Chapter 5

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Autumn in Coriander Village, some time ago.

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When Stephane woke up the next morning, he was not surprised to see that Isabelle was nowhere to be found.  He went on with his morning routine, absently aware as he was making oatmeal that he would have much more than necessary, as he had rationed food for three for the winter.

When he arrived at Coriander Village, all he heard were stories of Isabelle and her dramatic "arrest", and the concrete proof that was now provided that proved that she was a witch.  When he entered the town, the farmers greeted him warmly, some even congratulating him on being able to resist Isabelle and her charms.  His instant fame was almost addictive.  One even said that he was brave to be able to subdue the witch.

Stephane wasn't quite sure that was something to be proud of.  When he passed the man he lowered his eyes and breathed a sigh.

He truly felt bad for what he did.  No matter what she did, he was not in the habit of hitting people, especially not his wife.  Even though the others think that she deserved it, there was something that went against all common decency in him yesterday night.  He wanted to see her now, to take her and to kiss her on the top of the head and apologize for what he did to her.  Not for getting mad at her selling Colette, but for striking her.  Would the Elder let him see her?  He didn't know where she was being kept.

He stood at the door of the Elder's, and lifted a hand to knock.  He rehearsed the speech in his head: why he wanted to see Isabelle, what he wanted to say to her as an apology.  But he couldn't get the thoughts together.  He was immobile when the door opened without any action on his part, and the Elder stared at him quizzically, before Stephane muttered something of an excuse and then walked down the steps and toward the small bar and inn that made up the entire social area of the farming village.  He sat at a table alone and ordered a strong, dark, malted ale.  The place was relatively quiet, as the poor harvest left everyone poor and unable to visit, although a few traders from here or there sat at the occasional table.  Once in a while, the waitress, a young teenage girl (he was surprised that she had not been sold to the Villnore traders; but then, perhaps she was a slave herself), came around the tables doing her rounds.  She was quite pretty, Stephane absently thought: thick, dark hair that bounced around her shoulders; thick, dark eyelashes; rosy lips that made her face pleasing to the eye.  She looked very much like Isabelle did in her youth.  When he had met Isabelle, they were teenagers, and she was very beautiful.  For her to notice him out of all boys in the room was a great honour, and when they ended up running around in the woods picking berries and chasing animals in the evening, he felt himself the luckiest boy in the world.

The girl came around to his table, her tray in hand, and she placed it under her arm.  "I heard about you and how you resisted Isabelle," she said in a gushing voice.  "That's so noble of you."

Stephane turned an eye up toward her.  The first thing that went through his head was the question of why a young girl like that would try to make a pass on him, of all people, as if he were suddenly single and eligible.

When she received no response she continued to talk.  "My older sister was sold to slavery too.  I couldn't believe my mother at having done such a thing.  I hated her for doing it.  She was never nice to me either and I bet she was going to sell me, too.  I heard rumours.  A man outside said that I would fetch a really good price.  So I ran away."

Obviously she didn't run very far if she only ended up at the village pub, Stephane thought.  "You're not very far from Coriander Village," he stated.

"I'm from a smaller farming community a little west of here," she said.  "I work here and live on my own, but the landlord is having a tough season.   I hope that with Isabelle gone things will brighten up."  She gave Stephane a cheery smile, shrugging her shoulders up and holding her wooden tray against her breast.

Stephane found himself not liking this girl.  She had no right to talk about Isabelle like that: she didn't know who she was and was in no position to judge his wife.  "You're not concerned that you'll be sold eventually?"

The girl's bright expression faded, and her eyes went downcast.  "I'm... I am," she confessed.  "I... hope that... that things'll work out.  If... I'm wondering if..."

A favour.  Stephane sipped from his mug, finding that the drink had suddenly become a little sour.  She was going to ask him for a favour.

"... if maybe I can come visit you some time."

Stephane found himself replying, his voice sounding like stones inside a grain sieve, "Fine."  He couldn't bring himself to be so rude as to say no, but he didn't want to be known as taking in lost kids, either.

"Oh!  Thank you!  If my mother comes to get me, you'll be able to detect her as a witch and protect me!"  The girl then reached forward with a slender hand toward Stephane's arm, but he shrunk away from her grip.  The action reaffirmed his presumption that she was some sort of hussy trying to make a move on a suddenly-influential old man.  He realised that the arrest of Isabelle didn't quell the fear of magic and the devil in Coriander Village at all, but instead stimulated it: Isabelle's capture became proof that there were witches in their midst, and that anyone could be in league with the devil.  And this girl was afraid of whoever else might be witching around: certainly, in her case, being sold to Villnore.

His common sense told him that this girl could be a witch, too, but he did not truly believe this.  As it was, he wasn't sure he believed that Isabelle was a witch, despite all of the evidence pointing to the contrary.

