“Fha’lear.”
The word had been etched into Amriel's mind ever since the wounded man had murmured it, its meaning tantalizingly elusive and haunting. It reverberated in her thoughts, an echo that grew louder with each passing moment. To her, the sound felt both familiar and ancient, as if it belonged to a time long forgotten.
Fluent in at least eight languages, Nythia ensured her daughter embraced the diverse tongues of their world. Each language had its own rhythm, its own essence, and Amriel reveled in the melody of them all.
In her youth, every task had a designated language, a ritual they engaged in together. While foraging for herbs, her mother would converse solely in Vhars, the language of the hardy northern tribes; Maeve's people. During their hunts, and as they prepared the game, Plasie—the tongue of the Hill Lords to the east—would flow between them. In the healing rooms, the gentle cadence of Mhalador filled the air, each word a soothing balm for the wounded souls they cared for.
Living in the capital had opened Amriel’s eyes to a vibrant tapestry of cultures and languages, each thread weaving into the rich fabric of her experiences. But none of these languages could explain the word that haunted her.
Unfortunately, from how Maeve shook her head, her friend had never heard this word, or dialect, before either.
As they walked, the sunlight created a fiery halo that shimmered around Maeve’s head. “No, can’t say I have heard that one before. Perhaps Simon might. He deals with all sorts from beyond the capital. Why?”
Amriel shrugged, glancing sideways at Maeve. “It’s just been bothering me. I was hoping someone might know what it meant.”
The sun hung high in the bright, clear sky as the two women made their way toward the market on the north side. With the early year’s chill still lingering, the farmers would be selling off the last of their cold-stored produce. Amriel anticipated a bountiful display of root vegetables, perfect for the rabbit Meeko had caught.
“Are you sure he wasn’t just rambling? You mentioned he’d lost a lot of blood. He might not have been thinking straight,” Maeve said.
“He said it twice before he passed out. That feels like too much of a coincidence to me,” Amriel replied, a crease forming as her dark brows furrowed in thought. The more she pondered, the more convinced she became that there was significance behind those words.
For an instant, the man’s face flashed before Amriel's mind. The intensity in his emerald eyes when he spoke the word lingered in her thoughts, leaving her with an unsettling feeling that there was more significance behind it than mere babble.
“Fha’lear. Hmm, that sounds lovely, in a dark, yearning sort of way,” Maeve mused, a teasing half-smile dancing on her lips.
Amriel chuckled softly. “I suppose you could say that.”
“Or it could just be the ramblings of a madman,” Maeve quipped, her gentle laughter mingling with Amriel's in the crisp, cool morning air. “Which is precisely why you’re spending the night with us.”
Though her friend was laughing, Amriel could sense the seriousness underlying Maeve’s words.
With her father long dead, and only the gods knew where her mother might be, Simon, Maeve, and now their daughters, were Amriel’s family.
What would I do without them? Amriel wondered, her heart swelling with gratitude as she and Maeve crossed the old stone bridge leading into the city. The sound of the rushing river filled the air, a powerful symphony of nature as the water surged past, swollen from the spring thaw and the previous night's storm.
As they approached the city, life erupted around them. The northern open-air market was already alive with activity. Merchants bustled about, setting up their stalls, their colorful wares forming a vibrant tapestry of sights and sounds that enveloped Amriel and Maeve. Lively chatter mingled with the calls of vendors hawking their goods, creating a symphony that echoed in the cool morning air. The scents wafting through the market were tantalizing—freshly baked bread, fragrant perfumes, and exotic spices that teased the senses and ignited Amriel’s appetite.
Her stomach growled in eager anticipation, urging her to explore the market and indulge in its offerings. As always, the first stop for the two friends was the bakery stall run by Lonny Miller. The rich aroma of cinnamon and raisin tarts wafted toward her, and Amriel could practically taste the sweetness on her tongue. The thought of the warm, flaky pastry filled with gooey raisins made her mouth water, a delicious promise that made the bustling market even more enticing.
“Lonny’s tarts are calling to me,” she said, her voice laced with excitement as they approached the stall.
“Good morning, Lonny!” Amriel and Maeve replied in cheerful unison.
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“I was hoping you’d stop by. I have something I’d like you to take a look at, Amriel,” Lonny said, her voice warm and inviting.
“Of course, Lonny,” Amriel replied with a nod, curious about what the baker had in mind.
“Alright, while you check that out, I’m going to see Greg. I’m hoping he has some of those yellow potatoes the girls love,” Maeve said, a hint of excitement in her voice. She pressed a copper coin into Lonny's hand, then grabbed her tart and turned toward the nearby farmer’s stall.
Just out of the oven, the freshly baked tarts tasted as good as they smelled. Amriel devoured hers in just a few bites, savoring the warm, sweet cinnamon and the plump raisins bursting with flavor. She licked her fingers clean, enjoying the last remnants of her indulgence, then nodded appreciatively at Lonny before following her into the bakery.
***************
“When did this first start?” Amriel asked, crouching beside Lonny. She studied the rash spreading across the side of Lonny’s right calf, the angry red bloom visible in the filtered light streaming through the window.
