Page 3 of Thief of Roses
The hearth at the other side took her mind away from worrying how such an intact room still managed to exist at all.Her spirits lifted at the prospect of warmth, and all other inquiries subsided in the face of an evening’s comfort.She set the lit piece of wood in the hearth and went back to the great hall to gather the rest of the wood.She wasted no time in getting the room bathed in rosy light, laying out her discarded clothing to dry, and setting herself up to bask in the heat while she contemplated her next move.
She should wait until the storms subsided.She should wait until she could at least look around and discover anything useful.She had a horse to buy and a wheel to repair if indeed hervyardinwas still there when she went back for it.If not, she had a whole new life to rebuild.She could wait a few days, tend her wounded feet and legs, perhaps mend her clothing, and maybe even find food she could take with her.She needed it if she had to dedicate every valuable item she could find to obtain a new horse.
With her outer clothing drying, her skin warm, and momentary fears of being hunted by unwelcoming villagers put aside, her spirits rose enough to make an initial exploration, encouraged by her belly proclaiming its emptiness.She fabricated another makeshift torch from the fire and drew the chaise between her nesting area and the doorway, just in case.
The great hall would benefit from a cleaning, but its shelter more than satisfied her requirements.Her light failed to illuminate the ceiling above the rafters, though she could look at it tomorrow when the afternoon light would better serve the endeavor.She took comfort in the faded finishes of the great hall and the small cave-in of masonry and beams that blocked another passageway, their deterioration fulfilling her expectations of a place long forgotten.
Her next exploration took her down a corridor off the midsection of the great hall.She extinguished the makeshift torch in favor of a candle she discovered in the sconce leading down the corridor.Several additional candles in subsequent sconces also found their way into her possession.The corridor gave way to a spacious kitchen, dim light poking through its dirty glazed leaded windows.The larder proved empty and she did not try the back kitchen door to look through the vegetation, having endured enough of the wet ground on tender feet already.
Still hungry but her curiosity satisfied by an unexpected bounty of candles, she returned to the solar.Tomorrow she could search out food.Tomorrow, after a night of sleep by the fire, she could investigate further.
Three steps into the room she halted.The wafting perfume of a roast chicken greeted her at the doorway.She was alone, yet a steaming food platter awaited her in front of the hearth.
Her stomach bottomed out.Was someone watching her?The dust and debris around the floor of the great hall nearest the solar remained undisturbed by feet other than hers, and her few possessions remained untouched.Her mind raced for rational explanations and came up short.
“What’s wrong with you?”She asked of the fortress, hoping not to receive an answer.She breathed again when silence prevailed.
Although she was not one for dramatic displays, she almost swooned with hunger and the siren call of warm food.Her stomach betrayed her and let out a piteous growl.She crossed over to the little pallet she made for herself, just in front of the platter.She blew the candle out and emptied her bounty.The extravagance of beeswax candles in such a lonely place flummoxed her.But then so did the tray heaped with food and served on a dish of silver with a wine-full goblet of equal fineness.With tableware this fine, whoever provided the meal could not have known who or what she was.They more likely would have sent her away with stones thrown at her backside.Unless whatever delivered the food had not had the intelligence to discern who and what she was?
She fought the instinct to set into the meal with gusto.Oh, she wanted to!But unseen hands delivered this feast.She hefted the goblet up to contemplate it and almost groaned.It was not wine, but heated, spiced cider.She stuck her nose in the goblet to enjoy the scent without having to commit to drinking.Nothing on earth could smell this good.She whined at the horrible decision she had to make — to give in or not.
Something must have delivered the food and if there were no people about then what did that leave?
Magic was not something that she disdained or avoided.Her own people were known for the works, although the bloodline gifts had been reduced by discrimination and genocide over the centuries.She possessed no gift herself, but the Rivani passed on magic in their bloodlines just as they did dark brown eyes and straight noses.And yet, magic without an obvious source disarmed her.If there were other Rivani about, she would have known.And even if there had been, such magic as this had long been destroyed in the Great Persecution or passed out of their bloodlines.Wild untamed magic then?But if so, how did it know to provide meals to a solitary traveler?And what kind of wild untamed magic served food on a platter?If natural magic were so inclined to feed, would it not be in the form of edible berry bushes, a freshwater stream, and an injured rabbit?
With the continued annoyance of her belly, she set to the food with vigor.If the Magic meant to beguile or trap, at least it would happen on a full belly.She was a survivor, after all.She lacked the luxury of making long-term plans.Of course, it was immediate decisions and not long-term planning which caused her to make one poor choice after another today.
She became all the more skeptical of whatever Magic provided this food with the exotic fruit glaze on the chicken.How would anything get ahold of citrus here?Her stomach twisted with the idea of malevolent spirits and the tales of The Kind and Fair.
