Aria Blackwing's Arc

Chapter 9 of 24

Morning came gray and cold. Aria set out empty jars on the table and began sorting what they could spare. Dried mint. A bundle of yarrow. Two small pouches of willow bark. She counted what the raven and the owl would need through the next week, then set aside the rest for trade. The village was a half day's walk. She meant to be back before dark. Derek watched her from the doorway with his bandaged arm held close to his side. "I'll come with you." "You're still healing." "I can walk." He stepped inside and picked up the empty basket from the hook. "Whatever came through those trees hurt me once. I won't let it get near you on the road." Aria looked at his arm. The bandage was clean. He had slept through the night without waking her. She thought of the tracks at the door and the shape that had bled him in the dark. "The birds need someone here," she said. "The raven can't go a day without water. If the door is barred and the fire is going, nothing gets in." "And on the road?" "I've walked it a hundred times." "Not since the tracks." She stopped folding the cloth in her hands. He was right about that. She set the cloth down. "Then give me your knife," she said. He did not move. "You said you wouldn't let anything get near me. So give me the knife and stay with the birds. That's how we both do our part." He looked at her for a long moment. Then he drew the blade from his hip and set it on the table between them. The handle was worn smooth where his hand had held it for years. "You keep it in your belt," he said. "Not in the basket." "I will." "And you come home before dark." "I will." She tied the pouches into her cloak and slid the knife into her belt. It sat heavier than she expected. Derek walked her to the porch. He did not say goodbye. He watched her down the path until the trees closed behind her. The walk was quiet. She reached the trade hall by midday. The stalls ran the length of the long wooden building, awnings striped in faded color, baskets stacked with apples and carrots and small tied sacks. She traded her herbs for linen, salve, oats, thread, a jar of honey, and a second bag of dried meat. The basket grew heavy on her arm. She kept her free hand near the knife. On the path home she stopped once. Something moved in the brush to her left and went still. She stood a long time. Then she walked on, faster, one hand on the handle at her belt. She reached the cabin at dusk. Derek opened the door before she knocked. She set the basket on the table and did not tell him what she had heard.