Nature Abhors a Vacuum (The Aielund Saga Book 1) Read online

  Even if there was little work to be done in the fields, farmers were in the habit of rising early and Aiden recognised several people sitting around the common room, people he'd come to know quite well, as one does when stranded in a small town with nowhere to go.

  There was Jim Clifton, a wheat farmer of advancing years who grumbled to anyone within earshot about the loss of his crops. It was hard to avoid a conversation with the man, given the tight quarters and as such, Aiden knew more about wheat farming than any one man needed to.

  Laura Patel, a charming young lady more suited to a thriving city than a simple country life, ran a clothing store across the street and had done a brisk business in cloaks and longcoats at the start of the bad weather. Her stock was now depleted and with the town closed off, was unable to bring in more.

  Along with a few other farmers and shop owners, these people were huddled around the fire for warmth and to dry their clothes after the dash through the rain to reach the inn. The musty smell of wet clothing and damp skin was ever-present, although the innkeeper apparently had the brilliant idea of attempting to mask the odour by burning scented candles at the bar. Aiden nodded in silent greeting to some of the locals as he passed the fireplace on his way to the counter.

  “Mornin' Aiden,” Tom the burly innkeeper greeted him as Aiden pulled up a stool. Tom’s thick beard was iron grey and did a fine job of disguising heavy jowls. “You're up early today.”

  “I'm too tired to sleep, if that makes any sense,” Aiden mumbled.

  The innkeeper chuckled while wiping down the counter with a cloth. “I think everyone in this room knows what you mean. Well, except her maybe.” He nodded to a young woman of remarkable beauty seated close to the other end of the bar, warming her hands on a steaming cup of broth. Aiden had seen her around the inn before, but never had the courage to speak to her.

  She had long, flowing hair that seemed blond, but was so pale as to be almost white. delicate features matched her graceful movements - the way she blew on the hot cup of liquid to cool it, the thoughtful expression that crossed her face as she pondered what Aiden guessed were 'deep thoughts', and the way she smiled at him when it became obvious she was being stared at by a young man of about Aiden's age, height, and appearance.

  He snapped his head straight back to the innkeeper, suddenly aware that he’d been staring at her again. Tom smiled knowingly, though tactfully refrained from commenting except to offer breakfast. The options available were slim, so Aiden settled for something simple and then sought to engage the man in conversation.

  “It was a good idea to use those scented candles to cover the smell,” he remarked. “It’s starting to get a little pungent in here.”

  “Oh that wasn't my idea,” Tom replied, nodding meaningfully to the other end of the bar. “I'll go make your breakfast.”

  Aiden noticed the lovely young woman smiling at him, having overheard what Tom had said.

  “I think we've all had enough of that smell, so I thought a few scented candles might be a pleasant change,” she told him. When she spoke, her voice was crisp, clear, and obviously well-educated. In the dimly lit room her light brown eyes seemed to shine like gold as the firelight danced over her features.

  “You were right about that,” Aiden replied, wincing at his choice of words. He was going to say more but decided that the less he said, the less chance he had of making a complete fool of himself.

  “They won't last, though,” the lady continued. “I only brought a few with me from Culdeny and packed them as an afterthought. If I had known we'd all be stranded here for a month, I'd have brought a sack full of them.”

  “If we'd have known we'd be stuck inside together for weeks at a time, none of us would have come here in the first place,” Aiden remarked ruefully. “I certainly have places I need to be.”

  “Most of us here do, I suspect. Bracksfordshire relies quite heavily on trade.” She paused for a moment. “My name is Nellise Sannemann, by the way.”

  “I'm Aiden Wainwright. Nice to meet you.”

  “The feeling is mutual, Aiden,” Nellise replied, smiling warmly. “Wainwright, is it? Do you make wains and wagons for a living?”

  “My father does, yes. Third generation. I don't really have much to do with it, though.”

  “Not following in your father's footsteps?” she inquired politely.

  “I... have other areas of interest,” he responded carefully.

  “Yes, I've heard you're quite the jack-of-all-trades around here.”

