Witch Eye

Witch Eye © 2010 by SheaRyhai

Strangers in the North

Nothing like the beauty of morning sunlight to pull one from a nightmare; or the rough hands of an old woman shaking you awake…

“You must hurry,” Jane urged rousing Lance from the few hours of sleep he’d managed during the uncomfortable night after his little visit with Malocchio. “As Protector it’s your responsibility to prepare the horses and see everything is packed.”

Right, his bloody job as Protector. A Dabinya protecting the Malocchio. Gods protect him…

Half risen from the bed he fumbled around the edge, looking for his travel bag. Something large and firm smacked him across the back, followed by an even heavier object that crashed into his knee. More awake now, and irritated, he blinked down at the leather armor and sword.

“They are Jared’s spares, but as you’ve none of your own, I’m sure he won’t mind,” Jane called over her shoulder, hurriedly rummaging through the cupboards for scraps of wrapped bread, dried meat, and small bundles of medicine that were then shoved hurriedly into a simple cloth bag.

Deciding it was better to comply with Jane for now, Lance left the bed, dressed as quickly as he could behind the thin blanket wall, and gathered the few items from his pack he would take with him.

Somehow during Jane’s frantic attempts to prepare for their journey, she also cooked up a pot of porridge. She shoved a bowl in Lance’s hands, followed by a simple wooden spoon, and set the other on the table. Lance sighed at the clumpy mess, but forced a few spoonfuls down his throat. Who knew when or where they’d stop to eat.

The door to the tower flew open and in swept Malocchio, dressed in a long flowing black cape, with a simple enough travel bag strapped over her shoulder. The wheat hair was neatly tied back into braids again, save the wavy bangs that fell over her eye patch. She took her place at the table without a word, ignoring Lance completely, and ate the porridge with haste.

“Best finish that,” Jane urged Lance, picking up their bags. “I’ll see to it the horses are ready out front.”

“No need, Mr. Myrtle has already prepared them,” Malocchio commented dryly.

“Then I’ll just get your bags settled,” Jane murmured with a smile, leaving them to their uncomfortable silence.

Lance tried not to stare at her, and yet ignoring her seemed equally insulting. Putting down his half eaten bowl, he instead poured out two cups of water and carried one to the Malocchio. Her one eye glanced over as he placed it by her bowl, her gaze moving up along his arm to rest on the armor he wore.

“No skill at swords I imagine, Dabinya?” she asked with a taunting smile.

“I have trained with swords,” Lance answered civilly enough. “But I’m more skilled with magic than the blade.”

“Any fool can be taught to hold a sword; but using it to keep oneself alive, that’s a different matter. The same goes for magic too,” she snorted taking a long drink from the cup.

Lance wasn’t sure if it was her intention to insult or compliment with those words, and decided it was better not to know at present. Finishing his cup of water, he left it by his bowl near the fire. He could feel her gaze on him, that damned eye piercing through his mortal flesh to his soul. His throat clenched with embarrassment recalling the way he’d run away from her the night before when she’d cornered him on that little stool.

“Why are you here Dabinya?” she had asked with a knowing little smile, that eye patch and it’s cursed eye inches from his face. A shudder passed through him and he gritted his teeth.

Sighing heavily, he squared his shoulders, determined to take this one day at a time. Just one year… God’s it seemed like an eternity at this point.

He turned to find himself alone, the door left open. Grabbing the sword from the bed, he hastily walked outside where Jane and Mr. Myrtle held two horses: a black mare, and chestnut stallion. Malocchio mounted the black mare, who danced excitedly in place, setting off the small silver bells tied into it’s mane.

“There you are lad, strap it on boy,” Mr. Myrtle marched over to take the sword from him, sliding it into a scabbard, and strapping the belt around Lance’s waste with familiar ease. “Here’s a warm cloak for the road,” Mr. Myrtle unrolled a black cloak similar to Malocchio’s, and pinned it in placed against Lance’s shoulder with a silver clasp marked with Turoborus’ three serpents.

