Curse of the Chelicerae 8

She didn't know how long she sat grinding. The sounds of the day changed, as did the scents. The afternoon brought a buzz of insects in the warm air, a trickle of sweat running down her back. She pushed up the sleeves of the woolen shirt she'd been given, and blinked toward the sun as it eased into the place where she sat. She could picture the glowing ball of warmth in the haze of gold that actually filled her vision. Once, a woman passed by, her shadow darkening the glow, and the thwack of a wooden spoon smarted on Sinaedh's arm. "Grind!" she barked, then watched for a moment as Sinaedh poured more grain onto the quern and began turning the handle again. "Good. No stop." Then the shadow was gone, and golden light surrounded the cleric again.

The odors of the place where she worked changed. Sinaedh's stomach growled as the scent of grilling meat wafted toward her. Once or twice riders came past, each shadow dimming the mellowing orange-gold glow that the cleric saw briefly, then allowing it to fill her eyes again. Once, heavy boots warned her that another approached, and she bent forward, industriously grinding the grain.

Chill began to tickle the back of her neck as sweat that had formed there cooled. Now the glow in her vision was no more, and dark shadows surrounded her. The woman who had spoken to her when she first arrived returned. "Stop," she said curtly. "Food." Sinaedh reached blindly in the direction of the woman's voice, fingers finding and then cupping a wooden bowl. Within, a watery stew with some vegetables and only a taste of meat, but to Sinaedh it was as if she'd been invited to a banquet. She hungrily ate the stew, slurping it from the bowl.

Laughter muffled by walls rang nearby. "Lord Aki entertains the blodfelag tonight," the woman close by said.

"Lord Aki?" Sinaedh whispered.

There was a pause, as if the other woman looked to see who might be closeby listening. "He's chief. He leads the Red Hand. Pray he takes no more interest in you, girl."

"Sinaedh," she answered. "My name is Sinaedh."

"Here, it is whatever he calls you. Only pray...," a bitter laugh. "As if that would help. But pray he does not call you." The other woman reached for the bowl, then handed a thin blanket to Sinaedh. "Sleep here, in the shed. Latrine is...," she paused, then took the cleric's hand, pointing it to the right. "That way. Do not go farther, or the dogs will find you."

"Thank you," Sinaedh said as she rose, pulling the blanket around her. "You have been kind...," she peered into the darkness that was growing, frowning, uncertain of the woman's name or title.

"Mary," came a soft answer. "My name is Mary. Now I must go."

"Thank you, Mary," Sinaedh whispered as she huddled into the blanket. The other woman's soft steps carried her into the darkness.