The next morning, Calea was ready to leave. She had gotten all she could expect to get out of Averieom. Her new prosthetics were adequate, and her strength had improved. Her course was set. Now all she had to do was get to Thyrion, where the largest well in the world would surely fill her with magic once more.
She said as much at breakfast, as the four of them sat together for the one meal a day that they consistently shared. “Bron, we must go. Today.”
He paused with a piece of bread half-lifted to his mouth. Dr. Burdock and Nyasha also halted what they were doing, watching them.
“I’m not sure we can,” Bron said. “I bought a few blankets, tarps, and other miscellany, but no one is willing to part with foodstuffs. The provisions are not ready.”
“Then you must make them ready.”
“The stores are all but empty, and the shopkeepers are not much fond of bank notes.”
“Then talk to the villagers. Surely someone will be willing to sell their food for far above its market value. When society returns to normal they will be greatly enriched.”
Bron grunted and ate his bread. Calea took that as agreement.
She turned to Nyasha. “And you will show us the road? Perhaps we can draw up a map.”
Nyasha held very still for a long moment. Calea watched her, hoping that their little tiff yesterday had not changed anything. At last the girl nodded, soft and serious, and Calea smiled, triumphant. “Then everything is set.”
“Are you sure?” Dr. Burdock asked, his smooth young face wrinkling like an old man’s. “You just got your prosthetics yesterday, and everything is so unsettled. I keep hearing tales of robbers and wild men….”
“We’ll be fine,” Calea said, nodding firmly. “We’ve loitered here long enough.”
After breakfast, Dr. Burdock went muttering to his business, Bron left for the village, and Calea turned to Nyasha. “About that map…”
But the girl had disappeared.
Much put out, Calea tromped about the clinic looking for her, leaning on her crutch and limping on her new leg. Nyasha wasn’t in Dr. Randle’s suite, nor in any of the other rooms Calea checked. She finally crossed between the buildings to the dormitory but didn’t find her there, either.
After quite some time, red-faced and puffing, Calea went back to the entryway of the clinic and plopped down on a bench, rubbing her sore thigh above her prosthetic. When that did little to relieve her, she lifted that side of her skirt above the join of metal and flesh and examined the cloth pressed against her stump. She was very relieved to find no red spots of blood, no smell of oozing pus. It did chafe abominably, though.
“Calea?” The sound of the shutting door raised Calea’s head. Bron stood there, frowning down on her. He carried a small bundle in his right hand, much smaller than she’d been hoping for.
“Is that the food?” She gestured at the bundle, pushing her skirt back down to hide her stump.
Bron nodded, glancing at the gather of cloth in his hand. “Enough cornmeal and salt pork for three days, maybe. Not enough for a journey over the mountains.”
“Then you’ll have to try again.”
“Calea…”
“Ho!” Someone kicked the door, voice muffled by the layers of wood. Bron set down his bundle and went to open it.
There stood Nyasha, her arms stretched widely to carry a burlap sack stuffed full of something lumpy and heavy that strained at the fabric. She grinned at Bron, childlike and sweet, and for the first time Calea saw something there that might be likeable. Bron stepped back to let her in, but she just stood on the threshold, smiling.
“I brought provisions,” she exulted. “Lots of them. Now we can go to the mountains.”
“The mountains?” Calea swayed to her feet and grabbed her crutch. “We?”
“Yes,” the girl stated. “I’m coming with you.”
Well, that wasn’t happening.
Don't miss a single word of stories as they are published! You'll also receive first notice of special sales and behind-the-scenes information.