“Thank You,” Lance managed, feeling more comfort from the symbol than the sword. Myrtle grunted, and pulled the chestnut stallion over. “Get on then and do your duty boy. Bring her home safely.”

Up into the saddle he went, pleased to find the stirrups a comfortable length for his long legs. The chestnut seemed willing enough to comply to his hands, or perhaps it was just used to following the black mare, for it readily took its place beside Malocchio.

“We travel fast and hard,” Malocchio muttered. Her manner seemed suddenly darker, or perhaps more serious.

“Where are we headed?” Lance asked with genuine curiosity.

“To the North Swamps. Our orders are to find three Wist there,” She handed him an already open scroll bearing Turoborus’ seal. “In future all orders will be passed to you first, that is how it was with Jared.”

“Right,” Lance opened it quickly and found a sketch of three men, each as nasty looking as the last, inscribed with their names and bounty. “How far-”

“Two days ride,” Malocchio answered, and with a gentle kick to the mare, galloped down the road. The chestnut needed no urging to gallop after them. Lance shoved the scroll into his satchel, and did his best to remain on the horse. Riding this hard and fast wasn’t something he was accustomed too.

Morning chill faded away quickly into blistering heat. Both the chestnut and Lance were covered in sweat before Malcchio slowed the pace. Amazingly enough, neither her nor the mare appeared in the least bit tired. Biting back a groan as his right leg cramped up again, Lance tightened his hold on the reigns and waited for it to pass. Hunched over, he almost didn’t notice the mare had stopped, but the chestnut was more alert and drew to a halt beside her.

“We’ll rest here, briefly,” Malcchio ordered, eyes locked in the distant. “There’s a river near by, best cool yourself and the horse off.”

“Thank You,” Lance panted, feeling refreshed at the very mention of a river and water.

Malcchio led them down a slope to a promising flowing river. She dismounted, led her mare to the water to drink, then dropped the reigns and wandered off. Lanced watched her, conflicted between the need to keep an eye on her, and the desire rinse and change into some dryer clothes. His weak legs won the argument, and after seeing that the chestnut had a good place to drink, he wandered down river a little, and stripped off his armor. Once down to his drawers he waded out into the river. Smooth stone and mud beneath his feet as the cool water sang against his hot skin. Ducking under, Lance closed his eyes, taking pleasure in the sound of the water rushing around him. For a moment his worries washed away. Using his arms to keep himself below the surface he whispered a simple spell. The water cleared, no longer blurry with mud and dirt, and Lance breathed in the clean air from the bubble around him.

He hadn’t used this spell since he was a boy, hiding from his father in the pond near their estate…

The memory made him smile, but reality reminded him that this was not the time to be playing games of hide and seek. Pressing his feet against the river floor he pushed himself up. The wind blowing through leaves, chirping birds, and the snorts from the horses came crashing into his ears. His senses refreshed, the magic in his veins humming from fresh use, Lance focused on relaxing the sore muscles in his legs, back, and arms.

Wadding to shore, Lance reached into his sack for a towel, but froze hearing the snap of a twig from across the river. Fingers pulled the towel out, as Lance turned calmly to regard the forest on the other side. He was being watched, but by what or who he could not determine. Drying his face, he whispered a small searching spell. When he lowered the towel his eyes shifted from their hazel blue to forest green. The world shifted into layers of heat, the river a cold black, the muddy stone shore a bluish gray, and the horses beside him orange and red. Across the river he could see another source of heat, a deer.

With a small sigh of relief he ended the spell and dried himself off quickly. The horses wandered from the river to eat some of the wide grass near the slope. Once finished putting on a new pair of clothes, Lance rinsed his sweaty pair out in the river, then hung them on tree branches to dry.

He was beginning to worry about Malocchio. Where exactly had she wandered off too?

