Rose, Wilted: Book 1

Chapter 3 - Two Suitors

I didn't hang around the forest for much longer after that. I ran back home with my heart racing my feet, and I don't know who won. Lot of good my dagger did me, I reflected when I was safely back inside. It didn't seem that it would do me much good either if the monster really did attack. It was probably better not to go out alone anyways in light of the state of the country, but with this added danger...

I shook my head. Well, safe or not, I had to go to town today and Father had undoubtedly already left. He had a small shop in the square where he sold whatever we could come with to pay the dues. Usually that meant homegrown spices, herbs and vegetables. Now that Gavin, Terrence and Baron, my three older brothers, had gone off to try their luck in the world, we didn't have much in the way of a steady income. What little money there was I grabbed out of the back of one of the cupboards and slipped into my apron pocket. Quickly, I splashed some water onto my face from the wash basin to clean away the soot.

But when I went to push open the door I found that my hand had kept back to my knife handle. I gave a kind of coarse laugh.

What are you afraid of Anna? A little walk into town? Don't be such a flighty little hatchling.

I pulled my hand away from the knife and used it to grab the basket instead, then push the door open and close it behind me. I set my shoulders.

The walk into town was a short, dirt path, out in the open, and far removed from the forest. Nothing to fear. Especially with the town spread out below me in plain view.

It was just the beginning of fall, but already the leaves had burst into flame colors, setting the trees ablaze with the colors of autumn. They ranged in every bright hue of the summer sunset and crunched under my shoes as I tromped towards town. There was still a lingering warmth from summer, but the chill breeze that ruffled the calm was an indicator of the cold weather to come.

I neared the town and then passed into its midst, melting into the noisy crowd without resistance. Carts rattled past, drawn by old work horses and men alike while women chattered in huddles near the many shop fronts. I could smell the sweet scents of the bread and pie wafting out from the open-air shop front of the bakery and the sharp scents of oak and aspen from the carpentry.

But it wasn't all pleasant. A door a few houses down caught my eye. At least, what should have been a door. It was twisted on its hinges and scored with deep gouges. The thick wood was splintered and torn. The metal hinges were mangled beyond hope of repair. Just inside was a woman sobbing into her apron. I wondered who it was. Her husband? Her son?

A woman in a dull colored outfit was scrubbing at a dark stain splashed across the stones of the bell tower in the main square. My eyes traveled upward and saw the bell. It was cracked up one side and hanging askew. Inadvertently, my thoughts flitted back to my mother's headstone. Why wasn't I dead too? I suppressed a shudder and hurried on.

After weaving my way through the meager crowds and turning a few corners I came to a street lined completely by booths and stands shaded by awnings. Most were in good repair except for some patches here and there, but some seemed to have been set up the previous day in preparation, but had become the unlucky victims of the attack. Several awnings were little more than ghostly tatters, shuddering in the light breeze. The crowds were a bit lethargic and so were the salesmen, and though market day was normally a more cheerful affair, everyone seemed subdued. It wasn't difficult to guess why.

I made my way around the market, buying the necessities and what food we'd need in the coming days, then walked over to a smaller stand. It was simple and didn't stand out much, but bunches of dried flowers and herbs hung from racks in the ceiling. There were several small, paper packets labeled in careful ink; everything from rosemary and lavender to cloves and basil. A few fresh vegetables were also up for sale, the ones that we didn't eat ourselves. Everything on display was a product of my green thumb, a fact in which I allowed myself some pride. I smiled at Father. He was still a merchant here, just as he had been in the city. Except now he did less trading and managing and more of the actual production and selling.