by R A Oakes
“Why Renivy?” Brianuk asked.
Renivy looked at Raven and asked, “Do you remember why?”
“Because when we were around nine-years-old, we decided we didn’t want to be named after Mother’s bird friends, and we wanted a name of our own.”
“Yes, so I went by Renivy for a while.”
“We went by Renivy for a while,” Raven pointed out.
“Yes, we went by Renivy.”
“I’ve never heard that name before. How did you come up with it?” Brianuk asked.
“I made it up on my own.”
“You made it up?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you go back to using the name Raven?”
“I was only nine-years-old, and I changed my mind again. I was just a kid.”
Starlight nudged Raven and they both smiled. Then, after a few moments, Raven spoke up and said, “Listen everyone, I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back later.” And without further explanation, she strode into the woods and headed for a field on the opposite side, the oak grove and the cottage being in the middle of a large clearing.
Renivy watched the older version of herself leaving without an escort of any kind and was stunned. The girl tried to object but was so surprised that she couldn’t even talk. Finally, Renivy managed to croak, “But that’s not safe.”
“No it’s not,” Starlight agreed.
Renivy looked at Andylan who shrugged and said, “She needs time alone, too. The last few weeks have been pretty hard on her.”
“The last few years,” Starlight corrected her.
“Yes, the last few years,” Andylan sighed.
“What about you and Starlight? You were all in the same battles, weren’t you?” Renivy asked, looking in the direction of where Raven had disappeared into the woods and vanished into the darkness.
“But we weren’t in charge, Raven was. She’s our leader. There are 100 of us in the future, and every warrior woman looked to her for guidance and support. It would be enough to crush anyone. I’m surprised Raven lasted for as long as she did. I couldn’t do it. It’s all I can do to take care of myself.”
“And you’re not too good at that sometimes,” Starlight said, smiling grimly.
“You have no room to talk. You’d have been dead ten times over if it wasn’t for Raven.”
“True, all too true,” Starlight sighed, grateful just to be alive.
◆◆◆
Walking through the grove, Raven touched the bark of the oak trees feeling its texture and coolness. And, having kept her socks and boots off, she felt the leaves beneath her feet, the softness of the earth between her toes and smiled when a light breeze brushed her cheek. However, upon reaching the far edge of the grove, Raven hesitated before stepping into the wide-open field, the grassland making her feel exposed and vulnerable in the darkness.
Then, as a course of action, she tried to determine if any of Dark Shadow’s wild horses were grazing nearby, knowing they would easily detect the scent of any approaching trolls. But when the warrior woman peered into the night, she couldn’t see a thing. Next, wondering if any of her mother’s ravens were perched in the limbs overhead, she looked up yet quickly realized she had no chance of seeing the purplish-black birds, even if some were keeping watch on this side of the grove.
Although feeling apprehensive, Raven quickly dismissed such emotions and thought, Yes the war has begun, but no further incidents took place prior to our embarking on the quest, at least none that I can recall. So what is there to fear?
Now, boldly walking out into the field, Raven knew where she was headed. She’d make for the woods south of her mother’s cottage and locate the path leading to the very stream that Coldstream Village had been named after.
And she thought, That’s some really, really cold water. Calling it freezing wouldn’t begin to describe it, and that’s during the day. God only knows what it will feel like at night.
Raven smiled when she thought about the soul- cleansing effect of going swimming under such bone- chilling conditions. Bathing in such water, which she’d done a few times, and only a few times, had to be experienced to be believed, and she laughed out loud over the mind-numbing shock her body was in for. Laughing again, the warrior woman thought, How can I possibly worry about anything else once I dive into that stream?
In eager anticipation, she began running through the field and veered off to the left a little, heading for a tall maple tree she knew marked the entrance of the path. Reaching it, she raced along the path like it was already daylight, having walked it countless times when she was Renivy’s age and younger. Raven knew every dip and bend along the way, and she felt the air temperature dropping more and more the closer she got to the water.
Stopping at the edge of the stream, she quickly undressed and dove into the water, feeling like she’d been struck by a lightning bolt made of ice. The shock of the intense cold coupled with the nearly total darkness caused Raven to lose her sense of orientation, so she stood up in the chest-deep water and looked around. But it didn’t help. And Raven didn’t have time to think about it any further because the stream’s swift current was presenting yet another problem. No matter how hard Raven tried, she was finding it impossible to keep her footing, but ever adaptable, she embraced the confusion and began spinning around, splashing the water with both hands and sending it spraying in all directions.
Leaping into the air with all her might, she was swept off her feet by the current, and Raven fell facedown, the icy water enveloping her once again. Instantly, shafts of cold sliced across her mind seeming to split her consciousness in two. One half was warning her about the danger of prolonged exposure to bitter-cold water, and the other half shrieked in defiance telling Raven not to care what happened to her. After years of living a nightmarish existence, wasn’t it better to just die here in peace? Wasn’t it better to drift into a cold-induced slumber from which she’d never awaken?
