Ivian held me tight, even after Saul brought father over.

"Ivian, you and Tilly have been through much, but we have to leave this place." My father said, in a hard, but not unkindly tone. "Saul, go tell the city guards from Bridgewater to saddle up. I will take my son and the maid. We should get going."

"Yes sir."

Father got Ivian to stand then unrolled a bundle of straw that he had been carrying.

"Here, fit this over Tilvrade and put this one on yourself."

They were bulky clothes made of straw of all things. Father himself wasn't wearing one, so I wondered why I needed to put it on. The jacket was much bigger than I was, but seemed at least to be made for a younger boy.

I was too exhausted to make a fuss and we were soon heading towards the exit of the cave.

There was still rain, though it was a different sort now. It was less turbulent and cold, almost a brume that floated persistently downwards to the ground.

Through the grey brume, I could see a dozen men, and a couple more at the edge of the clearing standing watch. Each of them, other than father and Saul, had the same teal blue crest of a three petalled flower emblazoned on their leather armour. It was the insignia from when the ipocond's retinue had stood in front of the manor.

"Pricel!" I shouted when I saw our third companion. Fortunately, he seemed unharmed, if very pale.

Pricel was lying down at Nistan's feet. Based on the snippets of conversation we had heard, I suspect Pricel was the original target of this kidnapping.

A whole two years, Nistan had spent, apparently just trying to get into favour to take the role of Pricel's shadow. Why so much effort for such a little boy?

Father seemed to think that Cond Bairv was grandfather's retainer, the same as Cianna and her family. I didn't know anything about nobles and their politics, but it seemed a bit extreme to me for a bit of infighting.

Even if I was just a side trophy, Nistan would have to have been convinced he could sell me too, instead of facing the ire of his would be rewarder for Pricel.

And the crooked nosed man, if he was an accomplice, it seems it was no coincidence he had tried to become a stablehand just days before mother's father's arrival. It all seemed too coincidental though. How would they have known we were looking for a new stablehand just recently?

Pricel looked up at us and I didn't see any of the bubbling curiosity of the first day of his visit. But his strained smile reassured me nonetheless.

"My lord, if we could go see if Pricel..." Ivian suggested to father, who was surveying the men.

"Not now Ivian. We have a lot of ground to cover and a flock of shriekers to watch out for." He looked down at Ivian with an apologetic curve to his lips, then looked at me. "I would bandage my son immediately, but we didn't have time to prepare such things when we found out Nistan had taken you. It was fortunate Cianna was able to thrust the rain coats on me at least."

I honestly wasn't too worried about my scrapes and bruises. Sure, they are bothersome, of course, but I know that a simple healing spell can stitch together superficial wounds like this in moments.

I tried not to think too much about my father's mention of bandages.

"Where are you injured? Is it just your leg?"

There had been too many things taking my attention. I was ashamed to only notice Ivian limping on her right leg at father's mention.

"Are you okay?"

I asked worriedly as Ivian responded to father, "I feel bruised all over, but nothing serious other than my ankle. Shh Tilly, I'm fine."

It made me somewhat happy that we had mirror injuries.

"Karbrol, right? Your assistance, if you will." My father called and a bearded man with a round face and broad shoulders who walked over.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Give the maid a hand, while I hold my son."

I don't believe my father had ever once held me before, so I had some unease as Ivian held me out to father's waiting hands.

As he took me, I saw again the hard calluses at the root of each finger. Even through the straw, I could feel the strength of his hands, obvious from the ease with which he held me. I expected his hold to be reassurance, but he was indecisive and hesitant as he held me, transmitting some of his awkward anxiety to me.

He was known as a knight, a warrior and leader, but I felt that just to hold his son for a brief moment caused him fear and maybe wonder.

Or maybe it was just distaste at the smell of baby, dirt and blood that wafted to his nose...

Nevertheless, I appreciated that hesitant hold, much more than I would have a decisive, inattentive one.

But it was only a moment, without even eye contact before Ivian had been hoisted onto the horse safely and accepted me back into her arms.

