Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1) (8 page)

Agna gently touches Preta’s shoulder and gives her a tender smile then hobbles away down the road.

Great, the good news just keeps on coming.
Preta takes a deep breath and leans her back against the privy door as she watches Agna disappear over the hill leading out of town.

THE CRAZY RED EYE

Preta drags a stick behind her as she dwells on Agna’s story.

“Where in the blazes have you been?” Yaz says, throwing a wooden crate into the back of the cart. “It’s been hours since you left.”

“I was just walking along the rocks by the docks and thinking,” Preta says with a shrug.

“We thought you might have fallen in the crapper.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, I just lost track of time.”

“Good, because no way was I climbing into a poo hole for you—even if Gramps did throw a hissy fit.”

Preta chuckles. “I’m glad I saved you, now you owe me one big time.”

Yaz’s eyes widen. “
Me owe you
? You know I shot the woman in the woods and saved your life the other day. That’s got to count for something.”

Preta growls inside. “You were the one that shot the woman?” She furrows her brow. “What else haven’t you two told me?”

Deet shifts a crate in his hands. “Told you about what?”

Preta crosses her arms. “About the other night. Yaz was just saying—”

Deet shoots Yaz a dirty look.

Yaz opens his arms in protest. “Now wait just a minute. I thought she knew.”

Preta glares at Deet. “What else didn’t you think I needed to know? Spit it out.”

“When we get back to the house, we’ll talk. But right now, take these coins, and get Nala’s ingredients for the soup and whatever else we might need to get through the week. Yaz and I will meet you outside the market square in thirty minutes.”

Preta curls her lips, frustrated, and sternly points at her brothers. “Both of you better tell me everything when we get home later.”

“We’ll see,” Deet says. “Just hurry along.”

Preta snorts and grabs a burlap sack from the cart and drops the coppers and two silver nibs into her pocket. She heads to the market, feeling betrayed by her brothers.
They must think she’s just a little girl and can’t handle the truth
.
How could they not tell her? She deserves to know what really happened that night. After all, it was her that the light hit, and her who saw the boy die, and her who the woman attacked. They should’ve told her.
Preta’s temper continues rising with every passing second as she dwells on their deception. Her body twitches and she swallows funny as rotten fish snaps her out of her rage. Preta glances at a moldy wooden bin filled with day old fish withering in the sun as the flies swarm on the scales and flesh. A fly lands on Preta’s nose.
Yuck, get off,
and she cringes and swats the bug away as she enters Fishmongers Lane and passes the venders.

Halona sits on a three-legged wooden stool with one hand propped up on each knee, legs spread wide. Her tattered blue dress hangs over her feet with the ends resting in a puddle of mud. Halona gazes off into the distance with a cold, empty stare. Her leathery, smashed face full of wrinkles, which resembles a prune, makes Preta wonder what she’ll look like at seventy.

Halona snorts. “What do you want,
girl
?”

“Nothing today,” Preta says, “thanks anyway.”

At the next cart, Blet snarls at Preta. He squints his right eye and removes his pipe and puffs out yellowish-brown smoke, exposing his purplish-black teeth. Blisters cover his chapped lips, and they quiver as he spits brown liquid toward Preta’s boots.

“Charming, Blet. You must impress all the ladies. I know what Halona thinks of your high class.”

Blet spits again. “Shut up, Penter, what do you know about anything.”

Preta chuckles and leaves the fishmongers behind and she enters the main town square and the market.

The market is alive with chaotic chatter and commerce.

Preta scans the carts and shops, mumbling off her list, “Cloth, cabbage, carrots, potatoes, barley, oats, flour, and salt.” She eyes the textile cart next to the blacksmiths and dye makers.

Preta points to white cloth hanging in the back of the caravan. “I need a roll of plain basic white, please.”

“Size?” the frail woman quickly says as she glances at the cloth racks.

“Cut of ten.”

The woman holds out her boney hand and wiggles her fingers. “That’ll be six coppers.”

Preta hands the woman the coins then heads to the first spice cart she sees and buys a bag of salt.

Kilsa stands behind a produce cart and waves with a floppy hand toward Preta. “Hey, you.”

Preta waves back. “Hey, Kilsa. So you’re helping out your mother today?”

Kilsa lowers her head. “I wanna go, but—”

Kilsa’s mother, a round woman with a jolly face and red cheeks to match her red hair, steps in front of her and grabs two red apples. “But she’s got to help her mom.”

Preta smiles. “Hey, Mrs. B.”

