Emma and the Weeping Spirit Page 2

  Even without a small rooster-shaped iron plate in the window, the home holding the injured man would have been obvious. A little past halfway there from Fenton’s fishery, the sobs of two women became clear, as well as the occasional agonized moan in a man’s voice.

  Emma took hold of her siblings’ hands, expecting Mama would ask her to wait outside. She followed at a somber walk while Mama ran to the door and knocked. A woman who appeared a little older than Mama, likely in her mid-twenties, answered. Her red-ringed eyes and blood-smeared dress spoke volumes of the sight waiting inside.

  “Oh, praise Yalem!” cried the woman. “Please hurry! Shaw’s hurt bad.”

  Mama turned to Emma. “If you don’t want to see this in your dreams, it’s all right if you stay back.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Without hesitating, Emma followed her mother into the home, which appeared to have three rooms plus a loft. A grandmotherly woman in a pale beige dress and white apron waited inside the main room, also looking as though she’d been crying all night. Mama exchanged a quick word with her, and the elder approached to look after Tam and Kimber, both of whom eagerly took advantage of a chance to rest. They clambered up onto a padded seat by the front window and stretched out while the elder prepared honey tea.

  Mama followed the younger of the women past a hanging cloth into a bedroom. Emma paused at the curtain for a second, but decided to risk peeking, sticking only her head between the strips of fabric.

  The shirtless man lying in the bed bled from multiple wounds on his chest. Rips and tears in his loose pants exposed skin, and a few shallow cuts marked his legs in groups of three. A terrified-looking boy of about eleven knelt beside him on the bed, both hands pressing a wad of cloth near the man’s throat. Shaw appeared pale as death. He shivered and moaned as if in the middle of a nightmare.

  Emma stared at wounds on the man’s face that looked like human teeth had caused them. Someone, or something quite close to a person, tried to bite his nose off.

  “Can you help my pa?” asked the boy.

  Mama hurried to the side of the bed. “I will do everything I can for him.”

  “His neck’s bad.” The boy pointed. “Ma said he’d go to Varuthan if I let go.”

  Emma crept inside, tiptoeing up behind her mother, staring at the bite marks. She shot a glance at Mama, but didn’t dare ask the question in her mind: what did this? Teaching could happen after the man had been tended.

  Mama leaned a knee on the bed, bending over Shaw, holding her hands over his neck. “Lady Mythandriel, I beseech you to send your healing light.”

  Emma edged yet closer, the boy staring at her with a look of curiosity and confusion. He leaned forward, his fingers squishing deeper in the blood-soaked cloth. Shaw moaned. The boy’s attention leapt to the bright green-white glow forming in front of Mama. The energy intensified in reaction to the expression of concentration on her mother’s face. She twisted her hands palms down and made a pushing gesture. The shimmering light sank past the bloody cloth into Shaw.

  Gingerly, Emma examined the man’s leg injuries. They didn’t make her think people had tried to eat him. Except for one spot, all the slashes came in threes, none of which had penetrated too deep. Each cut had a wider, round puncture mark at the top, nearest his waist. All the slashes went downward, tearing the fabric of his pants rather than slicing.

  “Uruleth, please grant me the gift of life,” said Emma, raising her hand over one the man’s leg. A darker green light gathered in her palm, and she sent it into the red marks.

  One set of slashes sealed.

  At Emma’s spell, the boy’s confusion evaporated and he smiled at her the same way he smiled at Mama. After another invocation to Mythandriel, Mama peeled up the neck compress to peer underneath the cloth. She exhaled with relief and picked the entire dripping wad up and away.

  “Ma!” yelled the boy. “Pa’s okay!”

  The younger woman, who’d been hovering by the curtain rushed over. Upon seeing the neck bloody, but intact, she fell to sit at the edge of the bed, clinging to Shaw’s head while crying. Mama set her hands flat on the man’s chest and asked Mythandriel once again for her healing light.

  Emma called upon Uruleth three more times, tending to the smaller wounds on the leg.

  Soon, the man’s moaning ceased and he appeared to fall into a calm sleep. His wife wrapped Mama in a hug, muttering her thanks over and over.