“Thank you,” she said while dining, to no one in particular, eager to rectify any misstep.She must have committed a dozen sins by now if this Magic was of the kind she had been warned away from as a child.“I will clean and tidy in exchange for Your generosity and I will make an offering to You from my plate.”She would not take anything away, glancing over at the candles with regret.
Although no reply to her offer followed, the oppressive silence suggested that the fortress listened.No wonder no one lived here.No one could bear this haunted isolation for long.She could not endure this place for more than a few days even if it could provide the shelter and safety for which she so longed.Her instinct was to chatter to herself about nothing, about everything, to talk to the house and the food and the goblet, to talk to anything to fill the suffocating silence, but she refrained from a lingering sense of wariness.She did not even hear the call of birds and that stillness unnerved her.
She enjoyed the food, gorging herself on the variety of tastes and textures on offer.She had not planned on gluttony, but the platter and goblet never emptied.The warmth and the illusion of safety made her lax.Before much longer, she curled up on the chaise and slept.
In the morning, sheroused in alarm, certain she would be discovered by someone, certain that she needed to be vigilant about something, certain that she would outstay her welcome if she slept any longer.She gathered her hair and braided it, scanning the room and finding nothing out of place.Her dinner platter and goblet, although still present where she had left them the night before, now served different food and drink.She could not remember the last time she had been privileged enough to eat two meals in a row and though she wanted to take advantage of this offering yet again, her appetite had not yet caught up to the Magic’s generosity.
“Good morning,” she called out, feeling bolder with a meal and a night’s sleep.
She drank from the goblet, delighted to discover chilled juice instead of spiced cider this morning.The bread, warm in the center, melted on her tongue and she nibbled the egg that steamed in the fortress draft.The fire burned low and no longer produced the same heat, but she would revive it later when she needed it.Right now, she had all she could desire in food and drink, and the fortress did not seem lonely or unwelcoming.
Her explorations, after eating and inspecting her clothing, led her back to the kitchens.With the larder empty, she tried the door to the buttery with no success.Today, however, better fed and not in danger of being prey to the elements, she mustered the energy and courage to explore what existed outside the kitchen door.
A well-worn path, wider and more distinct than a deer path, but not cobbled or graveled, stretched through overgrown gardens and faded out into tall grasses beyond.She wandered out and began rooting through the growth.It was an effort, but she found herbs drowning in the branches of weeds.She cataloged what she found, not taking any yet but planning for her eventual departure.Herbs and spices fetched pretty sums and she would need all the coin she could get for a new horse.Although she would not take the candles because they were part of the house, these herbs, outside and unvalued, were fair game.
She did not wander too far from the kitchen.It would not serve her if she trusted in the stillness and let herself be pounced upon by a forest creature looking for a meal.With something more than a shard of glass for protection, perhaps she would have been more willing to try her luck, but nearly defenseless, she followed a course of caution.
With her curiosity satisfied about the presence of herbs, she returned her attention to the fortress interior.She promised whatever magical entity that fed her that she would clean and to that end, she started on the kitchen and larder, grateful to find a functional well lever inside the kitchen.
Perhaps there was no need to clean.Perhaps the Magic did not care.But she had offered so that she would not find herself owing more than she could give.And if she did not fulfill her promise, she suspected something untoward could happen even if it was benign magic that directed the fortress.General magic, to the best of her understanding, often followed literal pathways but never leaned toward good or ill.In this case, the food was beneficial, but she was also disinclined to believe in the benevolent kind of magic.She had only heard tales that required reciprocation and that warned of dire consequences without it.She ensured the kitchens and larder shone.
She settled herself down on the bench beside the work table and wiped hair and perspiration from her face.The fading evening light coming through the clean glazed window panes dappled the room in rainbow colors.That was a bit of magic that needed no wielder.Just how many years had the light come in that way?How many years had there never been anyone to appreciate it?In this fortress, she could find her own magic, her own magical experiences, no autonomous food-laden tray necessary.
“Well, Magic,” she said, trying to address what she only suspected was the cause of such unusual happenings, “I have cleaned as promised.If You grant me another night and day of Your hospitality, I will continue to work.As You can see,” she said, pointing to the glazed windows of the kitchen, “I have been fortunate enough to bring more magic to Your quiet residence.”
“Those,” she said to no one, pointing at a daunting accumulation of ashes in the hearth, “are my next task — tomorrow.I will clean the whole surround so that if anyone does need to use it, You can maintain it like everything else and it will be ready for them.”Maybe some Rivan caravan, tired of traveling, would start a family here, feeling drawn to the Magic that existed.Maybe that’s why she had been called away from hervyardin.She had never demonstrated the magic that came from her Rivan lineage, but that was no reason to think that it did not manifest in unknown ways.
“This would make a fine home,” she complimented the fortress as she rose from her seat, the fading light leaving the room in shadow.
