Nell wiped her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. “Aye, they go to Caerith, to the king. They said his patience runs thin and his truth will be found—no matter the cost. But the worry is what will he do with the captives when no exceptional healer is found among us?”
“Perhaps we can request their return,” Elara said, trying to sound hopeful but hearing her own doubt.
“We can only pray he will have mercy and send our loved ones home,” Nell said.
She sounded more doubtful than Elara, and too fearful to oppose the king in any way.
Elara was quick to ask, “Did you hear the Hunters mention where they would go next?”
“Aye,” a woman said anxiously. “I heard one say that morning will find them at Rathmor.”
Elara’s hands clenched around the fabric of her cloak. “Then I must get to Rathmor before they do.”
“They ride horses. You are on foot. You’ll never make it there,” Nell said, worry in her eyes.
“Unless—” one of the women said, then shook her head and held her tongue.
Nell’s eyes turned wide, and she paled as the other women began to shake their heads.
“Do not even think to take a shortcut through the forbidden land,” Nell scolded.
“It would get me there before the Hunters,” Elara said.
“Do not be foolish,” Nell cautioned. “There is time for you to reach the nearest village past Rathmor and warn them.”
“What will a warning accomplish?”
The women turned to see Dar walking toward them.
“The whole village cannot hide, and the Hunters will comb the surrounding woods and wait as they did here for those who hid to come out of hiding. A warning will do little good. The Hunters are on a mission, and they will see it done. There is no stopping them… no stopping the king.”
Nell reached out, catching Elara’s hand. “Stay here for now and be safe with us.”
“How safe are you, Nell?” Elara asked. “If the healer the king searches for is not among the captives, the Hunters will return and take more healers. Something must be done or soon there will be few if any healers to care for the kingdom.”
“Elara is right. The Hunters never fail the king,” Dar said.
“What do you know of this healer who can defy death, Nell?” Elara asked.
“I fear it is nothing more than a myth, a tale to entertain.”
“Is it? Or is the tale born of truth?”
Everyone turned to see an old woman leaning heavily on a rowan staff, her body bent from age, her hair white and sparse, and her face heavy with wrinkles.
“Etta, you should be resting,” Nell scolded softly.
The old woman dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “I’ll rest when I’m dead, which those fools thought I was when they entered my cottage to find me in bed.”
“Do you know of such a tale?” Elara asked.
Etta nodded slowly. “It is whispered among the healers, some fearing to repeat it, to give it life. So, healers stopped telling the tale, stopped speaking of it to protect themselves. Though some say it was stopped to protect the healer who could defy death.”
“Can you tell us the tale?” Elara asked, feeling it could be the first step in helping her find the healer.
“Are you willing to carry the burden of knowing the tale?” Etta asked and cast a glance around at the women gathered there and Dar, settling her eyes on Elara last.
The women mumbled amongst themselves and began walking away until only Nell was left.