  “As soon as he wakes, he should eat as much as he is willing to. Give him plenty of water, but no ale or wine for a few days since he’s lost much blood.” Mama checked him over again, and satisfied no wounds remained, moved away from the bed to take a seat on a small bench by a window.

  “What hurt him?” asked Emma, trying to keep her voice down out of respect.

  “They didn’t tell me,” said his wife. “Some of the other men brought him here, said they’d sent someone to beg your aid, but they wouldn’t speak of what happened.”

  “Somethin’ scared ’em.” The boy crawled around Shaw, taking a seat near his mother to comfort her. “All of ’em was scared.”

  Mama gestured at the man’s leg. “The slashes came from talons.”

  “Do cockatrices have people teeth?” asked Emma.

  “No. However, harpies do,” said Mama.

  Emma blinked. “This village has harpies too? Eoghn says there’s some at the Standing Weasel.”

  Mama’s face reddened. “I don’t want you anywhere near that tavern, Em.”

  She cringed, hoping she hadn’t done anything wrong. “I haven’t been, Mama… but if there’s harpies there…”

  “No.” Mama lost her composure and had to fight a snicker. “Eoghn is using the word to describe some of the women who work at that tavern. He’s not talking about the creature. It’s a nasty thing to call a person.”

  Emma tilted her head.

  “Means they’re bad-tempered or greedy, like to take advantage of people.” Mama leaned back, half-closing her eyes.

  “Oh,” muttered Emma.

  “That would also explain the militia being frightened,” said Mama. “Real harpies can charm men, make them think they see a beautiful woman, take control of their thoughts and lure them deep into the woods.”

  “Would you like some water or anything?” asked the wife.

  “Oh, that would be lovely. I… need a moment to gather myself, then I’ll help you clean him up.”

  The woman nodded and hurried out to the front room, pulling her son along.

  Emma glanced at the curtain. “Is it okay if I go out and ask Uruleth to help some of the men who’ve been hurt?”

  “All right, but do venture past the edge of the village. Don’t go too close to the lake, and if you see anything dangerous, you come get me right away.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Emma nodded.

  2

  Mouse and Hawk

  Kimber and Tam followed Emma down the narrow dirt street among the huts of Norlach. The strong smell of fish hung in the air even in the western part of the village, sometimes chased away by a cold breeze blowing in off the lake to the north. Farms to the east and fishing boats out on the water held most of the boys old enough to work, as well as men who hadn’t grown too old.

  Her siblings had rushed out after her, eager to escape the strange mood inside the home. She wandered for a little while before spotting an injured man and jogged after him, the occasional stray chicken scurrying out of her way. Bloody strips of white cloth covered his left arm from wrist to elbow. Tam continually twisted back and forth, gazing around at everything, no doubt curious about the first village he’d seen other than Widowswood. Kimber kept hold of his hand, dutifully staying close behind her.

  “Excuse me,” said Emma once she caught up to the man.

  He stopped and looked back. “Hmm? What is it, child? ’Old on a minnit. Ain’t never seen you three before. You wander in, ’ave ya? On yer own?”

  “No, sir. Mama’s here to tend to the man who almost died.”

  “Ahh.” He stooped, leaning his face close to hers. “Aye, kin see yer mother in yer face now ya mention it.” The man straightened, scratching at his head. “Why ye runnin’ about then?”

  Emma pointed at his arm. “I’d like to help. Mama is tired, but I have enough magic to tend small wounds.” She stared at a sword on his belt that had to be as old as Nan. He’s a farmer with his grandfather’s blade.

  A little blonde girl, the same bundle of energy who won the Harvest Hunt, raced out from between two huts carrying a small, brown lump. Covered in dirt from her forehead to her bare feet, she sprinted like a pack of Maaruthien Hounds nipped at her heels. Other children, mostly older, and an even mix of boys and girls, chased her. The lead boy got a hand on her tattered flax dress, trying to drag her to a halt. The little one clung to the brown lump with the fervor of a mother guarding her baby.

  “Wha’as they doin’ tae ’er?” Kimber pointed and gasped.

  “Ach, they’re playin’ a game,” said the militia guard.

