Confessor: Chainfire Trilogy Part 3

Chapter 24

With the back of her wrist, Rachel wiped sweat from her forehead. She knew that as soon as she stopped working she would get cold, but at the moment she was sweating. It was hard to stop, because she was in a hurry. She knew that she couldn’t hurry when she was stopped for the night, but she still felt driven to rush, so she raced to as she built her shelter.

She didn’t like to think about what would happen to her if she didn’t hurry.

The pine boughs she had cut and leaned up against the low rock wall would help block the cold wind. She’d braced them with a support made of dead cedar saplings she had found nearby. Cutting fresh pine branches with a knife wasn’t easy. Chase had taught her how to build a shelter. He probably wouldn’t think much of this one, but without at least a hatchet it was the best she could do. At least, it was the best she felt like doing. All she really felt like doing was hurrying.

She’d picketed the horse close, after letting it drink its fill from a nearby brook. She had been careful to give it enough line to be able to crop at the bunches of grass growing along the bank.

Using the flint from the saddlebags, she’d built a fire just inside the protection of the wind block she’d made. It was terrifying being out alone in the countryside at night. There could be bears, or mountain lions, or wolves. A fire helped her to feel safe while she got some sleep waiting for first light. She needed it to be light so that she could start out again. She needed to get going. She needed to hurry.

When she started getting cold, Rachel put another piece of the driftwood she’d collected on the fire and then sat on the small blanket she’d laid over pine boughs. Chase had taught her that a fresh cushion of pine or spruce branches would keep her up off the ground and help keep her warm. She put her back to the rock wall so that nothing could sneak up behind her. With it getting darker, she was feeling afraid.

Rather than think about being afraid, she pulled the saddlebags closer and retrieved a piece of dried meat. She tore off a small bite with her teeth and sucked on it for a time, letting the taste start to satisfy her gnawing hunger. She didn’t have a lot of food left, so she was trying to conserve what she had. It wasn’t long, though, until she was chewing and swallowing.

She broke off a piece of hard biscuit and, holding it in her palm, dribbled a little water from the waterskin onto it to try to soften it up a bit before she tried to chew it. The biscuits were as hard as rocks. The dried meat was easier to chew than the biscuits, but she had more biscuits.

She’d searched for berries as she rode, but it was too late in the year for there to be any left. One day she had spotted a wild apple tree. Even though they were shriveled they had looked like they might make a meal, but she knew better than to eat red fruit. Red fruit was poisonous. As hungry as she was for something other than dried meat and dried biscuits, she didn’t want to get poisoned.

Rachel sat quietly for a time, chewing on the tough meat as she stared into the fire. She kept listening for things that might be out in the darkness beyond the fire. She didn’t want to be surprised by a hungry animal that might think she’d make a good meal.

When she looked up, there was a woman standing before her, on the opposite side of the fire.

Rachel gasped. She tried to back up, but the rock wall was right there behind her. She thought that she might be able to slip away to the side if she had to. She snatched up her knife.

“Please, don’t be afraid.”

Rachel thought that it was just about the most pleasing, gentle, kind voice she had ever heard. Still, she knew better than to be taken in by kind-sounding words.

She stared up at the woman, trying to decide what to do, as the woman stared down at her. She didn’t look threatening. She didn’t do anything that seemed unfriendly. She had, though, shown up out in the middle of nowhere.

There was something about her that looked faintly familiar. Her pleasant voice still sang in Rachel’s mind. The woman was pretty enough, with plain, cropped blond hair. Her arms hung slack, hands joined before her, fingers loosely knitted together. She wore simple flaxen robes that reached all the way to the ground. The shawl around her shoulders looked to be dyed from henna.

Her modest dress made her look like she must be a commoner, rather than a woman of noble rank. From having lived at the palace in Tamarang Rachel knew a lot about noble women. Noble women were usually trouble for someone like Rachel.

“Please, may I sit and share your fire?” the woman asked in that voice that had Rachel hanging on every word.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I don’t know you. Keep back.”

The woman smiled a little. “Are you sure you don’t know me, Rachel?”

Rachel swallowed. Goose bumps tingled up her arms.

“How do you know my name?”

The smile widened a little—not in a cunning way, but in a gentle, kind-hearted manner. The woman’s eyes, too, had a softness about them that made it seem like they could never intend harm. Still, that did not do much to diminish Rachel’s caution. She’d been fooled by nice looking ladies in the past.

