The sun beat down mercilessly as Anara stood in the yard. Her hands were on her hips and she chewed her bottom lip while she stared at Valen, squinting in the sunlight. The shirt he wore was tight across his chest, outlining his muscles as he shifted the scythe from one shoulder to the other. "Well?" she asked.
"Let's go this afternoon. The sooner we find a mage the sooner I can be gone," he replied. "Then I won't be disrupting your life anymore," he added in a whisper, not really intending for her to hear that part of it.
The trip up to Rothol's place wouldn't take long. So there wasn't any need to gather any supplies. A few hours – no more. If Rothol didn't have the information Valen was looking for, there was no telling what their next course of action would be. But the dawning realization that she was in over her head made Anara think that it would be Valen's problem to solve – not hers. She was done. The vision of him fighting that fiend had solidified a few things in her mind.
It took a few minutes to get Violet back out of the barn. Once the horse was saddled and ready to go, she mounted her and sat there with a hand out to Valen. He looked up at her, the sun glinting off his irises and making him seem even more otherworldly than usual.
"Come on," she said. "Time's a wasting..."
The tiefling shifted from foot to foot, the scythe still in his hands. "I ... I've never ridden on a beast like that," he finally admitted. He absently rubbed the back of his neck with his hand as he squinted up at her.
"Oh," was her response. "Well, give me the scythe, if you're going to insist on taking it with us." He handed over the scythe. The weapon was tall enough that Anara rested it against Violet's flank. "Now, put your foot in the stirrup and swing yourself up... that's it, grab my hand..." It took a few tries, but eventually the man was mounted behind her on the horse, scythe back in his hands.
"Alright, if you've never been on a horse before, you may want to hold on to me with one hand. Are you sure we need that scythe?"
"I would feel more comfortable with something like it, yes. So unless you have a sword handy in your home, this will have to do."
"Ok, just asking. Hang on..." She clucked under her tongue and Violet began moving off at a slow and sedate pace. It was only mid afternoon, and the heat was intense. Sweat began to trickle down her face and she could feel it pooling on her back. Between the sun, the horse and the man sitting behind her, there was no relief from the heat at all.
The trade road branched off from the road to the village about 1/3 of the way between her farm and the town. Standing at the fork in the road was a wagon, drawn by a bay horse. Dayfid's horse. He sat on the bench of the wagon, reins in hand, as if he were waiting for her.
Anara rode Violet up to the wagon. "Dayfid. Why are you here?"
"I could ask you the same question. Let me just say that a little bird told me where you were bound."
"Cara." It wasn't a question, just an affirmation of a fact. "How did you know I'd be going out today? What if I'd waited until tomorrow?"
"I didn't. I took a chance. If I hadn't seen you this afternoon, I would have come back tomorrow. Or I would have ridden out to your farm. Why are you doing this, Anara?"
"We've had this conversation, Dayfid. I don't care to repeat it." She clucked under her tongue, urging the horse past the wagon. Dayfid moved his wagon to intercept.
"I would like to speak to you, in private," he said with a meaningful glance at Valen mounted behind her. Behind his eyes was a cold steel that not many had ever seen. He usually bent like a willow in the wind, leaning this way and that but remaining exactly where he was. People saw all the movement and thought him weak. Anara knew better. She knew that he had never really capitulated in any way. He would bend, but eventually he would return to his roots, stronger than before. There would be no going on without talking to him.
In one smooth movement, the cleric dismounted from the wagon. Anara got down from Violet and walked around to the back. "Speak quickly. I don't want to be out after dark."
"Don't go. Give him directions, let him take Violet. Let him go, Anara. Stay here. I have a bad feeling about this man, and what he represents. He has brought the fires of hell with him, I can smell it. You damn us all with your carelessness!"
Before she had tolerated his accusations, because she knew they came from concern for her. But this was too much – she was mad. Madder than she'd been in a long, long time. How dare he question her? He didn't know anything about Valen, what he represented or where he came from! The fact that his guesses were spot on really ticked her off.
"You don't know the first thing about this situation, Dayfid," she hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest. "This is my choice to make. Do not make me think less of you by insisting that I don't know what's good for me. This man has given me a chance to breathe, and I'm going to help him, dammit. Now stand aside and let me pass!"
