A E Johnson

by alice johnson

  Brenin remained by the window. The mighty

  arched windows stood as high and wide as the room, it

  was all that stood between him and his city. To the

  back of the room, central to the window, was his

  humble wooden desk, filled with messy papers. He

  was a great king, but an unorganised and untidy one.

  Brenin gave a long sigh as he glared from the

  window. “It’s a shame, Mord,” he turned to face her as

  she stood silent by the door. She felt small in the

  room, like the entire kingdom had swallowed her up.

  “The council only see this world for what it can earn

  them.” He walked towards his desk and slowly sat at

  his golden rimmed chair with plush red leather

  covering.

  Mord remained fixed to the spot, she held her

  hands at the front of her, her shoulders hunched

  forward. “It’s the way of the world, sadly,” she softly

  replied.

  Brenin lifted his hand, “Please,” he invited her in,

  offering her a seat, “how is this world supposed to

  recover, if all that drives the council, are coins?” he

  seemed melancholy. He knew the world needed

  compassion, but greed was all that seemed to drive

  them.

  Slowly, she made her way towards the desk.

  “Erm…” Mord did not want to speak out of turn, she

  was not shy, but this was her king. She lifted her head,

  her voice was quiet, “I was a soldier once, Sire.” She

  struggled to find her words. As she reached the desk,

  she lowered down into the chair opposite, her eyes

  seemed to struggle to focus. “I’ve never seen battle,

  but I have seen some of the worst atrocities this world

  could offer.” Brenin’s brow creased as he listened, he

  leant forward, placing his elbows on the desk in front.

  “It just takes one,” she softly said. Brenin held his

  head up to listen. Her brows gave a sorrowful frown.

  She looked directly into Brenin’s eyes. “One man, or

  woman, can change it all, it takes a great leader to

  make a good follower. Now, you are the one man to

  change it, but you are here, behind a desk,” she

  laughed as she turned, “arguing with your council.” It

  was a ridiculous notion, but she honestly believed that

  he could be the man to bring about the change they

  needed. “This world needs you,” her voice became

  soft, “if I may speak freely?”

  Brenin quickly blinked, shocked that she was not

  already. “You seem to be fine with that so far, I’m not

  going to stop you.”

  “When I was young, your father frightened me, he

  frightened his people,” she softly explained, she could

  tell by the drooping of his slight smile that she would

  need to tread lightly; “your father would never bring

  that change, he used fear to guide his people, you use

  compassion.”

  Brenin drew back. “I admire your honesty, Mord,

  many have died for less,” he mockingly said.

  “I’m just a maid, sire,” she said with a sniggering

  laugh, “I know nothing of politics.”

  “I like you; I need an honest person in the palace,”

  he said with a quiet voice, “the world has darkened,

  and I need guidance, from a soldier who found hope.”

  He gave a wide smile towards her. Slowly, he leant

  forward. His tone became low and haunting, “I know

  who you are, Mord. No one comes through these

  doors without me knowing who and what they are, you

  left my army, the day you found hope, but you left that

  hope behind.” Brenin leant his elbows on the desk

  and folded his arms. His voice softened, “Why?”

  She knew why, she knew what it was for, but did

  not know if others would understand. “Wonder,” she

  replied, her hands began to relax, she did not feel as

  tense as she spoke of the child she had found, “the

  child was destined for greatness, and she would not

  find that with me, it isn’t the last I’ve heard of her.”

  Brenin could see the promise in her eyes, he could

  see that Mord was a traditionalist, she believed in fate,

  she believed heavily in the gods, and she knew that the

  child would one day wake the gods to listen to the

  plight of Cammbour.

  As the night began to set in, the palace became

  quiet. The council halls emptied, Brenin remained in

  his chambers, he had taken Mord’s words to heart.

  Tensions with Bourellis had often been tempering on

  inauspicious. As the night lingered on, Brenin came to

  his decision. The war camps needed a shimmering

  hope and he wanted to give that hope. Bourellis

  needed to know that they were being listened to, and

  so he showed he had listened.

  The council would be left in tatters the following

  day, as Brenin announced a visit he would be making

  to the northern camps, his visit would be welcomed by

  all in Cronnin. Their king loved to travel. The people

  enjoyed seeing him for the most part, he did not allow

  for the lavish travel that his councillors would try to

  insist upon, he was happy with a carriage and his small

  entourage of the King’s Guard. One hundred soldiers

  lined the way for Brenin’s new journey to the northern

  camps.

