A E Johnson

by alice johnson

  passed Svend’s reins to the other guard, “rest him

  today, out tomorrow and back by the next morning.”

  Harris followed the other guard towards the side of

  the tree, a small wooden hut was a place for him to

  leave his many weapons, allowing him to keep one

  sword, his arm and leg braces, the rest were placed in

  safe keeping. The palace was a wonder to Harris, he

  had seen the palace only once before, but his eyes

  were distracted that day by another beauty, now, he

  had a chance to take in the full wonder of the Sonnin

  palace.

  The early morning chorus was in full bloom as he

  stepped inside, the sounds of the forest echoed

  through the hall. Harelda stepped from the back room

  to her throne.

  “You bring me good news.” Her voice echoed

  through the haunting hall as she stepped towards him.

  Harris bowed to her, he took her hand, kissing the

  back. “As promised, my queen,” he said with a broad

  smile, “your daughter is well,” he stood straight. The

  guards to the side stood like statues. “I hear that she

  and Brenin are getting along wonderfully.”

  “That is pleasing to hear,” she softly said as she

  walked towards the side and into her chambers, Harris

  followed. Her chambers were as perfect as he

  remembered. “I am, however, concerned,” she took a

  seat, a small man sat at the side of the desk, his quill

  was ready in his hand, a small board and parchment

  sat in the other. “Please, sit, Commander,” she invited.

  Harris kept glancing towards the small man. “Please,

  Commander, this is Borvo, my scribe, he records

  everything that is said here.”

  Harris laughed. “Might be a good time for Borvo

  to take a break,” he said with a high-pitched tone.

  Harelda twisted her eyes towards Harris. Her glare

  did not break as she said, “I think he may be right,

  take a moment, Borvo, I will call you if needed.”

  “Your majesty?” questioned Borvo with a shaking

  voice. Her eyes widened and twisted towards him with

  a threatening glare. Borvo quickly left.

  Sat silently, Harelda leant her arms on the desk,

  her fingers were tightly tangled into a ball. “So, tell me,

  Harris, how did you do it?”

  Harris leant back; he placed his lower leg over his

  lap. “I like creating mystery and wonder, but you are

  fey, it would be pointless to even try.” Her eyes

  lowered in agreement. “You will hate me for this

  though,” he said with narrowing eyes of guilt.

  “I don’t believe there is anything you could do,

  that would make me dislike you at all, Harris,” she

  assured.

  Harris did not think as he quickly replied, “What

  about your daughter?” Instantly his eyes widened, his

  mouth gaped with regret, Harelda’s eyes became a

  look of dark anger. “Apologies, I truly apologise,”

  Harris began to laugh, only making things worse for

  himself. “I didn’t do anything, I simply forget my

  place,” he said with his palms to her. “Apologies,” he

  calmly said, his smile and laughter seemed to remain.

  “Don’t even joke, Harris, I have had guards, lords

  and ladies, constantly asking about this,” she moaned

  as she sat back in her chair.

  Harris crinkled his nose. “Really?” his tone was

  high, seemingly shocked. “I mean, I know I have a

  reputation, but that is what keeps me being who I am,

  I value my balls,” he shockingly said, Harelda rolled

  her eyes towards him. “I mean it, I’m bloody terrified

  of you,” he said with a struggling breath, “I don’t mean

  to sound rude, but you’re a frightening woman.” With

  each word he said her smile seemed to twist and grow.

  “Back to the issue at hand before my bollocks join the

  acorns of your tree,” he twisted his head, “I sent a gift

  to Marrion, when I left Marrion, I was taken through

  the Grenhilda valley, I overheard someone speaking

  of an illness, in a village on the other side of the valley,

  I took it as a sign, I rode to the village, the illness was

  collected, Godfrey helped me.”

  Her eyes seemed to turn to disgust. “You released

  pestilence on the Atlanti?” her eyes widened towards

  him.

  “Not only that,” he slowly said, seeing her disgust

  turn to anger. “I sent a letter, to Enderton, I knew that

  letters were being intercepted by the Atlanti on the

  northern pass. The letter spoke of a curse, it connects

  me to a curse, the Atlanti are superstitious, they will

  soon believe I am favoured by the gods, the battle of

  Roe, will soon end.”

  “Have you even taken the time to think about

  this?” she stood, “the Atlanti are indeed superstitious,

  but my goodness, Harris, they will wreak havoc on

  these lands if it is ever found to be untrue,” she said

  with a high tone of annoyance.

  Harris stood; he paced the room. “I did what I had

  to do,” he defended, “I don’t care if the gods strike me

  down for this, two battles are over, the villages

  surrounding are safe, our armies can come home,” he

  said with a breath of hope. He leant over and placed

  his hands on the desk. “I have proven myself; my

  loyalty speaks for itself.”

