The Stillness of the Sky (11 page)

“You’re certain you want to help me?” I asked Ro, eyeing the strange saddle.

“Friends are few. Let our journey begin,” he said, lowering himself to the ground.

The saddle was an odd thing, not much like a horse’s. Rather than sitting upright, the rider was meant to lay flat, arms back to grip handles at the side of the body. A larger person could never fit in such a contraption, but, again, my years of little to eat served me well. I climbed up and positioned myself as comfortably as possible before taking hold of the side grips. Instantly, warm leather wrapped around my torso, securing me to the seat so quickly, my first instinct was to fight for freedom. The moment I let go of the handles, I was released.

“Worry not. You are no prisoner.”

It would take getting used to, but a few deep breaths eased my concerns.

“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked.

“Where would you like to go?”

That was the big question. The tree spoke of my history, but I had the feeling my sot of a father would be little help with that, even if Mr. Brayton hadn’t killed him for his debt. My grandfather on his side passed on when I was seven, so that too was of no use. As such, it left me with a single option, and I sighed, knowing the difficulty it presented.

“Ro, we need to find my mother.”

I honestly tried to keep myself from causing much of a disturbance as we traveled, but it’s hard to be subtle when your companion is a giant bird and you earn your dinner with magical abilities. After a week of visiting small towns around the countryside, word was spreading about me. I reasoned it wasn’t entirely terrible, as convincing people of my skill was becoming unnecessary, and perhaps the news would reach my mother and she’d seek me out. For the sake of avoiding attention from parties I’d rather avoid, I decided to use my full name, Jacqueline, as most who knew me before only ever called me Jack.

By the fifth town, I was welcomed with open arms and immediately offered food and lodging at the nicest inn there. Not wanting to limit my search, however, I asked to play at the two other inns as well, hoping some of the less wealthy clientele that frequented them might have information I could use. I also saw no reason to deny poorer folk from enjoying whatever skill I possessed. If nothing else, I could spread some cheer to those who saw so little of it.

Ro kept to the outskirts of towns, dropping me nearby and seeking shelter elsewhere. The feather he left behind on the beanstalk allowed me to call him when I was ready to be away from a place, and he always came within minutes of my asking.

Leads were few, but some spoke of a woman passing through years before, and her description seemed close to what I remembered of my mother. Not many people could tell me about her, however, as the war had stolen so many of those who lived in the towns when she came through.

By the sixth stop, I heard shouts from the town watch telling the rest about my approach. I can’t really explain how strange it is to go from completely disregarded to commanding crowds when I arrived anywhere. All of the attention made me uneasy, and I wondered when I’d attract the eye of someone I shouldn’t. We’d been heading steadily southeast, getting closer to the capital city every day. While I could say I had friends there now, I wasn’t keen on any royal entanglements after my extended stay with Oria and Aaron.

The mayor met me inside the town gates, practically falling over himself to invite me to stay in his home. I stared at him, stunned both by the hospitality and his offer of payment if I stayed for two full days. Apparently, some impressive visitors were on their way, and he could think of nothing better than a Bard to please whoever was coming.

“The spirits have smiled on me,” he said, smoothing long hairs across the top of his balding head. “With a Bard here, I’m sure to gain their favor. You’ve blessed Alonin with your presence, good lady. We’ve not had a Bard here in nearly seven years.”

Immediately, I sat up straight in my chair. “You’ve had a Bard here before?”

He nodded enthusiastically, adjusting his green doublet over his large belly. “We have. A woman perhaps twice your age. She stopped for a night around the time I took over as mayor here. Sang at a wedding, I believe. Hugo,” he waved at his assistant, hovering near the door, “do you remember whose wedding that was?”

Hugo pushed his spectacles up his large nose, sniffing. “Wedding, ah, wasn’t it Greta and Ludwig Grouten?” He paused, thoughtful. “Yes, I believe it was those two. Named their first girl after that Bard. Little Lorelei Grouten.”

My heart soared at hearing my mother’s name again. My father forbade me from ever saying it aloud, and I’d learned not to speak it the hard way. At least she’d made it this far. It wasn’t much, but it was more confirmation than I’d gotten anywhere else.