  Mord watched as he left, the window of his

  chambers allowed for a view to the courtyard at the

  front of the palace. She knew of Brenin, he was not

  what she expected. Mockery followed him like a bad

  smell, being known as ‘the attentive king,’ his travel

  would often lead to a break in the council, feeling lost

  without him there. It was unusual for a member of the

  royal house to travel as often as he did. He always

  searched for simple solutions, with a worsening war,

  he would need a solution, this had proven difficult to

  find.

  A whisper had woken Brenin, he knew of a man,

  know by many as The Shadow and known as The

  Commander, a reputation had allowed for The

  Commander to be mentioned in the halls of the

  council several times, having heard enough of the

  whispers, Brenin was also on the mission to find the

  upcoming champion of war, and crown him as a true

  commander, offering him a quick solution to a

  growing problem.

  Chapter Two The Unknown Girl

  he deep smell of pine smoke filled the air,

  carried by the chimneys in the bunkhouses.

  T The camps were ablaze with autumn. Cold

  yellow and brown leaves warmed the floor of the

  forest. The evergreen trees gave off the pungent smell

  of pine, coupled with the smell of rotting leaves;

  birdsong brought the world to life as they worked

  tirelessly foraging ready for winter. The camps were

  full of the warm welcome of winters approach. The

  echoes of the howling wolves seemed to be creeping

  towards them, as they headed down the mountains,

  ready for the harsh northern winter.

  The Unknown Girl woke to a fresh autumn

  morning. Frost
had already begun to line the settled

  leaves on the ground, giving them a winter gilding. She

  could hear the noise outside, the camps were void of

  the usual sounds of anvils, the mills had stopped

  working. Children lined the streets; order was difficult

  to find. Excitement lit the air as they awaited the

  arrival.

  With her ragged clothes cleaned, the Unknown

  Girl made her way into the fresh autumn wood. The

  crunching leaves brought a smile to her face as she

  carelessly made her way through. The magic of the

  forest was something she felt a need to add to, kicking

  the leaves into the air she lifted her hands, allowing

  them to slowly flutter around her, a bright golden glow

  filled the forest leaves.

  The bitter morning had many shivering as they

  made their way through the camp, but the chill

  awakened the Unknown Girl, she did not feel cold at

  all. The Aenlic moon was ending, the tall trees

  stretched as far as she could see. An old, cobbled path

  carved through the forest to reach the village on the

  other side, was now overgrown, brambles and small

  sapling trees favoured the path.

  Upon the sight of the first few redwoods standing

  proud among the forest, the Unknown Girl began

  searching the wood. She knew the forest well. The

  forest hummed with life all around her. Finally, she

  came upon the clearing she knew so well, a large fallen

  redwood provided her a seat. She came closer, to see

  someone had been there before her. She looked to a

  pile of stones sat on a flattened curve of the fallen tree.

  “I didn’t leave you here.”

  The short grass and creeping ivy offered the

  perfect place for her to play. As she looked down, her

  bare feet were comfortable among the soft mosses.

  Each stone was fully inspected by the Unknown Girl.

  She twisted them in her fingers, the blemishes were

  her favourite part, wondering, ‘what could be inside?’

  Silently she played with the stones. Fluttering birds

  above gave no care that the Unknown Girl had visited,

  a four horned deer wandered close to the clearing.

  Small rabbits went about their business. Her attention

  strayed from the stones. A rustling bush to her left

  took her by surprise. She furrowed her small brow,

  making her way towards it. A light breeze in the

  canopy covered the songs of excitement in the camp.

  Stepping closer to the bush, she whispered, “I see

  you.” two perfectly green poplar leaves fluttered in the

  browning bush. Slowly, the leaves separated, her smile

  grew. She had a sure tone as she insisted, “I know it’s

  you.”

  The breeze in the canopy grew stronger, a

  woman’s voice carried on the breeze. “Blessed

  birthday, my Librye.”

  The Unknown Girl stepped back. “Thank you,

  Mother.” The girl knew the pooka well, she watched

  as a flash darted from the bush and landed on the

  fallen redwood.

  “Can I have my name today?” asked the Unknown

  Girl.

  Mother, as she was known, had a small brown

  humanoid body, large poplar leaf wings and a pointed

  acorn head, her skin was the complexion of soft bark.

  Instantly, Mother transformed, a sparrow now stood

  beside the stones on the log.

  “Sit with me, my Librye.”

  The girl skipped over, she sat on the fallen

  redwood beside the stones.

  “Thank you for my gift,” she seemed excessively

  grateful, “the treasures of this world,” she looked to

  the seemingly ordinary stones.

  Mother hopped closer to the Unknown Girl, her

  voice was one of power and pride. “Child,” she softly

  said, “show me your magic,” her voice was a whisper

  of wonder.

