Chapter 5: The Mountain Village

Maeva

The sky turned bruise-purple above us by the time the village came into view, the first finger of sun trying to claw its way over the rim of the world. I led, but Aeron’s steps bracketed mine exactly, as if he couldn’t help mapping his stride to my rhythm. It would have been reassuring, except the way he walked made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, like a predator feigning leisure until someone turned their back. Even limping from the wolf-pack’s bite, he moved with an energy that said: I could end this whole place if I wanted to.

We crested the final rise. Below, the village was just waking: a mess of turf-roofed huts slouching together for warmth, each one bleeding lazy columns of woodsmoke into the frozen air. The mead hall stood out only by the size of its roof and the fact that its smoke was already blacker than the rest, meaning someone had been up all night drinking or arguing. Probably both.

I’d pictured this return a thousand ways in sleepless nights: my triumphant march with a miracle cure, or maybe just the long, slow walk of shame with nothing to show but empty hands and raw nerves. This was neither. I had a satchel heavy with the Reliquary, swaddled in wool, dead quiet since the last burst, and a dragon shadowing my steps, tracking mud and blood over ground that had once, technically, been his.

My throat hurt, from the cold or the tension, maybe both. “Don’t make any sudden moves,” I muttered. “Most of these people haven’t seen a stranger in years, and you… ” I glanced at his profile, the cut-glass cheekbones, the too-sharp smile he wore whenever he caught me watching. “ …you are not a comforting sight.”

Aeron rolled his neck, bones popping like hailstones on a tin roof. “Is this where you tell me to act human?” His voice was lower than usual, roughened by the morning. I noticed that since the fight, he winced sometimes, just at the corner of his mouth, whenever he put too much weight on the leg. He still hadn’t asked me to heal it, or even looked for bandages. “Just… don’t bare your teeth unless you mean it,” I said. “And no fire.”

“Disappointing.”

We hit the first line of fence posts. A few had been gnawed at the base by goats and tipped at sad angles. One had an old warning rune carved into it, something about wolves, or debt, or both, but frost had filled the gouges and made them impossible to read. Aeron ran his fingers over it in passing, barely glancing at the script. He kept pace.

No one noticed us at first. The kids were still inside, mothers stamping cold out of their feet by kitchen doors, men at the outer paddocks tending the animals. We made it almost to the central lane before the first set of eyes pegged us: a hunched man with a bucket in each hand, looking to scavenge the last few drops of water before the well froze over for good.

He took one look at Aeron and made the sign of the horns with both hands, sloshing half his bucket down his front. He bolted, and within seconds, a high keening started from one hut, then another, a chain reaction of suspicion becoming terror as the shape of Aeron’s silhouette filtered through morning haze and memories of old stories.

The village gathered as if by magic. In less than a minute, the main lane was choked with bodies, forty or fifty at least, and maybe half as many faces peering out of windows or from behind doors. Most of the men were armed, if you counted sticks, wood axes, or scythes dulled by seasons of cutting more grass than flesh. Two even held crossbows, though the string on one looked ready to snap from dry rot.

The village headman was the last to appear. He cut through the press of bodies, stooped but still taller than anyone else by a hand’s breadth, his beard streaked with ash and gray and knotted at the tip with a bone clasp I’d carved for him as a child. He wore his authority like a second skin, threadbare, but unyielding. I stopped short in the middle of the square, Aeron beside me, and waited for the shouts to die down. When they didn’t, I lifted my hands, palms up, showing I held nothing but my own sweat and the anxiety of a week’s worth of bad decisions.

“Lower your weapons!” I shouted, louder than I’d ever spoken in my life. “He’s with me!” The effect was instant, if not entirely effective. Most of the pitchforks went from pointed at Aeron’s chest to pointed at his shins, and a few even dipped below the waistline, but no one dared to actually drop them. I saw faces I’d known since I was five, and most of them didn’t recognize me at all. They saw the dragon, the devil, the ruin of old nursery tales, and, maybe, some weird scrappy girl acting like she could save them from it. The headman’s eyes flicked from my face to Aeron’s, and his expression curdled. “Maeva?” he said, the word half a gasp, half a prayer. “What… who… what have you brought to my hearth?”

“It’s not what you think,” I said, and immediately regretted it. Every eye in the crowd latched onto those words, because of course it was exactly what they thought. Aeron didn’t help. He just stood, still as death, hands at his sides, golden eyes sweeping the crowd with a boredom that read as contempt. The only movement in him was the subtle flexing of fingers, as if he was counting how many necks he could break before the rest scattered.

