Caroline brushed only the gods knew what from her dress as she made her way back to the house at the top of the farm. Tending to the animals with Nim had left her exhausted but satisfied at the end of the day. She took pride in cultivating new life. Whether it was in her garden or aiding the livestock, it was known she possessed a knack for it since childhood.
She passed the small garden close to the house where herbs and flowers were sprouting, each grown for a specific purpose-lavender for sleep, hyssop for burns, feverfew for aches in the head. She reminded herself of each plant's use as she strolled by, noting the pattern and color of each leaf. Caroline was quick to commit information to memory as Nim had taught her, knowing it was her the village people would come to for their needs one day.
She had trouble understanding Nim's recent earnestness in pushing her to learn even more each day, though she was confident at this point the years on the farm had taught her everything she needed to know. What she hadn't already committed to memory, she would jot down in the leather-bound book she kept in the pocket of her dress.
Caroline wrote everything in the book. Drawings, notes, songs, and words sometimes she didn't even know the meaning of. They sounded right in her head, though, so she wrote them down in her tiny print.
In the early evening, she bathed and washed the day's work from her body, the warmth of the water soaking into her bones. She sat in the copper tub until the water turned cold, ruminating over Nim's words spoken earlier that day.
Was she ready to lead the men who worked the fields, to balance the ledgers that held the wages and earnings? The tasks did not seem incredibly daunting or dull, but she couldn't help but wonder if there was a more fantastic plan in place for her. Nim's nagging hinted to something more, but she could hardly imagine doing any more than she was already doing right now. She had only ever known the farm and the small town a half-hour cart ride away.
She dressed for bed and brushed her hair and then brushed her hair some more. She could hear Nim's words inside her head "Once you think you are done with a task, go ahead and do it again for good measure." The saying seemed a little obtuse to Caroline, but she brushed her hair again until it shone like the dawn after a storm. She knew her hair made her unique in appearance among the townspeople, but she found the older she got, the less she cared for being different. Caroline cared about making things grow, about her family, about the farm.
Nim was all she had now. She never knew her father and her mother passed away years ago. Still, she was grateful for her grandmother and the care with which the already elderly woman had brought her up.
She crawled under the soft covers listening to the breeze coming through the open window. For a moment, she thought she smelled something foul on the wind, a hint of decay among the lilacs and animals. She closed her eyes and drifted into a restless sleep.
Caroline awoke the next day at the rising of the sun and crowing of the rooster. She hated the rooster almost as much as she hated cow birthing. "Useless buzzard," Caroline muttered to herself, rolling over and dragging her feet from the bed. Swapping out her nightdress for a standard blue work dress, she braided her hair quickly and made her way downstairs for breakfast.
Nim was already up and dressed with breakfast on the table. Caroline wondered if the woman ever slept. She was often up late into the night reading, a habit she had imparted to her granddaughter, and awake before the sun rose. Greeting Nim with a kiss on the cheek, Caroline sat at the table. Her grandmother noted the circles under her eyes, placing a bowl of porridge before her.
"You didn't sleep well." her grandmother said. It was a statement, not a question.
Caroline shook her head, sitting down at the table. She took the porridge gratefully and poured a cup of tea.
"No, I had disturbing dreams. Tossed and turned most of the night." Caroline told her.
"Tell me about them," Nim ordered.
The older woman rarely asked a question. Nim gave orders. On a rare occasion, she made a request, and she was used to getting answers swiftly. Caroline looked at her grandmother, dotingly, and sighed. "Nim, I know you think so, but really, dreams don't mean anything. Besides, I can't recall much besides a few images and sounds. Horses, trees, people talking, you know, the things you would normally find on a farm..."
"Dreams are the minds way of telling you something you don't want to see. You would do better to heed them, girl." Nim told her. Her grandmother had lovingly taught her everything she needed to know. Since Caroline was a girl, she learned not only the ways of taking care of the land but also how to read and write, how to sing, and play music. Caroline humored the woman's superstitious side but truthfully didn't believe in any of it.
