The Curse of the Blessed

Chapter Thirteen

As there was no urgent need to get back quickly, and both Reed and Lark agreed that I should take a rest from using my powers, we walked back to the farm. By the time we arrived, the sun had begun to rise. I remembered the sunset Lark had shown me yesterday and couldn't help a small chuckle. So much had changed in so little time.

Boldly, we marched right up to the farmhouse and knocked on the back door, hoping they'd let us sleep in the safety of their home until Elder Brona arrived. Footsteps sounded from inside the house. A small child asked a question and was promptly shushed. The door cracked slightly, a sliver of face visible through the small opening, eye wide with surprise.

"Can we come in?" Reed asked. "We've been up all night, and we'd like to get some rest while we wait for the Elder."

There was a short silence. Then a man's deep voice said, "Did you do it? Did you destroy the ghosts?"

Reed and Lark exchanged a glance.

"Maybe," she said.

The bit of face frowned, and the man harrumphed. "You can rest outside."

The door closed with a slam.

"That was friendly," said Bran, his voice full of resentment. He sat on the porch stairs and stared at the ground in disgust.

"Maybe they don't have room for us?" Lark suggested uncertainly.

Reed shook his head. "It's a huge house. Unless it's packed with bags of wheat or bits of furniture, they've got room. They're probably just afraid of us."

"What's new?" said Bran.

"They might just be-" Lark started.

"No," snapped Bran. "Whatever you're about to say, it's wrong. They aren't just doing anything, other than shunning the people who risked themselves to help them. There is no explanation. There is no way to make it okay."

His eyes caught Lark's, and she quickly looked away, her hands curling into tight fists at her sides.

Reed gave Bran an annoyed look. "Calm down. She was just being nice. There's no need to be so angry—at them or us. I'd think you'd be used to it by now, after all you've said. I'd think you'd understand how it is for them."

"Them," said Bran scornfully. "I can be angry at whoever I want to be."

Lark mumbled something.

"What was that?" Bran asked.

This time, she met his gaze. "You can't stay angry forever."

"Can't I?"

"No. No one can."

"I guess I'm just different."

An enormous amount of disgust was layered into that last word, and it was impossible to tell whether he meant it within the context of the sentence, or as a reference to his being Blessed. Perhaps it was both.

He and Lark stared at each other, more tension growing between them by the second. Bran was the first to look away.

An hour or so later, Elder Brona arrived. Rather than coming to the back porch, where the four of us sat in silence, she marched up to the front door, announcing her presence with a crisp knock. I wondered what she would say to the farmers when she discovered that we had not been allowed inside.

The front door creaked loudly as it opened. Though we couldn't see that side of the house, the morning was quiet, and hurried whispers were audible. All I could make out was, "They're at the back." There was another squeal of protest as the door closed again. The grass rustled beneath feet, and Elder Brona appeared around the corner. Her eyes widened as she saw us.