Chapter 2
When her eyes opened again, she felt pain. Not the agony of her injury. Her broken arm had been reset and bound in a splint. This time it was a combination of the myriad of cuts and scratches she had received along the way.
She was lying in a bed, covered in a thick blanket. The pillow under her head felt like a cloud, and the soft mat beneath her felt like a piece of heaven.
The rotting, shredded rags she had been wearing were gone and there was a pungent, medicinal smell in the air. Here eyes fluttered open and she saw the various pale spots on her uninjured arm that were the treated remnants of cuts and scrapes.
She looked about her in confusion. The cottage was a small, roughly circular edifice, made of stacked stone, held by a dark mortar of some kind. Thick beams crossed overhead, covered with an interweaving of smaller branches and thatch.
A small fire cackled merrily in the center of the one room structure, driving the moisture from the place.
Her eyes moved around the room. A small table, two rickety looking chairs, two small closed chests, and walking stick leaning against the opening that served as the only door, along with various other odds and ends.
Several pots and pans hung opposite the table and besides them, a bow, quiver of hand hewn arrows, and a sword in an old battered scabbard hanging by a thick leather belt.
Opposite the crackling flames, she saw a second roll of cloth, spread out along the floor, obviously a bed roll.
Something fluttered above her, and she saw a small bird, probably a sparrow, perched among the smaller branches above. It looked down at her, cocked its head and twittered.
She tried to move, and felt her body protest. She was dressed in a simple pale frock, like a night shirt. It was far too large for her, and obviously made for a man, but it felt like silk after the ragged tatters she had been wearing.
The bird twittered again, as if it disproved of her trying to move. She looked up at it again and groaned.
A figure entered through the low door and she immediately recognized the wizened face as the one before the darkness had taken her.
His face brightened when he saw her staring back at him. He removed a long wooden pipe from between his teeth and grinned.
"Well," he said in a soft, fatherly voice. "I was wondering if you'd be taking my bed for much longer, now."
He set the pipe in a small wooden holder and moved to the table.
"Nice to be seeing you awake there, lassie," he continued. He tossed two rabbits onto the table and began cleaning them with practiced ease. "You've been dozing now for about three days after all."
"Who," Hope's voice cracked when she tried to speak.
"Now, now," he replied. "There'll be plenty of time for all that once you've supped."
He finished cleaning the rabbits and set the meat in a shallow pan which he immediately placed over the flames. Then he went to a small pail and dipped a cup, pouring the water over the meat and allowing it to simmer.
He returned and dipped the cup again, bringing it towards her.
"For the moment," he continued conversationally. "My name is Ian, and you are in my house."
She jerked away from him in fright, awakening the pain in her body with fresh flourish. She winced.
Ian halted and stepped back, seating himself in a chair several feet out of reach.
"You've seen some bad times would be my guess," he said sympathetically. His gray eyes softened as he looked at her. He reached over slowly and set the cup of water on a small table next to the bed. "All I can offer you is that nothing untowardly will happen to you whilst you're in my keeping, lassie. You have my word."
She tried to sit herself up, but her body refused to cooperate. Her eyes fixed on the cup with desperate longing, and then she looked at him, seated patiently nearby, watching her intently.
"Let me help you, love," he offered gently.
When she finally nodded, he rose and moved with gentle deliberation. His wrinkled hand slid behind her back and helped her up while the other held the cup to her lips.
"There we are," he said with a soft smile.
She water passed her lips and she coughed suddenly.
"Gently now," Ian said patiently. "Take it gently. You've been out of sorts for a while."
He seemed to be studying her. "What's your name, love?"
"Hope," She managed to choke after a bit.
"Well," he chuckled agreeably. "That sounds promising, doesn't it?"
She eyed him dubiously.
He simply studied her for a few more moments and then helped her lay back down again before going back to the simmering meat on the fire.
She watched him the entire time he worked. He was lean and tall, with skin wrinkled like old leather. His long beard and hair were braided in non local fashion. He wore a batter old tunic and kilt, with fabric that rose up and over his left shoulder, held in place by a large broach.
