The Omens of a Crow [COMPLETE] (Watty 2018 Award-Winner)

Chapter 11

"You should not have come back," Mille said.

Night had fallen after an uneventful day. Krow held a small spoon to Thom's mouth so he could eat, and the young boy slurped at the contents apathetically.

"Recovery here is not yet complete," he replied. "It is a poor healer who nurses patients only to leave them to die."

"Then you will be killed, and we will die anyway."

He spooned the last mouthfuls of broth into the boy's mouth and wiped his chin. "Do you foretell the future now, miller's daughter? Plague has left you with a rare gift." He said a quick prayer, though he knew not whether the World Flame heard his supplication. As if to mock his words, beating footsteps thumped outside, growing nearer. He stood.

"Healer Krow!" Lina's voice. He removed the bar and opened the door. The young maid stood in the light of her own lantern clutched in her fist. She huffed for breath.

"Lina," Krow admonished, and his anger echoed in his rough tone, for he knew why she had come. "You should not be here."

"I ran as fast as I could," she gasped. "They're coming, healer. They'll burn them all!"

"I know," he growled, and she shrank from him. "If you are seen when they arrive, you may be burned as well. You are a brave girl, but you must not be here. Quick, back to the bailey, and let none know you warned me."

His voice was so dark, so hard and quiet that she questioned him for not a moment. He watched until she disappeared amongst the foliage, then turned his eyes to the west. A light glow through the undergrowth betrayed the presence of a mob armed with torches. He stepped back inside.

Mille's eyes followed him, but she said nothing. Krow strapped on his sword belts. Bastard-hilted longsword across his back. Short sword on his hip.

"Do not bar the door," he told Mille. "If they try to set the cottage aflame, run outside. They will scatter to avoid you for fear of the plague. Head for the trees and do not look back."

She shook her head. "No. I will stay."

Krow held her eyes, then glanced to the others who still lay on their pallets. "Very well."

The air outside was cool on his skin, but sweat soaked the wool beneath his boiled leather jerkin. The stars shined through dead air. Krow walked to the edge of the clearing and planted himself there, with the cottage to his rear.

He did not have to wait long. The crowd broke the treeline within a few minutes, a boiling, chaotic mass of shouts and fire and fear. Hammers, clubs, and pitchforks waved in the light of torches. Krow remained motionless.

As the villagers of Bliss drew closer, their volume increased, a torrent against his ears that grew ever higher and more frantic. He was surprised, briefly, by the individuals at the forefront of the mob, though not exceptionally so. The presence of Rawlings and his mercenaries as the ringleaders was not so great a shock.

The outrage and terror of the crowd increased when they saw him standing before them, but none of the villagers proved brave enough to step forward first, and the entire mass ground to an uneasy halt ten paces distant, forming a crescent wall of hostility. He could feel the eyes of everyone present. They had reached a stalemate, and events could follow only one of two paths. The crowd milled in confusion for several moments, unsure of their course now that they had encountered an obstacle. Rawlings stepped forward.

"I should have known this was your doing," Krow said. His hands hung loosely from the buckle of his belt. The mob quieted its angry jostling to catch his words.