Chapter 84: The Woman Nad Zena
Sophia woke to a low groan, her own and the dull ache of sothing pressing into the back of her neck. Her eyelids felt heavy as she pried them open, expecting to see the familiar carved beams of her ceiling, the faint morning light sneaking through the window in her room but that wasn’t the case right now. This wasn’t her room.
The air slled different. It slled old, like dried herbs, wood smoke, and sothing faintly tallic beneath it. The walls were rough-hewn timber, thinner than the solid beams of the buildings shed seen in the pack. A single candle lamp burned on a low table, its fla lightning up the dark room as darkness pressed on them from the outside.
Sophia blinked and sat up slowly. She was on the floor, she noticed. Her brows were furrowed in confusion as her heartbeat kicked up in fear.
Where was she? She asked herself.
She took in the room and slowly her eyes adjusted and then she noticed she wasn’t alone in the room. There was soone else.
An old woman sat at the far end of the room, on a narrow bed tucked against the wall. She was bending forward slightly, like a a tall tree bent by years of wind, her thin shoulders rounded and trembling with each shallow breath. Her hair, once black perhaps, was a curtain of grey now, braided loosely down one side. Age had carved deep lines into her face, but there was a serenity there too, like she had learned to live with the weight of ti. Her eyes, though half-lidded, glead faintly in the light, watchful and alert despite her frail body.
Sophia’s lips parted. She had never seen this woman before. She dressed warmly like how everyone in the pack was dressed but she had never seen this woman before. She was sure of it. And to be sincere, she had not t most people in the pack.
The door creaked softly and soone entered carrying a small covered pot and a folded blanket. The candlelight caught her face and Sophia recognized her instantly.
"Rita," she whispered.
Rita moved with quiet care, placing the pot on the table before kneeling beside the old woman.
"You should lie back, Zena," she murmured gently. "You’ve been sitting up too long."
The old woman—Zena—smiled faintly at Rita but didn’t lie down imdiately. She reached out a thin, trembling hand and patted the girl’s arm. "You’re a good one," she said, her voice a low rasp. "Always fussing over ."
Rita chuckled softly. "It’s my job to fuss. Tomorrow I’ll bring you so new books, all right? Sothing to keep you company. I know how you hate the long nights."
Zena’s lips curved upward, but instead of answering Rita directly, she said sothing strange that shocked even Sophia.
"I won’t be here tomorrow."
Sophia’s brows furrowed. Rita didn’t flinch one bit. It was like she was used to the woman’s words. Instead, she just adjusted the blanket over Zena’s knees.
"Of course you’ll be here," Rita said gently. "And I’ll bring you the books."
"I’m serious this ti." Zena told her.
"There was never a ti you were not serious. But you’ll be here tomorrow." Rita assured her.
But Zena’s gaze drifted past Rita and landed on Sophia.
Sophia swallowed a gasp.
Those faded eyes sharpened suddenly, like a cloud had lifted from them. She smiled, bright and clear, as if she were seeing a dear friend.
Sophia felt a shiver crawl up her arms.
Zena could see her.
But Rita couldn’t.
Rita, still kneeling, turned slightly and frowned. "What are you looking at, Zena?"
Zena didn’t answer the question directly. Her smile lingered on Sophia for a heartbeat longer, and then she looked back at Rita with a faint tilt of her head and a frown on her face. "Who are you again?"
The question ca softly, but there was no malice, only confusion.
Rita’s smile returned, practiced and patient, like she’d answered it many tis before. "I’m your nurse," she said. "Rember? I’ve been looking after you for years now."
Zena chuckled, a dry sound. "I don’t need a nurse. Not anymore. You are relieved of your duty."
Rita shook her head and adjusted the old woman’s pillows. "Don’t talk like that. Tomorrow’s the Festival of the Fallen. You always go to see your children’s graves. You love it."
At that, Zena’s expression softened. "Ah yes, my children. Such a pity they had to go so early." She leaned her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes. "I’ll et them soon."
Rita gave a quiet laugh, though Sophia heard the flicker of sadness beneath it. "You’re not going anywhere. Not yet."
The young apprentice stayed until the old woman’s breathing steadied and her eyes fluttered shut. Carefully, Rita placed a jar of water on the bedside table along with a cup. She tucked the blanket around Zena one last ti before rising.
"Sleep well," she whispered. "I’ll see you tomorrow."
Sophia watched her go, the door closing softly behind her. She rose, instinctively aning to follow but her body didn’t move.
Her legs stayed rooted to the ground.
She glanced down at her hands. They looked pale, almost translucent in the dim light.
"What..." she whispered.
She turned back to the bed. Zena slept on, her face slack but peaceful. Sophia waited, unsure why, as the candle burned lower and lower until the room blurred into darkness.
Then morning ca.
It didn’t feel like waking, it felt like soone had poured gold over the edges of the night and the room brightened, slow and dreamlike.
Sophia still stood there, unable to move. Her heart pounded harder now.
Zena’s frail body lay unmoving under the blanket.
The door opened, spilling soft daylight into the room. Rita entered, humming under her breath as she set down a small parcel on the table. She went straight to the curtains and pulled them wide, letting sunlight wash over the room.
"Such a beautiful morning," she said brightly. "The festival’s going to be wonderful this year, Zena. My mother’s going to the shrine first thing before we visit my brother’s grave. Maybe we’ll see you there, hm?"
There was no answer.
Normally Zena would make a comnt but most tis she asked what the festival was about since she forgot things easily due to her condition but this ti, there was nothing.
Rita turned, her smile faltering around the edges. "Zena?"
Zena lay exactly as she had the previous night.
The smile disappeared from Rita’s face. She crossed the room quickly and knelt, reaching for the woman’s hand. " Zena?"
Sophia’s stomach clenched.
She knew. In her gut, she knew before Rita even touched her.
Zena wasn’t breathing.
"No, no, no," Rita whispered. She pressed two fingers to the old woman’s neck, then leaned close, her breath shaking. "Co on, Zena..."
Sophia’s throat tightened. She wanted to move, to reach out, but she couldn’t. She stood frozen, watching as Rita tried again, rubbing Zena’s chest, trying to coax a response.
But the old woman didn’t stir.
Finally Rita sat back, her hands trembling. Her lips pressed together, but tears spilled down her cheeks anyway.
Then she rose unsteadily and ran for the door, calling for help, her voice breaking.
Sophia stared at the still form on the bed. Zena’s face had softened completely now, as if she’d slipped away while dreaming.
And then, all of a sudden, Sophia woke up.
Her eyes flew open to bright daylight streaming through her own window. She was on her bed, neck aching where she’d fallen asleep upright. The blue leather book from the library lay heavy across her lap.
She stared at it for a long mont, her heart thudding in her chest.
Her room was exactly as she’d left it the night before. The scent of herbs and wood smoke was gone, replaced by the clean pine sll drifting in from the courtyard.
"What kind of dream was that?" She asked herself with a frown.
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