Ashencroft

Chapter 2

There really wasn't much point to keeping the shops open when there was nothing to sell. There hadn't been a new shipment of supplies or food in over a month, and even if there had been, no civic-minded citizen could have charged money to his fellow man for the basic necessities they were all lacking. Even worse were the speciality shops; no one could even ponder wasting money on expensive perfumes or trinkets with hunger gnawing at their insides. Still, industry kept the mind off of the dire situation all around, and Dia needed that distraction, badly. Her younger brother had been confined to his bed for the past week - always a sickly child, Artur was suffering badly from the lack of food.

With her ever-present smile on her lips, despite the circumstances, she opened the door to the shop, glancing up at the gaily-painted shingle that proclaimed 'The Finest Fabrics in All the Land'. It still looked as fresh as ever, despite the fact that she had not made a sale in weeks. The same soft wool and luxurious silks sat untouched in their drawers while Dia wove more, trying to keep the madness of desperation at bay with the adage of 'busy hands, busy mind'. It was getting less and less effective.

Few folk were in any mood to even look at pretty things, more interested in saving their energy for such necessities as household chores and scraping together food for that evening, so it was with considerable surprise that Dia heard the creak of floorboards from the front of the shop, and looked up to see that a tall, pale young man had entered. His skin tone, light eyes and shock of blonde hair betrayed that he was not local to the area, although he must have been stuck in the city for some time, since no one would come in or out now voluntarily.

She had not had time to sit down at her loom, which was tucked cozily away near the back of the shop, and so was standing behind the counter when the young man arrived. "Good day, sir," she greeted him, looking him over with interest.

The lad nodded to her in greeting, looking back to the bolts of cloth spread across the counter. He ran a smooth, long fingered hand across them slowly, clearly taking in their texture.

Dia waited for a moment, not wanting to interrupt the man but eager to inform him should he have questions about her wares. "We have many different types of cloth here, sir. If you seek something you do not see, it is possible I may have some stored in the back..."

"I'm just looking, thank you. Is this all your work?"

"Yes, it is. My family has been weaving for many years. My sister has recently returned from her apprenticeship at a dyer's... she created all these colors herself. Then I weave the fabrics."

"It's beautiful work. Do you do the embroidery also?"

"Yes, I do," Dia said with a smile and a nod.

"Exquisite." The young man glanced up at her, his light blue eyes filled with sympathy. "So sad that your work grows dusty in here while the city's attention must be drawn to its survival."

"These are desperate times. I don't begrudge people that."

"No, of course not." The stranger's grasp of the common tongue was perfect, but his accent was unfamiliar; light and melodic. He gazed silenty across the table at Dia for a moment before letting his hand come to rest on a bolt of rich, dark red cloth, embroidered along one edge with fine tendrils in golden thread. "I will take ten lenths of this," he said then, his eyes never leaving the weaver's.

"Ten?" The dark-haired young woman's eyes widened in disbelief. "Yes sir, of course." Turning, she hurriedly picked up her shears, an overjoyed grin growing on her face at the thought of making a sale.

When she had measured, cut, rolled and wrapped the cloth, the man reached for his purse, pouring out coinage enough to cover only a portion of the sale. Dia's protestations were silenced, however, when she saw the wrapped package that he placed beside it.

"Sir?" she asked, reaching for the package and then plucking her hand back hesitantly.

"Make it last," the lad said quietly. "He'll grow strong again." Without further explanation, he took his package, and left.

"And then he bought ten lengths, and gave me coins, and this." Her tone hushed, Dia set the package on the table in the main room of the small house, set behind the shop. Her sister had stayed in to take care of Artur - a necessity, as neither of their parents were alive to do so themselves. "It was the strangest thing, I've never seen him before in my life... how could he know?"

Ani unfolded the heavy, flat parcel carefully, pulling the hide away to reveal, wrapped in greasepaper, thick, dense slabs of some kind of oatbread, shot through with green flecks that, from the fragrance, were from some kind of herb. Breaking a corner off and nibbling tentatively at it, the disbelieving smile on her face spread. "Oh, Dia. We can make this last weeks if needs be."

