The last thing Zigana wanted was to trawl, but the shrimping season would soon be over, and a day wasted meant less food and less money to buy food. She ate the breakfast Frishi prepared while staring out the front window. A cold fog hung over the village, and the sun was nothing more than a weak glow peeking through a low ceiling of heavy clouds.
“A right miserable day for shrimping on all counts,” Odon grumbled.
Indeed it was. And it only grew worse. One of the trawlers found a baby’s blanket on the sand, another, a crimson hair ribbon. Zigana and Odon plunged their hands in the water, and this time Odon also saw the images Zigana did. She sobbed quietly as scenes rolled before her mind’s eye.
The obluda had managed to lure not only Folkus and Onri but a girl named Csilla, not yet fifteen.
“Why Csilla?” she asked Odon.
Pale and shaken, he wiped at his wet eyes. His shoulders lifted and fell in a despairing shrug. “Why any of them?”
The entire village mourned the remainder of the day, and somewhere in the Gray’s hidden depths, the obluda gorged on its prey and inhaled the scent of misery with relish.
Lord Frantisek visited—without Jolen—and offered sanctuary at the castle to every family. “We have spare store rooms to use as shelters and part of the bailey. None of us there have been lured by the obluda.”
“Why not?” one villager called out. “You’re perched on the bluff, rising up right from the Gray.”
Andras’s gaze touched on Zigana for a moment before he answered. “It’s found a hunting ground and staked territory. It won’t leave if it knows there’s an easy meal at hand. Pack your things; come to the castle. If not there, then move farther inland for now.”
“I don’t want to run!” another man said. “I want to kill the thing!”
A chorus of “ayes” accompanied his statement.
“We all do,” Andras replied, “but you can’t plan if you can’t sleep.”
He stayed long enough to answer more questions before returning to the castle. Zigana caught him just as he led his horse past the last house on the main road.
“My lord, wait.”
He halted. “Mistress Imre.” His voice wasn’t as toneless now as when he and Tunde left her on the beach, and his eyes were warm.
“How is Jolen? And Tunde?”
“They’re well. Safe.” He gave a regretful sigh. “I almost forgot. Jolen has ordered you to come to the castle immediately.”
Zigana dredged up a chuckle. “She hasn’t changed in that respect. Always ordering me about.”
“And you not listening to a word of it, I’m guessing?” His stern face relaxed a little, the ghost of a smile hovering around his mouth.
“Not a single word.”
“I told her I’d deliver the message; I couldn’t guarantee your obedience.”
Zigana glanced back at Odon where he stood with a few of the other men, discussing what was to be done. “Please tell my sister I thank her, I miss her, and that I appreciate her thoughts of me, but I won’t be coming to the castle.”
Andras’s eyebrows lowered, and his lips thinned. The look harshened his angular features, accentuating the beak of his nose and cut of his cheekbones. “I don’t think you need me to tell you just how unsafe it is in Ancilar right now, mistress.”
“No, my lord, but my father won’t leave the horses. My mother won’t leave him, and I won’t leave any of them.” She looked down at her shoes before raising her eyes to meet his. “We are family,” she said.
He was silent so long, she didn’t think he’d say anything else before continuing his journey back to the castle. She was wrong. “I will be a fortunate father should Tunde grow to be such a devoted daughter.” He tipped his chin in wordless farewell and set off.
Odon joined her as soon as Andras departed. “What did his lordship want?”
“He delivered a message from Jolen who has summoned me to her side. I declined and thanked him.”
“You should have accepted, Ziga.”
“Would you leave us here if you received such an invitation?”