On his feet were old, beaten boots of sewn animal hide. And a thick belt encircled his waist upon which hung a simple pouch.
He added some herbs from a nearby series of jars and stirred the stew, his eyes only occasionally flicking in her direction.
"Nearly done," he said after a long time in which the only sound was that of the crackling flames and the scraping of his wooded spoon against the metal of the pot.
He turned and retrieved two small wooden bowls from the table and began filling them with the meal, and then he removed a thick cloth from a small woven basket, revealing a single dark loaf of bread.
Ian turned and looked at her, smiling. "Would you like to try and take your supper at the table, then?"
She managed a gentle shrug.
Ian moved over towards her. "Well, you can't be lying in my bed forever now, can you?"
He saw her tense again as he approached and he clicked his tongue a couple of times.
"My, aren't we a bit skittish now?"
He offered his hand to her and smiled.
"It's all right, lassie," he said gently. "There's nothing to be harming you while you're in my home. You have my word."
"Not even you?" The question escaped Hope's lips before she had even a chance to stop it. Instantly she regretted the question. This old man had found her, taken her into his home, and tended her. Now she was repaying that kindness with suspicion.
Instead of being offended, he chuckled.
"Not even a curmudgeonly old bastard like myself," he nodded. The grin behind his braided whiskers was infectious, and before she knew it, she was doing something she had never done before. She was smiling out of pure humor.
Moving awakened all manner of discomfort in her limbs, but she took his hand and allowed Ian to slowly help her to her feet.
She wobbled dangerously when she tried to rise, and his other hand slipped behind her and kept her from falling.
"Steady now," he said quietly. She moved slowly and stiffly towards the table with small, deliberate steps.
As they progressed across the packed earth floor, Ian began to smile that infectious smile again.
"You know, lassie," he offered lightly. "At the pace you're going, the food'll be cold by the time we reach it."
Again, she felt that flush of humor wash through her like a cleansing rain. She smiled in spite of the discomfort and tried to move as little faster.
They finally reached the table, and Ian let her settle gently onto the chair before moving to his own.
Hope reached for the bowl and pause when she saw her hands. She turned them over and saw the lines from the cuts on her palms, her scars from her crawl out of the darkness. She seemed to fixate on them, seeing all that suffering afresh within those injuries.
"Stone cuts," Ian offered. "You're arms and legs were covered with them."
He tore a chunk of bread from the loaf and extended it to her.
She accepted the bread and dipped it into the broth.
"Stuck in a quarry, were you?" He asked.
Hope saw the curiosity in his eyes, but no threat. Still, she wasn't about to open up to this strange old man just yet.
"Something like that," she dodged.
Ian nodded and focused on his own meal for a bit.
"Were you one of the people they had tearing that old prison down then?" he went on after a few bites.
She froze, suddenly afraid that he might know the truth. When she looked up into his face again, he merely shook his head.
"Just trying to make conversation, love," he said. "I don't need to know anything you have a mind to keep to yourself. I was just curious as to how you wound up in my forest is all."
"Long story," Hope said.
Ian took another spoonful of his broth and smiled.
"Perhaps you'll share it with me, one day?"
"I'd just as soon forget about it," Hope answered.
Ian chewed on the bread thoughtfully for a moment, his steely eyes studying the girl across from him. A slow, good humored smile began to spread behind his thick whiskers.
Hope endured his scrutiny for as long a she could. Then she set the spoon down on the table and looked back at him.
"What?"
Ian chuckled. "Oh, nothing of importance, Love. I'm just filled with questions and looking to fine my own answers until you feel comfortable enough to tell me your tale. That's all."
She looked at him and saw, in his eyes, a deeper wisdom or understanding than she had first anticipated. It was as if he held in his mind a secret, perhaps her secret, and he was merely waiting until she voiced it before he would let the knowledge out.
"How did you find me, anyway?" Hope asked suddenly.
"What do you mean?" Ian countered easily.