"It's amazing. I wish I knew who he was..."

"Probably best you don't - he must be black market somehow."

Dia frowned, but her joy at the gift couldn't be supressed for long. "We'll use it carefully, then. And I'll see what I can buy with the money he gave. Perhaps there are still some tubers or roots left for purchase at the grocer's."

"I'm not sure our luck runs to that. I'm going to crush some of this in water for a gruel for Artur. I think this stuff would make him sick if he ate it solid, at the moment."

"Very well."

"Do you want to shut up shop for the rest of the day to go and attempt to trade? I can stay here."

"I think that would be best. There's no way we're getting a better sale than that." Dia smiled and leaned in to kiss her sister's cheek. "I won't be long."

"Take care. And don't take all that money with you - you're in no condition to put up a fight should a thief find you."

"I won't."

Dia had thought that nothing could alter the wonderful mood the stranger's visit had put her in, but merely stepping outside was enough to dampen her spirits. Everywhere she turned there were bleak reminders of the harsh turn life in the town had taken, and it was impossible to ignore the signs that things were only getting worse. Children no longer laughed and ran through the streets, and more than a few shops along the way had been closed up, their windows and doors boarded shut. It was so quiet that she could hear the distant sound of the waves crashing against the rocks and the cry of seabirds as they fought for the tiniest scraps of food in the gutters.

There was only one grocer that she knew of who was still doing business. He had long since run out of anything truly nourishing, but he had taken in a good crop of root vegetables from his own allotments on the outskirts of town that season, and was selling them slowly, trying to strike a balance between meeting demand and keeping enough back for his own family.

"Good afternoon, Stil," Dia said as she entered the small shop, glancing around for the owner, who always seemed to be hiding among the many crates and barrels scattered around the store.

"Dia," came the gruff answer, and the once rotund man stood from behind the counter, offering her a brave attempt at a smile.

They had stopped bothering to ask 'how are you' or 'how is your family', but it was a hard habit to break. Dia merely nodded, heading towards the small selection of vegetables displayed on the counter. "I'd like to buy the most nourishing thing you have."

"Ball of string by the door."

"Something edible, preferably..."

"I'm afraid that's the best I can do. Chewing his cracked lower lip, the gaunt-looking man leant over the counter, shaking his head sympathetically. "I wish I could spare some, Dia, but what little I have left... you understand."

"There's nothing? But I have money, look," she said, holding out the coins in the palm of her hand. "Surely you can spare something. My brother, he's still not well..."

"Your brother, my wife, my daughter. I'm sorry, Dia, but I can't trade food for coin any more."

"What about cloth? I have some wool that would make a lovely blanket."

"We only want for one thing, just like everyone else. I must keep what food I have left."

Dia sighed, shoulders slumping, and nodded, returning the coins to her pocket. "Very well. Thank you anyway, Stil."

"Good luck, dear."

"Mmhmm. Thank you."

"I still have some dried herbs, if you like. They won't fill you, but they put a taste in your mouth if you make a tea."

"No, that's all right. Save them for your family," Dia said, smiling.

"Dia, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's what we have to do."

"Perhaps the stranger will help."

"Excuse me?"

With a wary glance towards the doorway, Stil went on. "Keep this to yourself, Dia. My brother Penn - on the Council Guard? He says that the Juniper returned late two nights ago - with a passenger."

"From where?" Dia asked, knowing that a coincidence of this sort could not be just that.

"No one knows. Few even know that the ship returned. But Penn says that the Council have barely left the Great Hall in days."

"Do you know anything about the stranger? Is it a man, a woman? What do they look like?"

"You now know everything I do."

"How strange. I wonder..."

"Don't wonder, lass. Get on as best you can with what you have for now."

"Hm?" Dia asked distractedly. "Oh, yes, of course. Good advice, Stil. Thank you."

Eaton arrived back at the villa late in the evening, just as the sun sank over the horizon. It was fair to say that he and his fellow councilmen suffered far less than the commoners from the food shortage, but they, too, went hungry, and their families. Eaton himself concealed from his daughter quite how little he ate to put half-decent meals in her belly, for he knew that if she knew the truth, she would have none of it.