  “I'm just doing what I can to get by,” Aiden responded with a shrug.

  “You're deflecting,” Nellise remarked shrewdly.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Alright, keep your secrets for now, Mister Wainwright,” Nellise relented with a smile as she continued to study his face. “You’re not exactly sure what your path is either, are you?”

  Aiden looked at her in surprise, her words hitting very close to the mark. “How did you know that?”

  “You're not hard to read, Aiden,” Nellise confided. “I have a knack for that sort of thing. I do apologise if I'm being too nosey, by the way. It's just nice to have some pleasant conversation for a change.”

  “It's quite alright, I know what you mean,” he responded with a youthful smile. At that moment, a small girl of roughly eight or nine years of age appeared behind the bar with a plate of food, which she placed on the smooth wooden counter in front of Aiden.

  “Your breakfast is done, sir,” she beamed, while Aiden inspected the scrambled eggs on toast to see how she’d managed. He thanked her and offered a brief compliment for the quality, and the girl's beaming smile lit her whole face.

  “Now that's service,” Aiden quipped, drawing a quiet laugh from Nellise as the girl hurried back to the kitchen. “Sorry to interrupt our conversation but this plate of food and I have a prior engagement.”

  “Oh, of course. Enjoy your breakfast, for it may be the last decent one you have for some time.”

  Aiden's fork stopped a few inches from his open mouth as he looked at Nellise and raised an eyebrow.

  “If Olaf doesn't open up the gates soon, we're all going to be dining on shoe leather,” she replied to his unspoken question.

  “Olaf?”

  “The mayor,” Nellise clarified. “I spoke with him two days ago about opening the gates but he flatly refused. He seemed rather out of sorts, to be honest. Very strange. But don't let this bother you, Aiden. We'll talk about it more after you've eaten.”

  Aiden blinked at her, then slowly returned his focus to the food before him, which suddenly tasted like the best eggs and toast he'd ever eaten. He was nearing the end of his meal when a man strode up next to him at the counter and slammed down a large wooden mug. The distinct aroma of stale beer and body odour washed over Aiden.

  “Beer me, Tom,” the man said in a low, gruff voice. The innkeeper strode over to the counter from the bench where he’d been preparing food and looked the newcomer straight in the eye.

  “Alright, but this is the last one, Colt.”

  “It's the last one when I say it's the last one,” the gruff man explained. “Now fill 'er up.” Tom shook his head, but proceeded to fill the mug from a tap behind the counter.

  “A little early in the morning to be drinking, isn't it?” Nellise asked of Colt.

  “Since I never slept, I don't think it matters,” he grunted in reply.

  “You can't just hide from your problems like this,” she counselled, her voice conveying genuine concern. Colt's face, which had the sluggish, unfocused look of the professional drinker, suddenly focused on Nellise with alarming clarity.

  “You think I like sitting around in this bloody inn getting drunk off my arse? It's not like there's anything else to do.” He quaffed his mug of beer quickly and slammed it down on the counter. “Another!”

  “I told you, that was the last one,” the innkeeper reminded him, his stern face hinting he was not going
to give in so easily this time. He may have been past forty years of age and carrying a lot of extra weight, but Tom didn’t show any fear of a rowdy drunkard in his bar. Aiden hoped his confidence wasn’t misplaced, for he guessed Colt could probably make an innkeeper-skinned rug from the fellow if he really wanted.

  “Don't start holding back on me now, mate,” Colt growled. “I've still got a way to go before the room starts spinning. So keep 'em coming, I say.”

  “No, you don't seem to get it,” Tom informed him patiently. “I'm not holding back 'cause I think you're getting drunk.” In one movement he hefted a keg onto the counter and pried open the top. “I told you it was the last one. As in, we're out of beer.”

  Colt's eyes suddenly grew wide with understanding. He leaned forward and looked into the keg, then back at the innkeeper.

  “Hang on a moment. Are you telling me you're out of beer?”

