by Jenny McKane
The forest grew darker. Tanchin was silent, leading them through the trees and carefully stepping over shrub. The creatures of the forest stared at them, as they passed. Mother Freya greeted them, and they cordially greeted her back. High in the trees, the birds called out to her, asking her where she was going.
The stone, she told them. The ancient stone, where the river meets the mountain.
Queen, you have not been there in a long, long time, they answered her. The shrub has grown over it. It will not be easy to find.
Will you help me? She looked to the sky imploringly as she spoke.
We will lead you, they said. And then, the sky was filled with a cacophony of wings, surging ahead of her.
Follow them, Tanchin, she said, leaning over her horse.
The horse started galloping through the trees, swerving at speed. Mother Freya could hear the little one gasp in excitement. The baby wove her fingers into the old woman’s hair, clutching tightly.
Hope surged through her. It was going to be alright. They would soon be at the stone, and tomorrow morning, the spell would be cast. The dark army would be defeated.
***
It was almost time.
Mother Freya had prepared everything. She had woken the baby while it was still dark, carrying her to the edge, overlooking the river. From here, it was just a short climb to the stone. As soon as she saw the first glimmer of the sun over the mountain, she would make her way.
The air was cold, and she could hear the first stirrings of the woodland creatures. Deliberately, she blocked their words from her mind. She had to concentrate, and their chatter would be a distraction. Carefully, she rehearsed the old words in her head. She could not make a mistake. The spell had to be chanted as soon as the rays of the sun burst forth.
She held her breath. So much was riding on this, and she felt the pressure keenly. She knew that Aliza and the other Anasta would fight to the death to defend their realm, but she also knew that it would not be enough. The dark army was too strong. This spell had to work.
The baby babbled softly. Mother Freya stared at her. She was a beautiful little girl, with the look already of their line. If Mother Freya stared hard enough, she could see her own mother in the girl’s eyes, and her grandmother in the shape of her face. One day, this little girl would be a great Queen.
Was the darkness lightening, just a little? Mother Freya took a deep breath and started the climb toward the stone.
She had cleared it, the day before. The birds had shown her where it was, and now, it was so smooth she almost slipped as she stepped onto it. The river’s waters must have lapped over it in the night, making it slippery.
She closed her eyes, holding the baby close. She could feel the Goddess all around her.
An orange glow crept over the mountain, and Mother Freya took a deep breath.
As the words tumbled out of her mouth, she was conscious suddenly of a shadow, falling over her. Desperately, she kept chanting.
Goddess of Light, protector of the realm, I beseech you…
“Well, what do we have here?”
Mother Freya’s eyes flew open. She felt hands grabbing her, dragging her off the stone. Desperately, she clutched the baby and shouted her words into the air. But it was too late. She was no longer on the stone. She had gotten three quarters of the way through the incantation.
Rough hands bound her, and the baby was dragged, screaming, from her arms. She could see men in dark clothing everywhere, teeming through the forest.
It was too late.
Suddenly, in her mind’s eye, she saw Aliza, charging into battle. Her hair flying behind her; her face painted with the blue swirls of the warrior. And then, she saw her careering off her horse. Aalto neighed in despair. The sun glinted on the sword, as it cut through her. Blood, everywhere. Mother Freya knew, in that moment, that she was dead.
All was lost.
She stared at the baby, crying, in the arms of a man. Now, she knew. She knew why the little girl’s name had not come to her. She was the last of their line; and history would never know that she had existed. She would be erased from time, as cleanly as an arrow through the heart.
All was lost.
Mother Freya could feel the darkness overwhelming her. It stank, like a putrid rot, festering on the ground. It filled her nostrils, her mouth, her hair. It was everywhere. Masgata was no more. The Anasta’s time was gone.
She welcomed the cold metal of the blade, as it sliced into her heart. Yes, she was too old, and the world did not need her anymore. She only wished that she had not lived to see this moment.
Chapter Two
The Year Zero
Avalon Lund crouched in the scrub, surveying the terrain with a skillful eye. She checked her weapons automatically. Yes, her sword was ready. She touched her dagger in its hidden spot on the inside of her thigh. All good.
It was dim half-light, just before the sun came up. The best time to surprise the enemy. They would be sleeping, with only a tired guard on watch, making them easy to overcome on her own.
Still, she waited. The guard sat, staring at the ground. She had been watching him for over an hour. Very soon, he would get up and skirt the perimeter; at least, that is what she would have done if she was in his position. Get inside the mind of your enemy, she thought to herself.
She smiled with satisfaction when he got to his feet, picking up his sword to walk the boundary. First morning patrol, and he had followed procedure exactly. Now was her time.
Avalon darted from her hiding spot to one closer, her feet barely touching the ground. The guard didn’t turn. She watched him walk further out, and then proceed to relieve himself against a tree. This was a weak point; if you watched long enough, you could pick the right moment. Even the most diligent of guards had human needs, after all. The mistake they had made was to have him on watch for too long.