"The forest is huge," Hope pressed. "And you just happened to stumble across me at the right moment?"
Ian put a hand under his chin and nodded. "Just lucky, I suppose."
Hope looked him in the eye. There was almost an accusing tone in her voice when she spoke.
"I don't believe you."
Once again, the old man was unphased by her accusation. "That's your choice, Love. I can only tell you what is, not what you want to hear. And the fact is, I stumbled across you on my way back to my home after a decent day of hunting rabbits in the woods. If there's more to it than that, it is for you to discover."
Then his eyes took on a mischievous twinkle and he leaned forward.
"What else would have put you in my forest at just the right time for me to come blundering by and find you, eh?"
Hope opened her mouth, but no words came out. Then she remembered the figure of her last victim walking nonchalantly in the direction of the woods.
"You got a whole compass to choose from! Pick a point!"
The coldness left her gaze and she sighed with the realization that David had done more for her than she had realized. She smiled in spite of herself.
First, he had appeared before her and kept her in precisely the right position to affect an escape from her cell, and then, he had moved off in the direction that she needed to travel in order to bring her to the limits of her failing strength, just at the right time for Ian to happen across her, lying in a fevered stupor in the forest.
"He knew I'd follow after him," she breathed in sudden realization.
"He? Who, Love?" Ian asked casually.
Hope's smile faded as she began to realize just what she had arbitrarily destroyed.
"David," she said in a barely audible whisper.
"Ah," And who is that then? Brother? Husband?" Ian pressed. "Should I be out looking for him as well?"
The words were spoken with feigned urgency, and the old man did not move to rise from his seat.
Hope looked up at him and her eyes narrowed as she studied him again. He merely smiled that damned knowing smile and nodded.
"You've been sleeping in a fever for three days, Love," he offered. "And you've been talking while you slept."
Ian shrugged. "You were already dreaming when I found you. You kept telling someone to go away."
Then he picked up her spoon and handed it back to her. "You're food is getting cold."
Dread blocked the hunger in Hope's belly.
How much did the old man already know? How much had her fevered sleep betrayed about whom she really was and what she had done? What would this old man do if he learned everything?"
Ian saw the fear and question on her face and he sighed, setting down his spoon and taking a drink from his cup.
"Go ahead and ask me, Lassie," he prompted her.
Instead, she forced herself to stand up, ignoring the protest in her limbs.
"I have to get out of here," she said in a fright. She tried to turn towards the door, but her body ignored her request, and she fell forward to the hard packed earth. The fire shot up her healing arm and she cried out in pain.
Ian moved quickly to her side and helped her turn back over. She looked into his eyes and saw the genuine caring there.
"You aren't in any condition to go beyond this house at present," he offered gently. "You need time to rest and heal. Both body and spirit it would seem."
The rest and the food had returned some of her strength to her. It was just enough for her to begin weeping again. The despair was as much from the reawakened pain in her injuries as it was from the realization that she did not deserve this old man's charity. How many others like this man had she indiscriminately killed? How many like Ian? How many like David, or her mother, had she snuffed out without so much as a second thought? How many husbands, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, fathers, and on and on in an endless circle of blood and slaughter?
She felt the old, strong hands of the man gather her to him, like a frightened child who has awakened from a nightmare.
"Everything will be better tomorrow, Love," he whispered. "I think you've done more than what's good for you for one day."
With surprising ease, he lifted her from the floor and carried her back to the bed.
"You should have left me there to die," she whispered in despair.
"What?" Ian asked as he checked her arm and other injuries. "A fine, lovely lady such as yourself? I wouldn't hear of it." He smiled again.
Even as the wave of sorrow flowed over her, she felt the weariness return and she slowly closed her eyes, drifting back into sleep.
The temple was a massive edifice of dark gray stone, like an extension of the shadows rising from the earth. The lands beyond it were desolate and cracked form lack of water, stretching out to infinity. White bolts of lightning arced across a burnt sky and thunder rolled unceasingly from the heavens. Wind blew hot and dry across the barren plain, making her long blonde hair writhe like something alive, and her dress fluttered about her body.
