The First House

by Robert Allwood

  Years passed until Alex caught onto a rumour that shrugged a memory loose. Lady Stone, formerly Saville, had lost her daughter. He became excited at meeting her again. His mind stormed with questions about how she could have lived, how did she escape? The job offered mention of an address, and so he followed it. He did not meet Sarah, but her sister. Sophia was such a similarity at first Alex thought it was a jest aimed at him. She told him of the time gone by. How a master mariner dressed all in black had sold her an orphan from a shipwreck, only a baby at the time. Alex asked of the ships name, and felt bile rise in his throat. He confirmed the story was true enough, and lied he had overheard such a story all those years ago. Alex accepted the job for his mistress Sarah, but not Sophia. To find Sarah’s daughter and bring her back to her rightful mother, if still alive. He recalled the girl’s name: Elena. He ruled out a naïve rich young woman fleeing an oppressive home in search of danger and romance. He guessed she wasn’t that naïve, nor was she that young or oppressed enough. Alex leaned towards fear. Elena was afraid. From Port’s Mouth, the easiest path to follow on foot was to Ashtree; a landlocked village. Alex followed descriptions of a red–haired girl until he deduced where she had stopped.

  He called out her name and opened the inn’s door; an insipid glow spread itself across the snow. He gazed behind the door, up to the ceiling and across to the fire. He judged that she would hide somewhere close by, with enough air and space to keep calm. He looked down at the floor matted with mud and straw. Foot prints were visible near the counter. Alex ripped open the boards, and inside the hole, intelligent eyes stared back up at him.

  ‘Good evening miss.’

  She was about twenty years if a day. Pale skin, bony cheeks, and a mass of curled red hair; she had lost weight from the sketches Alex had seen. Her clothes were inadequate for travel. The skin around them rubbed red from repetition. Her cloak and hood designed for summer, her under layers were too few and the boots too light. She glared daring him to make the next move. Alex shrugged and spoke first.

  ‘You've lost your baby–fat,’ he said.

  Elena kept quiet. She knew there was a glaze in her eyes that she couldn’t shake; it was mirrored on the man’s face. Her story unfolded without a word said. The fear that had caused her to flee Port’s Mouth was greater than the risk she had put her life in. Greater than the trouble she had caused. The man removed a coil of thin rope from behind a leather pouch on his belt.

  'Pervert,' she rasped.

  'I’m not here to hurt you. Honest.'

  ‘What are you here for then?' She tilted her head back defiant. Alex sighed.

  'So how do feel after your journey? Stupid?'

  'Not as stupid as you when I tell my father you've mistreated me.’

  He frowned, glanced behind the counter and grabbed a bottle. He pulled the cork and drank. Red wine spilled from his chin as he replaced the cork and left coin should the innkeeper return.

  You’re a disgrace.’

  'Why leave?’ Alex asked.

  He wiped his chin clean. Alex guessed the girl was of a set immaturity overlooked through her life and was never challenged.

  'There's food in my pack outside, food and warm clothes.'

  'You sound sure I want to go back.'

  'I would have thought the comfortable life that Lord Stone provides would smell less.'

  'It–it did.' Replied Elena.

  'So why leave?'

  Elena sobbed, just once, a bitter choke that made the man roll his eyes.

  'My name is Alex,' he ignored her tears. 'Elena Stone, I'm here to return you to your mother.'

  Elena tried to speak but the words grated inside her throat.

  'I know. I found you because I asked the right questions to the right people. Also, I have a horse. That helps to cut down the travel. Did someone hurt you?'

  'No.'

  'Threatened your life?'

  ‘No.’ she closed her eyes. The hunger and thirst were unbearable. All she had to do was tell him the truth of why she left. She bunched up and breathed deep. She hated telling the truth, it had a weight to it that chewed up her words and dulled her tongue.

  'I'm cursed'

  Alex sat unblinking.

  'It started when I was twelve, out of nowhere.'

  'What started?' said Alex, full of doubt.

  'The dreams I have–of an island sat alone in the sea–a girl that looks like me, and strange visions and the rest. It keeps me awake at night. I haven’t had a full sleep in a year.' She tugged and smoothed her hair.

