her smile turned beseeching. “Can I braid your hair? It’s very soft.”
Gilene wondered what had happened to Asil that made her the child and her daughter the parent. There was an engaging appeal about the older woman, an innocence in her interactions that most people had lost by the time they were nine or ten years of age.
Gilene’s hair felt stuck to her scalp, in need of a good washing and thorough combing. She welcomed Asil’s request. “Of course, though I don’t have a comb.”
The other woman practically bounced where she sat. Her hand dove into a pocket of her colorful apron, emerging with a prized comb. “I do,” she crowed, her smile growing larger. “And I’ll be gentle; I promise.”
She fluffed the pillows higher behind Gilene, tucked the blanket under her arms, and set to unraveling the locks of hair that had tangled themselves into mats. Asil was still working at her task with gusto and regaling Gilene with anecdotes regarding the caravan and its close-knit members when her daughter returned.
Halani sighed, though her features were soft with affection as she gazed at her mother. “You are the worst sort of gossip, Mama. What nonsense have you been pouring into Gilene’s ear while I was gone?”
Asil laughed, the sound one of such joy it almost brought tears to Gilene’s eyes. She couldn’t recall the last time she heard anyone laugh in such a way. “All true, Hali. You know I don’t lie. You remember when Supan’s breeches fell down around his ankles while he was courting that girl in Silfer?” More peals of laughter, and Halani and Gilene joined her.
“We’re a ridiculous lot sometimes, Gilene, but it makes for good stories,” Halani said.
Gilene hid a wince when Asil’s comb snagged on a particularly nasty knot. “I like Asil’s stories. They speak of family and love between you.” Something thin and frayed in her own family. There was duty and devotion, both driven by guilt, and not much else.
She wondered what her mother and siblings were doing at the moment, whether they fretted over her and worried for her safety. The village as a whole, she knew, would be in a state of panic. Someone had taken their fire witch, the one person they relied on to protect the other village women from the Rites of Spring each year. She shook away the growing darkness of her thoughts. They had no place here with two women who knew her as nothing other than Gilene, wife of Valdan.
“I tell funny stories, but Hali tells the best ones,” Asil bragged of her daughter. “One each night after supper if she isn’t sick or the rest of us too tired.”
“Or too bored,” Halani quipped back.
Asil’s expression creased into an indignant pinch. “No one is ever bored with your stories, Hali.”
Halani bent and kissed the top of her mother’s head. “If you say so, Mama.” She straightened and gave Gilene a wink. “When she’s done combing out your hair, we can help you dress and leave the wagon to get some air. It will do your legs good to walk about. That’s if you’re up to it.”
Gilene leapt at the offer, achy from lying down for so long and desperate to see the sky. “Oh yes, I’m well enough for that.”
Halani bent to a basket wedged between a chest and a wagon bow. “I washed your clothes while you healed.” She pulled a neatly folded tunic out of the basket and shook out the wrinkles. “We’re near a stream and will camp close by for the night. Valdan says he’ll take you there so you can bathe. You can wear this tunic for now, and take your clothes with you to dress once you’re done.”
The offer of a bath excited her, and Gilene swore she could hear the trickling murmur of the stream. Still she hesitated. Her reason warned her that to go alone was far too dangerous, even for a healthy woman fleet of foot, and at the moment, she was neither of those. The thought of Azarion acting as her watchdog seemed just as threatening. “I don’t want to bother . . . my husband.” The word stung her tongue, and she did her best to hide her distaste. Halani’s puzzled look hinted she might not have succeeded.
The scent of herbs filled the wagon’s small space when she returned and set down a bowl of warm broth and a hunk of bread on a tray atop a storage chest. She helped Gilene sit up, tucking pillows behind her as a back rest. “If you’re too weak, I can feed you.”
Keeping her hands as steady as possible, Gilene reached for the bowl and spoon Halani offered. “I can do it.” She hated the aftermath of her magic use as much as the reason for using it. Left weak as a babe for several days, and just as pitiful, she had to rely on her family’s help. Coming from strangers, it was even worse. She’d eat the soup on her own if it half killed her.
The first sip made her eyebrows lift. “This is better than good. Did you make it?”
Halani chortled. “I only wish I possessed such skill with a cooking pot. That’s Marata’s doing. He’s the caravan’s cook and used to run the kitchens on a Kraelian nobleman’s estate. If my uncle had to get rid of all of us save one, he’d keep Marata.”
“Your uncle is the caravan leader?” The chime of small bells sounded outside, the mark of those who refused to join the Trade Guild and obey its stricter laws.
Halani straightened the blankets at Gilene’s feet before offering her a napkin. “Aye. When it’s safe enough and there isn’t a war or two going on, our caravan travels most of the hinterland roads. Our best profits come from the garrisons.” She frowned. “I’m sorry to hear the thieves took your horse and goods. Your husband said they even stole your dye pots.”