He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her slightly. Her eyes flared with anger. Anger welled up in him as well – anger that she couldn't see what was right in front of her, anger that she was foolishly following someone she didn't know, who could very well be the death of her, of them all. As the heat filled his body, an inevitable explosion waiting to happen, he looked into her eyes. There would be no arguing with her. His hands dropped and the anger flew out of him in a rush, leaving him feeling deflated and empty.
"Go. Go with my blessing. Be safe, be well, and may the bounty of Chantea follow you all the days of your life." The ritualistic blessing of his calling sounded hollow on his lips. He had been beaten. A small voice inside him told him he'd never see this woman again. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and force her to stay. Bind up her arms and carry her off until the stranger was gone and he couldn't harm her anymore. But he would surely lose her then. She was lost to him already. He couldn't force her to stay. He summoned up a small measure of his power and kissed her forehead, imprinting her with a blessing of Chantea.
Anara looked at him in surprise. "You aren't going to argue with me?" she asked incredulously.
"Would it help?" he said, a sad smile splaying across his face. "Go. Return when you can. I'll be waiting for you." He mounted the wagon and gave one last longing look at her. With a 'hoy' to the horse, he turned the wagon around and headed back to town.
A strange feeling suffused her, making her feel as if her head wasn't attached to her body. She mounted Violet and urged her up the road, all the while wondering exactly what had just happened. It wasn't like Dayfid to just give up. Valen was blessedly silent while she worked through the turmoil of her thoughts.
Not thirty minutes later, they came to a clearing off the path. Beyond the clearing the forest grew dark with trees, but a trail was visible. She dismounted and led Violet across the clearing and into the woods on the other side.
It was cooler under the trees. The sunlight came down through the leaves to dapple the trail with spots of light. The smell of pine and sap was strong and comforting. Birds sang, squirrels chattered and a small breeze wafted up the path. She almost felt like her old self again – how she'd been before Liam had died and grief had taken over her life. Liam – would he approve of what she did now? Would he have chosen to shelter the tiefling and help him on his way? She believed he would have. But it didn't matter. This was her choice, and it was made.
The path wound through the trees, crossed a stream and then opened up into a small clearing. In the center of the clearing stood a run down house, smoke issuing from the chimney even though the day was hot. Outside was the detritus of the life of a hermit – a horse, a few cows, chickens and some pigs rooting around in their sty. An anvil sat next to a tree stump, and scraps of wood and metal were scattered around on the ground.
Valen dismounted, with Anara's help. His grip grew tight on the scythe, the only thing he had to fight with, if it came to that. The ramshackle house rose in front of them, the banister on the stairs listing heavily to one side. The roof looked sunken in several spots, and grime had built up on the windows to the point that not much light could have gotten through. A few steps and they stood in front of the door. Valen lifted his hand to knock, and Anara put her hand on his forearm. "Let me," she said.
They waited. The sound of shuffling footsteps could be heard, and a low, warbley voice sounded from within.
"Oh, someone's come to visit us, someone has. Been a long time since we had a visitor, yes it has. Wonder what they want? Potion? Poison? A love philter? All the same, all the same…" Her voice grew louder as she came near the door. And then it opened.
In front of them stood a short, shriveled woman. Her silver hair was tied up in a long braid, wisps of hair haloing her face. Her face was ancient – lined with the years and the stresses of her life. She wore a simple grey smock over what was once a white dress, now gone brown with age. Her feet were bare and her hands were gnarled with rheumatism. She gripped a worn stick, as gnarled as her hands. Her eyes were clouded with cataracts, although she still appeared to see them.
"My goodness!" she exclaimed. "Rothol hasn't seen the likes of you, lad, in many many years. Tiefling, are ya?" She reached out with her walking stick to jab Valen's chest. "Tch, wonder what you'll be wanting then. Come in, come in. Make yerself's ta home." Turning, she made her way slowly across the floor, disappearing into the gloom of the cabin.
Anara turned to Valen, a strange look on her face. She shrugged her shoulders and stepped through the door, following the old hag into the decrepit building. He stood on the porch. Something felt off, here, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the chemical odor hanging in the air, left over from Rothol's potion making. Perhaps it was simply the heat of the day and the encounter with Dayfid, wearing on his nerves. But maybe it was something else. He couldn't shake the feeling that not everything was right with the world. It was a common feeling, an old feeling, almost like coming home. He stepped into the gloom of the cabin, quietly shutting the door behind him.