For a long time I thought the innocent girl I was disappeared that night. A harsh laugh escapes as I remember how naïve I was and still am. I didn’t expect Cory's attack and wasn't ready for it. The little rat waited until I was exhausted and at a disadvantage. Slimy coward. My gut always told me he was trouble. Never again will I ignore my instincts. Zane’s arrival was fortuitous to say the least.
My lips curve into a smile, the threat he made to Cory still ringing in my ears. Zane reminds me so much of my older brothers — all three exude strength and kindness. A strange flutter passes through my stomach at the mere thought of Zane. I'm glad my sisters spent so much time fussing with my appearance, ignoring my nasty remarks and outrage.
"You sure he'll be there tonight?" I ask, gazing at Celeste, clasping my shaking hands together to hide my excitement.
"If he isn't, I'll go to the inn and drag him there," Celeste says laughing. She seems thrilled with my infatuation.
"What do you think of your travel clothes?' Brinda asks, her wavering tone betraying her nervousness.
It's obvious she spent many hours sewing these. The blue flowers embroidered on the hem of the skirt appear so real I wouldn't be surprised if one fluttered to the floor. Grabbing my dagger from the bed, I buckle the sheath around my right thigh thrilled the skirt is just long enough to conceal it.
"They're fantastic," I say, still admiring the fine stitching and the soft fabrics. "This velvet bodysuit is the most comfortable thing I've ever worn… you've been holding out on us."
She grins at the compliment.
"I wanted you to look the part, you know," she says, her words bubbling out in her excitement. "The brave maiden setting out on a dangerous journey to save not only her own town but the entire continent of Meliar. It's so romantic."
"It's not romantic until you throw in a handsome prince," I reply sighing.
"How about a handsome mercenary instead?" Celeste asks with a sly wink.
"Yeah, like that would ever happen… hi Zane, you probably make bags of gold for each mission, but here's a silver coin, will you accompany me to our deaths?"
As the words leave my mouth I regret them. The light mood is gone, lost in the despair of an uncertain future. No, perhaps certain future is more accurate.
"Don't talk like that… I hate it," Celeste says, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at her feet. When she gazes back at me her cobalt eyes are wild, a bit too bright. "I mean you're strong, Ash. If anyone can survive this, you can. I'd go with you if I wouldn't just be in the way."
"Let's get your gear together and head to the tavern," Brinda says, the twelve-year-old acting the mother as Celeste and I teeter on the verge of falling apart. She takes Celeste's arm, leading her to the door.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I follow my sisters but pause in the doorway. My eyes roam around, memorizing the room I grew up in. So much happened here, so much love, angst, happiness and sorrow. The memories begin to avalanche, threatening to overwhelm me. Wrenching my fingers from the doorframe, I race down the stairs after my sisters. Brinda's in the kitchen filling the brown leather pack sitting on the kitchen table with a ridiculous amount of food, humming off key as she works. My eyes glaze over again; another deluge of memories floods me, leaving me gasping in its wake.
"Hey, Ash, you in there?" Celeste calls out, shaking her hand in front of my face, ending my reverie. "What about the fifty silver pieces the town's supposed to give you? The mayor won't be at the party tonight. He'd die before being seen with us 'common folk'. How will you get the money?"
"I don't need it," I reply, dismissing her concern. "Tell him tomorrow I borrowed it from the family funds. Use it to help out until Dad can find work."
"But—"
"Don't worry about me," I say, cutting her off. "I'll make whatever money I need along the way hunting and foraging. I'll be fine, I promise."
"I finished packing. There's enough food for several days. Um, lots of jerky, some cheese, bread and a few sandwiches," Brinda says. She hands me the rather heavy pack, and I hoist it up on one shoulder. "Oh, and I packed only one canteen of water, any more would be too heavy to carry."
"Are you ready?" Celeste asks, staring at me with her head tipped to the side. I can't help but wonder just what's going on behind those pensive blue eyes.
"Yeah, I just need to hide the pack in the bushes."
