The three shared conversation over tea for almost an hour with Bron updating both women about his tenure at Burnpool. Disaris glanced at Hazarin who returned it with a worried one of her own. Once more there was a reticence in Bron’s telling of his experiences at the garrison, a sense that he painted a prettier picture of his time there as a Daesin soldier than what was true.
When the teapot was empty, Hazarin chased them out of the house with the task of fetching her favorite milking goat from Farmer Ordine’s farm.
“Now, Amman?” Bron glanced out the one window in the parlor. “It’s blacker than Old Man Jonduh’s soul out there and almost as cold. It can’t wait until morning?”
“If you don’t bring Euwey back tonight, that old fox Ordine might eat her for his breakfast tomorrow.” Hazarin pushed him and Disaris toward the door. “Take Disa with you and hurry up. The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back.”
They both bundled into their heavy woolens, caps, and gloves, with Bron grumbling the entire time. His eyes, above the edge of his scarf, were shades of red, from pale pinkto the darkest crimson in his pupils. He helped Disaris with her scarves, tucking the ends into her outer tunic before straightening her cap. “I can’t believe you walked here in the cold with your hair still wet,” he said. “You’ll be sick by tomorrow.”
“You said not to delay.”
He tugged the edge of the cap down over her ears. “When do you ever listen to me?”
“What?” she yelled, giggling when he flinched.
They bid Hazarin goodbye, assuring they wouldn’t come back until they’d caught Euwey the goat, and stepped outside into the biting cold.
When Disaris left her house for Bron’s the night sky had been mostly clear with a single line of clouds drifting lazily below the stars. That line had become a shroud, covering the entire firmament in puffy clouds laden with snow.
Bron gazed at the heavens, frowning. “It’ll snow soon,” he said and grabbed Disaris’s hand. “If we hurry, we can get the goat and be home before the heaviest of it moves in.”
They jogged to the farmer’s homestead, reaching their destination to find the house dark and no goat in sight. No one answer the door when both Bron and Disaris knocked.
She put her hands on her hips and studied the dark house with a puzzled look. “It’s awfully early for them to be in bed, don’t you think?”
“But not too late to be enjoying an ale or six at the Feathered Wren.” Bron motioned for her to follow him to the gate leading to the pastures behind the house where the horse and hay barns stood.
“What are you doing? she protested, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone witnessed Bron climbing over the locked gate.
He landed lightly on his feet on the other side. “If I know Euwey, she’s found what’s left of the season’s hayricks or the laundry Mistress Ordine hung on her wash lines to dry. It doesn’t matter which, that goat will eat both if she can reach them.” He gestured for her to climb over the gate and join him. “We’ll be gone with Euwey long before anyone get home.”
The gods must have laughed at Bron’s optimism because they didn’t find Euwey anywhere near the hayrick remains. Instead, the discovered her in the farthest corner of the farthest field, bleating her distress at finding herself alone and far from familiar surroundings. By the time Bron and Disaris reached her, the wind had risen from a soft ballad to a keening wail. Snow fell in heavy sheets, swirling in wind-driven patterns that made it difficult to see. Darkness, combined with the heavily falling snow made it difficult for Disaris to see her hand in front of her. She clutched Bron’s cloak in one hand as they hurried across the slippery field, the goat bleating the entire way. By the time they reached the hay barn, snow had already mounded into knee-high drifts in some spots and fell even faster on them.
“We won’t make it home in this,” he shouted above the howling wind. “We’ll wait it out in the hay barn.” Eager to get out of the blinding maelstrom before her eyes dried to pebbles and her nose froze solid, Disaris nodded and trudged after him.
Without livestock to occupy it, the hay barn wasn’t much warmer than outside, but at least the wind no longer threatened to blow them over or the snow bury them. Bron set Euwey down and helped Disaris shut and bar the heavy doors. With their closing, the barn was pitched into darkness.
“Well this is nice,” Disaris said in the sudden quiet, the cold making her stutter. She reached into one of the inner pockets of her cloak for the firestick she’d carried with her when she walked to Bron’s house earlier. Euwey bleated her agreement and gently head-butted her leg.
With a true blizzard bearing down on them, they were trapped in the barn until it stopped. There had been more than a few unfortunates who’d made the unwise decision to go outside in such conditions or were trapped there. Some had frozen to death steps from their own front doors. Disaris hoped her parents wouldn’t worry too much, assuming that their daughter had made it to Bron’s house and would happily stay there as long as possible.
She wished she could assume the same about Hazarin. Before she could knock the cap loose on her firestick, a blue and orange radiance flared to life next to her, revealing Bron’s ghostly features. The unexpected light came from a small flame that danced cheerfully on the tips of his fingers. Disaris gasped, enraptured by the sight. “Oh my gods, Bron, how did you do that?”
He shrugged, his cheeks reddening at her enthusiastic response to a bit of sorcery. “It’s the first spell they teach battle mages at Burnpool.” He spoke a few more words in a soft chant and pulled his hand away. The flame hovered in place, flickering back and forth with the push and pull of the drafts eeling through the barn from outside.
Its luminescence didn’t reach far or high, but it offered enough light to reveal the barn’s interior. Mounds of hay had been pitched in rows against the walls, their bases raised on pallets to keep them off the damp floor. They covered the expanse from entry doors all the way to the darkness hiding the very back of the barn.
There was a hayloft built for additional storage and supported by heavy beams. A ladder leaned against the lip of the loft, providing access to the high space and the additional hay stored there.
Bron gestured to where the wayward goat happily munched at one of the hay mounds. “She won’t get into much mischief inhere,” he said. “We can wait out the storm in the loft where it’s sure to be warmer than down here.”
Disaris hugged herself. She’d welcome a little more warmth right now. “Your mother will be beside herself with worry. I wish we could get a message to her.”
Bron approached the ladder, stepping onto the first rung and bouncing to test its sturdiness. “She’d be right to worry if we tried to make it home. She trusts me. The best thing we can do is stay here.” He suddenly ran up the ladder, nimble as a cat. The rungs creaked under his weight until he vaulted over the loft’s edge and disappeared into the darkness.
“Don’t you want your floating candle?” she called out to him.
“No. Keep it with you. I can see.”
