by A. D. Green
As they passed through it the holdstead loomed above them rising up several floors. Other buildings hidden by its bulk slowly came into view as their cart trundled round its girth to stop outside a large double door.
A muffled baying of hounds sounded from inside. Ash and Snow howled back in response until Nihm gave a whistle to quiet them. One of the large doors opened and a man emerged, an old hound peeking out around his knee. The dog barked at them but didn’t leave the shelter of the doorway.
“Weesht now girl,” the man laid a hand on the hound’s head and gentled her as he squinted through the rain. “Marron, is that you? By the trinity what’s possessed you to be about in this weather?”
“Well met Albert. Would you mind if I lay my cart up in your barn? I'll explain everything once we're out of this rain,” Marron replied, her face grim. She was cold, wet and weary from travel.
“Of course, of course, I'm forgetting me manners. Let us get me coat and I’ll open her up for you.” Albert was a man of late middle years, hair receded and grey, but he had a warm face and a broad smile. Marron liked him.
“Who is it Bert.” A voice called from inside before a small plump woman appeared in the entrance. “Why, is that you Marron?” she answered herself, “And Nihm by goodness! Bert what are you doing standing a gawping like that? Give the lasses a hand, go on with you.” She turned to Marron and Nihm. “Get your cart in the barn Marron love. Bert will help, won’t you Bert?”
Bert had already pulled his long boots on and winked at Nihm. “Right ya are Hildi.” He shrugged into a long coat and Hildi passed him a covered lantern, the flame guttering and dancing as the wind found it. Stepping into the rain he trudged across to the barn. A small beam secured its doors and Nihm jumped down to help.
“Here let me get that,” Nihm pushed on the beam, sliding it back.
“Ah thank eh kindly,” Bert said as they grabbed a door each and pulled them wide.
“Right ya are Marron.” Bert waved her forward as he marched in ahead, hooking the lantern to a barn support.
Marron snapped the reins and the ponies moved off, eager to get out of the rain. It was a large barn and Marron breathed in the familiar and comforting smell of straw and animals.
The snort of a horse sounded and an old draught mare poked her head over a stable door eying the new arrivals suspiciously. Bert gave her nose an affectionate rub as he walked by opening up an empty stall for the ponies.
A tall figure appeared at the barn’s entrance. “Everythin’ alright Da?”
“Yeh fine, look Marron and Nihm are ‘ere,” Bert said.
“Marron?” The man strode into the barn. “Bit early int year for market Marron, and if you don’t mind my sayin, pretty foul weather to be travellin’ in ta boot.” As he stepped into the light Nihm saw it was John Encoma, the eldest of Albert’s three sons; tall and rangy where his father was short and stout.
“Aye, well I'm sorry to say I bring worrying news, but before I say more let me get the ponies settled,” Marron replied.
“We found uraks in the forest me and Da,” Nihm blurted, as she slipped bit and bridle from one of the ponies.
“Uraks you say.” John stroked his chin then shook his head. “Sounds like nowt but tall tales. Ain’t never heard of no uraks in these parts. Tell the truth I’m thinking they’re nowt but stories, like the bards tell’em.”
Marron glared at her daughter tutting whilst Nihm, pretending not to see her displeasure, bent to release the pony from its traps.
“Well as I said, it's a conversation best had later,” Marron grumped. “Nihm can finish up here. Get the ponies rubbed down, watered and fed, if that’s alright Albert.”
Bert looked at the two women thoughtfully. “Aye, that suits me fine, John’ll stay and give a hand won’t you lad.”
“Sure Da, we’ll be in soon.” John, oblivious to the sudden tension between mother and daughter, had already moved to the other pony and started unbuckling the harness.
“Thanks’ Albert, we’re grateful for your hospitality,” Marron said, as they stepped out into the rain.