Without knowing why, her feet began taking her towards the temple. Dread began to fill her belly, creeping like an icy spider up her spine.
The two guards at the entrance bowed their heads in reverence as she approached. They gestured for her to enter. Against her will, her feet propelled her into the place, where she beheld the remains of victims, lying in the corridors, or strung up by chains on the walls.
"No," her mind screamed in horror.
The deep rhythmic booming of drums rolled from the main chamber, and she could see the flicker of torchlight, bright and red, at the end of the corridor.
She stepped into the room and found herself standing on a raised platform, looking down as throngs of people danced madly on the smooth stone floor.
On either side, large drums lined the side of the room, with men beating fanatically upon them in dreadful, driving rhythms, pushing the crowd to a frenzy of action.
That was when she began to see the weapons in their hands. Even the children bore knives of some kind. The horror in her belly built to a full blown terror.
"No," she breathed. She recognized many of the faces in that throng. They were the faces of those people that she had killed. The room was packed with the victims of her rampages throughout the lands.
In one body, they all looked at her with fanatical revelation.
AT the front of the room, a tall, proud young Amazon woman stopped dancing and looked up at her, smiling with insane pride.
She raised her dagger above her head and nodded once.
Hope shook her head desperately, but there was no stopping this moment.
"Alia!" Hope begged. "Don't! Please!"
Alia looked back up at her with eyes as cold as mountain snow.
"For you," she said. Then she turned and slashed the blade of her weapon across the nearest dancer's throat.
Hope turned away as the blood splattered across the white fabric of her dress. She felt it stain her arms and face. When she looked back, the room was a slaughter house. People descended on one another, stabbing and slashing in a frenzy of bloodlust. Parents slaughtered children and then themselves. The drummers flung themselves on drawn swords. The smooth pale stone floor was awash in blood.
The blood showered over her like thick, warm rain as she flailed about, trying to get the massacre to cease. Finally the movement of the room abated and everything fell still.
Blood flowed in rivulets from the columns, or dripped from the furniture. In the middle of the room was a single, small figure. A boy, no more than ten years old, was stooping to retrieve something from the blood that was ankle deep in the room.
He turned his reddened face to her as he stood up, holding a long, triangular blade in his small hands.
Then he smiled the most heartrending, innocent smile that she had ever seen.
"For you," he said in a soft, melodic voce, and he turned the weapon in his hands and pointed it at his belly.
"No!" Hope cried out in panic. She launched herself toward the boy in a desperate attempt to stop him, but she was to far away. The weapon plunged into the small body and he fell in a heap amongst the slaughter.
Hope slipped and fell in the middle of the carnage, coming up covered in the red sticky mass of death.
She got to her knees and saw the blood covering her arms and body. Its heavy, coppery scent flooded her nostrils.
Panic constricted around her heart and she cried out in horror as she turned and fled.
She made it to the corridor and stumbled towards the entrance. She had to get out of this horror. She had to get away from all of this death.
She slipped and fell as she rounded the last turn out into the world beyond and her eyes locked on one of the two guards, lying impaled by a spear. His pale eyes stared back at her, his expression one of child like curiosity.
The sobs began as revulsion and then expanded into grief that wracked her soul. This carnage was her legacy. She got her feet beneath her and rose, looking down at the last two bloody remnants of her rule, then she turned to run and felt herself vanish beneath roiling dark water.
In a panic, she turned and clawed her way back to the steps, hauling her drenched body onto the cold stone. When she looked down at herself, all she saw was red.
Blood covered her body and clothing, dripping from her hair. Her eyes turned and beheld the final horror. The barren land was gone. The lighting shocked the blackened clouds and revealed a sea of red stretching out beyond sight to a dark horizon.
She was lost on a mutilated island, adrift on a crimson sea, alone for all eternity.
Turning back, she saw the two guards standing, once again at their places. She heard the drums booming from within.
