The River Wife: A Tale of Bard the Bowman

The Woman on the Bank

"Bain. Look at me."

Fire engulfed the city below them, heat simmering through his heavy leather and furs, and singeing the air to ash. A monstrous roar rattled him to the bone.

"You look at me."

His son's brown eyes, the same as his own, were wide with fear. The sight was enough to sink into Bard's gut like a stone.

"Look at me."

The bow sang.

The wind in the trees brought him to consciousness. Like the frenzied gusts from dragon wings, it rose among the pines and oaks. Bard sat up where he had fallen asleep with his head against a boulder, the small fire beside him only a smoking patch of coal. Rolling the knotted muscles in his thick shoulders, he blinked away the nightmare and steadied his racing heart.

He ran a hand over his wild hair, smoothing back the black strands that were now veined at the temples with silver. He scratched his bearded chin with agitated fingers. The eastern sky was grey, the stars fading over the lake beyond. There was no use in trying to get any more sleep. He could be home in Lake-town by nightfall if he left right then. 

Packing his belongings, his bow and arrows and father's old fishing knife, he donned his leather cloak before trudging down to the shore. The barge was tied to an iron post that had been hammered into the rocky shoreline. It bobbed in the deceptively gentle current of Running River.

Pin pricks of ice bit into Bard's face. He peered up into the snow clouds as they began to spit down on him. He could make it past the bad weather if he left right then. It would be close, but he could do it. 

Racing back to his encampment, he gathered the rest of his food that Hilde had packed for his return journey. Kicking dirt over the ashes, the vicious cry of a carrion bird caught his attention. A river vulture swooped down over head and was quickly followed by it's mate. They landed on the curve of the river, opposite where his barge was docked.

Despite the coming snow, Bard recalled Jora's words from the previous day. And his strange dream. His sleep had been plagued with them recently. With an aggravated huff, he turned towards his barge. The vultures let out their hungry croaks once again. The sound grated on his nerves.

He couldn't just leave without making sure. 

Throwing the rest of his things in the barge, Bard shouldered his bow and quiver. He climbed the wooded slope to the other side of the peninsula where the vultures had landed. As he neared the rocky edge, he peered down onto the sandy bank below. 

A brief glance of daylight broke from the winter clouds, the jagged silhouette of the Lonely Mountain in the distance. The wind rose up in the trees gathered against the troubled, grey water.

"Be gone. Be gone!" He shouted to the birds gathered below and they scattered at his roar.

Bard slid down the edge of the rock. He approached a body. 

A young woman was curled on her side, pale as death, her bare flesh wrinkled from the water. She was naked, her tangled brown hair reaching to her feet and wrapped around her limbs, strands curling and ebbing with the water. Her lower half was still submerged. 

Bard crouched beside her, brushing the hair from her face and pressing his fingers to the side of her neck. He found a faint pulse.

"She lives," he breathed in relief, tearing the coat from his shoulders. "She lives."

Bard wrapped his coat around her. The girl stirred, the soft angles of her face coming to light as her head lolled against his shoulder. Cracked lips parting, her long lashes grazed her cheeks as she blinked up at him. Thick snowflakes scattered her hair.

Her eyes were the strangest shade of grey he had ever seen, like the polished underside of fresh leaves in spring, shot through with silver. For a moment, he wondered if he had stumbled into a dream. 

Lifting a weak hand, she trailed pale fingers down the side of his face, an expression of awe overwhelming her otherworldly features.

"You look at me," she whispered, her raspy voice almost a command. Her eyes drifted shut once more.

A vulture shrieked out in protest from a nearby rock, hopping down towards him. The sound jolted Bard and he shuddered as though waking from a trance. 

Bard lifted her limp body. A metallic jingle caught his attention. A silver chain hidden by her abundant hair came into view, a pendant on the end tumbling over the side of his coat. An emerald glinted up at him.  

"Who are you?" He spoke peering down at it. He lifted the trinket from her head and pocketed it for safe keeping.

The snow was gathering. Neither of them might not make it if he didn't move quickly. She clung to his shirt, burying her face in his chest. Holding her body close, Bard strode for his barge.