Eidke Layheart
Winter was always the hardest time of year for us. The thin walls never kept in much heat and it was hard to keep the fire going without enough wood. It lay dead now, the hearth as cold as the rest of the house since no one but me was home and in need of its warmth.
Wood was easy enough to come by if you had the body to cut down a tree and then carry the stacks home. It was a chore even I could help with if a guide went with me into the forest. It was quite a walk, and though I could probably find my way eventually using my walking stick, it was too dangerous if I were to get lost or if a beast took me as easy prey, which I would certainly be.
Rueln was that guide most of the time, but without him, I wasn’t sure how I was helpful anymore. Papa was not strong enough most days for the work, and Aleah was busy bringing money in so we wouldn’t starve. Maybe I would ask Rueln if he could get permission from his master to help for a few days, I thought, only to dismiss it. Rueln had his own life to live now. We couldn’t rely on him, and we shouldn’t have relied on him from the beginning. He’s still so little, though he thinks otherwise.
I turned my face toward the closed door as the wind shuttered against it. I knew if I were to open them now, a chilling rain and wind of the storm would press in on the house. The temptation to check the door anyway nagged at me, wondering if the old wood would hold up against it.
It has been a month and a half since Rueln left as the apprentice to the mercenary, and so far she has been true to her word. We receive part of his wage as his family, which has helped us store up for the coming winter. The storage bin under the floor of the kitchen was fuller than it has been since Papa got sick. It did a lot to relieve the worry I knew Aleah put on herself as the only able member in the house now.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself up from my seat and walked over to the pitcher in the kitchen to pour myself a cup of water. Reaching out, I found the handle and felt for my cup, but when I went to pour it, I found the pitcher empty. Aleah was in a rush this morning and forgot to fill it, and Papa wouldn’t be returning tonight. Setting my cup down, I took the pitcher over to the back door and pulled it open.
The air was fresh, the cold of the wind nearly burning my exposed skin as I reached out to find where a steady stream of water fell. It took seconds for my fingers to feel numb, and even his it grew difficult for me to measure the best place to set the pitcher down to fill, but in the end I thought I had one. As quick as I could, I closed the door and returned to my cushion for a blanket, shivering violently. I wouldn’t be able to work again until I could feel my fingers again.
It was lonely in the house, left here day after day. Ever since Rueln’s master paid a healer to see our father, he has felt well enough to go out to do the shopping, walks. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to get out of the house after being so sick for years, but I felt forgotten. He didn’t ask if I wished to go with him. It wasn’t as if my father didn’t care. He did, but I wasn’t sure if he understood why I didn’t go out alone.
Even to myself, I sounded pitiful. I recognized it was just adjusting to the changes. I was used to having a house full of noise, life, but now it was as empty and quiet as a grave. The silence gnawed at my insides. I couldn’t say I liked it.
Finally, I had a little feeling in my fingers again. Pulling them out of the blanket, I blew on them, then reached over for the basket full of materials that always remained close so I could work. It’s been a while since I picked it up and thought I could weave something together. I reached in and was about to pull out a handful of material when my fingers touched something I forgot about.
It was rough, every weave either too tight or too loose. The small item was unfinished, probably three quarters of the way completed. The ends stuck out in every direction as my finger traced its surface, feeling every change in texture. It was the weaving of someone who was still learning and had no hand for the craft, but every mistake was a precious story of its own as I dragged it out of the larger basket and into my lap.
“Maybe I should finish it for him,” I whispered as a smile pulled my lips up, thinking about Rueln trying so hard to help me weave enough to sell. “I could give it to him the next time he visits for all the coin he is earning.” Aleah could buy some cloth too for a money pouch. I knew Rueln would like it.
I dropped the weaving in surprise when the sound of shattering glass startled me and angry pellets of icy water and wind flew into the house. I jumped to my feet and took a step back, clutching the blanket around my shoulders and trying to shield my face from the other.
I froze, not sure what to do. Did someone throw something through the window? Did the shutters break open from the wind? With little choice, I started forward, my hand in front of me. It took only a few steps before I stepped in the puddle of water forming on the wooden floor. I had to block it with something, anything, to stop the storm from getting in and soaking everything.
My hand just touched the something rough, which I believed was the bark of a branch when my foot found the shattered glass of the window. I cried out and wanted to back away, but I knew it would do me little good if I left the branch protruding through the window. Steeling myself, I took another step, more glass cutting my foot apart as I found a hold and tried to push the broken branch back outside.
Suddenly, the door behind me jerked open, and someone hurried inside. “Aleah, I need help,” I said, pushing at the branch again, not hearing the heavy boots of my father and believing my sister had come home early.
“You will hurt yourself,” a familiar voice scolded and pulled me backwards, away from the damage. It startled me to hear her, and I didn’t so much as complain when I allowed myself to be moved.
“Nomad?” I murmured, listening to her as she returned to the branch. The heavy scent of burning incense followed in her wake, distorting the freshness of the winter rain.