She stealthily crept towards him, hand on her sword, ready to pounce.
The man was just finishing, when he felt the blade of the sword against his throat.
“Turn around, slowly,” she whispered. “No sudden moves.”
He did as instructed, turning toward her. Her sword pressed into the flesh of his throat, causing a small trickle of blood to fall.
“Surprise,” she whispered, smiling. “On your knees.”
He knelt, stumbling slightly. It took only a second to bind his hands and mouth. What should she do with him? She smiled slowly. Yes. That would be perfect.
Pushing him against the tree, she wound the rope around him, tying him securely to it. And she made sure that it was in the wet area he had recently created. A nice touch, she thought smugly.
“Don’t move.” The voice was low behind her. She felt the tip of a sword pressing into her back.
Avalon froze.
“Drop the sword.”
She did so. It hit a rock, bouncing off so that the blade caught the first rays of the sun, blinding her for a moment.
“Turn around.”
She turned slowly, studying the man who had ambushed her. A wave of frustration surged through her. She had made the mistake of assuming he was still asleep, that he had not heard her. She had thought that she had all the time in the world. Wrong.
He was tall, with dark hair that was still messy from sleep. But his face was alert, as he pressed the blade against her chest.
“Well, well,” he said, a small smile playing over his face. “The tables have turned.”
She smiled at him slowly. Startled, he smiled back.
She kicked out, sending his sword flying into the air, landing with a thud. Before he could react further, she kicked again, hard into his chest. He stumbled, flailing wildly.
He was on the ground. She punched, hard, into his face, but he caught her fist before it connected with his jaw, pushing her away. They tumbled through the shrub, each trying to get the upper hand.
She almost had him, and then, he had her on the ground, pinning her arms behind her. He star
ed down into her face, smiling again.
Her chest rose and fell, gasping for air. She stared into his face, her eyes narrowed. Hate coursed through her like poison. How could she distract him? She smiled slowly, watching him as he stared down at her. Then, slowly and deliberately, she spat into his face.
His hand instinctively rose to wipe it away. She kicked out, causing him to roll off her. Then, she ran for her sword. She was almost there; her hand was reaching for it. She gasped as the air flew out of her lungs. He had tackled her from behind, his arms like a vice around her, so tight she could barely breathe.
A man stepped out from the shrub, gazing at them impassively.
“Nice work,” he said, yawning. “But our time is up. Let’s call it a draw.”
Avalon struggled, trying to push away from the man who imprisoned her.
“Let go,” she growled. “You heard. Time’s up.”
She could hear the man chuckle behind her. “But I finally have you where I want you,” he drawled.
“Let her go, Varr,” the other man said in a bored voice.
He let her go so suddenly that she stumbled, falling to the ground. She gazed up at him, her eyes filled with hate. He was such a jerk.
The man tied to the tree let out a groan. “Hey, could someone untie me, please? I think that my arms are about to fall off.”
They all ignored him.
“Nice try, Lund,” said the man standing over her. “But not quite good enough. I had you.”
Scoffing, Avalon jumped to her feet. She could feel twigs in her hair, and her back still ached from where he had pinned her to the ground.
Everard Varr. He would be crowing about this all the way back to the Academy. He wouldn’t let her forget it—not now, not ever. It was just like that. They had been training for over ten weeks now, and he seemed to think it was his personal mission to best her.
“You heard the commander,” she spat back. “It was a draw. I almost had you, Varr, and you know it.”
“You never had me,” Everard shot back.
“Now, now,” said the commander, walking over to them, a patronizing smile on his face. “Let it go. My report will say that there was no clear winner in this encounter. We will debrief back at the Academy on what you both did wrong.” He stretched. “It’s been a long couple of days, camped out here, and I need a good breakfast. Let’s go.”
Avalon and Everard kept staring at each other. Then Avalon walked off. The commander was right. It had been a tough few days, and she was looking forward to a hot bath and some decent food. She had been living on wild berries that she had foraged, and her stomach growled with hunger.
She knew that on the field, on a real mission, she would have to deal with that. But this wasn’t a real mission. If it had been, she would probably be dead by now. Her face burned with shame. She had been so close to getting the upper hand.
The fact that it was Everard Varr who had bested her made it even worse. He was so arrogant, even though he had no right to be. She knew his background, even though she wasn’t supposed to. Not something that a trainee warrior of the Grey Guards should be proud of.
“You heard the man,” she called over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Everard stared after her, then walked off.
“Hey,” called the man tied to the tree. “Hello! I’m still here! Can someone untie me?”
Avalon stared at him. “You figure it out,” she said, as she smiled.
The man’s face dropped. He had been afraid she was going to say that.
***
Avalon studiously ignored Everard Varr on the trip back to the Academy. She could feel his eyes on her from time to time, smirking. It made her blood boil.