  “Yes, and out of just about everything else too,” Tom added patiently. “Was expecting a shipment from Culdeny a few days ago but of course, the town is sealed. So if you've got a problem with this, I suggest you take it up with the mayor.” With that, he turned and walked over to where the little girl was chopping up tired looking carrots near the kitchen.

  Colt watched him walk away, and then slumped down in a seat, appearing thoroughly dejected. After a few moments of awkward silence, Aiden decided to break the ice.

  “So, what's your story?” he asked, smiling faintly to show he appreciated the absurdity of the question. Colt turned a pair of baleful, bloodshot green eyes toward him, ignoring his smile.

  “And you are...?”

  “My name's Aiden. You are called 'Colt', which I assume is a family name?” Colt remained silent. The burly man was unshaven, with short dark hair and a heavy jaw, but his age was difficult to guess. He was dressed in grimy leathers, dyed green and brown in various places.

  “Is there some special reason you’re talking to me?” Colt finally responded, his voice hoarse from too much ale. Or perhaps not enough? It was hard to tell. “If it's companionship you want I'm sure Nellise will talk your ears off, and she's a lot better looking than I am.”

  “Better smelling, too,” Nellise observed quietly.

  “I’m sorry if I'm disturbing you -” Aiden continued, but was interrupted by the belligerent man.

  “You are. Bugger off.”

  “Charming,” Aiden murmured, sensing the end of the conversation. He noticed the small girl looking expectantly at him, so he took out his coin purse and tossed two copper pieces onto the counter.

  “Thank you, and have a nice day,” she declared in the uncertain voice of someone new to the field of customer relations.

  “That was really well done, Aislin,” Tom called to his little girl, who ruined the professionalism of the moment with a delighted giggle.

  “It’s been nice chatting with you both but I have a prior engagement to attend,” Aiden announced as he stood, silently eager to be away from the smelly oaf seated next to him.

  “About time,” Colt grunted, evidently feeling the same way.

  “Lovely to meet you, Aiden,” Nellise said with a meaningful look at Colt, who seemed oblivious to the point she was trying to make. Aiden gave them both a curt nod and headed for the door, raising the hood of his longcoat in anticipation of a soaking.

  The mud in the streets was barely visible beneath inches of water flowing underfoot, but it was there nonetheless. By now the mid-winter sun was just beginning to appear over the eastern horizon, the only glimpse of it anyone in town would have for the rest of the day. As usual, the rain was light yet unrelenting, and with no trace of wind to push the bad weather away the town was perpetually mired in gloom.

  His destination was an ordinary house a few minutes’ walk from the inn. It was a large building by the standards of Bracksford, standing two storeys high and featuring a beautifully carved wooden entrance that retained most of its original elegance, despite the apparent age of the place. He had been waiting for this day for weeks, and so it was with a great deal of anticipation Aiden stepped under the veranda and knocked on the door.

  “Good morning, who is it?” came a familiar voice as the door opened and an old man peered through. He wore gold-rimmed spectacles and sported a neatly trimmed white beard.

  “Good morning Dale, it's just me, Aiden. Again.” he responded. A look of recognition passed over the old man's features as he focused on the young man before him.

  “Ah, you've returned. Nice to see you again my boy, do come in.” The door was pulled open further and Aiden stepped inside, shaking off his longcoat and draping it on the nearby coat hook.

  “Dreadful weather,” Dale observed, closing the door. “Damnedest thing I've ever seen, all this rain. Makes me wonder if some sort of magic's involved.”

  “Is that right?” Aiden replied, suddenly interested. Dale was the closest thing to a practitioner of magic in this area, and he might actually know what he was talking about. It was also possible he was just a cranky old man, railing at the heavens.

  “My word yes,” Dale continued, “I don't think it's possible for an unrelenting torrent of rain like this to continue for so many weeks without some sort of supernatural influence. I mean, where's it all coming from, wot?”

  “… Indeed,” Aiden hedged before changing the topic. “So, you're no doubt wondering why I'm here.”

  “Ah, yes, well I imagine you're still after that book?”