“Do you know where she stayed when she was here, Mayor Trundell?” I asked, trying to contain my excitement. “I’ve been looking for any trace of her, and this is the first I’ve heard her name said.”

The mayor’s expression soured. “Looking for her? That was years ago.”

I nodded. “I’d like to know all the same, if you please.”

He leaned forward on his elbows, his eyes intent on me. “If I give you a name, you’ll promise to stay to perform for the royal guests?”

My blood rushed into my feet. Royal guests? My vision blurred around the edges, making it difficult to focus my thoughts.

“Are you all right, child?”

“I…” My words slipped away, but I grabbed for them. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Royal guests, you say?”

He nodded. “An envoy from King Ivor, yes. I’ve not been told who, exactly, but they’re of great importance for certain.”

A run-in with someone close to Prince Aaron in exchange for a single name. Was it worth the trouble it might bring?

I sighed. It was the first break I’d caught since I started searching, and I’d be foolish to pass up the chance. If the spirits were with me, perhaps nothing would come of this brush with royalty.

“Very well,” I said. “You have me for two days, on my word.”

“The bond of a Bard,” he said, highly impressed for some reason. “Then a name you shall have.”

The mayor reached for a scrap of parchment and a quill, scratching out a quick note. He passed the paper to me, though he seemed unhappy to do so. “The one you seek is Crilla, and she lives outside of town in the northwestern forest. These are the directions, but it’s the best I can do for you.”

I stared at the paper, scanning his instructions. “The best you can do?”

“I’d send someone with you, but I doubt there’d be any who’d do so voluntarily. You may not be able to find her at all, if she’s of a mind to be left alone.”

I frowned, confused. “And why is that?”

His face was devoid of any mirth, as serious as a funeral. “Because, Miss Jacqueline, Crilla is a witch.”

Chapter 9

“I cannot go there,” Ro said as I stroked the side of his neck.

“I know. I’m not asking you to. This is my task, friend.”

“Birds do not like that place.”

I sighed. “I’m not overly fond of it, either, but I don’t have a choice. No one will come with me and I have to speak with Crilla.”

“Her name is harsh. I do not like you going there.”

Staring into the forest on the other side of the stream, the distinct lack of noises, either animal or insect, disturbed me. “I’m not keen on the idea myself, but I have to.” I gave him one last reassuring pat and hefted my pack. “Anyway, I promised the mayor I’d be back in the morning to perform for his guests tomorrow, so I have to do this now. I won’t be able to sleep tonight with this hanging over me anyway, so I might as well get it over with. Will you be nearby in case I need to leave quickly?”

“Nearby, yes,” he said, his head tilting up and to the east.

Putting on my best reassuring smile, I nodded. “Good. I’ll be off then. I want to use what light’s left. Be safe, Ro. Keep out of sight.”

“Yes, Lady.”

It always sounded strange to me when Ro called me that, but he’d done so since I’d been able to understand him. After two days of arguing with him to call me Jack, I gave up. He was a stubborn bird, but incredibly loyal.

My goodbyes said, I hopped my way over the rocks in the stream and headed into the woods on the other side. I was instantly engulfed in a deafening silence, raising the hairs on my arms and neck. The stillness was an unnatural quiet, more like death than restful peace. Pushing it away, I turned my mind to searching for the abandoned deer run, per the mayor’s directions. After ten minutes of careful scrutiny, going deeper and deeper into the woods, I came up empty. A great boulder crouched between two trees, and I sat down on the stone to think. Mayor Trundell said that if Crilla didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t be. Was she worried she might come to harm, or did she simply dislike company?

As I sat, an old children’s tune popped into my head, and I hummed it, unable to resist the pull of it.

Hidden in sight

Obscured in the light

I seek what cannot be found.

It isn’t too far

But right where you are

Lurking deep underground.

