Noelle's shoulders strained beneath the pole she hoisted off the ground, two particularly large buckets swaying at her sides. Sure, they were empty, but she was as frail as a sapling and brittle as one, too.
She grunted and hoisted herself up when her legs buckled, sucking in breaths as she muttered to herself words of encouragement. She supposed the well was only down the road, but still, the cold was biting, and she hadn't eaten. The girl scanned the streets, hoping to see Yarrow–perhaps that old man could spot her some Peppergrapes again? Disappointment filled her round face, however. None of the men in rags and furs cluttering her path were tall and bony, nor did they have red curls and flushed cheeks or blonde hair with mean looks in their eyes.
Noelle murmured. Where was that old man and his idiot "sons"? Off picking fruit again, she reckoned. They'd be back, and then her mother could shower him with orbs and praise again.
She rolled her eyes. It couldn't hurt her mother to pick fruit herself or gather her own well water for a change. Eventually, she would, if and when Noelle worked up the courage to tell her.
The girl trudged along Maywood's cluttered streets, shrinking with each passing glance. Men, women, children; she looked past them all, flashing a weak smile at the well's silhouette between the village's four streets.
Sweat dripped down Noelle's face when she inched closer. A woman sat atop the well, a blonde like Lady Ashencrane's granddaughter, with her hair tied in two loose ponytails resting on her shoulders. Covering her eyes were round glasses with lenses as black as the leather she wore from chest to toe.
Noelle looked up at her, stumbling over and dropping the buckets at her sides. She shrunk when anyone looked into her eyes, but this woman's gaze turned her into a speck on the ground.
The woman lowered her glasses, revealing the slit pupils in her green eyes. She said nothing, however, and went back to strumming the sitar in her hands.
Noelle's chest tightened, but she forced herself to stand, quickly picking her buckets off the ground. "Are you...? Her lips trembled. "Are you a bard, miss?"
The woman's brow twitched, but she otherwise ignored her.
Noelle backed away. "Are you an adventurer?"
The woman looked down at her again. Even behind her lenses, Noelle could see the black look in her catty eyes. Gulping, she turned on one heel and walked away, taking her empty buckets with her.
I'll say the well froze, Noelle thought. Ma will understand.
"Ah ah! Stop. Right. There."
Chills gnawed at Noelle's skin, and she squeaked and slowly turned around, the bardress staring directly at her. Her posh voice starkly contrasted the guttural one she'd imagined for her.
"Do what you came to do," she demanded. "Those pails won't fill themselves."
Noelle gulped and stepped forward, fastening her bucket to the rope and lowering it with trembling hands. She rooted her eyes forward, ensuring she didn't meet the strange woman's glare again.
"If you must know, I'm a Songstress. A traveling one." She set her sitar to the side and leaned forward, lowering her glasses as she looked at the sky. "Tell me, my dear. What do you see?"
Noelle scrambled to her side and followed suit, only to tilt her head. "Clouds like always?"
"Wrong!"
Noelle yelped when she flicked her forehead.
"Cloudy skies are bad luck. Or a bad omen, I should say." the Songstress rose to her feet, causing Noelle to stumble. Yarrow was tall, but this woman must have had to duck when said clouds passed overhead. "You were submissive enough to obey me, so I'll do you a favor and warn you to run. Run or die at the hands of what's to come."
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Magistaire Chronicles: Shadows of the Past
الخيال (فانتازيا)Adventurers kill, loot, and most importantly, venture beyond the wintry village Ayko's been confined to since birth. Refusing to give up hope that he and his twin brother, Elies, may one day leave and never return, his dreams near reality when an a...
