Until dawn of the following day, Maple was left tied to the post, where the night watch would have full view of her. Come morning, she was untied from the post, but left with a tether around her waist, which the watchman used to force her to follow him. Exhausted and left with no feeling in her hands or feet, Maple had no choice but to allow the indignity and to stagger along behind him as best she could.
He led her to a field belonging to the high elder, where she was tied to a fencepost and ordered to tend the plants therein. Maple refused to speak in the language of the valley but instead, voiced her thoughts in her own tongue, learned from her father and spoke exclusively in the high hills. Defiantly, she turned her face toward the high hills. "Bryn Ma'ar," she called as loudly as she could. "Bryn, I'm waiting for you, My Love."
The guard backhanded her. "Leave that behind you and speak an honest tongue, Woman. Now get to work. High Elder wants this field weeded before dark."
Maple didn't reply. Instead she bent down and began the task at hand. The field happened to contain onions where she was tied, so Maple helped herself to the sweet, green shoots as she weeded, until she'd cleared a patch large enough to lay down. Then, warmed by the sun and exhausted by emotion, long travel and a sleepless night, Maple laid down in the dirt and fell asleep.
When she awoke, it was late in the afternoon. Maple realized she was alone in the field. Her hands and feet were still numb from having be so tightly bound, but she forced her fingers to work at gripping her dagger in order to cut the sturdy rope that bound her to the fencepost. Once she were freed, there would be nothing else to stop her from leaving.
Thoughts of home; of Cade, Rowen and the rest of her family, of Bryn, Yestyn and Gwyn fueled her. It wasn't long before she was staggering toward the trees and the foothills. With any luck, maybe she could reach Bryn's line cabin before the Undead found her. Maple had barely reached the trees when shouts of alarm alerted her that she'd been seen by the watch.
She tried to force more speed from her stiff legs and feet, but the crunch of boots behind her told Maple that she'd been unsuccessful. A hard shove to her back sent Maple flying. She landed in a heap. Whoever had tackled her took it upon himself to bind her hands behind her back again. "Bryn!" Maple screamed. "Bryn Ma'ar, I need you! Come and get me, please!"
"Shut up," growled the watchman in his own language. He cuffed Maple upside her head, making her ears ring. "Keep an honest tongue in your head."
Maple realized he hadn't understood her but didn't much care. She wasn't of the valley, and after having been among her own, Maple realized that she never would be a valley-dweller. There was no longer any reason to conform herself to their ways or gain their acceptance, so Maple didn't bother trying. "Let me go!" She demanded, not obeying the command to speak the language of the villagers. "I am Maple of the Highest Hill."
He hauled her roughly to her feet and shoved her back toward the village. Having been blindfolded on the journey back, Maple hadn't seen it the day before. It had been expanded in her absence, she discovered, until her father's cabin had been all but swallowed by the press of dwellings around it. The wall had been expanded accordingly as well, with a stout gate set in the outermost point of the wall.
To Maple's dismay, the cabin had been altered as well. Though it hadn't been tightened up any, the door sported brackets for a bar that would lock it from the outside. Just inside the doorway, the watchman released her hands and gave her a hearty shove. Maple staggered into the cabin. Before she could regain her balance, he had retreated through the door and barred it from the outside.
Defiantly, Maple barred the door from the inside as well before turning to study her surroundings. The cabin was just as she'd left it, right down to the tidy pile of firewood stacked alongside the wall opposite the fireplace. Cobwebs and dust covered everything, but her sandpit that served as a cold cellar seemed undisturbed, as did the chest that held her dried vegetables.
Still inside the chimney, Maple could see the shank of meat she'd been smoking on the fateful day she'd been rescued from the village by Bryn. It would have to be discarded, she knew. Already, the smell of the rotten meat permeated the cabin. To ease the malodor of the place, Maple opened the shutters on her wind-hole and threw the rotten meat out to lay in the roadway.
After she'd lit a fire for light, Maple opened the storage chest and took stock. There was plenty of food to see her through until she could escape, but she'd need water in order to cook anything. It would certainly be nice to be able to take everything with her when she left, but Maple was willing to leave it behind if need be.
She dug her hand into the sand pit and came into contact with a hard, round object. Seed potatoes! Still determined to return home at the first opportunity, Maple dug in with enthusiasm, deciding as she did so to remove everything that would be of use. Not only were there ample potatoes for both eating and for seed, there were carrots stored in the sand as well.