If she actually came to visit, he would suddenly have another child in his house.  She appeared about Chantelle's age when she was sold off... he didn't actually see the selling of Chantelle, and for the longest time believed that she had died in the icy streams east of the village, in the foothills.  But Olivia had told him otherwise.  It was common belief, and he had been fighting this belief for months, that Isabelle and the departure of Chantelle had started up the trading of girls to Villnore slavers.  Although this girl looked like Isabelle, her manner reminded him more of Chantelle, who was outgoing and expressive in a cheerful way.  Chantelle always acted first and thought later, and appeared to feel absolutely no shame.  This would also be the first time a child was around him without Isabelle there to help him through.  She was a natural with kids: her soft voice, her gentle touch, and her strong manner made her motherly and authoritarian at the same time.  Even though children adored her, they also respected her and obeyed her.

He felt himself missing Isabelle.  He wished that she was here to share the ale he was drinking.  She was very good company, as she seemed to bring up the topics that he had been thinking about at the exact right time.  If something was bothering him that he needed to talk about it, whether consciously or not, she would bring up that topic and they would talk it out.  Her ability to read people was amazing.

Oh, it was difficult _not_ to fall in love with Isabelle.

Stephane buried his head into his hands, and sat there motionless while a young teenage girl glanced at him from across the room as she passed from one table from another.

-=-=-=-

Stephane was actually surprised to see the girl on his porch that evening.  She had managed to find her way to his place, in the dark, when, supposedly, the witches were out.  His eyes widened at the sight of her, with her heavy backpack pulled over her shoulder, her dark hair bouncing around her shoulders, thick lips curling up into a smile at the sight of him.

"Your porch lantern wasn't lit," she said.  "I was afraid that you weren't going to be home."

"It's late," Stephane remarked, gazing at the dark skies.  The waxing moon was represented with only a crescent in the sky.

"I'm sorry.  I work late."

"And you walked here?"

"I'm afraid of the witches in town.  Like Laia and Olivia..."

Stephane had heard her name briefly mentioned before.  She was going to sell her daughter, but she had disappeared in the middle of the night along with another child.  Two nights later, they found a cairn in the middle of the Valley of Weeping Lilies.  Stories ran rampart that day.  Some said that Platina must have inhaled the poison, but others believed that Lucian had killed Platina that night and ran away.  That was over three years ago.  Now that Isabelle had been accused of witchcraft, others began to discuss the possibility that Laia had cast a curse on Platina that killed her because she ran away from the slave traders.  Olivia was a new one.  He had not heard of her being accused, but perhaps because she was found with Isabelle, stories began to fly about her suspicious manner and her uncanny ability to detect magic.  Stephane asked, "Why?"

"Laia is close to the village Elder, who has a tight reign over Bartholemew the innkeeper.  If she sees it fit she could have Bartholemew sell me for money because she doesn't like teenage girls.  Olivia's just... scary.  She looks at you like she's going to have you for supper."

Stephane wasn't going to judge Laia prematurely, but his faded memory recalled Platina and Chantelle growing up together.  Chantelle was a few years Platina's senior, but Leia had never seemed to approve of their friendship.  Laia had not approved of Platina's friendship with Lucian, either.  He felt a cool breeze of autumn air blow on his bare arms.  Winter was approaching.

"Can I come in?" the girl finally asked.

Stephane found himself mumbling something of an apology and stepping aside.  Remembering his manners as a host he took the girl's bag from her and placed it in the corner, and led her toward the hearth where a small fire was burning.  The fire used to be larger and warmer a few days ago, but now he had an entire house with no one to sleep inside.  The extra firewood seemed to be a waste, but it also caused the walls to dance with eerie shadows.

The waitress sat down eagerly and wrapped her cloak around herself.  "Thank you Stephane.  It's a relief to know that there's still kindness in this world after everything that's happening."

"You're welcome," Stephane replied, collecting himself and trying his best to temporarily forget his own problems.  He found this girl to be a nuisance.  He wanted to mourn some more by himself, but now that she was present he had no right to cry in front of the guest.  "Would you like anything to drink?"

"Maybe just warm water...?" she asked hesitantly.

"Sure."  Stephane reached for the clay mugs on the shelf beside the hearth and poured water from the kettle inside the fireplace, handing the mug to the girl.  He realised that he did not know her name, and spent a moment scanning his memory, trying to recall if she had introduced herself to him, and what her name was if she had.  He had never noticed her until today, although she must have been in Coriander for at least a few months.  He flopped down on the couch beside her.  "Did you ever introduce yourself...?"

She faced him, her eyes widening, and then she broke into a wide toothy smile.  "Oh!  I'm Kimberly.  Nice to meet you Stephane."

Stephane nodded to her.  She had her legs on the couch and she was sitting on them, her cloak wrapped around her body tightly.  Had he walked in without knowing the situation it would have appeared that she had lived in this house all of her life.

"How did you and Isabelle meet?"

Stephane swallowed too much boiling tea and tried his best not to contort his face as the hot water burned flowing down his throat.  He rolled his tongue on the roof of his mouth, feeling the skin peeling.  He coughed to hide his discomfort.  "I... we grew up together, somewhere around here."

Kimberly didn't respond, and simply stared at him with her large brown eyes, waiting for more.

"We met when we were about nine or ten, I think.  She was a really rough kid actually.  Mistaken for a boy a lot when she was young because she played with the boys, swinging around wooden swords and chasing them through the village.  It's hard to believe that now when you look at her."