The holdstead was ancient, its past obscure. It had been built in a time when living on the edge of the wilds was dangerous and conflicts commonplace. For Marron, who was schooled in her histories, the building held much fascination. She had long suspected it was not built as a holdstead but merely repurposed as such.
Large and circular the hold was easily sixty paces across. It was home to several families who, Marron knew from previous visits, all lived on the second and third floors. The ground floor, where she stood now, was dominated by a large open area and was the hub of the little community. Here the families would meet, eat and discuss hold business. Rooms abutted the exterior wall, including a large kitchen and larder and several workshops.
It was a busy time of year and most of the holdsteaders worked preparing goods and produce for the upcoming harvest festival. It gave the place a vitality and sense of communion that Marron found she missed.
The holdstead was warm and the people friendly. Visitors were rare in these parts and many in the hold came to talk to Marron. They were neighbours and as such greetings and re-acquaintances were made. Marron too was considered the closest thing to a physiker they had outside of Thorsten and she had, in times gone by, been called upon for her healing skills. Now was no different and she soon found herself busy advising people on all manner of ailments and injuries.
It was full dark, the hearth fire crackling and sharing its warmth, when the community of families gathered to share the evening meal. Afterwards, at a word from Albert, the children cleared away the tables before being sent away.
Albert rapped his knuckles on the table for attention and a quiet hush descended on the room. Nihm’s earlier assertion in the barn had been whispered about and most waited expectantly to hear what Marron had to say.
Standing Marron surveyed the room, seeing eager anticipation on many faces and curiosity on those few that had missed the rumour mill. Deciding a direct approach was best she began.
“A few days back my husband Darion and Nihm came across evidence of an urak scouting party. Darion has gone to track them and hopefully find out where they are, how many and maybe get an idea of what they're about.”
Uproar followed this statement and after a bit Albert rapped his knuckles again calling for silence. As the noise subsided he turned to Marron.
“Everyone has heard tell of uraks and their savagery but they’ve never been seen in these parts. They're a bard’s tale from days of old, told to scare children and earn some coin,” Albert Encoma said, to the murmur and agreement of all there. His tone was measured, his eyes pained at having to refute Marron.
“If you knew your history Albert Encoma you would know these were once their lands,” Marron snapped back, immediately regretting her tone. She was tired and fearful and not used to being spoken down to and she hadn’t expected it of her host. In a conciliatory tone she continued. “It’s true they’ve not been seen for hundreds of years but they are here now and I assure you they are very real.”
“Forgive Bert, he don’t like shocks and he meant no offense Marron,” Hildi interjected. “Maybe before folks say things they oughtn’t you can tell us this evidence.”
“Yeah, you have a head to scare us with?” a voice quipped from the back of the gathering. It was James Encoma, Albert’s youngest son.
“No head, just this.” Marron bent and drew the urak arrow out of her pack and explained how Darion had found it and the dead forest bear.
“Darion and I are both learned in our histories and skilled with the bow. I tell you this is an urak arrow. It was not crafted in these lands and the wood it is fashioned from does not grow in these parts. This arrow was made in the north, past the Torns,” she said.
“Thank you Marron. What you’ve said is worrying and it’s right you tell us. It's what any good neighbour would do.” Albert kept a neutral tone. “You’ll pass your suspicions to the Blac
k Crow when you get to Thorsten, I’m sure. Lord Richard will know what to do, probably send his guard north to investigate.”
Marron stared at Albert unable to keep the consternation from her face. “By the time I get to Thorsten and if I manage to see Lord Richard it will be at best several days before he can organise anything. Please Albert, I don’t think you can risk waiting that long,” she implored.
“What exactly are you asking Marron? That we abandon the holding?” He saw the answer in her eyes. “Preposterous! You want us to leave?” His voice was rising and again Hildi laid a calming hand over her husband’s.
“It’s hard to hear what you don’t want. I understand your worry but that’s exactly what you must do.” Marron knew what she asked but speaking it out loud made it real. Before it was an abstract, a warning to convey and people would make the right decision. Now though a hollow dread crept over her heart as she realised hers was a message doomed to fail.
