The Wise Women

Chapter 2

Nesta was surfacing from sleep, her mind slowly opening to consciousness, when her stomach gave a sudden jolt. Wide awake now, images from the night before flooded her brain. She scrambled out of bed to the looking glass and clutched its frame, eyes raking her reflected image.

The face that looked back was her own.

Oh, thank God.

Nesta ran her fingers over her nose and lips, feeling the familiar fine features. She combed her hands through her shoulder-length hair, relishing its softness. A yawn stretched her mouth wide and filled her lungs. She reached her arms high into the air and let them drop to her sides as she exhaled.

Had anyone noticed her change yesterday? The thought wrinkled her brow. No. She was pretty sure that she'd got away soon enough.

A wet nose nuzzled her palm. Nesta chuckled and crouched to greet Finn, Mrs Crosby's Staffordshire bull terrier.

'Good morning, precious. I didn't hear you come in last night.' He nosed her chin. She caressed his soft black head and tickled the white patch on his chest, inhaling his musky canine smell. The dog's eyes closed with pleasure. Mrs Crosby must have seen him waiting outside Nesta's bedroom door and let him in. 'There's no problem a snuggle with your favourite doggie can't fix,' was one of Mrs C's maxims.

A pang of guilt stirred in Nesta's stomach when she remembered how suddenly she'd deserted her post last night. I'll work harder today to make up for it.

She splashed cold water from the wash bucket onto her face, thinking how meeting the post mistress had changed everything. Three years earlier, when she'd arrived in Chesterley with nothing but the tunic on her back, Mrs Crosby had taken her in and given her a job and never once asked her about what had happened . . . No! Don't think about it!

Nesta tried not to follow that train of thought. But it was too late. Already the screams echoed in her mind, ripping her back through time. Back to that day. The day she tried so hard not to remember.

And in the blink of an eye, there she was. Back in her childhood home in the border town of Gellin, perched on a stool at the kitchen table, squeezing peas out of their leathery pods. Rain pattering down on the wooden roof. Across the table, her ma's soft liquid brown eyes twinkling as she pressed pastry into a pie tin, humming a lullaby while she worked.

Noises outside, suddenly audible above the rain's pitapat. Bangs, shouts, boots thumping on the cobblestones.

'Grashky Sapphira,' gruff voices roared in Frailing dialect. 'Death to Sapphira'. Metal clashed against metal. Children screamed. An axe head split the wood of the front door. Fear jolted her stomach.

'Canterkrith ob solyaspit! Open up! We know you're in there!'

Her elder brother ripped up the floorboards. His grey eyes wild with terror as he grabbed her by the shoulders. Spilt peas rolled across the table. Strong hands pushed her down into the gap below the floor. Her forehead hit something hard.

Blackness.

Silence.

Pain throbbed in her head.

A metallic smell. Something wet dripped through the floorboards onto her face.

When she crawled out, everyone was dead.

Nesta shuddered and dragged herself back to the present.

Her skin was goose flesh. An uncomfortable sensation wriggled it's way up her spine. She shook her head hard.

Don't think about it.

She grabbed the harsh drying cloth and rubbed her face.

After running a quick comb through her hair, she pulled on a fresh undershirt and tunic. In front of the looking glass, she took a deep breath in, clenched her fists and fixed her features into a cheerful smile. She scuttled down the stairs, just in time to see Mrs Crosby tying up the last bundle of letters for delivery and throwing it into the post sack.