Then the horse paced forwards and back, perhaps nervous of all the unfamiliar people around it.

As soon as father jumped on, he had it begin walking forward, and Karbrol was running to his own steed to join the growing file of knights and squires, mostly from the ipocond's retinue, heading back into the woods.

It was a long and dreary passage, neither Ivian nor father saying much. They sometimes shifted or apologised awkwardly to each other, some kind of hesitation, perhaps because of status, at sharing a horse.

Fortunately, the straw jacket was much more effective than I would have thought, keeping most of the water off of me and Ivian.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Birds from behind!" A lookout once shouted, but it turned out to be just a flock of long-billed geese.

It was something I had noticed before, but was too caught up in fear to really think about. Both the Elk with its sharp and jagged crown and the birds who were around us earlier and now all seemed more vicious or just larger somehow than their brethren in the ghostly images that flickered around me. A thought for another time perhaps.

Other small stops to check a trail or path were not infrequent. When we stopped, sometimes I would fall asleep, but only for a few moments, before the horses plodded along again.

Even in the brume, Ivian and I only seemed to get dirtier, the rivulets of water smudging already caked mud and gore across our clothes and skin.

A number of times, I had to close my eyes, stinging from dirt and exhaustion. I wanted to sleep for real, but even though father kept the horse trotting slowly, it was like a jolt through the bruises on my body each time it took a step.

Long hours haunted by the calls of birds and the memories of a similar horse travelling the other way made me even more happy to see the familiar field that we finally emerged into.

As we did step out of the trees, I could see mother in the distance, a look of terrified suspense marring her features.

A bit away from her, mother's father stood, also looking to us in worry.

She was somehow able to preserve a ladylike poise as she ran up to the horse. Her father, just waited, perhaps unable to do the same thing with that girth sitting around his waist.

"Tilly, my sweet Tilly," She said, looking at me in horrified worry. "your eye... Sivis, what happened? Is he still our Tilly?"

As she mentioned my eye, I realised that the terrible scratchiness in my right eye was not just exhaustion and rain.

Ivian lifted me up and I saw her gasp.

"Oh no, Tilly! Talk to me!"

"Ivian? My eyes are itchy..."

"Demon eyes," my father said ominously, staring intently at me. "I have heard of such a thing, but Tilvrade's eye was just a bit red when we left the ruin. It's not the glow of a shrieker. Did anything happen without my noticing?"

"No, my lord, I don't think so," Ivian responded uncertainly.

"How could we let this happen? Oh Tilly. And you are covered in cuts and bruises too."

Here I was, safe and sound, finally at home, and now mother decided to descend into a panicky plight. But I was still pleased at the fuss and her attentions as Ivian passed me to her. Hopefully my eye would be alright. There was a doctor who could use basic heals somewhere, right?

Not far away, mother's father was also putting his arms around Pricel, trying to reassure him everything was fine now.

"Ivian," mother said, as she cupped my bum and head through the straw jacket, "I don't know how we can ever repay you for saving our son."

"My lady, it was not I who saved your son but your son who saved me," Ivian said modestly.

My mother couldn't suppress a smile even as she was choking up.

"Ivian saved me, on a big horse," I corrected.

Mother didn't take either of our words too much to heart, confused at my gesturing at father's horse and perhaps disbelieving that a baby, even me, could have played a part.

"Thank you," she simply said.

I saw my father nudge his horse with his knees and his horse trot towards the stable as mother walked hurriedly back into the manor, Ivian following closely behind.

I wonder if father's horse had a name too, like Sandy.

I was feeling much more fond of the creatures since one died for my sake and another just brought me home.

"I don't know how this could have happened," mother's father said, walking towards us, protectively shielding his grandson. "Nistan was like one of our family. He has been with us for almost 2 years now. Why would anyone want to take my grandson?"

"Father, I do not know either why that murderer would target your grandson or my son," mother said in a frigid voice, perfectly fitting the image of my cold father's wife. "What I do know is that you brought him here and put my family in danger."