Turning back, she saw the crimson sea and realized where she was. This was her little corner of Hell. Her torment was like the torment of Tantalus, who could never drink, though he is surrounded by water. She could never leave this place. The carnage would follow her soul from here to the ends of the world and beyond.
The scream began somewhere in the bowels of her being, rising like a wave until it broke from her throat in a long, agonizing cry of fear and despair. It wailed from her mouth and echoed beyond the dark and stormy sky up into infinity…
Hope sat up in the bed screaming in terror. For a brief instant she couldn't remember where she was. Her eyes looked back and forth at the darkened cottage as recognition slowly settled back in.
Ian's strong hands came down gently on her shoulders and she fell back to weeping quietly.
"The same dream again, Love?" he asked in his usual gentle tone.
"Nightmare," Hope corrected him when the emotion had faded.
Ian stepped back and seated himself in one of the old rickety chairs nearby.
"Why is it that you won't tell me about it, Hope, darling?" he asked as he lifted his pipe from its stand and began filling it.
"It's just a nightmare," Hope shivered.
Ian looked at her skeptically. "Love, where I come from, a dream that happens more than a few times is more akin to a calling. And your dream has been coming to you for nigh on two months?"
Hope smiled grimly. "Ian, where you come from, men wear dresses."
One gray eyebrow rose critically. "It's called a kilt, love. And don't be judging other people based on their appearance. You might be fancifully surprised if you do."
He removed a long narrow stick from the fading fire and lit the pipe, puffing experimentally until the tobacco caught. In the fading embers of the fire, the smoke about his head gave his countenance a sorcerous look. His gray eyes locked on Hope the way they always did when he was adding another little piece to his two month old puzzle.
"I'll make a bargain with you," He offered suddenly. "You tell me what these faces are that you keep seeing in your dreams, and I'll tell you how it was that I found you in the forest that day."
"How you?" Hope stammered, her shock was a mixture of curiosity at his words and surprised at his supposition.
Ian smiled behind his whiskers and nodded. "You first lassie," he said.
Hope looked at him for a long moment. One part of her desperately wanted to tell him about everything she had done. And still, another part of her was dreadfully afraid that, if she did confess all, she might lose the first and only friend that she had ever known. It was something that she feared more than anything she had ever known in her long existence. The fact that she actually understood that was a revelation in itself. She had never had anyone that she had considered a friend before. In her past, the people around her had always been tools, used towards her purposes. She had never taken the time to actually speak to them or try and know or understand them. They had been instruments to remove other people, whom she had considered hindrances in her quest for Dahok's world domination.
Now she sat across from the first friend she had ever known and feared that she might lose him.
"Well?" Ian asked.
One of the things that Ian had been teaching her about over the last two months of her recovery had been about truth and consequences.
He always told her that she should not be afraid of the truth, and accept the consequences of her actions. Even when the truth would have unpleasant consequences.
Now, one big truth might have the most dreadful of consequences. She did not want to be alone again. She had gotten used to having someone to speak with, even though she had guarded everything she had said for fear of losing him.
She closed her eyes. Instantly, the faces from her nightmare began to reassert themselves with bloody clarity.
"They're people," she forced herself to say.
"People that you've known?" She heard Ian ask.
She looked up at him, sitting at ease, with his pipe in his hand and a calm, expectant expression. Somehow she realized that what she might be about to say would not be that large a revelation for the old man.
She took a deep breath.
"People I've killed," she said quickly. "Or people whose deaths I am responsible for."
She watched as Ian seemed to consider that. His expression did not change, except perhaps, to become more thoughtfully curious.
"Been a fair amount, I'd say?" he continued.
She nodded.
"How many?" Ian asked.
Hope shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Hundreds, thousands, I don't really know." She heard the emotion in her voice as she realized just how indiscriminant she had been in doling out death.
Again, Ian made no move. He simply sat there and puffed on his pipe thoughtfully.
She looked into his eyes and when she saw no imminent threat, the floodgates opened and her bloody tale spilled out between fits of emotion and tears.
Throughout the whole, long, bloody confession, Ian simply sat composed, smoking his pipe. His expression was one of complete neutrality.
