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Alesoun directs me on how to mix the ingredients to make a dough with short, harsh sounding commands. Everything has a definitive, dream-like quality to it. It doesn’t feel real. None of this does. As my hands move, working the dough, it's as if time drags and the motions stutter. Like I’m in a movie and the frames are slowed down to where the actors jump from one position to the next, not bothering with the in-between movements.
A heavy weight is crushing me. I can’t escape. I’m not supposed to be here, stuck with these people who are rushing towards a doom that they don’t comprehend. Here I am, knowing what’s coming, but I can’t tell them and I can’t stop it.
I’m helpless.
The thought crashes into my head like a meteor intent on destruction. There is no other way to describe this feeling and it terrifies me.
Focus. One thing at a time. One breath. One exhale.
I knead the dough, accepting Alesoun’s critique on how I’m doing it without speaking. If I can’t change what’s coming, then I’ll have to accept it. Tonight, I’ll meet the dark stranger who knows more than he should. One way or another, tonight I’m getting answers.
I smile at that thought. He obviously knows more than he has said and I’m going to get him to tell me what is going on. Stress drains from my body like rain running off a slanted roof and as it goes, peace flows in behind it.
Who doesn’t love some good old answers?
“Good,” Alesoun says. “Now put that bowl in that cabinet to let it prove.”
I do as directed, and when I’ve turned back around she has laid out vegetables for me to chop. This I do know how to do, so I set about the work.
“How do you do it?” I ask, concentrating on my knife work but needing to get out of my own head.
“Do what?”
“Live outside the social network. The way they treat you, keeping you at a distance. How do you do it?”
Alesoun doesn’t answer. She is behind me working on something in the cabinet. When the silence stretches, I look up. She isn’t working any more but standing staring into it.
“Alesoun?”
“We all have our sins,” she says softly. “It’s best to tend to your own and let others tend to theirs.”
“That’s not true. We should help each other.”
“Oh, so you know better than Our Lord and Savior, do ya?” she snaps, whirling around. Her eyes are wide and her face flushed crimson. “Tis best to mind your manners, lass, or you’ll end up without even my support.”
“I’m sorry,” I stammer, taken aback. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
“Ya never do, do ya? Have I nae told ya to keep your mouth shut? Did I nae warn ya? I tried to tell ya to nae antagonize them.”
Her anger cuts sharper than the knife in my hands. She’s my one friend, my one ally and I can’t keep myself from crying. The tears leave cold trails down my cheeks, staining my lips with their salty remains. Alesoun is so angry, more than I’ve ever seen. I don’t even know what I did to make her so. All I wanted was to help.
“I’m sorry.”
I drop the knife and run out of the house.
“Quinn—” She calls after me, but I cut her off by slamming the door to her house.
I run around the corner and up into the highlands. I don’t want to stand where the other women of the village can see me crying. My one ally, and I’ve made her mad at me too. I don’t stop until I’m out of direct sight of the village. Only then do I give into the stitch in my side.
Balling my hands into fists, I shake them impotently at the sky and scream, giving voice to my frustration. Breathless, out of tears, and feeling nothing but emptiness and a crushing weight, I drop to my knees and bow my head. I offer up all my hopes and desires to whatever or whoever might be listening.
I don’t know what to do. Help me. Please.
A cool breeze tugs at my hair as it chills my skin. It whistles softly as it moves through the tall grass and heather, carrying the full, rich scents. The sky is gray and cloudy and a drop of rain plops onto my bent neck, making me shiver.
“You’re going to freeze to death,” Duncan says, surprising me.
I jump up with a yelp.
