Origins: A Deepwoods Book - a Collection of Deepwoods Short Stories (Deepwoods Series 0) (4 page)

The food was set in front of them with a clatter of plates,
and the issue of friendship was abruptly shelved as he was presented with real
food. Like a voracious wolf, he devoured all three chickens, the four pieces of
flatbread and two tankards of cider without pausing for breath.

Siobhan’s hand came up and she patted him on the shoulder.
“Slow down, man, slow down. Eat too fast, and your stomach will rebel.”

She was right. He forced himself to stop and breathe.

“Now. Tell me, how did you lose the hand and how long ago
was that?”

Looking into those innocent eyes, he found he couldn’t tell
her the full gory story and instead shortened it to the basics. “In a fight,
three months ago.”

“So it’s healed?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Concerned, she put her tankard down. “What, it’s still not
healed?”

“Infection set in at first,” he explained hesitantly. He
didn’t want her to think that she’d have to spend even more money on him.
Medicines were expensive. “But that’s cleared up now. I just kept bumping it
against things, and it kept re-opening. It’s healing now, though.”

Not taking his word for it, she drew his hand to her, and
unwrapped it. He studied her expression as the filthy wrapping fell free. Her
eyes went wide with horror, mouth opening.

“You call
that
healing?!” she demanded incredulously.
“Look at it! So red and puffy, and…no. No, this won’t do. Goodman, where’s a
decent surgeon or apothecary?”

The goodman leaned over the side of the cart to take a look.
He let out a low whistle before saying, “That’s nasty looking. Vidal is who you
want. Down this street, take a right at the white tent, and two streets over.
His clinic is on the corner, has a red door on it. He’s a bit pricey, but his
medicine works the best.”

Siobhan nodded understanding. “He needs that right now. How
much do I owe you?”

“Four coppers.”

Erik found himself floundering, not sure how to reassure her
that if he just had time to clean it properly and wrap it, the arm would heal.
That expression on her face reminded him eerily of his mother when she had a
mad-on, and he didn’t want to open his mouth and cross her. Besides, she hadn’t
flinched at the idea of buying medicine for him. He had not yet seen the end of
her generosity.

Siobhan paid the man, slipped off the stool, and once again
towed Erik by the hand after her. This time, he kept his injured hand close to
his chest, more leery of it being banged against something with the bandage
off. He found the hand, so dainty and slim in his own, comforting and strange
in equal measure. It was with great care that he returned the grip without
crushing her fingers.

They followed the goodman’s directions, weaving their way in
and out of people, small herds of animals, and carts, and found the clinic
without trouble. Giving a single knock on the door, Siobhan pushed the red door
aside and stepped in. “Hello!”

“Hello!” a male voice returned from just out of sight.

Erik blinked as he came through, eyes adjusting to the
dimmer interior. The place smelled odd, probably because of all the herbs
tacked to the ceiling, hanging out to dry. But it was clean and tidy. Two
narrow beds were side by side against the far wall, there was a table to his
immediate left filled with herbs, jars, and a stone pedestal. From a back door,
a man appeared, looking clean cut and presentable, if older. He had to be at
least in his fifties with that grey streaked hair. A professional smile creased
his face as he greeted, “I’m Vidal. What can I help you with?”

“I’m Siobhan Maley,” she returned, then gestured to Erik.
“This is my friend, Erik Wolfinsky. As you can see, his arm is in a bad way.
We’re here to get treatment for it.”

The apothecary’s eyes went between them, probably noting the
difference in how they were dressed and their overall condition, but asked no
questions. He came to Erik, gesturing to let him see the arm. Lowering it, Erik
let the man take a good look.

“Hmmm,” Vidal hummed in disapproval. “This is bad, bad
indeed. Infection is setting in. If we don’t give it a strong treatment, it’ll
lead to rot. How long has it been like this?”

“Three months,” Erik answered quietly.

“Good heavens, man, your body is strong to fight it off this
long. Well, take a seat. I’ll make a poultice for this, and wrap it good for
you.” As he went to the table, he asked, “Are you citizens here?”

“No, from Goldschmidt,” Siobhan denied. “We’re passing
through.”

“Then I’ll make up some medicine to go. Make sure you clean
the arm, apply the medicine, and change those bandages twice a day. Once in the
morning, once before retiring. It’s vital to keep it clean. Oh, and I’ll give
you something to drink before you go.” Vidal’s tone became cheerful, in an evil
way. “It’ll taste awful, but work wonders.”

