Azimee

Justin was away on another mission for Sir Cleworth, who seemed to have nothin' better to do than to find missions of such importance that nae one but m'husband was fit for the task. I was restless, anxious to be travelin' again. Springtime has always affected me that way, but this year the feelin' overwhelmed me.

I grew up in Therengia. M'grandfather had a small farm down a tiny road past Highgate Falls, which was beyond Highgate Springs, which was beyond… well, ye get the picture. Twas a tiny place out in the back of nowhere. He wrested a bit more land from the forest each year, but twas long, hard work makin' a livin' there. I remember him as a dour an' silent man, always disapprovin' of somethin'... especially me.

M'mother died the year I turned fourteen. Winter had come early that year, with fierce storms and snow drifting deep and near impassable. She fell ill, the fever raging through her for three days and nights before she finally succumbed. No healer could get to us through the unending storms, though we did all we could for her. With mother gone, m'grandfather an' I lost the bridge between us. I was too young an' him too… unbendin', mayhap, to know how to break the silence that
gripped us; a silence as cold an' smotherin' as the great drifts of snow piled outside.

Winter lingered late that year, an unnatural winter some said. I left before the snows melted, unable to cage my restlessness any longer. I carefully packed my clothes an' a few provisions, slung the violin case I'd found among m'mother's belongings o'er my shoulder, then slipped away one cold dawn. I had been on the road for only a day or two when I was attacked an' left for dead. Thieves must've had a hard winter as well, an' I was easy prey. A family of gypsies found me an'
cared for me, then invited me to travel with them for a time. I stayed with them for nearly two years, but joined the bard's guild durin' one of our visits to Crossin'.

I'd written to m'grandfather when I married Sinklar, an' again after the twins were born, but had ne'er received an answer. I'd started to write him again, to tell him of Sinklar's death an' m'marriage to Justin, but instead I found m'self thinkin' I should visit. It had been ten years since I'd left, after all… an' surely twould be more difficult to ignore his flesh an' blood granddaughter than a letter.

So I caught a ride with a trader headed in the right direction… and then walked or hitched a ride on farmers' carts once we parted ways. Highgate Falls was smaller than I remembered - just a tiny place where locals gathered for drinks an' gossip, a farmer's market that was deserted except on market day when everyone traded for the things they didnae grow or make for themselves, a blacksmith of sorts, that kind of thing. Nae much to look at all in' all, especially after spendin' time in much bigger cities.

I arrived at dusk, an' traded some of m'songs an' stories for a meal an' a place to sleep at the… tavern… for lack of a better word for the place. Nae many minstrels traveled so far, an' word spread quickly that there was entertainment for a night, so business was brisk an' twas late before I finally slept. I couldnae help but watch the faces, wonderin' if I'd recognize any, but… ten years an' growin' from a half-wild child to a bright songbird had fogged m'memory of the faces.
Besides, I'd only visited the village once or mayhap twice as a child. M'grandfather was ashamed of his illegitimate granddaughter.

For tis what I was - the product of a gypsy lad who'd seduced m'mother, promisin' he'd return to marry her an' take her away with him. Of course, he' ne'er did, though I think she died believin' he'd still come for her. I still regret losin' his letter that she'd kept safe for so many years. Thieves arenae known to respect sentimental love letters, howe'er, when they prey on travelers.

Early mornin' saw me on the last leg of m'journey. Twas hilly here - Highgate falls was named for a tiny waterfall that spilled down the hillside. At last I crested the hill an' looked down into the tiny glen that held m'grandfather's farm.

The midafternoon sun touched everythin' from the green-gold leaves of the trees surroundin' the clearin' to the garden to the apple tree that stood by the house. An' then I blinked, seein' nae what memory held but the burnt-out shell of the house, the grass that grew long in what was once a cleared field, the tangled weeds in what had once been a well-kept garden.

I picked m'way to the house, still nae wantin' to believe m'eyes. The damage was old… it had been more'n one season since the house had burned. As I reached out toward the openin', I glanced up an' drew in m'breath. A curse marker had been painted on the lintel… a gypsy curse marker by the look of it. I'd seen one only once before.

"Aye, tis a cursed place now." The voice came out of nowhere, it seemed, an' I glanced quickly around, startled. The old woman leaned against the apple tree, almost as wizened as the wood. Her sharp eyes swept over me. "Tis a sad homecomin' for ye, I'd be guessin'. Five seasons… nae, six now, it burned. Marauders spent that spring raidin', though ol' Milton bore the brunt of it." Her gaze swept the area. "He's buried up on yon' hillside," as she pointed.

I looked in the direction she pointed an' saw the spot where m'grandmother lay… an' m'mother. A third mound blossomed there now, covered with tiny white flowers like the other two. I closed my eyes for a moment… it was difficult for me to imagine him dead. He'd always been so cold an' hard an' unforgivin', I had been certain he'd live fore'er... out of spite if naught else.

"Och, well, I'd best be goin', lass… I'd fain be home before dark. I'd suggest ye dun linger here…" With that, she picked up her basket an' walked toward the road. She looked back once more as she reached the openin' that once held the gate. "Ye've grown up lovely, lass. That ye have." Noddin' at me, she continued on her way down the road, leavin' me alone with m'thoughts.

I sat for a long while, tryin' to grasp it all, while the shadows lengthened. Finally, I stood an' went through the doorway, pickin' m'way across the floor to the fireplace. Anythin' of value would be hidden there, I knew. I amnae sure what I hoped… mayhap just that somethin' had survived all the destruction around me. The stones didnae look as if they'd been disturbed, an' I tugged at the one I knew hid a tiny niche.

It finally came free an' I looked inside. Nae much was there… just a couple of charred scraps of paper an' m'grandmother's weddin' ring. I tucked them away, an' stood up to leave. Twas getting' dark, an' the thought of the long walk back weighed heavy on me. Luck was with me, though, an' Katamba rode the sky. Since I had m'pearl ring, the one Baravor sold that would allow me quick transportation to the trade route to Theren, I decided to take that shortcut.

I closed m'eyes an' rubbed m'ring… headed back to Theren, an' to Justin.

Last Revised: 08/25/04