The carrots were slightly wrinkled after having been stored for so long, but they were at least edible and Maple was hungry. Distracted from her task, she brushed the sand off and ate her fill of carrots and potatoes.
With her hunger satisfied, Maple remembered what she'd been doing and was determined to take stock of exactly what she had on hand. There were her dagger, sling and stones, of course. The valley-dwellers hadn't considered that any woman would be armed and hadn't searched her. Tucked up under her winter coat, her belt with her weapons had been well hidden from casual view. Not that Maple intended on attacking or harming her well-meaning captors, of course, but the dagger would come in handy now and then.
Also tucked into her belt was the trowel she'd received from Gwyn and Yestyn on Midwinter's Day, but Maple had no intention of using it in the valley. She had to convince the elders that she wasn't one of them, which meant not gardening no matter how much her fingers itched to dig in the dark, rich soil of the fertile valley.
The iron pot that hung from a chain inside the fireplace would be useful, if she could get the charred, decomposing remains of a long-ago meal scraped out from inside of it. There was a water bucket- empty, of course, because Maple had been too distracted by her search for firewood to fetch any, the day Bryn had rescued her.
Maple dug into the sand again, wanting an exact reckoning of her belongings. The bucket came in handy as she dug down, freeing potatoes and carrots as she piled the sand to one side.
Finally, when the sand was dug out far deeper than Maple expected it to be, she found something hard, that clearly wasn't the rock her father had lined the cold pit with. Using her trowel and the bucket, Maple unearthed a small, wooden chest. Bryn's comment about her father came into mind. 'If you were to return to the cabin, I bet you'd find his weapons hidden somewhere inside.'
With her fingers shaking with excitement, Maple pulled the long, narrow chest up from where it had been hidden. That her father had meant to hide it was obvious, but the remains of fabric wrapped around the box told Maple that he'd intended to protect it as well. The fabric was rotted with age, so Maple had no trouble pulling it free of the box.
Set with a leather hinge and tied shut with leather straps, the box was obviously one her father had made with his own hands, or those of his wife's, Maple guessed. He must not have wanted anyone to know about it either, if he hadn't taken the chance of purchasing hinges or a lock from the local blacksmith. The leather was almost as rotted as the cloth.
To Maple's dismay, the leather straps fell apart when she tried to untie them, and the hinge ripped apart as soon as she opened the box. Inside, wrapped in an oiled cloth, Maple found a sword, bow and quiver for arrows. The bow was sized for a woman or a boy and cracked, to Maple's dismay.
The fracture in the wood wasn't where it would have split from age, where the string would have bent the bow. Instead, it was as if someone had used the bow to strike out, after the last arrow had been spent. The quiver had been made of leather, but even with age, the bleached leather was sound, obviously having been well-oiled before being hidden away.
Maple fingered the quiver thoughtfully. It wasn't what she'd expect a man to carry, or even a boy. The quiver had been decorated with an ornate pattern, stylized with vines and flowers. Excitement shot through Maple as she realized that her mother must have carried it, once upon a time. Had her mother found herself in desperate straits? Whoever had last fought with this bow had apparently run out of arrows and been overrun by an attacker.
Maple set the bow and quiver aside with reverence and turned to the sword. It was sheathed in metal that had been padded with leather to protect the blade, heavier than Maple would be able to easily wield. Obviously, the sword had been made for a man as large as her father. It too, was ornamented, and set with precious stones beside. Maple found the Broderick clan symbol etched on handle, marveled at the precious stones set in the guard.
The guard was notched, the blade nicked in the same place. Whoever had been wielding the sword had taken a solid blow there. Maple pictured herself holding the sword, receiving such a blow. To have nicked the blade and notched the guard, the blow would have been hard enough to break bones. Was it possible that her father had been crippled saving her mother's life?
It was a clue to the mystery of her parents' disappearance, but Maple was frustrated by the questions it had raised; questions that would remain unanswered unless she found someone who'd known them before they'd arrived in the village. Tenderly, Maple wrapped the weapons and replaced them in the box.
She couldn't bear to bury it in the sand again, so she placed it inside the chest with the dried vegetables before shoveling the sand back inside the cold pit.
She would bide her time, she knew, but Maple was going to go home- and she would return her father's sword when she did!