"They've already seen us," he said. "If we flee, they'll most likely alert the local militia… that is, if any militia still remains. It's too great a risk, I think. Let me do the talking."
Catrin wanted to argue, every sense told her to flee, but the lure of warmth and food was too great, and her fatigue was too intense for flight. Thus, they moved slowly toward the approaching crowd. Upon closer inspection, she saw that the group was made up of the aged and the very young. Benjin leaned heavily on the staff as they walked, and his affected limp was quite convincing.
Covered in mud and ash, they must have been a remarkable sight. When they arrived, two men helped support Benjin as he walked. A girl of maybe four summers brought Catrin a flask of water that she accepted eagerly if not to quench her great thirst, then to wash the filth from her face.
"Yer lucky to've survived," an elderly man said as he approached. "From where d'ya come?" he asked, and Catrin immediately sensed his distrust. Her clean face made her age easy to guess, and that alone made her suspicious in their eyes. Catrin regretted washing her face, but there was nothing to be done about it now, and she held her tongue.
"We hail from northern Astor, but the fires drove us from our home, and the flood washed us here," Benjin replied in a trembling voice, his accent thick with northern, rural qualities.
"Pardon my insolence, stranger, but why's this one not been conscripted?" the man asked, pointing to Catrin.
"My five sons and two oldest daughters are in the Northern Wastes, and I fear I'll never see them again," Benjin said, his voice cracking and tears welling in his eyes. Catrin would have been impressed by his dramatics, but she knew he had an abundance of real pain to draw upon, and his tears need not be forced. The sight of his tears filled her own eyes, and her lip quivered as he continued. "This's my youngest daughter, and since my lady-wife passed to the grave, she's all I have. Even the armies could not part her from me." He said the words with conviction and stood with his chin high. He did not back down from the stares, and his fierce pride seemed to endear him to them.
"Many pardons, friend. I'm sorry fer yer losses, and yer welcome to join us, though we've little to offer. The armies have taken all we could give, and then they took more. We may be poor hosts, but we welcome you. I'm Rolph Tillerman," he said as he extended his hand to Benjin.
"Well met. I'm Cannergy Axewielder, and my daughter is named Elma," he said, and Catrin did her best not to appear surprised. She hadn't even thought about the danger of using their real names, and she chastised herself for her foolishness.
"Ah, a woodsmen, eh? That'd explain a great deal. Let us be gone from this place, the smell offends me, and ya look like ya could use a warm fire and some food."
Benjin allowed the men to aid him as he walked. The steady flow of water beneath the bridge was unnerving, and Catrin feared the bridge would collapse under their weight. The thought of falling into the frigid water nearly drove her to a run, but she restrained herself and matched the pace set by Benjin and his escorts.
Beyond the fields stood a cluster of homes and barns that seemed like the hub of a great wheel. It seemed odd to Catrin, who was accustomed to each farm existing as an island, whereas these huddled together, and their lands extended like spokes. Despite the strangeness of the configuration, there were many things that reminded her of home, which brought a sharp pain to her chest. The smell of a cook fire, a whiff of horse manure, and the hearty folks who surrounded her all invoked vivid memories, and she failed to hide her anguish.
"Don't cry, dear'n," an elderly lady said as she took Catrin's hand. "You're safe now."
Catrin wished she could believe it.
Chapter 18
Kindness, unlike most things, becomes greater when it is given away.
Rolph led them to his home, which was painfully similar to the one Catrin had grown up in, and his wife, Collette, pulled her aside.
"Come with me, Elma. Let's get you cleaned up. Shall we?"
"Thank you, Lady Tillerman. You're very kind," Catrin replied, trying to match Benjin's accent and fearing it came out sounding contrived.
Collette laughed a light, tinkling sort of laugh. Lines spread from the corners of her eyes when she smiled, but the sparkle in her eyes spoke of inner youth. "I'm no lady, that's a'certain. Call me Collette," she said, and Catrin was struck by her kindness and by the similarity between these people and her own. These were good people. They were not filled with malice or spite. They led simple, wholesome lives, and she felt a kinship to them. The realizations made the entire conflict seem even more ludicrous. She had no quarrel with these good folk, and they harbored no ill toward her. Yet it was their blood that was being shed, that of their children. Catrin began to think of these people not as the Zjhon, but as the people of the Greatland. The Zjhon were the ones who desired war, and all others were simply their victims.
Collette led her to a private room that held a large iron tub.
"Take off those filthy clothes, and I'll bring you some bathwater," she said, but Catrin drew a sharp intake of breath when saw a pair of deep-brown eyes peering through a crack in the wall, and Collette turned. "Jessub, you scoundrel, shame on you! That's no way to treat a guest. Off with you! Straight to yer grandpa you go, and tell 'im what you've done. And don't think I won't check with him either," she said, and then she turned to Catrin. "Forgive him, m'dear. He's young and naturally curious, and you're a fetching lass."
Catrin flushed crimson. She certainly didn't consider herself fetching, and she eyed the crack in the wall with trepidation. Collette smiled kindly and covered the crack with a towel.
"He'll bother you n'more. I assure you of that," she said as she left Catrin to her privacy, and Catrin was certain she was correct, for Jessub's cries rang out loudly as he received his punishment. Catrin felt bad for him and wished they wouldn't spank him on her behalf; she'd always hated being punished as a child, and she felt Jessub's shame as if it were her own.
Only the luxury of the steaming tub could pull her thoughts away, and she eased into the water, which soon turned black with mud and soot. Despite her efforts, her skin would not come completely clean, and she settled for mostly clean. As the water began to grow cool, Catrin emerged from the tub, and she toweled off her raised flesh. Collette had left fresh clothes for her, and Catrin shook her head. She seemed to always find herself donning the clothes of others while a stranger washed her garments. She supposed she was growing accustomed to it, for it did not bother her as much as it had in the past. The loaned garments were overlarge and well worn, but they were clean, dry, and not uncomfortable.
An alluring aroma wafted into the room, causing her stomach to grumble, and Catrin was grateful when Collette handed her a bowl of broth. It was a light soup made of potato and onion, but it tasted delightful, and it warmed her soul as much as it did her belly.
"I wish we'd more t'share, m'dear, but times are hard," Collette said with a sad smile.
"It's wonderful, and I'm thankful for your generosity. I only hope I'll be able to repay you in some way."
"Nonsense. It's our duty t'help those in need, and you owe us nothing, but I appreciate the thought," she said as she brought Catrin a small loaf of bread. The crust was dark and hard, but the inside was light and airy, unlike the bread made on the Godfist. Catrin did not mention it for fear of revealing her ignorance. Perhaps this type of bread was common in the Greatland, and she did not want to raise any more suspicions.