The man closest to us, old Berrin, took a step forward. He had the crossbow with the good string, and his hands shook so badly I wondered if he could even pull the trigger. “What is he?” Berrin said, voice tremulous but audible. “He looks… he smells wrong, girl.” Aeron’s nostrils flared, and he offered a smile, a real one, all teeth. “The feeling is mutual.” The crowd surged back half a pace. I put myself fully between Aeron and the line of villagers, arms wide as if I could shield him with my own body. “He’s helping me,” I said, trying for conviction. “He saved my life. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be at the bottom of the glacier. I swear it.”

The words hit different than I expected. The first few rows of faces softened, just a little, as if the possibility that I was alive because of this stranger counted for more than the risk he posed. Or maybe they were just waiting for the catch. The headman, Erick I reminded myself, though I hadn’t called him by name in years, cleared his throat and spoke the way he did when mediating a dispute: slow, measured, a little bit tired. “Maeva, that may be, but no one here owes this… man anything. If you bring danger to our homes, you must answer for it.”

I kept my ground. “There is no danger. He’s only here for… ” I paused, trying to decide if I should say “my brother” or “the cure.” Either felt like a lie by omission, but too much truth would doom us both. “He’s only here for me. Once I have what I came for, we’ll be gone.” Berrin didn’t like that. “That thing isn’t human,” he spat. “What happens when it gets hungry? Or bored?”

Aeron cocked his head. “Do you have suggestions?” A ripple of laughter, nervous and thin, passed through the men behind Berrin, but no one lowered their weapon further. I shot Aeron a look that said, please, for the love of all gods, shut up. He held my gaze, a glint of amusement under the mask. “Fine,” he said, almost under his breath.

I turned back to the crowd. “Listen. You all know me. I’ve lived here my whole life. My family is here. I would never bring you harm. Please. Let us through.” No one moved for a full five seconds. The silence was so complete that I could hear the crackle of wood burning in the hall behind me, the sharp intake of breath as a baby somewhere started to cry, the low, embarrassed cough of a woman realizing she’d come out still clutching her nightgown tight to her chest.

Then Erick nodded. The line of men opened, two at a time, as if testing whether the dragon would pounce the moment he saw weakness. Aeron didn’t. He kept his hands where everyone could see them, the limp even more pronounced now as he walked at my side. He could have walked without it, I’d seen him heal from worse, but he let himself appear vulnerable, just enough to set the village a little more at ease.

We passed through the ring of weapons, my pulse a wild thing in my throat, Aeron’s shoulder never more than a foot from mine. I felt, absurdly, like I should take his hand, but I knew that would only make things worse. We were nearly past the crowd when the headman called out. “Maeva.” I stopped, heart pounding. Erick’s eyes were kind, even if everything else about him was hard. “If this goes wrong, the blame is yours to bear. You know that.” I nodded, barely trusting myself to speak. “I know.”

He hesitated, then said, “You were always the best of us, girl. Don’t let this thing change that.” I didn’t answer. Instead, I led Aeron down the muddy lane toward the row of houses at the edge of the wood, aware with every step that the village’s eyes were knives in my back, and every whispered word was another line added to the story they’d tell about me long after I was gone.

Aeron waited until we were out of earshot before speaking. “They fear you now, too.” “Yeah,” I said, voice raw. “That’s the price of coming home.” He looked at me, long and slow, then said, “You should have left me outside.” I shrugged. “You’re not the only stubborn bastard here.” He didn’t laugh, but his hand brushed mine, quick as a falling star, before withdrawing. We walked on, both pretending not to feel the tremor that lingered in the air between us.

~~**~~

The walk to my family’s house felt longer than the entire trek down the mountain. We had cut a straight line through the village, Aeron’s shadow dwarfing mine. The villagers had fallen away in front of us, not with the cautious curiosity I remembered from childhood, but like the retreat of prey when a hawk dips low over the fields, fear without the dignity of hope.

At every intersection, at every open door, I had seen the same sequence: a mother yanking her children by the scruff, a father or older brother interposing their bodies between us and whatever they valued. No one shouted. No one hurled curses or rocks. They had just watched, eyes fixed and flat, as if waiting for us to fail at being less monstrous than the legends promised. I wondered, in some dark, bruised part of myself, whether I would have done any differently in their place.

I hugged the satchel tighter to my side. The Reliquary was cold and still, a dead star wrapped in wool, but I felt its weight more with every step. Aeron kept his hands visible, and the effort it took was visible in the set of his jaw, the way he resisted the urge to touch the wound at his thigh. He’d stopped limping for the crowd, but I saw it in the drag of his right foot. I doubted anyone else would.