He was weary from a long day spent in the chambers, listening and debating with the other councilors over the best course of action to take now that Lord Alyth's help had been accepted. There were some, of course, that wanted their enemies wiped out through in-fighting and suspicion... others that advocated a peaceful resolution that would allow both sides to resume a normal life. Eaton himself was undecided, more preoccupied with the price that would be paid for Alyth's help than the possible results.

It seemed no coincidence, then, that the first thing he heard on entering the villa was the soft, sweet sound of Ales's voice raised in song. It was weaker these days than it had once been, but it was still without doubt the sweetest thing he had ever heard.

Smiling despite his weariness, Eaton made his way to the small room that had been set aside specifically for Ales to make her music. Though it was not large, the several wide windows set into the wall kept it from being too tight, and the few furnishings were elegant and tasteful.

Ales played several instruments to varying degrees of proficiency, but today she was singing unaccompanied, seated on the floor by the window, watching the light fading away in the distance as she felt out the melody of an old sea shanty.

And the sea was wide,
but her will was strong
and the gales blew the ship so long, so long
And her homeland tide
washed her homeland shore
that she'd see again no more, no more,
that she'd see again no more.

"There is nothing I love so much as to come home to a house in song," Eaton murmured from the doorway, smiling fondly down at the young woman.

Ales glanced around quickly, immediately springing up to greet her father with an embrace. "That is as well, for I love to sing," she said with a smile, her hazel eyes sparkling despite the wearyness her father knew she must feel in her bones.

"And it shows in the loveliness of your song. Was that new? I have not heard you sing it before..."

"It's one mother used to sing, about Bet Farr, the pirate? It just got stuck in my head today for some reason."

"Ah, yes..." The old man looked wistful for a moment, one hand resting on his daughter's shoulder. "She loved the songs of the sea."

"She always wanted to sail. But with the nearest safe harbour being twenty miles away..."

"It was a shame. I would've given anything to see her get her wish."

"Maybe one day I shall."

"You..." Eaton paused, looking down at the girl. "Yes, perhaps you shall," he conceded, shaking his head.

"Oh, Father..." Ales said with a smile, leaning up to kiss Eaton's cheek before drawing back. "I didn't mean I would leave like Bet Farr. Only that I should like to see more of the world one day."

"I know, my dear. It is only a father's selfish desire to keep you safe and close that makes me worry. I like to know you are not in danger... though perhaps at the moment any other place would be better for you than here."

"What about the stranger?" At her father's expression a guilty look flashed across Ales's face. "Leo was here earlier, delivering food. He told me about the Juniper."

"You know I really can't say, Ales... There was a man that arrived with the ship, yes. I have never seen him before, so in that regard he is a stranger."

"But he can help us?"

"I don't know."

Ales sighed. "Well, I hope he does."

"As do we all, my dear. You said Leo was here with a delivery? Come, let us get you something to eat and you can tell me of the rest of your day."

Ales sighed, slipping an arm through her father's as they walked towards the kitchens (having long since let their staff go home on full pay to care for their own families). "Oh, I did the same as always, father. I slept late, spent the morning outside writing, then the afternoon inside napping, and playing and singing. Very like most of the young aristocrats of the town, Ales's coping stragey for her hunger was to simply sleep away as much of the day as possible.

"Ah, yes? And your writing, did you finish anything? I know you said you had a poem close to completion..."

"No. I can't seem to apply myself to anything these days - my brain just doesn't work like it did."

"I'm sorry, my dear. Maybe after a good meal you can give it another try."

"I think I shall go to bed."

"Oh." Eaton frowned, patting the girl's arm gently. "Very well, my dear. Whatever you like."

Dinner was, of course, a meagre affair. The pair were given a reasonable amount of food, but tended to send a little of it each day down the hill to the gate-house, where they knew their old housekeeper had no such provision, and no amount of pay would make up for it. Thus they dined on one or two tubers, and some leaves that had been grown in their own vastly depleted herb garden.

Though both Eaton and Ales tried to keep up a conversation, by the end of the meal they were too tired and discouraged by their respective days to speak of much at all. Though the councilor had used to stay up into the late hours of the night reading in his large, well-stocked library, now he barely had the energy to finish a chapter before bed.