“Yesterday morning, I think,” Lonny replied, her voice tinged with frustration. “It’s awful itchy. I’ve spent half my day scratching the damn thing.”
“Did you go anywhere unusual that day?” Amriel probed, her brow furrowing in concern.
“Just took my grandbabies for a walk through the forest,” Lonny explained, her expression softening at the memory. “Their mum is expecting her fourth, so I thought she could use the rest.”
“Did you stray off the paths at all while you were out?” Amriel continued, her instincts telling her this might be more than just a simple irritation.
“No, I don’t think so... oh dear, wait a second,” Lonny said, her eyes widening in realization. She lowered her skirt as Amriel prepared to rise. “Little Gabby did make a run for it at some point. She said she saw a bunny.”
Amriel couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the image of Lonny racing after her granddaughter through the underbrush, hot on the heels of a fleeing rabbit.
“I think I know what this is,” Amriel said, her tone shifting to one of reassurance. “It looks like you had a run-in with a Candara plant. Likely when you were chasing after Gabby. That’s where they tend to grow, and they cause rashes just like this one.”
Lonny smiled ruefully, relief washing over her. “Oh dear,” she sighed. “Well, I’m thankful it’s nothing more serious.”
“I’ll get started on a poultice when I get home,” Amriel assured her. “It should help with the itching. I’ll make sure to whip up enough for Gabby too. She’s probably in the same boat.”
Suddenly, Lonny wrapped her arms around Amriel, pulling her into a tight embrace. Taken aback, Amriel froze momentarily, unused to such displays of affection. Nythia had never been one for hugs. As Lonny’s warmth enveloped her, Amriel’s body gradually relaxed, and she returned the embrace, albeit hesitantly.
“My pleasure, Lonny,” she said softly, hoping her smile didn’t come off as awkward. As she stepped back, she felt a flicker of warmth that lingered even after their hug ended. She turned to rejoin Maeve, feeling a bit lighter than before.
*******************
By the time Maeve and Amriel left for home, the market crowds had already thinned out. Many of the merchants’ goods had already been sold, and they could see the end of their day approaching as they packed up. The sounds of chatter and haggling slowly faded into the distance behind them.
Onions, turnips, and sweet, yellow-fleshed potatoes filled Maeve's backpack to the brim, ready to be cooked into a hearty meal. At this time of the year, rabbits were often on the lean side. Realizing that the meat wouldn’t be enough to go around, Maeve opted to create a stew for the whole family.
Up in the snow-capped northern reaches, stews were a frequent meal enjoyed by many. The further north the one ventured, the shorter the growing seasons became, and fresh meat was difficult to come by. Stretching food to its limits was a regular occurrence. Consuming them in the deep chill had a unique effect - they could warm you from the inside out. Needless to say, Maeve’s stews were amongst the best Amriel had ever tasted.
The twins’ grandmother, Yuriel, had taken on the duty of caring for the girls while their mother visited the market. The large, buxom woman greeted their return with a wide smile and open arms.
A low fire burned in the house's hearth. On it, Yuriel had placed a large iron kettle filled with water. Gentle vapors were slowly arising from it as it came to a boil. Some years ago, Simon’s parents had decided they wanted a more centralized location and purchased a smaller townhome. They then gave their modest former farmhouse to their son and his young family.
After helping Maeve to wash and prepare the vegetables for the stew, Amriel slipped out to both fetch the rabbit from the cold storage and check on her patient.
“I won't be long. I just want to check on him,” said Amriel, on her way out the door.
“He might be awake now, Riel. I don’t think it’s wise to go into that house alone now. You should just grab the rabbit from the cold cellar and come right back.” Maeve frowned. "Or wait for Simon to come home. He shouldn't be much longer."
“It’s okay, Maeve. I’ll be careful, I promise,” Amriel insisted, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach.
After promising Maeve she would send for a guard if she didn’t return within the hour, Amriel finally received permission to leave.
Yet Maeve’s concern lingered in her eyes, a reminder of the risks involved. Just as Amriel was about to step out, a loud wail erupted from one of the twins, clearly displeased with something her sister had done. The shriek was enough to distract Maeve, and Amriel seized the opportunity, slipping out before any more doubts could surface.
Like many older country homes, the entrance to the cold storage was outside the cottage. Maeve was right; she could simply retrieve the rabbit for dinner, check on Meeko, and avoid the house altogether. But she needed to check on him. She had to make sure he was still doing ok. In truth, Amriel found herself hoping the man would be awake.
As she entered the cottage, a cozy warmth embraced her, instantly making her feel at ease. Amriel stepped inside, her blade concealed in her palm, ready for whatever awaited her. As she breathed in, the air was pungent with the calming scent of medicinal herbs. Their earthy aroma enveloped her.
Home.
As her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside the cottage, she found herself drawn to the area in front of the hearth. The fire inside, without attendance, was quickly turning into ash and embers. The gentle light cast by its dying flames illuminated the area before it.
Amriel’s heart lept into her throat.
The cot where the man had lain sleeping this morning was now empty.