wet clothes on washday. Here was the bakehouse with its great oven, where once she had seen a whole pig being roasted. Here was the fork in the road, with its bench made of a felled tree, where there was always one of the old people sitting watching the world go by. But there was no one on the bench this late afternoon. There was no one to be seen anywhere. There were chickens scratching in the dirt in front of the houses, and a cat asleep in a warm patch of late sunlight; but their owners were out of sight.
It had always been a quiet village. Hill people kept themselves to themselves. Perhaps it was market day in the town by the river.
Morning Star reached the last house, which was her own house and was set apart from the rest, its back to the stream. Barely a trickle was flowing between the brown and yellow grasses. The neat verge in front of the house was bald. No rain here, either.
The door stood open.
Morning Star half expected Amik to come bounding out to greet her, or little Lamb. Not so little any more. Lamb must be fully grown.
"Is this it?" said Libbet.
"This is my home."
"Just so long as there's something to eat."
Morning Star called ahead into the house, not wanting to arrive entirely unannounced.
"Papa! Mama!"
No sound from within.
She entered. The main room was empty. Her father's papers and pen and ink were neatly laid out before an open book. Everything was as it had always been, but the occupants were gone.
The children came crowding in after her. Practiced thieves, they soon found the food store and started snatching for the victuals.
"No! Put it down!" she ordered them. "You can't just grab what you like."
"Why not?"
"Because we have to share. That way it's fair."
Under their suspicious gaze she divided up the sheep cheese and the bread and honey.
"Libbet got more than me!"
"I didn't!"
But they were hungry and would rather eat than argue. The food was soon gone. Before Morning Star could stop them, the children had run out of the house and into a neighboring house, scavenging for more to eat. She followed behind.
"Creepy place," said Hem. "Ghost village."
"It's not a ghost village," said Morning Star.
"So where's everybody?"
"Out. Working."
"Children, too?"
He was right. It had never been like this. Every house the children raided was deserted; but everywhere there were signs of recent life. The people seemed to have left,
but there was no evidence of any struggle. In one house there was even a meal laid for two, complete with a full bottle of apple brandy that had been uncorked but not poured. Somewhere between the drawing of the cork and the raising of the bottle something had happened, and the meal had been abandoned.
In the smallest and poorest of the cottages, tucked away behind the bakehouse, lived a crippled lady known as Nanna. She had never left her single room in all the years Morning Star had known her—receiving charity and companionship from those villagers who chose to call on her at her home. Surely Nanna could not have left.
Morning Star sought out her cottage and found the door open here, too. But as soon as she stepped inside she knew the house was not empty.
"Nanna?"
She peered into the gloom of the interior. A rustling came from the box bed. A white face rose up from the pillows to peer at her.
"It's me. Morning Star."
"They've gone," said Nanna in a thin trembly voice. "They said to go with them. But I have my trouble, you see."
"Where have they gone, Nanna?"
"Oh, I don't know where, dear. They've gone with the happy people."
4 Death on Horseback
C ARESSA WATCHED FROM THE DOORWAY OF THE FARM house as the horsemen made their way up the track. This time she counted twelve of them. This time, she knew, they would not leave until they had got what they wanted.
She took up a short sword and strapped it into her belt on her left side. On her right side she fixed a quiver of slender throwing spikes. She had no plan, no certainty that she would use the
It had always been a quiet village. Hill people kept themselves to themselves. Perhaps it was market day in the town by the river.
Morning Star reached the last house, which was her own house and was set apart from the rest, its back to the stream. Barely a trickle was flowing between the brown and yellow grasses. The neat verge in front of the house was bald. No rain here, either.
The door stood open.
Morning Star half expected Amik to come bounding out to greet her, or little Lamb. Not so little any more. Lamb must be fully grown.
"Is this it?" said Libbet.
"This is my home."
"Just so long as there's something to eat."
Morning Star called ahead into the house, not wanting to arrive entirely unannounced.
"Papa! Mama!"
No sound from within.
She entered. The main room was empty. Her father's papers and pen and ink were neatly laid out before an open book. Everything was as it had always been, but the occupants were gone.
The children came crowding in after her. Practiced thieves, they soon found the food store and started snatching for the victuals.
"No! Put it down!" she ordered them. "You can't just grab what you like."
"Why not?"
"Because we have to share. That way it's fair."
Under their suspicious gaze she divided up the sheep cheese and the bread and honey.
"Libbet got more than me!"
"I didn't!"
But they were hungry and would rather eat than argue. The food was soon gone. Before Morning Star could stop them, the children had run out of the house and into a neighboring house, scavenging for more to eat. She followed behind.
"Creepy place," said Hem. "Ghost village."
"It's not a ghost village," said Morning Star.
"So where's everybody?"
"Out. Working."
"Children, too?"
He was right. It had never been like this. Every house the children raided was deserted; but everywhere there were signs of recent life. The people seemed to have left,
but there was no evidence of any struggle. In one house there was even a meal laid for two, complete with a full bottle of apple brandy that had been uncorked but not poured. Somewhere between the drawing of the cork and the raising of the bottle something had happened, and the meal had been abandoned.
In the smallest and poorest of the cottages, tucked away behind the bakehouse, lived a crippled lady known as Nanna. She had never left her single room in all the years Morning Star had known her—receiving charity and companionship from those villagers who chose to call on her at her home. Surely Nanna could not have left.
Morning Star sought out her cottage and found the door open here, too. But as soon as she stepped inside she knew the house was not empty.
"Nanna?"
She peered into the gloom of the interior. A rustling came from the box bed. A white face rose up from the pillows to peer at her.
"It's me. Morning Star."
"They've gone," said Nanna in a thin trembly voice. "They said to go with them. But I have my trouble, you see."
"Where have they gone, Nanna?"
"Oh, I don't know where, dear. They've gone with the happy people."
4 Death on Horseback
C ARESSA WATCHED FROM THE DOORWAY OF THE FARM house as the horsemen made their way up the track. This time she counted twelve of them. This time, she knew, they would not leave until they had got what they wanted.
She took up a short sword and strapped it into her belt on her left side. On her right side she fixed a quiver of slender throwing spikes. She had no plan, no certainty that she would use the
Similar Books
Imperial Assassin
Mark Robson
Lockdown
Walter Dean Myers
Forgiving Lies
Molly McAdams
Support and Defend
Tom Clancy, Mark Greaney
Bloodtraitor
Amelia Atwater-Rhodes
Breaking Clear (Full Hearts Series Book 3)
Mj Summers
From the Top
Michael Perry
Pan's Revenge
Anna Katmore
