Читать книгу Wind - Daniel Mello - Страница 4

It was dark out now, but by Lythina’s calculations it wasn’t too late. However, the breeze from the near coast set a salty chill to the air, and it began to pierce through her cloak to bite at her skin. Hopefully, someone would still be awake to lend her a room for the night. When she reached the lonely Inn, she rapped on the door.

Only few seconds had passed when Lythina began to hear what sounded like a person shuffling behind a wall. The knob turned and the door creaked open to reveal a dimly lit entryway, yet there was no one standing to greet her. It was as if the door opened on its own.

Lythina’s spine tingled. Her intuition flickered as she felt the ghostly ambiance of the decaying village crawling right behind her, reaching out its ethereal fingers to steal her into the night. In the distance of the room, a shadow moved.

Suddenly, a squeaky little voice spoke. “Come in, dear, come in.”

Lythina froze. Was the ramshackle village actually haunted?!

Instantly, she braced herself against the earth and was just about flick her sword loose when a tiny little person hobbled out from behind the door. Her wrinkly head came to about Lythina‘s chest, and she was hugging herself with an old, faded cloak. The old woman’s hair was a dull silver that almost reached to the floor, while beady blue eyes set between a crooked nose gazed at her caller impatiently. In a way, she looked even older than the Oracle.

“Well,” the miniature woman continued, “are you going to come in or just stand there dumbfounded all night? Make a decision, love. It‘s quite cold out.”

Without hesitation, Lythina hopped right inside and shut the door behind her, shutting out the ghosts on her heels. Instantly, what felt like the warmth of the sun itself sank into her tired body, all the way to the bone. She could feel her muscles immediately relax.

The little Innkeeper scuttled over to a diminutive desk, dipped a small quill into an ink bottle and scribbled something into a rather large book, at least it seemed large placed next to the small Innkeeper.

“Looking for a room, dear?” the Innkeeper asked.

“Yes, I am,” Lythina said hesitantly. “I’m sorry for calling so late, but this was the only place around. Do you have any available?”

“Oh, yes,” the Innkeeper squeaked, “All of them. I don’t get many visitors these days, not since Flowerpatch village was deserted. Follow me, please.” The Innkeeper hobbled out from behind the desk and Lythina was led past a cozy-looking living room, down a dimly lit hallway.

“Here you are, love,” the Innkeeper said as she held out a hand to gesture toward a room. Lythina entered, immediately followed by the Innkeeper who scuttled by her to light a few small candle lamps.

As the walls began to glow, Lythina gazed around. There was an engraved canopy bed, many blankets piled on top of a chair, an ancient wooden dresser, and various pictures of what looked like Hyrendellian landscape. The fixtures were artful, giving the stay a subtle charm.

“This is great! Thank you so much,” Lythina said to the Innkeeper.

“Absolutely, dear, absolutely,” the little woman replied. “Are you hungry? I’ve got a fresh batch of chicken apple soup that should be ready any minute now, if you’d like.”

At that, Lythina’s stomach answered with a growl. “Yes, please, I’m starving!”

The young lady took great care when removing her cloak, wrapping up her weapons inside so as not to reveal them. Once she had laid them on the bed, she shut the door behind her and followed the Innkeeper to the living room. She could smell the soup, its sweet and salty aroma wafting down the hallway, and when she entered the main room, the Innkeeper motioned her toward a seat at a grand wooden dining table. Lythina couldn’t help but run her fingers along the intricate vine work carved around the edge of the table, and when she sat in one of its solid wood chairs it felt as though it conformed directly to her back. She closed her eyes and sighed with comfort.

“Thank you, God,” she said quietly. When she looked up, the Innkeeper was hobbling toward her with a big bowl of steaming soup and a large chunk of sweetbread.