Caroline could tell her grandmother was sensing her reluctance and softened. "Ah girl, you are a grown woman. Believe what you like, but I do wish you would listen to an old woman's words from time to time."
Caroline reached over and took her grandmother's hand for a moment before rising from the table and taking their dishes for washing. A knock at the front door sent both bowls clattering in the sink, one breaking into shards scattering in the basin.
"A bowl broken before noon, surely a bad omen if I've ever seen one," Nim mumbled under her breath, tapping her cane on the floorboards for emphasis. Caroline was wholly convinced that was the only reason Nim carried the thing having seen her jump the fence of the sheep enclosure just last week.
Caroline eyed her grandmother, "Omens are tales told to scare children into minding their behavior." Caroline interjected. "Let me see who is at the door, and I'll clean this mess up after." Navigating through the stacks of books and baskets of laundry strewn about the cluttered farmhouse, she was taken aback when a low voice rang out.
"Message for Cora Delvine!"
Surprise then understanding dawned over Caroline's features, having not heard her grandmother's proper name in so long she had almost forgotten what it was. She opened the door to see a man, taller than her by a head, entirely dressed in black.
Black trousers, black cloak, black riding gloves. Almost every article of clothing was as black as night and lined in faint gold trim. He wore no insignias or markings that she could discern. The messenger was of middle age, his beard covering a weak chin, he smelled faintly of beer and tobacco smoke. Ever curious but also wary, she asked the man who he was.
"Messenger." was the only answer she was given.
"A messenger from where...?," she asked, she rarely knew when to stop asking questions. Caroline could not for the life of her fathom where this message would be coming from. No one in the village was rich enough for a personal messenger. Most letters were delivered by the weekly courier or occasionally a falcon if the need was urgent.
The man stared down at her with piercing dark eyes. She could tell he was becoming annoyed with her quickly. "Message for Cora Delvine of Great Root Farm, Southern Ovandale. Are you her?" he stated in full, holding a gold embossed sealed envelope out to her.
"No, but I'm her granddaughter. I'll bring it to her now" she reached for the letter, but the messenger snatched it away quickly.
"I'll wait for her," he said flatly.
Caroline nodded, walking away perplexed at the unusual turn her morning had taken. The most urgent message they had ever received had been three years ago when the farmhand from the Marsh's had broken his leg after being kicked by a horse. The local healer was unavailable, and they had called upon Nim to set the bone in place. Leaving the man standing in her open doorway, Caroline made her way back to her grandmother in a daze.
"Nim, he will only deliver it to you. I'll get started with the day's work. Call me if I am needed."She watched as Nim got up, grumbling something about aching knees and waved Caroline on.
She exited the farmhouse and made her way to the barn. After a time, she saw the man making his way back down the road hastily on horseback, kicking up tufts of dust behind him as he galloped away, a black visage fading into a speck among the hills. Strangely he didn't travel west towards the village, which would eventually lead to the capital. It would take weeks, but the road eventually led there. The east road only boasted a few small towns between her home and the sea as far as she knew.
After watching the messenger completely fade from sight, she detoured from her path to the barn and decided instead to head towards the apple orchard. The trees would not bear fruit yet, but the quiet of the orchard would provide her some time to think about just how she was going to approach Nim about this visitor and how she could get her hands on that letter. She was not a nosy girl and wouldn't consider herself a gossip by any means. But something like this was too unusual to not be investigated further.
As she passed a row of fields, she ran her hands over the small stalks of corn, not yet as high as her knee. As she walked, a song came to her mind that she could not remember the origin of as a melody began to escape her lips. She started to sing as she continued into the field of budding stalks. Startled again for the second time that morning, she ran smack into Callum, the farmhand, bent over a row of plants pulling up weeds.
Falling spectacularly square on her bottom, she remained seated on the ground a moment before regaining her composure. Callum, apologizing profusely for just being there, held out his hand to help her up.
"Gods, I'm sorry, Caroline, should have seen you coming there. Are you alright?" he asked.
She accepted his hand, not so much pulling herself up as being launched from the ground, and began brushing her dress off. His hands were calloused, and she knew it was from long days of labor on the farm. Her hands felt the same way too, if not quite as rough. He had been at Great Root for a few years now, having started there when he was not much older than her.