Memories of playing games of Shifted Soil tugged at my smile. My mother was still around then. When we’d visit neighbors, all the children would gather to see who could best hide an object in the ground so others couldn’t find it. We all had practice tilling and planting, and the goal was to shift so little of the surface that no one could tell anything had changed. I’d gotten so good at the game the others stopped playing it with me, tired of losing pretty rocks to the dirt it came from.

The memory gave me an idea, however, and I stood again to examine my surroundings. It seemed odd to me that, if the forest was abandoned even by insects and birds, that a deer run would still be used often enough to keep it marked. Surely plants would’ve overtaken it, as the mayor said Crilla had lived there for decades. Then why would he direct me to a thing that wouldn’t exist anymore?

If someone didn’t want to be found, what better way to do so than to give everyone wrong directions? My mother always told me the best way to hide a thing was by misdirection. And if my mother had found her, surely I could as well. After all, it was her who taught me the best tricks to win at Shifted Soil.

I looked at my directions again, seeing them in a new light. The deer run supposedly went east, so, instead I turned west, marking my progress at the next boulder I came to. Like the first, it also rested between a pair of trees. Two boulders were only a coincidence, however, so I pressed on to the next instruction.

Six boulders later, I was certain I was on the right path. A last cut north, and the sound of flowing water reached me. In the fading light of day, I stumbled out of the trees and into a small clearing. A little creek ran along the far right edge, disappearing around the back of a small, decrepit cabin. Smoke billowed from the vine-covered chimney, the stone structure giving way to a roof that was more moss than shingles. The air was heavy, weighed down by an unsettling feeling that I wasn’t wanted there.

Still, I’d come that far. I wasn’t going to stop at the last fifty paces.

Swallowing my nerves, I approached the door, pausing for a moment before I knocked. I wished I’d thought to ask the mayor a little more about Crilla. For all I knew, she stole girls like me from town and transformed them into frogs… Or dinner.

But my mother had survived her encounter. So would I.

Reaching up, I rapped three times on the old wooden door. I held my breath, but after a moment or two, nothing happened. I supposed it was entirely possible she wasn’t home, but the smoke from the chimney told me otherwise. After two more tries, there was still no answer.

“Hello?” I called out. “I’m looking for Crilla. It’s important that I speak with her.”

“What do you want, girl?” A scratchy voice behind me caused me to jump.

I spun, coming face to face with an old woman in a dirty, dark brown dress with little more shape than a burlap sack. Her shoulders hunched, making her neck appear more horizontal than vertical, as though it were jutting out at me like the menace of a sword.

“I… I…” I stammered, trying to find my tongue. Her eyes, likely once a dark brown, were turning milky white, and even her pupils were a smoky gray. “My name is Jacqueline Wallace. I came to ask you about my mother. Mayor Trundell said you knew her.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Your mother?”

I bobbed my head, trying not to tremble, but the tingle in my scalp refused to let me relax. “She stayed with you about seven years ago. She was a Bard by the name of Lorelei.”

At that, Crilla sucked in a breath and shrunk back. “Your mother?”

“Yes, ma’am. I need to find her, and I thought you might know where she went. It’s very important. Please, is there anything you can tell me?”

The old woman scanned the clearing, but I wasn’t very confident in her sense of sight. Her movements were hasty, jerky, as though she were scared.

“Come inside, girl,” she said, pushing open the cabin door. “We’ll see what it is you need to know.”

Hesitant, I followed behind her, finding myself engulfed in the sudden gloom of Crilla’s home. It smelled of the drying plants that hung from the rafters and the concoction that boiled over onto the hot coals of the fireplace. At least there weren’t any large cages or obvious weapons laying around, so that was a small comfort, but the itch of magic’s presence convinced me that any harm I suffered wouldn’t come to me from physical force.

She pointed me to a small wooden chair near the fireplace, taking the larger rocking chair for herself. Keeping my mouth shut, I decided it was better to wait on speaking until I was given permission. Yet another lesson learned from my father’s hands.

Crilla studied me for a long time, rocking back and forth in her creaky chair. “You have an instrument with you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Play for me,” she said, more demand than request.

Nervous, I unstrapped my lute from my pack, tuning it hastily. “What shall I play?”

“You choose.”