Legacy (Daughter of War #2)

Chapter 14: Winter Heat

Music is Organ by The Hardkiss. Okay, not epic music. But play it anyway!

Also note that I've edited Chapter 8, hence a few parts that don't really make sense for all of you who have been keeping with recent updates only. It's not necessary to go back and reread it though!

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The distant crows of merrymaking and resounding bells grow closer as Gilbert and I near the centre of the village. We'd tried to look for the Elders within the manor. Tried. They were nowhere to be found. Apparently they were the ones responsible in conducting the weekly rituals to please Pst. Zorah.

The streets are unusually deserted. It seems that everyone—man or woman, young or old, local or foreigner—had gone to participate in the events festivities. As though all human life has been siphoned out of the outer areas and into the village square.

"Looks like they're religious as well," remarks Gilbert as we stroll past practically empty shop houses, a few grumpy shopkeepers left still. "In their own funny little way, that is."

"They take religion very seriously," I say, recalling my mother's tales of her hometown. About how they used to bake raisined sourdough for ravens to peck at; about how young maidens had to never cut their hair till they were sixteen, where they shaved it all off as an offer of service to Pst. Zorah; about how the youths of the village danced around in circles, bathed in pig's blood and eyes frenzied. "Almost too seriously," I add.

"Well, I can see that," Gilbert says. "Doesn't help that all this talk about prophecies is rather ominous."

Maya. An image of the Marshem girl, clothed in white and washed over with light, appears in my mind. I haven't talked to Gilbert about her yet. I check our surroundings through my peripheral vision. No better time than now, I think, seeing that hardly anyone is paying attention despite our announced presence in the village.

"Gilbert, I..." I trail off, unable to gather the words to accurately represent the storm of thoughts raging inside my head.

"You"—Gilbert gives me an unhelpful stare—"want to apologise about being so rude to me this morning?"

He blinks innocently. I know that I've already been forgiven a long time ago—his offer of assistance on my work is proof enough. But I can't help but crack a grin at his puppy-like expression. "That too," I say. "However, there's something else that's more important than you at the moment."

"Something more important than me?" He feigns incredulity and hurt, staggering as though a phantom had just clocked him on the head. I laugh. "Apologies. Never mind me. Pray, continue."

I stifle a chuckle. "All right then." I clear my throat, reverting back into seriousness. "It's about...Maya."

At the mention of the Marshem girl's name, Gilbert instantly sheds all his light-heartedness. "What about her?" he asks, tone cautious.

"Nothing." Gilbert raises a brow; I huff in resignation. "Truly, nothing. It's just that—" I run my fingers through my hair, attempting to rectify its unruliness and recompose myself at the same time. "I'm just worried," I spit out at last. It sounds so pathetic, coming out of my mouth. "About all of...this. Especially about what her presence signifies."

My companion continues to stare at me. I look away, unable to take the intensity of his amber eyes, as though he could strip my walls down and expose me to the world for the person I truly am. Whoever she is. "I'm sorry," I resume after thirty seconds' worth of silence. "I know it doesn't make sense. Forget it—"

"No, it all makes sense," Gilbert says slowly. "You just so happened to voiced out my unspoken worries, that's all."

"That's a relief," I say, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "For a moment back there, I thought you thought I was going insane."