Crossroads

An Original Short Story by Hayley Price

For as long as anybody could remember, the town of Bellindu had simply been known as Crossroads. Wealth flowed into the country of Forl as it grew in importance, a trade stop on the burgeoning baritheum route between those nations fortunate enough to have the precious ore beneath their ground and those nations desperate enough to pay vast sums for it. Exotic goods from other lands arrived at Seaport, destined for the major cities. Baritheum flowed east to Seaport from the interior of Forl, and the money that merchants paid for it flowed west, back to Werllan, the capital city.

Nobody raided the bullock carts as they trundled east. The heavy ore did not appeal to raiders, but the money chests that headed west did, and the raids increased in frequency. At the crossroad between the main route from Werllan to Seaport and two smaller roads used mainly by farmers and a handful of locals to move between markets, the Chamber, the governing body of Forl, decided to station a small group of soldiers, and a military camp sprang up. Raids dwindled, Chambermen grew wealthier, and Crossroads, as it became known, attracted residents and businessmen.

Jen’s parents built the stable before Burgher Bellindu formally decided to rename Crossroads in his own honour, and they made a handsome living from the provision of horses to the military and stabling for folks passing through, east or west. In time, the military camp closed, too expensive to maintain, replaced by mercenary guards who travelled with the bullock carts that still rolled through the town, which had grown large enough to support itself without the camp.

Then somebody found baritheum in the town. The miners came, dug their tunnels, and the mining company built a big house on the top of a knoll to the south near the mine, called it Hummock, and moved the mine boss into it. The town flourished, Jen’s parents with it. But the seam turned out to be shallower than anybody had thought, and it ran dry within seven years. The miners left, their money left, and the mine boss left. Hummock stood empty, the town grew a sense of despondency, and people stood in the street, grumbled about the good old days, and watched the bullock carts pass them by.

Jen ran the stable alone now, her parents dead. Bellindu had gone too; drank himself to death, the old fool. The new Burgher, Orl Vanster, took over, elected unopposed by the townsfolk. Jen’s quiet life suited her, her days filled with the care of the horses that she loved, her nights often spent in the Bellinndu, the tavern that some wag opened years earlier, combining the town name with the word “inn” in a way that made Jen cringe whenever a traveller asked her where they could get a room, a meal, and a pot of ale.

When the rumours began, Jen paid them no mind. If somebody moved into Hummock, so what? She would carry on, and nothing would change for her. Sold to a rich widow from Werllan, the stories said. Jen could not imagine why a rich woman, alone by all accounts, would move from her glamorous life in the capital to Crossroads. Like her parents before her, Jen still called the town Crossroads. The widow would be bored to death here and would return west within a year, she predicted.

For once, the rumours proved correct. The woman did move into Hummock, and Jen’s life changed more than she had expected, because the new owner had never ridden a horse but wanted to learn how. Somebody suggested that Jen could teach her, usually had a few spare horses that she looked after for locals who didn’t need them much, so they stabled them with Jen. Jen rode them out, kept them fit, so maybe she would help the new resident learn to ride.

Dynnah, her name. Jen thought she might have been thirty and five, perhaps, not much older. Young to be a widow, but Jen didn’t pry. “Can you teach me?” Dynnah had explained it all, and Jen had listened to it all.

Tall and slender, Dynnah. Dark hair combed back meticulously and gathered into a ponytail bound by an extravagant red barrette. Attractive, with full lips painted dark red, green eyes, dainty hands. Attractive, but not breathtaking, not that Jen had any right to judge. “I can teach you.” Why not? Money is money, after all. Jen had never taught anybody to ride before, but if the woman had half a brain, it should not prove too difficult.

“Can we start now?”

Impatient. Not a trait that Jen suffered gladly, but she had been thinking of a ride today anyway. Overnight rain had left a damp smell in the air, like old leaves as they decayed, and she loved to ride in that beautiful aroma. “Follow me.”

Jen led Dynnah out into the small yard at the side of the stable where her own horse, Gilpin, stood tethered to a post. She had Dynnah throw the blanket over him, pick up the saddle and cinch it. She watched the beads of sweat break out on Dynnah’s forehead, unused to such labour, Jen’s best guess.