Finally, after what seemed a short eternity, Hope fell silent, sitting with her hands on her lap and tears in her eyes as she waited for whatever admonishment might be forthcoming.
When Ian didn't say anything for a long time, she looked at him. His eyes bored into hers, as if he were searching for any little detail that she might have omitted.
"Well," he managed to say after a few moments of thought. "That's a fair bit, and no mistake."
"I won't be angry if you ask me to leave," Hope offered as she saw the saddened look on the old man's face.
When he made no reply, she rose and, without bothering to put on the boots that Ian had made for her, headed for the door.
"You know," Ian said suddenly. "You're right. You should be on your way."
Hope winced at those words. They bit into her heart more than anything she had ever endured.
She took another deep breath and resumed moving towards the door.
"Where are you going?" Ian called after her.
She frowned and turned back to look at him. "But, you said I should be on my way?"
"Indeed," Ian nodded, that gentle smile reasserting itself. "But I didn't say you should be leaving just now, did I?"
He smiled and then rolled his eyes theatrically. "Glory be child! What are you daft, walking out in the cold in naught but a sleeping gown and barefoot? I would have thought you'd have the sense to stay till we had time to get you set up proper for a journey!" He raised his hands to the sky. "Ah the children these days, always so damned impatient to be moving on!"
When he looked back at her, her heart was pounding with anxiety. Then she saw the smile begin to spread on his face and she realized that she was not being cast out. He stood there with his arms out, as if waiting for something.
She stepped back next him and felt his arms enfold her.
"See Love?" he offered. "I know it hurt, but it wasn't so bad."
"Wasn't so bad?" Hope asked, suddenly realizing that she was crying again, this time with relief.
Ian led her to his chair and sat her down in it, crouching down to look her in the eye.
"The tale you just told me," he began. "The person responsible for all that pain? She isn't here anymore. She died in that prison, Lord knows how long ago."
She frowned.
"The lovely lass sitting before me right here, in this very moment," Ian said pointedly. "Is a different person from the one that did all those terrible things. When I see Hope sitting in my chair. I see the fine young lass that stumbled into my forest two months ago, full of piss and wind, yes, but not a monster."
"But it was me, Ian," Hope protested.
"I'm not saying that you have nothing to atone for," Ian corrected himself quickly. "You've shed a fair share of blood, and not in a just cause. That'll weigh on your soul for the rest of your days."
"What I am saying, Love," he continued. "Is that you're a better person for all your horror, and you're ready to make amends."
"How do I make amends for all those dead?" Hope asked helplessly. "I don't even know where to start!"
Ian looked her in the eye and a knowing smile grew again. "I think you do, Love."
Dawning appeared in that moment and then Hope's eyes widened in fear.
"Oh no!" she shook her head vehemently. "I can't go back there! Ian, I killed her husband! Destroyed her home!"
Ian's strong hands settled on her shoulders as the panic increased.
"I wouldn't know where to even start!" She continued. "And Xena! She nearly killed me the first time around! I wouldn't blame her if she finished the job this time!"
"Hush," Ian said gently but firmly.
She stopped and looked at him with an expression of childish fear.
"You have to, Love," he pressed. She shook her head.
"Hope," Ian continued. "You have to start somewhere, and you might as well start where you finished the last time. You need to start finding your peace again, and granting it to the others."
She looked down at the earth, her mind a blur of thought. In her ears, she could almost hear them screaming at her again.
She saw David's face, as a middle aged man now, looking up at her with that ferocious grin, just before the power surged through her, changing her existence forever. Everything she was had been wiped clean in that one brutal exchange. She felt the blade of his katana piercing her flesh, saw her blade protruding from his chest, and still he grinned, even as the blood began to flow.
"Gotcha!"
She blinked and started.
"Ian?" she asked in a quiet voice.
He came back and handed a cup to her.
"Do they ever go away?"
"Does who go away, Love?" Ian asked.
"The faces," Hope continued. "Do they ever go away?"
She looked up at him hopefully.
