~Meriel~

By the following morning, the frigid rain had gone. Such was the way of it, at the borderline of autumn and winter; the harsh weather would come in bursts, as uncomfortable as during the height of the season but lasting only a day or so. After would come the respite. For a week, maybe two, there'd be nothing worse than a slight cloud cover or maybe a touch of drizzle, just long enough to dry out the fields. Meriel had long outgrown the naïve hope that this year the full winter wouldn't come, that the day of icy rain would be the extent of it. Small children deluded themselves, but she didn't.

It gave her a week, if she wanted to know anything more about Telis' book of the stars. Once the bitter weather came in earnest, she'd have no reason to be traipsing all the way to the farthest edge of the village, and no hope of relying on Helicent for a ride back through the rain. Even once had nearly cost her. Her father expected his evening meal to be waiting for him when he returned; that had been a condition of letting Meriel out of working the fields with him—she'd always hated being out in the fields, because it made her back hurt and left grime permanently imprinted in her fingernails. But after her ride in the rain, she'd had to dry herself in front of the hearth just to get rid of the chill in her core, and by the time she'd shaken the damp from her bones it was too late to prepare a hot meal. Father hadn't complained about the cold chicken and bread-heel she'd served for him, but he had advised her not to make a habit of it.

She spent much of the week looking for the right opportunity to go and fetch the book. The air was noticeably colder than it had been before the rain came, but the sun was resolutely permanent. But the daily chores seemed endless. For one, she'd forgotten to collect her father's hoe from Cad. That meant getting it in the morning, once the breakfast was done and everything put away. Of course, by the time she'd done all that—and exchanged her usual pleasantries with Cad—her father had already gone out to the fields. Meriel had had to go and find him. As if he'd known she wanted to be done with her tasks quickly so she'd have time to get to Telis' house, her father was working the farthest edge of the farthest field, right up against the claypit to the east. It was gone midday by the time she was back in the Village.

The next few days were much the same. Every job would take just a little bit longer than she would have liked. Worse, Helicent seemed to be about all the time, and wanting to talk. Meriel wouldn't have minded if she didn't have other things to be about—she liked Helicent a lot, and the other girl had a way of making her laugh just in how she expressed the most mundane sentiments—but right now it was a constant frustration. When she was waylayed for the third day in a row, Meriel nearly went so far as to tell Helicent about the book of stars. She stopped herself, though. Helicent would tell her mother, and by the end of the day most of the Village would know. If that happened, Meriel would never see the book again. One of the men would take it, and probably destroy it once Idden Baltly had managed to convince the whole Village that it was Telis' book of sinister curses, left behind to slowly poison everyone. The secrets the book held would be forever kept from Meriel. So instead she feigned interest in Helicent's new bow and the deer she'd shot with it, and kept her eyes on the level of the sun.

"You're not listening to me, are you?"

Meriel frowned. "Pardon?"

Helicent laughed. "I knew it! Honestly, El, here I am talking about spooks in the woods and you're not even slightly quivering in your boots."

"Spooks in the woods?" Helicent was always telling scary stories about the things she'd come across while out hunting, and Meriel was sure none of them were even slightly true—but she could never help herself getting scared silly by them.

Helicent nodded. "Bardel Cein started talking about them at dice a few days past. Sidhe, he said. Wandering in the woods, always hiding in the corner of his eye. We called him a dull twonk, of course—any child old enough to dress themself knows sidhe are just stories—but he's right. I swear it. All yesterday I was out in the woods, trying to get that bloody hart—you remember, the one I told you about? A majestic beast, and a fine meal it was. But this whole time, it was like there was someone watching me. Not where I could see them, but just off to the side. Like they were waiting for me to trip or something. I promise you, El, I've never felt so uneasy in those woods. I was glad to be out of there."

The story did make Meriel uneasy, even if it was exactly the same as all of Helicent's other tall tales. If anything, it scared her worse. When Helicent told her about monsters that wanted to rip your guts out, it was frightening, but it made sense. That was what monsters did. Things that didn't want to kill you, that just wanted to watch you instead, were strangely more terrifying. These sidhe made no sense to Meriel, and that only added to the fear she felt at Helicent's words. But, of course, this time Helicent had slipped up in her telling. A grin came to Meriel's lips. It was rare indeed that she had something tangible to falsify Helicent's story. "You were talking with me for half of yesterday morning, remember?" She said it not to catch Helicent out, but to assuage her own fear.

Helicent looked at her with narrow eyes, her face paling. "No, El. I've not seen you since the rains stopped."

"Apart from yesterday and the day before." Meriel chuckled, suddenly nervous. "We were talking, Helicent. Both days. I was there."

"Talking about what?"

"Well, about—" Meriel froze. What had they been talking about? She could remember Helicent keeping her engaged in conversation, both days, until it was far too late in the day for her to go along to Telis' cottage. But no matter how much she strained her mind, she couldn't remember a single word that was actually said. Couldn't remember what they had spoken of. "I don't know," she said eventually, quietly.

