“We are,” Athan answered, his voice kept calm and genial while his free hand kept Dnara behind him. “A good evening to you, fellow travelers. What news have you?”
“Oh, same news as yesterday,” the one in the front responded, his white cotton shirt stained in sweat and dirt and possibly blood. “And the day before that one, and the day before that one. Blight everywhere, spreading like a corpsevine, choking out a man’s livelihood and making folks desperate.”
“A sorry truth,” Athan replied. “Blight be damned.”
“Blight be damned,” most of the men replied in unison, four of them spitting into the dirt next to their feet.
The talkative one took a step closer. “Times seemed to have fared better for you, traveler. Your mule looks quite burdened by goods.”
“Hardly,” Athan replied. “Spent days gathering a few briarbears and young yew branches from the Thorngrove, and I have the scratches to prove it. All the elk have gone. It’s slim pickings for any man these days, be they farmer or forester.”
“The Thorngrove?” one of the other men asked, his eyebrows high. “Must be a desperate man to go in there.”
“Quiet,” the leader admonished.
“Is true, that,” another in the group voiced. “Is ghosts in them trees, there is, and rabid wolves the size of grizzlies.”
“And thorns,” Athan reminded. “Mustn’t forget the thorns.”
“Yes, yes, ghosts and wolves and thorns,” the leader summed up, sounding annoyed. “Be that as it may, dear friend, what you have is more than we, and so we come humbly to ask if you can spare... let us say half? Half for you, half for the seven of us. Seems a reasonable toll to cross the Rose bridge.”
“But, Jorn,” a big man in the back spoke. “There’s only six of us.”
Jorn turned and slowly counted a man on each finger. Meanwhile, Athan gently coaxed Dnara back a few more steps and handed her Treven’s reins. What he intended her to do with them was unclear, but she clutched them as tightly as she clutched the cloth-cradled jam jar to her chest.
“Huh, so there is,” Jorn finally said after counting through the men twice. “Could’ve sworn there were- Well, whatever.” He shrugged and turned back to Athan. “A toll’s a toll, and it remains fifty percent.”
“I’m afraid that would leave us too little, friend,” Athan replied. “My wife, you see, is with child.”
A subtle gasp could be heard from the group of men, their weary eyes opening wider. All, except for their leader. Jorn glared past Athan’s arm where Dnara peeked past. “C’mon out, girl. Let me see you.”
“But, Jorn,” the big one at the back timidly argued. “If she’s with a little one-”
“I said quiet, Yorn,” Jorn bit back. “Dullard,” he muttered. “If you weren’t my brother...” He returned his attention to Dnara. “C’mon, girl. I ain’t gon’ hurt no girl with a babe in her belly, miracle as that would be.”
Confused by his curiosity and his last words, Dnara stepped out from the protection afforded by Athan’s presence. Her hands remained clutched to the reins and the jam, but she attempted to not look as frightened as she felt. Silently, she thanked Hector and his wife again for the scarf, cloak and shoes which helped her to look less a slave than a poor forester’s wife.
“A pretty one, you are.” Jorn smiled, almost friendly like, as he peered past the shadows in Dnara’s hood. “Young, too. How far along are you, girl?”
Athan stiffened next to her. “She’s-”
“I weren’t askin’ you,” Jorn sneered at Athan then softened back to a smile as he addressed Dnara. “Well, girl?”
Dnara took in a long inhale, stalling for time. She didn’t even know how long a woman carried a baby for, much less how he meant to tell if it were true. Her mind searched through book upon book in her memory, but she’d never read a book on pregnancy. The closest she could come was a bittermint tea for morning illness that normally started at six weeks.
“Not long,” she said to keep it vague. “I’ve just started needing bittermint tea in the mornings.” Next to her, Athan whispered a curse under his breath.
Jorn nodded quietly to himself for a moment. “That’s the most difficult time, ‘the bitter days’ as women call it these days. My sister, she lost two during that time. My cousin, three. And my wife-” He paused to swallow harshly. “Ain’t been a babe born in our family in a generation.”
“Blight be damned,” Athan quietly said, as did all the men standing behind Jorn, confusing Dnara further with the reverent sadness lacing their voices.
Jorn looked up to the sun, inhaled deep then glared back at Athan. “Every man knows, if his wife be with child, she ain’t to leave the bed until the bitter time has safely passed, and she sure as shit wouldn’t be walking through a thorn infested woods. Even then, you’d be a lucky man to see your babe born alive, and Gods’ twice blessed not to lose your wife in the process!”
Jorn’s sudden anger made Dnara take a step back. As confused as she remained, two things had become clear. One, she’d said the wrong thing to make her pregnancy believable. And two, the current dangers of childbearing hadn’t been as prevalent during the time her keeper’s old books had been written.
“But, Jorn,” Yorn tried to quell his brother’s temper. “What if-?”
“Quiet!” Jorn raged, his skin heating red. Behind him, the younger men also took a step back. “They
