v
Óraithe
The packing was nearly done. By late afternoon at the worst, they would be prepared to set out toward the Bastion City. It had been two days of seemingly endless problems and worries. The organization of five hundred people and all of their needs had proved to be an exercise in extreme patience. Like tending to children. Scaa seemed born for it. Óraithe often found herself watching Scaa placate people and direct them one way or another, adopting a tone fit for the attitude of each of her charges. She thought of Bonn and regretted that Scaa had lost him. It was nearing noon now and the two of them walked around the city doing final checks in places that had said they were prepared. A train of wagons and carts ran into the square. Toward the middle there was a barouche that had been presented to her just after breakfast. The beaming pride of Callaire and Borr and a dozen others. It was found disused in a storehouse when they’d first arrived. They had worked to put it into better shape since before she’d appeared from the desert and gifting it to her seemed the obvious thing to do. It was quiet along the far end of town, a welcome break.
“It is all strange,” Óraithe said, kicking idly at the dirt as they walked.
Scaa stretched and let out a yawn. “Strange isn’t the half of it.”
“I have thought of near nothing else since the first day I set foot outside of our little house. When we began, we were alone. We were naive and ignored and more a nuisance than anything. Are we not still that?”
“Well,” Scaa sighed. “I cannot say I understand it myself. I feel as you do most days. Every single word I speak to give instruction or orders, I wait for a hand across the face or spittle and screaming. When they do not come, I feel almost as if something has gone wrong. That the world is no longer real.”
“Best not to think over the hearts of others, I suppose. I doubt if I will ever be comfortable watching people bow to me. Elders, especially. I want to pull them up half the time and shake them.”
“I doubt it would help. They would just feel blessed to have been shaken by Mistress Óraithe.” Scaa laughed and nudged her with an elbow.
“If only I was so respected in private.” Óraithe rolled her eyes.
They were nearing the end of their work and most of the doors to houses had been left open to signal that they had been emptied. A small house with a faded blue door still remained shut.
“Ah, this one.” Scaa turned to it. “An old fishwife from the Bastion City.”
“A fishwife?”
“So she calls herself. Husband bought imported fish and fancied himself a sea captain’s more like it.”
Scaa knocked at the door and an old woman called from behind it.
“Comin’ ya bloody— Ach!”
A loud thunk sounded and some curses followed. The door swung open a second later. The woman was old, face well-marked with deep crevices and dark spots. One of her eyes had gone cloudy but her hair, white as it was, was full and beautiful. She brushed a thick stew from her apron.
“Fires take that damned kettle. Near took my soddin’ foot clean off this time.” She finally looked up. “Scaa! And Mistress Óraithe. Oh Sisters be good to me, to see ya here is surely a touch divine. Come in the both of ye, I’ll insist on it, no gabbin’ back at me.”
She practically dragged Scaa into the house and Óraithe followed. There was very little left in the place, only a few pieces of furniture sitting around and in the far room a table. A stewpot sat on the floor. It was large and cast iron. No doubt it was heavy.
“I made a stew. Freshest fish I ever seen and it’s damn good to boot. Go an’ sit.” She pushed Scaa off toward the table in the far room and then turned to Óraithe. “Mistress, if ya could. It would do an old woman’s heart no end of happiness.”
“Of course. I could never turn down a meal.” Óraithe laughed politely and the woman did the same, only louder and happier. “I will join Scaa.”
“Yep, yep. I got a pair of little bowls ‘round here somewhere.”
She followed the old woman into the kitchen area. As the old lady saw to the bowls, Scaa shrugged and smiled wryly. Óraithe had sat when the bowls were placed in front of them and the kettle lugged back to the table. A few hefty ladlefuls filled the bowls near to the top and the woman implored them to eat. She sat at the end of the table and watched them.
“It’s delicious,” Óraithe said, her mouth half full. It was true.
“Course it is! I know fish. Scaa can tell ye. Used to cook every day for my little ones. My man up and died, y’see. Took our livelihood with ‘im. Wouldn’t do business with no wife. Not when there was others champin’ at the bit to take his place afore his body were even cold. Food ain’t so easy to come by in the Low District. Don’t know how it was the Sisters saw fit for an old crone to keep breathin’ but my beautiful boys ought not.” She gave a hacking fit of coughs and wheezed in a breath after they were done. “Don’t imagine it’ll be long now, though.” She laughed. “We all got our time, don’t we?” She stood and grabbed the kettle. “Still, ye’ve given me more to do than I can manage near ‘bout. I’m grateful for it. More than I know. I got children who need feedin’ now so I’ll be takin’ my leave.” She looked at Scaa. “I won’t hold up the train.” She smiled and turned, walking out the door.
Óraithe tipped the bowl and ate a bit more of the stew. “I