Again her rational side, which was quickly being crowded out by the cold, struggled to call Raven back from the brink, but conscious thought was becoming impossible. The warrior woman’s yearning to surrender to the inviting, welcoming arms of oblivion was becoming as intense as the water was cold.
Raven had fought the good fight, resisting the trolls and their brutal warlord for so many years that she felt she had nothing left to give and nothing left she wanted to give. Rolling onto her back, Raven let the stream sweep her along, the darkness calling to her, offering an opportunity to live free, the only requirement being death.
However, before Raven could accept the dangerously seductive invitation, she suddenly felt a sense of reassurance washing over her. And when she opened her eyes, the warrior woman found herself gazing upon an angelic being made of pure light energy, energy with a distinctly feminine nature, a being who loved her very much.
Raven felt warmth creeping into her arms and legs, but the chill had gone deep within her, very deep, and the coldness started pulling her back. Then, Raven sensed that this woman made of brilliant light was feeling something else, something in addition to love. But what was it?
Much to her surprise, Raven realized the woman was frightened, even desperate, and the warrior woman thought, Why would an angel be afraid of anything?
However, as the cold began taking hold of her once more, Raven heard the woman calling to her with a voice that seemed to be coming from far away, “Come back, please, come back to the light.”
When the darkness refused to yield and began enveloping Raven, the angel covered the warrior woman’s mouth with her own, one filled with radiant life energy and abundant love. Raven eagerly parted her lips and inhaled deeply, an invigorating warmth and freshness filling her chest and spreading throughout her body renewing her strength and restoring her spirit. Then, feeling more secure than she had in years, Raven smiled at the woman, closed her eyes and instantly fell into a deep, restful, healing slumber.
After only a few hours, though it seemed like peacef
ul days of dreamless sleep, Raven awoke and found herself a few feet back from the stream lying next to a campfire. Suddenly, a log collapsed into the center sending a shower of sparks up through the overhanging tree limbs, revealing several of Zorya’s watchful ravens.
Looking around, Raven noticed her mother sitting on a log gazing into the fire and lost in thought. When Zorya noticed her daughter’s eyes were open, she smiled and said, “You looked so comfortable, I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
“Was that you, Mother?”
“Was what me?”
“The woman made of light who rescued me, a woman radiating light energy who lifted me out of the stream, breathed warmth into me and lay me down by this fire?”
“It sounds like an interesting dream but, no, I just arrived. When you were a child, you always used to come here whenever you were feeling troubled about something, so I had a hunch I’d find you here.”
“But when you first arrived, you held me in your arms, looked at me with great love and affection, and you were covered in flames, weren’t you?”
“I love you, of course. However, when I got here, you were already lying by this campfire, and you seemed fine.”
“But you must have been the woman. I mean whenever you do burst into flames, whenever you are totally engulfed in fire, you would be like that, a woman made totally of light.”
“It sounds like you had a wonderful dream, but it wasn’t me. And not meaning to change the subject, but how are you? I spoke to Starlight and Andylan, and they gave me a rundown of some of the major life events you’ve experienced as an adult woman. And I have to say, I’m surprised you’re alive to be having this conversation with me.”
“Yes, we’ve had some pretty rough times,” Raven readily agreed. And then, to herself, she wondered, Could the angelic woman have been sent by the Creative Light? Yet I haven’t encountered a manifestation of the Light in any way for a long time, a very long time.
“From what they told me, it sounds a lot worse than that. They say you’re their leader, and you were standing together on the top floor of a tower when Aldwen transported you here, back into the past. They said it was a fortress being overrun by trolls, the last fortress held by humans.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve had more than just some rough times.”
“Well, it seems like we’ve both had our share of tragedies. You lost your closest friends today, a family you’d befriended years ago, didn’t you? They were simple farmers, but they weren’t afraid of you, and they didn’t think you were a witch. They even welcomed you with open arms.”
“I saved the parents and their four children from being eaten by trolls, so I suppose their gratitude had something to do with their tolerance of my being different.”
“Different? You mean you literally appeared out of the blue, landed in a shower of flames and looked like a living, roaring bonfire.”
“Nobody’s perfect,” Zorya said, smiling ruefully. “At any rate, when I happened upon the scene, they were more scared of the trolls who’d already roped the husband to a wooden frame and were building a fire under him.”
“At which case, you incinerated the trolls, untied the husband, and they never stopped thanking and appreciating you.”
“Up until today,” Zorya sighed.
“Yes, until today. And they were out alone, away from their village’s stockade because?” Raven asked, encouraging her mother to talk about her friends even though she already knew the story and had heard it several times before.
“A few years ago, they began growing increasingly dissatisfied with their village’s intolerance of new ideas.”
“Including ideas on education.”
“Yes, my friends believed in educating women,” Zorya said, smiling a little, knowing Raven was allowing her to reminisce about better days.
“So they were . . .?”
