Abigail Ch 4 (Patreon)

We went with our daughter to the Vancouver Zoo for a sleep over - and I can't feel my feet. Haha.

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Ch 4

Welcome to the Guild, Abigail.

Fairfield District, Tullents City

Waterday, Seventh Month, the year of King Bastian 347

York waited for Abigail to hang up her cloak before escorting her downstairs. They arrived in the main hall just in time to hear a pretty voice loudly ask, “Why do you think her uncle ditched her here?”

A beautiful woman leaned against the bar, gossiping with the bartender. She had blonde ringlets that bounced at her shoulders, and bangs swept over her ruby-red eyes. Her white healer robes draped over soft curves, and even leaning against the bar haphazardly, she breathed grace.

She flinched when she saw Abigail and York.

In a quiet and firm voice, filled with more emotion than she thought the man could muster, York demanded, “Apologise, Lucy.”

Abigail looked away, embarrassed. This wasn’t the first time she’d walked in on people talking about her, and she wasn’t surprised it had happened here after the way Sir Warrick had behaved earlier.

When Lucy didn’t apologise in the pause left for York to draw breath, he continued, “Abigail will tell us whatever she wants, whenever she wants — but only when she’s ready. And you have no business discussing this.”

Lucy looked uncomfortable under York’s barrage. Angrily, she snapped back, “I was going to say I’m sorry, if you give me a chance!”

York’s eyebrow twitched again. Suddenly, the air around them felt colder. Abigail thought she saw a puff of breath when York accused, “Honestly? I can’t believe you —”

“Me?!” Lucy exclaimed. “I just told you I’d apologise. I didn’t even mean anything by it. Lay off!”

As the two bickered, the bartender, a very tall woman in her twenties who kept most of her long, brown hair tucked into a brightly coloured hair snood, approached Abigail. She bent down to speak at eye level with the girl, held out her hand, and asked, “Want to grab a seat and have some dinner?”

Abigail almost didn’t accept. This was the person Lucy had been gossiping with, after all. But she couldn’t help noticing the kind look in the woman’s soft hazel eyes. And she was hungry. 

Abigail took the offered hand. “Alright.”

“Good, stew’s almost done.”

Abigail took a seat at the bar, far away from the still-arguing York and Lucy. Up close, she noticed a thin web of orange, glowing thread trailing over the area behind the bar. Everything from the polished wood to the clean mugs and glasses to the dusted shelves were all dimly connected to the tall woman by the multitude of threads.

The rest of the guild was pretty quiet, with only a few people sitting around one of the many tables. 

“Why do you keep breaking your sword?! Do you know how hard it is to repair a lightning blade?” An older man sat at a table with two teenagers who looked like twins. 

He was chastising the sister when the doors opened, and a lively couple entered holding hands. The table welcomed the couple and proceeded to order a round of drinks.

The bartender, who’d introduced herself as, “Just Helena, if you please”, came out of the kitchen with a bowl of lamb stew and a glass of juice for Abigail before heading over to the other table to get drink orders. 

Having missed lunch, Abigail dug into the meal with fervour. The broth was rich and thick with vegetables, and the mutton melted in her mouth.

Suddenly, light flared from the entrance that caught Abigail’s eye. Strange blue markings seep through the cracks in the frame and spread out like vines, wrapping around each oak door. They swung open wide, and a man wearing a full cloak strode in silently, glaring at the room.

Silence greeted him back.

The man kept a thin, well-groomed beard that lined his firm chin, and he had a beauty mark just left of his nose. He was probably in his thirties, and his dark brown hair was tied back in a loose ponytail that fell awkwardly over the lowered hood of his cloak. His grey-blue eyes glinted steel, refusing to acknowledge anyone in the room and sweeping them over as if they were furniture. 

Without a word, he walked determinedly toward the back stairs.

The blue light detached itself from the entrance. The markings faded, and the solid oak doors slid closed. Similar markings opened and closed the stairwell door behind him.

A collective sigh filled the room.

People began talking again, but quietly. 

Abigail caught Helena glaring at the door and asked, “Who w-was that?”

“Honey, you don’t want to know.” Helena looked like she might say more, but Lucy and York interrupted.

“I guess I should take this opportunity to apologise.” Lucy smiled awkwardly and reached out her hand. “Sometimes my mouth runs away from me.”

Abigail decided to forgive her. In her experience, very few people wanted to talk to her after they were caught talking about her. She shook Lucy’s hand. “That’s f-fine.”

“Don’t forgive her so soon, Abigail.” Helena said. “Lucy owes you one, so if you need anything, this is the time to ask.”

Lucy leaned against the bar. “I am the guild healer; best around, save Eian. You have any problems, I could certainly fix you right up — scars you find unseemly, sore back or hangnails? You don’t look old enough for the usual complaints, but I’m all ears!”

Abigail wished her problems could be cured that easily. She shook her head. “Actually, what I’m really worried about is tomorrow’s t-test.”

Lucy and Helena shared a knowing look. It was Helena who said, “You don’t have to worry too much, sweetheart, the test is easy in our guild.”

“Best place for it,” Lucy agreed.

Abigail stuttered, “I’ve been t-tested before, but it’s impossible. I have n-no idea how to make l-light, or move water, or —”

“Abigail, our guild doesn’t bother with such nonsense.” Lucy cut her off, asking. “It sounds like you’ve only been dealing with the court mages?”

She nodded. 

“Ha, of course.”

“Lucy,” Helena chastised, before telling Abigail, “What she means is that we have a tool to measure your magic.”

That was new information, and gave Abigail real hope for the first time in a long time. “Really? How?”

“With an artefact.”