“Just stay there,” she ordered me before there was the distinct sound of wood breaking. She must have shoved the branch back out, because a moment later she hurried past me, then back to the window with something heavy. I heard the subtle creak of furniture as she pushed it against the opening and then all at once the sound of wind died down and the rain stopped splattering over my skin. It soaked into my blanket, and I was already shivering violently within it when hands near burning wrapped around my body and plucked me up as if I were no smaller than a babe.
“What-,” I protested in surprise, only to be hushed.
“Why haven’t you set a fire?” she demanded, irritation in her voice by the inconvenience as she set me down on what I assumed was the cushion I had just vacated a moment before. “Honestly, you can do that much without help.”
“Nomad, the-there is no ne-need for that,” I said, my teeth chattering.
“Silence,” she snapped at me, and I obeyed without hesitation. Something in her tone told me there would be no arguing with her, not that there ever was room to doubt that. All I could do was listen to her as she moved about my home, strangely familiar with it, or maybe I imagined that. The door opened and closed and opened again. The sound of something moist sizzling against something hot filled my ears. I tried to guess at what she was doing, but I had few ideas until warmth began radiating from the hearth. “Now,” she said, her tone more neutral than before, “let me see your feet. You’re bleeding.”
They hurt quite a lot, so I had little doubts about her words. Tenderly, I reached down to find the wound, but her hand brushed mine away. “I can tend to it,” I tried to assure her. “There is no need for you to-”
“Silence,” she ordered again, though it was more like a sigh than the last time. Lifting my foot with gentle hands, I marveled at how warm her fingers were. It was as if she had warmed them by the coals. Against my chilled skin, the difference was stark, painful even. “Hold still,” she said, when I flinched, feeling her examine the cuts for glass.
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“I’ll t-try,” I mumbled, unsure at the change in circumstance. Before, when she came to see Rulen, she never came inside. I had invited her in with more than one meeting, but always it was to speak with me for a few minutes, then she would leave. If anyone else was awake, or she saw I wasn’t alone, I would sense her pass by like a shadow. I was sure her eyes would watch the house until she found her opportunity.
It never felt like she was afraid of my father or being seen by my family. I didn’t believe that had anything to do with her choice. I could make a guess, but I wasn’t sure how accurate it would be, considering I knew so little of her strange ways. I could only identify the sound of her voice, and the quiet dignity of her walk, and now with her this close to me, the scent she gave off when she was near. It was incredibly unique.
Despite how gently she worked, I felt every shard being pulled from the soles of my feet. When she was done, she found a cloth and cleaned them before beginning to wrap them in bandages aft I told her where to find them. It would have taken me much longer to find every shard of glass, and longer still to walk to the door to soak the rag, then clean and bandage myself. I was grateful for her help, though I was sorry it was necessary at all.
“The pitcher should be full enough outside,” I said, after she lowered my foot back to the ground pulled the end of the blanket over it. “I can make you some tea.”
“No,” she answered immediately. “I will make you some. You need it far more than me.” Rising to her feet, she fetched the pitcher and, only a minute later, returned to me and took my hand to guide it to the cup she held.
My brows rose in surprise. It was warm. How did she do this? She didn’t put water on to boil or anything. Magic? “Thank you,” I said, wrapping my other hand around it and holding it close to my mouth so the steam could help warm me. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like any?”
“No,” she answered, settling down nearby. “Why are you alone? Where is your father?”
“Papa is with the healer,” I said, blowing on my tea before I cautiously drew it to my lips to sip. As the warmth slid down my throat, I sighed, finally relaxing a little. It felt as if it had been a long time since I was warm. “With the temperature dropping and the coming storm, he was finding it difficult to breathe. Aleah and I urged him to go, even if he must stay for a few days.”
“I see,” she murmured, and I could almost feel her gaze sweeping over everything in our modest house. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to move to Threa to be closer to Rueln. There are better healers there to tend to your father’s needs.”
“Aleah agrees, and we are saving for it, but it won’t be until summer before we have enough to attempt it,” I said, thinking about the hours extra Aleah was working now to add to that fund. She was quite determined, despite how we only needed to walk through the town’s portal to see him. I couldn’t blame her. We both wanted to be more involved in Rueln’s life. We weren’t satisfied just standing by. I don’t believe we ever could be.
“Hmm,” was all she said, keeping her opinion of the matter to herself. I could neither hear approval nor disapproval in her tone. A moment later, there was the distinct sound of rustling paper against cloth.
“What is that?” I asked, curiously.
“I stopped by for your post,” she answered. “You have a letter from your brother. Would you like me to read it to you?”
“Please,” I whispered, excited to hear there was a letter. With Rueln’s master at home, and the portals to use, Rueln didn’t write often. Well, he didn’t write at all, but had a clerk write him a letter for him. When I asked him why, he said it was a waste of coin if he could just come see us. I think it disappointed Aleah. From him or his master, Aleah kept every letter. They were her treasures, putting them away in a box she didn’t know I knew about under the floorboard of the bedroom.
The nomad broke the wax seal and unfolded the paper before reading it herself in silence before she indulge my curiosity. “Dear family, I wrote this myself since I’m getting good at my letters. Stay warm. I hope to see you soon. With love, Rueln.”
