A E Johnson

by alice johnson

  hand reached to the large brass doorknob, slowly she

  turned it. The door clunked open. As she stepped

  inside, it looked completely abandoned. A large room

  with dusty wooden floors, old timbers stood against

  the walls. The room was awash with spiderwebs and

  dust. To the centre of the room was a wide towering

  staircase reaching to the top of the tower. The

  splintered wood seemed unfinished, it seemed as

  though they had forgotten about the tower, having no

  use for it, it had been left.

  Climbing the large timber staircase, Librye kept

  her head up. She kept looking to the wide-open space

  to the top. As she reached the top of the stairs a large

  room awaited her. Again, it looked completely

  abandoned, the room was surrounded by large oriel

  windows, each one seemed to be void of any glass or

  shelter from the elements, as a result, nature had

  slowly started to reclaim the tower; small weeds and

  grasses had begun to grow between the floorboards.

  Making her way to one of the windows, Librye was

  baffled.

  ‘Why would it be abandoned?’ she wondered as

  she walked to the window. The people looked like

  ants; she could no longer see the palace courtyard.

  The furthest her eye could see was to the edge of the

  eastern gate, she could see the watch towers either side

  of the gates and distanced along the city wall.

  She explored every part of the tower, the only

  furniture she could find was a large desk at the back,

  pushed against the wall, a large chair, gilded gold and

  covered with a green plush back and seat, the dust had

  turned the chair a dull green and dark golden colour.

  Piles of wooden floorboards covered the desk. A pile

  of sconces was in the corner of the room, a large

  golden chandelier was beside the window.

  Librye had explored as much as she could of the

  empty room. The window would serve as a perfect

  place to talk to the stars. The room had served its

  purpose.

  As she began to leave, she heard a whisper from

  the room; she turned to see a breeze travelling through

  the centre, a whirl of wind brought some leaf’s from

  outside, before making its way back out of the window.

  Her secrets had spoken to her.

  She needed to stay and explore more. Slowly she

  made her way to the wall at the side of the stairs. Her

  fingertips felt the stone wall in front of her, the stones

  began to signal the shape of a door, another hidden

  passageway had revealed itself to her.

  Making her way in, the dark and uninviting secret

  room was small, dusty, and filled with years of built-up

  dirt and mess. A long narrow staircase led to a small

  corridor; she ventured further, eventually the ceiling

  became low, the walk was narrow.

  The palace had revealed another secret to Librye,

  finally she had found a way to get a full view of the

  council halls as she sat in a small crevice, tucked neatly

  in the rafters above the council hall. Chaos was in the

  hall that day, Ryan, Kailron, Gurrand and Kean tried

  their best to create order, but it did not seem to be

  working, the hate of Brenin’s travels lit the air. Talk of

  betrayal rang in the voices of the council.

  “He must be stopped!” a councillor called.

  “His need to travel is threatening this war!” called

  another, “If he does not stop then Marrion will be lost

  to us!” His call was met with a rumble of approval.

  Librye sat for hours and listened to the loathsome

  council. They spoke of every one of Brenin’s actions

  from years past.

  A call of a bell rang in the hall of the council, it was

  time for them to dismiss for the day, however some of

  them remained sat on the back benches. She could

  hear their whispers but could not hear their words, she

  tried as hard as she could, she was too far away.

  As one of them stood she heard a faint whisper,

  “Soon, this will all be over, a throne without an heir, is

  just a seat, the council will resume control,” said the

  councillor. Her body prickled with cold shivers; the

  words seemed to wake something in Librye she did

  not know she had. She hated them, and the east tower

  had provided her with a reason to.

  She did not know hate, she was far too young and

  innocent, yet, her strange mind allowed her to feel it.

  Each book she had read, spoke of the Atlanti as

  though they were animals, it spoke of the fey and

  feymen as innocent keepers of peace. Her open

  mindedness had searched to find good in all, and yet,

  with a council grasped by greed and betrayal, she was

  struggling to find the balance between innocence and

  hate. Her twisted mind, her peculiar secrets had

  shown her more of the world that any child should

  ever have seen.

  Chapter Eight Want and Need

  wake in her bed, Branwen glared towards

  the grey stone ceiling of her bed chambers.

  A She had managed to spend the day avoiding

  Harris, however, as she lay in her bed she listened to

  the silence in the room, her window was open, a dull

  sound of clanking armour was all she could hear. She

  had gotten used to the smell of the camp by now, but

  it still seemed to bring an eerie feel of reality to the

  room.

  A dusting of sweat graced her brow, it was a hot

  night in Marrion. Drifting from the bed, she made her

  way towards the window, her stomach felt empty. Her

  thick, long cotton nightgown flowed across the warm

  stone floor. The darkness in the room was dimly lit by

  the bright moon outside, nothing but the sound of the

  busy camps met her. She hoped to hear a sound from

  Harris’s room, but nothing, she could hear nothing.

