The Woman on the Lake Ch. 01

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In a post-apocalyptic society, one woman defies the law.
2.2k words
4.11
11.2k
11
2

Part 1 of the 13 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 09/30/2017
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The wind cooled as the sun began to set. It tangled Leda's hair, pushing her messy curls into her face as a warning. It would rain soon, she thought, digging into the sandy bottom of the creek with her hands. The horses wouldn't like it. She had managed to thatch the roof of the barn herself, but ever since the winter, muddy puddles would emerge from the ground, rotting the hay and dampening their sleep. A drainage issue of some kind, she suspected. She placed the fresh milk in the creek and surrounded the bottles with smooth rocks to keep them standing through the night. She could the barn another set of hands, she knew. But with that criteria, she also knew it would never happen.

She returned to the cottage. The wind was very strong now, pushing its way through the stays of her dress and penetrating the shift below. On nights like this, Leda thought the wind was almost pushing her into her home, as if it knew better than she did how to take care of her.

Her cottage had been a beautiful family home once, with a lacy white veranda and gabled windows. The jewel of a fertile working farm surrounded by anchors of arable farm, land which, she imagined had stretched over hilltops as far as you could see, and only ended where the land dropped into lake. Since the wars, the forest had crept back over the fields, moving so fast to reclaim its rightful place that now it threatened to extend its branches through the walls of the cottage. The lake, which was once a calm, placid place to fish and swim, became engorged, eating up the shore and swelling so fat that it extended past the horizon now. Leda had never seen the other side. It was so large and so deep it might have been the sea, but the water was clean and cool.

The cottage itself was largely used for storage. Leda lived in one room, the rest of the cottage was an organised maze of grain, textiles, salt meat and preserves. She did a tidy business here, trading what she could muster out of what was left of her farm for any goods a solider or a ranger could bring her. They were used to her now, a little bit afraid of her, but used to her. She was the only place to trade for a hundred kilometres, so rangers and soldiers had come to accept a woman working in trade - outside of her place at one of women's communes - or starve.

Then there was trade with Cliffhouse; Men weren't allowed past the gates. Leda was the only person they had ever heard of who could be in trade and yet, enter the women's compound. it was unnatural, against the law, but it benefited them all. Every month she loaded up her cart with food, and came home with a cart full of beautiful cakes and preserves and blankets and beautiful shirts and coats and wool blankets. The men in her store could hardly wait to wolf down a cake with coffee, or run his hands over a wool scarf or a thick coat, speculating on what sort of beauty it might have been that made it. Leda didn't have the heart to tell him that at Cliff House only the widows and old matrons who had the time and the skill to make crafts. The younger women and girls could only cook and clean and take care of the babies. That was. after all, how the men wanted it. But she let them believe what they wanted - as long as they would bring her tools, or better, books to trade.

The room she did use for herself was the kitchen. She knew it was the kitchen, because when she had found this place, the only thing left in tact was an old, wood burning stove. It was made of steel - not aluminium, or glass or rock. She's never seen steel before, not like this anyway; One huge piece that made up a whole thing. She knew from the scraps of steel and iron that she'd collected over the years that it was a powerful metal. She also knew from her books that the making of steel had brought forth the first civilisations. Then thousands of years later, humans became greedy, and built to much, too fast. Then they poisoned the earth, ruined their crops and war and disease took over. But that was hundreds of years before she was born. She was just glad to have a stove.Sometimes, when she was immersed in kneading dough or stirring a pot, she felt like she used to, when she was a girl. Before she had ever met a man, before she was assigned to Gerald. Her life seemed impossibly rich and easy then. But like so many things in her life, the stove had to be hidden. If a ranger or solider found it, he'd melt it down for weapons. So Leda slept in her kitchen. Not even rangers would insist on seeing where she slept.

She changed out of her work dress and ate a supper of onion soup with a bit of hot bread and cold butter. Outside the wind continued to howl, crashing against her wooden shutters. Leda knew the wind would subside with the rain, but the rain didn't come. The wind picked up again and the goats began to bleat with fear. She'd have to put them in with the horses. She got up from the table with resignation, wrapping a shawl around her shift. She thought about putting on her dress again, but the thought of lacing up just to see the goats was too much. She stuffed her bare feet into her work boots and walked out into the night.

It was a strange night, alternating between dark and light as the wind pushed the clouds across the full moon. In a dark moment, Leda considered getting a torch, when suddenly her land was bathed in a silvery light. The moon was brighter than she'd ever seen, bouncing off from the lake, illuminating the path to the barn better than any firelight. Leda shivered, and looked back at the lake, which was cut with a white path to the heavens. A tree had fallen recently by the shore. Tomorrow she'd have to cut it up for firewood.

She unhooked the goats from their stake in the garden, walking them to the barn, where they immediately curled up with the horses for warmth. It was odd how the animals would make and break allegiances like that. Two days ago her mare had bitten a goat in her path, but today they were lying together like mother and child. Either they were incapable of holding a grudge, or no evil was so wrong as to be punished by isolation on a night like this. Leda shut the door behind her and walked alone down the path. As she came up to her cottage, she was taken by the lake again. The fallen tree was gone. Maybe it had never been there, a trick of the light.