I was beaming, probably just as proud of Rueln as he was to achieve writing out his own letter. I didn’t think anyone in the family could match him now. Aleah could read a word or two, but not many, and Papa knew little more than how to count what little coin he earned. Rueln was the first to have such an education. I might have been able to read and write as well, just from using my recall, if the backlash hadn’t blinded me. That thought didn’t diminish my pride for my brother’s sake, however, nor could I feel jealousy.
“It looks like chicken scratch,” the nomad muttered, clear amusement in her voice. “Where would you like me to put it?”
I opened my hand and held it out in her direction. “In my palm, please. I would like to hold it.” She gave it to me without question and was quiet as I ran my fingers over every inch of the parchment, focusing intently on the tiny groves where the pen tip had pressed into the paper. I smiled, content with it, thinking I treasured the letters just as much as Aleah did. “Is there any news about him?” I asked, knowing she had already found in Threa since she mentioned it before.
“He is well,” she answered, shifting beside me, the movement of her clothes gliding over whatever layers she had wrapped herself in sounding loud in the quiet room. “He seems distracted of late, but otherwise content with this turn in his life.” She paused for a moment, and I thought she was done, but it seemed she was only hesitating before she added something much more alarming to the conversation. “A noble’s sponsored him.”
My blood stilled, my hands tightening unconsciously on the parchment before I caught myself and loosened my grip. “Will they take him from us?” I asked, not daring to speak above a whisper.
“No. The noble seems to have no interest in taking him, at least not yet.”
I lifted my head, turning my face toward the hearth and the direction of her voice before I spoke again. “Would you have stopped them if he had tried?” I knew she was protective of Rueln, in a way that even I as his brother, couldn’t understand. Whatever connection they had to one another, it ran deep. If only she would answer my questions on the subject. I doubt she ever would, so I didn’t press her. I simply let her be.
“No,” she answered, though there was something like resignation in the word. “I am not to interfere with this life more than what I find necessary. It is not my choice where this existence leads him.”
“If he’s taken, then it wouldn’t be his either,” I pointed out, and could feel her gaze settle on me. I wish I could see her expression, read the emotions there.
“We could argue that, but I do not wish to remain here until your sister returns, explaining how his choices lead him to a sponsorship. He is young and made a mistake, one I doubt he will repeat.”
“A mistake?”
“A lie to the wrong person,” she explained, keeping it simple. “A lie that brought eyes upon him.”
I wanted to ask more, press her for details, but knew it would only lead me to a wall in which she would leave me standing. Instead, I asked something else that had been bothering me ever since Rueln had told me and Aleah about his encounter with the bandits and his near death. I hadn’t seen the nomad since she had departed to find Rueln when he began his apprenticeship. I thought she would have followed him close enough to help when his life had been in danger.
“Where were you when bandits took him on the road?” I asked softly, setting the letter down beside me and curling my knees up. The wounds stung as I moved my feet, but it was more tolerable than it had been before she tended them.
“I cannot be his shadow at every moment,” she told me. “I am many things, but I am not a god.”
It was a vague an answer as I expected, but I couldn’t hide the disappointment that crossed my face. “I wish I could be the one protecting him,” I admitted.
“Trust in him a little,” she answered. “He is not nearly as vulnerable as you might expect. I found the corpse he left in defense of his life. He is not helpless and is more than willing to kill to get back to his family. Have faith, as I do.” The last sentence was hardly more than a whisper, and I knew it had not been for my ears.
I opened my mouth to say something, my hand reaching out to find her. “Nomad, I-”, I started only for my fingers to brush nothing more than the fabric of her cloak. Just like that, the nomad had gone out the back door before Aleah could even realize anyone else had been in our home.
“Eidke...” she exclaimed. “What is this? Oh, you’re hurt. Blood is everywhere!”
“I’m fine,” I assured her, having forgotten about the mess I must have left behind. Offering her a small smile, I lifted one foot and showed her my bandages. “I’ve already taken care of it,” I lied. “Sorry I didn’t clean up. I was too cold after the neighbor came in to help me get the tree out. I was just warming up before you came home.”
“My word, Eidke,” she murmured, as I listened to her hurry about the house, clearing away the water, blood, glass, and tree debris left behind. “How did you manage all this? Oh, Rueln’s going to be so upset. He liked to sit under that tree.”
“How much fell?” I asked, suddenly concerned that the tree was much larger than what I believed.
“The large branch it looks like,” she said, moving to look out the back door at it through the rain. “The one we used to tie our wish ribbons to. Well, I’m glad you’re alright. To think you were here alone.”
“I’m fine,” I repeated. “Someone came in to help me.” I would have preferred to omit that, but I was sure there were footprints where the nomad had walked. I couldn’t hide them when my own were bare and bloody.
“Thank goodness they did.” When she returned to me, she adjusted the blanket over me, concern and love in the gesture for my health. “Did you get their name? I would like to thank them.”
“No,” I murmured, turning my face back toward the fire that burned in the hearth. I doubted I ever would know her name, but I would always be grateful to her.