Confessor (Sword of Truth 11)

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, kindhearted 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, R

achel 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.