With a lead rope tied to his halter, Jen showed Dynnah how to mount Gilpin, then brought a small box over to make the task easier for her pupil. If a person could not ride Gilpin, they could not ride. He could walk all day, as placid as the snow is cold, but he had a fiery heart and loved to be ridden hard. He would put his ears back and gallop faster than the wind, but Dynnah would have to enjoy that experience another day. For now, Jen taught her the correct posture, how to hold the reins, how to turn him, how not to squeeze her legs against his body in panic, helped her to her feet when she forgot, and he trotted on. Jen didn’t even laugh.

Dynnah took to it better than Jen expected, and she proved to be easy company. She rained down praise for Jen’s patience and clear explanations, and after little more than an hour, she could turn him, stop him, even make him trot, although she bounced atop him like a doll on a spring, and strands of hair threw themselves out of her ponytail in protest.

Jen suggested a short ride across a couple of nearby fields, and Dynnah’s eyes lit up with excitement, so Jen fetched one of the neighbour’s horses, another placid mount in case she needed to intervene in some trick that old Gilp played on his new rider. Dynnah’s wide-eyed joy as she guided Gilpin across the field brought a permanent smile to Jen’s lips, and when they returned, Jen felt that she had rarely spent a more enjoyable two hours for many months.

Dynnah insisted on taking off Gilpin’s tack and brushing him. The old faker had barely even known he’d had a walk, but he loved a good brush, and he didn’t complain, so neither did Jen.

“How long have you lived in Bellindu?” Dynnah seemed keen on some small talk as she swept the brush along Gilpin’s flank.

“I was born here, for my sins.”

“Sins? Do you believe, then?”

“In the Twain you mean?” Dynnah nodded. “No, I don’t believe.”

“Why is that?” Jen chewed at the inside of her mouth. She had not expected such a personal question and didn’t quite know how to answer, and Dynnah apparently sensed her reticence. “Oh, I’m so sorry. What a rude question. I apologise. Your faith is your own concern. I don’t know what came over me. Forget I asked.”

What harm could it do to explain? None, Jen supposed. “I have always thought it nothing but a story my mother told me to scare me into behaving, when all else had failed.” She laughed as she remembered her mother’s sombre expression, her doom-laden voice as she threatened the childhood Jen with the repercussion of the Twain if she didn’t behave. “Twin gods, born of a father who lay with a beast? It does defy belief, don’t you think?”

“I am afraid to doubt, if I’m honest.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“I don’t know. That they’ll strike me dead, I suppose. The repercussion of the Twain.” Her brush lay stationary on Gilpin’s hind quarter, her eyes looked into the distance at something only she could see, then she shook her head and laughed, the soft tinkle of water as it dripped from a leaf in the sunshine after a summer shower. Jen decided she liked Dynnah’s laugh, liked the sparkle in her eyes, the dimples in her cheek that the laughter deepened. If talk of the Twain caused the older woman to laugh, then Jen could stand to debate them all day.

Jen looked down, guilty. Such thoughts were not proper. “The woman is a widow.” She hoped that Dynnah did not grasp the reason Jen’s cheeks had turned red and burning hot. “You ride well. I did not expect you to take to it so quickly.”

“Thank you. I enjoyed it. I would like another lesson if that’s possible.”

“I can think of no reason not to, can you?”

Dynnah laughed again. “I can’t. Tomorrow?”

“I have some time later in the day. In the morning, I have a mare to deliver to a farm. They keep her here much of the time, but they want her home for a few days.”

“Later tomorrow then. Thank you for the lesson.”

Dynnah put down the brush and rubbed Gilpin’s face. “He’s a lovely horse. I think he knew that I had never ridden before and tried to make me look good.”

Jen laughed. “You can ride him again tomorrow. He is a good horse to learn on.”

Dynnah looked at her feet, mumbled something that Jen didn’t quite catch. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Jen stared after Dynnah as she walked alongside the building, turned the corner, and disappeared.

Jen breathed out, a long, slow breath that she had held captive inside her as she hoped Dynnah would turn and wave goodbye. The day wound on, and Jen put all the horses into the stable, fed, watered them, closed the doors and went up to the small living quarters above them.

She rode out to the farm with the mare on a rope in the morning, rode back. The sun shone, but the wind blew and carried some menace on it that Jen could not identify, the smell of bad weather to come, perhaps.

Dynnah arrived as Jen finished a piece of bread, seated on the box that she used to help people mount the horses. Dynnah’s smile arrived before the rest of her, palpable excitement when she saw Gilpin saddled, ready. She wore a grey linen shirt tucked into black trousers, and she climbed from the box onto Gilp’s back unaided.