As if sensing his concern she appeared walking calmly down the slop, still managing to look more refreshed than he.

“Where did you-”

“If you are done with laundry, I suggest we get back on the road,” Malocchio cut him off, offering the mare sliced pieces of apple. The chestnut watched with lamenting eyes, that turned on Lance with quiet sorrow.

“Of course, just thought I’d make use of the river,” Lance hurriedly gathered up his still damp clothes, only to be startled by a small peel of laughter behind him.

“You use your magic to play games in the river, but not to dry your clothes?” she asked quizzically. Lanced whirled around, mouth hanging open, as an embarrassed flush spread across his cheeks.

“You - were watching?”

“You needed the rest, and this was as good as any opportunity to learn a bit about you,” Malocchio shrugged, walking over to the chestnut and offering him some apple slices the stallion greedily accepted.

He looked especially displeased by her truthfulness. Karisa smirked as she patted the chestnut’s neck. Letting him think she was watching him at all times wouldn’t hurt after all, and it would keep him from wondering where she’d slipped off too. A single touch had lent her memories from the mare and chestnut, which had told her all she needed to know of Lance’s unusual behavior in her absence.

“Really what is the sense in bathing when we still have half a days ride ahead of us?” she commented with a small shake of her head before leaving him and his damp clothes to mount the mare.

Katchu laughed quietly in her ear from inside Karisa’s hood. He whispered urgently about the Wist presence near by, not the ones they were looking for though. Strange still, the Wist were traveling in small groups now, and by all appearances seemed to be heading North as well. Perhaps that is why the orders had included three names instead of the usual one.

Waiting for Lance to shove his wet clothes in a bag and mount the chestnut, Karisa kept a watchful eye on the opposite river bank. A small blue trail was fading from the brush just beyond the river. She wondered briefly if Lance knew he had been watched.

He was arrogant, helpless, useless, and not at all like Jared. Karisa stopped the mare to wait for the chestnut and it’s tired rider. Everything from the painful discomfort of his expression, to the way he slouched tensely in the saddle said he was in pain, yet he stubbornly refused to ask Karisa to stop.

Pride and stupidity…

She could sense the small town ahead, and as much as she disliked spending time near groups of people she did not know, her “Protector” needed a good rest and some food. Tomorrow was going to be even worse when his muscles really started to protest.

“Dabinya,” she called out to him. He stiffened, bur raised his gaze from the road to her. “There’s should be an inn ahead, we’ll rest early tonight.” His face brightened with what might have been a smile, but he simply nodded wearily and urged the chestnut forward.

The country side had long thinned of trees. Only tall swaying grass and patches of water, that spilled over the road from time to time, could be seen for miles. They saw the smoke from chimneys long before they saw the town. Karisa pulled her hood carefully down over her eye patch.

A few scattered buildings, mostly taverns and small shops, made up the little patch of dry earth. The citizens were even more scarce, and travelers through the swamps were rare. Most people avoided the North since it was a known refugee for Wist and other cut-throat vagabonds.

Some chickens were being chased down by a half- naked man dressed only in pants and boots. He ran swearing after them only to slip and fall unsuccessfully in the mud. “By the gods I will roast and eat you bastards!” he spat, wiping mud from his bearded face.

“Is there an inn with rooms, hot food, and a bath?” Karisa asked, pulling up the mare beside him. The mud spattered fellow glanced over the horses tack, eyes resting curiously on the silver bells, before eyeing Karisa with interest.

“There is, Black Water Inn, just down there,” he pointed a stubby finger to run down building whose door hung open, swaying slightly in the breeze. “But I’m not sure I’d recommend it to a lady,” the man added rising to his feet. “Yakavery isn’t the sort of gentleman who knows how to act around a lady, if you catch my meaning.”

