Fury in the Wind - Chapter 3

Potter's Creek

Going out in the dead of winter was no enjoyable task to begin with, but doing it a second time because Carris had spilled half her water pails on a snow-covered root was downright frustrating. She poured out the last of the pails she had heated over the cabin fire into her laundry tub and stomped outside. She had left her rickety sled to the side and tossed the pail on it. It clanged loudly atop the other pails, in the still, late-afternoon air.

Carris pulled her thick fur hood over her sandy-colored hair and pushed off with the ancient sled, looping the makeshift yoke over her shoulders. Down the winding path she went, enjoying the lightened load that would be much more miserable on the way back. She circumnavigated the root that had disrupted her weekly laundry session. The spilled water was already freezing on the path. She made a note to avoid it on the return trip.

The walk was a short one, just a hundred paces or so among a forest of young saplings that were doing their best to hold up the weight of a fresh snowfall over the night. The air was cool but mild, calm and quiet. No creature dared be as foolish as Carris to traipse through this frozen place.

Up ahead, Potter’s Creek gurgled in the air pockets and broken sheets of ice it found among twisted tree roots and fallen limbs. Carris drew near to the edge where the shore met the water as a flat piece of ground. The hole she had punched through the ice just ten minutes before was already in the work of closing back up. She grabbed the first pail and drove it through the ice sheet. It cracked and showered into a hundred pieces.

Carris shivered as she plunged the bucket into the creek and a bit of it splashed on her bare hands. She repeated the process until she had five pails full and made her way back to the cabin. As much as she hated the cold, she couldn’t help but enjoy the tranquility it brought. She was, first and foremost, away from the townspeople and all their little squabbling. In the winter people got cooped up, and suddenly the most minor problems became cracks in the ground too deep to bridge and mend. It was all so trivial, but so was all of this petite mountain village. Carris wasn’t even sure Potter’s Creek would show up on most maps.

Carris was lost in thought as she barreled through the cabin door, a pail in each hand. She came to a stop as the door swung back her way on its hinges. There, in the center of the main area, sitting on the table, was her mother, Sandra. But far worse, there was the man kissing her.

“Mother?” She blurted out, confused.

That brought them to their feet. Her mother shoved the man off and stood to her feet, her face flushed and ears red. The man turned Carris’s way, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

“Mr. Collums? Wha-wh-what are you doing?” Carris’s head was spinning. “I thought you were at work!”

Mr. Collums – a tall, dark-haired man with a full beard – straightened his jacket. “Your mother was having a difficult day. I came by to comfort her.” He clapped his hands together. “But I trust that her own daughter knows how to do that better than anyone.”

With that he strode by Carris, whose arms still hung at her sides, her mouth opened wide. The moment the door shut her mother snapped at her.

“Calm down, child! I did not even know you were here. Obviously I wo-“

“You would’ve what? Gone somewhere else with him?” Carris lashed out. She pointed at the large tub full of steamy water beside the fireplace. “Who do you think did that? Who started the fire?”

Sandra staggered a bit, jabbing a withering finger at Carris. “I am sorry. Please, can we just sit down and talk about this?”

Carris slammed the pails down so hard that most of the water sloshed out onto her boots, but she was so furious she didn’t even care. “That’s my Malcolm’s father! Just because you aren’t married doesn’t mean no one else is!”

Her mother took a step toward her, her face now flushed with drunken anger. “How dare you speak to me that way!” she spat. “I am your mother, and I forbid you to do so. We will not speak of this ever again.”

Carris eyes brimmed with tears. She took a step back as her mother approached. This scene had played out all too often, and more than once had ended with an open palm to her cheek. But she was sixteen, and she would not stand for this anymore. Her voice softened.

“Why must you pour your misery out on everyone else?” she said.

Sandra laughed, her back arching like a bow being drawn taut. “Why must I? You are the one creating difficulties. Why must you be so insolent?”

Carris’s eyes widened. “Why don’t you ask my father? Oh yes, you would have to search for him among every last one of the Sadorian ranks.”

“You brat!” Sandra said, taking a swat.

But inebriated as she was, she missed and stumbled into the pails on the floor. She slipped and crashed to the hard wooden floor, her hair falling over her face, her dress now soaking up the puddle she had landed in. Carris stomped her feet as she watched her hard work gush across the floor for the second time. She huffed and was out the door before she could make another slight remark.

She slammed the door behind her and took off, smearing the tears that rolled down her cheeks. She wasn’t sure where she was going. Anywhere but her home would do. She hurried down the path, her heart heaving in her chest, tightening and threatening to choke her. She didn’t even see the very icy spot she had sworn she would watch out for, and nearly wiped out on it, just catching herself against a large oak tree as she slid by. Her hands dug into the rough bark. She buried her head against it and screamed.

If it had been spring, the birds would have flown for fear of their life. The squirrels would have stopped that chitter-chatter and investigated, the fish in the creek would have swum a little deeper, and the dragons that flew overhead would have stayed in their mountain crevices, immaculate eyes peeled in search of this new predator that made such a vicious cry.

She sobbed for several minutes. Everything was building up, and now was the time to let it out. The irrational behavior of her mum, the pain that it would cause to tell Malcolm of what she had just witnessed, the response of a town that already looked at her and her mother with wary eyes.

“Carris?”

It was a soft voice, one that soothed Carris. One that she knew all too well. If she had ever had a sibling, Gwyn would have been the most perfect younger sister she could ask for. At fourteen, she was two years younger and a lifetime more optimistic and free-spirited than Carris. Somehow, despite being the eldest of a large family, a overwhelmed mother, and a father injured from the war, she had a glow about her that radiated, even now in the coldest days of winter.

