Silly Little Red by Erika Harken

Author:Erika Harken [Erika Harken]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Verum Ficta Press
Published: 2022-03-29T00:00:00+00:00

4

Cursed

The solid wood door hurt my knuckles as I tried to knock loudly. I waited to see or hear any sign of life within the stone cottage, but eventually Corian's snort of impatience caused me to glance at him. He dug with uncertainty at the snow, and when I lifted my fist to knock again, the wood door suddenly opened a few inches.

"What's your business here?" a man asked, his voice raspy.

"My name is Loraline," I replied with wavering confidence. "I know someone who met you a few years ago, and she said you might be able to help me."

"I have little and nothing to give," the man said, hidden in darkness beyond the door. "Ride to Nurith for what you need."

"Is it true you killed a sorcerer once? That is why I've come."

I half expected him to shut the thick door, but after a short silence, it drew back further—enough for me to step inside the cottage. My hand remained on my knife as I slowly walked inside, the smell of ash and dried spices mixed together in the air. The hermit closed the door and my eyes adjusted gradually to the dimly lit common room, which had a low burning fireplace, a wooden chair, and a long table with many items against the wall. A dirty rug also laid across the unswept floor, and I assumed the closed door to the left of the fireplace led to the hermit's bedchamber.

"The woman who told me of you..." I said, turning away from my observations. "Her name is—"

The weak light inside the small cottage failed to hide the fright of Aldrin's condition, which took my words and breath away. Every inch of skin on his head and neck was swollen red, which caused the whites of his eyes to stick out abnormally. No hair existed on his exposed flesh, and his nose and lips were cracked and peeling. The rest of his body was concealed beneath his thick winter clothing, though I imagined no part of him had fared differently.

After far too long, I realized my shock was plain, and quickly gazed at the floor.

"Her name is Nisrala," I finally finished.

"I remember her," he replied. "The merchants have not returned to the coast since I traded them my fish."

He moved around me and I watched him tend to the fireplace, torn by guilt and relief that he did not appear to take offense to my reaction. As Aldrin prodded a few burning logs with a metal rod, I tried to calm my feelings about his woeful state, and determined he had lived at least thirty years or more because of his matured form.

"It's true I killed a sorcerer," he rasped. "What would you care about it?"

"Surely you know of the Black Wolf of Crimlas," I insisted. "Its presence has been a mystery all these years, but perhaps it's a sorcerer in disguise."

Aldrin stared into the fire and eventually put the hot tip of the rod on the floor, folding his hands over the cool end as he leaned onto it.

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