Helicent shook her head. "I promise you, El, I haven't talked to you. I've had my mind on the bloody deer all the time." Meriel felt suddenly sick. Concern washed over Helicent's face. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Meriel nodded. "Sorry. I should get on. Errands to run."

Helicent smiled, and put a hand on Meriel's shoulder. It made Meriel's heart skip. "Come to the tavern one day. Tonight, perhaps, or tomorrow. It's been too long since we talked properly."

"My father—"

"Can entertain himself for an evening." Helicent winked. "I'll see you at the dicing table." As Meriel started to walk away, Helicent called to her: "And El? That's not a suggestion." That elicited a chuckle from Meriel, and a warmth spread inside.

Filled with thoughts of the tavern, Meriel completed her day's errands at record pace. It wasn't even midday when she was done, and the sun was still shining fully. So with her cloak hung low—it was too warm to wrap it snugly—she set off down the north road to Telis Heddorel's house.

Telis' cottage was just as it had been three days earlier. It seemed somehow colder. Meriel crossed to the table where the hefty book still lay, already planning in her mind where she could hide it so nobody would see her carrying it all the way home. It was bigger than she'd remembered. Her original plan of somehow folding it up in her shift and concealing it beneath her dress was looking tenuous—it might work, but there'd be a bulk sticking out. Maybe she could pass it off as firewood or something that she'd gone to fetch for her father. The man himself wouldn't be fooled, of course, but he would likely be out on the fields until the sun had completely disappeared beneath the horizon. Winter would soon be at its height. Truly dry days would be few and far between for several months, and he'd want to make the most of the days he had.

As she was about to pick up the book, though, a different thought crossed her mind. Creeping—as though a creaking floorboard might somehow draw Telis back—Meriel made her way to the stairs. Her booted feet trod heavily on each step, and the creaks grew louder. You couldn't sneak up on somebody who was in Telis' upstairs room.

But there was nobody to sneak up on.

Just as Meriel had guessed, the upstairs room was where Telis kept her books. There were dozens of them, a whole wall devoted to them, more books than she'd seen in her life. On the opposite side of the room, Telis' bed—a straw mattress, badly moth-eaten—stood beside a bare wooden stool. It bore stains where the wax of a hundred candles had stuck to the wood; the most recent was left half-burned on the side. The only other thing on the stool was a necklace, a blood-red stone affixed to a long band of gold. Maybe it was the way the sunlight caught it through the window, but the stone seemed to shine in Meriel's direction. She crossed the room towards it. Her only thought now was to reach out and touch it, like it was calling out to her. A stupid notion. Stones could not call out. But she felt it, would have sworn it was true.

A shock stung her finger as it touched the stone. It was warm to the touch, though, and soon enough she had slipped all the fingers of her left hand around it. She clasped it close. As she held it, so a vision coalesced in her mind, as real to look at it as the room around her. A woman, middle-aged, with a complexion of rose-kissed white and hair like strands of yellow gold, smiling warmly. There was a translucence to her. A pallor. But the woman was there, no doubt about it.

Was this a sidhe? Magic? Perhaps Telis truly was a witch, come to do harm.

Meriel gasped, ill at ease, and shot down the stairs with no regard for quietness. She didn't even stop to pick up the book about the stars—the very reason she'd come at all. She walked at a quickened pace until she was well away from Telis' house, and warmed through entirely by the afternoon sunlight. Her thoughts swam with fear, and with the fear touches of wonder. What had she come upon in Telis Heddorel's house? Had she found a curse or a boon?
Only when she was safely back in her own home did she notice that the red-stone necklace was still clutched tightly in her hand.

It wasn't hers, and she didn't want it. Just the thought of the spectral woman whose image had been summoned by a touch of the stone was enough to chill Meriel's blood. She sighed. She'd have to find time to go to Telis' house again, and before the rains of winter came. There'd be only a few days left now.

Maybe fewer. She'd reckoned the passing of days by her chats with Helicent—conversations which Helicent claimed never to have had, and which come to think of it Meriel couldn't remember. What if this was the last dry day? Could she somehow keep the necklace hidden somewhere about the house for the winter, and return it come the spring? But that would be months away. If her father were to find it, he'd take her for a thief. No matter her intentions, no matter how much she begged, he'd make sure the Village knew that she'd stolen. Maybe she'd be lucky, and Helicent would bring her a bowl of warm soup while she had her head and hands in the stocks.

Far too disconcerted to think about going back to Telis' house today, Meriel set to preparing the evening's dinner. Humming a cheerful song to herself, she replaced her outdoor cloak with an apron of white cloth to protect her dress, and—not really paying attention to what she did—slipped the red-stone necklace around her neck. It fit snugly, and where the stone touched her chest it seemed to radiate soothing warmth.

She was just about done with the meal when the door opened and her father's heavy boots thudded on the floorboards. He was in many ways Meriel's opposite; where she was slight, even by the standard of the girls her age, her father was strong and muscular, with a hard jaw and dark whiskers framing his face. Meriel's hair, by contrast, was almost golden. She supposed she must take after her mother. Certainly there was very little of her father evident in her.

"Evening, father," she called, not looking up from the stove. He grunted in reply. As was his habit, he removed his boots just beside the door, then immediately went to the big table to wait for his supper to be served. When it didn't arrive immediately, he beat a fist on the table.

