The first woman said, “I’d rather keep going.” Then silence fell except for the soft sounds of the horses hooves in the slight blanket of snow that had fallen while Shay dozed.
Shay shivered. Were they looking for her? On horseback? Most bandits were men. She held her breath and waited to see who rode up on her.
The figures of horses emerged from the snow on the path between her and the stream. Snow spangled their saddles and stuck to their manes and tails. Their riders were the two women who had gone through town, the Healer and the Bard. She recognized them even though they were closely bundled against the cold, bits of red hair escaping from woven hats.
Maybe she was still asleep and dreaming. She clutched the knife hilt tighter, or at least she tried. Her hand was stuck curled tightly around the wood. “Hello?” she rasped, her voice slight.
The first horse was past her, the second right across. They hadn’t heard her! She wasn’t directly on the path, and they’d have to look her way. She took a deep breath and tried to let go of the knife, croaking a disappointed sound when her bare, cold fingers still refused to move.
The woman turned and the horse stopped, and the next thing Shay knew, a cloak was thrown across her shoulders, and a face was close to her, saying her name, “Shay? Shay, is that you? Are you Shay?”
Then she was lying on a blanket by a fire, the warmth and light both slowly seeping into her. Night had finished falling, so all that seemed to exist was the fire and the women and blanket around her. The Healer held a cup and poured a bit of something warm between Shay’s cracked lips. The Bard sang to the fire, something soft and meant to help babies sleep. It was a song Shay had known once, because her mother used to sing it to her. She fell back asleep.
When Shay opened her eyes again, the fire was just as high, but the quality of darkness had turned toward the gray of dawn, although it was still dark enough that the fire lit the falling snowflakes so they looked briefly like sparks. She was lying on her back with her foot on a log, a saddle blanket under her head that smelled like clean horse sweat and snow, and a heavy cloak over her. The Healer was sitting and staring at the fire, and no one was singing except the storm itself, soft and thick and windless, the snow falling in a whisper and sometimes sizzling a tiny bit when it hit a coal just right.
Shay tried to say something, but what came out was more like a squeak.
The Healer turned toward her. “I’m Dionne. I’m glad we found you.”
Shay managed a “M-me t-too.”
“Are you still cold?”
“Only a little”
Dionne reached for a cup that sat on a little bank of coals away from the hottest part of the fire and held it up. “Will you drink some more tea?”
Shay tried to sit up, and then Dionne was beside her lifting her up and whispering. “Rhi?”
“Mmhhmmmm . . . .not morning yet.” The protest emerged muffled from a pile of blankets.
“She’s awake,” Dionne said as she lifted the cup so Shay could drink.
“Mmmmmhhhhh. It’s snowing. Leave me alone.” But the blankets moved, and the woman sat up and smiled at Shay. “Hello. I think we just found you in time.”
“Tha . . . thank you.” Shay said, and took another sip of the bitter tea ,which seemed to warm her blood so her whole body got a little warmer. She took two more sips before she asked, “Why did you come?”
The Bard answered. “You needed to be found.” She pulled on boots that had been left close enough to the fire to be warm. “Master Johaness sent us after you.”
The innkeeper? “He doesn’t like me.”
Dionne took the cup for her and set it back on the coals, letting Shay lie back down all the way. “He sure seemed worried when he caught up to us on that great big beast of his.”
The idea of the innkeeper riding after her refused to sit in her head. “Why didn’t he come himself?” At least her words were coming out better.
“Maybe he thought you needed Healing.” Dionne said.
“Or a song,” the other woman answered.
She hadn’t been close enough to see how much the women looked alike. “Are you twins?”
“The twin with no manners is my sister, Rhiannon.” Dionne said it gently, almost teasing. “And now that you can talk, your ankle is swollen. Is there anything else wrong?”
Shay shook her head.
Dionne bent down over Shay’s foot and took the swollen ankle in both of her hands. At first nothing happened, then it felt a little warmer, and then it felt a lot warmer. When Dionne took her hands away she cocked her head and asked, “Is that better?”
Shay could move her ankle. “Much better. Thank you.”
“Can you sit up?” Dionne asked.
For answer, Shay sat up and held her hands out to the fire. “Are you going to take me home?”
The two women exchanged glances full of meaning Shay couldn’t read. “Do you want to go there?”
“No.”
They answered with silence for a bit. Then the Bard, Rhiannon, said, “I heard your mom died. I’m sorry.”
Shay swallowed. “Me, too.”
“What did you plan to do?” Dionne asked, her voice gentle.
So they must have talked to people in town, knew she didn’t have any family. It sounded as though no one had been willing to take care of her. That stung.
She threw a stick into the fire, marveling again that her ankle didn’t hurt when she shifted her weight. She watched the stick burn, thinking. Slow and steady. “Do you need someone to help you?” she asked. “I don’t have a horse.”
“Where were you going?” Dionne asked.
Shay kept her head down. “I don’t know.”
“Do you have family anywhere?”
Shay felt like Dionne’s questions punched her. Adults did this a lot. Avoided answering her questions by asking questions of their own. The small hope that they had really been looking for her felt even smaller now. They’d been doing their jobs. Saving people stupid enough to get into trouble. The thought made Shay laugh, the unfamiliar taste of bitterness burning the back of her throat. She was used to avoiding people, used to being laughed at and yelled at, but since so much of what people teased her about was true, she deserved those things. They seemed fair. But she had wanted these smart women on the beautiful horses to want her.
At least they didn’t ask her again when she didn’t answer, but just let her sit and watch the flames.
After a while she noticed that Rhiannon had started singing again. Both women were moving around camp. Shay should help. She stood up, but Dionne said, “Sit down a bit longer. I’ve got something for you to do there.” Sure enough, she showed up with two metal sticks, each with a sausage on the end. “Hold these over the fire. They’re cooked, so they just need to be warmed.”
Shay kept one stick in each hand, turning them slowly, her belly waking up at the rich fat dripping onto the coals.
They stopped feeding the fire while they ate, and then the women were careful that it was all the way out. Shay approved. They might not be slow and careful, but it was the careful part that mattered. She liked these women a lot even if they didn’t need her to help them.
Snow fell off and on all the next day, although thankfully no winter wind came with it. Shay couldn’t sleep in the saddle behind Rhiannon--the horse was too tall and swayed too much. But she had wanted to ride for all her life, and she might not ever ride again. So by the time they made camp, she fell exhausted and cold and pleased onto the ground. Dionne took one look at her and covered her up with the damp cloak. It was still dry inside even if was heavy and smelled of wet horse.
Shay drifted, listening to the murmur of the women’s voices and the sounds of wood being gathered, thwacked together to knock off snow, and piled. She should be up helping them since gathering wood was something she did well, but her body didn’t want to move. So she lay still, warm enough under the blanket to think, and thought about how to be helpful. If only she could prove that she could be a good helper, maybe Dionne and Rhiannon would want her.