There was uproar in the room. Marron bowed her head, knowing she hadn’t handled things as well as she might have. There was a rapping of knuckles as Albert banged again on the table until quiet was finally restored.
“I hear your warning but I don’t thank you for it.” Albert shook his head. “This is our lives, our home. We have animals to care for and a harvest to bring in and you ask us to abandon all this for a bear and an arrow. I mean no offense Marron but who are you ta tell us these things?”
Marron was torn and took a moment to gather her thoughts. In the end she did what she always did. What she thought was right.
“You’ve known Darion and me for many years and I suspect some know already… we are of the Order. We were sent here to watch, and to guard. Well we have watched and we’ve guarded and I tell you now the urak are real and they are here. You’d be fools not to heed me.” She looked at Albert her eyes beseeching him. “Please Albert, I know things. You have to trust that what I say is true.”
They looked at her in shocked silence, even Nihm, until a sneering laugh broke the moment.
“So you belong to the Order. Remind me again but aren’t they outlawed in these parts by the High Lord?” It was James Encoma again, shouting from the back of the room. “You’d best leave afore you get us all hanged.”
Albert stood and with a loud bang slammed his palm down hard on the table making them all jump. “Hold your tongue boy.” Albert’s normally jovial face contorted in anger as his voice reverberated around the room.
James looked shocked. “I’m sorry Da, but it’s truth.”
“Truth it may be but that don’t make it right. Now sit and keep your trap closed. If’n I wish to hear from you I'll ask.” His eyes bored into James who shrank back down into his seat. Satisfied Albert turned back to Marron.
“Please forgive my boy. His mouth runs away with him sometimes but he means well and has spoken a truth.” Albert sat. Hildi patted his arm before addressing Marron.
“Most here remember the good the Order brought. When they moved freely in these parts and championed the people but with all due respect you’ve been gone too long.” She paused and gathered herself. “Maybe there are urak but we cannot just abandon everything we are, our home, our livelihoods. This is all we are and ever will be. You ask too much. Expect too much.”
Marron nodded her understanding, saddened by it. “Thank you Hildi. We’ve been gone too long, I agree, though that was not of our choosing but I’m here now and I tell you the urak are coming and they care not a fig for you or yours. They'll kill you, your children and your grandchildren. They'll take your holding, your crops and animals and there will be no more Encomas here. That is the future if you stay.”
Hildi trembled at Marron’s words and it was Albert’s turn to put his hand over hers in comfort. “Your warning is dire indeed Marron. You’re words frightening. I'll think on what you’ve told me,” Albert said.
“Nihm and I will be off at first light. There’s no time to wait,” Marron pressed.
“Then I’ll make my decision by first light on the morrow,” Albert said with finality.
Marron and Nihm took their leave and headed to the barn leaving the families to debate her words. No one would meet their eyes as they left and many faces looked troubled. A bed would be found for them in the holding should they wish it but instinctively Marron knew the holdsteaders needed space from her, time to discuss and digest what she’d told them. The barn would do them just fine.
“What do you think they’ll do?” whispered a subdued Nihm. She was shocked at what she’d heard.
“They'll talk a lot but I think they'll stay. They do not want to believe me and in truth our evidence is pretty thin,” Marron said.
“You and Darion are of the Order! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Oh Nihm, I’ll explain, but not now. I feel all wrung out. Let’s check the ponies and the dogs and get some sleep.”
Chapter 8
: Campfire
The ilfanum moved with quiet purpose through the forest. There were a score of them, heavily armed but lightly dressed in corded skirts and supple flaxen cloaks that shimmered and blended with their surroundings. It was pitch dark under the forest canopy with the three moons hidden behind cloud but the darkness was no barrier to them. The smell of a campfire drew them on like moths to a flame.
A raven swooped out of the night landing on an outstretched arm. “Maarriiika,” it cawed.
