The Wolf's Curse by Jessica Vitalis

Author:Jessica Vitalis [Vitalis, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Greenwillow Books
Published: 2021-07-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

There’s no sense in sitting around watching Gauge mope. Let’s go along with Roux as she makes her way to the Wharves. Despite her wiry frame, she’s used to fetching and delivering heavy items for the Blacksmith and hardly breaks a sweat as she pushes the cart through the village.

She makes good time and the Guards stand aside to let her enter. Arriving at the Blacksmith’s vessel, Roux ties her scarf over her mouth, drops to her knees, and reaches for his cold hand. (She has a one-sided conversation with him, too, but we can skip over that. It’s all the usual—why-did-you-leave-me-and-what-will-I-do-without-you sort of stuff.)

She doesn’t look up again until she hears footsteps.

The veiled Steward sets her bag down next to the vessel. She’s still shaken from her previous visit to the Wharves and works quickly, assisting Roux in transferring the supplies from Roux’s cart to the open spaces along the Blacksmith’s sides and then moving through the Release ceremony (the details of which I won’t bother you with since you’ve been through it once before). After she finishes tucking feathers in around the vessel, a shadow falls across her face. “Where’s the lantern?”

Roux tilts her head. “What lantern?”

The Steward sighs. She gave the girl explicit instructions this very morning. The girl indicated she understood, but she must have been in shock. It’s all too common, even when the death is expected.

Roux thinks back to the morning, tries to piece together what bits of the conversation she can recall. There was something about a lantern. Her hand flies to her mouth. “I’ll run back to the shop and fetch one.”

“That’s not necessary,” the Steward says.

Roux glances up at the sky, which has begun fading from a bright blue to a dull gray. The first lanterns haven’t yet been lit. “How will he find his way?”

“He’ll manage,” the Steward says, flipping closed the flap on her bag. “There will be plenty of other lanterns already in the sky to guide him.”

Roux blinks back hot tears. She had one task. One simple task. And she messed it up. “I’m sorry, Father,” she whispers.

The Steward rests a hand on Roux’s shoulder. “Your father would be proud of how you’re holding up. Don’t let this trouble you.”

Roux clings to the Steward’s comforting words, hoping that she’s right.

The Steward gives Roux a few moments to say her final goodbyes and then motions for the crew to approach. As they close in, Roux steps back. She watches, numb and disbelieving, as they lower the vessel containing her father’s body into the pit.

The Steward invites Roux to scoop a handful of dirt and sprinkle it over the hole. Roux does it, not because she wants to, but because she has to. Because it’s what’s expected of her. The dirt is wet and clumped from the spring thaw and leaves Roux’s hand coated in mud.

She wipes her hand on her skirt and whispers, “Smooth sailing, Father.”

Roux finds herself at the door to the smithy, though she doesn’t recall leaving the Wharves, doesn’t recall thanking the Steward or moving through the village.

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