"You touch him!" The little voice penetrated Allen's fogged brain, but his only reaction was to try to go back into that blessed blankness, which – at least – didn't have shrill voices telling people to touch other people.
"Not me! You touch him!" The other voice was bit mellower, signifying an older child.
"Mom's gonna be mad." The smaller one said, in a warning tone of voice. Allen really didn't want to move but those voices sounded odd to him. He also wondered – as well as his fogged brain would allow him to – what were they talking about? Some sort of animal, an injured one? Or maybe they were the children of a noble, both wanting but afraid to touch a Companion. He would have gotten up to explain that the Companion wouldn't hurt them, and ask why their mother would have been mad for them to touch it, but he couldn't get the energy to.
"Let's go get her." The one he had pegged as the older one said. Footsteps departing accompanied that statement. Allen tried to move but felt very odd. The younger one following quickly behind.
Just then, a yell came from a different direction.
"Girls! Time for lunch!" Allen tried again to open his eyes, but the light penetrating his eyelids was too bright for the headache forming behind his eyes. Overhead birds chirped. Off to his right he was sure that he heard the stamping of hooves and off to the left came the lowing of a cow. Where was he? There were no cows in Companion's Field! What had happened? The last he remembered was sitting under a tree, in the Grove, and playing the song he'd found in the Library. What had the song done?
"Mama! Mama!" The smallest voice was growing softer, following the sound of running feet. "Mama! There's another man in your trees!" The voice carried well, even though the speaker was a bit far away. Allen couldn't help thinking that the child would make a good singer, even if she never got to Bardic. He could hear the woman murmur something and the groans after meant the children had been sent inside.
This time, it was light footsteps that approached. The steps were placed carefully, tentatively. A loud metal click accompanied the prodding of a toe in the bottom of his boot.
"Whoever you are, you need to get the hell out of here, before I call the sheriff." Allen tried to move again but only a groan escaped his lips. He ached in places he wasn't even familiar with, and his head didn't bear thinking about. "I don't care how drunk you were last night, buddy, get out of here."
Had he been drunk? Was that why he couldn't remember? No, he'd never been drunk, having seen what it had done to too many people, and what those people had done. No, his head hurt like every Companion in Haven had just charged through it, twice, and it was ringing. Yet his stomach wasn't upset. So, what had happened? He tried to speak again, licking his very dry lips. Again, all that escaped was a strangled sort of groan.
"Look, mister, you need to get off my land." The voice was very melodic and musical, and he decided that it was from her that the girl-child had gotten her voice. "Mister?" Now the voice sounded tentative, worried.
When the shadow finally fell over his face, Allen was able to crack open his dry eyes. The only thing he saw was a shadow outlined in a golden halo. "You ok?" She asked him, gently. The words certainly belied her earlier threat. The only thing Allen could do was blink in confusion. .
Maretta looked at the young man, staring up at her with confused eyes. Her first thought was that she had to get him off her farm. But, she didn't smell alcohol, or any thing else to indicate drugs were his problem. He looked very dazed and confused. She sniffed the air again, trying to scent something to give her an idea as to why he was here. Or, maybe, where he had come from.
His clothes told her that he was an oddball to say the least. The only time she'd seen clothes like that was on High days or at the local Ren Faire. The local one was still going on for the next few weeks; maybe he was one of theirs. She didn't know who she could call though. Maybe, she should just call the sheriff and have him deal with it.
Still, the guy didn't seem to be a psycho or anything. Of course she'd said that about her first husband and look where that had gotten her. Oh well,she thought, sighing. The local sheriff didn't like her much, anyways. She wasn't going to bother him until it was necessary, and even then he would seem grudging about it.
"Can you stand?" she asked with a heavy sigh. "If yes, I can get you up to the house and take care of you." A brief worry about her daughters crossed her mind. She'd have her dogs sleep with them tonight. The dogs would protect them. She could protect herself. But she didn't like the idea of having another man in the house, not after the last one…
The man at her feet nodded slightly, then winced again. From the looks of things, she wouldn't have to worry about protecting anyone from him. With another sigh and a heave, she put her shoulder under his and helped him to his feet. He made a small protest, when his two packs slid off his shoulder, to rest on the ground. She looked back at them and shook her head.
"I'll send one of the girls to get them, ok? You're not light and I got work to do." She started limping him towards the house. One of the girls jumped up from the table to open the door for them, when they made it that far. A large dog came over to sniff him and growled a bit but left at a word from her.
A woman with a farm alone?Allen had certainly heard of such things but it wasn't usual. Of course, most land was farmed communally anyways. He sighed as she laid him down on an oddly extended chair, a soft pillow under his head. It was rather like some of the bed-like chairs, where the Mind-Healers occasionally seated their patients. He wanted to close his eyes again, but the woman fascinated him, as did the room.
