I watched with embarrassment as Tomlin and the young man from the day before finished assembling a thatched roof over the cleaning table.
They don’t want a repeat of yesterday’s mess.
When they were done, they stepped back and admired their handiwork with pride. I glanced around the field but couldn’t see another structure like it anywhere else.
Why don’t they use these for everyone? It’s way too hot out here.
I watched as Tomlin chatted with the young man, patting him on the back.
He’s kind of cute.
Adelia must have noticed how I was looking at him because she playfully nudged me with her elbow and gave me a knowing look.
“Jean.” It was all Adelia said, tilting her head toward the young man.
I blushed at Adelia’s implication but couldn’t help sneaking another glance at Jean. He looked to be in his twenties, with broad shoulders that fit well with his lithe frame. His wheat-golden hair was always tucked behind his ears but fell just short of covering his eyes. I shook my head and lightly slapped my cheeks to snap myself out of my thoughts.
As the morning wore on, I kept catching myself gazing toward the field where Tomlin and Jean were diligently picking fruit. I couldn’t help but notice the way Jean moved, his muscles flexing as he worked. It was distracting.
The fields suddenly fell into an eerie stillness as the workers stopped what they were doing. Like marionettes pulled by invisible strings, they drifted toward one end of the field, leaving their tools forgotten in the dirt. I exchanged a puzzled glance with Adelia and Cyril, their faces mirroring my bewilderment. Curiosity got the better of us, and we joined the flow of people moving toward the source of the commotion.
My eyes widened in wonder as we reached the edge of the crowd. A lavish procession was making its way down the solitary road that skirted the edge of the town, its grandeur a stark contrast to the simplicity of the town's daily lives. I couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp at the spectacle before me.
The horses leading were breathtaking, their coats a pristine white and cream, shimmering in the sunlight like polished ivory. Astride them were knights, resplendent in their ceremonial attire. Their suits were a brilliant white, so pure and bright against the vivid green of the fields. Flowing capes of golden fabric streamed behind them, catching the light and creating an almost ethereal glow.
But the centerpiece of the procession was the carriage. To me, it seemed as if it had been plucked straight from the pages of a fairy tale. Its body was an exquisite work of art adorned with intricate gilding that sparkled like a constellation of stars. Gold flourishes swept across its surface, twining around it in elaborate patterns that spoke of skilled craftsmanship.
As the carriage approached, the crowd around me craned their necks, eyes wide with awe and curiosity. Everyone was eager to catch a glimpse of the mysterious occupants hidden behind the drawn velvet curtains.
When the carriage finally stopped after entering the town, I watched as Tomlin, along with other men around his age or older, pushed through the crowd and stood before the knights. One of the knights dismounted from his horse and spoke to them, their expressions shifting quickly from surprise to shock to excitement as the knight said. The men then turned back to the gathered townsfolk, and the spokesperson delivered a message that sparked the same expressions on everyone’s faces.
The rest of the knights dismounted and formed a line in front of us. Now that they were closer, I could make out the patterns on their uniforms. I had initially guessed they were Holy Knights from the colors they wore, but as I studied the symbols sewn into their clothing, it became clear they were indeed part of some religious sect. My suspicion was confirmed when one of the knights opened the carriage door, and a man dressed in impeccable holy regalia stepped out. His clothing was crisp and clean, a silken gold robe draped over him, and he wore a hat on his head similar to what the pope might wear.
All the townsfolk immediately lowered their heads as the man I assumed was the High Priest approached. He had a haughty look on his face, almost one of condescension. After him, a thin figure in a bright white dress exited the carriage, their face entirely obscured by a lace veil. Her appearance drew gasps and sighs from the crowd. Something about this figure sent my stomach into knots.
The man in holy regalia raised his staff and spoke, and I watched as every single person around me put their hands together in prayer and closed their eyes. I wasn’t sure if I should do the same, but not wanting to draw attention to myself for being disrespectful, I bowed my head as well, though I kept my eyes open, watching the two figures closely. Their sudden appearance made me uneasy; it was clear from the townsfolk’s reaction that their visit was not a common occurrence.
