Pursuing Hannah

Book four in the “Legends of Draven” Series

(unpublished)

Chapter One

“This is my hometown.” Papa pulled the reins, stopping the cart, and pointed at the city, the tops of the buildings peeking out behind the tall walls. “Stonevail.” He spoke it in a low rumbling voice like it was a sacred name. He glanced at me with a grin. His face appeared younger somehow, like the mountain air filled him with youthful energy, though the scars still sat determinedly upon his face, halfway hidden behind his beard and the crinkles around his eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, my heart fluttering at the mountains that rose behind a distant walled-in city like sleeping giants wrapped in blankets of snow.

“The sky matches your eyes.” He tucked a curl tenderly behind my ear. “I hope you love it here.”

I hummed a laugh. “I have no doubt I will.”

This was not at all true. Doubt plagued me. Rochlin was a whole new country. I had never been outside of Sienna before. But with a new country came new ideas, people, and life. This filled me with as much hope as doubt and that was an improvement.

Papa jumped down from the cart, stretching his massive arms out wide. “I’m going to enjoy this view. Take the opportunity to move before we head into the city.”

With a nod, I hopped down, almost collapsing as I landed. My joints were stiff, cracking and popping as I stretched. A leg muscle threatened to spasm, and I quickly massaged it, relieved when it relaxed.

Papa stood in the road with his arms raised, fingers entwined behind his head, as he stared romantically at the spread of the city nestled below the mystical mountains.

A lapping of water caught my ear. “Is there a river?” I asked.

“Down the slope,” he said without looking. “Take a look, but don’t go far. We’ll leave soon.”

“I won’t, Papa.”

With delight, I flew down the slope, the cold morning air biting my cheeks. For a moment, the millions of thoughts and worries I’d had about abandoning home and coming to Rochlin disappeared. Free from the weight of courting, gossip, and sorrowful, pitying glances, I ran without care.

The chilly breeze flew through my blond, wavy hair. As I sped towards the bottom of the hill, I stumbled on my skirt, laughing as I reached the banks and almost falling in. The water gurgled happily, almost invisible, like a pane of glass, if not for the distorted rocks beneath. I crouched and dipped a finger into the ice cold water.

BANG!

I gasped and jumped to my feet. A cloud of smoke rose from the middle of the river. I raced along the river’s edge to get closer.

Coughing and sputtering, a man waved his arms frantically to clear the smoke surrounding him as he perched on a boulder in the center of the river.

“Hello?” I cried. “Are you alright?”

He froze, his shoulders tensing. As if he were a statue coming to life, he slowly turned his head to peek over at me. Something was covering his eyes, enormous round lenses held on by a strap. They were dark and covered in ash, giving the man a sinister, bug-like look.

I instinctively took a step back. He didn’t seem as concerned over something wooden burning in his hands, the source of the smoke, as he was about me. The thickest smoke dissipated enough to have a clear view of his soot covered trousers, vest, and what might have been a white shirt once.

He stared at me, his mouth expressionless, then dipped the flaming thing into the water, where it sizzled out.

I repeated nervously, “Are you alright, sir?”

“Fine!” His voice was high and tense, sharing the same accent as Papa’s, only thicker.

He pulled his burning item from the water. It appeared to be some sort of wooden toy boat, but I couldn’t imagine how that would suddenly explode into flames. He shoved some things, including his dripping wet, burnt ship, into a bag that sat at his feet.

He cleared his throat. “Nothing to see here,” he said in a lower tone.

“Your boat was on fire!” I was certain that indicated all was not well.

“All in hand,” he assured me with a wave of his hand. “Not the first time. Probably won’t be the last, though that would be nice.”

“Anything I can do to help?” I found enough courage to come as close to the bank as I could.

He chuckled nervously, keeping his head down. “Ah, no. I’m afraid this experiment is done. I must be going.”

“Oh, alright.”

He tentatively rose, head ducked, and glanced around at the rocks as if looking for an escape. I suspected I was blocking the path he had originally taken. Why was he so afraid of me?

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he leaped to a rock in the opposite direction from me.

“Good luck on your next experiment,” I shouted.

He wobbled, almost slipping. I cringed, regretting saying anything as he quickly stabilized.

He called back, “Thank thee!” with a wave over his shoulder, then continued on his way with strict focus.

“Hannah!” Papa’s distant shout reached me.

Reluctantly, I left the bank, turning to see Papa making his way down the hill. He motioned for me to return.

“I’m coming!” I shouted with a large wave of my arm.

I glanced behind me, but the soot-covered bug-man had vanished. I sighed. What kind of experiment had he been doing? I pondered this the entire climb back up the hill.

Papa smiled at me as I joined him on the cart. “I heard a noise and was worried about you.” He nudged the horses forward.

“Oh, yes,” I said softly. “There was a man in the river dressed like a bug. He had a toy boat that caught on fire.”

“A toy boat? Why on earth…How would a toy boat catch on fire?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t think to ask. He was quite eager to leave. I don’t think he liked me seeing his experiment.”

“Experiment?” Papa grumbled. “Sounds like he might be crazy, doin’ experiments that light up boats.”

I cocked my head as I considered this. “I don’t know, Papa. I’ve read some of the world’s greatest tools were created by experimenting. Maybe he’s just a forward thinker.”

“Or a nut.” He laughed. “You’re right. Who knows? Perhaps he’s the next whats-his-name? Wilbur? Did you catch the man’s name?”

“No.” I shook my head regretfully. “He left quickly after the explosion or whatever it was.”