  Squeals of glee and alternating shouts of “stop her” and “run!” came from the group. Emma disregarded the other kids, no longer worrying something bad would happen to the little one. She reached up and held her hands over the man’s bandaged arm. “Uruleth, please grant me the gift of life.”

  He gasped in surprise when the rich, green light appeared and seeped into his arm. Soon after, he clenched and released his fist, twisted his arm back and forth, and blinked. Emma clasped her hands, smiling up at him.

  The pack of children had become curious enough at newcomers to set their game aside and approach. Kimber remembered the tiny blonde and chatted with her. Evidently they had spoken briefly during the Harvest Hunt. Their conversation started with the small one’s disbelief that Emma had gone into the mouseaters’ nest for a fruit and gotten away without a single sting.

  “Hey Lloyd, over here,” shouted the man, waving. He unwound the bandage and traced two fingers over his forearm, marveling at the lack of injury. “Aye right ya be yer mother’s daughter. Many thanks…”

  She beamed. “I’m Emma.”

  “Emma,” said the man, before patting her on the head.

  Another man in similar well-worn leather armor, this one carrying a polearm that looked more like a farm tool than a weapon of war, approached. White cloth wrapped his head, covering his right eye. A shallow scratch continued past the bandage down onto his cheek. Emma stared, hoping his eye hadn’t been ruined. She couldn’t fix a missing eye, nor did she care to see one.

  Her lungs filled with a silent breath.

  “What, ye turn nanny on us Niall?” The man with the head wound laughed. “All them kids ’ere.”

  “Puck.” Niall swatted the man on the shoulder before holding up his once-wounded arm. “This one the daughter o’ Bethany. Got a bit o’ magic ’erself, wot.”

  Lloyd shifted his gaze to Emma, his one visible eyebrow rising with hope.

  She gulped and let the air out slow. “I’m still learning. If your eye’s been hurt, you should find Mama.”

  “Nah, ruddy thing made off with me helm, but I still got me eye.” Lloyd reached up as if to scratch at the covered eye, but forced himself not to. “All puffy and whatnot. Can’t see out it.”

  Emma beckoned him closer. “I think I can help.”

  When he took a knee, she held her hands over his face and concentrated. “Great Uruleth, please send your healing gift.”

  The children fell quiet as the light gathered around her fingers. Niall shouted at another injured soldier, calling him over. Emma pushed the healing energy into Lloyd’s wound, biting her lip at the sense of magical exertion. His injury had been worse than a few scratches on the arm.

  “Ne’er heard o no ‘Uruleth,’ but if’n ’e be a god, ’e ’as me thanks.” Lloyd gently probed at his eye, touching the bandage. “Feels better.”

  “Uruleth is the Bear Spirit. He is strength, toughness, and life.” Emma braced herself as Lloyd lifted his bandage, letting out a relieved breath when it came away, exposing an intact eye—and not something that would give her nightmares. Faint red lines remained on his forehead and cheek. She pictured a claw raking at his face. “What hurt you?”

  “Mountain lion or some such thing. Big cat,” said Lloyd, without looking at her.

  “You?” Emma glanced up at Niall.

  “Uhh, bandit with some strange metal claw weapon on the end of a chain.” He, too, didn’t make eye contact.

  A third man arrived with most of his left thigh wrapped in bandages. Niall and Lloyd both tried to explain how Emma had healed them at the same time. They stopped, stared at each other for a second, and both started blabbing again. Again they stopped. Niall gestured for Lloyd to continue. Lloyd explained to the newcomer about the small druid helping him.

  The kids rambled in the background, telling Tam and Kimber how the game worked: they had divided into two ‘armies,’ and each one tried to throw the treasure ball into their vault, represented by buckets, which they placed in the field between the town and the forest. While someone ran the treasure ball, the other team tried to catch and knock them down, or steal the ball and take it the other way. If the person with the treasure fell over or the ball hit the ground, everyone stopped and formed new battle lines. After a countdown, two opposing players attempted to grab it again and throw it to a friend to run it.

  Emma took a knee by the new soldier and placed her hands on his bandaged thigh. By the time she finished invoking Uruleth, two more of the local militia had arrived. She offered a weary smile. It’s what I wanted to do. I suppose I should be grateful they are sparing me having to run back and forth across town to find them all.