He smiled sympathetically and shook his head.
"No, Love. They never go away," he offered. "But if you give yourself time. You'll learn to be friends with them."
"I'm scared, Ian," Hope finally admitted. "I've been scared ever since I got out of that prison."
"I never told you that it would be easy, Hope," Ian replied. "The important things seldom are."
It took several more days before the resolve finally solidified enough for her to consider leaving, but in the end. She awakened one morning early and gathered her strength to leave. She tip toed past Ian, who lay asleep in his bed roll, and quickly dressed in a simple tunic, skirt, and the hide boots that he had made for her.
As she adjusted the simple leather belt about her waist, a noise startled her and she spun around to find Ian standing beside his blanket with a knowing smile on his face.
"I figured it was about that time," He nodded. "I was wondering how much longer you would take?"
"I," Hope stammered. "I didn't want to say goodbye. I thought, well,"
"I understand," Ian replied. He stepped around the embers of the fire and grabbed his walking stick and dagger. Turning he handed them to her.
"I think these will help you on your way," he offered. "And you come by and see me whenever you get the chance. My home will always be open to you."
She took the long straight oak staff and the small silver dagger and looked at him.
"I don't know what to say," she confessed.
"Then don't say anything, Love," he smiled. He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "It's enough for me to know that you're stepfather did right by sending you my way."
She smiled and nodded. Then she grabbed her small bag and slung it over her shoulder and stepped towards the door.
When she reached it, she paused and looked back at him.
"I never told you he was my stepfather," she said, looking at him intently.
"That's right," Ian nodded, smiling as he seated himself at the table. "You didn't. But he did introduce you to me as his stepdaughter, just before he told me where you would be found."
"He told you?" Hope asked in amazement. "David told you?"
Ian chuckled softly and gave her a sly smile. "You didn't think I was completely taken unawares by everything you told me, did you? We Druids are a tight knit clan, after all."
"You?" Hope wasn't sure if she should be relieved or angered by the revelation.
"Now," Ian said kindly. "I'm a might bit tired, and I think I'll have a sleep in my own bed, if you don't mind? Go on now, lassie."
She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words. In the end, she only smiled, choking back the emotion which was still so new to her. With a nod, she ducked out of the house and vanished.
The forest was thick around her. The soft leaves crunched under her feet. Mists carried the scent of moisture to her nostrils as she gazed about at the pale light of dawn. The trees were like gnarled old men, gathering around her, with hands stretched up to greet the coming day.
She strode away from the house, feeling each step as a weight in her boots and on her heart.
"Peace be your companion on your road, Hope, darling," Ian's voice called after her. She smiled and turned to wave a final farewell.
Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw the house behind her. It was in ruins. The thatch roof had long ago fallen in, and the rough ring of stones that emerged from the earth was loose and broken in many places.
She ran back to the home, a new wave of fear washing over her.
"Ian!" she cried out.
She reached the entrance and found it covered by the rotting broken timbers of the fallen roof. The entire place was overgrown and neglected as if no one had dwelled here for many years. In a panic, she began hurtling chunks of rotting timber out of her way, or stomping through the softer decomposed bits until she reached the spot where the table had stood.
She looked around frantically for a few moments and then continued clawing her way further around toward where the bed had been.
She lifted a large portion of the brownish thatch that had been the roof and then stopped when she saw what lay beyond.
The bed still rested where it had, and the dusty skeletal remains lay peacefully on the moldering mattress. Wisps of gray hair still clung to the skull, drifting gently like cobwebs. She looked down at the scene and something soft seemed to fall over her. She smiled even as she felt her tears beginning again.
"Well," she said to the corpse. "At least you got to sleep in your bed again."
She reached back and pulled the section of thatch that she had just removed, pulling it back to replace it where it was. She paused for one last moment and smiled.
"Good bye, Ian," she said. "Thank you."
She let the covering fall back into place, turned and began heading out into the forest, a strange smile on her lips and a myriad of thoughts, most filled with completely new and alien emotions, running through her mind.