  “If you still have it,” Aiden confirmed. The old man nodded and headed back to the dining room, or as he called it, the library.

  “Well, I’m not exactly turning customers away you know,” Dale chuckled. Upon entering the lounge room, Aiden was taken aback by the sheer volume of books and other curios lying on every available surface, the largest of which was a clear glass cylinder adorned with metal plates standing next to Dale's large desk, two yards high.

  A clear pathway along the floor was the only way through to the desk where Dale went about his work, and then through to the fireplace, and the kitchen, both of which were understandably devoid of flammable - and valuable - materials.

  “I see you've tidied up the place since I was last here,” Aiden observed with dry humour.

  “Oh you noticed? You're a sharp one,” Dale replied without a trace of sarcasm, turning briefly from his task of sorting through a small mountain of books. “Ah, here it is. I knew it would be near the surface somewhere. Now, there is the small matter of the price. I trust you've managed to find the coin I've asked for?”

  Aiden nodded and handed over his coin pouch, the contents of which Dale shook into his hand. A small fortune formed a pile in his palm, representing practically all of the money Aiden had acquired in recent months.

  “Splendid! I knew you wouldn't have any trouble finding good, honest work to pay your way. I’ve heard tell you’re quite the handyman, repairing fences, stitching clothes, running errands and whatnot. I do wonder though, what your actual profession is.”

  “So do I,’ Aiden murmured ruefully, trying not to think about his lack of direction too much.

  “Anyway, the tome is yours, sir. I do hope you can read Olde Aielish though, or you’ve just bought yourself a rather expensive paperweight.”

  “I can, actually,” Aiden assured the old fellow.

  “Where on earth did you learn it?” he asked with a measure of incredulity.

  “Self-taught. Any time a merchant passed through Coldstream with an old book or two I’d be sure to buy it. History was a favourite of mine but anything with a slightly arcane bent was always my goal. You’d be surprised what you can learn on your own if you devote a lot of time to study.”

  “Yet another skill to your repertoire,” Dale remarked with admiration. “It’s rare to find such passion for learning in one so young. Did you have a particular motivation for it?”

  “Yes, actually,” Aiden responded. “I encountered a strange magical object years ago and wanted to learn more about its origin
.”

  “Oh I like magical relics,” Dale said with obvious interest. “Do you still have it?”

  “Only a tiny piece I’m afraid,” Aiden answered, showing him the glass shard hanging around his neck.

  “That’s a shame, I would have paid you handsomely for it. In what way was it magical?”

  “It showed me a vision,” Aiden quietly explained, vividly recalling the events of that day.

  “What sort of vision?” Dale inquired curiously. Aiden hesitated before replying, as he was normally unwilling to speak of it.

  “Death,” he finally responded with a catch in his voice. “Would you mind very much if I stayed here for a while to read? I really need to study it and the inn has nothing but distractions.”

  “Oh, well, certainly, by all means, stay as long as you wish,” Dale thoughtfully agreed after an awkward pause, obviously wanting to know more but sensing Aiden’s distress on the subject. “Head in to the kitchen and find yourself a chair.”

  The kitchen was not unlike the rest of the house. He had heard it said that a messy house was the sign of a creative mind, and if so, Dale was very creative indeed. Aiden quickly cleared a pile of unwashed plates and pulled up a chair, opening the book as he did so and beginning to read even before he sat down.

  Alcott's Treatise on Artefacts Most Ancient was written in gold ink upon the ancient cover. It was immediately evident that the pages were quite brittle, so he turned them with great care. Although not fluent, he had learned to pick out the important words in the language.

  The first few chapters seemed to deal with Alcott's travels, and the things he had discovered along the way. The man had a knack for finding ancient sites of civilisations long since vanished from the world and offered varying degrees of analysis of the devices he'd found, from the vague to the excruciatingly detailed.

  None of the listed relics had any of the information Aiden was looking for. The glass sphere he'd broken had strange symbols etched in various places, but he had yet to encounter what he assumed was a language anywhere else in his long hours of research.