Isa heard the conversations around her, but she was focused on her closed notebook. With a deep breath she opened it and saw “Isa Chamberlin, age: 38”

Seeing her new age in black and white actually calmed Isa. No more worries, no fears. This was reality; here was truth. She closed her notebook and looked up in time to see Mery snatch the book from her. “Alice, catch.” Mery tossed Isa’s notebook to Alice. “She’s not keeping secrets, I hope.”

Isa held up her hands. “Who’s got all the notebooks?”

Lund smiled and showed his empty hands. Marissa said, “I guess I do.” She held out her notebook. “Here,” she walked over to Isa. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about the first time, and I only just found out about this time. And, I didn’t do this to you. At least, I don’t think I did.”

Isa took Marissa’s notebook. “I wish we’d—”

“Yeah. If I’d told you the truth, maybe—”

“Yeah.” Isa nodded and looked down at the notebook. “It feels weird to look at your personal stuff.”

“Lund was right – it’s the shortest path to trust.”

“That and being naked in front of all of you.” Isa laughed.

Alice moved closer to Isa and said quietly, “Let’s talk later. I love you.” She handed Isa her notebook.

Looking at the two books in her hands. “Did Lund say you’re a monk? I don’t—”

“I do,” said Alice. “Aikido. Right?”

Marissa nodded. “I didn’t really pay much attention to my notebook in Portland – evident by the fact that I’m still a level 4 druid – but yeah, after I started studying aikido I guess I got a level of monk.”

“Buddhist,” said Alice to Isa. “Not Gregorian.”

“I was figuring that out.” Isa held up her notebook. “I got mine back. Does everyone have their book? This was a fun little exercise but….”

“So Alice is a wizard,” Marissa said.

“Yes, she is,” replied Alice.

“I thought maybe a druid, with all the botany.” Marissa shrugged. “It suits you, though. And Isa? You’re…?”

“A fighter and, thanks to Ysel, a cleric, I guess.”

“Isa was stingy with the notebook,” said Mery. “But the person who matters most got to see it, right Ally?”

“I didn’t really need to see it. We don’t have secrets, Isa and I.”

Just then came a knock on the door. “Service!” called a voice, and the door opened.

A man entered with a basket piled with clothes. “Cook’ll do you breakfast, if you’re hungry.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Mery nodded. “Five for breakfast, and we’re past hungry and out the other side.” She winked at the man. “Tell the cook that, won’t you, please?”

As they were getting dressed, Mery kept glancing at Isa. “You feeling quite yourself, Isa?”

Buttoning her shirt, Isa shrugged. “Sure. I guess.” She bent to grab her shoes.

“Let me see you,” said Marissa.

“I’m fine,” Isa stayed in a bent position.

“Baby.” Alice put her hand on Isa’s back. “It’s alright. And you can’t hide it anyway.”

“Hide what?” Lund looked from Alice to Isa. When no one answered he looked at Marissa. “What’s going on?”

Marissa held up her hand. “Did something happen in the tomb? Did you—”

“The ghost,” said Mery. “That fucking cat.”

“I remember the ghost,” said Lund. “Almost pissed myself.”

“But it didn’t age you ten years, did it?” Isa shot back.

“Age me?”

“Damn and double damn.” Mery patted Isa’s shoulder. “You’re only as old as you feel. That’s what my granny likes to say.”

“How old is she?” asked Isa.

“Sixty.”

“I’m catching up to her.” Isa snatched her bag and weapons and left the room.

In the large common area, a girl was setting plates at a table near the fire. “For you and yours, ma’am,” said the girl.

Isa sighed inwardly. Ma’am. I’ve become a ma’am. “Thank you,” she said and started to sit down. But really, the last thing she wanted to hear was Marissa Mills explain how all of this is part of Ysel’s great idea.

She grabbed a roll and an apple from the table and said to the girl, “Is there a healer in this village?” The girl nodded. “Mimay Surefoot. She has a cat!”

Isa glanced at the soaking tub door. “Where can I find her?” Before the girl could answer Isa was moving toward the front door. The others would be emerging any moment.

“She usually has a stall at….”

Isa missed the last part because she’d already left the inn. In a village this size, how hard can it be to find a healer. What was her name? Mayme? Mimi? Mayme, Isa was almost positive. Mayme, the cleric with the cat.

She paused for the briefest moment in front of the inn before ducking around the side of the building. Mefal was probably considered a metropolis by the inhabitants of the region, but it was just a collection of buildings that seemed to be grouped in a basic oval. There were no trees, only the dusty buildings set on flat, barren land.

Within ten minutes of leaving the inn, Isa had seen Mefal in its entirety. A hundred yards from the inn, and set apart from the other buildings, was a blacksmith’s workshop and a storage shed beside it. The shed had a thick chain and lock draped through the door’s handles. Past that, almost at the edge of what seemed to be the village limits, Isa saw a clearing with a low fence. Impossible to know what the fence was for; almost impossible to think that it was strong enough to keep anything in or out.

The wind blew cold from the west, and Isa gripped her cloak closer. With her hands still clenching the fabric, Isa looked around her, turning in a slow circle. “If I was a healer, where would I set up my shop?” Stall, not shop. The serving girl distinctly said stall.

But her survey of the town had showed no market area and no people. Where are the people?

Again, the wind whipped at her cloak, and Isa wiped a tear from her cold cheek. Think about it, she told herself. In this climate would they have an outdoor market? No. They’d have some big barn-like structure, or some pavilion so that at least the merchants would be protected from rain and snow.

Had she seen anything like that in her circuit around the village? As she turned to survey again, Isa saw movement out of the corner of her eye. A cloaked figure moved toward the blacksmith shop. “Hello,” she called. “Do you live here?”

The figure hurried on as if they hadn’t heard. And it was possible, with the wind picking up, that Isa’s words had been lost. She jogged to catch up with the only person she’d seen outside the inn. Surely this village wasn’t devoid of people; it was just a matter of getting the local perspective. And besides, the blacksmith’s would be warm at least.

The shop had a piece of canvas or hide hanging from the eaves and tied to hook near the ground. Perhaps it covered a summer entrance or maybe just a gap in the planks that made up the walls of the building, and, as Isa approached, the wind blew the canvas sideways revealing the inside of the smithy. Joth Windbane stood talking with a tall, bearded man.