Wildling Read Free

Her bread was always light and fresh, unlike the heavy lumps of blackened dough he tended to cook when he tried to make his own. They often exchanged a few friendly words in the town, and she was in the habit of calling him “Blue Eyes” for obvious reasons. But she didn’t come out into the forests. Few did unless they had to. She’d stay close to the village always. And if by some strange circumstance she did have the need to come out into the forest she wouldn’t do it alone. Not unless something was very wrong.
    And something was very wrong. That was why she was there. She'd come to pray. The shrine in the centre of the courtyard was one of the last in the region to Xeria of the Dawn, the ancient Goddess of the Home and Hearth. And though he doubted she was a follower of the ancient gods, many did still know their names in these parts. The church of Dica had not yet arrived here and murdered the followers of their rival faiths and burnt their holy shrines.
    There was a shrine not a league from his home to Eldas The Fortunate. The ancient God of Luck. And many did go regularly there to pray. Mostly those who sought good fortune in gambling. Whether the Fortunate God granted any of their prayers he didn't know.
    Two leagues west was the broken table, an ancient altar to Oliviane the Goddess of Love. That place too was regularly visited by those seeking to bless a marriage – and more often by those seeking to make another love them.
    But Veria hadn't come seeking either luck or love. He could see the tears glistening on her cheeks in the sunshine as she neared. He could see the fear and the grief painting her face. And he knew that something bad had happened. Something so terrible that she had risked the dangerous journey through the forests just to say a prayer to the ancient goddess. That spoke of desperation. The same desperation that had caused him to say a few prayers and make a few offerings to her shrine over the years as well.
    But whatever her pain was, it was none of his. So he carefully slunk his way around the battlements, making sure to keep low so that he couldn’t be seen, and then when he reached the end where they met the cliff, he leapt into the darkness of the first floor window. Of course to his eyes the inside of the ancient ruin wasn’t dark – dappled panthers hunted by day and night. So as he padded through the passages and up the stairs cut into the heart of the small mountain, he could see perfectly. In very short order he’d reached the east room of the top floor where he shifted to his human form and climbed through the roof hatch. Well before Veria had even reached the fortress. After that it was simply a matter of dressing, grabbing his longbow and waiting.
    He had to wait a while. Veria was slow to reach the wall, and even slower to crawl her way through the remains of the gate. She wasn't strong enough to force it open even a little. And then when she finally did make it, it seemed to be an agony for her to walk the last few steps to the statue of the ancient goddess and kneel before it. But she wasn’t injured as far as he could see. She wasn’t limping, and the pain in her eyes didn’t seem to be physical. It was something of the heart. Considering that the statue was part of a shrine to the Goddess Xeria, he guessed it had to be something to do with her family – possibly illness?
    Xeria of the Dawn was, or had been before the Church of Dica had taken control of the southern lands – the two human lands at least – the Goddess of the Home and Hearth. Home and family were her bailiwick, including the care of the infirm. Here in the wastes she still was for some. The fact that someone had built both a hardwood offering table and an altar to her in the last ten or twenty years was surely proof of that. The statue was thousands of years old, but the wooden tables could never have endured so long. Clearly she had some followers remaining. Maybe Veria was one of them.
    Was it her