I stride from my childhood home without a backward glance. Once the pack is concealed in the foliage, along with my bow and arrows, I suck in a deep breath and follow my sisters away from the house.
The village is quiet as we make our way down the main street to the tavern. Brinda, Celeste and I walk in utter silence. The chirps of the crickets seem deafening in the unusual stillness. We plod along, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast. To an outsider we must appear more like a funeral procession than a group of girls heading to a party. Parties are meant to celebrate something, a birth, a marriage, the completion of an apprenticeship. Who would throw a party to send a maiden off to her death? And why in the Goddess's name did I agree to attend this blatant absurdity?
As the tavern comes into view I'm awed by the beauty. Sconces full of candles flicker in the darkness, adorning the eaves and surrounding the entry. Someone took the time to make a banner out of pink cloth. It hangs above the entrance, the words scrawled out in black paint, 'Good Luck Ashlyn Silverthorne'.
I swallow around the lump forming in my throat as I stare at the banner. After three weeks of sideways glances and whispers about my impending doom, the four little words written on the sign bring a bit of solace. Thank goodness it doesn't read, 'Try not to die, Ashlyn' or even better, 'May your death be quick and painless'. When I break out in nervous titters from the morbid thought, my sisters both stare at me, their faces pinched with worry. I'd like to reassure them I won't have a breakdown tonight, but the way I'm feeling right now is far from cool and collected. Cory made the situation worse with his assault today. Dear Goddess, I hope he's not inside!
"ASHLYN!" a chorus of voices chant my name followed by several minutes of cheering.
My fingers dig into the doorjamb, my nails scraping at the white paint. I contemplate whether fleeing now is an option. With a furtive glance I scan the packed room, flushing when I locate Zane at a small table in the corner. His sultry garnet eyes meet mine. My breath catches in my throat, and my heartbeat accelerates, threatening to hammer right out of my chest. Before I can find the presence of mind to move, my older brothers Abel and Jess approach, each grabbing an arm before dragging me to a chair at the head of a large banquet table.
"There'll be plenty of time for food and drink in a moment," Jess shouts to the boisterous crowd. "Now it's time for going away gifts."
The cheer in the room is odd, making me feel as though I'm moving to a new town rather than leaving on a dangerous quest. When a wrapped gift is thrust into my hands I'm too stunned to do anything other stare at the small box.
"This is from Jess and me," Abel says, his lips curled into a melancholy smile.
For some reason the sorrow in his dark brown eyes is soothing, a tiny push back into reality. False cheer is understandable, but the festive atmosphere in the tavern is downright creepy. Pushing it to the back of my mind, I tear open the bright red wrapping and open the box. Nestled inside is the most beautiful silver brooch I've ever seen in my life. I know this piece of jewelry quite well since I've been admiring it every weekend at the merchant's fair in the town square. My fingers trace the head of the dragon following the scales down to the unfurled wings. The eyes are twin sapphires, which match the velvet cloak Brinda and Celeste gave me.
"Thank you, I love it," I breathe out in a whisper. Brinda takes the brooch from my shaking hands and pins it to my velvet cloak. "I don't know what to say."
"Just promise to take care out there," Jess says, giving me a quick hug followed by a kiss on the head.
"We'll go with you, Ashlyn," Abel whispers when he leans down to kiss my cheek.
<
br /> If only things were that easy. Jess has a wife and child; Abel is taking over the carpentry shop and is engaged. I could never ask them to risk their lives on a foolhardy quest, not as happy as both are. Besides, my parents shouldn't lose three children all at once. Such pain would be unbearable.
"No, I'll be fine on my own," I whisper back through the lump forming in my throat. "You both have people here who need you." Sadness is reflected in his soulful eyes along with worry, but most disturbing is relief. "Hey, at least those martial arts lessons you and Jess have paid for since I was thirteen may finally come in handy," I say with a fake laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
"You've become a formidable woman," Jess murmurs. "Be careful out there and never let your guard down."
Thank the Goddess they don't know about the altercation with Cory today. I doubt they'd be as confident in my abilities if they knew I lost to the older boy in mere moments. My little sister, Molly, squeezes through and jumps onto my lap, wrapping one pudgy arm around my neck.
