Before Winter. Nancy Wallace K.

dirt sat him upright, the gun in his hand. Before him was an elderly woman. Her head would have barely come to Devin’s chest and he wasn’t tall. She was like a wizened child; ragged grayish-brown clothing clung to her slight frame, making her blend effortlessly into the rocks and earth behind her. She squatted down, blinking uncertainly at Devin.

      “Who are you?” she asked in a trembling voice.

      “I might ask the same,” Devin replied. “Who are you?”

      She cocked her head as though trying to remember. “I am Lavender. Are you the one those soldiers are looking for?”

      Devin feigned nonchalance. “Are they looking for someone?”

      “They are,” she said with a fearful look at the road above. Her brow furrowed. “They are always looking for someone and then people die.”

      “They won’t hurt you here,” Devin replied.

      She frowned, giving her brown wrinkled face the look of an oversized walnut. “They don’t want me. There is no one else in the forest except that man fishing. And you’re on edge,” she prodded. “It makes me think they’re hunting for you.”

      “I honestly don’t know who they are hunting for,” Devin replied. “And what business is it of yours anyway?”

      “It’s my business to know what happens in these woods,” she said defiantly.

      “Well, this particular matter doesn’t concern you.” Devin waved the gun in her direction. “You need to be on your way.”

      She laughed again, a deep humorless sound that put Devin’s nerves on edge. “You can’t tell me what to do!”

      “I can,” Marcus’ voice said suddenly. He had come up silently behind Devin, his gun in his hand.

      Lavender was unconcerned. “You won’t shoot me,” she said. “The sound of a gun will bring those soldiers back here.”

      “True,” Marcus answered, his voice deadly. “But I can slit your throat and no one will hear a sound.”

      Lavender’s body crumpled, like a bunch of rags thrown on the floor, her gnarled hands went to her scrawny throat. “Why would you kill me? I’ve not done you any harm. I’ve done nothing but speak to the gentleman.”

      “He told you to be on your way,” Marcus replied. “You need to leave.”

      “I will,” she said. “I thought we could help each other.”

      “In what way?” Marcus asked, his voice sarcastic.

      “I can show you a way into the tunnels,” she whispered.

      Devin and Marcus exchanged a look. The tunnel system, which used the natural cave formations of Northern Llisé, would provide them with a safe, protected route to reach Madame Aucoin’s house in Amiens. “And what do you want in return?” Devin asked. He realized his mistake too late when her toothless grin revealed her brown gums.

      “So you do need to reach the tunnels?” she cackled.

      “Devin, shut up!” Marcus growled. “You’re only making matters worse.”

      “I can take you there safely,” said Lavender. “For a price.”

      “And what would that be?” Marcus asked.

      “What does the boy have hidden in his coat?” Lavender asked.

      “You’ll find nothing in my coat but a ripped lining,” Devin replied, involuntarily clutching Tirolien’s Chronicle to his side.

      “Let me see,” Lavender asked, reaching out with sticklike fingers.

      Marcus slapped her hand away with the barrel of his gun. “Keep your hands to yourself,” he said.

      She snatched her hand away, holding it against her scrawny chest. “If you hurt me I will tell the soldiers where you are.”

      “Then I may as will kill you,” Marcus replied calmly. “I doubt anyone will miss you.”

      “Lavender is a story,” she protested feebly. “You can kill the bards but you can’t kill stories.”

      Devin leaned forward warily. “What do you mean?”

      She wrapped her arms around her as though she were cold, her ragged clothes looking more like a burial shroud. “Stories live on if you keep telling them.”

      “There need to be bards to tell them,” Devin corrected her gently. “The bards tell the stories so that they won’t be forgotten.”

      “You can tell the stories,” she insisted. “You can tell Lavender’s story.”

      Devin rubbed at the bandage on his forehead. He wanted to lie down and still the thumping ache in his head.

      “Come back tomorrow,” Marcus said. “You can tell your story then.”

      “Lavender’s story is part of the Chronicle,” she said.

      Devin exhaled. “Dear God, Marcus! She can’t be the Lavender that Armand taught me about?”

      “I agree,” Marcus muttered, shifting his gun from one hand to another. “That was centuries ago, wasn’t it?”

      “I don’t know,” Devin whispered. “Lavender, is your story about your white pony?”

      She nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes,” she said, “my beautiful white pony that ran away.”

      “Where is your father’s house?” Devin asked. “Surely there must be someone left who wonders what happened to you.”

      She shook her head, looking forlorn and afraid. “I can’t find it.”

      “You lived in Arcadia,” Devin explained gently. “This is Tirolien. Your story is in Arcadia’s Chronicle. I believe that you lived there.”

      She threw her hands out in supplication. “I don’t know where that is.”

      “We are going that way,” Devin said.

      “Devin!” Marcus warned. “We can’t take anyone with us.”

      “But she’s lost,” Devin said. “Surely we can show a little mercy?”

      Marcus shook his head unyieldingly. “Not now. Not here.”

      Devin looked helplessly at Lavender. “How do you live? Where do you sleep?”

      “I sleep under the trees. The roots are my pillows. In winter when it is cold, I live in this cave.”

      “This cave?” Devin asked, nodding behind him.

      She nodded, curling her feet around her, pulling the scraps of her clothing down to cover her toes. “I eat berries and nuts.”

      “This is her cave, Marcus,” Devin protested. “We can’t stay here.”

      “I don’t mind,” Lavender offered. “We can all stay here together.”

      “We mind,” Marcus replied. “If this is your cave, we’ll move on.”

      “Please don’t,” she whispered. “I have no one to talk to but myself. Once I ate at a fine table, with wine and tarts; there was music and laughter and dancing. Now, I am lost and I don’t know where home is.”

      Devin closed his eyes, thinking wretchedly of Angelique and all she had lost.

      “Lavender, how old are you?” he asked.

      She shook her head. “I have forgotten.” She picked at the fabric of her clothing for a moment. “Did you know my pony is missing?”

      “I had heard that,” Devin said. “I don’t believe you will find him here though. You need to go back to Arcadia.”

      “Is it