by Tony Roberts
Faer looked up at Markus. For the first time, her background was coming into focus. No longer was she someone with no history, no heritage, no shape. After you were born I was entranced; a beautiful girl child. You captivated my heart, so delicate, so perfect. I could not go on running; you had to have a chance of growing up, safe and unknown in this remote place. So I left my treasured belongings here and told your mother that I would seek out others who had survived the flight from my home city, and form an army to retake it and so when you were of the age I would return and bring you home. If however you are reading this, then sadly I was not successful, at least in one respect, but in another I was, for you are still alive and keep our House alive.
Faer’s hands were shaking. This was beyond anything she had expected. Tied to the last sheet is a key. Use it to open the box in the cupboard. What you find in there will be all you need to start your journey. You must find your own way, but I will at least point you in the direction of someone who will help you to gain some skill in your fight. There is a school of warrior training called Kaltinar. Seek this out and use what you find in the cupboard to pay for your training. You will need this.
I cannot say whether your journey will end in success or failure, but you must trust your heart. You must destroy this letter after you read it, for should anyone else with an understanding of the elfish language read this, your life will be in deadly danger. I know this is the only letter you’ll have from me, but the other objects you will find are mine and have been used by me, so you will have at least a part of me with you.
I love you Faerowyn, my darling child. Jarrodowyn.
She turned the last sheet and, held against it by some unknown substance, was a small steel key. She pulled at it, and the paper tore, so she ripped the rest of the paper away and held up the key, just big enough to be seen against her thumb and forefinger.
“Wow,” Markus said in awe. “A princess! You had to be.”
Faer looked at her companion. “Why do you say that?”
“Because all princesses are beautiful.” He slammed his mouth shut and went red.
Faer looked at him for a long moment, then down at herself. Frowning she looked up at the scarlet-faced boy. “Do you think that? I look nothing like the other girls!”
Markus shifted uncomfortably on his buttocks. “Uhh, well, you’re so different; they’re not princesses, so it stands to reason if you’re so different to them, you must be a princess.”
Faer thought over the twisted logic and gave up. Markus was clearly embarrassed by what he had said, so she decided not to push it. She actually liked the fact he was being her companion. Why she had kept him at arm’s length all this time she didn’t know. She didn’t want to cause him to desert her. Then she checked herself. She had to be gone tomorrow. Markus was going to remain in the village. “Shall I see what this fits?” she said, trying to distract him.
“Yeah, lets!”
They dragged her mother’s bed out of the way and opened the cupboard. The wave of cold, damp air that hit their nostrils was briefly overpowering, then they peered in. There was a bundle of clothing piled up on the floor, and they pulled them out, and there, lying on its own in the middle of the cupboard space, was a small metal box with a lock.
It took some effort to drag it out but eventually they managed it and sat on the floor panting. It had got stuck in the earthen floor at one point and they had a difficult time getting it over the slight rise in the ground there. Looking at one another in anticipation, she slid the key into the lock and twisted it.
Wrong way. She turned it the other and there was an initial resistance, then it gave with a click and the lock sprang open. Lifting the lid, Faer peered in. There was an oilskin cover which was dry and cracking, and she lifted it aside. Underneath rested a canvas shape, and she lifted it to reveal a pack, quite bulky, with shoulder straps and a waist strap. Beneath this was a neatly folded fine meshed chain armour hauberk.
Putting the pack down she lifted the armour in wonder, looking at the still bright metal links. She would have thought being shut away all this time the metal would have faded, like it did on cooking utensils or ornaments. The most surprising thing she discovered was that it was not nearly as heavy as she expected. She could lift it with ease. She looked in wonder at Markus who was as captivated as she.
The next item was a sword in a sheath. The sheath was leather, with raised ornate symbols down the length. What these symbols were she did not know, but she had a feeling they would be significant in some way. The sword, perhaps four feet in length including the hilt, slid easily out and she examined it closely.
The blade was of polished steel, edged for the first foot on each side, in total about three and a half feet before it got to the guard. This was of thick forged steel, shaped in a half circle, the ends pointing towards the end of the blade. Lastly came the hilt and pommel, of some soft supple skin covering wood or steel – she didn’t know what – and the pommel was a solid circle of metal, covered in gold coloured imagery of flames.
Like the hauberk, the sword was lighter to wield than she expected. She passed it to Markus to examine and peered into the deeper recesses of the box. A soft blue pair of leggings, a pair of short but hard leather boots, a belt, a water bottle on a long leather strap, and a pendant on a long golden chain. The pendant was of interest to her. It was a small oval-shaped piece of silver with two flames on either side of a small moon or sun – she didn’t know which.
Without knowing why, she slipped the chain over her head and placed the pendant down the front of her tunic, resting against her breasts. It felt cold to start with and she shivered, but it soon became warm enough not to be noticed. Finally there was a leather pouch, and when she picked it up there came the unmistakable sound of clinking coins from within.
