The Eggwife

Chapter 3

A slow, steady throb of pain beat a rhythm behind Brayden's eyes.  Awareness scratched at the edges of his mind, driven by that very same pain.  Slowly, his senses returned.  At first it was the dull ache in his head.  Then, he noticed the scratchy texture of whatever it was that he lay upon.  Next, the pleasant scent of roasting meat tantalized his nose, making his stomach rumble.  Finally, the sound of nearby merriment drew Brayden to full wakefulness.

Gritting his teeth, Brayden rolled onto his side.  He was rewarded with a fit of racking coughs.  After resting on his side for several minutes Brayden steeled himself for an attempt to sit up.

Beginning slowly, he used his arm to lever himself upward.  Pain shot through his ribs like an icy knife.  It robbed him of his breath, sending him into another paroxysm of coughing.  He gasped for breath, nearly toppling off of the cot but steadying himself.  Groaning in pain, Brayden took a moment to recover his breath and a bit of his strength.  A voice from somewhere inside his head chided him to lay back down and rest, but concern for Sethyr drowned out the voice.

Brayden rubbed his eyes, massaging his temples to clear his head.  He opened his eyes for the first time.  Taking in his surroundings, Brayden pondered his situation.  He sat on a rough cot covered by a thin, homespun blanket.  The cot sat in one corner of a crude, yet neatly kept hut.  

A workbench of some sort stood against the far wall.  Several shelves were mounted above the workbench, each lined with ceramic jars of various sizes and shapes.  Each was labeled, but in the dim light of the hut Brayden could not read the flowing script from where he sat.

With a start, he realized that he was wearing nothing but a long, linen nightshirt.  Someone must have changed his clothes after he had passed out.  Brayden reflexively snatched up the rough blanket, covering himself modestly.  The effort earned him another fit of coughing.  After it passed Brayden pulled the blanket over his shoulders like a cloak and held it close.  He shivered despite the mild temperature in the hut.

Pulling the blanket even closer, he rose unsteadily to his feet and shuffled toward the door of the hut.  Fatigue and pain forced him to stop every few steps to catch his breath and steady himself.  As he shuffled toward the door the sounds of merriment grew louder and more distinct.  It sounded like the entire village was celebrating.

Nearly to the door, Brayden rearranged his grip on the blanket to free one of his hands and reached for the door.  As his hand brushed the door it flew open, startling him.  An involuntary flinch nearly sent him to his knees as he swayed on already unsteady legs.

Sunlight streamed in through the open doorway revealing a burly man dressed in fine clothes.  He wore a grim expression that did not match the celebratory sounds outside.  The man strode forward, steadying Brayden with a strong hand.

"I am Ernst, headman of the village of Hedgewise and I must speak with you."  The look in Ernst's eyes chilled Brayden.  Years of hearing confession during his training as a protector let him recognize irreconcilable guilt in Ernst's expression.

"Yes, we must talk," Brayden replied.

Ernst gingerly helped Brayden back to the cot, helping him settle himself.

"I hope that out wise-woman's ministrations have been of help to you," Ernst said.  "She even offered up her home for your recovery."  He gestured around the hut casually.

"Of that, I am very grateful.  However, young man, I doubt that this is the matter you feel so compelled to discuss."

"Yes, that is so."  Ernst paused momentarily, gathering his courage to speak. "There is a more grave matter at hand."