Chapter 11 - Wake Up Call

My tattered skirt and tunic from yesterday are neatly folded on the small stool in the corner of the room.

"Elara must have come to tidy up after I passed out. They're still damp and muddy. I'll ask if she has anything else I can borrow. For now, this nightgown will have to do."

I open the door and step into the main room. The smell of something akin to toasted bread roams around the kitchen.

Hakota is sitting at their small wooden table, sharpening a knife with a whetstone, the rhythmic shing-shing a surprisingly domestic sound. He looks up as I enter and gives me a small, reserved smile.

Elara is at the hearth, turning over thick slices of what looks like spam in a heavy iron pan. She beams at me. "Good morning! Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you. Like a log." I lie, offering a grateful smile. It’s the first easy smile I think I’ve given in years. "Elara, I… Is there anywhere I could wash and repair my clothes?"

"Oh, don’t you worry about that!" she says, wiping her hands on her apron. "I have an old tunic and skirt that should fit you well enough for today. I’ll go get them after we eat. I can help you repair your clothes if you plan on sticking around?"

“I think Shikara is going to be moving on soon unfortunately, Elara.” Hakota quickly interjects with his first words of the morning. 

“Oh that’s a shame, I would have hoped she’d be able to stick around, it's always nice to meet new people!” Elara tries to ease the mild flare Hakota set off.

“Thank you for the offer though, Elara!” I feel a need to validate Hakota’s brief outburst.

I take a seat opposite Hakota, who sets his knife and whetstone aside. 

Elara brings over two wooden plates, one with what looks like an assortment of butter and jams and the other with thick slices of dark, crusty bread. The bread is oddly speckled with yellow and purple. It doesn’t look like mold but more like speckles of grain maybe?

She sets them on the table along with two mugs of steaming water that has a few fragrant leaves floating in it.

The food, the warmth, their simple, undemanding kindness. It's overwhelming. 

"It looks lovely, thank you Elara." I say as my stomach rumbles in agreement. 

"Your ankle seems better." Hakota says, his voice a little more gravely. 

"It’s feeling much better, still a little bit of pain when I move it too quickly though." I say, wiggling my foot for emphasis.

"Someone of Clovis’s skill is rare, we are lucky to have her in the village even if she can be a little… stand offish." Elara explains, sitting down with her own plate.

We eat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. The yellow and purple parts of the bread contain a flavour I can’t quite pinpoint, they’re almost cornlike. But I didn’t bring myself to try the ‘Jams’, I’m not really feeling like expanding my culinary horizons just yet. 

A commotion erupts outside and Hakota snaps to face the door. The sound of rapid footsteps, voices, and the unmistakable clink of heavy armor barrages our mellow morning breakfast.

Hakota rushes to throw open the door. Elara is still sitting down but her cheery demeanour has evaporated. 

Standing just in front of the doorway is a man of immense stature. He's easily a head taller than Hakota, with broad shoulders and forearms like tree trunks. His armor, though simple, seems to be forged for a giant; it contributes well to his worn, stern complexion. 

Beside him is a stout older man, clearly past his prime but nothing to scoff at still. His expression isn’t as serious as everyone else’s, perhaps his life has weathered a lot more turmoil. 

Though I might just be projecting my own feelings about elderly people onto this old man even if he hardly seems like the type to be perusing DVDs. 

The larger man wastes no time on pleasantries. He sweeps past the door, ducking his head under the doorway as he comes. 

"Where the hell do you get off overriding my authority? Letting outsiders in after dusk is an absolute violation of conduct!" The large man exclaims, his spit slathering the air between Hakota and him.

Hakota stands his ground, but the easy confidence he had with me is gone, replaced by the rigid posture of a subordinate being dressed down. "Captain, she was injured. A Jougolin —"

"Don’t you think I heard the report?" The Captain cuts him off, his head finally swivelling to fix on me. 

His eyes are grey, and utterly devoid of the compassion I see in Elara and Hakota’s. I can feel myself physically shrink under their weight.

He takes a step into the room, and the space seems to contract around him. 

Another guard pops his head around the corner, a familiar, nervous-looking man, Riel I think his name was. He shifts his body so that his hand hovers near the hilt of his sword. 

"It's a perfect story, isn't it?" The captain’s lip curls into a sneer. "A Jougolin conveniently chases you but doesn't manage to kill you? You then somehow hobble all the way on an injured ankle without it once again catching you?"

"That's not fair." Elara interjects, her voice quivering slightly but still firm. She puts herself between me and the captain. "Her injury was real. I saw it myself!"

"And I don't doubt it was." the captain retorts, not even glancing at her. His focus is entirely on me. "A twisted ankle is a small price to pay for a successful infiltration."

This is what I feared at the gate. The basic instinct of suspicion that has enabled a community to survive by being wary of the unknown. 

They see a threat, a lie, a carefully constructed performance designed to fool them. And in a way, they're not wrong. 

But what I’ve felt since arriving here is real, I tore my script apart too early, and now I’m improvising on a hostile stage.

The guards are visibly twitchy, their suspicion ignited by their captain’s words. 

They look at me not as a person, but as a problem to be solved, an unknown variable that needs to be eliminated before it can cause harm. 

Their knuckles are white as their grip on their weapons tightens.