  “We’re not supposed to go outside the village,” said Emma to Tam, while unwinding the soldier’s leg bandage.

  “I know,” he mumbled.

  The soldier, upon finding his leg mended, scooped Emma up in a hug and held her for a few seconds before setting her back on her feet. “You have my thanks, girl.”

  “What attacked you?” asked Emma.

  “Bear,” said the man. Too fast.

  “Are you sure?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Oh, yes. Was a bear. Big one too.” Niall nodded at the new man.

  Another soldier stepped up with his whole left hand encased in bloody fabric. She grabbed the wad of bandages and called upon Uruleth again. A deep tug of energy within her chest brought on a wave of tired that almost made her curl up right there in the road and sleep. Emma gritted her teeth and fought past it. Asking Uruleth for his healing gift shouldn’t tire her that much. It had to be her body reacting to them doing a day’s worth of walking in a mere two hours.

  The man unwound the bandage, exposing a hand missing his ring finger. The missing digit had sealed to flat skin, no longer bleeding.

  Emma gasped.

  “Went fer me face, it did. Got a hand up, bit me finger straight off.” He cringed. “Ate the ruddy thing too.”

  “Ugh.” Emma grabbed her stomach, trying not to throw up. “I don’t know how to bring your whole finger back. You should go ask Mama if she can help. She’s at the Shaw house.”

  One soldier blurred into the next. After three more blamed a mountain lion, a bear, and a bandit, Emma stopped asking. Why are they lying to me? Are they ashamed or do they not want to tell me because I’m young?

  Eventually, Emma ran out of injuries to fix and sprawled on the dirt road, half sitting, half kneeling, staring at her hands draped in her lap. Somewhere between eight and twelve men had approached for help. After the journey north and all the magic she’d used, it took her a little while to recognize the pale shapes against the blue of her dress as hands. Thinking of curling up beside Mama with a blanket wrapped around her and a hot cup of tea cradled to her chest gave her enough energy to push herself up to stand.

  The cheers of distant children cut off with a few high-pitched shrieks of terror.

  Emma whipped around to look behind her—at an empty street. “Tam? Kimber?”

  She whirled to face west, and also let out a scream.

  About fourteen local children, plus Kimber, stood scattered about the grass separating the town from the northernmost end of Widowswood Forest. All the boys backed away from a huge mass of flapping feathers the color of autumn leaves. A long set of talon-tipped legs held Tam like a field mouse plucked from a meadow. From the knees up, the creature resembled a too-thin woman with a pair of enormous, feathered wings jutting from her back and wild brown-auburn hair. Below the knee, her legs looked like those of a giant eagle, one great three-taloned foot clamped around her little brother. The boy’s weight burdened the creature. It fought hard to climb, wings flapping so hard they shed stray feathers.

  Kimber, and an older girl closer to twelve, ran at the creature.

  “Tam!” shouted Emma. She looked at the soldiers, who all appeared terrified and backed away. What are they scared… oh. That must be a harpy.

  Niall grasped the handle of his ancient longsword, but it would take him too long to find his courage. Tam would be gone before then.

  Emma sprinted to the west, racing past the last three huts where a few women peered out at all the shouting coming from children. Kimber leapt into a grab, seizing the creature’s left leg, as narrow as a broom handle right above the foot, in both hands. It kept flying toward the forest, dragging her along, but her added weight prevented it from going higher.

  Shrieking and hissing, the harpy twisted itself toward Kimber and kicked its left leg rapidly, like a cat after stepping in a puddle. Kimber screamed, but refused to let go as it swung her around.

  The older girl tried to jump on the monstrous woman’s back, but it spun around and slashed her with much smaller claws on its right, human-like, hand. Screaming, the twelve-year-old fell into a tumble, curling into a ball once she stopped. Emma snarled and ran harder.

  Tam wailed, sounding more terrified than hurt.

  The harpy let out a shrieking cry halfway between angry old crone and huge hawk, and powered a few feet straight up. It fell right away into a dive that slapped Kimber’s chest flat on the ground, knocking her loose, dazed and gawping for air.