Echoes of Forgotten Wings

Chapter 9: The Stranger at the Inn

The night fell on the village, and it was quiet. The throw of autumn wind was cold and made the loose spoken word of people, the shutters of houses. The uncomfortable thoughts of Ivo sitting in the corner table of the village inn still clung on to him, as he tried to make sense of the previous night's dream – the pain, the wings and words of warning from Alma. He absently ran his fingers over the mark on his arm, which he could feel throb under his skin, as a constant bothersome indication of a burden he could not shake off.

The aged inn was only buzzing with low activity. Only a few solo candles were up, some wind blew them off, shivering up farmers who were clutching eyeless stares at the mug of ale placed on the counter. Some of them even had muffled voices for they were simply gossiping, or talking about nothing important. It seemed as if the whole village was under water waiting for a jump or anything that would take out the dry silence, even the stillness amongst the villagers.

Finally, the screen door hissed open.

A chill hit the interior followed by a scent of the woods. All eyes were directed to the space entrance when a dark figure appeared. The newcomer began to advance with some effort; her steps were careful and measured, as if she were accustomed to long walks within territories that few had ventured to. It was only then, as she advanced into the radius of the fire, that Ivo was able to scrutinize her.

The woman towered above most people, though her weariness made her bent double. The jumper she wore had a hood, which covered the upper part of her face, which bore a long, crooked, rather prominent scar that stretched from her forehead to the corner of her jaw, giving her a rather unappealing look. Almost frightening in the toughness her face suggested did that color of hers, but her eyes – her eyes were the ones that drew Ivo's attention the most. The eyes were a dull shade of blue that one could have even called silver at some extreme angles and were weary with age well above that of the lady. As if she had experienced a century through a single interaction.

She walked to the counter silently, while the people within the room stared at her in an awkward silence. The stocky, sportly innkeeper with an irritating smile, watched her struggle to reach the bar.

"Something to drink, miss?" he said looking at her with caution and interest at the same time, which was surprising for the woman.

She nodded, and with that she drew back her hood exposing her entire face. The horizontal cut on her face was now even clearer than before and it had nothing about her trifling looks. It was those eyes, the eyes that scanned every person as if looking into the very thoughts of them. She took the mug that the innkeeper offered her but clung to silence instead, looking around the room.

Then, her glance fell on Ivo.

For the split second, he sensed how still the air in the room had become. She looked at him as one would when one had found the person they wanted to find all along. Ivo felt a race in his heartbeat, and the resolve to look away from her was withering. There was something in those silver orbs that was unsettling, suggesting that even though she appeared to be a traveler, this was not the case and neither was her appearing there.

With a languorous elegance she maintained throughout, she moved across the room after what felt like an eternity, and took a seat on a table by the fireplace not far from where Ivo was sitting. Words did not escape her lips, nor did she look at him again, but all of Ivo's instincts signaled that Iya was in a kind of suspension, waiting for something... for him.