Ales went straight to bed after dinner, though she found that she couldn't sleep. Trying to read or write and finding that her concentration just wasn't up to it, she pulled a heavy robe and some slippers on, and made her way out onto the veranda.

Like all the villas in Ashencroft, the Eaton's was set above the town proper, so that its inhabitants could look down into the city and beyond that, the turbulent bay that bordered one side. The town was quiet, and barely any windows were lit up with lanterns or candles, almost as if families were trying to hide from the gnawing hunger that crept through the streets.

With the hunger, of course, came more physical manifestations of the city's current malaise - namely the thieves and ruffians who now stalked the streets at night, pouncing on hapless folk going about their business, often forcing them to take them back to their home and empty it. The Council Guard tried their best, but there was little they could do. Even as she looked out over the city Ales could see the little pockets of light moving around the streets, hunting their prey. Children were already being told stories of those thieves turning to cannibalism, she knew. She knew because if she was a mother down in that city, those are the stories she would tell.

A cry from a dark alley alerted Ales to yet another crime taking place; if she squinted, she could see a dark figure wrestling with another, pressing it against the wall and causing it to cry out again.

"No, please, don't..." Dia sobbed, attempting to twist away from the faceless man, whose grubby hands were digging through the pockets of her cloak. "I don't have anything, please, let me go!" She knew the dangers of walking alone at night, but she had spent hours scouring the city until at last finding a small patch of greens in a neglected garden that had not yet been picked over. Overjoyed, she had taken what she felt would be enough for several meals for Artur and then hurried towards home, only to be waylaid by this thief, who had trundled her into the alley and hit her across the face before rifling through her pockets while she protested weakly.

Ales's gut clenched unpleasantly, her tiny dinner threatening to leave her as she realised she was helpless to do anything about the sight in the streets below - far too far away to be of any aid even supposing she would have been able to do anything. As she watched, though, hands raking through her golden hair, another slim, dark figure appeared from around a corner, coming silently up behind the thug and beating him once, hard, about the head with what she assumed must be some kind of cosh, for he dropped where he stood.

The tall figure bent, offering a hand out to Dia. "Are you all right?" He... or possibly she, asked.

Before responding Dia delved her hands into her cloak, finding the small bag of greens she had tucked away, close to her body. Letting out a sigh, she nodded, allowing the stranger to help her to her feet. "Yes, thank you," she said, her voice still trembling a little from the shock.

"I'll see you home," the stranger said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Dia opened her mouth to protest; for all she knew, this new stranger was only going to follow her home in order to pillage the small cottage. There wasn't much she could do, however, as they were better-armed than she, and clad in trousers, allowing for a much greater ease of movement than her own heavy skirts. "Thank you, then," she murmured, wrapping her arms about herself as they started out of the alley.

"You shouldn't be out so late. It's dangerous."

"Yes, I know, but I lost track of time. I was trying to hurry home when that man sprang at me. I normally don't do... this."

The figure didn't answer, only resting a hand on her arm to guide her through the unlit streets.

"Thank you for helping me," Dia added, turning to try and catch a glimpse of the stranger's face.

Unfortunately it was almost entirely shaded from view by deep hood, the moonlight only highlighting a high, smooth forehead and a long, slightly crooked nose.

Falling into silence, Dia walked quickly, anxious to get home to see her siblings. Her stomach growled noisily as she pondered how long it had been since she had last eaten: a small meal in the early morning and some water at noon had been her only substenance for the day.

As they arrived in the back door of her home the stranger followed her in without a word, pulling back the hood to reveal a handsome woman a little older than she was with dark hair and eyes and a cool, self-assured air.

"Can I offer you... a drink?" Dia asked, when she had recovered from the surprise at seeing her rescuer was a woman. Though her day had been unusual enough already, this was enough to push it over into surreal. "All we have is water, I'm afraid... or tea." She smiled hesitantly, hoping that the woman would be content with that and leave.

"Water would be most welcome, if you can spare it."

"Yes, of course." Shedding her cloak, Dia went to the cupboard and retrieved a worn tin mug, filling it with the pitcher sitting on the table.