“You’re right in thanking God, dear,” the Innkeeper said softly. “She has everything to do with everything.” She set the bowl in front of Lythina and went back to the kitchen to fetch a pair of tea mugs and a teapot. Lythina was already dipping a piece of the bread into the soup when the small keeper returned to take a seat next to her guest. “Tea, dear?”

“Yes, please,” Lythina answered. “And thank you so much for your hospitality, Ms. —” It suddenly occurred to Lythina that they hadn’t been properly introduced yet. On that note, what name had she written in the guestbook? But the Innkeeper caught her concerned look.

“Hildabrand McCloud,” the old lady creaked with a small bow, “at your service.”

Quickly, Lythina stopped dipping her bread, folded her hands on her lap, and returned the bow. “Lythina Graham, truly yours.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Lythina,” Hildabrand said as her guest began to taste her soup. “How is it?”

“Exquisite,” Lythina replied with a grin, “I’ve never had soup this good!”

“Wonderful, that’s means I cooked the lizard eyes fully,” the lady teased as Lythina choked. “Just kidding, love.”

With a nervous laugh, Lythina continued eating.

“Sorry, but you said God was a She,” the young lady inquired after savoring a big mouthful of soup. “I always thought God was a He.”

Hildabrand poured some tea for both of them. “He; She; all the same. It just depends on what perspective you’re looking from.” When she finished pouring, she slid a steamy mug over to her guest, who drank from it carefully. “You’re a very bright young lady, I’m sure you can see the logic in that. Do you know God?”

“Do any of us really know God?” Lythina countered as she sat the mug onto the table and continued to work on her soup.

“Ah, you have the same wit as your mother, I see,” the lady squeaked pleasantly. She was still peering at Lythina with her interrogating eyes.

Lythina nearly spat, but managed to swallow quickly. “You knew my mother?” she asked, gazing at the aged woman.

“Oh yes, she stayed here quite often before you were born. I recognized you as her daughter when I saw you on your way to the Oracle. You have her features.” She smiled proudly at that, as if she had given them herself.

“Ah, so, that was you watching me,” Lythina concluded. “I thought I felt someone’s eyes on me as I passed through this ruined village.”

“Your intuition serves you well, I’m sure. It served your mother greatly. Her mind was as sharp and quick as a dragonblade.” The old lady chuckled quietly to herself, lost inside her ancient memories.

Lythina slurped up the last of her soup and sat back in the wooden chair to relax with her cup of tea. She closed her eyes and took a deep, warm breath; but her contentment soon faded.

“I never knew my mother,” she revealed. “She died just after giving birth to me.”

“She would’ve been mighty proud of you, love,” Hildabrand squeaked.

“I just wish I could’ve gotten to know her, at least a little bit. All of the maidens who raised me said she was the strongest woman they knew.” She sipped her tea. “They said that, after my father was killed, my mother’s heart was so broken that she just waited for me to be born so she could die.”

“That’s the kind of power love has on our hearts,” the Innkeeper said. “It can bring euphoria, and it can bring death.” She grabbed her mug of tea and shuffled over to a soft rocking chair sitting next to a fireplace constructed of the same brickwork as the cabin. Inside its stout mantel was a roaring fire.

Something inside Lythina told her to follow, so she got up and took a comfortable seat in another rocking chair adjacent the Innkeeper. For a moment, they both sat quietly sipping their tea, soaking in the warmth of the blaze.

“Can you tell me more about my mother?” Lythina asked.

“I can, dear, but what you really seek is knowledge about yourself. Your mother, Kari, was the same way. She would come and stay at my Inn whenever she had business out at sea.”

“At sea?” Lythina pulled her gaze from the fire to glance at the Innkeeper. “But the Forgotten Sea west of here is covered in fog.”

“No, no. The mist wasn’t always there,” Hildabrand clarified at Lythina’s confused expression. “It arrived about 20-some years ago. The Forgotten Sea is a name given to these parts of the ocean because the kingdom’s merchants started avoiding the fog altogether. And, as you know, the wind in Hyrendell always blows from west to east. They say it’s the earth between the shores that keeps the waters on the east side of the island calm. It was easier to navigate in every way, so the merchants basically forgot about these waters when they switched their trade routes to the Eastern coast of Hyrendell.