The veiled figure lifted her arms and began to chant something that sounded like a song. Suddenly, tiny sparks of gold seemed to fall all around us. As they landed on the townsfolk, smiles spread across their faces, and they opened their eyes to marvel at the sight of the blessing. I watched as they reached out eagerly to catch the golden sparks floating down. Curious, I stretched out my hand and let one touch my skin, and the moment it did, a sharp sting pricked me. I pulled my hand back and stepped away, but more of the sparks seemed drawn to me, each one causing the same stinging sensation. At first, it was bearable, but as a shower of them fell upon me, the discomfort quickly escalated into pain.
I tried to keep a calm expression, but I needed to get away. The two figures and their knights were distracted by the other townsfolk, so I slipped away as casually as I could manage, rushing to a space between two houses where I slumped against a wall, my whole body now fevered.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot up from my left arm, sending a wave of vertigo crashing over me. My vision swam, and I swayed on my feet.
“Mara!” I heard Cyril exclaim as the sound of several footsteps approached.
Before anyone could react, Jean's strong arms wrapped around me, steadying me. “Are you alright?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.
“I... I’m feeling better now,” I stammered, my cheeks flushing with surprise and embarrassment.
I can’t believe I almost fainted again. I probably need some electrolytes.
As those words left my lips, the group fell into stunned silence. Their wide eyes and gaping mouths showed their shock, but it took me a moment to understand why.
“Wait... I understood what you said!” I exclaimed as the realization hit me.
Adelia hesitated, her eyes searching my face for any sign of deception. “You can understand us? Truly?”
I nodded, and Adelia’s eyes were as wide as a child unwrapping a long-awaited gift as she led the chorus of questions, with everyone gathered around her in a semi-circle around me.
“Mara, how old are you?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“Twenty-six,” I replied softly, my voice gentle like the rustle of leaves in a serene breeze.
“Twenty-six!” Adelia exclaimed theatrically, her hand playfully fluttering to her chest. “But you don’t look a day over twenty!"
A soft smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I accepted the compliment.
“Are you married, then? Do you have children?” Adelia pressed, her eyes locked onto mine.
I shook my head, feeling everyone's collective curiosity intensify. I hesitated, sensing their unspoken expectations pressing upon me. “I don’t have any children, and I’m not married.”
Adelia’s eyes darted sideways to Jean, her playful smirk laden with teasing implications, causing Jean’s face to redden as a blush spread across his features.
“Here, it means you’re practically a spinster,” Adelia quipped, her eyes dancing with delight. “Is there something... peculiar about you? Is that why you’re unwed?”
Laughter bubbled up from my throat, light and airy. “I don’t think so. Where I come from, women often marry later in life,” I explained, feeling the weight of their puzzlement like a heavy fog.
Jean, recovering from his earlier embarrassment, asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. “So, where do you come from?”
I hesitated, caught in the pause before a lie took shape.
“Let us talk somewhere more private," Tomlin interjected, mercifully sparing me from weaving a false narrative on the spot. He looked cautiously around as she gestured for us to follow him between houses back to his home.
"Were you on the Xolteca vessel that wrecked?” Tomlin asked as soon as the door had closed behind us. "Some townsfolk returned from Aeloria speaking of survivors with dark hair and eyes like the midnight sky, much like yours.” He gestured toward me.
I grasped onto the lifeline he offered. “Yes,” I affirmed, “I am from Xolteca,” I repeated the word that seemed both foreign and familiar.
A collective agreement settled among them; Jean and Tomlin appeared content with this explanation. It seemed simpler to embrace this narrative rather than cause them to ponder the existence of other realms.
Adelia’s gaze, ablaze with an insatiable curiosity, lingered on me. “What is Zoltecaya like?” she inquired, her voice tinged with a thirst for knowledge that transcended the confines of our cozy living room.
Cyril eagerly agreed, “Yeah, tell us about your homeland!”
I hesitated before answering. “How much do you know of Zoltecaya?” I asked, trying to buy myself some time.
“Very little,” Tomlin admitted, exchanging a knowing glance with Jean, who nodded in agreement. “Aeloria provides us with news of the world outside of the Duchy, but we don’t receive much formal education beyond what’s needed to cultivate the land.”
My mind seized upon the word ‘duchy,’ which seemed to echo with a significance I couldn’t yet fathom, a clue to the world I had found myself in.
“Rumors and stories from Aeloria say that your streets and buildings glisten with gold,” Jean added, his voice laced with skepticism and wonder.