“Would you like something to eat other than that dry traveling food?”

“No. I’m fine,” Rachel said. “I mean, I appreciate your offer, it’s very kind of you, but I’m fine, thank you.”

The woman bent and picked up something lying on the ground behind her. When she stood again, Rachel saw that it was a string of small trout.

She held them up. “Would it be all right if I just used your fire to cook these for myself, then?”

Rachel was having trouble trying to think. She had to hurry. That was all she seemed able to focus on—that she had to hurry. But she couldn’t hurry at camp. She couldn’t leave until it was light.

“I suppose it would be all right if you cooked your fish on the fire.”

The woman smiled again. It was a smile that for some reason lifted Rachel’s heart.

“Thank you. I’ll not be any trouble to you.”

Quick as a wink, she turned and disappeared into the night. Rachel had no idea where she went, or why. The string of fish still lay nearby. Rachel sat listening into the darkness as the fire hissed and popped. She clutched her knife tightly in her fist as she strained to hear off into the darkness for any sign that the woman might have other people with her.

When she returned, the woman had a pile of big moose maple leaves, a number of them covered with a thick layer of mud. The woman said nothing as she squatted down and went about preparing the fish. She rolled each fish in a clean moose maple leaf, then lined them all up in the mud, layered mud on top, and finally wrapped it all in leaves. When she was finished making the rolled up mud oven she carefully placed it on the fire.

The whole time, Rachel watched her. It was hard not to. In fact, Rachel couldn’t take her eyes off the woman. There was something about her that just kind of made Rachel ache with longing to be closer to her. Still, her sense of caution wouldn’t allow it.

Besides, she was in a hurry.

The woman backed away a few paces, apparently so as not to frighten Rachel, and sat on the ground, folding her legs under her, to wait for her fish to cook. Flames danced in the cold night air, and sparks swirled up whenever the wood popped. From time to time the woman warmed her hands at the fire.

Rachel was having a hard time not thinking about the fish. It smelled delicious. She could imagine how good it would taste. But she had said that she didn’t want any.

Rachel realized, then, that she had asked a question before and never gotten an answer.

“How do you know my name?”

The woman shrugged one shoulder. “The good spirits must have whispered it in my ear.”

Rachel thought that was about the silliest thing she had ever heard. She couldn’t help giggling, though.

“In truth,” the woman said, looking more serious, “I remember you.”

The goose bumps returned. “From the castle in Tamarang?”

The woman rolled a finger. “No. From before then.”

Rachel frowned. “From the orphanage?”

The woman made a little sound to confirm it. She suddenly looked sad.

Together they watched the flames waver and dance, and throw light against the rock wall and lean-to of pine boughs. In the distance coyotes howled in long, lonely wails. Whenever the coyotes started in to howling. Rachel was glad for the fire. She could easily be prey for wolves and such if not for the fire.

The bugs nearby chirped and buzzed while moths whirled in circles through the light. Swirling sparks ascended into the night sky, looking as if they were eager to join the stars. It was all making Rachel sleepy.

“I bet the fish are ready,” the woman said in a bright voice.

She scooted forward and used a stick to roll the little mud oven out of the fire. Spreading the leaves open on the ground, she finally exposed the fish inside. They were steaming hot, and flaky.

She broke off a piece and tasted it, then moaned with delight at how good it tasted.

Then she put the rest of the little trout on a moose maple leaf and offered it to Rachel. Rachel sat staring at the hand. She had said that she didn’t want any of the woman’s fish.

“Thank you, but I have my own things to eat. You should have your fish.”

“Nonsense, there’s more than enough. Please, won’t you eat some with me? Just a little? After all, I used the fire you worked to build, so it’s the least I can do.”

Rachel stared at the delicious looking fish on the leaf in the palm of the woman’s hand.

“Well, if you don’t mind, then, I’ll have one.”

The woman smiled and the world suddenly seemed a better place. Rachel thought that it must be a smile like a mother would have—filled with simple delight at the wonder of life.

She tried not to devour the fish. That it was steaming hot helped to slow her down. That, and the sharp little bones. It felt so good to eat hot food that she almost cried with joy. When she finished the fish, the woman handed her another. Rachel took it without hesitation. She so needed to eat. She told herself that she needed to be strong so that she could hurry. The tender fish warmed the pang of hunger lodged deep in the pit of her stomach, making the ache melt away. Rachel ate four more before she was full.

