“Oh, this is bigger than I was expecting,” Rayne said softly.
Caelan had to agree. The huts and various wooden buildings were clustered tightly together, making it difficult to determine how many there were, but just by the number of people moving about on the dirt paths and roads, the village had to contain a few hundred people. Considering the way Gilea had reacted to the mention of Green Spring, Caelan had always imagined that Hidden Falls was a smaller offshoot. So, how freaking big was Green Spring?
Naturally, the follow-up to that was, how were there this many people living in the Ordas with no one knowing about it?
For centuries, the leaders of Erya had believed that all of the Ordas was completely wild. There were no villages or humans living here.
But now he was faced with an entire village.
“What are the chances these people look on us as friends rather than enemies?” Eno inquired in a low voice.
“I think that all depends on what Gilea tells them,” Rayne replied softly.
The young woman in question ran forward, joining the nearest group of people watching them from the edge of the town. They couldn’t hear what she was saying, but her expression was happy excitement while she gestured wildly. Eyes darted from them to Gilea, while the knot in Caelan’s stomach tightened. He could protect his companions from an attack, allowing them to escape through the cave, but he didn’t want to risk hurting any of these villagers. Their intention would only be to protect their homes and families from intruders.
When Gilea lifted the edge of her torn shirt and pointed to her new scar, it was easy to guess that she’d moved on to the part of the story where Rayne was a god and saved her life.
“Let’s hope they are looking for a benevolent god,” Caelan said out of the corner of his mouth.
“That’s not funny. I’m not a god, and I am certainly not worthy of anyone’s worship.”
Caelan was all too happy to argue that the existing gods weren’t worthy of worship, but he pushed that thought aside. “Maybe not, but you’re worthy of her gratitude.”
Gilea turned back and gave them a wave, motioning for them to come forward. Before any of them moved, she darted through the crowd and ran deeper into the village. In the blink of an eye, she was gone from sight.
“Shit!” Eno hissed between his teeth. “What do we do now?”
“We approach slowly, hands away from weapons. We let Rayne do the talking,” Caelan answered.
“No pressure, Little Healing God,” Drayce murmured.
Rayne sighed. “Oh yes, none at all.”
As they started their approach, a man stepped away from the crowd. He was shirtless and his pants were ragged on the ends, but they reminded Caelan of…army fatigues. That was unexpected. Caelan motioned for them to stop outside the village and allow the person to come to them. If he was going to warn them away, it was better if they stopped now rather than trying to force their way into the village.
“You’re not from Ilon, are you?” he asked in flawless New Rosanthe rather than the rough Rosarian Rayne had been using. Caelan’s understanding of New Rosanthe was far from perfect, but even he understood what the stranger said.
“No, we’re from Erya,” Caelan replied. “What about you? Were you born in the Ordas?”
The stranger shook his head, some of the brown hair that had been gathered in a loose braid down his back came free and fell across his eyes. “Brightspire. What’s happened? Why are you here? Gilea is telling everyone that he’s a god.” He pointed directly at Rayne, who swallowed hard.
Caelan’s eyes softened for his advisor and he turned his attention to their new friend. “Can we go somewhere and talk? We don’t mean anyone in this village any harm. We’re just trying to get to Green Spring.”
The villager paled and shook his head. “No. You don’t want to go there. You should turn around. Go back to Erya. Forget you ever saw us.”
“We can’t. Please, we need information,” Caelan pressed. “If you could answer some questions, we promise we’ll leave.”
He frowned at the ground for a second. When he lifted his gaze, it was to stare at Rayne. “Can you truly heal the sick?”
“I have healed many injuries, but I can’t promise to cure everything,” his advisor replied.
“We’ll talk, and then I wish for this god to see to our sick,” the man bargained.
“I’ll do it,” Rayne agreed before Caelan could argue with him. There was no way Caelan was going to volunteer Rayne’s services so easily since he knew exactly how drained Rayne would be after healing a few people, but one look at his friend’s stubborn expression made it clear that he was not going to be dissuaded.
After some introductions—that did not include any titles—they followed the man, who turned out to be called Brandt, through a cluster of curious villagers to a two-room home near the middle of the town. Inside, they found a woman cooking over a clay stove, a young child on her hip. Her eyes widened at the sight of the newcomers, but Brandt hurried to her side and brushed a kiss to her cheek as he took the child easily from her arms. Caelan completely missed what Brandt said to the woman as his words were low and too quick for him, but his tone sounded reassuring at least.