Page 3 of Secrets of the Lore Keepers
Chewing my lower lip as I knelt on the other side of the man, who took slow breaths, his chest rising and falling. I still had his knife tucked into the pocket of my dress, and I moved gingerly to keep it from cutting me. I met Maraini’s large brown eyes. “How do you want to do this?”
Her fingers twitched, and I knew what she was thinking. Somehow, even though we were caring for someone wounded, it seemed wrong to undress a man. I took a deep breath and reached for his jerkin, slowly undoing the ties. They were knotted, and I struggled while Maraini watched, one hand straying to the lightning jars, but he did not wake.
I peeled back the layer gently, pulling his shirt up from where it was tucked into his pants. My fingers brushing his bronzed skin, revealing the hard muscles of his stomach. Sure enough, there was a deep cut on his side. Fresh blood pooled out as I pulled the shirt away. Too much blood. He must be at death’s door, and I did not have the expertise to heal such a wound.
“We must sew it up,” Maraini murmured, stepping out of the stall.
We often had to bandage injuries for our animals and kept an emergency kit in the barn. Maraini returned with it while I took a steady breath and held out my hands for the needle. When it came to working with my hands, my rush to do everything as quickly as possible faded, leaving me with steady hands and a calmness in my spirit.
Maraini kept watch while I cleaned the wound, sewed him up and wrapped a bandage around him.
I shook my head when I finished, my fingers slick with blood. “It’s not enough.” His body had a pale hue to it, and his skin cooled under my touch. “He’s lost too much blood to live.”
I met Maraini’s dark eyes and asked a silent question. We had healing potions, rare and difficult to make. Mama had mixed them on a midsummer’s eve, with a warning we should use them only in the utmost need. I couldn’t help but wonder if my parents would still be alive, had they taken the potions with them when they left.
But the man who lay before me was a stranger, and while he might be wicked, it was a risk I was willing to take. For life was precious, and it would be my guilt I’d live with if I did nothing when I could have saved him.
Maraini squeezed my arm and ran for the house.
I studied him as I waited, taking in the lines of his face, his tightly drawn lips and the slow rise and fall of his heartbeat. It was slower now. I didn’t want him to die without finding out who he was, why he was on our land, and where he belonged. He likely had family who cared about him and would worry when they did not hear from him.
Maraini reappeared, holding a squat bottle in her hands. “He’s too far gone to drink,” she said. “And I don’t know if he’ll need the entire bottle or just a few sips. Regardless, you can try to force some down his throat, but we’ll leave some water with it mixed inside in case he wakes.”
Pressing my lips together to keep them from trembling, I stood, thankful for my sister’s sound advice. I washed the blood off my hand in a nearby water bucket and dried them on a blanket. Maraini had finished mixing the water and potion and was tucking a blanket around him when I returned. She jerked her chin toward the potion as I slipped inside and propped up his head on a mound of hay. His body was cool to the touch as I hefted the dusty bottle and pressed it to his lips. Some dribbled down his chin, and I paused, unwilling to waste the life-giving elixir. I thought some passed between his lips, but the low light made it difficult to tell, and a sudden blush rose to my cheeks. My actions seemed intimate and wrong somehow.
Frowning, I twisted the lid on top of the bottle and tucked it into my pocket as I stood to leave.
Exchanging anxious glances, we shut the door of the stall and looked at each other.
“What if he dies?” I whispered.
Maraini shrugged. “We’ll check on him in the morning. For now, let’s leave.”
I peeked over the stall at the stranger once more, a strange pulse stirring in my heart.
* * *
That nightI tossed and turned on my feather mattress. The storm continued through midnight, and with each flash of lightning and rumble of thunder, I thought about the stranger who’d come with the storm. Curiosity pulsed in my veins and whispered enchantments through my dreams. What was his story? Where did he come from?
Before the first streaks of pint-tinted dawn touched the dusky sky, I bounced out of bed. My family’s home was a large manor house, with two floors—three if one counted the cellar, but I never did. Upstairs was for sleeping. A set of stairs on the main level led up to the landing and a short hall led directly to the room at the back of the house. My parents’ room. Ever since their deaths, Maraini and I had kept the door shut. I dared not venture in, my throat thick with grief, but I thought Maraini went to sit in there from time to time. Close to their room, it still smelled like Mama’s lavender and Papa’s tobacco.
