Ella
I wake to bright sunshine streaming through the window next to our bed in the cottage. I squeeze my eyes shut against the onslaught of light and reach over the sun-warmed sheets for Ryatt, but the other side of the bed is still as empty as it was when I fell asleep.
For the first time in weeks, I don’t feel like death this morning.
Maybe it’s the way the warm sun plays over my skin and the chipper birdsong outside, but I feel… happy. Lively. I feel like getting up and stretching my body instead of burying myself in bed again.
I can sense a shift in the air as I dress in a clean outfit of cream colored cotton and try to pull on my boots. Tying the laces is becoming a struggle because of my belly, which is now in the way. I didn’t show for the longest time, and maybe I should have enjoyed that phase of this pregnancy a little longer. Now, it’s over. I grunt with effort as I try to bend down over the hard swell of my stomach. I even sit down and try to pull my leg higher. Finally, red faced and starting to sweat, I kick my boots across the room and opt for the incredibly ugly leather clogs Ryatt bought for me to wear because of this.
It’s warm enough that I don’t need a cloak as I leave the cottage in search of something to eat a short time later. I carry a giant mug of my tea in my hands and sip it slowly as I watch the sleepy little village all around me bustle with life. Everything is vivid green, all crisp morning air and freshly bloomed spring flowers.
I have a pep in my step as I stop at a bakery nearby and buy the butteriest, most chocolate filled pastry I can find. It tastes like heaven, and I’m regretting only buying one, when I notice a trail leading out of the village and into the woods.
A trio of young women around my age giggle as they walk about into the village with towels wrapped around their heads, their clothes damp from what looks like a morning spent… swimming.
I take another bite of my pastry and watch them walk past.
“It’s a lovely morning for a walk,” says a voice somewhere behind me.
I turn around to find a kind looking middle-aged woman carrying a basket of freshly clipped flowers. She tilts her head toward the trail, continuing, “There’s a mountain spring roughly half a mile up the trail. The women in the village like to bathe there sometimes. It’s said the water keeps you young.”
I smile around my bite of pastry, and she smiles back, dipping her head in farewell.
I like this village–wherever we are. The names of the packs and villages we’ve visited have started to bleed together as the days drag on.
I doubt a walk would be bad for my condition, right?
I stuff the last bite of pastry into my mouth and dust the crumbs off my fingers, then set off toward the woods.
The trail winds through the trees and dips down several times. I walk over, and occasionally under, huge root systems and branches that belong to trees that must be several centuries old. The hustle and bustle of the village is soon replaced by lively birdsong and the sound of small critters scurrying through the brush.
Through the trees, I can see the spring in question. It glimmers in the sunshine and looks cool and welcoming against the startling humid heat beginning to creep into the air with each passing minute. But, for whatever reason, I feel a slight tug in my mind that urges me to look to my right.
A few hundred feet off the trail, down a grassy, sun drenched embankment, sits a quiet clearing full of little pink flowers. Around the clearing are rose bushes that remind me so much of my mom that I don’t give my actions a second thought as I step off the trail, and walk briskly toward them.
The scent of rose and apple blossom is thick in the air as I step out of the woods and into the sunlight.
I pick a few roses, stopping to sniff deeply and run my fingers over their velvet petals. Instead of the tears I was sure would start spilling, I smile. Instead of homesickness and that all-encompassing uncertainty when it comes to what I believe is my untimely death, I feel… incredibly happy. I feel fine. Whole and well.
But then I prick my finger on one of the thorns.
“Ouch,” I mumble, sucking on the wound.
“You’re not supposed to touch the thorns, silly!”
I whirl toward the voice of a child.
A girl of roughly seven years stands at the far end of the clearing clutching a doll, a basket full of flowers at her feet.
She beams at me, skipping forward through the flowers between us, her dark brown hair tied back in a long braid that sails out behind her with each step. She approaches me, a total stranger, without a care in the world, and takes my injured hand to inspect.
“You’ll be just fine,” she says with a smile, still grasping my fingers.
“Uh, thank you.”
“I’m going to be a healer one day,” she continues, unprompted.
“Well, that’s a wonderful profession to aspire–”
“Because I’m a witch.”
“Ah, I see.” I find myself at a bit of a loss about how to speak to this little girl. I don’t have much experience with children.
She blinks up at me with her round, stormy gray eyes and cocks her head to the side. She lets go of my hand and holds up her doll, which has seen much better days.
“Daddy made her for me.” She presses the doll into my hand.
“Oh?” I examine the toy, which is made of fabric and leather and has black hair made of yarn. It’s been sewn back together several times from what I can see. “What’s her name?”
“Dolly.” The little girl beams.