"No fair," the six-year-old says, her lower lip sticking out in a pout. "You gotta share Ashy with me too!" She holds out a long cylindrical gift wrapped in way too much floral paper. "Open mine now, pleeeease," she cries, bouncing up and down on my lap, her dark brown pigtails flying around her head in her excitement.
"All right, Molly, calm down," I say, taking the package from her little hands.
It's easy to see just what's inside since the fletching on the arrows is sticking out one end. Ripping open the package I gasp in surprise. Sure they're arrows, but what amazing arrows they are. The shafts are high quality cedar, but the thin steel tips are what catch my attention. These eight arrows have the potential for multiple uses, unlike the cheaper iron tips I always use. The fletching appears to be made from genuine falcon feathers, allowing a more stable flight.
"Mr. Curtis let me gather feathers from his very green falcons," she says with a big grin, pointing at the brown and white fletching.
"Peregrine falcons," I correct while stroking the soft feathers. "Thank you, Molly. I'm not sure you realize just how special this gift is."
She beams at my words, her chocolate brown eyes so innocent. She's too young to understand the real nature of my quest. She seems to think I'm going on a grand adventure, and we don't have the heart to correct her. Wrapping my arms around her slight body, I give her a fierce hug as I bury my face in her dark hair.
"Our turn runt," my younger brother James says, grabbing Molly, and hauling her off my lap. His twin, Jacob, laughs as he wriggles up to my other side.
Glancing from one blond head to the other, I debate whether to scold the ten-year-old twins for their rough treatment of Molly. Before I can say anything, James thrusts a long thin box into my hands while Jacob grins, jumping up and down in anticipation. Scrawled on the front of the box is my name in messy block letters. It appears the boys have settled down enough in school to learn to write.
Opening the box, I'm left speechless by the long, thin stiletto inside. As I pull it out, my face breaks into a smile. I can't believe these two paid attention to the conversation we had months ago when my iron stiletto broke. We couldn't afford to replace it, and I missed the security I felt with a dagger hidden in my right boot.
"It's steel, so it won't break as easy as your old one," Jacob says, watching as I run a finger along the thin blade.
"We borrowed your boot while you were sleeping so Stella could make it fit the sheath," James adds. "Ethan, the mercenary who visits the orphans, said everyone should have a hidden weapon just in case."
"We didn't want you to leave without your secret weapon," Jacob chimes in.
I feel as though my heart is gripped in a vise as I slip the stiletto into the hidden sheath in my right boot. The twins went to so much trouble with this gift, and Goddess only knows where they got the money for such an extravagant dagger. The tears threaten to fall again but at least this time it's from happiness rather than misery and fear.
I wrap an arm around each boy, hugging both for just a moment before releasing them. They back away, a comic combination of adoration and sheepishness mirrored on both faces.
The mood in the tavern is still quite festive. If the other villagers present noticed the few salty drops falling down my cheeks, they failed to allow it to damper their spirits. Dad approaches, his hands behind his back, Mom at his side with a melancholy smile on her face.
"This is my finest creation yet," Dad says, still hiding whatever my gift is behind his back. "I want you to know the amount of love I channeled while crafting it. If my hopes and dreams for you could be somehow imbued into the wood, this bow will bring you nothing but good fortune for the rest of your long life."
My eyes widen a bit at his heartfelt speech. Dad has never been an outspoken man. His words are moving, but the last two the most moving of all. Long life. Does he believe I'll survive? Perhaps if he has such faith then I should as well.
He places the most beautiful recurve bow I've ever seen in my outstretched hands. The yew is carved with intricate vines mixed with tiny flowers and polished to a high shine. The grip is made from soft black suede, much sturdier than the cotton felt on my other bow. The bowstring is a linen reverse twist, the tensile strength perfect as I draw the string back.
"Oh, Dad, it's the most beautiful bow I've ever seen," I whisper as I continue to caress the intricate carvings.
"Read the inscription," Dad says, pointing to the area just below the grip.
