Falling Ashes (18 page)

‘The wild ones can, I guess,’ replied Jack, ducking away from the horse as it sniffed inside his ear. ‘But there aren’t many of those around anymore, are there?’

Jack didn’t tell the man that he’d only ever ridden a Pegasi on one occasion, and that Camryn had always been there when he interacted with them. Camryn could control the beasts expertly, while Jack didn’t know the first thing about horses.

‘Well … enjoy,’ the farmer said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Jack asked.

The farmer shrugged. ‘Nothing. It’s just that Merry Legs here has a little more energy than the other horses.’

‘Merry Legs?’ Jack repeated.

‘Yeah. That’s his name,’ said the farmer, slapping the steed on the back. The horse huffed, seemingly annoyed.

‘Why that name?’

‘You’ll see.’ And with that, the farmer gave Jack a wink, a tip of the hat, and left him with the horse.

‘Merry Legs. You’ve got to be kidding me,’ Jack muttered to the horse, whose ears perked up at the sound of his name. There would be no use in changing it if the horse had already identified itself with the name.

‘C’mon then, Merry,’ said Jack, tugging on the reigns.  The horse dug it’s hooves into the ground and refused to walk.

Jack tugged harder. ‘Come
on
, Merry,’ he said forcefully.

The horse eyed Jack beadily, challenging his authority.

Jack had a strange feeling that this had been a terrible idea.

Chapter Thirteen

Hawthorne’s Secret

AVALON REDDING

When I woke in the early hours of the morning, I was surprised to find that Hawthorne was not inside the windmill. I sat up and stretched my arms. My leg had a dull ache, and when I pulled up my skirt to inspect it, I found the bandage was congealed with dried blood. I had no knowledge of medicine, or first aid, and wasn’t sure what to do. Should I change the bandage?

Angry with myself, I ploughed my fist into the cushion. I wished Jack was here. He’d fix it within seconds!

It took a long while to hoist myself into a standing position. The pain was not as intense as it had been, but it was still bad. I hobbled towards the grimy window but couldn’t see Hawthorne anywhere along the hillside. It was an unusually bright day – not a cloud in the sky. This lifted my spirits considerably.

However, I waited for Hawthorne for over an hour, thirsty, hungry, and unable to hop more than a few steps, before he made an appearance through the trees. His white coat stood out like a sore thumb. He slunk towards the windmill, his head low.

‘Where have you been?’ I demanded as he walked through the door. ‘I’ve been waiting for hours! I’m starving, I’m thirsty, and I can’t walk!’

Hawthorne’s expression was worrisome – it looked as though there was a lot on his mind. He looked over his shoulder and ruffled his wings in a rather disgruntled fashion.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, slightly miffed. ‘You’ve been acting strange ever since we got back to Mortlock.’

He looked at me with those large periwinkle eyes that said more than words ever could. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t guess what it might be.

‘You can tell me … or show me … whatever, okay?’ I said. Hawthorne averted his gaze and thought it over, though apparently decided against involving me, for he turned around and walked back out.

‘What the-? Hawthorne!’ I yelled. ‘Come back!’

Muttering profanities under my breath, and feeling utterly useless, I waited for Hawthorne to return.

He wasn’t gone long, returning within twenty minutes of his departure. In his mouth was a fat rabbit.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘You brought that for me?’

Hawthorne dropped the rabbit at my feet and stared at me.

I picked the lifeless rabbit up and turned it over in my hands. It made my sad to see a dead animal, but what choice did I have but to eat it?

‘Thanks,’ I said to Hawthorne, feeling guilty about my rant earlier.

Using Finn’s dagger, I managed to skin the rabbit, and remove its innards. It was a messy job, one that I wasn’t very good at.  Hawthorne gobbled up the intestines as I removed them, making me gag repeatedly.

Finally, I was able to cook the rabbit. This, I would have no trouble with. I set up a small, controlled fire in the centre of the windmill. The smoke rose through the rafters, sending the owls into a hooting frenzy. Disgruntled, they swept off to find somewhere else to sleep.

Once the rabbit was cooked, I devoured it within minutes, leaving the bones for Hawthorne to crunch on noisily. I felt much better now that I had been fed; yet I couldn’t rely on Hawthorne to bring me every meal. Hopefully my leg would be well enough to walk on within a day or two. Perhaps I could thieve some vegetables from the farm a short walk away. They were sure to have a well, too.

The simple act of gutting, cooking, and eating the rabbit had drained me of what little energy I had. Soon enough, I was fast asleep, propped against the wall of the windmill. 

~

I woke because of the dull throbbing in my thigh. Not only that, but my throat was dry, and my skin felt like sandpaper. Salt was still embedded in my hair and clothes. I felt dirty, but there was no possibility of a bath because I couldn’t walk.

Looking around groggily, I saw that Hawthorne had stayed by my side whilst I’d napped. By the position of the sun, I could tell it was late afternoon.  I tried to move my leg, but it was stiff. Pulling up my dress, I inspected the bandages. They needed to be changed.

‘Hawthorne,’ I croaked, my voice raspy. ‘Is there a creek nearby? Or a pond?’

Hawthorne got up with a great groan, stretched, and padded to my side. He lowered his nose to my wound and sniffed gently, before licking the bandage.

‘Thanks,’ I muttered. ‘But that won’t make it better.’

Hawthorne lowered himself, and with great difficulty, I clambered onto his back, snatching up the fractured jug that lay discarded on the floor.

It was nerve-wracking being out in the open during the day, but what choice did I have? I needed to take care of myself. It seemed that Hawthorne had already inspected and memorized the surrounding land, for he wound his way easily through the trees at the bottom of the hill. He took me only a short distance before the sound of running water reached my ears. Minutes later, we stopped beside a small stream. The water was crystal clear; I could see every pebble at the bottom of the brook. It babbled across the rocks merrily, it’s cool depths looking incredibly inviting. My mouth salivated at the very sight of it.

