Angel in the Woods by Rachel Starr Thomson

Author:Rachel Starr Thomson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adventure, children, fantasy, angel, giant, rachel starr thomson
Publisher: Rachel Starr Thomson

Chapter 20

the angel strikes a bargain

The morning was cold and incredibly clear. I was afraid that the caravan would pack up and move on, taking us farther away from the Giant, but the occupants of the wagons were hung-over and disinclined to travel. This, and a torrent of oaths and curses accompanied by the howls of the dogs, alerted me and most of the camp to a problem with the front axle on one of the wagons. The Poet was still with the carnival people somewhere, sleeping in or under a wagon. Nora and I, wide awake, found ourselves places in the surrounding woods from which we could watch the camp and hear most of what was going on.

Illyrica appeared before long, carrying a load of wood on her back. She put it down in the center of the camp and began to build a fire. Her hands and head were bare, and I imagined that her fingers were nearly numb as she worked to get the fire going. At last a tendril of smoke appeared, and a tongue of flame licked its way up from the wood. The evil little gypsy stepped up beside Illyrica and shoved her away.

“Keep out of my way, brat,” he muttered, holding his gloved hands over the fire to warm them.

The fire attracted other denizens of the camp. Before long many of them had left their wagons and stepped into the light of day. There were twelve or so. The little Gypsy appeared to be the leader, seconded by an aging woman whose face was hard and cruel. They were a rag-tag bunch, all of them dirty, unkempt, and miserable in their ways. There were no children among them. The youngest of the band was a long-haired boy of about seventeen.

They were as indolent as they were dirty, and though Nora and I did not move from our posts for the better part of the day, not one of them did anything worth noting. The Poet sat outside one of the wagons, looking as though he did not know what to do with himself. The people of the caravan ignored him, apparently too thick with laziness to care that he was among them. Illyrica carefully kept her distance from him. He was careful not to watch her too obviously, but more than once I saw them exchange glances. His presence in the camp was a silent promise to Illyrica that she would not be abandoned.

The old woman brought out a kettle full of some vile porridge. Calling them all by various and unfriendly names, she poured out a bowl for each of her travelling companions. The Poet was given a bowl, which he choked down with the best will he could muster. Illyrica was ignored.

The day wore on. The Giant might arrive at any time. Though he had promised to be there by sundown, I knew that he would have given himself extra time. Perhaps, after all, he would not need it. But he did not come.

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