Lair of Beasts [Book I in the Curse Of Blood Saga]

Chapter IV (Part II) - A New Dawn

By the first flush of morning I was in my riding skirts and securely mounted astride a chestnut palfrey, who turned out later to be a mare of a sweet and docile temperament. With nothing but a meager fare to break my fast, we lit out and by midday we stopped briefly to water our horses and partake of the vittles that were packed for the journey, namely pieces of last night's bread and fresh cheese.

My last glimpse of Buttongrass Hall had been bittersweet, but once we had passed the village of Billburyshire — the serfs there having blasted me with the full force of their mistrustful glares as I passed — I had ceased looking back; on the contrary I focused a glum, vacant stare on Carac's broad back as his destrier dropped turds in its wake.

So it was that my last impression of my homeland would always be of Mildred's tear-stained cheeks as I waved goodbye. But so too would I always remember a particularly malnourished, young peasant woman who — upon noticing my approach on Billburyshire's main street — abruptly grabbed her small, bare-footed son and hauled him out of the causeway; crossing herself fervently, over her threadbare cloak, as I moved by. I had been ever marked as an outcast, but perhaps my destiny might change now that I was bound for a foreign land; and a wholly unpredictable future.

❅

We were on the road headed east, towards the coast, and managed to travel five and thirty miles the first day, for Carac kept an exhausting, but steady, pace despite my benumbed derrière. The Roman highway, by now ancient and dilapidated, was pitted with ruts — the old cobblestones now uneven and worn into grooves by the thousands of cartwheels, from bygone eras, that had come before us. Our progress across the grassy downs and vales of the beautiful moorlands had been excellent so far, but the onset of dusk was now making the activity treacherous.

"Why do we travel with so few men. Are you not the least bit afraid of highwaymen?" I was peeking into the lengthening shadows, but directed the question to Carac, shuddering at the possibility of the criminal-infested woods either side of us.

"We will not be the ones in danger should they try..." He looked back to smile nefariously; as per usual, answering only in his peculiarly mysterious way.

Despite my worry, we reached an inn ere twilight set in completely. I was even more closely guarded by Carac now that I had left the safety of my childhood domicile.

Each day began to blend into the next and the scenery changed little. There was not very much to occupy the long hours for my companions talked only amongst themselves, whenever we took to resting our mounts, leaving me to fret quietly about my future. I might have been inclined to listen in, if not contribute, but they spoke only in Norn, therefore ensuring my exclusion.

At most river crossings, we paid whatever pontage was required to use the toll bridges, but at one particular intersection — where the supports were made of rickety wood instead of stone — Carac had us wade across the shallowest part of the river, in favor of risking the bridge and, as it was one of the coldest summers in my recollection, my skirts were decidedly wet the remainder of the day.

At last, by the morning of the fourth day, we finally reached the great port at Bogstead Yur. I saw the ocean bay as we crested the hill, a mass of stars reflected across a calm bay in the glistening morning sunlight, and marveled at the fishing boats that were now barely visible on the distant horizon. The air was now infused with a crisp saltiness, dispelling the perfume of the moors at our back. I took one last look at the cotton grass, the lichen-crusted crags, the hovering butterflies and the familiar, rolling boggy landscape — took one last, deep inhale of the sweet heather still infusing the air — before I too forsook its charms, nudging my horse to close the space I'd allowed between Carac's steed, and silently said my goodbyes.