Inside, she put another log on the stove and settled in with a book. The wind continued to roar outside. She heard her shutters slam. A tree knocked against her walls. She huddled over her candle. Finally, the rain came. The wind subsided. The tree continued to knock.

Leda put down her book. The knocking came again. She stood up, and, bringing the shawl around her more tightly, went into her shop in the front hall. She fashioned the chains and opened her door a crack.

Four men stood at her doorstep. Ranging from boyhood to late middle age, they were covered in mud and smelled like horses. The first thought Leda had was to shut the door, quickly, but they wore the leather insignias of rangers, so she stopped herself.

"Horse feed is in the barn," she said. "Take what you need and leave, I've nothing else for you tonight."

"No need, Leda, we're not here for trade," Leda recognised the voice. It was Brandon.

Brandon was the lead ranger, a hard earned title for any man, but it was especially strange to see a man like that raised so high. He didn't grow up in the woods like most men in the colony. His father was a fisherman, and he hadn't saddled a horse until he was 11. But he was clever, and patient in a way most men weren't. He was the proudest man she'd ever known - prouder than Gerald even - but she had never seen him bristle and lash out against anyone who disrespected him like her master had. Brendan never fought or beat someone in anger. Instead he simply man a note in his mind of any man who disrespected him, and, some time later, that man would be found dead.

"Can we come in?" he asked, his clear blue eyes seeking hers. Brandon was handsome. He had auburn hair, a square jaw and an easy smile. It was easy to pretend he wasn't a killer.

Leda opened the door, she had to. The men filed in quietly, their clothes and boots bringing puddles of rain into her shop. They were a shabby crew, rangers usually were. The youngest of the men - a boy of about 20 - was bare chested under his coat. His badge hung from a belt that traversed his chest diagonally. Ranging was always a game for the young ones.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"To look around," Brandon said. "there's been an escape at the mines."

"Which one?"

"The nickel mine in the far North Territory,"

"And you think he's here? How?" Leda leaned under her counter and passed some dry rags to Brandon.

"He left in a boat." Brandon passed the rags back to Leda. "You do it, my hands are cold."

Leda took the rags back hesitantly. She took a long breath, and began to softly towel away the raindrops that had formed in Brandon's beard and hair. He watched her and she gently dried his neck and chest. When she finished his chest, she turned away, only to feel him take hold of her wrists.

"It's my boots that track the most in," he said softly, but loud enough for the other men to hear. Leda looked at the muddle under his feet, then she met his eyes.

"Tomorrow's wash day," she said, releasing her wrists and dropping the rags on the table.

It was Brandon who allowed Leda to stay in the cottage after she'd found it. The first time the rangers came, she'd pled her case without much hope. Women who don't stay in their place never last very long. But he'd surprised her. Not only did he allow her to trade with Cliffhouse, but but he made her shop a regular depot for rangers and small group of soldiers. And more importantly, he protected her from her patrons. In return, Leda had simply done her work well. Her shop was always stocked, her trade was always fair, and she allowed him as much grain and as many horses as the rangers needed on credit. That was perhaps the best trade she'd ever done. Her life was worth at least that much.

"So this is her then?' the youngest of the rangers spoke up. "She's just a woman, isn't she?"

"I suppose she is." Brandon said, his eyes twitching as he withheld a smile. "But she has a purpose."

"How many babes have been bred on you?" He asked, incredulous.

Leda pulled her shawl aside and showed him the mark on her breast. It had once said "Gerald". Now it was blacked out.

"So you're a whore," the young man said, and a smile spread onto his boyish cheeks.

"That's not my purpose," her voice was steady.

"Leda's here because here is where I want her, Alec." Brandon slapped the young man on the back as he came between them. "The man we're hunting is dangerous. He's from one of the northern tribes, an effective raider. They say he was fierce on the battlefield, killed dozens of ours before we took him. They probably should have killed him there but, soldiers belong to their lords and their lords are greedy, so they took him to the mines."

"And you think he's here?"

"This is only structure within a three days walk from the mines." the other man, the tattered, scared ranger, said this. "He doesn't know it's run by a disease."

Leda turned to Brandon.

"You said he was in a boat."

"If he's in a boat, he doesn't need three days," Brandon looked at her. "He's already here."

She pulled her shawls around her tighter, she realised suddenly that she was wearing only her shift.

"I'll make you something warm to eat," she turned to leave, but Brandon stopped her.

"My men will take it in the barn, I have something else I need to tell you."

She pulled her shawl around her again.

"Alright."

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  • COMMENTS
2 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousover 6 years ago
the woman

Post apocalypse and there are laws?

AnonymousAnonymousover 6 years ago
Interesting idea.

I enjoyed this short teaser but hope for more. You really need an editor. Some word usage is simply wrong.

Keep writing and working out your premise.

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