Tales of the Vangen: The Dead King of Danic (Book 3)

Chapter 45: Old Flames

Brand rode in the back of a rickety cart, tailbone bumping, knees knocking, clothes reeking of rotten vegetables, and he was grateful. He and Keela bounced and jolted down the narrow path together, a kindly farmer sitting at the driver's seat, leading his faithful pack of malnourished donkeys towards providence.

It was dark, which had been the norm for such a long time Brand wondered if he'd ever seen the sun again. The dense woods towered high on both sides of the narrow track, cold mist slithering between the eves like ghostly serpents. A snowstorm had blown in late last night, dusting the ground with a fresh coat of white powder.

Brand winced as a hard jolt sent fresh pain shooting up his backside, tossing Keela against him in the process. Soft flesh prodded against his arm.

"Gah," Keela hissed at the driver. "Can you try and miss the potholes for once?"

The old farmer glanced over his shoulder, scraggy beard and wrinkled cheeks twitched into a frown.

"You reckon I should stop and let you two travel the road yourselves then? Keep it up, witch and I'll leave you in a ditch rather than in Spald like we agreed."

"Big talk coming from a man who begged me to save his whelps from hunger not two winters past. Or are you too proud to lose your donkeys over your own wife and children?"

The old farmer spat and looked away, the argument seemingly over.

Brand wanted to spit as well. The sour smell of cabbage left a thin film of grease on his tongue, and yet his mouth felt impossibly dry, the heat in his ears burning hotter than a star. He didn't want to look at Keela, to stare at her like some idiot, but she was so close now, closer than she'd ever been before, and his mind kept replaying the scene at the riverbank all those days ago, water dribbling down her chin and into the folds of her loose, blue robe.

"How'd you help his family, anyhow?" Brand asked, desperate to focus on anything other than robes. "Do you have some power over the animals in this land as well?"

"Don't be silly," Keela said playfully as she nestled beside him. "I'm not some princess in a story book, Cinnis. I fed his children the same way I fed you. I went to the forest, and I brought them some food. Because someone couldn't be arsed." She shot a hard look towards the driver, who spat his reply onto the cold, hard ground.

The muscles in Brand's neck tensed up as he recalled his own dinner from way ago. The horrible screams, the way its head lay limp and twisted in Keela's grip, one horn completely snapped off. A cold chill ran through him, hands trembling, little fragments of gold gleaming beneath his fingertips. With a gentle pop, one came loose, tumbling between the boards, a tiny pinprick of blood the only clue of its escape.

"It is rather cold, isn't it?" Keela leaned in closer, scooping up one the grubby blankets close by and wrapping it around herself. "Here, come warm up beside me. You look pale as a ghost."

Easier said than done, Brand thought, as the witch's flesh felt colder than a glacier that existed, the burning chill of her touch easily cutting through his winter coat. She shifted up one arm, the sleeve of her robe falling down slightly, revealing a hollow divot of collarbone and one slender shoulder.

Brand tried to ignore it, tried to look away, but he found himself staring.

Unlike Elba, who was all corded muscle and sharp angles, Keela possessed a hidden sturdiness to her, as if her body were made of stone beneath all that fine, pale flesh. She was young like Tergrid too, but where the rebel girl was smooth of limb and brimming with dexterous grace, hers was filled with soft curves that hid a surprising swiftness.

"Goes to show you," Keela said as they sat together awkwardly. "You can prevent a man's family from starving, work tooth and nail to protect his people from the horrors of the world, and they'll still never be satisfied. It's like leading a thirsty donkey to water, and it still refusing to drink. What a stubborn ass." She said the last part at the driver again, and this time he merely sank his head down till his ears and his shoulders were practically friends.