A bittersweet smile touched Aedan’s face. “Well, we’re home,” he said.
They spoke few words as he lit a fire in the hearth. Fortunately, a small pile of firewood remained beside it. She sat, staring into the flames as he took the lantern up a ladder to a small mezzanine, most likely used as a storage space.
“Nothing,” he said when he joined her again. “Not a scrap of straw to set your head upon.”
For days she’d been looking forward to a comfortable bed. “That’s alright.”
“When I received news of my uncle’s death, I heard that he had, in later years, fallen upon hard times. He must have sold the furniture. He would have done all he could to keep from having to sell this place. It’s not much but it’s been in the family for generations.”
A sharp thud came from an adjoining room and Kaetha jumped.
“Hello there?” Aedan called, jumping to his feet.
Picking up the lantern, he walked to the door, gesturing that she should stand back. When he opened it, there was a scuffling.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Aedan. At first, Kaetha thought he was talking to her. Kaetha peeked into the room. It was a pantry leading into the garden. There were shelves with a few pots and plenty of mouse droppings but, apart from that, the room seemed bare, marks on the floor indicating where a table had once stood. Bending under the lantern, Kaetha saw that there was a lad in a corner of the room, a knife in his hand.
“It’s alright,” said Aedan. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
Kaetha was more concerned that the boy would hurt them but when she looked at him, she saw fear rather than aggression. His hands trembled as they gripped the hilt of the knife and his round, dark eyes stared with the wildness of a caged animal.
“You’re safe from us, lad,” said Aedan, holding up his empty hand.
The boy’s clothes were shabby, his limbs scrawny and there were shadows under his eyes. The cat stood behind Kaetha, ears pricked up, tail swishing.
“I’m not a thief,” exclaimed the boy.
“I’m sure you’re not,” said Aedan. “Just put down the knife.” When he didn’t respond, Aedan took his own knife from its sheath. The boy flinched. Then Aedan dropped his knife on the floor.
“What’s your name?” asked Kaetha.
He stared at her, pointing his knife towards her now.
Then she fetched her bag, taking out some of Hetty’s oatcakes and a waterskin. “Here,” she said, holding out them out.
He looked from the garden door to Kaetha. Then, tentatively, he placed his knife on a shelf and took the waterskin from Kaetha. He drank long gulps, using his sleeve to wipe the water which spilled down his chin.
“I’d like to know why you’re hiding in my house,” said Aedan.
The lad tensed and made for the door but Kaetha reached him first and took his hand with gentle firmness.
“Come,” she said, leading him to the fire. She sat down. “Sit,” she said, and, after some hesitation, he did so.
“Good. Warm yourself, lad. You’re shivering,” said Aedan. “Will you tell us who you are? Where’s your family?”
The stranger stared at the floor. “Gone.”
“Where have they gone?” asked Kaetha but the boy didn’t answer. “I’m Kaetha and this is my pa, Aedan Baird. What’s your name?”
“My name?” he looked so deep in thought that he did not seem to understand the question at first. “Donnan,” he said, finally.
“Well, Donnan, it’s late,” said Aedan. “We can talk properly in the morning but now we should get some sleep.” He handed Donnan a blanket. “For tonight, you’re welcome to share our hearth,” he said, laying himself down between Donnan and Kaetha, “and I’m sure you’ll be so good as to leave your knife in the other room.”
“Aye,” said Donnan. “I will.”
The fire burned low. Propping herself up, Kaetha looked over at Donnan as he slept. She wondered what had brought him here and what hardships he had been through. He could be about her age, she thought, though whilst he was a taller than her, he looked skinnier, as though he’d not eaten enough for months.
“Goodnight, Donnan,” she whispered.
She heard a crash but she knew that this sound was in her head, not in the house. It was just like when she had said Gaoth’s name and had heard the cry of the owl. In her mind’s eye, she saw a window and, peering through it, she saw blood spill over stones. Armed men approached the house and someone grabbed her arm, pulling her into another room, away from the cries and screams outside. Then it seemed as though she was hiding somewhere dark and there was a thud – thud – thud – and a crack as a door was broken down. She heard voices. People pleading, begging, screaming. Then silence. Coward, she accused herself. Then she realised she was not blaming herself for anything. Donnan was calling himself a coward.
Her heart galloped in her chest as she glanced back at him, hoping that this dream she had accidentally intruded upon came from his imagination rather than his memory. It had seemed so real that she feared it was the latter. For days, she had focussed on her own misfortunes but that night, she dwelt upon those of this stranger.
Kaetha woke to the sound of charred wood