They rode across fields, chatted idly. Dynnah’s husband had been a banker involved in loaning vast sums of money to businesses, mostly in the baritheum industry. He had got up one day, sat at the table to break his fast, and fallen face down onto the tabletop, dead as an old rag. No explanation could be found, the doctors told her. He had loaned money to the mine that worked the baritheum here in Bellindu apparently, and had, in Dynnah’s words, taken a bath on the place, so when she heard that Hummock could be bought cheaply, she decided that she had grown tired of city life and wanted to spread her wings, experience something different.

Once they had brushed the horses, put them into the stable, Jen thought she would close for the night and head upstairs, but Dynnah made a different suggestion. “Please, come to my home for dinner. I have not paid you anything yet for my lessons, and we need to arrange an appropriate fee. I live alone and would welcome the company.” Jen tried to decline, anxious that she had ridden all day and would smell terrible. “Nonsense. That is the smell of honest work. Please come. I really would enjoy the company. You’re the only person I know in town so far.”

Reluctantly, Jen agreed, and they walked side by side up to Hummock. Jen had never been inside the house, and the true size of it could not be guessed from the end of the lane. It took her breath away. The parlour alone must have been bigger than her humble accommodations above the stable. A large kitchen with an iron range stood at one end of the house, reached through a long dining room with a table and eight chairs in it.

Dynnah lit some candles in baritheum holders that seemed to stand on every flat surface. Dynnah had a cold tenderloin in her pantry, and they boiled some vegetables together. They ate at the table, far too big for only two of them.

“When will you try scran?” Jen pushed her plate away, leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her palms.

“Scran?”

“It is the local delicacy. Off-cuts of meat, shank, chuck and so on. Vegetables, potatoes, and the local secret ingredient. Boil for hours, all day if you can, to soften the tough cuts of meat. You have never heard of it?”

“I haven’t. It sounds like a broth, but tell me about the secret ingredient.”

Jen laughed and tapped the side of her nose with her index finger. “I cannot tell you about it yet. You haven’t lived among us for long enough.”

“How long is ‘long enough’?” Dynnah laughed as she asked the question, but at that moment, a red glow against the dark night sky through the window caught Jen’s eye.

Curious, Jen rose and went to the window. A fire burnt in the town in the area of old Elma’s store. She wrinkled her brow as she gazed across the town, then dark shadows caught her eye.

Jen wheeled toward Dynnah, who watched her in curiosity. “Others!” Jen rushed over to Dynnah, grabbed her hand, and pulled her to her feet.

“Others? They’ve been eradicated, haven’t they?”

“No. We have to go. Come.”

“We are safer in the house, surely? They will not come up here. We aren’t in the town.”

“They are already here. This is a perfect target for them. They love big houses. Lots of food, baritheum candlesticks, platters. Run. Back door.”

She tugged Dynnah behind her and heard the glass of the front door smash as they ran across the rear garden, overgrown and wild beneath the moon.

Dynnah ran behind her, sobbed softly. “Where will we go?”

“To the mine. We’ll be safe there, and it’s close by. Hurry.”

Jen led her as fast as she could pull her along, stumbling over roots and uneven ground in the half-light from the moon. Finally, she saw the deeper black of the mine entrance against the dark cliff of the escarpment, and she dragged Dynnah into the dark tunnel. There she halted, and their ragged breaths disrupted the dark silence as they both sucked air into lungs that screamed for more of the precious commodity.

Jen felt around her, found a wall. “Deeper in, there’s a room where we can hide.” She pulled Dynnah along behind her, slowly testing each footfall before she trusted her weight to the step. The doorway of the small room opened on her right, and they ducked in.

“How do you know we’re safe in here?” Dynnah gasped the words, still presumably fighting for breath.

“They don’t like tunnels. They won’t chase us down here.”

“How do you know? Are you sure?”

Jen bent down to search for something she could make some light from but came across nothing useful. “Because I’ve hidden from them in here before.”

Dynnah exhaled, loud in the darkness. “When?”

“A previous maraud, when I was younger. They killed my parents, but one of the neighbours brought me here. They followed us, but they wouldn’t come into the tunnel.”

“They killed your parents? That’s horrible.”

Jen nodded, then realised that Dynnah would not have seen the gesture. “It was. They used to maraud more in those days. They haven’t been to Crossroads for a long time.”

