Page 19 of These Immortal Truths
“And where will you go now?”
She thinks of Marco and Giovanni, remembers the love in their voices when they spoke of home. “Have you been to Venice?”
There’s a small smile hiding at the corners of Khiran’s mouth. Belatedly, Anna realizes how ridiculous the question must sound. His feet have probably touched everywhere. Still, he does her the courtesy of answering. “I have.”
Anna looks over Norwich. “Is it as beautiful as they say?”
“There is beauty everywhere—ugliness too.” Khiran’s eyes meet hers. “But yes. I find it to be quite beautiful.”
Anna nods, a strange sort of thrill humming beneath her skin. “Then that’s the direction I’ll travel.”
“It’s a long journey.”
The words sound less like a warning and more like a private joke that Anna isn’t quite ready to laugh at. “I have the time.”
The smirk staining Khiran’s mouth is crooked. “That you do.”
CHAPTER SIX
The future is something he never dares to predict. Prophecy is the magic of others and his hands are too busy with the present. The now weighs enough to convince him not to bother with thoughts of the future. Then she looks up at him, a quiet desperation in her eyes and a child in her lap, and all he can see is the heartbreak that’s sure to come.
FRANCE
1316
Hunger haunts the countryside like a ghost.
Its phantom fingers are in every town, every city, carving the fat away from the bones of the have-nots. Brutal winters and heavy rains have strangled the yield of grain for bread and feed for live-stock. Only the nobility face the day without hunger clawingat their bellies, their stores saving them from suffering as their countrymen sacrifice their dogs and horses to stave off starvation.
When she left Norwich, she did so with the intent to slowly migrate over to Italy—staying long enough in the cities and towns along the way to live and work before moving on after a few years. She regrets that decision now. Anna doesn’t stay in any one place long, afraid to watch their faces wither into bones. She cuts through the forests and the fields, foraging what she can. She’s not the only one. Hungry faces stare back at her from between the trees, their hands digging up the earth in search of anything they can bring home.
When she sees them, she always stops. She shows them where to look for tubers, what leaves and roots they can eat safely. It takes her more time to teach than to tell, but when night falls and they return home she feels the dark weight in her stomach lighten with a threadbare string of hope that they’ll live long enough to see the next good harvest.
It’s enough to ease her conscience—enough to let her move on instead of staying to do more.
She doesn’t stop in any of the towns or major cities, but the rumors still reach her. Merchants traveling the main roads relay the horror stories—each growing more gruesome than the last. Grains drowned by torrential rains, cattle herds decimated by murrain. They tell her stories of parents abandoning their children, shallow graves being unearthed, of families turning on each other over empty plates. She hears how the city streets are lined with malnourished bodies and mass graves.
And Anna is useless in it all.
Hunger is not an ailment she can treat, not when there’s no food to be found. Not when she’s struggling herself. She knows death will not come, but she fears the possibilities of what starvation might mean for her. Would she grow weak and frail? Would she eventually collapse and never find the strength to rise? It’s a horrifying thought, one that motivates her as much as the hunger to eat what she can when she can find it.
Between the fatigue in her limbs and the unforgiving rains, travelis achingly slow. Fewer merchants travel the roads, more and more refuse to let her ride on the backs of their carts in fear that she’ll steal from them once their backs are turned. Eventually, she gives up on them altogether and sticks to the forests and meadows.
It’s slower, but there’s more peace in being alone than being stared after by skeletal faces and hungry outstretched hands. She still stumbles on the occasional forager, still helps when she can, but her focus has shifted. Travel is no longer one town to the next, but crossing the country as quickly as her feet will take her—eager to leave this one behind. Anna makes it to the southern part of France before she stumbles on perhaps the one thing that could persuade her to stay.
He’s barefoot and dirty—sitting so quietly that Anna almost misses him entirely. But when their eyes meet and her steps falter, Anna is frozen by the boyish face staring up at her from the cradled roots of an ancient alder.
He can’t be older than six and yet, when she looks around, Anna finds that he is unquestionablyalone. It has taken her long enough to travel through the country that she has picked up enough French to be well-versed in understanding it, but she knows her accent must leave a lot to be desired when his face pinches in confusion. “Tout va bien?”
When he doesn’t answer, Anna repeats the question more carefully—hoping her tone alone will help convey her concern.
He shifts, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand. His face is dirty, the tear tracks lining his cheeks pale against the filth. “Maman said she was coming back,” he says, a weak whisper of a voice. His blue eyes are wide and haunting. In them, Anna sees the truth before he can speak it. “I think she lied.”
His name is Piers and he has seen five summers.
It’s the only thing he really knows about himself—he isn’t surewhere home is, or what it’s called, and the only thing he knows about his family name is that he’s pretty certain he has one. Anna stays with him, sharing the mulberries she had picked on the way and watching as afternoon turns into evening.
Piers is quiet, but so is she. It’s uncomfortable, but Anna doesn’t try to fill the silence. Doesn’t try to distract him from the fact that she’s there and his mother isn’t. It feels disingenuous at best, cruel at worst. Some traumas are best faced quietly and with caution, and Anna doesn’t want to risk accidentally forcing him to confront what he may not be ready to face.
