Soul Song ~ Book One

Chapter Twenty Five

Cutting through the underbrush, Mirabella found the same road Dania had used so many years before when she left her old life and started the new. As they hadn't had much to begin with, the mountain people recovered easily from the plague. Huts, much like the Healer's, were rebuilt over the scorched areas where the old huts were burned to kill infection. The new growth covered the last of the blackened areas, leaving it to look as though there never was a purge.

By the time Mirabella entered the town proper, the language of the mountain people curled on her tongue with ease. Her Healer's ear picked up the accent within moments of her hearing it. Any who looked her direction, she smiled warmly in return, garnering her several customary greetings. The townspeople wouldn't mistake her for anything other than a mountain folk.

The lottery was a day away, and a rumbling tummy sent her in search of a tavern. She would save the bread and cheese she packed for another time. Nothing loosened a tongue as quickly as a tankard of ale and she was there to gather information. A quick glance around presented her with a tavern named, 'Rae's Inn.' Stepping to the side of the inside of the door, in case anyone she couldn't see tried to exit as she entered, the stench bodily slammed into her senses. When her eyes adjusted to the dark, she chose a table near a group of men who were obviously inebriated.

"I tell yeh's, them Elders ain't what they useda be," the nearest slobbering man said.

"Shut yer mouth, Emil. Yeh knows they hears us! Yeh'll gits us kilt!"

The first man, Emil, waved off the warnings of his fellow drinker, nearly knocking himself off the long bench they shared. "Bah! Eh don't think they kin really hears us. But, Eh do knows they can smells us!" Faster than he should move, Emil made a swipe at a passing serving woman's midsection, narrowly missing with a hearty laugh. "Commere, let me smells yeh, woman...make sure yeh ain't a Healer!" he choked out with loud guffaws.

"Emil, yeh wouldn't know my smell from yer own, it's so strong! Git on wit yeh!" She laughed along with Emil as she cleared away empty tankards. Mirabella smiled. These were salt of the earth. Drunk, but she didn't think a single one of them would cause anyone harm.

"Yeh'll do well ta not say nuthin 'bout them demons." Nearby, a forlorn looking man sat alone, nursing a single tankard. He didn't look drunk to Mirabella, only miserable. Mirabella sat up, more alert. Emil and his companions were quiet a moment before dissolving into more loud laughter.

"Eh said...yeh'll do well to not say nuthin 'bout them demons," he said louder, trying to be heard over the din of noise. Standing, he held his tankard out, gesturing at the people refusing to listen. "They's be likely ta put yeh in th' lott'ry iffin they hears yeh talkin' 'bout them." Talk of the lottery was enough to sober even the merriest of the lot.

"Ah, John, why yeh gottsa go an' start talkin' 'bout sad things? Drinks an' be merry, Eh say!" Emil clanged the metal tankard against one of his friend's. But, John was not giving up.

"Yeh mark me words," he grumbled. "Any one uh yehs could be in that lott'ry t'morrows. Even yeh, Emil." He gestured toward Mirabella with his tankard. "Ev'n pretty lasses lik'er." He slouched back into his chair. "Even me," he mumbled.

Lost in their own thoughts, it was the quietest it had been since Mirabella arrived. That is, until Emil relieved himself of an impressive amount of flatulence, breaking up the dismal mood of the drinkers. In spite of herself, Mirabella chuckled along with the other. Before long, John and his warning was forgotten by all, save Mirabella. Later that evening, curled up in a hollow in a previously spied stable, dreams and nightmares chased Mirabella with horrors she was here to willingly meet.