  ‘Surely dreams cannot hurt you or your family. There’s naught to be afraid of. There's real food out there, if you’re hungry.'

  Elena nodded. Her hands had formed white spots; there was drowsiness in the way she moved. 'How did you know?'

  Alex tapped his nose. 'We have to go–my horse is used to the cold, but starts to whine if she’s left alone for too long.'

  Elena pulled herself onto her feet and hugged her jacket to keep the last of the warmth in. She took Alex’s guiding hand onto her shoulder and followed him to the horse tied outside. The snow had stopped, but air had taken on a fierce bite. His horse was cream in colour, with thick legs and mud-stained fur covering its hooves. As soon as it spotted Alex it nuzzled him and let out a cough of relief. Elena giggled as man and horse went through a ritual of letting each know it was time for them to leave.

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Whiterun. She’s borrowed.’ said Alex.

  In a saddle-bag Alex produced a fur coat, which was a size too large for her. She came close to Alex on the back of the saddle and wrapped herself around a screen that separated them. Into dusk they rode on, the fresh snow crunched beneath Whiterun’s feet as she made light work of the path. Soon the sway of riding and the warmth from the fur lulled her back into sleep.

  'I was at home again,' Elena mumbled.

  'Were you?' said Alex.

  Elena shifted upright and looked about. The morning sun shone down a small muddy path ahead; between them were thickets and open fields. Ice had wormed its way into corners and pockets of the greenery around them, it persisted in the shade.

  'Yes. I was in my father’s study.'

  'We'll stop there.' Alex pointed at a copse. Leaves and pollen tumbled around them as they slowed. Elena looked at Alex for direction. His face sank, his eyes were puffy and his figure slumped. He staggered to the trunk of the tree and sat.

  'Are you all right?’ She asked.

  'I haven't travelled a full day and night in a long time. It's not something I've done since coming here.' He pointed at her clothes and Whiterun. 'Move her near to the tree-she'll appreciate the shade. And take those furs off. It's much warmer down the valley.'

  'Not much snow has fallen. Why is that?' Elena asked.

  He shrugged. 'I don't know, but it's a nice change. I don't like the cold where I'm from'

  'How do you like it then?'

  'Mild,' said Alex.

  'That doesn't sound better.'

  'It doesn't, but we usually have no choice in London.'

  'London? You didn’t mention you're from the city.'

  'Doesn’t my accent give it away?'

  ‘I wouldn't know. I don't meet many men.'

  Elena blushed. She lacked experience. Going from her mother’s wisdom, men were difficult to please and landed you into trouble. If you untangled yourself from the trouble, they proceeded to place themselves in trouble. Enough vitriol had been poured into her ears to put her off courting for life.

  'Is it true?' asked Elena, a well of endless question within her. Alex got up from the rest and opened up the camping satchel.

  'Is what true?'

  'London men can see in the dark, because it’s so gloomy there?'

  'Yes, that’s true. It’s a gift most men from London are blessed with,' answered Alex with incredulity.

  Elena sat back in marvel. 'And the womenfolk, what do they boast?'

  'They have vows of silence.'<
br />
  Elena considered this. 'We have the opposite in Port’s Mouth. Men go quiet for long periods of time.'

  'Would these be married men?'

  'Yes.’

  Alex smiled.

  Elena grasped Whiterun by the neck and hugged her. The horse released a sigh and carried on with the task of filling her belly with grass and dew.

  ‘Once you've stopped being friends perhaps you can collect some dry wood.'

  Elena screwed her face up. 'Where would I find that?'

  'Underneath damp wood, beside tree trunks–didn't your father teach you to make a fire?'

  'We have help to do that.'

  'And what? They do everything for you?'

  'Of course, one man collects the wood for the fires. He buys it from the market.'

  ‘Has your mother taught you anything?'

  'She was always too busy.'

  ‘Father?’

  ‘Too grumpy.’

  Alex sighed and folded his arms. 'Did your mother make you leave?'

  'No–she wanted me to live and be happy.'

