Merciless Hunter

3: Tale forging

The matron, stout, sweaty and worn, only lets the barest sympathy show, genuine or no. "Sorry, lass, we have no work for you here." She leans against the post of the open door to the crude, small man-house, as if to block any entry.

Outwardly putting on a crestfallen face, Wrenne breathes a secret sigh of relief. The vagarune on the fence-post had looked fairly fresh, but you never know. Getting actual work would spoil the plan.

"Are you sure? I haven't eaten for two days, I can work just for a loaf of bread."

"Huh, I bet you could," the woman sneers, then squints towards the fields. "Tell you what, I'll give you a bun and a sausage, then you'd better hop along before my husband comes in from the fields. He doesn't take too kindly to vagrants."

"Oh, thank you, lady!" Wrenn effuses, dropping a curtsy. But the matron has already bustled off and promptly returns with a shrivelled, black little lump and a bread roll that looks like yesterday's or one of the days before. Again, Wrenne makes sure to curtsy and give thanks well in excess of the value of the actual gift. "This at least will last me a little on the way until I can find some work. If only I knew where to go!"

"Try the Solbeck farm, a bit westward," the matron says through the closing door, "they're not above hiring vagrants. Stingy with the penny, mind you, but they'll feed you and let you sleep in the barn. Now shoo, lass, shoo!"

And with that the door slams shut. Wrenne can't resist sticking her tongue out at it before returning down the lane to the main road. As she passes the fence post with the vagarune, she glares at it. Sure the husband doesn't take kindly to vagrants, the rune told her as much. But that matron wouldn't take too kindly to a pretty young lass sweating about under the eyes of her husband either, that much was apparent. She spied on him in the fields before coming in, and she got that distinct feeling about him, hairs prickling all down her neck.

It's amazing what you can learn after a few months on the road, if you meet the right kind of people. Or the other kind for that matter, but Wrenne has had enough of that sort of learning for a lifetime. That's what helps her steer clear of the wolves. But the vagarunes she learnt from Eskyr, a man old enough to be her grandfather or even great-grandfather. Signs carved by vagrants to inform others about what they can expect from a visit to this or that farm or village. No work here, that's what the rune on the fence-post had said. Other runes might tell of the opposite, or of angry dogs, draughty barns, kind housewife but mean husband or the other way around. Eskyr had taught her all of them. When she had asked if there was one warning young girls about man-wolf in the house, he had chuckled sombrely and remarked that there wasn't much use for one, seeing as young girls rarely went tramping. But he had never pressed her for why she was an exception and she never got around to telling him.

They had travelled together for many weeks and Eskyr had passed as her grandfather, which offered a protection of sorts. He could play a merry tune on his flute and she... well, she was no dancer, but she could let her hair down and spin around so that men didn't pay attention to her clumsy feet. It had made some pretty pennies, but she started having nightmares from all the lustful looks she got from the men. When she got the offer of fruit-picking, it was a relief, in the trees you could hide from looks among the branches and leaves. But Eskyr had moved on westward, being too old for tree-climbing and seeing that there were nimbler fingers about to weave withies into baskets for the fruit.

Maybe she ought to have stuck with him, gotten used to being gawked at like that. But he wouldn't live forever, especially not with that nasty cough of his. And after all, if she hadn't stayed behind, she wouldn't have stumbled over this sliver of a chance at real power.

Until the end of the week. That's how much time she has for setting her trap, five more days and there are still plenty of pieces missing. But the Solbeck farm keeps cropping up as a source of work, so that's settled then. Time to find out which village is at a suitable distance from there.