At the bend near the old mill, Berrin was waiting. His crossbow was slung but not forgotten, his face clouded with the sort of doubt that eats at you even when you’re sure you’re right. He raised a hand, palm out. “Maeva,” he said, voice soft enough not to carry. “Can I speak with you?” He kept his gaze fixed over my shoulder, clearly not eager to make eye contact with Aeron. I stopped. “What is it?” His mouth worked at something he couldn’t quite spit out. Finally, he said, “You sure about this? That he’s not… dangerous?” I glanced at Aeron, who said nothing, just watched the play with a vague air of amusement. “I’m sure,” I lied. “He’s here for my brother. That’s all.” Berrin nodded, relief not quite reaching his eyes. “If you need help… ”

“I won’t,” I said, more sharply than I meant. “but thank you.” He looked like he might say more, then thought better of it. He melted away into the side lane, footsteps careful on the thawing ground. We walked on, every echo of our steps ringing louder as the village quieted behind us. It wasn’t until we reached the low wall of stacked stone that marked my family’s plot that Aeron spoke. “Do they always look at you like that?”

“Only when I come home with trouble on my heels.” He stopped just inside the gate, gaze sweeping the cramped yard: the pile of discarded ploughshares rusting near the shed, the patchwork of dead grass and hoarfrost, the row of winter cabbages gone to rot. It must have seemed pathetic to him, a creature who’d hoarded vaults of treasure and lived a thousand years. But for me, it was the sum of every safety I’d ever known.

He caught my stare. “Remind me again of your brother’s name?” I blinked. “Eli.” The name tasted dry in my mouth. Aeron nodded, as if tucking it away somewhere. “I won’t frighten him.” It sounded absurd, coming from someone who could break a grown man in half without breaking stride, but I didn’t call him on it. Instead, I pushed open the door and let the familiar scent of woodsmoke, boiled root, and sour milk wash over me.

The main room was unchanged since the day I’d left. The table in the center, warped and gouged by years of meals and arguments. The old iron stove in the corner, its black skin shining with recent polish. And the bed, pushed close to the warmth, where Eli lay curled under a heap of patched quilts, breathing shallow and uneven. He looked smaller than I remembered. The fever had burned away the softness in his cheeks, leaving behind a sharp, almost birdlike quality. His eyes were closed, but not with the peace of real sleep. The sickness gnawed at him even at rest.

I hesitated on the threshold, afraid to cross the space and see what else had changed. “Go to him,” Aeron said, so gently I almost didn’t recognize his voice. I did. The chair beside Eli’s bed was cold, but the sheets radiated his body heat, the familiar musk of sweat and fear and boyhood. I reached for his hand, and the fingers twitched, then wrapped weakly around mine.

“Maeva?” The word was a thimbleful of sound, but it nearly undid me. “I’m here, bug.” I smoothed his hair back, the way I had when he was little and scared of thunder. “Everything’s going to be okay.” His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then catching on the shadow that filled the doorway. “Who’s that?” Eli asked.

I braced, ready for panic or a surge of fevered delirium. Instead, Eli squinted, then smiled a little, showing the chip in his front tooth. “He’s really tall.” Aeron inclined his head, keeping his distance. “Hello, Eli,” he said, as if he’d practiced the name in advance. Eli looked at me, searching for the right script. “Is he a doctor?” The word made Aeron laugh, a single rumble. “Something like that.”

Eli accepted this, because he was Eli, and the world had never made enough sense to demand a better answer. He squeezed my hand. “You smell like fire,” he said, drifting already back to sleep. I watched him settle, the lines of pain smoothing on his face. Aeron watched me, a different kind of hunger in his eyes. “I need to get ready,” I said, not quite meeting his gaze. He nodded. “I’ll wait outside.”

It was only after he’d left, and the silence swelled to fill the little room, that I realized how tired I was. Not the kind you fix with a nap, but the kind that leaks into your bones and makes you want to stay perfectly still forever. I pressed my lips to Eli’s forehead and whispered, “Soon,” though I wasn’t sure if I believed it.

Outside, Aeron paced the yard, head tipped up to the sky as if daring the world to send him another pack of nightmares. The villagers watched from a distance, never letting him out of their sight. I wondered if they’d sleep at all tonight, or just wait for him to do what they feared most. The Reliquary pulsed once against my chest, a gentle warning. I had work to do. And a promise to keep.

~~**~~

I watched the sunrise slip across the rough plank floor, a stripe of gold that barely reached the edge of Eli’s bed. He was awake now, but not truly present. His eyes tracked the ceiling, following patterns only he could see, and his lips moved soundlessly, counting or praying or maybe just rehearsing the lines for when he’d have to say goodbye.