Looking at her companion in wonder, she opened the pouch. Inside were dozens of small golden coins, all stamped with the likeness of some aristocratic looking person, and the lettering around the edge, in Elfish, stated this was King Asgad of Keria. “Do you know where Keria is, Markus?”
Markus shook his head. “Is that an Elf place?”
“I think so – this King Asgad is from there and he looks like me – or has the same type of ears and is slim-faced like me.”
“Then we must find out where Keria is.”
Faer put the coins back and closed the pouch. “Markus, you’re not being cast out. Your parents, your family, live here. You have a future here, unlike me. Out there, there will be so many dangers, many of which neither of us will understand. I don’t want you to go putting yourself in danger just because of me.”
Markus looked out of the open doorway. It was still raining. “I don’t think I’ll like staying here – especially after you are gone. All the others make fun of me because I’m your friend, and I don’t like them anyway. They’re cruel and stupid. You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever known, and – well – I like you.” He went red again.
Faer sensed Markus was not going to give up easily. Silently she thanked him for being so loyal to her. The thought of facing the unknown out there alone scared her witless, and at least with a companion there would be someone to talk to and who would be friendly. “What of your family? What about clothes, and other things?”
“I’ll sort that out. Mother and father think I’m strange anyway. I’ll tell them I’m going to have a picnic over by Gorfan Rock – I often go there to watch the birds feed on the fish anyway. It’s out of the way, as you know, and in the opposite direction to where we’ll have to go to leave the village.”
“Markus – I’m not asking you to come with me,” she laid a hand on his arm and smiled tentatively at him. “But I am happy you want to.”
“So am I,” he smiled, then thought about what he had said. “I suppose I’ve been unhappy here for a long time. I don’t fit in like most of the others. I’ll go get us some food and drink. You get ready and I’ll be back soon.”
“I’m going
to go ask the Headsman where this Kaltinar is – he knows a lot of things and maybe he has heard of it.”
Markus looked doubtful. “Why would he tell you anything? He doesn’t like you, so I don’t think he’ll go tell you anything to help.”
Faer shrugged. “If he thinks it’ll get rid of me faster, he might. I won’t find out by not asking, anyway.”
Markus got to his feet, passing her the sword. “He’ll not like you carrying that!”
“I’m going to wear it, whatever he thinks. I’m going to look the part, even if I don’t know how to hold it properly.”
Markus grinned and vanished. Faer quickly took off her soaked and thin woven leggings and replaced it with the blue set from her father. They fitted neatly. Somehow she had expected it to, but didn’t know why she knew that. The hauberk came next, shrugged on awkwardly. It fitted her chest but flopped around her waist, and she guessed it was more suited to a male. The belt sorted that out, and she ran her hands over the unfamiliar material. It felt snug and – well, oddly comfy.
The sword sheath had slots at the top and she worked out that her belt was supposed to slide through these so she took it off, threaded it, and retied it round her waist. The pack went on her back, but she had to adjust the straps a couple of times before it fitted neatly. The bottle she slung over one shoulder so it rested against her hip. Finally the shoes she slipped on. They were almost right, but a touch wide. No matter, tying the laces – which were still in good condition – made the boots snug enough and she stood up.
Not having the faintest idea what she looked like, she took in a deep breath and stepped out into the finely falling rain. She looked back into the house, a place that had been her home for as long as she could remember, and silently wished it farewell and thanks, then turned her back, settled her shoulders, and strode off towards the headsman’s once more.
The two enforcers were lounging in the shelter of the canopy that stood outside the house, and they got up in alarm as the now armoured and armed Faerowyn approached up the path. “Hey, you’re not to go any further,” the first said, stretching his arm out in warning.
“Where did you get those?” the second demanded, staring at the sword and hauberk.
“I wish to see the Headsman before I leave,” she replied. “These are – or were – my father’s, and now they are mine. I’m not leaving these behind for someone else to have.”
“Nobody would want them anyway! They’d be thrown to the bottom of the bay.” The first stood in her way, his arms folded. “Now go away. You’re not wanted here.”
“I want to get directions as to where to go. Throwing me out of Selanic is all very well, but where do I go?”
“That’s not our business, and we don’t care. Now go before I break your arm.”
“I am still of this village,” Faerowyn said stubbornly, “until tomorrow. I have the right to see the Headsman.”
“You have no rights, elf-spawn,” the second spat. “Throw her down the hill.”
The first came at her, a wide smile of anticipation on his lips. Faerowyn whipped out the sword clumsily and waved it before the advancing enforcer. The man stopped and stepped back in alarm. “Hey – watch it, you nearly had me then!”
“Stand back,” Faerowyn said. “I just want to see the Headsman. Go tell him I’m here.” She was frightened, but dare not show it. The two enforcers looked capable of doing some real harm to her if they got past her sword point. She wasn’t sure if they would, but it had gone too far now for her to back down.
The second one knocked on the door, opened it and leaned in, speaking. A moment or two later the Headsman appeared slowly, his face dark and definitely not amused. He looked at the slim, damp girl a few paces away, then pointed at her sword. “I want you to put that away, Faerowyn, and I shall permit you to speak to me.”
