Page 20 of Song of the Dawn
My mind went back to the slurping sound in the cellar, the shape in the dark, and the coldness that had accompanied both of them. I’d felt that oddness when I’d first arrived too but hadn’t shared my hunches with anyone, afraid it might simply be my imagination.
Giselle grunted, folding her arms across her chest. “Most of it is talk, and I haven’t seen anything to confirm, but often what happens to people is based on belief.” Her face softened as she talked. “The Lagodians claim odd things happen here. According to legend, it all began when a flash of purple light illuminated the sky and a violet star fell onto the island in the lake. Some grew wealthy, some grew poor, and some people even disappeared. The theory is that something landed on that island, making the veil between worlds thin.”
I listened to every word, still skeptical but aware that even superstitious talk might have a hint of truth in it. City folk claimed people who lived in the country were touched in the head. Their lives were so focused on survival—food, clothing, and shelter—that they worked until they were naught but skin and bones. That kind of hard life changed them, making them think of new ways to amuse themselves, and so the stories of the supernatural developed.
“What do you believe?” I asked.
Giselle narrowed her eyes, studying me. “I believe it’s smart to keep an open mind, but tell you what. If you want to know more, come to dinner tonight.”
My immediate reaction was to reject her invitation, but it wasn’t my night to play, and I was curious about what else she’d tell me. “I’ll come,” I agreed.
Giselle’s entire face lit up when she smiled. “Good, we eat a bit late, but come over when you’re done at the inn.”
I smiled back, grateful I was making a new friend. Taking the basket of eggs, I started back to the inn. The lake shimmered as I passed, the waters rougher this morning. I noticed the dock I’d overlooked before, for the way it was angled made it visible from the barn. It was a short strip of wood with a small boat tied up beside it, oars sticking out of the sides.
When I saw Ezra, my heart skipped. He was stripped down to his trousers and taking things out of the boat. Two enormous fish, almost as big as him, lay on the dock. Monstrous fish. I gaped, aware it would be polite to look away from his nakedness, but the sun made his skin dazzle in the light, and the sight of his toned body made desire twist within me. I should keep walking before he caught me staring. Biting my lower lip, I quickened my pace, moving up the trail until he was out of sight.
“Mila?”
Turning around, I shielded my eyes against the sun. Had he seen me watching him?
Ezra strode toward me, tugging a loose white shirt over his toned chest. His eyes brightened as he overtook me. “Going up to the inn?”
“Yes.” I held up the eggs. “It’s Tuesday. Egg day.”
“So it is,” he said, taking the basket from me.
“I can carry it,” I protested.
“I know,” he retorted. “But just because you can doesn’t mean you need to. I’m going up to the house anyway. I caught fish for the week, but I forgot the knives to debone them. I need to borrow a pair to properly gut and slice them up for Moses.”
I stared up at him. “You catch fish for the inn too? Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Yes,” he laughed, “lots.”
Somehow I doubted that, and my expression must have said so, for he went on, “This is my inn. I feel a duty to make sure it thrives in all areas. Which includes food.”
“And what other things?” I pressed.
“Many things,” Ezra said easily, his long strides slowing as he spoke. “Did you know there are four key categories to survival? Er, not survival but to living a well-balanced life. There’s health, which is knowing where your next meal is coming from, having plenty of food and water, shelter, and safety. Then there’s purpose or a goal, the knowledge that we are contributing to something vast. Leave someone alone for too long and they become bored, which leads to unhappiness and that never-ending sadness because something is lacking. There’s the spiritual, a connection with something greater that is outside of ourselves. And finally, there is connection, usually through relationships, although it varies—family, friends…lovers.”
He paused on that last word, drawing it out in such a way I could not mistake his meaning.
I sucked in a breath, determined to ignore the way my face warmed. “You’ve thought about this long and hard. You almost sounded like a philosopher.”
“Are there philosophers in Solynn?”
Laughing at his surprise, I raised an eyebrow. “Still living? I don’t know, but surely your early studies included some of their works. I’m no scholar, but even what I learned hinted briefly of the wisdom of philosophers, the meaning of life, the pursuit of happiness, and the hollowness of pleasure without a greater purpose or depth.”
A faint blush rose on his face. “Like I said, I’m not as familiar with the customs here. I was raised far away, and what I studied and learned was different. I would like to know more about the philosophers here. If you tell me their names, I’ll order some scrolls from the city.”
Scrolls? “You mean books. Their words have been transcribed from ancient scrolls into books.”
“Mm, of course.” He was odd, in an endearing way.
“So the four categories of life, did you make that up on your own or is that common knowledge? Where you come from, of course.”
“Is that a question, or are you teasing me again?”