“What a fine name,” I smile back. Why is she still here? Also, where the hell is her mother? I glance around the clearing. We’re alone together. No other voices drift in the soft, warm breeze.
She looks up at me expectantly, her freckled nose crinkling as she smiles. She’s missing her two front teeth, and she’s sporting a healing split lip. One look down at her grubby knees gives me a clear view of road rash and the same speckled bruises I used to always have as a child.
“Do you play alone in the woods often?” I ask. Again, I search for any sign of another adult.
“My grammy makes me go on a walk with her every morning so my mommy and daddy can have breakfast together in peace,” she yawns.
“Where is your grammy, then?”
“I’m hiding from her!”
“Why?”
“Because it’s funny!” The little girl snickers with laughter that makes me smile despite myself. “Grampa gets mad when I hide, but he was the one who taught me to run fast and climb trees, so it’s his fault. I think so, at least.”
She takes the doll back from my hand and I notice a smear of paint on its fabric dress.
“Do you like to paint?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No, but Mommy does. I’m too big to sit in her lap while she paints anymore–”
A thundering begins to echo through my ears. There’s something odd about this, I realize. I take a closer look at the girl as she continues to chatter like a little bird, toying with the doll’s thinning yarn hair. The girl looks like… she looks like Ryatt. Those eyes are his. The way her mouth quirks into a cocky smile…
A crashing sound comes from a nearby bush, and a boy with a curly crop of golden hair comes stumbling into the clearing wearing faded overalls.
“Oooooo!” the girl taunts, whirling toward him. “Your mama is going to tan your hide!”
The little boy pants and struggles with his overalls, which are undone. “Don’t tell!” he screeches, glowering at her from across the clearing. If he notices my presence, he doesn’t show it.
“You’re not supposed to be shifting, Evander!” the girl screeches back then dissolves into riotous, teasing laughter as she sprints away from me. “I’m telling your mom!”
“No!” he cries out, and in a puff of golden light, a fox kit appears and tears back into the woods.
My heart stops.
The girl slows at the edge at the clearing and turns to look at me over her shoulder. Her smile is soft, and her eyes turn a brilliant silver in the sunlight. “See you later.” She grins, and runs into the darkening forest.
“Wait!” I burst out, but the roar of the birds singing I hadn’t realized had quieted returns.
A gentle breeze brushes over me, making all of the fine, downy hair on my body stand on end.
There are no soft footprints in the flowers where the children had just been. The boy’s overalls are gone.
It was like they were never here.
“What’s your name?” I ask, but it’s barely a whisper as it falls from my tongue.
I’m answered by the birds.
My heart hammers as tears fill my eyes. I fall to my knees and begin to laugh, tears spilling down my cheeks as I cradle my stomach.
The girl–I know her. I’ve been carrying her in my body for months. I would know her anywhere.
She’s going to live.
So am I. I’m certain of it.
“Oh, my Goddess, thank you!” I sputter, letting go of my belly to sink my fingers into the soft grass beneath me.
The boy had to have been Amanda and Granger’s son. Which means they will be raised together. They’re allowed to roam the woods alone, playing, playing in peace without warriors watching their every move.
But the grandparents she mentioned… could that have been my parents? Why would they be in Eastonia, of all places? Or, is the grandfather Westfall, and the grandmother…
“Ella?”
I turn to Ryatt’s voice as he slides down the embankment. He looks concerned, but his eyes soften when I turn, and he sees the delirious smile on my face.
“Ella,” he rasps, falling to his knees beside me. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I just saw–I just met–” I can barely get the words out. I look back at the place where the children disappeared. I swear on the Goddess, over the whispering breeze and birds chirping in the trees, I can still hear their laughter. “I’m going to be okay, Ryatt.”
I look up at my mate and for the first time in months feel hope.
“I’m going to be okay,” I repeat, more firmly this time. I wrap my arms around his neck, letting my tears fall freely now, and kiss him. “I’m going to be just fine.”
I feel the tension leave his body as he rolls me onto the grass, the two of us dissolving into desperate laughter as he presses tender kisses to my lips. He must be so confused right now. I haven’t explained anything about what just happened, but the joy in his eyes is something I haven’t seen in a very long time.
“I brought you medicine,” he says.
I look up into his eyes. The eyes he gave our daughter.
“I… Westfall is here. He wants to see you. We all need to talk.”
“That’s fine,” I say, my fingers brushing over his lips. All I can think of is the girl from the clearing.
I wish she’d told me her name.
“Has Granger ever mentioned the name Evander to you?”
Ryatt furrows his brows. “Why? It was his father’s name.”
I smile, and let the truth settle in my heart. I’m not sure what I did for the Goddess to give me this vision, this gift of hope for our future.
But I know it’s the only thing I’ll have to hold onto as we journey into the Wastes….
Tomorrow.