Chapter 4

The sunlight through the shutters had dwindled to the point that it was now no more than a mere glow. It was dusk now with night rapidly invading. Though the murmur of voices could be heard, there was no way to make out what they were saying. Undoubtedly, the villagers would soon come to the question of who “Alden” was and why he was in their little town at all. Perhaps he was a rabble rouser come to sow the seeds of rebellion against the inept church? Or just an adventurer looking to make a name for himself? There were many possibilities that he considered telling them when the question came, but he finally put the thought from his mind. The less he said the better. There was always a chance this town would spread the word to other places and he dared not break one of the Abbot’s rules.

Like most, Aiden considered himself to be a reasonable and fair man. Lying to these people who were only one class below him made him feel like a card shark in a gambler’s haven. His hand went to his forehead and he rubbed the skin in slow circles. The headache he had developed from earlier that day had been slowly intensifying to a dull roar of pain. Now, walking the fine line between a half-truth and a lie, he was becoming mentally exhausted. He leaned back against the smooth sanded planks and closed his eyes.

“Are you alright Mr. Alden?” a high-pitched female voice rousted him from his short nap. He sat up and immediately regretted the motion. His vision swam and his stomach felt like it was doing cartwheels in his abdomen.

“Mr. Alden? I didn’t wake you did I?” The woman asked again and he forced himself to look up at her.

“Ahm.” Was the only word he could manage, having to swallow rapidly for a few seconds to keep the urge to retch at bay. “I’ll be alright.” He said finally, giving her a weak smile. The bandage on his cheek crinkled and a corner pull off of the tender skin.

“Well you don’t look alright.” The woman gave him an appraising look, like a doctor examining his patient. Her braided hair hung down to her waist like a long brown rope, contrasting against the clean white linen of her apron. “Your cut, may I see it?” she asked, gesturing to his face.

His hand went up immediately. “Just a foolish little thing I got in a fight that wasn’t mine to meddle in.” he said defensively. When he had checked the area after making camp the night before, it was red and having a difficult time scabbing.

“Come now, don’t you know who I am?” She put her hands on her hips and leaned down over him, looking expectant.

Irritated, he just wanted the woman gone so he could suffer in peace. If it wasn’t one thing hurting it was something else. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been in such bad shape. “No.” He heaved a sigh as she knelt down in front of him.

“Well I’m what you would call a medicine woman.” She began to say while reaching for the square patch of gauze. He batted her hand away and she gave the stern look she reserved for misbehaving children and sick men. The sick men were always the ones who gave her the most trouble.

“Good for you then, medicine woman.” He growled between clenched teeth and pushed her hand away again.

“Its Mira to you, and you’re going to let me look at that wound if I have to tie you to the stair posts myself.” The stern look transferred to one of country-bred stubbornness and he knew he was beat. That was the same sort of expression Elena gave him right before she did just what she threatened. What else could he do? Head-strong women were always a bane to him.

“Fine, just don’t get all touch..” He inhaled sharply, feeling another wave of nausea. “Touchy.” A little bit he could associate with his pounding head, but this? Briefly he wondered if the food rations he had picked up from the armory had gone bad. It would figure that those sour-faced protectors would be spiteful and stingy. They had followed him around every inch of that place, taking note of anything he touched. No doubt they would comb the place when he left to make sure he did not steal anything he was not entitled to.

Mira’s fingers stopped working the bandage from his skin and stared at him for a moment. “What else is the matter, hmm? You look like you’re going to be sick all over this clean floor.”

Aiden did not appreciate the visual her words painted. That was exactly what he’d like to do at the moment. “I think that dried beef I had was a little past due.” He leaned back against the wall again, thankful for the cool wood against the hot skin on his neck.

“Dried beef? When did you buy it?” Her hands left the bandage and she put the back of one to his forehead and other cheek. “You’re burning up m’lad. Do you have any other aches, hmm? Maybe a soreness in your throat or a swelling in the nose?”

He shook his head, now feeling as if he really were visiting the local doctor. “No doc, just my stomach.” Leaving out the headache part seemed logical, after all, he had been experiencing that for the better part of a day.

She smiled at him briefly, apparently enjoying being referred to as ‘doc’. She wiped her hands on her apron and stood. “Well just sit right there and don’t go puking on that new straw. I’ll get you something to soothe that tummy of yours.”

For some reason Aiden couldn’t help but like Mira. Maybe it was because she reminded him so much of his Elena with her sarcasm that covered up a genuine sweetness. Right as she disappeared behind the stairway, Richard turned into view. The man’s face was red, as though he had recently regained a lost temper.

“Well Alden.” He addressed Aiden. Feeling like he were back in front of the Abbot, waiting for the sentence on his crimes, Aiden struggled to stand. It seemed only appropriate.

Rising a little too fast, he felt the world spin and the backs of the stairs faded out from view for a moment. His hand grabbed out for something to catch himself on and Richard’s arm was closest.
The man awkwardly caught him as he fell, his anger flown from his face. “Hey hey, are you alright? Mira!” He called over his shoulder. “Mira!”

