There was no way he was ditching me here. Brookhaven was barely larger and no nicer than our shack.
I deserve someplace bigger. I want an adventure.
CARDEN
I thought coming to the Southern Isle would be an adventure, a new start. I’d left my kingdom, family, home, and past behind. The weather was markedly hotter than I was used to back home, but the people of Grithim were cold and life here was more expensive than it had been in the Seven Kingdoms. The coin I had was going fast, too fast, and I hadn’t found steady work, let alone a place to lay my head at night.
Grithim was in a constant state of upheaval, from what I managed to glean from the conversations I’d eavesdropped on so far. Though their king and queen were steadfast and doing everything in their power to reassure the people of a safe and steady future, their prince and the only heir to the throne had taken up with a witch.
Understandably, the people didn’t have confidence in the situation. They didn’t trust the fae at all, and since the witch was half-fae, they believed she’d used her powers and potions to lure him away. They were convinced she wanted to swoop in and take their kingdom, merging it with her own and making them all citizens of Virosa. But the people refused to be governed by a creature they hated.
It seemed the people of Grithim didn’t like outsiders, as a general rule, and it quickly became clear that I wasn’t welcome there. I couldn’t tell you how many places, farms and businesses alike, I’d stopped in to inquire about employment. None needed help, and all were swift to show me the door.
Weaving my way through the kingdom, bleeding coin with each stop along the road, I finally offered an old man enough to give me a ride in his wagon. Harper was heading to Brookhaven, a small, backward village, as he described it.
He wasn’t sure I’d have any better luck there than I had here, but was willing to take me with him since I wasn’t looking for a hand-out. I’d planned to make my way to Ringsted, but in the end, it seemed fate wanted me to go someplace smaller. Besides, I was in a land I didn’t know. Best to pay for a ride from someone than go it alone in the woods. And having company wasn’t so bad.
The old man liked to talk, and as we bumped along the rutted road, he told stories. He made his living hauling goods to and from Grithim and Brookhaven, pointing out homes along the way and telling me who the folks were and what scandals befell their families. But as we left the homes peppered through the countryside and entered the forest, he made the sign of the cross on his chest and muttered a quick prayer of protection against the dark queen of the forest.
“Queen?” I asked when he explained the reason behind his trepidation.
He looked all around the wood. “I always take the safe path, skirting around Virosa before the trail bends southwest, but it doesn’t matter much what path you take. She can hear you even now. She’s watching. I feel her cold eyes upon us.”
“The Queen of Virosa?”
“Nah, that one isn’t bad through and through. I mean, she’d gut ya if you messed with her people, but not for just breathing. The queen I worry about is…”
A crow began to caw from a branch overhead and Harper, who’d barely taken a breath between words, didn’t say another word for hours.
I couldn’t explain it, but a cold chill ran up my spine at the thought of someone watching us. He refused to speak again until sundown, when we had to stop, see to the horses, and set up for the night.
In silence, I helped him arrange a makeshift camp, plucking stones from the land and making a small circle to contain our fire, then filling it with dead branches.
He tied his horses to a tree located near a small stream. They drank their fill and ate the oats and apples he’d brought for them before laying down to rest.
That night, we chewed on dried meat. He was stingy about sharing his ale until he’d had a couple of pints and loosened his muscles and lips. That night he told me all sorts of stories, the alcohol making the gruff old coot’s eyes widen and his hands gesture wildly as he told me all about the fae.
How some were wee men who stole from any human they came across. If they didn’t take your wares, they’d take your pants and shoes, he claimed. He’d seen more than one trader emerge from the woods wearing nothing but his undergarments.
He said that some looked like and were no bigger than flowers. Those kept to themselves, but they had ears. “Ya have to watch yer mouth around ‘em, lest they tell the Queen what you say.” Harper glanced around, looking across the forest floor. “We’re safe. No flowers ‘round here.”
“You keep mentioning this queen. How do you know about her?” I asked curiously.
“A friend of mine, another trader… he left Grithim for Ringsted. His body parts were found strung up along the branches of an Elder tree, and everyone knows it’s the fae who keep the Elders. And it was in her forest.”
“How do you know it’s hers?”
“She lets us know, boy,” Harper answered with a glinty stare. “She’s gutted men, left them pinned to a tree without a nail or rope holdin’ ‘em there; their bowels spilling to the ground and animals tearing into their innards. She’s cut their heads clean off and took ‘em as trophies. They say she hangs them all in her castle. And just last month, she tore the heart out of some poor sap. They say the buzzards wouldn’t even land to eat him up. Even they’re afraid of her. And you should be, too.”
He crossed his chest, yawned, and stretched out by the fire. “That’s enough talk about her tonight. I need to get a good night’s rest.”
Harper fell fast asleep and was snoring faster than should have been humanly possible, while I was left sitting by the fire, staring into the darkness. He wasn’t trying to scare me with his warnings. He really believed the stories and felt he was helping me by sharing them. I didn’t know what to think of them, though. I’d never seen a faery and didn’t really believe in them. But Harper did.
The horses were uneasy. They would lay down only to jump up a few minutes later, ears flicking back and forth, their eyes searching all around for predators. I knew better than to get too close. They might kick out in fear, and an injury was more than I could afford. So, I sat in the back of the wagon and watched Harper’s chest rise and fall, keeping his bow and full quiver close just in case.
The next morning, Harper was slow to stand. With his hand on his lower back, he stiffly walked to the wagon. “Stamp out that fire and let’s get going.”
I’d stayed up until almost dawn and finally fell asleep sitting up. Harper wasn’t happy. He’d wanted to be moving by dawn, yet I’d slept through it and so had he. “This’ll put us behind,” he grumped. “I thought young fellows got up with the roosters.”