Crispin_ At the Edge of the World - Avi [11]
Easing up one elbow, I peered about. Rainwater dripped down through the leafy roof, making a constant, pat pat pat. The bower floor had turned muddy in spots while rocks to either side glistened wetly. The fire was cold, the ashes white. The constant dripping sounds made me tense.
Across the way from me, on the other pile of straw, the old woman lay asleep, her toothless mouth agape. Her breath was raspy. Troth was curled by her side—cat and kitten.
On my knees I studied Bear’s face. He seemed to be in peace, breathing with greater regularity. No sweat was on his brow. The redness on his wound had abated somewhat. But when I touched fingers to his brow it was still too warm.
Hearing a sound, I swung about. The girl had woken. She was staring at me. When I returned the look she pulled her hair across her face in that gesture that hid her disfigurement—her Devil’s mark. Our eyes held.
“Can you speak?” I said.
No reply.
“Can you?”
“Ugah,” she said, or some such sound.
I pointed to one of my ears. “Hear?”
She nodded yes.
“And your name is … Troth.”
“Oth.”
A hand to my chest. “My name is Crispin.”
“Ispin.”
I pointed at the old woman. “Aude.”
Another nod.
“Mother?”
No response.
“Is she your mother?” I tried.
The girl shook her head.
“And … your father?”
No reply. Her face was like an empty mask.
“Are you … Christian?”
Again no reply. Then I recalled what people said, that demons and witches recoiled from a visible sign of the cross. I held up my hands and made one with my fingers.
She returned a look absent of emotion or any hint of knowing. Still—I noted—she had not cringed. And though yet uncertain what she was, I reminded myself that she had helped Bear.
“May Jesus,” I said, “grant you a blessing for being kind to my friend.”
She continued to fix her gaze on me. But this time, she shifted her hair so it was no longer covering her disfigured mouth: as if she wanted me to see, dared me to see. That confused me. Was she showing me her evilness? I made myself hold my gaze while inwardly saying protective prayers.
Then, to break the moment, I pointed to my mouth. “Hungry,” I said and patted my stomach.
She made another guttural sound, got up and leaned over the fire, blowing on the coals till they flamed. She put some wood on. The fire blazed. She set a helmet on it and added a handful of something. Now and again she stirred.
Frustrated by my inability to make any clear sense of her, I kept watch over Bear. Tell me what to do! I kept thinking. As God’s mercy would have it, his eyes fluttered open.
“Crispin,” he whispered, “where are you?”
I leaned over him. “Here.”
“What … is this place?”
“Deep in the forest. Where a crone and a girl live. They’re tending to you.” Then I bent down and whispered into his ear. “Bear, I don’t know who or what they are. Except, they aren’t Christians.”
He made a feeble effort to get up only to fall back. His eyes closed. He slept.
Ill at ease, I looked over my shoulder. Troth was stirring her pot, but I sensed she’d been watching me. Had she heard my words?
She scooped up what she had been cooking, put it in a bowl, and offered it to me. It appeared to be cooked oats. Was it safe to eat? I wondered.
Troth made an impatient gesture to her mouth—as if urging me to eat.
Though fearful of her food, my stomach begged. The last time I had eaten was when I took that morsel of hare I’d cooked for Bear. Unable to resist, I closed my eyes, made a prayer for my safety, used my fingers to scoop up the food, and shoved it into my mouth.
Nothing untoward happened.
All that damp, warm day Bear remained asleep on the straw, though now and again he tossed about. I had hopes that he was mending, but being so uneasy, I remained by his side, on guard, keeping a wary eye on Troth and Aude.
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