“But, every once in a while,” the innkeeper spoke, as if it were a secret, “far out at sea, there is a dancing light that shines through the mist, almost like a fire that burns on the water, but that is all that’s visible because the fog is so dense. I’ve been keeping track of it, and I’m very sure that it arrives with every full moon.”

By now, Lythina was leaning off her seat with curiosity, enough so that she coughed as a cover to readjust herself properly. “Hasn’t anyone gone to investigate it? I mean, just because the trade routes were switched doesn’t mean everyone lost interest in this side of the island. I’ve seen ships pass by the western cliffs on their way to the castle.”

“Yes, many have gone to investigate the light, but none have returned, dear,” the old woman informed. Lythina thought she saw fear reflected in the old woman’s eyes. “That’s what led to the neglect of our village. Flowerpatch was once a bustling community, positively glowing with life. But ever since that light showed up and people started leaving shore to find it, everyone became angry and scared because no one was coming home. Once the fear became too strong, everyone else abandoned this cursed place and moved to Hyrendell Village. I’m the only person left here.” She sighed with discontent. “I just never got the nerve to leave my home.”

Lythina’s mind was pounding with excitement, wonder, and fatigue. It was quite a headache. “What kind of business did my mother have out at sea? Was she a merchant also?”

“Yes, she was. She sold food and clothing to the folks out at the docks. She was quite a saleswoman, if you ask me,” Hildabrand testified. “It was her intellect that sold, not her merchandise. She knew just how to speak to the merchants. I would go with her on some occasions, and she was as kind to the captains as she was to the children. Quite a remarkable lady, she was.”

“Is that how my mother met my father,” Lythina inquired. “I always heard that he was a gifted sealad.”

Hildabrand looked at Lythina squarely. “How much do you know about your father, Marcus?”

“Just what I’ve heard from my Aunt and the maidens,” Lythina replied. “Why?” She was beginning to worry.

“Your father was a sealad, love, but that’s because he traveled with the king’s armada. Your father was a soldier of Hyrendell.” Lythina was stunned, but surprisingly, the news settled somewhere comfortably inside her. While she couldn’t imagine her own father associating with Hyrendell’s tyranny, she had a warm feeling that he would have been fiercely loyal to good virtues nonetheless.

“Your mother and him met on the docks one day,” Hildabrand continued. “I remember it because after that she would come back to stay here every full moon. That was when the king’s fleet would arrive to replenish their supplies. They would stay for a week at a time, then he would return to sea with the armada, and she would disappear for a month only to come back again. This went on for many years.”

“Were they in love?” Lythina asked longingly.

Hildabrand smiled. “Like you wouldn’t believe! Your father would bring her flowers from all over Hyrendell, and Kari would make him the nicest undershirts for him to wear under his armor. They would only stay here to plan their short excursions together. Then, they would go off to some secret place for days, and come back with the most outrageous things, things she could sell to the travelers. Their love was very inspirational.”

“It sounds wonderful. But it must have torn my mother’s heart every time my father had to leave,” Lythina said.

Hildabrand’s smile faded. “That’s what killed her. Every time your father left, it shattered your mother’s heart, little by little. And a person’s heart can only heal so many times. One day, he never returned. The captain met with your mother to tell him that Marcus had been killed in battle. He handed her his medallion, then went back on board.”

Lythina’s eyes swelled with tears as her ears burned with the news.

Hildabrand continued, “Your mother dropped to her knees right there on the dock. It was as if her broken heart broke her entire body. A friend and I had to help her back to the Inn. She was so distraught that, for months, she barely spoke a word, except ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. By the end of her stay, it was quite obvious why her pain dug so deep inside her. She was with child. We spoke of simple things, her and I, but never about your father, no matter how much I tried. She said she wanted to return to her home in Hyrendell Village to give birth. Then one day, she left on a carriage, and that was that last time I heard from her.”

