14. Hagstone

The last night in Nyossa, I slept little, my mind on my oldest friend, perplexed as to what I could do about what had happened.

I resigned myself to that thought being childish.

There is no undoing incidents of that nature, the breaches in decency and trust amongst people.

It weighed on me because I loved her, but it also weighed on me because I, reluctant to take on another worry, had dismissed Maureen’s fears.

Though I slept sparsely, when I had, I had dreamt bizarrely of white and soot-colored pebbles stacking themselves, higher and higher.

Normally, I slept on my back, but I had been turning to one side to alleviate the tenderness in my spine from riding all day.

In the morning, a light-colored pebble sat on the blue and green moss in front of me as I blinked awake, a finger’s length from the tip of my nose.

It was flat and round with a naturally occurring hole that was just off of the center.

Somewhere, in my mind, I remembered that these were called hagstones, sometimes adderstones.

They were purported to heal snakebites and channel magic.

I pocketed it in my scribe’s dress.

Gently, so as not to alert the men, who were mostly up and moving about the camp, I made my way over to Mischa, stepping around the dozing women and crouching next to her, I shook her awake.

Groggy, she sat up and ornery with me, said, “What, Edie?”

And then, as if remembering, she grabbed at my hand.

“Helena?”

“Asleep.”

I was at a loss for what to say.

“I think we need to ascertain whether or not she will need a tonic.”

Now thoroughly awake, she said, “Oh my gods.”

“I know.

I did not think of it until I woke.”

“What can we even give her? Does this place even have what she would need? What does she need, dogbane and stoneseed? I’m not a healer.

Are any of us? Does this wilderness they’ve taken us to even have physicians?”

“She should have bathed afterwards, but of course, we were not thinking of that.”

“Do you think she could quicken? At her age?”

Mischa had the decency to look a little discomfited at her mention of both Helena’s and my number of winters.

“She could.

Women have children past their fortieth.

All the time.”

Much hung in the air between us, unspoken.

Then she said, “We can’t ask her.”

“I know.

I couldn’t get the words out.

We should try and talk to the man called Thatcher, the bald one with the beard.

The man who— the one who intervened.

If he can tell us, then we will not need to further upset her.

She has not said a word since.”

“What are we going to do?”

Mischa’s eyes were shining.

“I still cannot believe— I cannot believe that happened.

And to her.

To Helena.”

I looked above me into the dark blue of the sky, sunlight still far enough away for everything to be cast in shadow.

“I know. I know.”

I willed myself not to cry.

“Should we find and ask Thatcher if he thinks— you know?”

She stood and we walked to where Thatcher was saddling his horse.

Standing next to him, holding gear, were two other men whose names I did not know and Alric and Perch.

I took a step towards Perch and holding my arm out as far as I could, so as not to come any closer, I handed him his canteen.

“Our thanks,” I said.

“I can get you a fresh one,”

he said gruffly, taking the canteen.

The two of us stared at them and they at us for a moment and then I looked at Thatcher and spoke.

“We need to ask you—”

I paused to inhale, “if you think she will need a tonic?”

All of them had a look of confusion.

I said, “To prevent her quickening with child.

We cannot bear to ask her.”

“Please do not make us ask her,”

Mischa hissed.

And then Thatcher said, “Gods, no.

No.

I was able to— he didn’t… I found them before.”

He ran a hand over his beard.

“She shouldn’t need one.”

“To be prudent, are we close to a village?”

“A day away from a settlement of sorts, with farms,”

offered Alric.

“No apothecary.

No physician, but they’ve a midwife.

I think they will.

You can— We will find one for you.”

“I will,”

said Thatcher.

“I’ll find a woman.

Make the purchase.”

Alric said something so low only Thatcher could have heard.

I glanced down to his left hand.

It was slick with blood.

“You just had to bind our wrists, didn’t you,”

said Mischa, scowling at him.

“She didn’t have a chance in Rodwin’s hell.

You fucking bastard.”

A twitch quivered around Alric’s eyes, briefly and then was gone.

The other men continued to stare at us.

“Mischa,”

I warned, grabbing at her right hand with my left.

Looking at Thatcher pointedly, I said “thank you.”

Mischa had begun to cry and I was close behind her, but I did not want our pain on display.

Returning to the sleeping women, we walked with our bodies close, hands clutched, her head bent towards mine.

Quinn was right.

Farming lands met us at the edge of Nyossa.

We spent the day that followed Helena’s attack and Nash’s execution, bidding farewell to the haunting woods, the trees farther and farther apart down the road.

I found myself confused that this made me sad.

I had spent so much time in the place, its secretive, murky climate had become familiar to me.

I wondered if I would ever see something like the luminous stream again.

I had Helena with me on Nash’s horse, sitting in front of me again.

She seemed to have a little life to her, one hand on the pommel for support, one holding Perch’s canteen, sipping from it occasionally.

But, she remained without speech.

We were of similar heights so I rested my chin on her shoulder sometimes, reminding her that I was there.

Yet again, the close guard of two soldiers on horseback on either side of one horse carrying women was lax.

For most of the day, I was in the middle of the procession with no horse on either side of mine.

By late afternoon, Helena had handed me the canteen to sling along the back of the saddle and she had fallen asleep, her head leaning back on my right shoulder.

To my left, Alric’s horse pulled up beside us, his eyes on me.

“How does she fare?”

he asked.

His voice was quiet, nearly gentle.

I returned his gaze, knowing my eyes to be red-rimmed.

I could not speak.

He looked away, but stayed next to us for the rest of that day’s journey.