Warmoon [ONC 2020]•[Shortlisted]•[Honorable Mention List, Stunning Worlds]

4. Consequences

Yesterday's spent ashes had been raked into the cooling bin, and Isander was building a new cone of hickory logs inside the furnace hearth when Rhoa stumbled through the door to the Sifting Room.

He took one look at her and dropped what he was doing, coming straight for her.

"I'm fine, just cold," she got out through chattering teeth. "I could use some help in the loading bay," she added, then turned and went back through the door to the lean-to, leading the way around the corner and into the stable yard.

The mare stood at the hitching rail, the man's body hanging in a great lump across her back, a potato sack with arms and legs.

Isander came to a stop. "What in all –"

"He was left for dead in the ditch," she said, going around to the far side. "Grab his head?"

Frowning, Isander gave her a skeptical glance, but moved to take the mudman's top end. "This is a really, really bad idea," he muttered as they carried the man, still wrapped in Rhoa's cloak, around the corner into the lean-to, then through the Sifting Room and up the stairs into the kitchen.

They laid him out on the hearthstone, and Rhoa straightened, rubbing her aching spine, only to snap back around at Isander's low, "Go get Father. Now."

Isander had pulled the cloak away and was staring down at the mudman as if a fire serpent were coiled up on the hearth rug.

"What's wrong?"

"Just do as I said," Isander barked, his tone uncharacteristically harsh. He turned to give her a fierce glare. "He's up in the armory. Move! Now!"

Wide-eyed, Rhoa nodded, lurching for the door to the stairwell, her brother's fear jolting her into action. Isander wasn't one to scare easily.

What on earth had she done?

"Father, can you come down?" She called as she made her frozen feet carry her up the stairs.

Her father stepped out onto the second-floor landing, but his smile died when he saw her. "What's wrong?"

"There's a man in the kitchen," she said, the clacking of her teeth making it difficult to get words out.

Strongcastle was already descending the stairs at a run, although he paused as he reached the ground floor. "Any aid from Greenfall?"

Rhoa gave a tiny shake of her head.

Her father frowned but didn't look at all surprised. He pulled the door curtain open. "Get yourself some dry clothes. I'll send Orla to draw water for a bath."

She nodded shakily, but after he ducked through the curtain and into the kitchen, she stayed there, poised halfway to the landing, worry mingling with her headache and the awful, throbbing hum of the tower. Slowly, she crept back down to the bottom of the stairs, her stomach tightening as she drew the edge of the curtain aside just far enough to see what sort of a problem she had caused.

Her father and brother were standing over the mudman, who was visibly beginning to tremble as his body warmed. Then her father said something, the sound of his voice muffled by the curtain. His intention was clear when Isander left in the direction of the pantry and came back with several roughspun rags.

The two of them worked quickly to strip the stranger of his soaked tunic and leather breeches, drying him off as best they could. Then her father fetched a pile of blankets from the linen cupboard, Isander wrapped several bedstones in rags, and they set about bundling the man up, wrapping him in a cocoon of wool and hot bricks.