Lythina was sobbing into her sleeves. Just then, she reached inside her shirt to pull out a thin silver necklace with a medallion attached. It was a multi-pointed star with Marcus’s name engraved in the center. Hildabrand stared at it in disbelief as all the memories from a lifetime ago came flooding back to her.

“I got it when I was a little girl,” Lythina clarified. “It was given to me by my Auntie Elisa. She told me that my mother wanted me to have it, and now I know why. This is all I have of my father.”

For some time, she cradled the medallion in her hands as if it was a timeless piece of treasure, while Hildabrand just looked on. Lythina’s tears gradually subsided, and she slid the medallion back underneath her shirt. She had to let her parents go, for their sake and hers. She eased her breathing, drank some more tea, and regained her voice.

“Now, about this mysterious light,” Lythina smiled. “You said that this village was very active once, but it was deserted soon after the light arrived.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Hildabrand confirmed. “I’d say the village emptied in about six months worth of time, from the first appearance of the light.”

“And you also said that my intuition serves me well, right?,” Lythina continued.

“Yes, love.” The old woman paused. “Where are you going with this?” Hildabrand looked cautious, yet curious.

“I think there is more to this riddle than meets the ears. When I was standing at your door, before you told me to get inside, I felt something like a thousand hands reaching out to grab me. That’s why I jumped inside so quickly.”

Lythina was watching the Innkeepers response; she looked relatively unsurprised, and Lythina noticed it. “You’ve felt that too, haven’t you?”

Hildabrand sighed. “Every time I leave my home, I feel the pull of those hands, as you say. I’ve ignored them for these many years, without a desire to investigate them.” Suddenly, her voice turned cold, “and so can you, dear,” she snapped, guessing Lythina’s thoughts.

But Lythina wasted no time. “Hildabrand, I think those people who sought the light aren’t dead. In fact, I have a feeling that they’re alive and well!” The old woman looked rightfully skeptical. “At first, I thought those hands were part of the deserted village, like the remnants of the fear that supposedly affected the people. But that’s not it at all; they’re the essence of whatever that light is out at sea. And I’ll bet the people who left to seek the light those many years ago felt it too!”

“All the more reason to stay away from it then,” Hildabrand argued. “No need to go and leave your life here forever.” Her passion for dissuading Lythina was immense, her eyes glowering at the young lady from above tightened lips.

Although Lythina’s thoughts were distracted by the mysterious sea light, her intuition suddenly spoke something different. It was about Hildabrand; she was hiding something.

“I can’t help but marvel at how adamant you are against me searching out that light,” Lythina began. “Thank you for being so concerned for me.” Patiently, she waited for Hildabrand’s response.

“Well, of course I’m concerned for your safety, love,” she squeaked, “someone needs to look out for you.” Immediately, the little innkeeper knew she had divulged too much.

Lythina stared at Hildabrand, confident she knew her secret. “I wonder if you’re this protective of all your guests?”

Hildabrand gazed into the fire, contemplating her confession. “Do you know your father’s last name?”

Lythina tossed the question around for a moment, not really knowing the answer. But if her hunch was right, there was only one possible correct response. She decided to try it.

“McCloud,” she said, holding her breath.

Hildabrand grew a smile and started to nod. “And that makes you my granddaughter!”

Lythina flew off the recliner and into her grandmother’s open arms, and for what seemed like a small eternity, they embraced each other for the sake of both Kari and Marcus, weeping over the joy of finally meeting long lost family.

Eventually, Lythina returned to her own chair, but did so without taking her eyes off of her new Grandmother, as if she would disappear if she looked away. An intimate warmth was building inside her spirit, and she didn’t want to lose any part of that moment. For a short time, both ladies marveled at each other, surrendering themselves to that familiarity.