  Having spent the day in the kitchens at the centre

  of castle Marrion, she had again seen the woman

  return to Harris’s chambers. Branwen could not

  understand her frustration, she could not sleep. She

  knew what Harris was doing next door, and it enraged

  her. She knew she had no right to even feel any form

  of jealousy towards that woman, but she did, she was

  angry with Harris.

  The blistering sun beat down on the fields in

  Marrion, a battle had been raging since the early dawn.

  Harris was relentless, he needed to win Marrion back.

  War was a game to him, he enjoyed being hailed as a

  great commander. Another game Harris enjoyed

  playing, was far more dangerous than war.

  Readying herself for the day, Branwen stood by a

  floor length mirror in the corner of the room, naked.

  Judging herself constantly, she did not know if she was

  pleasing to a man’s eye. Many men had tried to seduce

  her, but she would shun them all. Harris was different,

  he had not tried to trick her, his seduction was clear

  and honest.

  Branwen dressed, she chose a long red fey dress,

  silk a
nd satin was the choice of the fey, she loved

  bright colours, hemmed with golden trim her dress

  would have cost more than most of the soldier’s

  armour. Slowly, Branwen opened the door to Harris’s

  room. She was met with nothing. The sun belted

  through his chambers, the air was stuffy and warm,

  dust seemed to have been sprayed across the air as it

  danced in the sun beams.

  Making her way inside she called for him,

  “Harris!” She was met with a silent room.

  Getting to work, Branwen began to clear his room,

  the sheets of the bed were in a terrible state, sprawled

  across the floor clothes seemed to have been thrown

  carelessly across the room. Slowly she cleared and

  cleaned the room, hoping for a sign of Harris, he was

  nowhere in sight.

  As the afternoon lingered, Branwen emerged from

  his room with a pile of laundry to take to the kitchens

  which were in the west wing of the castle. The

  courtyard outside was bustling with the comings and

  goings of soldiers. Making her way down the outside

  stone stairs overlooking the courtyard, Branwen

  looked for someone familiar to her.

  She eventually spotted one of the chiefs of Harris.

  Kyla quickly made her way back from battle, storming

  across the courtyard calling for arms.

  “At them!” she called, “move now!” she ordered.

  Branwen made her way down the stairs, dropping

  the basket she pushed past the chaos of the soldiers as

  they quickly made their way to arms. “Kyla!” she

  called. She waved trying to get her attention amidst the

  chaos. “Kyla!”

  Kyla turned to see Branwen awkwardly trying to

  get to her. Kyla was a young chief, one of the youngest.

  Long blond hair, and a well-built figure made her a

  formidable fighter. She was considered as pretty, but

  she was far too frightening to receive any seductive

  passes.

  “Branwen!” She pushed past the soldiers as they

  made their way towards the castle gate. “What are you

  doing out?” her concern was understandable, she

  knew Branwen’s title kept her well behind the battle

  lines. As she reached Branwen, she could see the

  worry on Branwen’s distressed face. “What’s

  happened?”

  Branwen’s eyes flickered through the camp, she

  felt panicked. Her mouth curled down. “Have you

  seen Harris?”

  Kyla’s mouth curled with disapproval. “Not you as

  well?” Her shoulders and posture dropped. “Oh,

  Branwen, no.”

  Branwen shook her head, she regained focus.

  “No!” she shrilled. “I just want to know where he is,

  his knee is still bad,” her concern grew, “he can barely

  breathe properly still.” Her panic seemed to worry

  Kyla. Branwen could see Kyla’s growing concern.

  “What is it?”

  Kyla was uncomfortable. “I’m afraid…” she

  struggled for words, “he’s on the field.” Utterly guilt-

  ridden, Kyla tried to defend his actions. “He is needed

  out there, we’re falling short.”

  Branwen’s faced turned to anger, trepidation and

  pure hate. “Sword.” Kyla furrowed her brow. Branwen

  quickly blinked, she was not thinking clearly. “Kyla,

  give me your sword, I’m Sonnin fey, I was trained in

  the fields.”

  Kyla gave a smile of pure delight. “You’ll need

  more than a sword,” she bit her lip, wondering what

  size Branwen would need, “with me.”

  The smell of spilt blood filled the air, mangled

  metal and arrows protruded from the ground. Squeals

  from horses were deafening, the calling soldiers were

  frantically trying to make sense of the chaos. A

  chiming of metal filled the air, along with calls and

  cries of pain. Soldiers broken bodies lie in the red-hot

  mud, calling, crying and dying, the dead lie in the

  chaos of battle. Nothing made sense, apart from the

  cries of Harris. Always at the front, was the

  commander, always with a plan, more brutal than the

  last. Slicing, gashing and relentlessly thrusting his blade

  into the oncoming enemy. He was careless in battle,

  his own life mattered for nothing.