Sliding from Hawthorne, I propped myself upon the edge of the bank and removed my shoes with great care. Slowly, I dipped my feet into the running water and gave an enormous sigh of relief. The cool water was like a gentle breeze caressing my skin. I soaked my sore feet for several minutes, basking in the sun that shone through the canopy of leaves. It really was beautiful here. If I wasn’t in so much pain I might actually be able to enjoy it.

I cupped my hands and dipped them into the water before bringing it to my mouth and drinking slowly. It tasted fresh.

Soon, I was drinking it in great gulps, until my stomach was completely full, and I was satisfied. Hawthorne joined me, lapping up the running water, his paws in the stream.

‘Hey, turn around, will you?’ I asked Hawthorne, who had drank his fill.

Doing as I asked, Hawthorne retreated from the stream and faced away from me.

‘No looking!’ I called over my shoulder.

I removed my clothes piece by piece until I was in nothing more than my underwear, laying everything on the grass before slowly lowering myself into the stream. My breath caught in my chest when my wound sank below the water. 

But it was heavenly. I allowed myself to sink until the water came to my neck, perching myself upon a submerged rock and letting the flow of water wash away the dirt, blood, sand, and salt from my pores. I brought the water to my face, letting it splash across my skin, wishing I had soap.

I allowed myself to become completely submerged in the water so I could clean my hair, which had become matted during the last few days. Normally, completely submerging myself in a strange body of water would be terrifying, but this stream was nothing compared to the ocean I’d almost drowned in. Besides, Hawthorne was with me, so I knew I was safe.

After I’d cleaned myself, I turned my attention to my bandaged thigh. The linen was now completely soaked through, and the dried blood had come loose, making it easier to remove.

I didn’t want to do it, but I knew I must. There was one thing I dreaded, and that was infection. My knowledge of first aid was limited. About the only thing I knew how to do was to treat burns because Helena had suffered through many during her lifetime.

Slowly, I unraveled the bandage, holding my breath all the while. I didn’t look at the gash in my thigh. Instead, I concentrated on cleaning the bandage until all remnants of blood had been removed. Later, I would boil the bandage in the jug I had brought to sterilize it. For now, I placed it on the grass so it could dry.

It was time to look at my leg.

I hoisted myself out of the water and sat on the bank, dreading the moment I saw the damage, expecting to see a gaping hole covered in pus and maggots.

I looked down and gave a sigh of relief. 

It was not as large or gaping as I had anticipated. In fact, it was quite small; only an inch or so long. There was no redness or pus around the wound. It seemed quite clean. Nevertheless, it was deep, and I needed to make sure it stayed sterile.

At that moment, something rustled in the bushes across the stream. My head snapped up, and I stared at the place where the leaves had moved. Hawthorne came to my side, his ears perked, listening hard.

‘Who’s there?’ I demanded.

All was still on the other side of the stream.

Stupid
, I told myself.
It’s probably just another rabbit.
Yet I couldn’t blame myself for being paranoid.

The bushes rustled again, and this time I was sure it wasn’t a rabbit for it moved a considerable amount. Whatever it was, it was large; larger than a dog, at least.

‘Show yourself!’ I called with as much authority in my voice as I could muster. My voice broke mid-sentence, shattering the illusion of confidence.

Hawthorne sniffed the air and seemed to relax. His hackles were no longer standing on-end, and he sat down.

Well, if Hawthorne didn’t sense any immediate danger, then there was probably no use in worrying myself too much.

     However, I didn’t fancy getting caught in the nude, so I quickly put my clothes back on despite the fabric clinging to my damp skin. My high body temperature meant they would soon be warm and dry.

Using Hawthorne as leverage, I got to my feet, staggering slightly before filling the old jug I’d found in the windmill with the fresh stream water. It should last me the night, at least.

And then I heard it; the unmistakable sound of heavy footfalls mere meters away.

I spun around, looking for the source of the sound, accidentally putting weight upon my injured leg. The resulting pain shocked me so much that I dropped the full jug into the stream. It shattered upon the rocks and was quickly swept away by the current. The bushes across the stream rustled, their branches cracking as something large pushed its way through them.

I held my breath, my fingers tingling as flames kindled on the surface, ready to ignite completely. Something large and white emerged from the shrubbery. At first, I thought it was an enormous wolf, but then its wings came into view. Leaves and twigs were poking between the fur and feathers of the astronomical beast.

‘Emilija!’ I gasped.

It was Nicholo Martinez’s Vulmessian, Emilija. I’d met her on only one previous occasion; when Martinez had threatened my imprisonment if I didn’t hand over Hawthorne for breeding purposes.

She looked a mess. Her usual white fur was grey and matted with dirt, twigs, leaves, and what looked like dried blood.  She swayed on the spot, struggling to remain standing as she stared at me and Hawthorne from across the stream.

She revealed herself completely, and I saw the severity of her situation. Her stomach was large and swollen; the skin of her underbelly was bright pink, and chaffed as though she had been laying on it for too long.

I stared, my mouth hanging open, and my eyes wide. ‘What … what happened to her?’ I said, flabbergasted.

Hawthorne bounded across the stream to Emilija’s side, nuzzling her affectionately, and suddenly I understood his strange behavior over the last couple of months; Emilija had been following us. But she was ill - very ill. It looked as though death was on her doorstep; she could barely hold up her own weight.

Was the absence of her master, Martinez, slowly killing her?

‘Hawthorne,’ I breathed. ‘She’s been trailing us this whole time, hasn’t she?’

Hawthorne glanced over his shoulder, his expression guilty.