Erik snorted. Medicine always tasted awful.

Vidal was quick and efficient. The poultice was applied, the
arm wrapped neatly in white linen, and the medicine (otherwise known as toxic
green sludge) was given to him within minutes.  As the apothecary wrapped up a
jar of the poultice to go, Siobhan dug out the coins to pay him with.

Only to himself would Erik admit that the arm already felt
better. It no longer ached and itched. Vidal knew his trade well.

They gave cordial goodbyes and exited the clinic. Siobhan
stopped in the doorway and looked about her. “Well, I think we’ve done
everything we need to. Wolfinsky, how about we return to the inn and give you a
proper haircut? And a shave? I don’t mind if you have a beard or not—you’ve
seen Beirly’s—but yours is so matted that I think you best start from scratch.”

“I don’t actually prefer beards,” he told her honestly.

“Then let’s get rid of it.” With a wink, she took his hand
again and started off. “Inn’s this way.”

Siobhan didn’t cut his hair or beard herself, but had
someone else at the inn do it. She told him without guile that she was terrible
at cutting hair, and it’d be best for him if someone else do it. But she stayed
nearby as his hair was cut, and explained a few things to him.

Deepwoods was an escorting guild that had barely been in
business for the past few months. They were still building up a client list and
getting the word out, but they were doing well for themselves. Mostly because
one of the members, a man called Grae, was a Pathmaker. In fact, it was for his
sake that the guild had been formed. She, Grae, and Beirly were apparently
childhood friends, all from Widstoe. They had moved to Goldschmidt and started
a guild there because they’d heard it would be the best place to start. So far,
it seemed to be true, as they were making a decent living at it.

This seemed a humble description to Erik, as he had just
seen this woman spend an incredible amount of money on him in just two hours.
If she could afford to do that, then she was doing better than ‘decent.’

Beirly came in just after the haircut was finished, two
wrapped bundles in his arms. He took in the sight of Erik and gave a grudging
nod of approval. “You look better. Don’t think we were properly introduced
before. Name’s Beirly Kierkegaard.”

Erik stood and offered a hand, even though it was his left
one. “Erik Wolfinsky.”

Pleased by this show of manners, Beirly set everything aside
on a table and accepted the handshake, clasping it firmly. “Well, now,
Wolfinsky. Seems you have quite a story to tell. But we’ll wait for Grae to
show up so you don’t have to repeat yourself. For now, why don’t you follow me
up to my room and try on these clothes, see what fits.”

Nodding acceptance, he scooped up one bundle with his good
hand and followed the man up the stairs.

The inn was a nice one, tidy if not perfectly clean, and the
rooms a fair size. There were two beds in the room, large enough even for him,
with a washstand in a corner and a window that looked out over a busy street.
Erik put the bundle down on one bed and opened it clumsily with his hand, the
twining giving him some trouble.

Without a word, Beirly came over and yanked the knot free,
then stepped back again so he could unwrap it and sort through the clothes. The
silent help, without mockery, was a kindness that he appreciated.

The clothes were obviously used but all of good quality and
in fair condition. He counted three shirts—one of which might not fit—two pairs
of pants, a vest, several pairs of socks and undergarments, and one pair of
boots that looked scuffed but serviceable. Without any real care of coloring or
style, he tried on the first thing that came to hand and found the fit decent,
if a bit tight in the shoulders and thighs.

“When she gets you back up to weight, we’ll have to special
order clothes for you,” Beirly noted aloud, almost idly. “As it is, you’re
half-starved and barely fitting into these.”

Truly. But oh, the feel of proper clothes on and a full
belly. He felt human again. It was perhaps because of this feeling that he
asked what he should not have. “Why…did you let us go off alone?”

Beirly didn’t answer him, just looked back at him steadily.

“I’m a former mercenary, a dark guildsman,” Erik pressed,
becoming more indignant as the words tumbled free. “Even with this,” he waved
his missing hand in the air, “gone, didn’t you realize how easily I can hurt
her? Why by sweet mercy would you be so reckless with her?”

Beirly’s shoulders slumped and he let out a slow breath.
“Just once, just
once
, she’s going to be wrong.”

“What?” he demanded in confusion.

“It hasn’t happened yet, but surely it will at some point.”
Beirly shook his head, seeming more amused than anything. “Wolfinsky, I’ll tell
you straight. In all the years I’ve known that girl, she’s never been wrong
about a man’s character. She sees straight to the heart of people. It’s why
Grae and I insisted she be the guildmaster. She looked at you, she saw
something I didn’t see, and that was what made her trust you. I knew that look
on her face well, and it’s why I didn’t argue. Not much good comes from arguing
with her. Stubborn, that one.”