But the smile began to fade from Lythina’s lips, and she broke her stare away from Hildabrand. Out of all of the images and feelings flashing across her mind, she always found them winding their way back to the light at sea. Why did it just show up one day? Why didn’t anyone return from seeking it? She had to find out what that light was, but how could she gain her grandmothers support.

Again, Hildabrand answered her as if she had read her thoughts. “Why do you feel so inclined to seek that light, Lythina?”

For a moment, Lythina was shocked by how much consternation her grandmother could weave into her squeaky voice. “Maybe there’s a reason those hands are pulling us toward the light. I feel like it’s a force that I have no control over, like gravity after you jump. I’m excited because I know that I’d find that light, but I’m nervous to make the leap.”

Hildabrand sat quietly in her recliner contemplating Lythina’s words. Her desire to protect Lythina from disappearing at sea while seeking the sealight, as well as wondering herself just what that light was, created a dissonance within her. Plus, she was acutely aware that she could not stop Lythina from going; the young lady had too much of her mother’s curiosity inside of her, and far too much of her father’s unbridled determination. She raised her eyes to meet her granddaughter’s.

Hildabrand marveled at how Lythina’s emerald eyes glistened from the flickering light of the fire, how her exquisite features were pronounced by the playful shadows that danced on her skin. To the old innkeeper, she really looked like a McCloud. She gave a deep, surrendered sigh.

“You’re going to need some supplies,” Hildabrand smiled.

Lythina burst into a grin, “thank you for believing in me. I need your support more than you can imagine.”

“I know, dear. That’s why I’ll help the best I can.”

The night passed with more mugs of tea and laughter as Hildabrand and Lythina hammered out the details of how she was going to travel across the sea. They decided that the best course of action was to pack enough food and fresh water to last a few days. By Hildabrand’s conjecture, the light wasn’t more than a day’s journey out, so Lythina would have enough stores to find it, or not, and still return with ample supplies. Afterward, Hildabrand calculated the moon cycles, concluding that the next full moon would be in two days. This would give them enough time to prepare and gather all of the necessary provisions.

Hildabrand also shared with her granddaughter some of the most remarkable, intimate moments of Marcus and Kari’s relationship. The innkeeper answered all of Lythina’s questions as fast as the young lady thought them up. And for a long while, the two women sat in front of that exquisite mantle bathed in the warmth of the fire, enjoying each other’s presence. Ultimately, the night began to sink in, and a yawn passed between them.

“Bedtime,” the little innkeeper spoke, “we have a big day tomorrow.”

Lythina looked at her with admiration. “Grandmother, thank you so much for everything. Truly, I owe you.”

“You owe me absolutely nothing, love,” Hildabrand responded. “We are so very blessed to have met, I think. And that is enough for me!”

Lythina and Hildabrand exchanged their hearts that night. After she helped her grandmother clean the dishes and settle down the fire, Lythina bathed herself and went to her room. She laid her weapons at the foot of the bed, reveling in the security she felt at this odd little Inn; not for a great while had she had the opportunity to rest without a blade at her side.

Her thoughts raced as she tried to sort out all the events of the night. Her visit with the Oracle was, at least, profitable, as she was given a gift for nothing in return. But the prophecy of her friends dying was more than a little disturbing.

“And who is Mathias?” she whispered again. Dismissing the question, she sighed and remembered her long talk with Hildabr… her grandmother, wow, and all those stories about her parents. Tonight, she decided, was dedicated to her family.

As she slipped into bed, her mind began to quiet down, and as soon as her head nestled into the pillow, she was fast asleep. While her unconsciousness swam in the depths of the Universe, Lythina’s mind clouded over with a white, swirling mist. Images of fire, and people on a hillside, and a blindingly bright light flashed inside the fog before darkness swept her quietly into the night.