  The Unknown Girl took the stones, she twirled

  them in her fingers, feeling each one of them. Her

  eyes were lit lilac as she looked towards the stones, her

  darkening red hair flowed gracefully down her back.

  Taking a stone from the ground, she placed it in the

  palm of her hand. With her index finger she softly

  touched the top of the stone, a small spark came from

  her fingertip. Instantly the stone began to smoke,

  splitting open to reveal a bright blue geode.

  “Ah!” Mother was impressed, “this is one of the

  rarest, it is called vitriol, beautiful, but deadly when

  used properly.”

  The Unknown Girl listened to every word Mother

  said. She took another stone, cracking it open it

  revealed a bright pink geode. “I like this one,” the

  Unknown Girl gave a wide smile.

  “A symbol of love,” replied Mother, “you’re

  learning quickly.” Mother looked to the blue geode;

  she was upset. “Although, your choices in the stones,

  often concern me, Child. You first chose that which

  could destroy before that which can save.”

  The Unknown Girl was not sure what to say. “I

  suppose that sometimes, love and hate, are the same

  thing.”

  Mother transformed back; the twig-like woman

  now stood before her. “You try to be clever with your

  answers, don’t,” she warned, “I can assure you that the

  answers will come, when you need them.”

  The Unknown Girl was sad, she looked to the

  floor, an awkward tone caught her voice, “Mother,

  when will I get my name?”

  Mother walked towards her, a thousand years of

  knowledge was imbedded in her skin, the world was a

  part of her, and she was a part of it. Mother sat beside

  her.

  “A name of the pooka is given by what they are,”

  she explained, “when I came to this world, I was the

  same as you, as I grew, I became Mother, I became

  the carer of all, the nurturing spirit, I have children,

  grandchildren, great grandchildren and so on, but they

  all call me Mother, I am the Mother of my pooka, I

  am the one they turn to the most.”

  The girl was baffled. “Then what am I?”

  Mother’s dark eyes softened, her affection for the

  girl was clear. “My Librye,” she felt pity for the

  Unknown Girl, she did not know who she was, but she

  needed to know what she could be. “I call you Librye,

  the Librye is the protector, there to lead, to follow,

  through being herself,” she explained.

  The Unknown Girl narrowed her eyes, she did not

  fully understand. “Then my name is Librye?”

  Mother shook her head. Her motherly voice was

  soft and sure. “Not yet, not until you are ready to take

  the title, of Librye,” she held pride in the name which

  was much more than a simple name, “one day, you

  will be asked, and on that day, you will know. It is like

  taking the title of king or queen, chief or commander,

  it is not something you do, until you are ready.”

  A pounding drum from the camps sent birds flying

  from the trees, they both turned towards the camp.

  Mother turned to
the Unknown Girl; her eyes were

  tired, weary. “There is a celebration,” said Mother.

  The girl lowered her head. “I know, the king is

  here, my secrets told me he was coming.”

  Mother came close to the Unknown Girl. Her

  voice was a soft whisper of insistence, “Then that is

  where you need to be.” It was clear that Mother cared

  for the girl. She wanted her to live the life of a normal

  child, but in a world torn by war, normal was

  becoming harder to find. “You may find your name

  there,” she softly suggested.

  A cheering echo crept through the trees from the

  camp. Excited screams of children rang in the air, the

  king had arrived. The Unknown Girl turned back,

  uninterested, the echoes soon withered and died in

  the towering wood.

  “I don’t want to be there,” she whispered. But

  Mother was gone. The canopy covered Mother as she

  flew into the grey skies above the towering forest.

  The ancient place spoke to the Unknown Girl, she

  felt at home there, part of the world around her, and

  yet, she knew much of the truth to the world, her

  dreams, her secrets, they had told her more than any

  child should ever know. The forest shadows crept

  towards her, but she remained, inviting the darkness

  towards her, an all-consuming feeling of belonging

  comforted her in the darkness of the towering forest.

  Entering the camp was a dismal affair for the

  King’s Guard. Brenin enjoyed the visits, it gave a

  welcome break to the tedium of Cronnin. The

  children were all excited to meet him, but the guards

  were trained to be weary of all, even children. As they

  came closer to the camp, Brenin alighted his carriage.

  Waving to the children as he stepped from his

  carriage; it soon turned to utter chaos. Children

  swarmed around him, and he let them. The guards

  pulled the flailing children away from the carriage, but

  they came in their droves to get a glance at the king,

  his carriage, and the extravagance which had entered

  their dull camp.

  Sand coloured soil roads lined the way towards the

  warden’s hut, most of the streets between the

  bunkhouses were cobbled, but the hut stood alone at

  the edge of the camp, surrounded by fields. The forest

  to the north gave Madoc a view of the towering trees,