“Crossroads?”

“That’s what the locals call Bellindu. That’s all it used to be known as, before the Burgher, Bellindu, named it for himself.” Jen had not found anything to start a fire with, and she felt around until she found Dynnah’s legs. “Sorry.” Dynnah had flinched at her touch. “Sit with me here. We’re safe now. They won’t stay long.”

“I had heard stories of them, but I’d never seen one. I presumed they weren’t real.”

“Oh, they’re real. They don’t maraud into cities because of the soldiers. Where they come from, nobody really knows, only the stories.”

“What stories?” Dynnah shivered in the damp, cold air of the mines, and Jen put an arm around the older woman, who shook vigorously from the combined effects of the cold and the fear.

“The story goes that the Others are not from our world. They were summoned here from another world by a crazed acolyte in a secret temple somewhere. I don’t believe that, of course, but they’re unlike anything else I’ve ever seen. Big, slow, covered in rough reddish-brown skin. They’re very strong. The one that killed my mother only hit her once. She flew across the yard into the wall of the stable, fell to the floor, and never moved again.”

“The stable!” Dynnah moved urgently in the darkness. “Your horses are in danger.”

“The horses are fine. The Others are afraid of horses. If we’d been in my home, we would have been safe. They won’t enter the stable.”

Dynnah chuckled. “I’m sorry to laugh, but these monsters are afraid of the silliest things. Horses, tunnels. How have they survived?”

“I don’t think they have. Rumour has it that not many have, at least. This maraud may be desperate; starved, forced out of another town. Who knows?”

Dynnah did not speak for some time, but she continued to shake. Finally, she whispered, “I’m scared.”

“I know, but we’re safe here. We’ll go out in the morning.”

“Will they be dead then?”

Jen shrugged, another futile gesture in the darkness. “People say that they can only be killed if you cut their heads off. Or if a warlock kills them.”

“What is a warlock?”

This time, Jen laughed. “I don’t know. Some kind of mystical man, I think. Why only a warlock can kill them, I can’t tell you.”

“I am glad you were at the house. They would have probably killed me otherwise.”

“Probably. They wouldn’t have eaten you though.”

“That’s reassuring.” Dynnah laughed again, and Jen joined in.

Dynnah moved closer, laid her head on Jen’s shoulder. “Thank you for saving me. How can I ever repay you?”

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Jen could see the white shape of Dynnah’s face upturned, looking up at her. “You don’t need to. I saved myself. You just followed me.”

Dynnah snickered, then her hand touched Jen’s cheek, soft, the scent of an expensive fragrance on her wrist. Jen moved her head into the touch, the warmth, and Dynnah’s lips found hers. They kissed, tender, unhurried. “Is this wrong?” Even in the silence of the mine, Dynnah’s small whisper could barely be heard, a minute disturbance of the air.

Jen’s heart fluttered in her breast. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel wrong, but I’ve never done it before.”

“Nor me. I didn’t think a woman could feel this sort of attraction for another woman.”

Their lips met again, and they kissed for longer, Dynnah’s hand holding the back of Jen’s head. Dynnah moved her head back, one last tender kiss on Jen’s lips, then laid her head against Jen’s breast.

“Try to sleep.” Jen reached behind her, shuffled backward to the wall. Dynnah laid her head on Jen’s lap, and Jen ran her fingers through the disarray of dark hair.

“That feels nice.” Dynnah sounded sleepy, and soon her breathing became steady and rhythmical.

Jen sat in the dark and wondered how so much had happened in her life since Dynnah appeared at the stable yesterday. Jen had never kissed anybody, man or woman, until tonight. She found Dynnah easy company, funny and smart, but just an hour ago they had fled for their lives from the maraud, taken shelter here. Now they had kissed. What did it all mean? Some things are too complex to understand, she presumed. Her head fell forward, and she jerked awake. Dynnah shifted next to her, disturbed by the movement, presumably. Where could this go? Nowhere, probably. Still, the kisses had been exciting, exhilarating even. Tomorrow would take care of itself. For now, Dynnah slept on, her head in Jen’s lap, and it felt so right, so comfortable, that Jen fell asleep, the fear and the Others forgotten.

She awoke stiff and half fallen to one side. Dynnah’s head still lay in her lap, her soft breaths suggestive that she had not woken. Jen tried to sit in a more comfortable position, but disturbed Dynnah. “What time is it?”