“Gold?” I couldn’t help but smile a little as I envisioned such opulence. My mind wandered to the stories about the Seven Cities of Cibola I had devoured as a child—mythical cities brimming with wealth beyond imagination. “No, not gold...” I wondered how much fact and fiction I could blend to make something believable, seeing as they had so little knowledge of the world outside their farming village.
“The materials we use are sturdy and lustrous but not gold. Instead, picture structures with glass walls—clear and radiant beneath the sun,” I continued, weaving together fact and fantasy, painting a picture of my world through a fantastical lens.
“Glass? How extraordinary!” Adelia exclaimed, her imagination clearly alight with my descriptions.
Jean scratched the back of his neck, a bashful grin spreading across his face. “I’d love to see it myself one day, too,” he confessed. “It sounds wonderful.”
Tomlin cleared his throat gently, pulling us all back to reality. “Why did you leave such a place?” he asked, his tone gentle yet probing. “The shipwreck from three nights past... were you escaping something?” His brow furrowed deeply with the last question.
“I don’t have clear memories of my days before waking up,” I admitted truthfully, “I’m not sure why I’m here.” I tapped my right temple gently. “I woke up with a head injury, so how I ended up in the forest remains a mystery even to me,” I confessed, noticing the change in their expressions when I mentioned the forest.
“You woke up in Elysarra Forest? Did the Holy Knights help you?” Jean inquired, his brows knitting together with worry and intrigue.
“No, she came from Zandel, not Elysarra,” Adelia interjected, her voice slicing through the growing tension like a delicate blade. “She was across the Zandel River when we first saw her.”
I scanned their faces, noting the sudden seriousness that clouded their features.
“What’s so significant about Zandel Forest?” I finally asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Zandel Forest is also known as the Forbidden Forest. None dare to tread its paths.” Jean answered, looking uncomfortable as he did.
“And those who do enter vanish without a trace,” Tomlin added solemnly, his voice a low murmur that seemed to echo the ancient superstitions of the land.
“Did you see anything or anyone else there?” Adelia whispered, her eyes searching my face for clues.
“I didn’t see anything unusual."
Tomlin continued, “It’s said to be a haven of dark energy, a place where beasts and otherworldly creatures from before the creation of Lumicrestia still roam.”
I absorbed this new information, my thoughts swirling. The forest had felt unsettling but not menacing. Indeed, it was not a place I would associate with lurking monsters.
“The Dukes over the centuries have sent Knights to patrol its edges to ensure nothing escapes, and entry is forbidden without their express permission,” Tomlin explained.
“That’s... terrifying,” I murmured, a shiver running down my spine. “I wish I could remember how I got there.”
Adelia moved closer, wrapping her arms around me in a comforting embrace. “Don’t worry, Mara. You’re safe with us now.”
She pulled back, her earlier excitement returning and shifting the tone in the room. “I can’t wait for you to meet and talk with all the other townsfolk!”
At Adelia’s words, a shadow passed between Jean and Tomlin. They exchanged a look, a silent conversation etched onto their brows.
Tomlin turned to me, his question slicing through the moment’s warmth. “That’s something we’ve been wondering: how did you come to speak and understand us suddenly?”
“I can’t explain it. One moment, it was all unfamiliar and strange, and the next...” I trailed off, struggling to convey the strangeness of it all.
Tomlin leaned forward and spoke in a low, steady voice. “You must exercise caution, Mara,” he warned. “I strongly advise against revealing your newfound ability to anyone outside the four of us, for now at least.”
“Listen,” Jean chimed in, “The folks in Aeloria have had... issues with the Xoltecans since their arrival. There are also tales of dark magic associated with your people, Mara." He hesitated, lowering his voice to a hush. “Plus, it is a little suspicious that you were in the forbidden forest, too. We can’t risk anyone thinking this newfound language ability is some curse or spell.”
“Where I come from,” I began, my gaze shifting between them, “people often fear what they can’t comprehend. It leads to prejudice and mistrust. I won’t expose myself—or any of you—to that risk.” My voice remained steady, belying the inner turmoil I felt.
“Promise us, Cyril and Adelia,” Tomlin said sternly, turning to his children. “Not a word to anyone. Not even Ada.”
Cyril nodded solemnly, and Adelia bit her lip, her reluctance clear. After a prolonged silence, she reluctantly nodded in agreement.
“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling both sheltered and constrained by their protective instincts.
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