A Girl Named Calamity by Danielle Lori

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PAST CATCHING UP

Asoft voice caressed my face. It rolled around my entire body, singing a song of such beauty that it overwhelmed all my senses. A satin fabric of such warmth and softness slid across my skin. Goose bumps appeared with every crescendo. An unexplainable sensual scent was the only thing I could smell. Colors pulsed, dissipated, and appeared in front of my eyes with the rhythm of the song.

No small voice warned me this time.

I moved deeper and deeper into the song, barely registering the sticks and rocks underneath my feet. Soft water took over the fabric; it was so warm as it trickled down my skin . . . and then became ice-cold. I cried out from the jarring transition.

The song was ripped from me, and it felt as though it ripped a chunk of my heart out as well. It left it bloody and raw, and I pressed a hand against my chest to try and keep the rest of my heart from falling to pieces. The colors consuming my vision dissipated, and a woman in a white robe stood before me.

The full moon accentuated the dark hair twisted at the crown of her head in an elegant braid. Her eyes were wide, and black liquid dribbled out of her open lips. I didn’t realize it was red until it dripped onto her white robe. My stare moved to the man behind her. An indifferent gaze stared back at me while the woman sank to the ground, a knife tumbling out of her hands. Her eyes remained open as the last bit of her life left in the red waves that covered her back.

My vision blurred with tears as the ache in my chest took over. It was eating my insides like acid and feeding on the air in my lungs as if to spread to the rest of my body. I choked on a sob, and when Weston wrapped an arm around my waist, I convulsed. My eyes rolled back into my head, and I barely heard the deep voice in my ear. “Sleep.”

I woke up as I was being set down on my pallet by the fire. My muscles were sore, but the intense pain I’d felt dissipated. I had been so sure that I was dying.

I stared at the fire blankly. The pain had been so consuming that I didn’t want to feel or think about anything until a deep voice interrupted the silence.

“It was the song. Her death made you feel the pain,” Weston said. My eyes met his in a blank stare. I was surprised he was voluntarily giving me any information.

“Why did you kill her?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“She was going to kill you.”

Always saving me. When would I be able to save myself?

My mind was void of much activity. It had a shield up after I had sworn I would die; a simple protective maneuver to keep me from losing my mind, and making awful decisions. My body was so exhausted from the pain that I fell asleep minutes later.

* * *

Over the next two days, I traveled obediently behind Weston. The only kind of contact we had was with our eyes. I looked at him with hatred, and he looked at me with indifference. I didn’t know how the silent communication seemed to be working between us, but it was as if we were actually talking.

He didn’t even have the decency to appear guilty about what he was doing. It made my skin heat with anger, and I focused on that, instead of fear and self-pity.

He never gave an explanation for where he was taking me, and I didn’t ask for one. The only thing that made sense was that he wanted the seal open, and he thought he knew where it was. Or he had a thing for blondes and was taking me to a bizarre, sexual torture chamber. I thought that little theory louder than normal.

His amused eyes said, I could sexually torture you right here.

I stopped taunting him after that. It was too playful even in a disturbing way. And I didn’t want to play; I wanted to hurt.

He didn’t even glance my way when I went to the stream to collect my thoughts and wash up. I wished he wouldn’t have left me out of his sight. Because that would have told me that he was worried about me escaping. But instead, his indifference said everything.

He could find me anywhere in this forest.

* * *

When we finally stopped in a metropolis of a city, thoughts of escape were on my mind.

There were enough people here that I should have been able to slip away easier than in the middle of the woods. When Weston paid for two rooms and left the inn, my wide eyes followed him out the door in disbelief. I didn’t doubt he had heard my thoughts of escape, and he would give me free rein in the city? It had worry gnawing at me, but I wouldn’t let it sway my decision.

The sun hadn’t set yet, so I walked down the brick streets to purchase a few things. I bought some more soap and a couple of shirts and pants. I used the money that I was going to pay Weston with. I amused myself with the thought that he wouldn’t get it anymore.

When I ran across a plain wooden building, I was drawn to it and couldn’t stop myself from going in.

A bell dinged as I opened the door and many different scents assailed my nose. They smelled like home. Like Grandmother’s herbs. A sense of melancholy hit me with them.

A young woman stood behind the counter, watching me quizzically before she smiled. “Can I help you find something?” Her smile turned mischievous. “Maybe a potion to help seduce a certain man?”

Did women purchase potions like that? Why not just find a man who wanted them? The woman walked around the counter. “Some women are not as beautiful as you; they could not have a man that you could.”

I grimaced. Oh, perfect. Another mind reader.

She smiled at the thought. “You know another one?”

“Unfortunately,” I grumbled. She laughed melodically, and it brought peace with it. My muscles and mind were too relaxed to be concerned about the sudden change.

“Do you know anything about olian soap?” I asked.

Her lips pursed in thought. “Ah yes, that is a Sylvian wedding tradition, is it not?”

“I believe so, but I’m not certain. An old woman made me wash with it, and afterward men were giving me strange reactions,” I explained.

“Sounds like a bored Sylvian woman,” she mused. “These men . . . some couldn’t leave you alone, and others couldn’t get away faster?”

My eyes lit up. “Exactly!”

“Well, if I remember correctly, the soap smells different to every man. It shouldn’t be detectable by other women besides the one who wears it. The soap shows a man whether he is compatible with you. It will smell rotten to someone not compatible, and will smell tempting to someone who is. The smell varies on the scale of compatibility. In Sylvia, brides wash with the soap before the wedding, and if the scent smells bad to the groom, the wedding is stopped.”

I took all the information in, and was relieved to have some answers. No matter how small they were. Weston and I were clearly on the far side of the incompatibility scale. I remembered his reaction and his disgust. It wasn’t as though I had assumed us to be compatible at all—I was his prisoner.

The woman watched me with interest as I pulled a book off one of her shelves.

Alyria’s History and Prophecies of the Seal.

I blew the dust off the top of the leather bound book. It was too large to carry around, but I was itching to see what was inside.

“Mind if I look at this?” I asked.

“Be my guest.” She gestured to the corner of the room where a small wooden table and chair sat. I swore they hadn’t been there before, and I looked hesitantly back at her, but she only smiled.

I sat down at the table, and the old book crinkled while I opened it. Goose bumps covered my arms as I read the very first sentence.

The future of Alyria lies in the hands of one woman. The daughter of a king and the daughter of a whore.

A shiver went down my spine at the truth of my mother. But if I were the daughter of a king, surely I wouldn’t have lived in a cottage. I might have been a bastard, but a king’s bastard was still treated better than a common peasant.

Her hair as fair as the wheat in the West, her eyes as dark and expressive as Lake Clare and mind as strong as her body weak.

Another set of shivers went down my spine and I rubbed my arms. That hit home. I read another passage of when they believed ‘the woman’ was to be born, which wasn’t for about another two-hundred years.

But I supposed I wasn’t very patient.

I flipped to the page Supposed Locations. The entire page was blank. If no one had any idea where it was, then how did Weston know? There were hardly any details about what the seal looked like. Some believed it was protected by the Mountain People in the East. They were mute, and it was assumed they lost their voices so they couldn’t tell anyone about the seal, and were cursed so that if it was found, they would all die painful deaths.

What kind of life would you have if you couldn’t talk anyway?

I glanced over at the woman, and my stomach dropped as I forgot she could read my thoughts. I closed the book and carried it over to the shelf, reluctantly sliding it in between the others.

Her smile was wicked at what I asked her next.

“What do you have that can knock someone out for a few hours?”