Mrs. B winks at Preta. “So, the word on the street is that you give a mean right and left hook.”

“Well, my brother tells me I’m as good with my left as I am with my right,” Preta says with a shrug. “But you can ask Clist next time you see him. He’d know better than me.”

Mrs. B smiles. “I’ll be sure to do that the next time he comes by.”

Preta and Kilsa exchange smirks, and another customer steps up, occupying Mrs. B.

Preta lays her burlap sack on the counter. “I need two cabbages, ten carrots, fifteen potatoes, a small sack of barley, large sack of flour, and a large sack of oats.”

“No problem, one sec,” Kilsa says.

Yaz steps up behind Preta and gives her a big slap on her butt, making her jump. “You almost ready?”

Preta trips forward and braces her hands on the produce cart. “Dang it, Yaz. What the heck’s wrong with you?”

“Did you like that?” Yaz chuckles in short spurts.

Preta ignores him and shakes her head in annoyance. “Kilsa is filling up the sack now.
Ouch
, that hurt.”

Kilsa giggles and blushes. “Oh, hello, Yaz.”

Yaz puckers his lips and flicks his head at her. “What up, Kilsa?”

Kilsa, smiling at him, stands in a daze with a slight head tilt.

Preta snaps her fingers in front of Kilsa’s face. “
Umm
—
hello
.”

Kilsa refocuses on Preta. “Right—sorry—that will be two silver nibs and a copper.”

“Dang.” Preta hands her the coins, and Yaz grabs the burlap sack.

Yaz winks at Kilsa then spins to Preta. “Let’s go, Sis.”

Preta snorts, watching Kilsa ogle her brother, and then she turns away and waves goodbye. “Thanks, have a good one.”

“
Huh
—” Kilsa says, watching Yaz strut away and nod to every girl he passes.

“You know you two are perfect for each other,” Preta says.

Kilsa beams. “
Really
? Yeah I think so too—perfect.”

Preta rolls her eyes. “Okay, enough weirdness for today. Gotta go. Have a good one.”

At the cart, Yaz throws the sack into the back.

Grandpa, reclined in the backseat, snores sound asleep.

Lurrus gives Deet a kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow, my Deets.”

Deet leans over the cart, beaming with a drunken smile. He mouths hushed words into Lurrus’s ear, making her giggle.

Yaz climbs into the front seat and smacks the wooden bench with a crack. “Let’s go, my Deets.”

Deet, annoyed, punches Yaz in the arm.

Yaz chuckles, rocking his head, mocking his brother. “
Umm
—may I have another, my Deets?”

“Shut up.”

Grandpa twitches and snorts. “
Wha-was-tha-you-say-dinner—
”

Yaz glares at Grandpa. His head angled with a goofy tilt. “I said, may I have another, my Deets?” Yaz bursts into a deep belly laugh, gyrating the rickety wooden seat. He sucks in air between the hysterics then coughs as if he swallowed a bug.

“Damned fool.”

Preta giggles, then blocks out the arguing during the entire ride back as Yaz explains arrow versus musket theory and Grandpa corrects him on every point.

As the boys talk nonsense, Preta is free to disappear into the background. She gazes at the pines and fall trees and clouds, envisioning how she fits into the world and how she can be an artist in Iinia. Though her thoughts drift back to Agna’s warnings, and she dwells on her newfound light. A familiar bent grey fence post crosses her vision, marking the Penter property.

Roscoe sprints toward the cart, kicking up a dust cloud behind him. The dog runs so fast he skids on the loose dirt and gravel trying to stop. Roscoe recovers, nips the horse’s hoof, and jaunts next to the cart.

The horse lets out a snort and skips.

Roscoe weaves through the horse’s legs to the front and takes off in a sprint leading them home.

It’s dusk, and the cart stops next to the barn.

Yaz hops off the cart and unhitches Berta the horse.

Deet carries crates to the cottage.

Yaz chuckles. “It was a nice day, my Deets!”

Deet ignores him and disappears inside the house.

Grandpa points to the chicken coop. “Preta, fetch a big hen for the soup.”

Preta sighs and lowers her head. “Do I have
to
?”

“Move along, it’ll only be harder the darker it gets. And don’t come back without one.”

Preta sighs again, and then she strolls to the chicken pen. She whispers to herself, “Strategy, Preta, they smell fear. They sense what you want, be quick, be decisive.”

Preta faces away from the hens to not startle them.

In the corner of her eye, she picks out her target.
Don’t let her see you looking
. Preta slithers through the fence opening.