She looked in surprise at him. She then eyed the two enforcers, waiting for an order. “They have threatened to hurt me. If I put this sword away they will throw me down the hill and break my arm. He said he would,” she pointed her tip at the guilty party.
“Nobody is going to touch you; I promise.” He waved the two to stand back, and they did so reluctantly. Faerowyn lowered the sword, shaking. She managed to slide the sword home without cutting her hand but it was a close-run thing.
“Good. Now, come in and speak to me. I will not have you doing this again, so you will have to promise that once you leave my house, you and I will never see one another again.”
Faer nodded. “That is what I hope for, too. In fact, I don’t want to see this place ever again. Ever.”
The Headsman smiled thinly, then held the door open for her. She brushed past him and stood awkwardly by his desk and waited till he had walked round it and sat down before speaking. “I am leaving shortly, but before I do, I would like to know two things.”
“Which are?”
“Do you know how I can get to a place called Kaltinar?”
“Kaltinar? I have heard of it, yes, but where it is? No. You wish to go there? It is a legendary school for warriors to train and learn their trade. You, Faerowyn, are too old to start there, and I do not know whether they would accept elf-kind.”
She sighed. She had hoped he, at least, might know.
“And the second?”
“Oh. Have you ever heard of a place called Keria?”
The Headsman thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I do know though of a place where you may well find the information to both your questions. It is a city to the west of here, a big place. It is called Gorradan, and someone there will surely know the answer to both. Take the path out through the hills and head west. You will find the city eventually. However it is many days travel, and I do not know how you are going to survive out there.”
“You don’t care anyway. None of you do. You’re just glad to get rid of me.”
“Yes we are,” the Headsman agreed, “for good reason. You are trouble. We only tolerated you because we took you in as a new born child and our custom is that we cannot turn one away. Once you reached adulthood, we no longer were bound by our customs. Your mother dying was unfortunate; none of us wished that, but in a way it was convenient because it avoided a delicate problem I had. I would have had to ask her to leave, too, if we banished you.”
“Why? Is it only because I’m of elven blood?”
“Yes. We do not want your kind here. Now go. Do not return. Let us live our lives uncomplicated and uncorrupted by your ways.”
Faerowyn gritted her teeth. “I could not live amongst a people who would willingly do such a callous and cowardly thing. Remain here, cut off from the rest of the world, and live out your lives in ignorance. I am glad to go.”
The Headsman said nothing more; he watched as she departed angrily, slamming the door shut behind her. Finally he sighed and ran his hands over his face. He sat back and exhaled long and slow. “May the gods look after you, Faerowyn.”
She strode past the two enforcers, not even bothering to acknowledge their existence. She made her way to the back of the village where the huts ended and the ground gave way to banks of raised earth and coarse, long grass. A narrow single track led through these to the waste ground where the village’s rubbish was dumped, and also its sewerage. The place stank, especially in summer, but that was yet to come, and Faerowyn was grateful of that.
Beyond, the land rose and there were some fantastic rocks and an object that the villagers said was of a fallen god. True, it was immense and shaped like a man, but with strange features and clothes. It was lying on the ground, half-buried in the loose soil. Bushes and long grass grew in abundance there but nobody liked going close, out of superstition.
The track wound its way wide of this statue, and reached the base of the hills that effectively cut the village off from the outside. There was a way through but the unimaginative people of Selanic rarely went any further than there. Certainly Faerowyn hadn’t.
A shout reached her ears and she turned. Mark
us was running, clutching a bag in one hand and with another slung on his back. Behind him she could see more figures running, trying to catch him. His parents and their friends.
She tutted in dismay. Making her way further along the track, she waved to Markus and began to trot towards the hills. Markus was keeping his distance from his pursuers – just – and waved the girl to carry on. She could hear the panting of his breath now and she began to climb the steep slope up to the first of the rises that looked down on the sea. She had got to the top of this by the time Markus reached the bottom, his shouting parents ten paces behind.
“Stop!” Faerowyn said from a position high above their heads. All but Markus came to a halt. He carried on climbing, his breath rasping in and out.
“Markus – come back here!” his mother commanded, to no effect.
Faerowyn drew her sword and pointed it at the five people who had collected in a group at the base of the rise. “Do not follow us – we are leaving this place and will never come back. Go back to your lives of catching fish and hating outsiders.”
“Markus is one of us!” his father snapped, his eyes flashing with anger. “You have bewitched him, you sorceress! We should never have taken you under our wing. Is this the thanks we get for our generosity?”
Faerowyn had heard enough from these villagers. Markus came to her side and stood there, his chest heaving, sweat filming his face. “Markus is an adult, and is old enough to decide his own future. I did not ask him to come with me, he decided all by himself. I am glad he has, though, for at least one of you shows some compassion and heart. As for the rest of you, I am well rid of your prejudices. I hope I find a better world out there than the one I grew up in.”