  The chaos of battle rang on, Harris heard the bang

  of a drum; standing on the back of his loyal horse,

  Svend, his balance was exceptional. He looked to the

  plateau. He could see the faint outline of an army

  stood along the side. The sun was blazing hot.

  Harris shouted, as loud as his voice would carry,

  “Let’s see how hot the bastards like it!” He gave a

  maniacal laugh before he turned to the army behind

  him, “light them up!” His words were carried by the

  army who kept calling to the back. The Sonnin and

  Cronnin army moved as quickly as they could, back

  towards the camps.

  From the plateau came a deafening bang, followed

  by a terrifying crackle. It was something that the

  Atlanti were not expecting. Harris called his army to,

  “Fall back!” Frantically they ran, dead horses and

  soldiers lie in the mangled remains of the battle

  ground, among them were those barely clinging onto

  life. Harris carelessly rode over them, sitting back

  down onto Svend, he stopped him and turned. A

  beauty of battle was before him, blue dust glistened in

  the blazing hot Marrion sun, gliding through the air it

  began to make its way down from the cliff, towards the

  Atlanti, who had begun their celebration too soon. As

  the blue mist reached them it clung to their clothes.

  Blazing arrows fell from the cliff plateau. The army

  turned to flames. The battle belonged to Cronnin that

  day.

  The mist began to reach closer towards Harris.

  Something seemed off, his senses were always right.

  Looking to the raging flames as they hurled towards

  him, he saw an outline, a soldier stood, fully dressed in

  shining silver armour.

  “Move!” he called, but the soldier did not appear

  to hear him. Glaring towards the flames in front,

  wanting to run but seemingly frozen to the spot. Harris

  panicked; he had seen enough die that day. He pulled

  hard on Svend’s reins, desperately, Svend raced

  towards the soldier stood alone in the chaotic field.

  The flames raced towards them but so did Svend.

  Harris could see they were uninjured and could be

  saved. Grinding to a halt by the side of the soldier

  Harris again called, angrily, “Get on!” The soldier held

  out her hand, it was a woman. Harris grabbed her

  hand and violently swung her onto the back of Svend.

  The flames roared across the field towards them,

  Svend ran as fast as he could. The screams of those

  left in the field as the fires caught them plagued them

  both as they made their way back to camp.

  Riding towards the barbican, Harris was furious.

  The guards at the gatehouse ran towards the

  courtyard, they could feel his anger. Even tho
ugh the

  battle was won, he nearly lost a soldier, and his own

  life.

  Svend slowed, but Harris turned and threw the

  soldier from him, she thudded to the ground, a clatter

  of armour rang as she rested in the soil. Jumping

  down, Harris quickly made his way towards the

  cowering soldier on the ground, she was terrified.

  “What in the almighty name of fucks was that?” he

  screamed at her. She covered her face with her arm as

  she lay in the dry dirt. “You nearly had us both killed!”

  The soldier remained terrified on the floor. Harris

  reached down to remove her visor. “Answer me!” he

  yelled. As he lifted her visor to reveal her face, an

  instant look of horror caught his face. “Branwen?”

  Shaking in terror, Branwen remained on the

  ground. “Apologies,” she sobbed, she slowly shook

  her head, “I meant no harm,” she cried.

  A crowd had gathered, they looked to Branwen,

  quivering on the ground. At one point they had all

  seen Branwen in the camp, helping those in need, her

  actions were inexplicable. Harris turned to see the

  gathering crowd.

  “About your business!” he shouted. He helped

  Branwen stand. His forehead creased. “You look

  ridiculous.” His anger had melted, he had frightened

  Branwen. Softly he asked, “Why were you out there?”

  Still sobbing, Branwen seemed unable to look at

  Harris. “I didn’t know where you were,” she sobbed,

  “you shouldn’t be out there, Harris,” she struggled to

  catch her breath. Harris held her close as she

  continued to cry. “I didn’t know what to do.” He

  removed her helmet completely, throwing it to the

  ground. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Harris was speechless, he did not know what to

  think. All the women he had been with, but not one of

  them would have risked their life for him, the way that

  Branwen had, and he had never even had her in his

  bed.

  Whispers and rumours began to surround the

  camp, Harris helped Branwen up the stone stairs and

  into the castle. He did not say a word as he took her

  into his chambers.

  Sat on the bed, Branwen began to calm. She began

  to remove the heavy armour. It clanked on the floor as

  she threw it down. Harris paced the room. Still

  covered in the rage of battle.