  Harelda slowly sat, she looked around her empty

  desk. “And if they retaliate?”

  “Where?” asked Harris with a spiteful tone.

  “Anywhere, Harris.”

  Harris slowly sat, he leant towards her. “Then I

  will be there,” he said with a promise, “on blackest

  day, on darkest night, I will come from the shadows, I

  will be there,” he quoted, as he had many times

  before.

  “The world…is not a tavern, Harris,” she glared

  towards him.

  “The world…is my tavern,” he insisted with a

  darkness in his eyes, “I will win this, and one day, I

  will march into the villages of the Atlanti, to unite us,

  and tame the bastards,” he said with a spiteful tone.

  “What gave you this idea?” Harris sat back with his

  mouth gaping. Before he could reply, Harelda sat

  forward, “Ah,” she softly sighed, “your father.” Harris

  widened his eyes; he slowly began to shake his head.

  “Xencliff is a wonderful place, our king Waron, he is

  quite willing to tell me all he could about you, your

  father, he was ill with the black, but your home was

  taken by the Atlanti, before he had the chance to die.”

  She could see the look of rage in his eyes, soften to

  a look of sorrow. “If he has been so forthcoming,

  please, tell the rest,” he lifted his head towards her, he

  was mocking her knowledge of him.

  “You mean your sisters?” Harris sat back; he

  crossed his legs to listen to what Harelda knew. “How

  old were you, Harris? When you were forced to

  watch, as your sisters were raped and burned alive?

  When you had to
leave your father behind?”

  His eye began to fill with a tear, he had tried so

  hard to forget, he had lied for so long about what

  happened that night, trying his best to change the

  story, but it had only ever made it worse.

  “So, you know,” he nodded his head to the side, “I

  wonder what else you can tell me of my life,

  Harelda?”

  The room had succumbed to a darkness, a strange

  magic filled the room, as he sat, cold.

  “Your mother speaks of you with great pride,” she

  softly said.

  Harris shot from the chair and turned in the room.

  “No!” he shouted, “I will not do this!” His eyes

  widened with rage, “I came here, to update you, you

  have your update.” Harris headed towards the door.

  “Sit!” she called to him; her voice of overwhelming

  rage shook Harris, “I still have room on my tree,” she

  warned. Harelda sat forward, her hands caught at the

  front of her on the desk. Harris stood by the door. “I

  will say it, only once, sit!”

  Harris slowly walked to the chair and sat; his eyes

  glared towards her. “Don’t speak of her, ever,” he

  pleaded.

  “What she did, Harris, you will one day have to

  forgive,” her powerful voice of solace came from

  Harelda as a mother. “What she was forced to do, she

  will never forgive herself, there was no right or wrong

  choice, she did what she had to do, to save you, and

  your brother.”

  “Do you even know?” he sat forward, “do you

  even know what she did?” he asked through gritted

  teeth.

  Slowly, Harelda nodded. “She sacrificed her girls,

  her daughters, to save her sons, knowing that you had

  more chance of escaping, if the Atlanti barbarians who

  took your home, were busy with your sisters, it gave

  you a chance to escape,” she softly said.

  “It should’ve been her,” he whimpered, he held

  his hand to his face, wiping a falling tear, “for years,

  that woman plagued me, she left my father, my sisters

  to die, in that place, then she marries a fucking king,

  who already had eight wives, why would he need

  another?”

  “Because your mother was desperate,” snapped

  Harelda, “she did what any mother in her position

  would do, she had to choose to see her children, her

  babies, die, so she could save the youngest two, your

  sisters sacrificed themselves, for you and your

  brother.”

  “Adella and Allie,” Harris softly said, “I oddly

  remember them, stood at the top of the cliff close to

  the farm, every so often, on good days, I still hear

  them, calling me, to come and play, I was eight,” he

  softly said, “no one knows the truth, I remember, me

  and Odalis, camping in the woods with my mother,

  she sheltered us under the Tharacka trees, to keep us

  safe, the next village was a day’s ride, my father liked

  being secluded, away from the big villages and towns.”

  His eyes filled with a soft reminiscence as he glared

  towards the desk, he fiddled with his fingers in front of

  him. “The day I arrived at the palace, was the last time

  I spoke to her, I was nine,” he lifted his head to

  Harelda. “It’s been over twenty years since I last spoke

  to her,” his voice was broken, “it will be twenty more,

  before I speak to her again,” he sat back, “when

  Odalis left for war, do you know what she said to

  him?” his eyes narrowed towards Harelda. She

  remained silently sitting, listening. “Go,” he whispered,

  “she told him, to go, he was twenty, I was twelve, I had

  eight years to wait before I could find him, I believed

  that when I did, he would already be dead.”