Papa grunted. “Makes me wonder about the men in town.”

“I’ll make sure to stay away from men who look like bugs, Papa, if it makes you feel better.”

“See you do. What would my grandchildren look like?”

With a nervous chuckle, he fell silent. I hummed a laugh, hoping that would ease his guilty thoughts. I knew exactly what they were. No man had courted me in Sienna. What if they didn’t here either?

We could hear the town long before we entered the arched doorway to the city. I marveled at the sheer height of the stone arch, the surrounding walls, and the buildings. They had to be three or even four stories tall, and built so close together it was hard to see where one ended and another began. Some roofs were mere inches apart, while other buildings didn’t appear separated at all, though there were two distinct doors. The roofs were layered with shingles like fish scales, and decorative shutters lined their windows. They were a stark contrast to the homes in Autumndale; Small, widespread thatched roofs cottages with land for gardens. There were no signs of gardens here, just cobbled, busy streets bustling with people.

“Ever since they built the wall, they’ve had to build up instead of out,” Papa said, anticipating my thoughts. “Most of the buildings in our part of town have a shop on the bottom and people living above.”

“Why build that way?” My gaze flew everywhere, trying to take it all in.

“With so much snow, it was hard to build out. Then the wall went up,” Papa explained. “This city started as a southern trading post for Rochlin.”

“Recently?” I asked.

“No, long ago. You see how mismatched the bricks are? They built it to help with the freezing winds that blow down from the mountains. They scraped together every rock they could find. It’s freezing most of the year so that is quite a feat when the ground is frozen. We came at the right time to enjoy the weather.”

The streets were cramped, leaving little room for a cart, let alone a cart and hundreds of people. “This city doesn’t seem very planned out.”

He laughed. “It wasn’t planned out at all! The city didn’t intend to grow so big. They just built it as they needed.”

“A less crowded entryway would certainly be more advantageous at the very least.” Some passersby nodded up at me. I timidly smiled back, squirming as I prayed our destination wasn’t far off.

“I’ll let them know at the next town meeting.”

“Papa!” I flicked his arm with the back of my hand. “Don’t tease.”

Papa drove his cart through the cobbled streets, forcing the city dwellers to move out of the way, though they didn’t seem bothered by it. Perhaps they were used to crowded streets.

Papa finally pulled the horses to a stop in front of an older building. A sign hung above the door, swinging lightly on a couple chain link. It read Brown’s antiques and furniture.

“Wait here,” he said. He swung open the shop door, a bell tinkling as he strolled in.

I never thought to ask what my father’s family occupation had been. I had assumed carpentry, but father wouldn’t have left Rochlin if that had been the case. Had my uncle continued the family business or had he started his own trade?

Father came out a moment later, a man of similar build and stance bounding at his heels, almost bouncing with excitement.

“This is my daughter Hannah.” He held out a hand toward me.

“Ah! This is my niece?” The man had a thick accent. I’d always found Papa’s accent to be thick and strange, but it seemed mild next to this man’s. He threw his arm around my father and smiled at me like I was a prized pig.

“Uncle Hans?” I guessed, a quiver in my voice.

“Aye,” he said with a booming laugh. “Thou did a great job.” He jabbed Papa in the stomach.

“To be honest, Lillie did most of the work,” Papa muttered as he rubbed his injury.

The similarity between the two was rather striking when I looked beyond the scars and Papa’s messier hair choices. Uncle Han’s face was devoid of scars and his beard well-groomed, the opposite of my father. Would Papa look like Uncle Hans if he hadn’t had an accident in his youth?

Hans chuckled. “Luckily, she doesn’t look a thing like thee. Must take after their mother. Come on down and give thy uncle a hug!” He offered his hand to me.

I took it gratefully, relieved to get down and not be on display, only to be crushed in the tightest hug I’d ever had, tiny in my uncle’s huge arms.

“Maria’s gone to the shops, but will be back soon,” he assured us as he released me.

I gasped for air.

“Gregory, go run thy errands. Thou can’t leave a cart this big in the street.” He shooed Papa away. “Leave Hannah with me. She can meet Samantha and settle in.”

“I’ll be back for dinner.” Papa had already explained that he wouldn’t be around much since he slept at the shop he rented in town and he had a lot of orders to fill, but a shiver ran through my nerves as he stepped away. “Your Uncle Hans will show you around.”

“Alright, Papa.” I hoped I didn’t look as petrified as I felt.

“Come inside.” Uncle Hans placed his heavy hand on my shoulder. His casual use of strength gave me no choice but to go where he led me. He filled me in on little details as we went.

The Rochlin accent was unique. Thee’s, thou’s, and thy replaced you and your. They dropped the consonant ending of most of their words like they couldn’t be bothered to complete them. They also cut many of the consonants from inside their words, often leaving out a complete syllable, and sometimes combining two words together. I was lucky I was already familiar with Papa’s accent, or I may not have understood much of what he was saying.

“This is our shop.” He presented it with a big swing of his hands. “Been in the family for a few generations. I’m sure thy father has told thee all about it!”

I nodded, afraid to say that he hadn’t said much. I knew more about the mountain view than the antique store. The shop was littered with stacks of books—old and new—lamps, tools, ornaments, fabrics, and many other things I didn’t recognize. Some were polished and shiny, others were battered and abused. I was no expert, but even the new and shiny things seemed dated. My head spun trying to take it all in as he shoved me swiftly through.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let thee look around later. Samantha!” he yelled as we approached some stairs. “She’s here!”

The patter of footsteps thundered above me, then the thud of steps descending the stairs.