The Distant Trail of Ciara Badvia - 0-3-1 A Visitor During a Storm

Prologue: In the Depths of the Lily Mountains
Part 3: A Tale That Began on a Stormy Night

A VISITOR DURING A STORM

The forest and the trees had turned green, and the sky and the wind warmed up and became fragrant.

Four weeks had passed since Well went on his journey. Tyril was finally starting to get used to living with Rosa alone.

The change was much bigger than she anticipated. It didn’t seem like it, but Well had been doing laborious tasks like running errands in town, chopping firewood, and tending to the backyard garden—all tasks that required physical labor and Rosa couldn’t easily handle, which meant Tyril had to bear a heavier burden. After all, she couldn’t just abandon her earlier responsibilities, like cleaning the garden and doing the laundry.

On top of that, Tyril had another house. The Zeeland house had ended up empty after her father left and she stayed with Rosa. With no occupants, Tyril had to go there once a week and dust the place off. She wasn’t so pathetic as to say her body was sore, but during the first week, she often collapsed into bed after dinner without being able to open a book.

Her body stopped protesting only recently, and eventually, Tyril came to think that she and Rosa could somehow manage their life together. She tried her best not to think about Well.

March 22nd. There was a storm.

It was chilly, but they didn’t light the fireplace as the firewood was smoldering. Both Tyril and Rosa were sitting on the sofa, wearing shawls.

Tyril tried to open a book like she usually did, but the creaking and groaning of the house as it was pummelled by gusts of wind made it difficult to concentrate on the words. Every time the wind howled, Tyril’s shoulders would twitch and her eyes would flit around anxiously. 

“There’s nothing to worry about. This house is surprisingly sturdy,” Rosa reassured, knitting routinely. The lap blankets she was knitting were nearing completion. Once it was done, she would probably switch to embroidery or sewing as her next handwork.

It had been several years since Tyril lived in this house, and she experienced many storms in that time, so she knew that the building was strong enough. Still, the sound of the wind and rain was difficult to ignore. And it wasn’t so much the anxiety she was feeling as it was an irrational sense of dread; she simply found the sounds of the storm that frightening. 

The door creaked and squeaked, the walls groaned, and the rain pitter-pattered in a dance. That night was an unusually noisy night for their house. 

Rosa, whose hands hadn’t stopped moving, suddenly lifted her head like a rabbit with its ears pricked up. “… I wonder, is there someone at the door?”

Tyril didn’t hear anything. Or rather, the noise caused by the storm was so loud that she couldn’t distinguish anything else.

“Aren’t you just imagining things?” she replied, her head tilted.

Even though she couldn’t tell from the noise alone, this house in the mountain rarely had visitors. She couldn’t imagine that someone would willingly knock on the door in the midst of such a storm. Or so she thought.

Thud, thud. “Excuse me!”

There was a hard, rhythmic knocking on the door distinct from the wind, followed by a faint voice carried to them by the wind. It certainly reached Tyril’s ears at that moment.

“I suppose we do have a guest, after all,” Rosa said, setting down her needles and trying to stand up. 

Tyril wondered briefly what kind of ears Rosa must have, then quickly inserted a bookmark into her book and said, “Oh, I’ll get it,” as she stood up and pulled Rosa back. She made for the entrance and opened the door. For a second, she was startled by the weight of it, then frowned as the wind and rain battered her face.

In the middle of this weather, in front of the door, stood a figure wearing a completely drenched white cloak, standing like a guardian deity.

“My apologies for coming at such a late hour. I’d like to ask for directions.”

Based on the voice, it appeared to be a man. He was a head taller than Tyril. As he took a step forward and approached the entrance, he inadvertently shielded Tyril from the force of the wind and rain, if only a little, as she held the door open. 

“I heard there’s a person named Zeeland around here. Might you know anything about that?”

Tyril’s eyes widened in surprise at the question. When she returned to her senses, she raised her voice to be heard over the storm. “My house is further ahead, but there’s no one there now!”

“Oh? Then you are—”

She introduced herself. “I’m Tyril Zeeland.”

The man suddenly let out a sigh of relief and visibly relaxed. “I’m glad I found you.”

The wind picked up around that time. Tyril didn’t understand what was going on, but having a conversation while standing there was quite difficult, so she invited the man inside for the time being.

When she closed the door, the man took off his hood and revealed his short, reddish-brown hair and rugged face, which were both completely dry. Tyril, on the other hand, noticed that even her own bangs were quite wet. That hardly seemed fair to her. His cloak must have been coated with oil.

“Erm, so… Who exactly are you?”

“Ah, forgive me for not introducing myself sooner. I am an envoy of His Majesty the King, sent all the way from the royal castle in Saria.”

“Huh? What…?”

“I have come to deliver a message from His Majesty to Miss Tyril Zeeland. I humbly request that you hear it.”

Tyril was speechless, incapable of finding what to say to a visitor she would never have expected. How could an ordinary girl hailing from a rural town like Lily ever imagine having any connection with a person who was the king of a country?

She stood frozen in the entrance as the envoy from the royal castle patiently awaited her reply. The scene was disturbed by Rosa’s appearance; she came prepared with a towel in hand.

“Tyril? What’s going on?”

“Uh, um… Auntie, I…”

Tyril was so flustered that she struggled to string words together. Rosa, seeing the state that she was in, immediately acted. First, she handed a towel to the guest and inspected his condition with a quick glance. When she picked up on the fact that it might be a complicated matter, she helped him remove his wet cloak and led him inside, putting a hanger in the coat and leaving it on the rack by the entrance. Then, with one hand comforting the confused Tyril’s shoulder, she used the other to smoothly guide the guest to the dining area where they could talk. 

With that efficiency and attention to detail, she was akin to a maid serving in a noble mansion.

—————

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