scared to revolt against the king and his army. What they would need was a true leader; someone strong and wise to give them enough courage to cripple the army. If everyone in Hyrendell gathered up their collective strength, a revolt against the king might have been possible.
And there she goes, thinking like a revolutionary already. The idea of ending the king’s oppressive reign was enticing, no doubt, but it was not going to be her that led the people against an entire kingdom. Besides, who would rule afterward? A newly liberated Hyrendell would probably want their leader to be their quee… No! Their king. They would want a king...
She needed sleep, needed to rest her thoughts. Quickly, she remembered seeing a small hostel as she passed through a ruined village during the day on her way to the Oracle. It had an ancient charm to it as the brickwork walls were almost completely covered with ivy vine. A creaky sign had hung between two torch lamps above the front door, which read The Flowerpatch Inn.
“God be with me,” Lythina whispered, realizing it was her only hope for shelter within miles. Squeezing her cloak around her shivering frame, she headed back toward the ghostly village seeking the decrepit Inn.
2. Flowerpatch Inn
It was dark out now, but by Lythina’s calculations it wasn’t too late. However, the breeze from the near coast set a salty chill to the air, and it began to pierce through her cloak to bite at her skin. Hopefully, someone would still be awake to lend her a room for the night. When she reached the lonely Inn, she rapped on the door.
Only few seconds had passed when Lythina began to hear what sounded like a person shuffling behind a wall. The knob turned and the door creaked open to reveal a dimly lit entryway, yet there was no one standing to greet her. It was as if the door opened on its own.
Lythina’s spine tingled. Her intuition flickered as she felt the ghostly ambiance of the decaying village crawling right behind her, reaching out its ethereal fingers to steal her into the night. In the distance of the room, a shadow moved.
Suddenly, a squeaky little voice spoke. “Come in, dear, come in.”
Lythina froze. Was the ramshackle village actually haunted?!
Instantly, she braced herself against the earth and was just about flick her sword loose when a tiny little person hobbled out from behind the door. Her wrinkly head came to about Lythina‘s chest, and she was hugging herself with an old, faded cloak. The old woman’s hair was a dull silver that almost reached to the floor, while beady blue eyes set between a crooked nose gazed at her caller impatiently. In a way, she looked even older than the Oracle.
“Well,” the miniature woman continued, “are you going to come in or just stand there dumbfounded all night? Make a decision, love. It‘s quite cold out.”
Without hesitation, Lythina hopped right inside and shut the door behind her, shutting out the ghosts on her heels. Instantly, what felt like the warmth of the sun itself sank into her tired body, all the way to the bone. She could feel her muscles immediately relax.
The little Innkeeper scuttled over to a diminutive desk, dipped a small quill into an ink bottle and scribbled something into a rather large book, at least it seemed large placed next to the small Innkeeper.
“Looking for a room, dear?” the Innkeeper asked.
“Yes, I am,” Lythina said hesitantly. “I’m sorry for calling so late, but this was the only place around. Do you have any available?”
“Oh, yes,” the Innkeeper squeaked, “All of them. I don’t get many visitors these days, not since Flowerpatch village was deserted. Follow me, please.” The Innkeeper hobbled out from behind the desk and Lythina was led past a cozy-looking living room, down a dimly lit hallway.
“Here you are, love,” the Innkeeper said as she held out a hand to gesture toward a room. Lythina entered, immediately followed by the Innkeeper who scuttled by her to light a few small candle lamps.
As the walls began to glow, Lythina gazed around. There was an engraved canopy bed, many blankets piled on top of a chair, an ancient wooden dresser, and various pictures of what looked like Hyrendellian landscape. The fixtures were artful, giving the stay a subtle charm.
“This is great! Thank you so much,” Lythina said to the Innkeeper.
“Absolutely, dear, absolutely,” the little woman replied. “Are you hungry? I’ve got a fresh batch of chicken apple soup that should be ready any minute now, if you’d like.”
At that, Lythina’s stomach answered with a growl. “Yes, please, I’m starving!”
The young lady took great care when removing her cloak, wrapping up her weapons inside so as not to reveal them. Once she had laid them on the bed, she shut the door behind her and followed the Innkeeper to the living room. She could smell the soup, its sweet and salty aroma wafting down the hallway, and when she entered the main room, the Innkeeper motioned her toward a seat at a grand wooden dining table. Lythina couldn’t help but run her fingers along the intricate vine work carved around the edge of the table, and when she sat in one of its solid wood chairs it felt as though it conformed directly to her back. She closed her eyes and sighed with comfort.
“Thank you, God,” she said quietly. When she looked up, the Innkeeper was hobbling toward her with a big bowl of steaming soup and a large chunk of sweetbread.
“You’re right in thanking God, dear,” the Innkeeper said softly. “She has everything to do with everything.” She set the bowl in front of Lythina and went back to the kitchen to fetch a pair of tea mugs and a teapot. Lythina was already dipping a piece of the bread into the soup when the small keeper returned to take a seat next to her guest. “Tea, dear?”
“Yes, please,” Lythina answered. “And thank you so much for your hospitality, Ms. —” It suddenly occurred to Lythina that they hadn’t been properly introduced yet. On that note, what name had she written in the guestbook? But the Innkeeper caught her concerned look.
“Hildabrand McCloud,” the old lady creaked with a small bow, “at your service.”
Quickly, Lythina stopped dipping her bread, folded her hands on her lap, and returned the bow. “Lythina Graham, truly yours.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Lythina,” Hildabrand said as her guest began to taste her soup. “How is it?”
“Exquisite,” Lythina replied with a grin, “I’ve never had soup this good!”
“Wonderful, that’s means I cooked the lizard eyes fully,” the lady teased as Lythina choked. “Just kidding, love.”
With a nervous laugh, Lythina continued eating.
“Sorry, but you said God was a She,” the young lady inquired after savoring a big mouthful of soup. “I always thought God was a He.”
Hildabrand poured some tea for both of them. “He; She; all the same. It just depends on what perspective you’re looking from.” When she finished pouring, she slid a steamy mug over to her guest, who drank from it carefully. “You’re a very bright young lady, I’m sure you can see the logic in that. Do you know God?”
“Do any of us really know God?” Lythina countered as she sat the mug onto the table and continued to work on her soup.
“Ah, you have the same wit as your mother, I see,” the lady squeaked pleasantly. She was still peering at Lythina with her interrogating eyes.
Lythina nearly spat, but managed to swallow quickly. “You knew my mother?” she asked, gazing at the aged woman.
“Oh yes, she stayed here quite often before you were born. I recognized you as her daughter when I saw you on your way to the Oracle. You have her features.” She smiled proudly at that, as if she had given them herself.
“Ah, so, that was you watching me,” Lythina concluded. “I thought I felt someone’s eyes on me as I passed through this ruined village.”
“Your