Excerpt
Armina Weatherwatcher felt the calling. She was tired, but the insistent pull back to the rocky headland could not be ignored. She had spent most of the day there, watching the ominous clouds roll in from the sea. She had not foreseen the storm, neither yesterday when the fleet had left, nor today when dawn broke calm and clear. But it had come, black and raging, and she like every other woman in Westshoren squinted a hopeful eye toward the sea for a glimpse of the men racing ahead of it. When the storm broke over the land she was forced to retreat. The cold wet wind drove her along the path. She stopped for one last look from the shelter of the porch. Lightening forked and cracked, striking the promontory where she had stood just moments before. As quickly as it had come the storm swept inland toward the hills.
The calling urged her out into the moonless dusk. She took the lantern, wrapped her bony shoulders in her still damp shawl, and walked out onto the cold, stone-dotted moor, letting the inner voice guide her. The yellow circle of lantern light swung along the foggy path until she heard a sound riding on the shifting mist. Like a soft whimper of exhaustion, like the rasp of a voice too tired to cry, the calling persisted inside her. She walked faster. Who or what was lost on such a night? Then caution slowed her. This must be magical, she said to herself. No lost child calls with the inner voice. She stopped and held her lantern high.
Where y be? she asked the dark beyond the security of her light.
Mommy! Mommy! called a small weak voice.
Come out. Ill not harm y child.
We cant. We hurt, said the voice between sobs.
Armina picked her way through the rocks, holding her lantern before her like a shield.
Mommy! Mommy! the voice called again.
Arminas comin little n Then she saw the child. This was no lost fisher brat. She stared at the embroidered dress and the tiny, mud-stained velvet slippers. She stared at the torn ribbon and heart-shaped locket clutched in the childs hand.
Help us! We hurt!
Dont fret now. Armina dont know what y is but she loves y. She picked up the child and smoothed back her wet, matted curls. She kissed her smudged, tear-streaked cheek. Her eye caught a red stain oozing through the childs once-white stockings.
Owie! We hurt! the child cried pushing Arminas hand away.
Arminas gonna fix y up good again. Shes gonna take y home, salve and bind those hurts, and then shes gonna give y some warm sweet milk and a soft warm blanket, the old woman crooned as she carefully made her way home. The child whimpered weakly and fell asleep on her shoulder. By the time she reached the porch the evening fog had lifted. One by on the stars sparked into being and the moon rose round and golden out of the cradle of the hills.
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