Caroline noted how easy it was for him to lift her from the ground. He had grown in those years. He ran his hand through his thick brown hair, and she noticed for the first time that Callum was quite handsome in the most conventional way. Stubble lined his jaw, highlighting his dark features. No wonder the village the girls had been coming around asking if he could help them with tasks in the town.
"It was my fault, Callum. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." Caroline conceded as she started to continue on her way. She needed fewer distractions at the moment, not more.
"Did you see the man in black riding off from the farm? What was he doing here?" he called after her before she could be out of hearing distance.
Caroline turned, "He was delivering a letter for Nim. He wouldn't tell me where he was from or anything. It was bizarre. I've never seen anyone dressed like that before." The words tumbled out of her mouth, feeling the sudden need to confide in someone her confusion.
"Hm." Callum thought aloud. "Maybe he was from Stavorden, collecting taxes?"
"The capital doesn't collect taxes, Callum. The landowners pay it to the town councils. Besides, he rode east when he left. There's nothing out there, not for miles." she told him. She had learned the basics of regional economics from Nim.
"Well, there's the East Sea, maybe he's a pirate or a vampire here for your blood." Callum joked, feigning a look of surprise and then dread.
"First Nim and now you carrying on with old women's tales. At least it would give us something to talk about for a few days." Caroline sighed. She was getting distracted. She knew, staying any longer, she wouldn't get anything done for the rest of the morning.
Before she could leave, he blurted out in a last-ditch effort to continue their exchange, "You know, one day I'm going to travel to the capital. Get a job in the mercantile district. Have loads of money. Never plant a corn crop again."
"I do hope that for you, Callum," Caroline replied. "I should go." She turned to extract herself from the conversation and started her way again towards the orchard. As much as she would have liked to continue flirting with the farmhand, she knew it would ultimately lead nowhere, and she didn't feel like wasting her time today. Nim would have her back in the barn within the hour, and Caroline desperately wanted a few moments to herself before her work began.
She thought about the farmhand as she walked. Callum was handsome and robust. She imagined he would make a fine husband. For someone, preferably someone that wasn't her. As much as Nim wanted her to settle on a suitable match, she loathed the thought of marrying and having a man come in and try to seize control of what she had spent her time and energy tending. No, best not to match, she thought to herself. At least not yet or soon. Or ever.
She didn't fault him for his aspirations, but she often wondered if there was something wrong with being content with what you had. How could someone take the beauty around them for granted? She supposed it was easier to think that in the morning sunshine on a warm spring day. It seemed all anyone wanted was more money, but she couldn't imagine what they wanted it for. In her mind, anything you had beyond what you needed was a waste.
After another minute's walk, she came upon the tree she was looking for in the small orchard. Climbing the branches as she had done as a child, she settled on a strong branch ten feet above the ground. She loved this spot. She could see the entirety of the farm from her vantage point as well as the road leading to the east. She had decided on precisely a half hours worth of writing before the long day of planting, or whatever Nim had in store, ahead.
She took out her little book from her dress pocket and began to sketch the letter the man was holding as she remembered it before it faded from her mind completely. The drawing was nearly done when a rumbling bubbled up from the ground, causing her charcoal to smudge on the paper. She looked first to the ground and then lifted her gaze towards the source of the sound. The rider in black was charging back down the road he had left from not an hour ago at a fever pace. Surely one man could not make the ground shake from there? She thought.
Her question was answered as she saw more people gathered together than she ever thought possible riding on horseback over the hill. Some she could tell held banners but were too far away for her to make out the insignia.
Never had she seen such a sight. As terror began to grip her and her breathing became shallow, she shoved the book back in her pocket, preparing to dash back to the Nim. Turning towards the house now, she could see her grandmother's outline at the back door. Before she could so much as lower herself to the next branch and almighty crack rang out as the limb broke beneath her.
Caroline began to fall. She braced for the impact of the ground from her short descent, but it never came. She continued to race toward the ground as the world went dark around her.