The Fickle Winds of Autumn

A dull throbbing pain deep behind her eyes roused Kira from a dark and dreamless sleep.

Her heavy limbs ached and tingled limply.

Her scattered mind tried to focus - had she been unconscious for several days? Or just lying awkwardly in an uncomfortable position?

She lay motionless and listened to the regular sound of her own breath; perhaps she was dead?

She squinted her eyes open and allowed in a dim, bleary light.

Her fractured thoughts puzzled - she seemed to be flat on her back, lying in the warmth of a small room, staring up at a high, thatched ceiling.

The comforting scent of wood-smoke and dried herbs reached out to greet her.

But she did not recognise the surroundings.

She cautiously turned her pulsing,wearied head and surveyed the cramped but cosy interior - shelves and tables, piled high with dusty jars and flasks and books, braced up against the modest stained and white-washed walls; the light crackle of a contented fire filled the snug space.

The hard smoothness of a table supported her body; across on the other side of the room, the boy who had rescued her, and an elderly man, were going about their chores with their backs to her.

Yes, that was it - the boy who rescued her - the slavers.

Dark fragments of memory drifted back.

Didn’t the boy say they were going to his master’s house?

Probably that’s where she was?

The jumbled confusion began to consolidate and conspire towards order.

The still tranquillity of her own repose encompassed her; she peeked out through half-opened eyes and silently observed the quiet rhythms of her hosts’ lives.

A harmonious contentment seemed to drift and weave its way around them; they worked in companionship, reaching over each other, without any of the stiff formalities of the convent. The old man hummed softly beneath his breath as he stirred a dark violet liquid; the boy fetched bottles of ingredients from a shelf and dusted down the desktop when spillages occurred. He studied his master’s workings carefully and diligently, then tended to the fire; his master’s shoulders remained hunched over the work-table, as he issued quiet instructions, softly passing on his learnings with a gentle wisdom.

Perhaps this was what the other girls had meant when they reminisced about home?

Kira’s legs tingled and cramped. She wiggled her toes and stretched her foot. A dull stiffness still persisted, but the stabbing, gnawing pain had gone; her wounds did not rupture or weep - they must have closed.

A confirming glance at her wrists showed that these too had healed.

The boy’s master must be good at his work.

Her encouraged spirits lifted - she was healed, she seemed safe - or at least she had escaped the slavers. She tried to sit up, but her faint and dizzy body refused to obey; she collapsed back to the bench with a clumsy thud.

The elderly man turned to face her.

“There now - slowly, little one,” he said. “You are safe here and your illness has passed.”

The boy moved over and supported her awkwardly into the armchair near the bench.

“Thank you so much …er…sir…” Kira replied, in a dry and brittle voice, “I feel much better now.”

“My name is Aldwyn,” said the old man; he nodded towards his young assistant, “and this is Ellis.”

“Yes, we’ve already met. I’m Kira.”

“You don’t appear to be from around these parts,” the old man suggested.

“No, I was a novicella in the nunnery at Corborough.”

“Yes, Ellis mentioned something about it to me - and that would explain your robes.”

Kira looked down at the tattered, dirty mud-stained rags which hung in pieces around her. Sister Amelia Constance would fall into an apoplectic fury if she returned looking like that.

“Well, you’re a long way from home,” said Aldwyn, “and it’s getting late now. You’d better stay the night here with us, then we’ll sort out what to do with you in the morning.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Kira.

Ellis laughed.

“Just call him ‘Aldwyn’, not ‘sir’.”

“Sit there and rest for a while,” said Aldwyn, “then when you’re ready, Ellis will show you where you can get cleaned. But I must continue my work now.” He turned back to his desk.

Kira wriggled her toes and rolled her ankles - her legs were still stiff, but a walk would cure that. She touched her forehead - her fever had gone; her arms were heavy and tired, but her body was calm and relaxed.

She sank into the depths of the chair and surveyed her new surroundings. A set of ladders lead up to a mezzanine floor across the rafters at one end of the room; beside her, a rough door opened through into another small chamber; the hearth glinted and flamed, and tucked away in the corner, by a small window, two willing chairs nestled up to a contented breakfast table.

Ellis offered her his arm.

“The tarn is just out this way, if you feel up to a short walk now,” he said. “And I’ve got you some of my old clothes - they’re clean and dry, and they’ll be warmer than what you’ve got on.”

Kira’s legs wobbled apprehensively as she stood; she lent her weight on him. They hobbled towards the door. Ellis picked up a pair of tattered boots.

“These old things still have some good walking left in them,” he said. “They might fit too. We were saving them to give to the poor - but it looks like you could use them.”

The warm blood rushed to Kira’s cheeks.

But her fatigued body did not feel up to an argument and the words she waited for did not arrive.

Besides, she was in no position to refuse such a kind act of charity.

She accepted the gift meekly.

Perhaps the nuns would even approve of this humility?

#######

Ellis left her by the edge of a large pool of fresh, clear water, secluded by the thick surrounding trees and bushes.

The weak autumn sun had already departed behind the encompassing hills; a mild chill fell across the dim landscape.

A bracing shock of intense goosebumps told Kira not to linger too long in the water; she shivered - but the brief wash was refreshing and much needed for all that, and the walk to get there seemed to have cured the remaining stiffness in her limbs.

Her jaw trembled as she dried herself - but she could not remember feeling so contented - not since she had eaten honeyed pikelets with Amber.

Yes. Amber - and the convent, and the nuns.

Did she really want to go back there?

To return to that daily drudgery? The strictness? The scoldings? The maths lessons?

Her fluctuating mind wavered and fragmented.

It was the first time since she had set out in the carriage that she had even allowed herself the luxury of thinking about returning.

