When the sun set, I got the relief from the burn. The night sky was so clear, its dark face freckled with stars. Those were the nights that I could forget about the pain and remember that I was free.
Free of Derfort Harbor. Free of Zakir. Of what went on at The Solitude.
But I had no idea what I was supposed to do. The only thing I’d ever focused on was getting away. I’d gone as far as I could go. I’d crossed a sea and left the shore to wade through dunes the color of ash, feeling my skin peel away beneath the brutal beating of the sun.
I knew I needed to find a place to stop, but every village I came to, the people were wary and I wasn’t welcome. So I kept going. The severity of my situation truly set in when I slept against the back of a shop, shivering all over, stomach grumbling, mouth parched, a layer of sand gritted over my skin and hair.
I knew no one, had nothing. I’d spent my last coin on filling up my waterskin and a sack filled with nuts and dates. I was tired. Scared. Alone—I had never felt so utterly alone.
And that’s when I found Milly. Or really, when Milly found me.
She jabbed me awake with her walking stick. Stared down at me with one milky eye and told me to come with her.
I was going to bolt. I knew better than to just trust someone, especially when you had no money or items to barter your safety with. But even though she was blind in one eye, Milly must’ve seen that on my expression, because she said, “Run off if you want, but I got rabbit in the kitchen and water in the well. Don’t have a building to sleep up against, but I’m sure the bed will do.”
I sat there, stunned, taking in the silver gleam of her hair, the way her shoulders stooped so that her body was in the shape of a teapot—bent elbow leaning on her cane just like a handle.
“What?” I asked, wiping the tangled hair out of my face as I looked up at her, my knees bent, worn boots tucked beneath my dress.
“How old are you, girl?”
“Fifteen.”
“Hmm.” She leaned even more on her cane, the cheeks of her lined face making little C shapes on either side. “You break some kind of law? Steal something?”
I shook my head while she glowered at me. “Well, alright then. Let’s go.”
I gaped at her, trying to think of all the ways she might be tricking me. Before I could figure it out, she turned around and started to hobble away, skirts swishing at her calves, silver hair tucked into a tight braid.
When I didn’t move, she looked over her shoulder at me. “Well? You gonna sit there on the street all night and get pecked at by vultures? Or are you coming? Because I got a bad hip and worse patience.”
I’d like to say I had some gut instinct telling me I could trust Milly and that’s why I went with her, but the truth was, I just really wanted that rabbit and water.
Milly led me to a mule hitched to a cart on the dark street, and I sat beside her as she took the reins and plodded us away. When the street ended, when the cluster of village buildings was left behind, she still guided us on, tired hooves clomping through the sand, just a sliver of a crescent moon lighting up the way.
Thirty minutes later, when I was about ready to fall over in exhaustion, my whole back screaming in itchy pain, the first signs of Carnith came into view.
Most of the villages and cities I’d passed had oases or rivers, low as they may be, and Carnith was no different. It was a quaint village curled around a tiny oasis, date palms propagated around the water.
Milly’s house was right in the middle of the cluster of buildings. They were all nestled between sand dunes, a mountain far off in the shadowed landscape. Each home was curved and short, looking like it was molded from clay and left to bake in the sun. Hers was set a bit further back than the rest, a short clay fence surrounding it. The slightly angled tin roof shone silver as she led the mule through the gate and then to a small stable whose ground was littered with straw, while a trough and stall were visible through the archway.
Still leery, I waited at the front of the building, watching as she clumped down the cart’s steps. “Well, don’t just gawk, girl. Come over here. You’re going to learn how to unhitch Sal and to feed and water and brush him. Tomorrow, when I go do my deliveries, you’ll learn to hitch him back up.” She eyed me, one brow raised higher than the other. “You’ll learn to ride him too.”
All I could do was stare wide-eyed at this strange woman until both she and the mule seemed to tsk at me.
So, I learned how to unhitch Sal. And how to brush him. Feed him. Water him.
When I was done, Milly gave me fresh, cool water from her well that tasted earthy and crisp. I could’ve drunk forever, except she knocked me with her cane again and told me that was enough because she didn’t want me vomiting all over her front yard.