  'And she’s married into riches.'

  Elena could feel a tug in her belly and a voice whisper in the back of her mind. It felt as though they both had arrived at an understanding. How critical she was, which was alien to her, to be valuable enough for her parents to send a stranger.

  'Please don't say anything about dreams or visions to them.'

  'I promise,' Alex nodded. Elena gave him a withering stare until he held up his hands in surrender. 'I swear on my life.'

  They both searched for wood amongst the path with Alex inspecting what Elena had brought back. Elena noticed a change in her temperament; she was a completely different person to last night. She had colour back to her skin and her step had more energy to it. The pair sat and ate scraps of dried fish and hard fruit loaf. As soon as they finished, and the fire doused, they both mounted and set off.

  'We have to pass through Doubleford and then Marketfort.’

  ‘I recognise Marketfort.'

  'It's a township—most of it belongs to your father.'

  'He’s mentioned it before.'

  The dotted woods smoothed to high meadows after a spell. When they arrived in Marketfort Elena wondered what the attraction to the town was, until she saw a bustling market hidden by a circle of buildings. Whiterun jostled her reins and motioned with her hoof, while Elena giggled. The trough was outside an unnamed inn, which was more ominous than welcoming. After dismounting, Alex explored inside. Relics from the coast littered the whitewashed walls, suspended by iron nails. Graffiti marred parts of the ceiling where prayers and messages left by travellers; a rickety ladder on the opposite end of the inn hinted at how they got there. The innkeeper greeted them from behind a table covered in bottles. Alex paid for two rooms and stable for the night, a bottle of wine and two cups.

  'I don't drink,' moaned Elena.

  Alex poured wine until both cups were full.

  'To good health,’ drinking his cup in one swallow. 'What do you drink, if not this?'

  ‘Hot tea.'

  'Hm. Sounds healthy,' Alex poured himself another cup.

  'That, fellow, is keeping an eye on us,' Elena said. ‘Do you see him? What do we do?’

  Alex turned with a smile on his face towards the innkeeper and nodded. 'I know. Two men have been following us since leaving Ashtree.'

  Elena became aware that aside from the innkeeper, who was now starting to sweat, the place was empty. Alex had seen the two men yesterday, unsubtle in their craft. They were after Elena, that was obvious, they just wanted Alex to do the hard work for them; all they had to do was to steal her away in the night. As Alex had told the girl on the journey here, the bounty for her safety was not much. It belied her importance. It was, however, enough money to keep a down-trodden man in good spirits for a month or two.

  'How did you know?' asked Elena.

  ‘There are two tracks in the dirt outside. Both leading out of Marketfort, the hoof prints are deep and spread. So, they must have galloped straight through the town in hopes that we were just ahead. I can understand their frustration; it was why I was riding so slow yesterday.'

  'Well, what can we do now? Do we run?'

  'Nothing,' he said with a small gesture.

  'Nothing?'

  'Just drink, eat and sleep.'

  'Won't they come here to look for us?'

  'They might, or they might have given up,' Alex pointed to the innkeeper who stared at them and blushed, 'they've paid him off.' Alex shook his head, 'how much did they pay up front?'

  'They didn't say how much,' whispered the innkeeper.

  'Don't mess around,' Alex wagged a finger.

  Elena chuckled as the innkeeper looked like a guilty child.

  'I–meant no ill intent sir, young lady,' the man stammered.

  'Too late for apologies. I'll string those boys together,' Alex pointed outside, 'and leave them out for the town to judge. Make up the story they threatened your business through extortion. Agreed?' the innkeeper reluctantly nodded.

  'Thank you.’ Alex winked at Elena who laughed like a girl half her age.

  'We'll eat then wait for them to wander in at night with your door unlocked. Elena, I need you to do something important,' he pointed at her, 'you'll be upstairs to warn me when they come.'