“But she could have been wrong,” he insisted, becoming
agitated.

“Oh, true, she could have been. But the way you’re taking me
to task about her safety says clear as day she wasn’t. For that matter, the
look on your face back there told me she was right.”

Look on his face…what was the man talking about?

“Don’t know what I’m saying, eh?” Beirly chuckled. “Your
heart was in your eyes then. Still is, whenever you look at her. And that’s
why, Erik Wolfinsky, I knew that she wouldn’t be hurt by you.”

Erik rubbed his hand over his face in despair. Fools. They
were all fools. Kind and generous ones, but fools nonetheless. The idea that
they would try this again in the future, with some other dark guildsman, made
his heart drop into this stomach and writhe.

Beirly nodded toward the door. “Let’s go back down. She’ll
want to see you dressed properly.”

 He obediently trooped back down the stairs, but his
indignation and worry didn’t ease. Erik was not a deep or complicated man. He
was good to the people that were good to him, it was simple as that. That
beautiful redhead downstairs had saved him from hell itself and shown him
kindness and sympathy, but not pity. He wanted to give whatever he could in
return for that grace. He might have spent seven years in darkness, but he
still remembered what kindness and integrity were. Or at least, he thought he
did.

And it seemed to him, that with these reckless habits of
hers, she needed his help. Whether she realized it or not.

Erik had to duck to clear the door back into the taproom. In
the middle of the room, Siobhan sat at a table with a man he didn’t recognize
beside her. Erik’s first impression of the man was ‘frail.’ Thin, in body and
face, with high cheeks, brown hair but with tan skin. He dressed well, like a
scholar, and his eyes spoke of intelligence. When Erik stopped at the table,
those blue eyes went wide with surprise and nervousness. Ah, finally, a normal
reaction.

Siobhan either didn’t note this reaction of her companion
(unlikely) or didn’t care, as she blithely introduced them. “Grae, this is Erik
Wolfinsky. He’ll serve as our translator and guide when we go into Wynngaard
next month. Wolfinsky, this is Grae Masson, our Pathmaker.”

So. This was the man responsible for Deepwoods’ creation.
Erik saw immediately why he didn’t work alone like most Pathmakers. This was
not a man that would be able to handle the world on his own. He wouldn’t do
well in confrontations. Putting the thought aside, he ducked his head at the
man. “Masson.”

“Wolfinsky,” Grae returned, manner and tone cautious. The
look he shot Siobhan was one of incredulity. “So, ah, we are traveling into
Wynngaard with him. Then what?”

“Well, then we meet up with his family and return him home.”

That let Grae breathe a little easier. “Ah.”

“Let’s eat an early dinner, shall we?” Siobhan suggested,
already turning to wave down one of the serving girls. “I’d rather leave early
in the morning and get home soon. We have a lot to do.” She placed an order for
food, and lots of it before settling back. “Wolfinsky, you don’t have to go
into details, give me a basic history. Where are you from exactly?”

“Reske.” 

Grae shrunk back in his chair at the tone.

“Reske?” Siobhan parroted, expression blank. “Where’s that?”

She really wasn’t that familiar with Wynngaardian geography,
was she. “Far western coast, up in the mountains.”

“Hmmm.” Siobhan screwed her mouth up sideways in a gesture
of contemplation. “That’s an area where we have no paths. We’ll have to travel
the usual way, I suppose. From Brevik to Reske, how far is it?”

“Five days on horseback, more or less.” Why, why wasn’t she
asking any of the usual questions? Frustrated, he frowned darkly at her. “Why
aren’t you asking me how I came to be a slave?”

“I would love to have the story,” she admitted with open
frankness. “But the way you’ve been growling at me makes me think you don’t
want to tell it.”

She had that right. As grateful as he was, Erik was not at
all sure he trusted this woman enough to tell her his full history. Still, if
she were to take him back home, she’d have to know at least the bare bones of
it. Grudgingly, he pried his mouth open just enough to give her basic facts.

“I was kidnapped from Reske when I was fourteen. A dark
guild bought me as a fighter. I stayed there seven years until I lost the hand.
After that, my guild was wiped out by another guild. They took anyone that
survived and sold them to a slave merchant.”