“What- Alden what are you doing?” Mira came over in a mild sprint, a vial clenched in her fist. “You foolish man!” She spat the words at Richard. “What did you do to make him stand? He is to sit there and not move.” Gently, she helped Richard maneuver Aiden back to the floor and he sank gratefully into the straw padding.

“Not his fault.” Aiden gasped, waiting for the pulses of pain to withdraw to the point where he could see, much less speak coherently again.

“Not his? Then yours?” Her voice colored hotly. “I told you to stay put, you great big idiot.”

“Mira don’t insult the man.”

She spun on her kinsman. “And you! Were you really so blind as you could not see he was in no shape to be talked to?” Her hands clenched on her hips, crinkling the fabric into ripples.

Richard retreated from her onslaught, apologizing sheepishly.

Unable to find the breath to do the same, Aiden sat with his head resting in his hands heavily. This was not going nearly as well as planned.

“Here now, you little buffoon.” Her voice coaxed, she could have been talking to a frightened animal. Aiden forced himself to look up when she touched his shoulder.

“Drink this, hmm? It will take that away and let you sleep soundly tonight.”

A sleeping drug? It was the last thing he needed. If Richard was here to tell him to bugger off at dawn and let the village handle its own problems, he had much bigger things to be concerned about than a little food poisoning.

“Mira,” he said quietly, his hand grasping her wrist to keep her attention. “I must talk with Richard before I take this. Something must be done to keep you all safe and I fear that if I don’t try to help, you all will not make it to see the next winter.”

Her breath caught on his last words and her eyes grew wide for a moment before she looked away. Resignation weighed on her shoulders. “I know what you are talking about, Alden and I know what they will tell you.” She turned, her features having fallen from a happily oblivious to the same drawn look that the other villagers wore. It was a façade, he realized, something to keep her going until the end she knew was coming. “What is worse Aiden? Knowing that your kinsmen are making a bad decision and not being able to change that. Or staying and supporting that decision when you can easily leave and continue living without all that you love and hold dear?” Her voice trembled on that last sentence.

The situation she faced was so similar to his own that he could only sympathize. He was either to put his life at risk again by fighting an unknown number of horrors for a town that wanted him gone. Or he could walk away from it all and condemn his family to whatever fate the Abbot would have for them. Aiden did not believe the Abbot would kill his family because of the uproar such a senseless act would bring, but he would make known the crimes he had committed and smother his name into the mud. How would Elena walk to the market with her head held high when the whole town knew her husband was a thief?

Just as Mira walked away from him, leaving the vial in his hand, the headache and nausea ebbed swiftly. Feeling as though the weight constricting his actions was lifted, he gestured for Richard to come back and talk to him. The man had retreated to the stairway during Mira’s fury.

Until then, it had been relatively quiet with the adults dispersing back to their family areas and setting about the task of lulling their children to sleep. Even they looked furtively to the blocked window shutters, half expecting what came next.

“Rich—“ Aiden began to say, just as a bloodcurdling scream pierced the night. All sickness forgotten, he jumped to his feet and ran toward the entrance with Richard right beside him. Instead of opening the doors as Aiden expected him to do, Richard swung in front of them and barred the way.

“What are you doing?” Aiden demanded.

Richard shook his head, his face set grimly. “These doors never open once that sun sets. Whatever is out there, I only pray it dies quickly.”

More screams filled the air, taking the tone and pitch of a woman’s.

“It’s a person out there you fool! Get out of the way!”

Richard shook his head. “You can’t know that for sure.”

“I can know that for sure! Look at this.” Aiden wrenched his pocket watch out into view, the copper plating dented in some areas. “Three and a half hours, that isn’t just a person, its Mary’s daughter Bridget.”

A stunned gasp drew from the frightened onlookers, punctuated by the running of bare feet against the stone flooring.

“He’s right, he’s right!” Shrieked the woman from before who approached him about the girl and her cart. “Open the doors and let him through!” The woman yelled, her fists thrust into the air as she was held back by her husband.

“For the goddess’s sakes Richard, if the man is willing to go help her then bloody let him do it!” her husband yelled.

Aiden turned to the teenaged boy who stood on the outskirts of the gathering crowd. “Get my pack lad, and run back here.” The boy froze for a moment before comprehension set in and he took off.

“Get out of the way.” Aiden’s voice dropped to a dangerous tone. His illnesses had vanished or were simply forgotten as adrenaline kicked in. He knew there was someone on the other side of the barred doorway and ravaging undead or no, unless he helped them, they would be worm’s meat.

Richard moved out of the way, his mouth gaping open at the sudden turn of allegiance by his fellows. Just as he moved the first bar from the door, the boy returned and Aiden retrieved his weapons belt from inside. He caught a few of the questioning glances, no doubt they wondered why he was so heavily armed. Then the last bar fell away and he shoved his gloves on. The torch on the wall sputtered with the gust of new air and he grabbed it from its sconce. Stepping up right beside Richard, Aiden whispered for only him to hear. “If she dies, don’t think they will hesitate to put you out into the night.” Richard’s wide eyes followed him as Aiden headed out into the moonlight drenched center of town.