I sat next to him as he lay on the bed, letting his hand rest in mine. The fever was worse today, skin stretched thin and damp as parchment, bones sharp under every touch. It took effort to pretend I wasn’t counting the breaths between each pause, or the way they seemed to get shorter every time he dozed off and startled awake. Eli blinked and looked at me, the blue of his eyes too bright in his pale face. “You’re back,” he whispered. “I thought maybe you’d… ” He cut off, unwilling or unable to say it. “I always come back,” I said, as gently as I could. “You know that.” He nodded, but didn’t let go of my hand.

A knock, sharp and precise, sounded at the door. Eli stiffened. “Is that… him?” I nodded. “Don’t worry. He won’t hurt you.” Eli made a face, equal parts dread and thrill. “You said he was a monster,” he whispered, but there was none of the fear I’d expected. I shrugged. “Everyone’s a monster to someone.”

The door creaked, and Aeron ducked under the lintel. In the close light of the cottage, he looked impossibly out of place, built for mountain storms and open sky, not a room where the tallest thing was the drying rack strung with onions and garlic.

He hovered just inside the door, uncertain, as if unsure what to do with hands so good at breaking things in a world so easily broken. I nodded for him to come closer. He did, his steps careful, not quite meeting Eli’s gaze until the last second. Then he knelt awkwardly, but genuinely, so his eyes were level with my brother’s.

Eli stared, unblinking. “Are you really a doctor?” Aeron hesitated. “Not exactly,” he said, and for the first time, I heard the vulnerability in him, the echo of someone who’d never been looked at by a child before. Eli frowned, then coughed, a dry rattle. “Maeva says you can make me better.” Aeron looked to me for permission. I nodded, and he reached out with one massive, careful hand, brushing a thumb along Eli’s temple.

“I can try,” he said. “But it might be scary.” Eli grinned, the bravado of the already-doomed. “I’m not scared,” he lied. “Just do it.” For a second, the three of us stayed frozen. Then Aeron glanced down, at the puckered wound on Eli’s wrist, the same kind of mark as the one the wolf had left on me, but different, older, spreading out in a web of blue veins under the skin.

He met my eyes. “It’s in him deep,” he said, softly. “I know.”

He looked at Eli again, then at the room, at the hooks on the wall, the driftwood cross above the hearth, the pair of boots that had once been too big for me, now years too small. It felt like he was trying to memorize everything in case it was the last time he’d ever see it. Aeron’s face softened. “Do you trust me?” he asked Eli. Eli nodded, fiercely. “If Maeva does, I do.”

The words hit Aeron like a blow. He let his hand linger on Eli’s forehead, thumb tracing a circle just above the brow. For a second, a line of gold flickered under the skin, as if Eli was lit from within by a secret fire. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he smiled wider, teeth bright in the weak light. “It tickles,” he said.

Aeron almost laughed. Instead, he bowed his head, letting his own hair fall forward, the curtain hiding his eyes. I watched as he set his jaw, fighting down whatever ancient reflex told him to pull away. He looked at me, something open and terrified behind the usual mask. “You never had this, did you?” I whispered, not sure if I was talking to him or myself. He shook his head. “I had a clutch once,” he said as he stood again. “Long ago. They were gone before I could miss them.”

I let the silence fill the space. Then I bent over Eli, smoothing the sweat-slick hair from his forehead. “I’ll be back soon,” I told him. “When I return, you’ll be better. That’s a promise.” Eli’s fingers closed around mine with surprising strength. “Don’t let him eat you,” he said, too weak to laugh at his own joke. I kissed his cheek. “Never.”

When I stood, Aeron was waiting for me by the door. His face was unreadable, but his hands trembled just enough to betray the crack in his armor. “Ready?” he asked. I nodded, but couldn’t look back.

Outside, the world was shock-bright with snow melt and the smell of early spring. Aeron walked beside me, careful not to outpace my stride. The villagers watched from their windows, not as afraid now, but wary, like they could sense the change in the weather, even if they didn’t know what had caused it.

We made it to the edge of the trees before Aeron spoke. “You love him,” he said, not as a question but an observation. “He’s all I have left,” I replied. He was quiet for a long time, then said, “I never understood why you humans hurt so much, when it’s all so brief.” I smiled, though it hurt. “It’s the only thing that makes it worth anything.”

Aeron looked at me, and for once, I saw not a dragon or a monster or a legend, but someone just as lost as I was. Someone hungry for connection, for meaning, for a reason to care. I offered him my hand, and he took it, awkward but sincere, and we walked into the woods together, two monsters against the world, both hoping, for once, to save something instead of destroying it.