  “But he was alive, and you killed the black beast,”

  she softly said, “Harris, your life, it reads like so many

  others.” She reached forward placing her open hands

  on the desk, she turned them over, he placed his

  hands in hers, “that is all I needed to know, your

  recklessness, it can be forgiven, by me at least,” she

  softly smiled towards him, “you remind me of Taranis,

  no matter what was thrown his way, anger, rage, that

  would guide him, ultimately, it was the black that took

  his life as well.” Her eyes filled with sorrow as she

  thought of her husband. “Your plan has worked so

  far.” She held his hands tighter, “well played,

  commander.”

  Her lustful eyes confused Harris, he sat back,

  releasing her hands. “Well,” he awkwardly said, having

  gazed into her eyes for far too long, “I have given my

  update, and more, is anything else needed of me, my

  queen?”

  “Please, call me Harelda, when not in the

  company of others, your time here will be short.” Her

  whispering breath was confusing to Harris, he could

  sense a passion from her. “I only wish to make it as

  enjoyable as possible.”

  Slowly she stood. Making her way to the door, she

  opened it for Harris to leave. Once into the hall, he

  gave a breath of relief, and glanced back to Harelda,

  still standing at the door, glaring towards his figure, as

  he left towards the palace grounds, she bit her lip and

  watched him leave up the stairs.

  Borvo scurried towards her. “Anything to report?”

  he asked in his shaking high voice.

  “In the office, Borvo!” she spat. Having blocked

  her view of the commander leaving, her mood

  suddenly changed.

  The bright forests of Sonnin offered Harris

  nothing, the soft breeze seemed dull on his skin, his

  stomach felt twisted and empty, a hole had been left

  by the loss of his family and now he was feeling it

  more than ever. Harris walked from the palace gates,

  he needed a place of tranquillity, the forest offered

  enough areas of peaceful contemplation, but they did

  not seem fit for Harris.

  He left from the east of the palace tree and

  towards the stables. Taking Svend he rode towards the

  Eastern ridge. The lands began to darken with an

  overcasting of rain. A daunting temple took over the

  landscape. He left Svend outside, on the edge of the

  woodland. Sharma’s wandered through the temple in

  their white robes, Druids, the highest of the temple

  keepers, who had all dedicated their lives to the gods,

  swarmed the temples inside, silently they went about

  their day, serving the poor and needy, those unable to

  care for themselves and those without family.

  As Harris stepped inside, a woman, dressed in

  white robes walked towards him, her hands were

  covered by her long white sleeves.

  “Sir, weapons are not allowed in the temple,” she

  softly said, her voice remained with her, the large hall

  offered no echoes, “I see you are not from this area,”

  her smile held, her grey hair was covered with a large

  white hood from her robes, a small silver tie around<
br />
  her waist held a small silver coin purse. “What brings

  you here?” her voice was deep, a haunting tone of

  peace seemed to shake Harris.

  “My past,” his deep voice rumbled through the

  temple. He began to remove his belt, placing it on the

  pews at the side, he walked down the temple isle and

  towards the alter.

  “I feel as though you’re in the right place,” again

  her soft voice offered no echo. The only footsteps that

  could be heard were from Harris.

  To the front of the temple was a long alter, which

  held a large metal votive candle display, thousands of

  candles were lit, lighting the walls of the alter, a soft

  orange glow hit her face as she looked to Harris,

  holding the same peaceful smile.

  “My name is Lorena,” she turned to the alter, “I

  am the high Druid here.”

  “Harris Bearwood,” Harris introduced as he

  looked to the candles.

  “The Commander,” she softly said, her smile

  seemed to grow, “I assume your title will be left at the

  door?”

  Harris smiled, his eyes were lit by the burning

  candles, their tender flickering flames hummed as they

  burned. “Of course, also, my reputation,” he mocked.

  “Reputation is welcome here,” she assured, she

  turned to the side and took a taper for Harris.

  As she handed it to him, he looked to her, his lips

  parted as he glared towards the taper. “I don’t need

  that, thank you,” he softly said.

  She seemed distressed; her deep voice only

  deepened. “You did not morn them?”

  “Who?” asked Harris with raised brows.

  She gave a slight laugh, his misunderstanding

  seemed sweet to her. “Those who you’ve lost.”

  “There aren’t enough candles on Cammbour.” His

  eyes spun to the candles. He felt their warm glow

  against his face. “Besides, it wouldn’t bring them

  back.” Harris turned, he headed towards the front

  pews, Lorena followed behind him.

  Lorena asked with a tone of wonder, “You are

  here for comfort, but you refuse to embrace it?” She

  took a seat beside Harris as he sat. “Why is that?”

  Harris leant down, he caught his hands in front of

  him and rested his elbows on his lap. “I don’t come

  here for comfort, I come here to remember,” he

  turned his head to her, “my sisters, they wanted to