You Can Run

The Invitation

Bernadette never ceased to amaze Pierre with her cooking skills. She'd somehow find a hundred ways to feed ten people from one chicken and to make the chicken more delicious than anything served on the Queen of England's dining table with the bare minimum of seasonings. Today's dinner was onion soup, with dandelion greens, with a freshly baked loaf of bread.

"How'd you get the bread?" Pierre asked, breaking a piece of bread and dipping it into the soup. Even with his wages and Bernadette's income from the market, bread wasn't easy to come by.

"You know James, the baker?" Bernadette wiped her hands on her apron.

"Hmm,"

"I did a favour for him recently. Embroidered his sister's wedding gown."

This was how they got by most of the time. Pierre worked in steamboats, Bernadette sold herbs and eggs from their farm, and they called in favours.

"How long are you staying this time?" Bernadette asked, picking up his plate.

"A week," he answered, wiping his mouth on his napkin.

Bernadette placed a glass of what looked suspiciously like wine on the table. Pierre raised an eyebrow.

"It's elderberry cordial, a gift from the Kitridges. I nursed little Evelyn back to health after she went down with chicken pox." Bernadette nodded, picking up her sewing kit and a dress, likely a child's, from the worn-down armchair.

"What's that?"

"Betty's communion is coming up so her mother asked me to tighten Sarah's old frock for her," Bernadette replied, threading a needle.

There was a knock on the door as Pierre finished the last of his glass of cordial. He got up to answer it.

A short lady with dirty blonde hair stood outside. She was dressed in rags, indicating her living conditions couldn't be much better than Pierre's. Soot covered her face, and she fidgeted as she spoke.

"My brother needs help," she cried, "He's stuck underneath a wall!"

"A wall?" Pierre ensured, "How did he manage that?"

"He needs help," the woman deflected his inquiry. "Please, he needs a doctor!"

"I am no doctor, but I can help get your brother to a good one," Pierre offered, grabbing his tattered coat. "Take me to your brother."

She led him through the market, taking the route that led to the forest. The only other person that saw them was James.

"Oi, Pierre, where are you off to?" He called out.

"Is the doctor's office closed? I need to get this lady's brother to him," Pierre stopped to inquire.

James gave him a puzzled look. "No, I think his office is open,"

"Alright, thanks," Pierre said, rushing after the lady, who was already further away.

He followed the mysterious woman into the forest, dried leaves crunching under their feet.

His feet, he realised. The lady made no apparent sound as she walked.

Pierre stopped as the woman marched on, confirming his suspicions.

Earlier, James hadn't noticed the woman either. Pierre recalled James's perplexed look when he mentioned the woman.

"Where is your brother?" Pierre asked, jogging to catch up with her. "Not far now," the woman replied, fidgeting with her threadbare shawl.

There was something about the woman that made him want to flee. He stared at her intently as she led him further into the forest.

"What are you?" He blurted out before he could stop himself.

The woman stopped.

"Now you're asking the right questions," her voice darkened as she smiled dangerously at him.

"Then give me the right answers," he said, straightening himself.

"That depends," she purred, "What would the right answer be, Pierre?"

"The truth, of course," he replied, bringing his hands out of his pockets. "How do you know my name?"

"Oh, but I know everything about you," she giggled, not breaking eye contact. "Your name, lineage, occupation, friends,"

She moved closer "And I can even tell you where to find Lottie."

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"All will be revealed," she raised her hands in a gesture of caution. "If you come with me. I know people that need your help."

"How?" Pierre inquired, stepping closer.

The woman seemed to ponder over this. "You have...a certain quality; that will help those people. You can come back here any time you wish."

"And what of my sister?" Pierre inquired.

"She'll be looked after. She, however, won't be joining you in your quest."

"By whom?"

"Certain acquaintances of mine," she examined her hands, "But only if you cooperate."

Pierre rolled the thought over in his head.

"Who are you? Who are these people you speak of? What do you want from me?" He asked, shaking his head.

"I am Esin al Andalus," the woman responded. "I come from Little Falsteen, an uncharted island. There is a village there, oppressed by more powerful beings."

"Beings? I am no animal wrang—"

"These aren't animals, Pierre. They're closer to humans than to beasts."

She held his hand in hers, "Come. Please." She whispered.

He looked into her iridescent eyes, which changed colour, alternating from a mousy brown to sea green. Sincere.

"Alright. How long will I be there?"

"As long as it takes to finish the job."

"Very well then. Let me pack my belongings,"

"You won't need them," she smirked, grabbing his shoulders and rising in the air.