Beirly let out a low whistle. “Seven years in a dark guild?
That’s a long stretch to survive in a guild like that. You’re either insanely
lucky or insanely strong.”

Not seeing any condemnation, he relaxed a hair. “A little of
both,” he agreed. “Even the loss of the hand is turning out to be good luck.”

“Yes, it is,” Siobhan confirmed with a wink. “After all, I
wouldn’t have met you if you hadn’t lost it.”

He’d realized at some point that losing the hand meant
getting him free of the dark guilds. But it wasn’t until she said it that he
understood their paths would never have crossed if he’d not lost his hand.
Struck by this thought, he looked down at the clean bandage covering his stump.

Was fate cruel to him, or kind?

ӜӜӜ

Siobhan got an extra room just for him, one with a larger
bed that he could stretch out on. In spite of this comfort, he found he
couldn’t sleep. He was in the best situation he had been in in seven years, so
he should have dropped off immediately, but his mind spun and wouldn’t let him
rest.

Restless, edgy, he threw back the covers and slipped his new
boots back on before stealing out of the room and to the one next door. With a
careful motion, he turned the handle and eased the door open soundlessly. Then
he just stopped in the doorway and stared at the woman sleeping so peacefully.
Moonlight came in through the window and highlighted her hair, her cheeks,
making her look even more vulnerable than she had in the daylight. Watching
her, a long forgotten instinct surged within him, clamoring at the back of the
mind.

Protect.

He shoved that protective instinct aside and focused on more
practical thoughts. What was truly bothering him was that she had assumed his
family would pay her back for expenses. That was clear from the conversation
over dinner. And she was likely right, but he was not a man that went along for
a free ride. Yes, that was what set ill with him. He wouldn’t just hang about
waiting to answer whatever questions she had. The other two men weren’t
unskilled at fighting, but they were certainly inferior to him. He’d talk her
into buying him a sword and shield before leaving, and then he’d work off what
she had paid out for him. That was the best way.

Satisfied, he turned and retreated back to his own room as
quietly as he had come.

ӜӜӜ

“A sword and shield?” Siobhan repeated in surprise over
breakfast the next morning.

“You don’t have an enforcer in this guild,”
which is
suicide
, he wanted to add. “And it doesn’t sit well with me for you to just
support me until we get to my home. So, buy me a sword and shield and I’ll work
as your enforcer until we get to Reske.”

Siobhan gestured to his injured arm with her fork. “Can you
fight with your arm like that?”

Erik gave her quite the look for that question.

She held up a hand in surrender, eyes laughing. “Fine, fine,
it was a stupid question. A sword and shield, eh? Well, I admit it would be
nice to have a designated enforcer in the guild, even if for a short spell.
Beirly, Grae, what do you think?”

Grae clearly thought that putting weapons into the hands of
a former dark guildsman was madness and a sure method to get stabbed in the
back. Beirly seemed more impartial to this and lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
“Don’t see why not. Reckon it would help, as the caravan is bigger than we
first planned on. But how you’re going to hold a shield with that arm, that’s
what I’d like to know.”

“Oh?” Siobhan arched a brow at him, challengingly. “And here
I thought a fix-it man like yourself could figure out how to modify a shield so
he could hold it.”

Beirly rolled his eyes. “Yes, guildmaster, I’ll figure it
out.”

“Thank you, dearling.” Satisfied, she turned back to Erik.
“We’ll go shopping after this. I warn you, my purse is a bit sparse at the
moment. If we don’t find something at a good price here, we might wait until we
reach Goldschmidt and shop again there. I can access guild funds and give us a
better price range to work in.”

“If that’s the case, let’s just wait until we’re back at
your guild hall.”

“That we’ll do, then.” 

They finished breakfast in silence, amiable on Beirly and
Siobhan’s part, and in nervous tension on Grae’s. The man was truly not
comfortable in Erik’s presence. But he was used to such a reaction and tried
not to let it bother him much.

Grae escaped upstairs first with the excuse of packing his
bag, and they all did likewise. Siobhan surprised him by following him straight
up and inside. He stopped dead in the middle of the room and gave her a look
askance.

“We have to reapply your poultice and put new bandages on,
remember?” she responded as if he had asked the question aloud.

Oh, right. It wouldn’t be something he could do with just
one hand.

Erik sat on the edge of the bed and waited as she dug out
clean bandages, the jar of medicine, and a towel from the washbasin. She sat
directly across from him, one leg tucked up under the other, and spread the
towel across her lap. Then she took his arm and with gentle fingers undid the
bandage.