My mother seemed ready to continue lecturing the ipocond, but Ivian unexpectedly interrupted, "Lord Ipocond, my lady, I humbly request to speak."

"Of course, Ivian, please do," my mother spoke much more warmly to my maid.

"That man, Nistan, he cast a curse of silence on myself and I believe on Tilly and Pricel as well. If not for that, we wouldn't have just disappeared without shouts and noise like that." Ivian was shivering as she brought up the events of last night that I just wanted to forget.

"Nistan cast a curse?" My mother's father exclaimed, unsettled. "That's impos... no, maybe not. I am a fool to have believed I knew the man. But even so, I don't understand why."

"My lord, both he and Drim, the other man with the crooked nose, seem to have been expecting to meet someone in Ibbergreen."

"I must take Pricel inside," the ipocond excused himself. "Then see to Nistan's body and belongings. Perhaps we can learn something yet."

Ivian gulped as the ipocond walked away, before hesitantly continuing, "And... My lady, before you go in, there's one more thing. I... I don't know how exactly, but Aian's death... the shaman might have been involved."

"The shaman? What exactly does Shaman Ikstoff have to do with this villain?"

"I don't know, my lady, I don't know," Ivian was starting to get flustered. "It's just, he just, they were talking in the cave. Maybe it was idle talk...."

"Ivian, I did not mean to frighen you. Please tell me what you heard."

"My lady," Ivian bobbed her head and wiped her eyes, "It's just those two men, when they were talking, Drim mentioned how Aian had died of the plague. Nistan didn't seem to know of Ikstoff's visit to the manor, but he immediately said that it couldn't have been the plague, that we would all been dying if it were. Nistan seemed to realise something, but he didn't want to tell the crooked nosed man. I don't know anything more than that, we were all so tired and scared..."

"Hush Ivian, everything is alright now, you need to look forward, as do we all," my mother carefully held me in one arm as she reached out to wipe a tear from Ivian's dirty cheek. "No more of this talk of conspiracy and madness. My son needs to be treated."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was no healer, I found out to my horror as we figured out what to do in my room.

"You must have been so scared, Tilly. But don't worry, you're alright now." Mother told me over and over again as she tended to my wounds as best she could.

I was too tired and in too much pain to say anything, but not to prevent me from crying.

How was I supposed to not worry? Of course I was worried. Mother was slathering some ointment on me, but there was no doctor, no healing spells, no ambulance and professional care.

There was nothing I could do though, just hope that, by some miracle, I would get better.

Fortunately, the ointment was good at one thing. It smelled so pungent that it took my mind off the pain as I needed all my attention just to keep breathing.

Actually, it was a similar kind of smell to Grita that I now reeked of. Grita, who was no longer here to help.

It had only been a little over a week since she came to take care of me at the manor but she was already gone from this world, the old midwife dead because of me.

More tears poured out of my eyes as I remembered the old woman who had smelled of shoes and oily herbs, and was brash and overly opinionated about just about anything, but still strong of heart and kind of soul.

I even missed that hint of loneliness I sometimes saw in Grita, hunched over in the chair. I would never again cheer her up by simply sharing a smile or the needs of the every day.

Why was it that everything felt so much worse when I was now safely in bed?

"I'm just grateful to the spirits that that ruffian turned into a shrieker," She mumbled something and grimaced each time she tenderly tried to heal one of my bruises or cuts. "It has been so long since there were possessed sighted in Valeford, but he got that wretch off of you."

I wanted to be more helpful, at least by lifting my head or arms when mother carefully patted me down in a bath to remove the dirt and blood. Instead, my body would shake and tremor randomly and I felt myself falling asleep at odd moments.

When she returned me to my crib, I woke again briefly as she treated the scrapes, cuts and purple bruises that seemed to be more plentiful than unblemished skin.

Now, mixed with grey ointment smears, the yellows and blacks made my arms look like monarch caterpillars like one Grita had once shown me outside.

I just had to hope that when this ugly casking fell off me, I would become a beautiful butterfly again.

When... or if, I thought, my eyelids closing from sheer exhaustion over the stinging pain.