"I don't expect to have to wait, wem," he snarled. "The meal should be waiting for me."

"I'm just finishing up, father," Meriel replied brightly. "It'll be only a minute."

"See that it is."

And it was. The base of the meal was ladels full of the stew-of-everything that she always had in a big cauldron near the fireplace, to which she added some chunks of bacon left over from a sow father had butchered a week previously. This she complemented with a husk of bread and some cheese, to mop up the gravy. She set her father's bowl down first, then returned to the countertop to gather up her own. By the time she'd sat herself down, he was wolfing down the stew.

Meriel ate slowly. She'd learned to, if she didn't want to feel so hungry later. By father's demand, she was to take the smaller portion for herself. If she wasn't going to work the fields, she didn't need to eat so much. She was just soaking some gravy in a bit of her bread when she noticed her father sitting upright. He never finished before she did, and he never stopped until his bowl was clean. She looked up slowly. His grey eyes were cold.

"You've been out today, wem," he said.

She nodded. "To run errands, that's all."

"Don't lie to me. You've been to the witch's house." Telis. How could father know? Meriel could feel herself starting to panic. Had he followed her? Had somebody watch her? As if in answer to her unspoken questions, he shook his head. "You were meant never to figure it out."

"Figure what out?"

What came next came in a blur. Suddenly father was to his feet, and a gleaming sword bared in his hand. Where has he got a sword from? He can't afford a piece like that. He dived towards her, swinging wildly, and she screamed as she ducked out of the way. He'd overcommitted. His balance went and he toppled into the chair Meriel had just vacated, giving her time to climb to her feet. But he was between her and the door. She backed against the countertop, reaching for something she could use as a weapon. There was a knife somewhere, which she had chopped the bacon with. Where was it?

To her dismay she noticed it on the floor. She must have dropped it at some point. There was no time to stoop to pick it up. Father was back on his feet and lunging forward once again. On instinct alone Meriel grabbed at the first thing she could put her hands on, and shoved it at him. The pot of stew-of-everything. Still fresh from boiling, the stew went all over father. He cried out and rubbed at his face, and the sword fell to the floor. While she could, Meriel reached for it, so he couldn't swing at her again. The hilt was an unfamiliar weight in her hand.

With a yell, father charged...

She didn't even move to meet him. His charge ended abruptly, sending her shoulder quivering, and suddenly she saw his eyes flick from hatred to fear. His sword, which she held without thought, was thrust between his ribs, and a growing pool of dark blood was gathering around it. Blood was spilling from his mouth, too. He coughed, and a whole load of it came out.

"You..."

His eyes glazed, and he fell silent. Dead.

At her hand.

She pulled the sword free of his guts, and wiped the blood off on her apron as her father's lifeless body crumpled to the floor. Then she tore the apron free and threw it to the ground. She didn't want it attached to her. Who was she? What sort of monster? She knew she'd done wrong. Her own father, the man who had given her life, raised her into the woman she was, and now he lay dead from a wound she herself had inflicted. And worse, she didn't feel sad. She felt... relieved. And that scared her almost as much as the weight of what she'd done.

Trembling, then, she lowered herself to sit on the wooden floor, the sword still in her hand. And she stayed there, weeping, with her dead father for company, until the morning sun spilled through the windows.

Meriel was brought back to reality by the door flying open. One of her father's friends, wondering where he was this morning? She'd hang, if it was. She'd be attainted a murderer, and a killer of kin.

It was none of her father's friends who stood in the doorway, though. Her dark hair was braided and clipped in place in a way she'd never done before, and her grey riding cloak was new, but there was no mistaking Telis Heddorel. Her round, pinkish face bore the first burgeoning age-lines. There was nothing but concern in her eyes.

"Child?"

"He came at me," Meriel babbled. "I didn't mean to—"

"Hush," said Telis, stepping through into the room and enfolding Meriel in a tight hug—a mother's hug. She could have lost herself forever in Telis' embrace. For a time, at least, she felt as though all was right with the world. But it wasn't. It couldn't ever be, not now. Her father was lying dead just feet away; the floorboards were soaked in his blood. Yet Telis didn't seem to care. She held Meriel tightly, and kissed her hair. When she broke the hug, Meriel wanted to grab at her and pull her back in. "It's okay. Keep calm. I've come to take you away from here."

Meriel frowned. "Take me... away?"

Telis nodded. "The time's come. You're not safe here any longer. Come, the horses are restless, and people might take notice of them if they're tethered outside your house for too long."

"Horses?"

Telis moved her hands together. Light grew between them, a pale orb of yellow, then floated across to Meriel's father. Wherever it passed, the blood vanished from the floorboards as though it had never been there. Even on her father's body, there was no trace of blood in the wound, though his torn shirt told the truth. "It's not gone, only hidden," Telis explained, "and it won't last for very long. Come, Meriel. We must be away from here before anyone notices him missing."

"Where are we going?"

"The world, child. You were never meant to be hidden away here, not forever. Times of great change are upon us—and you'll have a part to play in that."