“I see light from the tunnel. It is morning, I think. We can leave. We will be safe now.”

Dynnah raised herself quickly, kissed Jen. “Do we have to? Can’t we stay here?”

“I think we can find somewhere more comfortable than this tunnel.” Jen laughed, amused by Dynnah’s unrealistic suggestion.

“Perhaps we can.” Dynnah sounded serious, resentful.

“Dynnah, how can we be together? We are two women. You are a widow.”

“That doesn’t matter, does it? We can meet as often as we want. I will come to the stable, we can ride out. You can come to my house. We can…”

Jen sighed. “We will see. We will see.” The development frightened her. What would happen if somebody learned the true nature of their friendship? In her lifetime, she had never heard of two women together as a man and a woman might be. “We will see.” The last time might have been said to herself, she thought.

The town had suffered terribly from the maraud. Three townsfolk had been killed and Elma’s store had burned down, a lantern knocked over in the panic and confusion. Burgher Vanster had sent for some soldiers from the city but held out little hope that they would come.

The Others had ransacked Dynnah’s house. Her furniture lay scattered everywhere, the remains of the topside gone, along with most of the food in her pantry. Most of her baritheum candlesticks and platters had gone too, taken by the Others, who hoarded the precious ore for reasons that nobody really knew.

Dynnah stared at the mess of her kitchen in distress. “Don’t worry. I will help you fix everything up.” Jen laid a reassuring hand on the older woman’s forearm.

“I am afraid to stay. What if they come back?”

Jen reached up, cradled Dynnah’s cheek in her hand. “I will send Gilpin to keep you safe.”

Dynnah did not smile, did not seem reassured. Her eyes swept across the devastation of her home, and she sighed.

Jen bent to pick up a chair, stand it upright at the table. “Are you really afraid to stay?”

“Maybe. Will they come back?”

Jen didn’t turn to face her. “I don’t know. Maybe, if somebody doesn’t kill them.” She paused. “What about us?”

Dynnah let out a long, slow breath. “Jen, what chance is there for us?”

“You did not seem so unsure this morning.”

“Yet you did. We were scared. I don’t know, Jen. Let’s take some time, think about it.”

Jen wiped at her eyes. “I must feed the horses. If you want help with the house, let me know. I’ll be happy to help.” She pulled the door closed behind her and headed for the stable. Her mind whirled with emotions. Whether she could ever love a woman, or a man, had never entered her head before as she focused on the stable, content to let the dice fall wherever they chose. Dynnah had awoken something inside her, then seemed to snatch it away with her next breath. How was she supposed to feel? Not as crushed as she did, surely?

For two days, Jen threw herself into her work, tidied all the tack around the stable, rode out on the two long-term horses, took Gilpin for a long, slow walk through the forest north of the town. Try as she might, she could not keep Dynnah out of her mind, the memory of those soft, tender kisses, the promises that lay beyond them. Should she walk to Hummock, confront Dynnah and demand that the older woman put her out of her misery? Even if Dynnah no longer wanted anything to do with her, Jen would know where she stood. Anything would be preferable to this torture of uncertainty.

When it came to it, she lacked the resolve, unsure that she could stand to hear the words that might rip her heart from her breast, dash it in pieces on the ground. She stood with her head on Gilpin’s shoulder, tears wetting his brown hair. “Why am I like this, Gilp? I barely know her. She was right. What chance do we have? It is hopeless.”

From the doorway, a familiar voice interrupted her self-misery. “I understand that you might be able to teach me to ride.”

Jen did not raise her head, but Gilpin flicked his upward. “I have seen you ride. You are very awkward. I don’t think anybody could teach you to ride.”

“Really? My last tutor told me I had an exceptional talent for riding.”

Jen pushed her head away from Gilpin, turned to face Dynnah. “Have you come to taunt me?”

Dynnah shook her head and smiled as a tear ran down her cheek, then held her arms out toward Jen. For a moment, Jen did not move. Then she ran into Dynnah’s arms, smothered her face with kisses.

Dynnah stroked the back of Jen’s head. “I have no idea how any of this will end.”

“I don’t care about that. You are here. Nothing else matters.”

Dynnah’s laugh swept away all Jen’s despair. “What could I do? I missed Gilpin.”

Jen kissed Dynnah, took her hand, then led her past Gilpin toward the stairs.

© Copyright Hayley Price Books 2023