Gilene tried not to choke on her broth. Azarion—Valdan, whatever he chose to call himself at the moment—spun a false tale better than a spider did a web. And she was forced to validate his lies. She dabbed at her lips with the napkin. “All can be replaced. We’re just lucky to be alive.” The last, at least, was a hard-won truth. Between the Rites of Spring and the predator in Midrigar, it was a wonder neither of them was dead yet.
She surrendered her now empty bowl to Halani, who nodded. “Indeed. Some who thieve think nothing of murdering their marks. You’re fortunate your husband knew how to fight.” A wistful note entered her voice. “He’s a handsome man who obviously cares for you. That’s a treasure none can steal.”
Gilene was saved from replying to that profound misconception by the arrival of a woman older than Halani but with similar features. The space in the wagon grew a little more cramped as she lingered at the entrance and grinned, eyes bright with a child’s curiosity.
Halani gestured to her. “This is my mother, Asil. Mama, this is Gilene, Valdan’s wife.”
Asil waved, and again Gilene had the notion that she faced a child wearing an adult woman’s face. She recalled Azarion’s earlier threat to kill their hosts if Gilene revealed his identity. He had said Halani’s mother was simple.
Even Asil’s voice was that of a much younger girl, high and sweet. “Hamod says come to the front, Hali. He wants to talk to you.”
Halani sighed. “Hamod is my uncle,” she clarified for Gilene. “I’ll return soon. Mama, can you help Gilene if she needs it while I’m gone?”
As soon as Halani exited the wagon, Asil scooted closer, and her smile turned beseeching. “Can I braid your hair? It’s very soft.”
Gilene wondered what had happened to Asil that made her the child and her daughter the parent. There was an engaging appeal about the older woman, an innocence in her interactions that most people had lost by the time they were nine or ten years of age.
Gilene’s hair felt stuck to her scalp, in need of a good washing and thorough combing. She welcomed Asil’s request. “Of course, though I don’t have a comb.”
The other woman practically bounced where she sat. Her hand dove into a pocket of her colorful apron, emerging with a prized comb. “I do,” she crowed, her smile growing larger. “And I’ll be gentle; I promise.”
She fluffed the pillows higher behind Gilene, tucked the blanket under her arms, and set to unraveling the locks of hair that had tangled themselves into mats. Asil was still working at her task with gusto and regaling Gilene with anecdotes regarding the caravan and its close-knit members when her daughter returned.
Halani sighed, though her features were soft with affection as she gazed at her mother. “You are the worst sort of gossip, Mama. What nonsense have you been pouring into Gilene’s ear while I was gone?”
Asil laughed, the sound one of such joy it almost brought tears to Gilene’s eyes. She couldn’t recall the last time she heard anyone laugh in such a way. “All true, Hali. You know I don’t lie. You remember when Supan’s breeches fell down around his ankles while he was courting that girl in Silfer?” More peals of laughter, and Halani and Gilene joined her.
“We’re a ridiculous lot sometimes, Gilene, but it makes for good stories,” Halani said.
Gilene hid a wince when Asil’s comb snagged on a particularly nasty knot. “I like Asil’s stories. They speak of family and love between you.” Something thin and frayed in her own family. There was duty and devotion, both driven by guilt, and not much else.
She wondered what her mother and siblings were doing at the moment, whether they fretted over her and worried for her safety. The village as a whole, she knew, would be in a state of panic. Someone had taken their fire witch, the one person they relied on to protect the other village women from the Rites of Spring each year. She shook away the growing darkness of her thoughts. They had no place here with two women who knew her as nothing other than Gilene, wife of Valdan.
“I tell funny stories, but Hali tells the best ones,” Asil bragged of her daughter. “One each night after supper if she isn’t sick or the rest of us too tired.”
“Or too bored,” Halani quipped back.
Asil’s expression creased into an indignant pinch. “No one is ever bored with your stories, Hali.”
Halani bent and kissed the top of her mother’s head. “If you say so, Mama.” She straightened and gave Gilene a wink. “When she’s done combing out your hair, we can help you dress and leave the wagon to get some air. It will do your legs good to walk about. That’s if you’re up to it.”
Gilene leapt at the offer, achy from lying down for so long and desperate to see the sky. “Oh yes, I’m well enough for that.”
Halani bent to a basket wedged between a chest and a wagon bow. “I washed your clothes while you healed.” She pulled a neatly folded tunic out of the basket and shook out the wrinkles. “We’re near a stream and will camp close by for the night. Valdan says he’ll take you there so you can bathe. You can wear this tunic for now, and take your clothes with you to dress once you’re done.”
The offer of a bath excited her, and Gilene swore she could hear the trickling murmur of the stream. Still she hesitated. Her reason warned her that to go alone was far too dangerous, even for a healthy woman fleet of foot, and at the moment, she was neither of those. The thought of Azarion acting as her watchdog seemed just as threatening. “I don’t want to bother . . . my husband.” The word stung her tongue, and she did her best to hide her distaste. Halani’s puzzled look hinted she might not have succeeded.
