The effect of Conona’s words on Wilm was immediate and powerful. The young man, wilted and plain alongside the vibrant animation of the old woman, sat up straight. His face brightened.

“To Chanford Falls? All the way to Chanford Falls?” A similar note of desperation to Conona’s underscored his words. “Oh, I would pay you handsomely if you’d agree to take us so far on our way.”

“As I thought. I’ll leave you to your negotiations, then.” Conona walked away with her unhurried pace. But she wasted no time getting underway, and she headed directly for the stairs.

Despite Conona’s word choice, nothing about Wilm’s demeanor or words suggested there would be an attempt to slyly negotiate a protection fee. To the contrary, actually, Galen was suddenly certain.

He’d cut off his own arm if it would get him away from here sooner.

What had Conona said? The pair came with challenges?

“Oh my. Look at you.” The old woman half raised from her chair and gawped at Galen.

The woman’s eyes were so black that Galen couldn’t see the pupils, and her stare so surprisingly fierce that Galen felt pinned. She thumped her walking stick against the floor and cackled with obvious delight.

“What a fine specimen of a young man! No wonder the goddess has painted her colors all over your aura. Come and sit, young people! You, son.” The old woman gestured to Galen. “You come and sit right beside me. I want a closer look at you.”

So many things hit Galen at once that he stayed where he was, staring stupidly.

The old woman could tell he’d been “touched.” She apparently knew by whom, although her reference to some generic “goddess” was less than informational.

Or maybe she was just a wacky old lady—another dynamic NPC with no real point except to be interesting.

But maybe she’s more.

“Not now, Nana Rette!” Wilm’s voice crackled with irritation. “Can’t you just behave yourself for a single moment?”

Nana Rette waved a hand at Wilm without glancing away from Galen. “I don’t know why you’re so upset with me. I’m only saying what I see.”

Galen didn’t dare to glance at either Brin or Danto, so he kept looking into the old woman’s eyes. Despite his discomfort at being the center of attention, he found himself wanting to ask her questions.

Which goddess? What colors? What does that mean?

The narrator apparently didn’t care to clue Galen in, yet.

Maybe this Nana Rette didn’t mean or see anything. Maybe she was a befuddled old woman, and she was just saying whatever she felt like saying.

But something about Galen was different. He couldn’t return to the Shining One who’d blessed or perhaps cursed him. This was the first time there’d been even a whiff of possibility that someone might be able to explain things to him.

“We have business to conduct.”

While Galen was staring into Nana Rette’s black eyes and trying to see his future in them, Wilm had stood and walked around the table. The young man wore nice clothing, a fitted jerkin with loops and buttons down the front and a standing collar. On his hip rode a rapier so fine and shiny that Galen wondered if it had ever been used.

“Just stay here, old woman,” Wilm scolded. “You’ve caused enough trouble already.”

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Wilm led the way from the table and toward the door. Brin and Danto followed him. After a moment’s hesitation, Galen followed them. But he cast a look over his shoulder as they exited the building.

Nana Rette still watched Galen, her smile toothy and her eyes glittering. When she caught him looking back, she lifted a wrinkled hand and waggled her fingers in a wave.

#

In theory, the trek home from Utfast shouldn’t have been all that different from the journey there, even with two additional people along for the ride. Galen had even planned out how he might discreetly approach Nana Rette to ask her more about what she’d meant by her remark the previous day.

Galen hadn’t been counting on the chickens.

Maxil Wilm and his Nana Rette drove a cart rather than riding. The wheels thumped and creaked along the rutted road while the three militia rode their horses at a walk to keep pace with the sturdier, burden-laden cart horse. Road dust flavored the humid air, stirred by wheels and hooves.

The cart wasn’t a large one—just big enough to carry Nana and all her worldly belongings from Edenfane in the foothills of the Bonabury Mountains, where she had lived all her life, as she told them several times. But she was getting up there in age now, Wilm told them just as many times, so her great-grandson had been dispatched to fetch her to Diairm to live with her family there. Wilm seemed irritated by Nana Rette’s lack of gratitude for the rescue. For her part, the old woman didn’t seem unhappy. If anything, she appeared to be enjoying her adventure immensely.

Chief among the old woman’s belongings was a wooden cage containing four massive hens, the likes of which Galen had never seen, in this life or his former one.

“Bonaburys, named for the mountains they’re native to.” Delight wreathed Nana Rette’s wrinkled face when Danto asked her about the birds. “Fern, Rose, Amaril, and Saphie. My precious girls.”

Danto rode alongside the cart and drew stories from Nana Rette like a weaver drawing thread from a spindle. The hens were, Nana assured him, rare and worth a pretty penny. Galen saw the likelihood of that easily enough—far larger than normal chickens, their feathers were downy to the point of resembling fur and brilliantly colored, one each of green, red, yellow, and blue.

The hens were also incredibly loud. Their constant irritable grumbling periodically broke out into a series of screeching exclamations. By midday, tension had drawn tight across the back of Galen’s shoulders and crept up his neck and across his forehead.

“We should really cover them,” Wilm tried at one point, “so they’ll quiet down. They might draw unwanted attention.”

Nana Rette huffed and frowned. “It makes them too sad. Would you like to be covered with a cloth just because you speak your mind?”

Wilm took a deep breath and leaned closer to Nana. His mouth moved as he murmured into her ear.

“What? Speak up, Max. You know I can’t hear so well.”

“This is how we lost our last escort, Nana!” Wilm’s face reddened. He glanced miserably toward where Galen and Brin rode off to the side and slightly ahead of the cart.

Galen quickly found somewhere else to be looking, but not before he glimpsed a sly grin on Nana’s lips.

“The wolves came, and then bandits came, and even then you wouldn’t cover the damned beasts to keep them quiet.” Wilm’s voice rose in pitch and wavered, a child trying to impress childish reason on an elder. “So our escort quit!”

“They demanded a raise first. And when you wouldn’t give it to them, they stole all your coin and left us stranded in Utfast.” Nana laid out the words in a perfectly calm tone and managed to make it sound exactly like the entire situation was Wilm’s fault.

Wilm’s response was an unintelligible choking sound. From Galen’s other side, where Brin rode, issued a similar strangling sound. Galen clenched his jaw and held his breath to keep in the sudden laughter welling there. He didn’t dare to actually look at Brin.

“Well, we’re in good hands now, I’m sure. I don’t believe these fine young people would rob us, even if you had anything left for them to steal. Would you, Dannie?”

“It’s Danto, ma’am. But no ma’am, we would never do that.”

“You’re a good boy, Dannie. Isn’t he a good boy, Max?”

There was a pause, and Galen risked a backwards glance. Danto rode right alongside the cart, next to Nana Rette. Galen wasn’t quite sure why Danto had taken such a shine to the old woman, but he’d barely been away from her side since they’d set out that morning. Maybe he was just happy to still be anywhere but back in Chanford Falls.

In that particular moment, Danto smiled vaguely toward the sky, and sun caught in his golden curls. He wasn’t looking directly at Nana Rette. But Nana Rette was looking at him, and with an intensity that caused Galen’s own amused smile to falter momentarily. Her eyes squinted, and the wrinkles across her forehead had doubled. Her head tipped to the side, as if she were puzzling something out.

“Shall I tell you some more stories, Dannie?” An odd note rang through the offer, and Galen’s smile faded further.

Oblivious to the possibility of anything being amiss, Danto merely grinned fondly down at the old woman. “Of course!”

Nana Rette paused for a long moment and then carefully asked, “Have you heard of Eve the Youngest?”