It did not seem very adventurous.

Hadn’t she always wanted to get away?

To be unhampered by sets of regulations and chiming bells in the outer-world?

But if she did not return, what else could she do?

She had no other training or skill but to be a nun - and the Surrounder knew she was poor enough at that!

And her experiences with the slavers had taught her a great deal about the perils of the outside world.NôvelDrama.Org exclusive content.

No matter how boring and uneventful cloistered life had seemed, at least it was safe and simple, with three square meals a day - and sometimes even with honeyed pikelets for breakfast.

Perhaps such a tedious dullness was something to be grateful for?

Her legs and body struggled in the awkward strangeness of the boy’s trousers and tunic - but he was right - they were much warmer than her old rags.

Obviously, wearing boy’s clothing would take a little getting used to - everything seemed a bit loose and baggy, but a belt or rope around her waist would cure that.

The slack boots were not a good fit either - perhaps she could stuff them with rags? But it was a kind gesture - and at least they would protect the soles of her tender feet against the worst extremes of the road.

#######

Back inside, Kira sat on the warmth of the floor rug and hugged her knees in front of the lively glow of the comforting hearth; she allowed her eyes to wander around the room as her hosts continued their busy work preparing a variety of flasks and potions.

The deep aromas shifted and swirled.

Aldwyn brushed past her to stir and agitate some of the pots which simmered above the fire. His thick robe had probably once been blue or green, but now was an indistinguishable old brown and smelt of lost scrolls and hazy smoke.

“We’re just finishing now,” he smiled down at her. “These are for our rounds tomorrow.”

A large vial of bright blue liquid bubbled subtly.

“What’s that one for?” Kira asked.

“It’s a salve for Mr Petterson,” Aldwyn replied.

A thick glow of red gloop rippled and brooded.

“And this?” said Kira.

“This is an ointment for Mrs Tanby’s children.”

A large dubious-looking pot frothed and blipped near the centre of the hearth. Blackened with age, it gave off a doubtful beige smell which Kira couldn’t quite place. The nuns were fond of informing her that the best and most effective medicines often smelt and tasted the most foul - so surely this rancid old vessel must contain a very impressive remedy for some truly terrible disease?

“And what will this one cure?” she pointed doubtfully.

“Ah yes!” said Aldwyn. “That is my secret and special cure for hunger.”

“Hunger?” Kira blurted out in disbelief and wonderment.

“Yes!” said Aldwyn, his grey eyes twinkled down at her. “It’s rabbit and nettle stew - and we are just about to eat it for supper!”

Kira politely chewed her way through the broth - it really wasn’t so bad - especially if she held her breath while eating it - and her stomach received it gratefully.

The evening’s talk drifted toward her adventures and how exactly she had ended up with the slavers.

“Yes,” Aldwyn concluded, “we had heard the rumours that the witch attacks had intensified in the Northern Territories - but I hadn’t realised things had become quite so bad as to require an intervention from the Harmonist - and we certainly knew nothing of his demise - but then, we are a little out of the way here, and news travels slowly to these parts.”

“And you were chosen out of all the novicellae to assist at the ceremony?” said Ellis. “That must have been a great honour. They would only take the very best students to lend their harmonies for such an important task.”

The warm blood flushed through Kira’s cheeks.

“Erm…well…I’m not really that good…” Kira began.

“There’s no need to be so modest,” said Aldwyn.

“Well, no,” Kira said, “it’s just that they were a bit short of numbers so they took me… to be honest, I’m not sure the Prima Sister would welcome my return - she always said she’d be glad to see the back of me - but I don’t know what else I can do, except go back to them - at least it’s safe there.”

“Yes,” Ellis said, “I was just thinking Aldwyn - what with all these slavers and witches about - shouldn’t we escort Kira back to the convent?”

Aldwyn shifted his position and rubbed his chin.

“Well, unfortunately, our rounds tomorrow are in the opposite direction to the road for Corborough.”

“But look at what happened to Kira with the slavers,” Ellis persisted. “I think we have a duty to help her get home - the nuns will be worried about her.”

Kira’s thoughts stung and cascaded; she was quite certain that the nuns would not miss her in the least - but she kept her own counsel.

“These Church types are seldom so kind or pious as they may seem,” said Aldwyn. “You shouldn’t allow yourself to be fooled by outward appearances. Have I taught you nothing over all these years?”

“Yes, I know… but I just thought…” Ellis started.

“I am well aware of what you just thought,” Aldwyn cut him off abruptly. “But the Church can itself be a far more dangerous place than out here in the common world.”

A keen prickle of embarrassed silence descended across the room.

“Besides,” Aldwyn continued in a far softer tone, “we have an appointment with the widow Johnstone’s bunions, which lies in quite the opposite direction - and you know how she gets if we are late.”

“Please,” said Kira, “I really don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Well perhaps Kira could stay and recover here a few days until our rounds do take us in the right direction?” Ellis said.

Aldwyn let out a deep sigh.

“Well, we’ll have to see - but these matters won’t resolve themselves now. Things usually seem clearer in the morning. Let us retire to our beds. Ellis, show our guest to her place - but now, my tired old bones really must get some sleep.”

Aldwyn shuffled through the door and disappeared into the small side chamber.

Ellis laid a thin straw mattress down in a comfortable spot near the warmth of the radiating hearth. He tended the fire, then blew out the rushlights; his pattering footsteps climbed the ladder to the mezzanine; his bedding rustled and settled.

Kira nestled into the snug welcome of a blanket for the first time she could remember; her eyes drooped in the placid darkness; her thoughts drifted - the convent, and Amber, and her return; the cosy caress of sleep lulled over her.