Across from him, a small box, with glass in the front, sat under several oblong boxes with lit numbers. He wondered how that was possible. Candles inside of it? Or maybe she was Mage-Gifted? It would explain how she was able to farm so much land alone. But if she was Mage-Gifted, she didn't wear any robes that he recognized. Could that song have Gated him into the Empire, or even further?
In the far corner another box with inset glass sat dark as well. This one sat on top of a desk with many papers strewn about it. Opposite that, there was a small corner with a small table and chairs and what looked to be toys. Had she been some sort of Unaffiliate, and then had to return to her farm to help her parents? It must have been a very rich farm, then, judging from all the glass.
Maretta asked one of her daughters to bring her a glass of water. Hopefully, that would help the man get his voice back. Then he could tell her what he thought he was doing here.
He stared around the house, making her nervous. Was this some sort of ploy, so that he knew what was inside of her house? Was he some sort of thief?Damned clever one to come up with an idea like this, though not clever enough. But I doubt it. He just looks … lost and confused.
The man took a sip of the water. Judging from his painful expression when he swallowed, his throat was as dry as his lips looked. He swallowed again, then looked at her.
"Where am I?" he asked in a soft tenor, green eyes looking at her in confusion.
The sound of his voice startled her for a moment, and she covered her confusion by getting him to drink more. When she was sure she could talk without stuttering, she answered him. "On my farm. Though how you got here, that I don't know." Behind her, she knew her daughters were watching the stranger curiously.
"Lunch done, already? Then there are chores to be done."
Allen chuckled a bit, as, in universal child fashion, both girls disappeared back into the kitchen. His melodic laugh caused his benefactor to turn her gaze back to him. It was then he noticed her clothes. She wore a type of leggings he didn't recognize. They were almost skin tight and made of some light blue material. Her top was made of a soft looking material, colored in a criss-crossing pattern of different shades of red and black.
Her eyes were an amazing shade of blue, that he had only seen on the few Tayledras around Haven. The hands holding his glass were callused and well worked. Her arms looked strong, like she had always worked for herself.
There was no sign of a husband or mate anywhere. Allen wondered where the man was. If he were a mercenary, it would explain why she was alone. He had to admit though, she looked like she could take care of herself.
From somewhere, beyond the only door to the room, came a high pitched ring that pierced his head, causing him to groan involuntarily again. The woman looked at him sharply and winced in sympathy. "I'll bring you something for your head," she said, standing and dusting off her hands. She left the glass beside him on the floor.
He heard her voice coming from the kitchen again. Assuming she was talking to her daughters again, he relaxed a bit, closing his eyes to block out the light in the room. Soft footsteps made him open them again. Standing in the doorway was the younger child. He smiled gently, hoping to put the child at ease. She crept a bit farther into the room, a finger stuck in her mouth.
Now that he truly saw her, he saw her mother's stamp. She bore the same crystalline blue eyes and soft brown hair. She crept a bit closer, looking at him warily. "My name is Allen. What is yours?" He asked it softly, reaching for his glass. His throat was getting extremely dry again.
The child didn't answer, merely blinking her eyes at him. He kept the soft smile on his face, hoping to encourage the child to talk to him. He sipped at the water, tasting the slight tart taste that had escaped him earlier.
The older child came in, carrying his two satchels, carefully. She looked at her sister and then eased closer to him. "Mister?" She said softly. He allowed his smile to widen. "Mama said you wanted these."
Very carefully, she set the two parcels on his legs.
Allen eased himself up and touched both packs lovingly. They didn't look like they'd been damaged in anyway. He opened the gittern first, checking that his beloved instrument was alright. His fingers quickly ran over it, checking strings and the wood. The two girls watched him, interested in what he was doing.
From the kitchen, their mother's raised voice could be heard. "Look, I don't care whatyou have to do. Just get the divorce done! I am not staying married to that bastard any longer than I have to!"
It bothered Allen that he couldn't hear another voice answering her. The two young girls shared fearful looks and moved away from the doorway, going to sit quietly with their toys. He heard the woman say good-bye and put something down.
A heavy sigh and some banging later and she was back next to him, holding out to white ovals. "These will help."
He looked at them oddly but took them and began to chew. The woman laughed at the awful face he made as whatever she had given him dissolved, leaving a rancid taste in his mouth.
"You're supposed to swallow them whole, not chew them," she said chuckling, handing him his water. He gulped it down trying to wash the taste from his mouth.
"My name is Allen," he told her.
"I am Maretta," she replied. "You're welcome to rest and share dinner with us." She said rising to her feet. "The girls and I have work to finish." With that, she left him alone to rest.
Allen watched her leave, wondering where he was, that such a fiery, gentle woman was all alone.
Maretta took her daughters with her and returned to the outside. Allen unsettled her, more than she cared to admit. That phone call from her lawyer hadn't helped her nerves either. She whistled up her most faithful farm dog, Forge. "Guard," she commanded. While he lay across her door, she led her daughters out to the barn, where chores awaited them.