“Different, in a variety of ways. Anyway, they were tired of living in a backward village and moved out or were forced out. And they were working on their own small stockade when the trolls struck. After I rescued them, four other families seeking freedom from backward thinking joined my friends and helped finish the stockade, one with an improved design. Rather than being in the shape of a circle like most other villages, my friends built one in the shape of a square with blockhouses at each of the corners. And they lived there in peace for over five years.”
“And they raised confident young women.”
“Yes, yes they did,” Zorya said, thinking about her friends’ four daughters. “It’s amazing what young women can do if they believe in themselves.”
“And then last night, the little stockade was burned to the ground and all the occupants murdered.”
“Yes, all five families,” Zorya said, cringing as she recalled the horror of seeing the aftermath of such mindless slaughter. “If I’d only been there, I could have put a stop to the carnage. Their village was a three-day hike from here, but I could fly there in a half-hour on a sunny day or an hour on a cloudy day, as you know.”
“So, the trolls who burned that village last night couldn’t have been the same ones who kidnapped the girls from Woodcliff Village this morning, which means there were at least two packs of trolls out last night and today, maybe more.”
“Yes, I agree. But what shocks me most of all is that trolls had the intelligence to attack and burn a village, even a small one.”
“Did Starlight and Andylan tell you what happened to our fortress?”
“Trolls burned it.”
“A fortress, not a small village.”
“Yes, a fortress, which means things are going to get worse.”
“I’m afraid so, and I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks, and I appreciate your letting me vent.”
“Of course, you’re my mother.”
“And I’m still older than you, even if we look like we’re about the same age.”
“Yes, Mother,” Raven said with a slight smile.
Both women fell silent, then after a long pause, Zorya sighed and said, “So, we’re going to Gratuga?”
“Yes, we don’t have any other choice.”
“Well, I certainly hope the quest ends differently this time.”
“It will, at least one way or another.”
“Which means?”
“I’mnotcomingbackalivewithoutthe megentum.”
“Then neither will I, my child, neither will I.”
Chapter 11
Jaren wondered where Balzekior was taking him. Before leaving the troll capital, the decrepit old crone had shackled and manacled him with a second set of heavy chains making it difficult for him to walk, let alone travel for any great distance.
“You’ve got to go slower,” Jaren protested while Balzekior rode in her horse-drawn cart with her prisoner stumbling along behind her. One end of a long chain was attached to the rear boards of the cart like a leash for a farm animal, the other end being bolted to the chains hanging from Jaren’s wrists.
“I thought you’d be feeling invigorated from all this fresh air. When was the last time you were outside, I mean for any prolonged period? It’s been months, hasn’t it?”
Jaren stared gloomily at the old crone but said nothing.
Looking over her shoulder, Balzekior laughed at the man with the ravaged face and said, “I could always take you back, you know. We’ve barely traveled half-a- mile. Is that what you want? Would you prefer the stale air of Gratuga to my pleasant company?”
“Why are you taking me with you? And where are we going?”
“Just think of yourself as being the prize bull at a country fair, and I’m taking you along to show you off to a few friends.”
“You have friends?” Jaren asked in disbelief.
“Oh, everyone has friends, even you,” the evil old witch said, laughing again.
“At Gratuga, you mean friends at Gratuga? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“What about me?” the old
crone asked with a warped, twisted smile. But Jaren didn’t bother to reply and just kept shuffling along, trying to keep from tripping over the chains.
“You know I’m all that’s keeping you alive, right? I’m all that stands between you and countless trolls who keep licking their lips and dreaming about butchering you alive. That makes us friends, doesn’t it?” the decrepit old crone said, taking great pleasure in Jaren being chained to the cart like an animal.
“I don’t know how much farther I can walk in these chains. I’m already feeling exhausted,” Jaren protested. Then, tripping over a rock, he fell face down on the dirt road and was dragged in the dust a few yards before he could struggle back onto his feet.
“Oh, we’ll be stopping soon enough, at least in another four or five miles,” the old crone laughed, enjoying every morsel of Jaren’s suffering.
However, unbeknownst to Balzekior, her prisoner was no longer as discouraged and despondent as he’d been over the last few months, and he was no longer feeling as depressed over his ravaged face. Jaren had finally come to the realization that leaving home had been a big mistake, and that leaving those he loved behind just so he could wallow in self-pity was the most selfish thing he’d ever done. The shock of seeing trolls walking around in broad daylight wearing protective cloaks had definitely snapped him out of his moodiness and had jerked him back into reality. Now Jaren realized that by trying to run away from his troubles, he’d not only hurt himself but also his wife and daughter, and he swore that when he got back home, he’d make it up to them, even if it took the rest of his life.
Before Jaren had been swamped with despair and run off, he’d always been a loving and responsible husband and father, and had been anything but a fool. So, as he was trudging along behind Balzekior, Jaren began considering a way where he might be able to help protect his family, even while being this far from home, a way where he could at least start to make amends.
To himself, Jaren thought, What if I can change my being a prisoner from a disadvantage to an advantage, at least from a strategic viewpoint? And the first thing Jaren needed to do, he realized, was to stop seeing himself as a victim and to start seeing himself as being a spy living behind enemy lines.