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Fear gripped her. Should I answer?
As she battled the urge to run, one of the shadows became stronger and took form, closing on her and moving into the light. It was a woman, and she looked familiar. Yes. “Mother? Is it really you?"
It was she. Just as she had been before illness had taken her. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders and she wore her favorite woolen gown, the color of sage leaves. She nodded and smiled, and Maerose felt warmth flowing across the space between them.
"Be brave, Maerose. Keep your head held high."
"Why has this happened to me?” She tried to reach out, but couldn't close the space between them.
"Be strong child, remember what I told you."
The shadow faded into the darkness. Maerose reached out, but she was gone. She ran forward, blindly, calling out for her.
Crashing through the branches of the dead trees, she awoke. The candle spluttered out; she heard the rat gnawing on the bread. She'd been asleep mere moments. Despite the cold in the cell, damp sweat clung to the back of her neck.
Remember what I told you.
Maerose frowned into the darkness. Her father was a quiet, stoic man, but he had told his children one and all that their mother watched over them. Could it be true, that she was watching over now, trying to guide her? Hope spilled inside Maerose. She scrambled upright, pulling her legs under her, her body huddled on the cot. Her mother had taught her so much, many fine lessons that she treasured, thoughts and words that made her face life head on, and with a brave heart.
Which lesson, mother, which of the lessons?
Her mother had always told her to be strong, and to trust her heart, above all, to follow her heart. Was that it? She remembered how they'd sat by the fire in the evenings, when the younger children were asleep, and her mother would whisper to her, telling her stories about when she had come to Riversbend, when she had fallen in love with her father. He would look across from his chair, fondly, but he was a man of few words. The words were not necessary. She felt the love all around them.
It's a trick, her cynical side cried out while she lingered on those happy memories, piercing the hope that had begun to blossom inside her. You are fooling yourself. It was a dream, that's all, a dream borne of desperation. She pushed her fisted hands against her eyes, fighting back the emotion, hunching over her knees.
"I will not cry,” she whispered into the darkness. “I will be strong."
* * * *
Torches flared into the dim, early dawn sky, the men from Riversbend were lighting up the path ahead for Bron. Maerose's father beckoned for him to follow towards the riverbank.
"It's yonder, though we picked up her things, you can still see the tracks of the cart.” His face was deep with worried furrows. Grief and fury had taken hold of the man.
Bron nodded and followed where he led, his senses honed for information. The path was heavy with mud, the air filled with the smell of decaying plants. Above them, the sky was lightening. He had talked with the villagers through the night and when he had sensed dawn was close, he announced he would be on his way. Maerose's father was weary, but refused to rest. They'd already been as far as the neighboring villages hunting for her, and planned to continue that way, further afield, when the sun rose.
They had welcomed the help of the stranger from Western Tor. Maerose's disappearance had hit them badly, sending concern through every soul in the village. Bron told them a little of the prediction about Maerose, her dormant powers and her role. At first they were skeptical, but as the night progressed, her father latched onto the tale in order to help him make sense of his daughter's disappearance. Bron did what he could to reassure them, encouraging them to stay in touch with the elders at the settle.
The men had gathered around a muddied spot by the bank side. The ground had been well trodden and clearly a scuffle had gone on. The place was filled with the aura of adversity and Bron felt it gnaw into him.
"The tracks get muddled on the way to the next village,” one of the men said, nodding his head in the direction the cart had gone. “We went as far as two villages hence, couldn't pick up the trail again."
"Did anyone hear anything?” Bron asked.
One of the men nodded. “The apothecary, he was out collecting herbs for his potions. He said he heard a scream, maybe voices."
Bron moved closer to the riverbank. The water itself was barely visible except where the torches reflected off it. Breathing deeply, he reached out around him, feeling for her presence. She was far away now. She had fought them, fiercely adamant. That touched him. She was as strong as they had hoped. He was drawn towards the bushes where ferns and nettles had been crushed underfoot. Reaching into a clump of weeds,
he pulled out a thin red ribbon, holding it up in the light.
"It's hers,” Maerose's father confirmed.
The sight did nothing to comfort him, Bron knew. But the tiny scrap of material warmed through Bron's palm, connecting him to her. “If I may take it with me, it might help me locate her?"
After a moment, her father nodded.
Bron rose to his feet, tucking the ribbon into his pocket. Even as he did, the article channeled her current mood to him. He was shocked that the connection was so powerful. Egremont and Felicita had told him it would be like this, but it was much more powerful and immediate than he had expected. He sensed her imprisonment, and that she battled with doubt and hope. He reached out, nurturing the hope in her, before taking her father's hand and shaking it.
"Maerose has been taken because she is a very special young woman. There are those that want to lead her wrongly, but my task is to set her on her true path."