“Well done Bezal,” R’ell crooned, feeding the bird a rarebit from a pouch on his belt before launching the raven into the air. He signalled the others onwards.
R’ell was cautious. Why would M’rika set a camp fire this close to the river? The Fassarunewadaick or Fossa, as man named it, marked the edge of Da’Mari. No ilf would draw attention by lighting a fire unless the need was dire. He snorted with derision at the thought of man. So impatient and disrespectful, too lazy even to speak the river’s true name. The ilf shook his head clearing his thoughts and concentrated on the path ahead.
An ilf materialised ahead and signalled him. She was umphathi, a warden, like all of them. Her signing told R’ell she’d found M’rika. Leaping ahead the muted glow of a camp fire became visible. Stepping into the light of its dying embers R’ell froze unprepared for what he found.
M’rika lay curled into the body of a large, mostly naked man, a man with fur on its face. Strangely, the rest of his body was bare containing only a sparse covering. R’ell wondered if that was why humans clothed themselves. He’d never been this close to one before nor seen them without their coverings on.
The man’s clothes lay close to the dying warmth of the fire, a faint steam rolling off them. R’ell cocked his head considering.
Clearly they had crossed the Fassrunewadaick and M’rika looked to have suffered some hardship but why was the man here? That he trespassed on Da’Mari meant death. That he created fire on Da’Mari meant death. That he held M’rika, a Visok and K’raal, meant death. The man was thrice dead for his transgressions and R’ell’s blood boiled just looking at him. His anger was overwhelming until a sudden calm stole over him, clearing his mind and quieting his blood. Da’Mari had spoken.
The other umphathi were gathered behind and R’ell sensed their outrage at the human, felt it as he’d felt his own only moments before. R’ell signalled them to step back but, defiant, they held their ground. R’ell turned to face them with violence in his stance. He signed once more, his message unequivocal. After the briefest of pauses they responded, one by one melting into the forest until only he was left.
R’ell surveyed the scene. The man’s coverings had clearly been placed to dry and were damp still to the touch. His only weapons a dagger and sword, poor quality by ilfanum standards, lay next to the man within easy reach. R’ell removed them.
Crouching he studied M’rika. She was breathing easily but looked pale and cold. Her right ankle was swollen and one side of her face was marked with a dark bruise. She had numerous cuts and abrasions on arms and legs, her leaf skin torn
and broken in places. Life blood had dried, hardening to a dark green colour where it had leaked out. She would live.
The man was harder to read. Da’Mari had passed down the knowledge of human’s but this was the first R’ell had seen up close. He patrolled the forest to the east of the Fassarunewadaick and tracked any human that wandered too close but it was always from a distance and in cover. R’ell thought him familiar but it was hard to tell, they all looked the same. Like M’rika he too looked cold, shivered with it despite the proximity of the dying fire.
Rising to his feet R’ell walked around the camp tracking the route they had taken from the Fassarunewadaick. His mind working through what he saw. The man had dragged M’rika from the river carrying her to the little clearing. He made a fire somehow, a puzzle for later, and had set his clothes to drying. Satisfied with his assessment R’ell wandered back past the outlying watchers to the clearing.
He stood a while looking down at M’rika and the man, considering. Reaching a decision he unclasped his cloak and, whipping it through the air, floated it down over the prone pair. Gathering fallen leaves he fed them to the fire until it burst back to life, then placed twigs and dead branches over it, building it up until its crackling warmth suffused the camp.
Dawn was not far off. R’ell sat on his haunches and waited.
Chapter 9
: Friend or Foe
Awareness returned slowly. He felt warmth and the caress of cloak against skin. Through the fugue of his mind he wondered at that; had he covered them with a cloak? He saw the bright glow and heard the crackle of the fire, everything else was black. He vaguely recalled the ilf and felt her body warm and tight against his own, could feel her breathing. He drifted off.