The woman pursed her lips, glancing around the kitchen before taking a seat at the table. "How's your younger brother?"

"My... I'm sorry, have we met?" Dia frowned.

"Ah, no. I know the grocer, Stil. I saw you leaving his shop earlier today and he told me about... Artur?"

"Um, yes. Artur is... ill," Dia sighed. "But we have hopes that he will soon recover."

The stranger nodded. "Perhaps things will be better soon."

"Yes, I hope so."

The woman nodded again, more slowly, and sipped at her water.

Dia backed up until she was leaning against the counter, tapping her fingers against her thighs lightly. She had thought she knew quite a few people in the city, having lived there her entire life, but now she had met two generous strangers in one day. Either one of them could have been the mysterious arrival, though she had no idea how to tell. "How did you know that I was in trouble?" she asked finally, biting her lip.

"I heard you cry out."

"Oh. Do you live near there?"

"I live where I can, for now. I currently have no home here."

"You don't? But how... I'm sorry, I don't even know your name." Dia blushed. "Or you mine. I'm Dia."

"It's good to meet you, Dia. You can call me Orr."

"Thank you again for what you did for me. I wish I had more to offer in return."

"No need, I assure you," Orr said, standing.

Dia straightened as well, forcing her hands to be still where they rested on her thighs.

"Take care, Dia."

"You're leaving?"

Orr glanced around. "Unless you don't feel safe... I'm happy to stay if you prefer, but you should tend to your brother - and then sleep, preserve your energy."

"Oh, no, I just..." Dia frowned; she wasn't quite sure what threw her off about this woman quite so much. "Please, don't let me keep you."

"I will be in the area some days. I could stop back and check on you if you would like."

"All right," Dia said, before even realizing it.

"Then I'll be seeing you," the other woman said, bowing her head and taking her leave.

Frowning a bit to herself, the dark-haired girl retrieved the bag of greens from her cloak, storing them in a safe place for the next day. Quietly she cleaned up the mug that Orr had used, pausing by the window and staring out into the dark night. She was very grateful the woman had been there to help her, but there was something about her that made Dia wonder. Still, she found herself looking forward to the woman's return, though she had no idea what they would say to one another then.

Ales stared out across the city for some time after she witnessed the dark figure saving Dia from her would-be attacker, her mind wandering. It was curious, someone looking out for another in that way in these dark times.

Curious, and highly refreshing.

The next day dawned bright, clear, cool and breezy, just like the one before it. Ian's shop was one of the few that still did trade now, as with more people than ever ill, an apothacary was always needed - not only for curing ailments but also for selling draughts to supress appetites. It was not work he relished, but it kept him busy.

Ian, of course, was starving, just like eveyone else. He felt lucky if he ate every day right now. The past three days he'd eaten apples they'd found dried out in the cellar, so while his stomach was full, it was also bloated and painful from the acidic fruit.

Still, he soldiered on. Staying open through the day when a morning would probably have sufficed, and spending his free time between customers working on his real love - carving. There was once a time when his wooden and soap-stone figurines sold alongside the medicines. Now they gathered dust in a growing row on a shelf beneath the shop counter.

The tiny bell over the door tinkled as someone entered - as Ian looked up, he saw it was only his closest friend, Corse, come to pay him a visit. Broad-shouldered and thick-necked, Corse was one of the town metalworkers, a surprisingly gentle man whose large hands were as adept at working fine sheets and strands of metal as they were powering the bellows or grasping a mighty hammer.

Corse did his usual on entering the shop, beginning to work his way by gaze slowly around the familiar shelves. "How's business, Ian?"

"Much as it always is, friend," Ian said with a graceful shrug, leaning on the countertop. "Better than everyone else's... better than it should be."

Ian watched his friend browse the shop, just as he did whenever he came in; watched him pick up and look at the same items he always did, run his hand over the same worn, damaged bracket on the end of one of the shelves. "I'd better get that fixed, one of these days," he commented, not for the first time.

"I could do it for you," Corse offered, like he always did. "Wouldn't take too long. I'll bring my tools next time, how's that?"