Carris turned to meet her round-faced, short friend. Gwyn had a picnic basket covered by a green cloth hanging from one arm. Her brown pigtails hung over her shoulders and her freckled face was even more rosy from the cool air. Her blue eyes matched the clear sky, so bright compared to Carris’s dull grey irises.

But her usually sunny composure turned dark as her eyes met Carris’s. Carris fought to wipe away the last of her tears and steady her breathing, but it was too late. Gwyn had an uncanny knack for sensing how Carris was feeling at the best of times. Disheveled as she was, she might as well have put it in writing for her friend, although writing was not her strong suit.

“What’s wrong?” Gwyn said, grabbing Carris’s arm.

Carris hesitated. Should she tell her? It had just been a kiss. Maybe Mr. Collums really had just been there to comfort her mother. Did she really want the truth to be worse than that?

“Just another fight with my mother,” she said.

Gwyn’s tear-drop eyes clouded. “I’m so sorry. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Carris hesitated, her heart beating faster at the simple thought of telling her. “No, no it’s fine. Nothing more than usual.” She wiped her nose with her thick jacket sleeve and cleared her throat. “Tell me, what’s this you have?” Carris pointed at the picnic basket.

Gwyn’s brows furrowed and her lips came together, something like a pouty face. “Carris,” she began, but Carris waved her off.

“Please just tell me it’s food?” Carris said, opting for a subtler way of diffusing the conversation.

Gwyn’s stubborn scrunched nose remained, but she nodded. “Sandwiches. Momma had a little ham left and I snatched some cheese from old Mr. Gregor. And a nice bottle of milk.”

Carris smiled, truly grateful for the sound of food. “Sounds wonderful. Let’s get out of the wind. Ice Cave?”

Gwyn nodded. They made their way down to the creek and headed north upstream. A quarter of a mile later they arrived at Ice Cave. The ground rose into a foothill and the creek spilled over about twenty paces high. Now it was mostly frozen over with little streams leaking out here and there. It spilled over a large cluster of tree roots and flared out in a spectacular shape. But slipping underneath the fall revealed a small outcrop and the dark entrance to a cave system.

It was cold and a small narrow passage from the entrance to the first cavern kept all the sunlight out. The girls shuffled along the coarse rock passageway for about a minute. At last, they slipped into the first cavern.

“Light?” Carris asked, already shivering in the dark. It may have been cold outside, but the insides of the caves turned into a meat freezer, and even in the summer were drastically cooler.

“Yep,” Gwyn said in the darkness.

There was a scratch of flint and steel, and a shower of sparks revealed Gwyn on one knee, lighting a small candle. It took a few tries, but soon there was a small flame. This cavern was frequented by the children of Potter’s Creek, and a small stash of firewood and kindling was always piled up nearby. Soon there was a small fire crackling. Carris added several bigger pieces to it.

Their shadows danced on the large cavern walls. She had never seen it fully lit, but many children had walked the edges of the rock room and had guessed it to be over fifty paces in any direction. Carris sank down to the cold, hard earth.

Gwyn handed her a small sandwich and produced a large glass bottle of milk. For a moment they ate in silence. Carris couldn’t help but smile as she washed down the bite-size sandwich with a big gulp of milk.

“I know they eat fancy meals and fish and hunt the rarest animals in all the world in the Royal City, but do you ever think they’ll taste as good as a simple sandwich?” Carris mused.

Gwyn laughed. “I imagine so. They must have the finest chefs. The most luxurious kitchens and the sweetest vines. Otherwise, what’s the point in living there?”

Carris laughed softly. “The point? Not having to eat lunch in a cave. Not having to do other people’s laundry just to save up enough to maybe one day leave this place.”

“And how is that going?” Gwyn asked as she pulled out another mini sandwich.

Carris sighed, shuffling to the side and lying down on her back near the flames. “Not fast enough.”

“You’ll make it out of here, I’m sure.” Gwyn said nothing for a moment. “I would love to go to the Royal City. To see the shores of the oceans and seas.”

Carris said nothing. It didn’t seem worth her effort. They weren’t going any time soon, and they would never fit in at the Royal City anymore than she did here at Potter’s Creek.

“How’s the jewelry business?” Gwyn asked.

“It’s fine.”

Gwyn sighed. “Carris, I don’t mean to be rude.”

Carris chuckled. “You never do Gwyn. It’s not in your nature.”

“But,” Gwyn continued, “if you hate it so much here, aren’t you willing to do anything to get away? I believe you can do it. But you must believe too.”

“And what of you?” Carris asked. She would like to change the subject.

Gwyn shrugged. “I would love to see those places, but I know my place is here. My mother and siblings need help. Father may never fully recover either. I’m needed, and if nothing else, wanted for my help.”

Carris felt her heart stuck in her throat. “It must feel nice to be wanted. Needed. Even mildly disinterested in.”

Gwyn scrambled by Carris’s side. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. You are wanted and needed.”

“By whom? Certainly not my mother. Or my father, whoever he was. And the townspeople could find another laundry woman just fine.”

“By me,” Gwyn said. “If I’m always helping my family, I need someone to watch my back. And, as much as you might protest, I choose you.”

Carris squeezed her hand. “I’ll always be there for you. Sisters forever,” she said. “Have you seen Malcolm?”

“No, why?”

“Oh, nothing. I haven’t seen him much recently. His mother fell ill last week and with his dad…working so much, I think he’s been cooped up inside with her. Perhaps he could use a delicious sandwich and a friendly face.”

Gwyn patted her shoulder. “Speaking of which, I should get back home. Mother will be starting supper and will need help putting the little ones to sleep afterward.”

She stood and placed the remnants of the meal in her basket, handing the last sandwich, wrapped in a cloth, to Carris.

“Keep your chin up.”

Carris attempted to smile. “Yes ma’am.”