River Heart

Chapter Eight - Breakfast

When they reached the caravan, Kelanin had returned to a cooking pit which was lined with stones and had a metal frame balancing on spikes. Flatbreads were baked on a black skillet. Lyris could smell the sweet combination of raisins and cinnamon sugar as they approached and her stomach twisted with hunger. The last time she’d eaten had been the previous morning. She’d devoured a baked oat and honey mixture in her excitement to reach the village at first light.

The grey-haired traveller looked up and beckoned the pair of them with a smile, ‘you may as well start accepting our hospitality,’ the woman encouraged. With a wooden flat headed tool she flipped the breads, to stop them burning.

The flatbreads were eaten within minutes, and Lyris didn’t know if she’d ever tasted something so good. Arn seemed to agree as when Kelanin offered, he accepted another three. After two, Lyris’s otherwise empty stomach had started to complain and she’d declined, instead accepting a glass of cool fresh milk.

‘We’ll not be long,’ Once the woman with close-cropped hair had finished her own meal, the fire was stamped out and the metal spikes yanked from the ground and laid in the grass. ‘Just stay here and try staying out of trouble,’ she looked between the pair of them before starting to pack away a box of cooking equipment and dry foods like flour and oats. ‘Try hard,’ she added with a smirk.

Lyris counted five covered wooden wagons in the caravan. Each of them painted a different, unmistakable colour; aside from Kelanins’ favoured corn-flower blue, there was crimson, mustard yellow, an orange the colour of sunset and a vivid green like the moss she’d seen on the edges of the well. However, they all bore the symbol of a Griffin in one way or another. Rearing on the blue field, or sleeping on the green background. Miniature griffins painted black decorated a border of the yellow wagon. From behind the swinging doors, Lyris was shocked by the number of people who emerged. A child, no older than nine emerged from Kelanin’s home. Messy red hair falling over a freckled face. They were dressed in breaches and a loose-fitting shirt. Pulling their hair to one side they slumped on the drivers’ seat, picking up what had been left over from the early breakfast.

Three younger men emerged from the yellow wagon, all in various states of undress, missing shirts or shoes as they went to round up the heard of ponies that had been left in a make-shift field. Lyris couldn’t be sure, but she thought two separate families emerged from the other wagons. Two men, two women and a collecting of children all younger than the first.

Grateful to sit out of the way, she and Arn watched in silence as cooking pits vanished into stow-aways beneath the main rolling houses themselves. The horses were led towards the wagons and hitched without fuss, content once they were readied, to bend and make the most of the lush summer grass.

‘I don’t understand why you are here,’ Lyris turned to the lanky youth beside her.

‘I told you,’ Arn studied Kelanin as the woman returned with a tall man with black skin and pale green eyes. His hair was shorn tight to his scalp and although he had lines of laughter around his eyes and mouth, his expression was serious as he surveyed the pair of them.

Arn seemed to roll to his feet, pushing up against aching limbs as Lyris scrambled after him. The dark-skinned man extended a hand towards them. Surprised by the gesture of welcome, Lyris placed her hand in his and it was caught between his palms and held. A greeting from beyond the borders of Ipito.

‘Good morning,’ the strangers voice was deep from slumber. ‘Kelanin has told me that you will be joining our journey?’

‘It seems that we are,’ Lyris risked a glance at Arn, because she didn’t understand the Prince’s reasoning. At least she could pay him the silver they would owe Kelanin for their travel.

The man held her hand fast and watched her closely, ‘Kelanin has also explained that you are a Myst, which is why we must set off immediately,’ his gaze lifted over her shoulder at the wary villagers that prowled in the morning’s tepid warmth.

‘I am a student of the Hidden Isldand,’ she seized the opportunity to explain herself, ‘perhaps, if I make it back to our Island in time, I will become a greater part of the tapestry.’ She found herself smiling at the man, hoping to win him over.

‘Many people do not trust the Myst,’ he warned.

The words lingered in the air with threat.

‘People do not trust what they do not understand,’ Arn interrupted and extended his own hand to the traveller. ‘My name is Arn, this is Lyris.’

‘Good morning, Arn,’ the man accepted the Prince’s hand shook it, holding it between both of his palms as he had with Lyris before releasing the youth’s fingers. ‘I am Rafai and this is my mother by marriage,’ he gestured towards Kelanin whose eyes had remained on Arn throughout the exchange. ‘We are leaving sooner than we planned to depart, yet I know better than to disagree with a woman of power,’ he grinned at Kelanin and the older woman rolled her eyes; ‘or two.’ His smile suddenly extended to Lyris.

‘Apologies for the inconvenience we have put you to,’ she returned the gesture.

‘We will help less of the sickness, but perhaps we will protect our own young with the distance,’ he shrugged. ‘You are welcome to join our travels.’ He swept into a bow before turning to depart. Leaving Kelanin stood, with her hands on her hips.

‘Rogue,’ she muttered beneath her breath, ‘anyone would think this is his caravan to grant passage as he pleased. Come on,’ the woman folded her hands into the wide blue sleeves of her dress and gestured towards the green wagon.

‘What about Storm?’ Lyris glanced back at her horse.

‘I’ll ride him,’ Arn hadn’t left her side.

‘And what will I do?’

‘Sleep,’ Kelanin stopped at the wagon door and ushered Lyris up the two black steps onto a drivers platform. One of the young men from the yellow-wagon grinned at her. His skin was a paler brown than Rafai’s but he shared the older mans’ striking eyes.

‘Good morning,’ he saluted them with a mocking bow and Kelanin rolled her eyes.

‘There’s not much in the way of comfort here, but I recommend you get some sleep, both of you,’ the woman looked between the pair of them. ‘I’ll be honest sleeping rough didn’t agree with you,’ her teasing smile was infectious and Lyris sighed. Hesitating at the door she looked back at the grassland. Everywhere, the camp was in motion, the last belongings thrown into wagons, children climbing onto platforms the roofs of their homes to perch. Birds chattered in the distance, and a pair of swallows were swooping at the edge of the meadow where it met the village. Storm was bought up and hitched to the side of the green caravan and Arn stroked the animals soft nose

Lyris found herself hoping that Storm would bite him. But for a horse with such a bad temper, he seemed to adore the Prince’s attention. Everyone was waiting for her to move, and so she opened the green door boarded in yellow paint, at the back of the wagon and climbed in. From inside she realised that there as a second, smaller door leading directly onto the drivers’ platform. The insides of the caravan were bigger than she had expected. Along the back wall was a bedframe and straw mattress. The scent of hay, wood and lamp oil filled the air and she pinpointed a hanging lantern in the centre of the ceiling.