The Letter, Part 9
Wyshyllna was a cold and miserable place any time of year, but it was especially brutal in winter. Though it wasn’t quite chilly enough for the ocean to freeze over, the bay became a veritable obstacle course for anyone brave enough to dodge icebergs. Freezing rain was the norm for the three coldest months, making it difficult to get around. Clear, sunny days during the winter season could be counted on one hand.
This went a long way toward explaining why so few people called the country oldest port home. Two families, who had lived onshore for over three centuries, made up nearly the entire population. While most residents saw the community as a curse, these few embraced it as their own birthright.
Elder Fortrand, the oldest man, spent most of his days around the fire of the town’s pub. Cecily, his cousin, owned the small establishment and allowed him to spend as many nights as he wanted in the guest room. As such, he hardly left anymore. There was nothing he could get at home that Cecily couldn’t readily provide… at least, so some claimed. As long as Fortrand remained elder, nobody was going to speak against him to his face, though, which was why his many infractions went unaddressed.
“Elder!” a woman’s voice cried over the roaring of the fire. He pretended not to hear at first, not wanting to be interrupted from his lively imagination. Instead, he closed his eyes all the tighter and tried to shut out the world.
“Elder Fortrand, we have guests!” It was Cecily. It wouldn’t have mattered if it was the king himself, he was going to lower his head into the back of his chair and enjoy the crackling warmth coming off the hearth.
A cold wind blew through the room at the cracking open of the front door. A billowing of snow flurried into the room, settling wetly on the uneven wooden floor, admitting two strangers, dressed as though they’d walked through drifts of snow all day.
The wind reached like tendrils all the way to the back of the pub, seeking to extinguish the last embers of the fire. Elder’s head snapped around, a grimace of anger flashing over his wrinkled features. “Close the damn door!” he shouted.
“Elder!” Cecily said again, this time laced with chastisement. She didn’t mind him feeling like he was at home so long as he didn’t bother the other patrons.
The old man murmured something inaudible, then turned his back on the door again, trying to lose the chill of suddenly cold room.