"Mm, perhaps, perhaps. It'll last."

"Wouldn't charge you for it. You know that."

"I know. Maybe best save your energy for a job that does."

"Doesn't matter much," Corse said, shrugging his enormous shoulders. "Nothing worth buying even if I did get paid for it."

"The bracket'll keep."

Just then the bell tinkled again, causing both men to look up at the door. Silhouetted in it was a tall, slim figure which resolved itself into a stately-looking older woman, her back still straight as she approached the counter.

Ian stood and straightened, brushing some stray soap stone dust from his thighs. "Can I help you, Ma'am?"

"I've heard that you are an artisan of some renown," the woman replied in a low, smooth voice. "I would like to see your wares."

Ian blinked doubtfully. "My wares?"

"Your carvings, sir."

"Uhm... right. My cavings. I mean, yes, yes, One moment, ma'am." Ian ducked down, fetching, one by one, some of his more intricate works from their dusty shelf.

Corse watched closely as the woman bent down to scrutinize the carvings, picking up one or the other and turning over in her hands. She said nothing, merely smoothing her thumb over the pieces and setting them down before selecting another to peruse.

"I, er..." Ian began, but what's sure what to say of these wares, unable to make small talk as had once done. "They're all either soap stone or oak," he offered eventually.

"They're beautiful. You're very talented," the woman said, looking up at Ian.

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"I would like to buy one."

Ian glanced up quickly. "Excuse me?"

"I would like to buy one of your carvings. This one," she said, selecting one apparently at random.

"Why?" Ian asked immediately. The carving was simple enough, but the question flared of its own accord at the apparently thoughtless selection.

"It speaks to me. How much is it?"

Ian frowned. "Do you even know what it is?" he challenged.

"Ny'shat Undash... guardian of the undersea caves where dwells the Athara, all-powerful protectors of the seas and lands beyond. Her third eye is always closed," the woman said quietly, running her finger over the small, raised bump on the forehead of the creature. "They say that looking upon it brings knowledge to the worthy and death to all others."

"U-um. Yes. Right. Well, I would once have asked four. but it's little use to me now. Three?"

Nodding, the woman reached into her pocket. Instead of pulling out the full payment, however, she placed only two coins on the counter before Ian and next to them, a small, flat packet. "I think this will cover the charge."

Ian stared at the package, about to argue, then shrugged. "Very well."

"Thank you," she said, pocketing the carving and nodding to both Ian and Corse. "Good day, sirs."

"Good day." Ian stared after the woman, looking a little distractedly.

"What'd she leave you?" Corse asked curiously as soon as the woman had exited the shop. "In the package. What is it?"

Ian blinked. "Um... oh, yes, right." His nimble fingers made quick work of the package. "Oh..."

Inside the packet, pressed neatly between the paper wrappings, were several large leaves of mageroyal - a rare and valuable herb that Ian had long since run out of in his draughts and powders. "Leaves?" Corse said, frowning. "She gave you leaves?"

"No! I mean, well, yes, in that they're leaves. But these are quite specific. They're more than worth that carving." Ian glanced up in the direction in which the woman had gone. "I wish I hadn't been so rude."

"She was a bit odd, if you ask me."

"I suppose she was. I mean, buying ornaments at a time like this..." Ian fingered the mageroyal thoughtfully, then flipped the cloth back over it. "Still, I'm not about to complain."

"Naw, I s'pose not," Corse agreed, bobbing his head in a nod.

Ian cleared his throat. "Um. Have you seen Lu today? She didn't come in this morning..."

The big man raised his eyebrows, looking thoughtful as he pondered this. "Can't say I have. She didn't send word?"

"No." Ian frowned, then shrugged dismissively. "And why should she? I'm not her keeper," he added turning to store the package of herbs on a shelf behind him.

"Still, could be worrisome. Got people dropping left and right nowadays..."

Ian's slim shoulders stiffened, his expression dark as he turned back to face his friend. "Very reassuring, Corse, thank you."

Corse made a face. "Sorry. Y'want me to go by and check on her? S'on my way back..."

"No, no, I'll go. I can shut the shop for half an hour, it'll be fine."