Seared into the wood are the archaic words ‘Yosile evat Reiki'. Loosely translated into the modern tongue, 'Embraced by Goddess Reiki'. The ultimate words of protection, bestowed only upon those most deserving of the Goddess's aid.
"Thank you," I manage to whisper, giving first Dad then Mom a hug.
Neither says a thing and one glance is all it takes to see why. Both are on the verge of a breakdown, the anguish written all over their faces.
"Well now I think it's my turn to present my masterpiece," Stella, the blacksmith, says as she pushes through the crowd to my side. "I spent three weeks perfecting this. It's a gift from the town of Verdane, and the reason I made you learn the art of swordplay from my son Seth."
With an almost comical flourish she draws the blade from the brown scabbard, waving it in the air over her head. A hush falls throughout the tavern as the revelers watch the lights from the gas lamps glint off the fine steel. The sword is short, no more than twenty inches or so, perfect for my five feet six inch height. Stella motions for me to take the sword. Rising to my feet I grasp the hilt, shocked by how lightweight it is.
"This is lighter than the wooden waster," I breathe out in wonder.
"It's made from a new material found only on Tellain," she says, speaking of our sister continent only reachable via a long ship journey. "At least as strong as steel but much lighter. Perfect for someone as tiny as you are."
I've never been called tiny before, but when I gaze at the six-foot blacksmith I suppose I do appear little to her. Stella is not only tall but quite broad as well. Not fat but muscular, unusual for a woman. Her long calloused fingers continue to caress the blade in my hands. By the wistful desire in her dark brown eyes, it must be difficult for her to relinquish such a masterpiece.
The curious townsfolk gather closer, eager for a glimpse of the sword the town bought for me. The press of people pushes into the table forcing me to rise to my feet or be buried beneath their bodies. Moving to the side, I watch in morbid fascination at the scene unfolding before me. If I hadn't been present, I never would've believed it even possible.
"That's an awfully nice blade," Mr. Kirkley comments, sticking his red, bulbous nose in for a closer look. "Seems too nice for a novice, especially a girl."
"No kiddin'," his son Jonas pipes in, making a grab for the hilt in my hand, forcing me to take another step back. "Perhaps I'da volunteered to go if I got such an awesome sword."
"It's a waste if you ask me," old Mr. Thomson spits out. "That thing cost the
town a lot of silver. It's just gonna be taken by bandits when she dies, so what's the point?"
"I agree," Cory says, striding forward, the crowd parting to let him through. Has he been here the whole time? "We should give her a wooden waster and sell this to the highest bidder. Even as the Chosen, she isn't worthy of such a blade. I give her a day, maybe two 'til she's dead."
My eyes widen in horror when my mother runs from the tavern choking on loud wracking sobs, my father close behind her. Recognizing the offensive turn the evening is taking, my twin brothers grab Molly and race away after my fleeing parents. My stomach churns as I try to form the words to tell off the nasty, thoughtless men… to confront Cory, but I'm unable to form a coherent thought much less voice a complete sentence. How am I supposed to think, to function, when my soul is bleeding?
Looking to Jess and Abel for support proves futile. Both are bright red in the face, jaws clenched shut, too blindsided to speak. Brinda is weeping, held in Celeste's arms, the blonde girl quiet for the first time I can remember, her cerulean eyes sparking with unrestrained fury. I try for bitter anger, but all I manage to muster is an intense mournful sorrow.
With strength I don't feel I step forward, raising my eyes to meet Cory's hateful glare. My jaw is tense, my teeth gnashed together as I continue to gaze at him, refusing to back down or give in to the desire to scream, cry, or even worse… run. Though I can't seem to find my voice, I still manage to stand my ground. A hush falls over the crowd as their eyes dart between Cory's sneering face and mine.
When two hands grip my upper arms, my mind screams at my body to run. A rapid heartbeat later I realize it's Zane. He tugs me back against his firm chest, holding me close, providing much needed support as I face the shocked crowd. It takes several moments before my racing pulse calms enough that I can breathe without gasping.
Shadow Fire Page 3