“Don’t push your horse so hard tomorrow,” the woman said. “If you do, it will die.”

Rachel blinked. “How do you know that?”

“I introduced myself to your animal when I came across your camp. Your horse is in sorry shape.”

Rachel felt bad for the horse, but she had to hurry. She couldn’t slow for anything. She had to hurry.

“If I go any slower, they’ll get me.”

The woman cocked her head. “Who will get you?”

“The ghostie gobblies.”

“Ah, I see.”

“The ghostie gobblies are after me. Whenever I slow they start to get closer.” Tears stung Rachel’s eyes. “I don’t want the ghostie gobblies to get me.”

The woman was there, then, right next to her, circling an arm around her, sheltering her. It felt so good that Rachel started to cry in the comfort of that protection. She had to hurry. She was so afraid.

“If you kill the horse,” the woman said in a soft, gentle voice, “then the ghostie gobblies will get you, now, won’t they? Take it just a little slower. You have time.”

Rachel snuggled in the crook of the woman’s arm. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You need to let the horse get its strength back. It won’t do you any good to kill the animal. Trust me, you don’t want to be out in the deserted countryside without a horse.”

“Because then the ghostie gobblies will get me?”

The woman nodded. “Because then the ghostie gobblies will get you.”

When a shiver ran up Rachel’s back, the woman squeezed her tight until it went away. Rachel realized that she had the hem of her dress in her mouth, just like she used to do when she was little.

“Hold out your hand,” the woman said in that soothing voice she had. “I have something for you.”

“What is it?”

“Hold out your hand.”

When Rachel held out her hand the woman laid something small in it. Rachel held it up closer, trying to see it better. It was short, and straight.

“Put it in your pocket.”

Rachel looked up at the gentle face watching her. “Why?”

“For when you need it.”

“Need it? What will I need it for?’

“You will know when the time comes. You will know when you need it. When you do, remember that it’s there, in your pocket.”

“But what is it?”

The woman smiled that wonderful smile. “It’s what you need, Rachel.”

As baffled as she was, Rachel couldn’t think of how to solve the riddle. She slipped the small thing into her pocket.

“Is it magic?” Rachel asked.

“No,” the woman said. “It’s not magic. But it’s what you will need.”

“Will it save me?”

“I have to go now,” the woman said.

Rachel felt a lump raising in her throat. “Couldn’t you sit by the fire a little while?”

The woman gazed at her with knowing, gentle eyes. “I suppose I could.”

Rachel felt goose bumps tingling up her arms again.

She knew who the woman was.

“You’re my mother, aren’t you?”

The woman smoothed a hand down Rachel’s hair. She had a sad smile. A tear rolled down her cheek.

Rachel knew that her mother was dead, or, at least she had been told that she was.

Maybe this was her mother’s good spirit.

Rachel opened her mouth to speak again, but her mother gently shushed her, then tipped Rachel’s head against her. “You need rest. I’ll watch over you. Sleep. You’re safe with me.”

Rachel was so tired. She listened to the wonderful sound of her mother’s heart beating. She stretched her arms around her mother’s ribs, and nuzzled against her . . .

Rachel had a thousand questions, but she didn’t think that she would be able to get a single word past the lump in her throat. Besides, she didn’t really want to talk. She just wanted to be held in the shelter of her mother’s arms.

As much as she loved Chase, this was something that felt so special that she knew it was unfair to compare it to anything else. She loved Chase fiercely. This was wonderful in its own way. It was like two halves that made a whole.

Rachel only realized that she’d been asleep because when she opened her eyes it was just first light. Dark purple clouds looked as if they were trying to hide the approaching light in the eastern sky.

She sat up abruptly.

All that was left of the fire was cold ashes.

She was alone.

Before she could think of anything else, before she had time to be sad, she knew that she had to hurry.

With frantic effort she quickly gathered up her few things—the blanket, the flint and steel, the waterskin—stuffing them into the saddlebags. She saw the horse not far away, watching her.

She had to make sure not to run the horse too hard. If she ran the horse and it died, then Rachel would be on foot.

And then the ghostie gobblies would get her.