“Annis, my name is Annis,” she said, pleased she’d be welcome for the night and surprised that the village was part of Brogan’s clan. Surely, he would have spoken to the man with the tale about the witch. And why had searches for the other two cursed lords been halted?
“Garda,” the woman said, patting her chest, then with a quick wave signaled other women to hurry over. “This is Annis, sister to Bliss, the woman who wed Lord Rannick.”
The women spoke over each other offering their appreciation, and blessing Annis and Bliss, and all offering her shelter and food for the night, though Garda dismissed their offers.
“Annis will stay with me,” Garda said, and no one argued with her.
“What a skilled hand you have with making needles,” one woman said.
“It’s the way you use the stone,” Annis said. “Here, let me show you.”
Annis was eager to ask again about the man she searched for, but she knew if she spent some time with the women, they would be more likely to tell her what she wanted to know without probing. Besides, she did enjoy showing the women how to make hardy-formed needles.
Benches were gathered so all could sit, and cider was offered, a bit bitter to her taste, but it quenched her thirst and that was what mattered.
Talk soon turned to Brogan.
“Did you meet, Lord Brogan?” one woman asked.
“I have and he thinks highly of himself,” Annis said.
The women laughed.
One spoke up. “And for good reason. He possesses the finest features I have ever seen on a man.”
All of them nodded, and one said, “But who wants a husband who never dies?”
“Annis hopes to change that,” Garda said, and every eye turned wide. “She is here to speak with Nolan.”
“He tells tall tales,” one woman said.
“He convinced me,” another offered.
A tall woman shivered. “I would not care to find out one way or the other.”
“Has Nolan even been seen lately?” another woman asked.
A plump woman laughed. “Spread the word someone is here to talk to him about the witch and he’ll appear.”
The women did just that after dispersing, happy with the needles they had made.
A knock sounded on Garda’s door as she and Annis sat down at a small table to enjoy cabbage soup.
Garda went to the door. “That will be Nolan.”
A short, wiry man with sparse gray hair bobbed his head. “Heard someone was looking for me, Garda, and that I’d find her here.”
“You heard right,” Garda said. “Come in and warm yourself with some cabbage soup.”
“That’s generous of you, Garda, and appreciated,” Nolan said with another bob of his head.
Annis smiled as Nolan sat on the bench Garda had added to the table, obviously having expected the man.
“I’m Annis, Nolan, the one looking to speak with you,” Annis said with a smile.
“Glad to meet you, Annis,” Nolan said and got busy on his soup.
Annis did the same, realizing the man was hungry and would be more forthcoming to questions once he filled his stomach.
“More, Nolan?” Garda asked, the man having emptied his bowl fast.
“If you don’t mind? It’s delicious soup, Garda,” Nolan said and handed the empty bowl to her.
“Would you be willing to tell me the tale about your encounter with the witch in the hills?” Annis asked and was surprised at the question she got in return.
“Why do you want to know?” Nolan asked.
Garda turned a raised brow on him. “What difference does it make to you? You’re always willing to recite the tale.”
“It makes a difference,” he said with a strong nod. “I heard tell that she wants to find the witch and I don’t want any part of what might happen to her if she does find her.”
“Have no fear of that,” Annis said. “I do this of my own accord and lay no blame on you for what may come of it. I want nothing more than to hear your tale.”
Garda’s brow narrowed this time and she held firm to the bowl of soup, as if letting him know—no tale, no soup.
“At first I thought I was dreaming,” Nolan said quickly, and Garda placed the bowl in front of him and he cupped his hands around it to stop them from trembling. “The mist was so thick I could barely see in front of me, when moments before it had been light. A dream. I told myself it had to be a dream, but I couldn’t recall falling asleep.” He shivered and took a sip of the soup. “I had no choice but to stop walking. I couldn’t see a thing in front of me. That’s when I realized how quiet it was, not a sound to be heard. Not a cry of a bird. Not a scurry of animals. Not even a rustle of the leaves. It had gone completely silent. Life is filled with sounds. It’s never silent. That was when I was convinced I was dreaming.”