  After they ate, Elena bounded up to the nearest window overlooking the town square. She watched as the innkeeper hid himself in a neighbour’s cottage, and yawned herself as the light grew dimmer, the meal making her sleepy. The shadows squeezed thin. Downstairs, Alex wouldn't know how strong the men were until he had tackled the first. The second would either be outside on watch or wander in with his friend. Seeing figures approach, Elena gave a low whistle to Alex back down and through the inn, and hid herself under the bed. Below, Alex reaffirmed his grip on the chair, in position to give an overhead swing. He tensed his arm as the first man came through the door and Alex landed a blow across his temple. The body went limp and collapsed; Elena looked out of the window and saw a second man glance around the town, nervous. Alex waited until the second man came through the door in concern, and landed the chair across the back of his head.

  The men were young, with several days’ stubble and lean figures. On their person was describing their task, and marked with a single I. Alex dragged the two men outside and left them at the base of the market stone. He signalled to the innkeeper who made a hurried jog back to his tavern. He thanked them, hands clasped together, and wanted to repay Alex for his efforts with no charge. Most of all, he apologised to Elena, to which she turned red. After a long conversation over a second meal (on the House) Alex stretched. He bid goodnight to Elena, and stumbled upstairs where he found their beds and collapsed onto his, boots still tied. Elena found him soon after. She took up her own cot and laid still, the theme of her dreams turning between Alex, horses, bandits, and hot tea.

  In the new day they followed the south road. They admired the hills that led to quaint retreats and hidden passages in fields of flax. Alex could see wood smoke plume and catch over the horizon, where it added to low clouds. The air had a chill draft to it; a reminder of the plummeting temperatures of Ashtree. They passed by pilgrims and vagrants, who were trying to reach the old road back to Port’s Mouth. Standing up in the saddle Elena could almost see the rooftops and spires. Every metre taken quickened her excitement. ‘Nearly home then,’ said Alex. They dismounted Whiterun and travelled on foot for the final mile. Elena smiled back at Alex. Six days of awkward travel had lengthened his facial hair into bundles of wiry tangles. She would, at times, watch him out of the corner of her eye. His gaze was always locked on the fields, watching for something or someone. When it came to midday Elena looked up at the sky, at the lumber camps, and to the river, which ran wild, bits of ice still clinging to its banks. Her thoughts drifted to home. She could feel her cheeks hot with guilt as she imagined the argument with her enraged mother. What had possessed her to do this was
now buried; it no longer plagued her.

  ‘Alex, do you hear that? It’s strange,’ she asked.

  Elena’s vision lost focus. Trees melted in bursts of light. She squeezed her eyes; her heart thundered out from her core which left lightning pricks on her skin. Her mind felt as though it was separating in two. She could feel strong hands grasp her body as she shook and knelt forwards. Nausea erupted from inside her; vertigo bided her to be sick. Time forgot to move on.

  Elena realised she couldn’t hear anything of the earth any longer. She found herself borne among clouds. Soft hands fixed her under her arms: one on the left, one on the right. She was flying above Port’s Mouth, above England, above the world. She rose higher, afloat on wisps. In the air she looked at her kidnappers: they were women both, dressed in black rags that left only a slit for their eyes. Her head flopped as they passed through a fogbank that emptied it of thought.

  Before Elena could fathom her circumstance, she fell unconscious.

  The Magician

  A thunderhead muted the valley while Gold watched puddles for precipitation. Her days were easier when summer arrived. Its light rain didn’t cause havoc around Houndbarrow as did winter, now. Before dawn she had fletched a quiver, restrung her bow, ate, and caught a bundle of fowl just as the sun had rose. She shivered and spurred herself on, slipped down to a stream and forded it. Her mind drifted with the passing landscape; the calm of the abundance around inspired inner peace she had not touched upon in a long time. The days of hoping to see her father again were long past. Years had eased her pain, but not cured it. It drove her on, motivated her, and forced her to take stock of the nature on how people suffer, of how anguish in people is usually invisible and rarely spoken of. Gold was now her own woman, in life and career. Cyrus had taught her of hunting, fishing and fighting; to never fear hunger or money. Cyrus and his wife, Victoria, had accepted and loved her as a daughter. Which made it the more painful when they sold on one Lady Saville’s twins. That was back when her innocence of the world was unspoilt. Gold emptied her lungs, and drew air back in.