On either side of the landing were two rooms, one was mine, and the others was Maraini’s. My room looked as though a windstorm had recently blown through, clothes and shoes scattered about, with scraps of paper and crafts I was working on. Maraini’s room was meticulous and neat, her bed tucked into a corner and her desk under a window. Stacks of books were piled on every surface, except the space on the desk she kept clear for ink and parchment. She kept the family records. Her window overlooked the herb and vegetable garden and the green pastures where our livestock grazed. My room faced the front of the house, overlooking the dusty road and the meadow where we caught lightning.
From memory I recalled my parent’s room faced the road which led to the village of Capern. On a clear day we could see the village from the second floor of the house, nothing but a dark smug on the horizon. Beyond it was the enchanted wildwood, less than a day’s journey away. Maraini and I never ventured much further than the meadow to the north, or south to the village for market day. Mama and Papa always claimed it was best to leave family matters in the hands of family, for we were the Lore Keepers, known for our unique abilities. And because of our rare gifting, we could only trust family.
Without bothering to untangle my curls, I yanked on a plain shirt and tucked it into my knee-length skirt. The length of long skirts and dresses ended up being more of a hindrance than a help. Maraini and I had taken to wearing shorter garb and leaving our arms bare, especially in the summer. Before leaving my room, I snatched up my straw hat to project my face from being burned by the sunlight and slipped out the door.
A rush of cool air kissed my face, and I squinted in the shadows. The stillness of the house told me Maraini wasn’t up yet. I tiptoed downstairs, skipping the middle one which creaked, to where the first glimmer of dawn cast an unearthly glow across the room. Six-foot-tall windows on either side of the front door let in daylight, because Mama and Papa said a house with no secrets is full of light.Welcome the sunlight, fill your body with joy,was a mantra Mama often repeated.I had to agree. The first beams of daylight chased away sorrow, and I closed my eyes as hope imbued me.
Behind the staircase was a hall with access to the storage rooms inside the house and the cellar. We kept scraps of fabric and herbs for spells, plus our stores for the winter. We also had jars and recipes of strange concoctions. The tales those whispered about us were true, we were a family with one secret, not only did we know the lore of the world, we also used alchemy to transform nature to our wishes. I loved that about my family, the secrets, the inventions, and the magic. But ever since my parent’s death a sad ache bloomed in my heart. An ache that lore could not heal.
Mixed feelings twisted through me as I wondered whether the strange man had lived through the night. Regardless, I filled a basket and with apples, cheese, and bread, and then, as an afterthought, tucked the odd knife into the bottom of the basket. Unbolting the front door, I snuck out onto the wide porch and trotted down the two steps. I glanced back at the house as I made my way down the dirt path, now muddy from last night’s rain. It was a beautiful home and looked as though it were built for a lord or lady. Nobility usually lived in the kingdom, with grand estates groomed by servants. Lords and ladies kept a small army around them at all times, but honest, hard-working hands, not birthright built the land of my family. We were as wealthy as the lords and ladies of court, but there was a reason none dared come to steal our wealth away.
I made my way to the barn, pausing under Maraini’s window to wave. If she were awake—and it was likely she was by now, peering at her books become coming downstairs—she’d see me and know where I went. With a pang, I recalled the lightning jars were still in the house. In a few days we’d need to pack the wagon with goods to sell at market. Oh well. I mentally made a list of tasks: feed the horses, milk the cows, fetch the eggs, find out where the goats had run off to—and the pigs. Curses! Why had we decided pigs was a good idea? Maraini and I had seen them in market—adorable piglets with their curly tails and upturned noses. We bought five of them. Five pigs who grew up to be the terror of the farm. Uprooting the garden. Burrowing under fences. And eating winter’s harvest until we drove them off into the meadow, hoping they wouldn’t return. When they were full-grown and fat, we’d hunt them down and roast them. But for now, it was the least of my concerns.
When I reached the barn, I ducked inside. My nose was met with the familiar smell of musk and hay. Holding the basket with a firm hand, I made my way to the stall, daring to hope he’d survived the night. I peeked over the stall door, and two brown eyes stared right back at me.
Chapter Three