The hens cluck and gather in the farthest corner.

Preta’s mark pecks the ground outside the flock. Preta creeps in the opposite direction to trick the hens.

The hens heads all rise and focus on Preta, and they oppose her every move in unison.

“Shoot!”

Preta cups a handful of grain and holds it out to them. She gently sways her hand back and forth, trying to coax the birds to come to her.

The hens don’t fall for her scheme and they cluck and skip in circles not getting any closer to her.

“Come on now
,
food, stupid hens. Come and get it, come eat.” Preta sneers. “Dang it, no takers. They know. So plan B it is.”

Preta stares straight at the one she wants and tiptoes forward.

The hen clucks with a twitching head. It stands sideways, glaring at Preta with a crazy red eye.

“Now!” Preta lunges into a sprint toward the hen.

The hen hops and skips, avoiding Preta’s plan B.

Preta crashes into the fence and falls to her knees, landing in the mud. “Dang it! Darn hen.” She stands up and stomps her foot with a squish then goes for the hen again at full speed. Her hand grazes the bird’s back, pulling out a few brown feathers. Preta staggers and tumbles to the ground. “
Uh
—”

She springs off the mud, furious with hands on hips, she focuses on her next plan of attack. She growls, and her face twists into a menacing warrior, aqua-blue light ripples over her eyes.

The hen and Preta square off for the final showdown.

Preta takes five calculated steps forward, matching the hen step for step and side to side. She traps the bird along the fence. “This is it, Preta Penter. Don’t let her escape this time.”

A few feet from the distraught bird, Preta bears down with intense focus.

The hen’s red eye bulges and twitches.

“Now!”

Preta leaps forward, but her feet don’t move. An aqua-blue haze fills her periphery. A single glowing string of light flutters away from Preta’s boots and connects to the hen’s breast.

Rapid pulses flow into her body, building in her chest. “
Hmm
—it’s weaker than Redly.”

“Who’s Redly?” a squeaky-voiced woman says inside Preta’s head. “What do you want with me?”

The faint throbbing energy makes Preta’s eyes twitch. She contemplates her words carefully,
coming back without a hen isn’t an option
. “I need your help.”

“What kind of help?” the squeaky hen says. “What’s not an option?”

Preta freezes. “
Umm
—you heard that?”

The hen’s crazy red eye twitches trying to break the connection. “
Liar
, release me!”

“No!” the blue light flashes, and it blinds Preta.

All at once, the hen’s energy rushes out of Preta’s body.

Preta drops to her knees, weak and gasping for air. She rubs her burning eyes. “I can’t see. What did I do?” Preta’s hands haphazardly wave about until she feels the wire fence. Hand over hand, she moves along the metal mesh until she finds a post. In silence, with eyes open yet blind, she rapidly blinks for a few minutes until shapes reappear.

Preta scans the pen for the hen and spots it lying dead in the corner. She staggers to the bird and stares at it for a minute. Giving a slow, understanding nod, Preta picks it up by its feet, rips out the feathers, and carries the hen dangling by its neck to the cottage and through the front door.

THE ALLEYS

The next morning, Preta enters the kitchen and sits across the table from Yaz.

Yaz glances up from his porridge, his mouth full of oats, he mumbles, “What’s your plan today, Sis?”

“No plan.”

“Wanna come to the alleys?”

Preta’s eyes widen. “
Me
? The alleys?”

“Sure, why not?” Yaz says with a shrug. “I won’t be around forever. Who else is gonna take you?”

Preta beams. “When we going?”

“Now. Put on your sturdy boots and pack what you need. Make sure you get the water and food, and I’ll prepare your fighting kit. Meet me out front in ten minutes.”

Yaz stands and tosses his spoon into his bowl then heads out the front door.

Preta’s face freezes with a grin, and she scampers to her room to pack her backpack. “He’s taking me to the alleys.” She hums while packing her things, and her mind fills with excitement.
I’ve never been to the alleys.
Every time Preta asked her brothers in the past, they just blew her off, not wanting to babysit her while they have their fun. But today she finally gets to go. She still remembers when her father took Deet and Yaz. It’s one of her earliest memories of him. The next year he was gone, killed in the Wheat Revolt. But now it’s her turn, she gets to experience what all the fuss is about. It is said once a boy completes his first day in the alleys he is no longer a boy but a man. And now Preta can graduate to that status as well. She never thought she’d get to go and gave up hope long ago. Today’s her day, and she’s going to breathe and taste and take in every second as if it’s her last.