"She's a very feminine woman," said Kimberly.  "She has that thick dark hair and those alluring eyelashes.  She's very slender and thin.  That's very rare for a woman who marries a farmer."

"You know her...?"

She lifted a hand to her shirt, gripping something underneath it.  Stephane noticed a silver chain was around her neck.  "I have to bring her food in the cell behind the Elder's house.  They say that because I'm a woman I can't be seduced by her charms." 

Stephane felt his heart accelerate slightly.  She knew Isabelle.  The logic somewhat eluded him: why send an impressionable young girl to Isabelle?  If she was the witch they thought she was, then Isabelle would probably have the ability to trick the girl and set herself free.  But then again, the Elder might trust Kimberly, or not think much of Isabelle's ability.  She knew where she was being held, which meant he could see her at any time.

"Tell me more about you two."

Stephane found himself opening up to the girl now, with a bit of regret that he was actually opening up to use her as an outlet to Isabelle.  "We were friends through our teenage years when our sense of adventure got the best of us, and we left our village for grander prospects.  For a long time, we went traveling as rangers: people who try to make money by doing odd jobs that others won't.  We weren't really fighters, and mercenary work is tough work and not very respected.  We actually managed to join a guild that helped find us work, so we were able to do jobs.  However, these jobs ranged from monster-hunting to cleaning people's houses.  Still, Isabelle and I were together throughout this time, even though we occasionally joined forces with other rangers to do tough missions.

"When we were at a shortage of work then we went treasure hunting... yeah, so it's called.  We went through deep forests and old ruins looking for things to take.  We never really did find anything good.  But it was a way to pass the time and make the most of ourselves."

"I suppose it was fun, too.  You two must've had so much time alone."  There was a bit of a sly smile on Kimberly's face, but yet her eyes held wonder at the story.

"Saucy girl," Stephane teased back unconsciously.  "Should I stop telling my story?"

Kimberly's eyes went wide and she shook her head, huddling herself in her cloak.

"We often explored things... as I told you.  In that time... i think we traveled about five years... we managed to become very skilled fighters and trackers and so forth.  We traveled for a very long time outside of Coriander Village, even going as far as Flenceburg.  However, we were on our way around Artolia when Isabelle started to complain of feeling sick and dizzy.  We pressed on for a while but it was clear what was happening."

"She was pregnant," Kimberly filled in perceptively.

"Yes.  Since we were on the way we decided to stop in Coriander Village so she could give birth.  The villagers at tha time were very nice to us and gave us a room and food and everything.  by the time we had our first child... we named her Chantelle... we liked it so much that we decided to stay.  We started up a farm and lived our a quiet but happy existence.  We still traveled once in a while but it was never too far or too rigourous when we had Chantelle in tow.  We would go hiking or swimming or row boats in the mountain rivers.  Chantelle was very good at these sorts of things too: she was a very graceful, beautiful huntress, with dark tresses of hair, and sly, knowing eyes like her mother.  Chantelle was very energetic and would never take no for an answer."

"She sounds like a very active girl.  I wish I would have had a chance to travel like you did,  My life has been so dull.  It feels like I've just lived in town, lived in town, work, work, work, for my whole life.  I've never been anywhere except between my parent's farm and Coriander Village.  I don't know how to fight or anything like that.  Not even swimming."

"Then we'll have to take you some time," Stephane said.

"We?  Who?"

The farmer hadn't realised that he used the plural pronoun.  "I, I mean."  He turned his gaze toward the pictures hung over the fireplace.  "There isn't any more we."

Kimberly followed Stephane's gaze, her eyes landing on charcoal artwork, framed with expensive wooden frames.  It was a picture of Stephane and Isabelle, when they were much younger.  Isabelle was sitting on the ground wearing traveling leathers, and Stephane knelt behind her staring at the viewer from over Isabelle's shoulder, cupping her face in his hands.  "You... miss her, don't you?"

There was a pause.  The fire crackled as something seemed to run through Stephane's mind.  The man stared at the red flames for a long time.  He finally said, "No."

"Why?"

"Because she sold both my daughters."

Kimberly fell silent.  Her mouth dropped open, but in light of the contained fury that crossed over Stephane's features, she closed her mouth again.  She felt a chill run over her body and she cuddled her cloak closer to her body.  She continued to stare at the old adventurer, tracing his features as they were outlined by the fire: the lines of his face, wrinkled under the eyes and around the mouth; the blue eyes looking glazed over, the hands with the fingers interlaced, elbows resting on his knees.  His head was lowered slightly, back arched, staring at the small fire that barely kept the farmhouse warm.

Suddenly Stephane stood up and walked back to his bedroom in the corner of the house hidden behind a thin paper screen.  Kimberly stared and followed him until he was out of her gaze, and even after that she stared at the screen for a moment, wondering if the man was going to be all right.  But as much as she wanted to she dared not try to comfort him.  It was not only that she did not feel that she knew him well enough, but the harshness in his voice and the coldness in his eyes made her not want to get close to him.  He had the image of... was it a killer?  Not quite.  It was more like a torturer.  Not someone who went out to torture others.  He tortured only himself.