“No fear of that, my Protector will see that he knows his place,” Karisa smirked, not even bothering to glance back at the sorry looking Lance. Urging the mare to the front of the establishment, she waited for Lance to join her, watching him expectantly. “Well, Protector. Are you going to get us our rooms?”

Lance nodded, wincing as he shifted in the saddle. “Anything else you want, like a bath, food?”

“Let’s wait to see the innkeeper before we decide if we want to eat his food,” Karisa answered eyeing the clumps of mud dried to the floor leading inside the inn. “You may order a bath if you like. I think you’ll find the river was cleaner though.”

Moving a leg stiffly over the saddle, Lance dismounted. He stood there for a while, clinging to the chestnut for support, before walking up to the open door. His steps awkwardly spaced apart.

Holding back an amused giggle, Karisa turned the mare towards the road leading out of town. Tugging the hood back slightly, she relaxed the muscles in her eye.

Colors dimmed and died. The chicken chaser blurred across the road in gray, black, and white. Slowly they emerged, small dust like trails of blue, green, and red. Wist had been this way, none in the past few days though. Karisa turned her gaze to the inn, none of the Wist had stopped there. Either because they did not trust the innkeeper to keep their presence a secret, or because they were in a hurry to get somewhere.

Color came back into focus as she blinked. Odd, she pondered pulling her hood back into place. Nearly every trail was headed North. Katchu sniffed, moving restlessly around her neck.

Lance reappeared with a stout little fellow, almost short enough to be considered a dwarf.

“He says he has two rooms, and a small stable in the back for our horses. But no stable lad, so we’ll have to see to them ourselves,” Lance explained.

“Are the stables dry?” Karisa asked critically, eyeing the short man with dislike.

“They dryer then sleeping in the swamps,” the innkeeper barked, spitting black tobacco in her direction. “If its not fine enough for you, you’re welcome to keep moving. Won’t find another inn for days.”

“Will have to do then,” Karisa shrugged and dismounted. Tossing the reigns to Lance, she walked past them both into the inn. “Show me the rooms than,” she ordered.

The rooms smelled of mold and dust. Karisa quickly opened up the windows, leaving the door open behind her. Yakavery watched her every move with beady black eyes, standing impatiently in the door way as she gingerly lifted the blankets between her gloved fingers.

“No maids to do the washing either, I presume,” Karisa remarked, eying the various stains of dirt, sweat, and other less pleasant traces.

“They come and go like the wind here in the swamps. Usually attach themselves to the first likely husband heading east,” Yakavery snorted. “Lot of people headed North these days. Most don’t even bother staying the night. Strange behavior, strange.”

“Seen anyone particularly strange?” Karisa inquired curiously. “Perhaps a woman with scarlet hair?”

Yakavery studied her quietly, before barking out a laugh.

“Lady, you are among the strangest looking travelers I’ve had in this inn for a while,” he returned, walking towards her palm up. “That will be 5 poldi for the rooms, bath, horse feed, and dinner.”

“This room hasn’t been cleaned in weeks, the bath we both known will do little to clean, horse feed is acceptable, and dinner I’ve yet to see,” Karisa scoffed. “3 poldi.”

Yakavery puffed out his chest, glaring up at her, before smiling shrewdly.

“You say you’re looking for a woman with scarlet hair. I haven’t seen her myself, but there is another lad here who asked the same question,” Yakavery spoke with a knowing wink. “Perhaps you’d like a word with him?”

“He’s still here then is he?” Karisa tilted her head stepping closer to the man.

“Leaving in the morning,” Yakavery nodded holding out his palm again.

“Arrange a meeting here when you bring us our supper,” Karisa ordered, slipping 4 plodi from her purse into the innkeepers hand. He grinned happily, but squeaked in fear as her hand closed around his fist tightly. “It better be a presentable dinner, dwarf,” she hissed.

The innkeeper bobbed his head assuredly, unaware that Karisa was reading his mind, already learning the location of this young man, his unusual spear, and the room he resided in.