Chapter 34: Coriel of Selsche

In the early mornings in the lowly village of Selsch, which was only a few days short of Idenheim in the South, a girl of shorter stature than was necessary stood on the tips of her toes, trying desperately to reach the top shelf. It was where the garden shears had been placed by her father, several heads taller than her, like a giant who could hide things out of plain sight, where both her and her mother could not reach them.

"Is father out?" The girl spoke towards her mother, only a few steps away in the open kitchen as she grabbed a stepstool, finally retrieving the shears from the top shelf which was littered with the dust of age.

"He left for the Capital this morning, dear Coriel." An elder, crooning voice echoed amidst the clattering of metal pots.

She was not yet fourty years old, but spoke with the adoptive tone of her peers, all elder women, whom she convened with regularly. It was almost like having a grandmother, which Coriel had never known of, for she had never met hers.

Coriel let out an annoyed huff, brushing back a strand of sun-bleached dirty-blonde hair.

"The Festival of Saint Cyro… do you think father will bring back anything special?"

"With hope, he'll bring back a sizeable profit. I told your father that selling the milled flour to the people of Selsch was enough, perhaps even Lursfeld nearby. 'By the cask', that fool said… that shops, bakeries and kitchens would buy large amounts at a higher price. Oh, dear… and he convinced the others to join him. Mr. Husgard will sell his animals, Mr. Milend his mead. They've taken all the horses with them, I heard that the farmers on the outskirts had been using their donkeys and cows to pull the tills…"

"He just wants to pay off my debt to the Doctor in Idenheim, don't fault him…"

Coriel touched her right hand against her left arm, feeling the cold touch of its metal-plated exterior. Mechanisms whirred from within, wisps of blue light dancing around thinly coiled rods. Her eyes unconsciously navigated towards the churning mill at the center of the room, powered by the spinning water wheel outside that lapped along with the rushing river beside their home.

Half a year ago, her mother's arm had gotten caught in the milling implement. Coriel had been tending to the garden at that time, and so only heard her mothers shrill, heart-piercing pleas for help. She had made it inside just in time to wrench her free, but not fast enough to avoid her own sleeve catching, tearing it clean from her body.

It was only thanks to Alaist Menheil, a revolutionary in medical technology in the southern region of Idenheim that had been able to save her from a life of menial recovery, of struggle as a woman and a tender of her parent's garden. A spirit had been employed specifically for the use of its Bond, which allowed her to move the mail implement as if it were her own arm. Of course, due to the limitations of the spirit, it would grow tired after a time, usually around five hours later, sleeping for that same amount of time. If she were lucky, she would gain full use of it almost three times a day.

This wasn't a typical spirit contract, like those fabled Archknights of Henem would use to protect the Deific Witch-King. Because only the Spirit Bond was being employed, it did not entitle her to use its ability, and as such, did not require a special license to be gained through education and tutoring. Not that she could have afforded that, were it the case.

She had only been able to gain such a thing because she had willed herself to be a test case for the man. It was given to her on discount, of which she gratefully accepted, and due to the origin of the situation, her father had entitled himself to pay it off completely. Of course, even if she hadn't saved her mother from that fate, it was likely he would have done so anyway.

A year prior, Coriel's husband, Elien, had departed, his trade as a merchant taking him to far-away places often, and a month later, declared deceased. His remnants were few, delivered to Corrin in a respectfully-wrapped parcel she could easily contain within her two hands. Attacked by Black wolves, they had said, the majority of the corpse dragged away as supper.

It was his best friend and companion, Janes Herbert, that had brought her the news. And for nights, she had wept. She did not tend to the garden, she did not help her mother mill grain, and she did not help her father collect that grain or sell the flour it produced. For many weeks, she anguished and she grieved. It was only natural, Elien had been the man she had promised herself to, the man she had fallen in love with. All expectations of a life with him had been robbed of her.

But because of that, she was a stronger woman, less prone to bowing to her grief, and did not anguish or despair at the loss of her arm. She had use of the Spirit Graft given to her by the good Doctor, and that was enough compensation to demand her satisfaction of life.

Coriel's mother suddenly emerged from the kitchen, taking her apron off as she walked over towards her, placing her warm, gentle hands on her daughter's face.

"I don't fault your father for his efforts, and he doesn't fault you for anything, either, so don't feel guilty about it. This is our job as your parents." She smiled calmly.

Coriel reached up and placed a hand on her mother's, frowning slightly. She looked her mother up and down. In recent weeks, she had grown older in appearance. Her skin wrinkled at the edges of her nose and eyes, and patches of her brown hair had begun to go grey. Coriel's gaze softened into a sense of pity and grief for her mother's sake, this wasn't age, she hadn't yet turned fourty. This was a product of overworking herself, since Coriel had still been working towards her own recovery.

Coriel's mother had her at nineteen years of age, and Coriel herself had just turned twenty a month prior. By all extents of tradition in Selsche, she should have had a child by that point, but she was without a husband, and without much means to care for herself, given her circumstances.

She didn't worry much about her future endeavours, whether or not her Spirit Graft would scare away suitors, what few could be found within the village. She did not have any intention to remarry either, she and her husband Elien had been as close as two people could be.

Coriel only feared that her idleness was terrifying her own parents. After all, shouldn't they want their daughter to want for more? The way things were, she thought they were perfect... they didn't say anything in judgment, but they were her parents, they were never to do such a thing.

It was their silence that she feared most.

"Janes came back around again today, didn't he?" Coriel asked in a hushed tone, glancing away from her mother.

Her husband's friend, Janes Herbert, who had first delivered the news of his passing, had often insisted on visiting her home in order to bring gifts to cheer her up. However, she could see clearly through his cheerful attempts, any woman could, lest her father, who thought him an amiable and kind man.

He was one such 'suitor' to Coriel, who didn't think the same of him.

"Yes, he seemed a bit distressed today..."

"Doesn't he always?" Coriel raised an eyebrow, stepping away to view herself in the reflection of a polished metal sheet hanging on the wall. Her hair had become a mess after stepping in from the garden.

Her classical button-up white shirt had become stained with dirt, and her emeral-green paneled skirt only served to hide the bleeding of the grass from when she knelt atop the soil.

"He mentioned that he'd like to meet... don't you think this might be a good thing, my Dear?"

Coriel contemplated for a moment, reflecting on the idea of entertaining Janes Herbert. He was a heavier man, and his hair had already started to find itself missing, but at least outwardly, he was very genial and polite. Like her late husband, Janes tended to mesh well with many sorts of people, it was typical of a merchant, and why they had bonded in the first place.

But wasn't it far too soon to consider such a thing?

Coriel shook her head. "Leave it for now. I'll respond to him at a later date..."

It really is far too soon, isn't it...?

But why was Janes distressed? He's always out of sorts, so it's strange for mother to point it out specifically...

Suddenly, the front door to their home swung open, drawing their attention.