Back at base, she walked straight to her bunk in the women’s dormitory. There would be a debrief on the training mission later in the morning, but for now, their time was free, and Avalon intended to savor it.
There hadn’t been a lot of free time since she had been here. The training was intense, designed to test recruits to the maximum. Of the thirty who had started with her, only half of that number were still here. The rest had quit or been eliminated as not good enough. But now, the end was almost in sight. Only five more days of training to go. It was so close that Avalon could almost taste it.
She was going to be a Grey Guard. She really was!
Inga Starr, who took the bunk below her, was flipping through a book on her bed when Avalon walked in. Seeing her, Inga grinned, tossing the book aside.
“How did it go?” she asked, staring at Avalon.
Avalon sighed, looking through her drawer for clean clothes. The thought of hot water lapping around her in the bath, soothing her aching muscles, was intoxicating.
“Okay,” she shrugged. “I wasn’t captured…not until the very end anyway.”
Inga laughed. “Let me guess. Was it Everard Varr?”
Avalon’s face burned. “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “But the commander called a draw. He didn’t win outright.”
Inga gazed at her. “You really don’t like Varr, do you?”
Avalon shrugged, but inside, she was still seething. His face, grinning down at her in that mocking way as she lay on the ground, filled her mind. It wasn’t just the fact that he was getting the upper hand in their combat, but the fact that he gloated about it. It just wasn’t very professional.
“I don’t really know him,” she said, turning to Inga. “But he strikes me as full of himself, to say the least.”
“You know where he has come from, right?” Inga said.
“I’ve heard,” Avalon spat. “The token country recruit. They must have one in every intake. It keeps the officials outside the city happy, apparently. Makes them think that the Jarle are taking them seriously.”
Inga stared at her. “That’s true, but the recruit has to be good. They still don’t take just anyone.” She paused. “And Varr is good, you have to admit that.”
“I don’t have to admit anything,” Avalon said. “I’m heading to the bath. I stink.”
She grabbed her clothes and walked off.
Inga watched her leave, smiling to herself as she picked up her book. Avalon Lund was one tough recruit. The toughest. And Inga knew why she worked so hard to be the best. As much as Everard Varr had to prove himself, so did Avalon, but for a different reason.
It was obvious to Inga that it was going to be either Avalon or Everard who would walk away from this training with the honor of being deemed First Grey Guard of their intake.
If they didn’t kill each other first, of course.
***
Avalon sat back on the hard, wooden seat, staring at the performers going through their paces. It was Essential History night, and a requirement of their training as much as anything else was. She had thought that these performances would not be necessary here since the recruits were all committed to the Party, after all—that was one of the reasons they had been chosen—but it seemed she was wrong.
She knew the history so well, she could have performed it herself. She had been a member of the Grey Youth since she had been eight years old, after all, and Essential History performances were given regularly there.
She watched as the performers re-enacted key events in the history of Agnoria; mainly battles won by the Jarle. Their benevolent leader, Agnor, was always forefront in these battles, as was his father, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather, all named Agnor as well. Their land had been ruled by the Great Ones since the beginning of time, and they always prevailed. It was forever the Year Zero in Agnoria, because it was as if time never progressed. It always is, and it always was.
She watched as the man playing Agnor sat on a chair made to look like the Grey Throne, answering questions from his Ministers.
“Tell us of the Stromel, oh Great One,” one of them said.
“The Stromel are the heartbeat of Agnoria,” the man playing Agnor answered, his voice booming through the hall. “They provide us with the
food that we eat, toiling the land.”
“And are they happy, oh Great One?”
“They are so happy living on the land,” the actor replied, “they wither and die if taken away from it! So it is, and so it always has been. They are the children of Agnoria, and the Jarle are their loving fathers.”
Avalon glanced to her left, where Everard Varr was seated, at the end of the row. His face was rivetted on the performance, his eyes shining. She supposed, being from the country himself, he knew the Stromel well. She had only met a few in her life, but then, she had been brought up in the city and had rarely travelled beyond the city limits.
But all that was about to change, thought Avalon excitedly. When she was a Grey Guard, her missions could take her anywhere throughout Agnoria. Even to the Far North, where she had heard the landscape was so harsh and full of snow and ice that mere survival was hard.
And yet, people survived it. She had seen paintings of the Far North, a terrain of towering, snow-tipped mountains, glaciers, and fjords, right on the edge of the Outlying Zone. When she was a child, it had seemed like only a story. It had seemed impossible to her that such a place existed. And yet, it did.
“Tell us of the Jarle, oh Great One.”
Avalon turned her head back to the performance. She loved this bit the best; it was part of her heritage, after all.
“The Jarle are the benevolent rulers,” the actor replied, staring out at the audience. “They ensure that peace, harmony, and plenty are kept within the great realm. If the Stromel is the heartbeat of Agnoria, then the Jarle is the mind that keeps it functioning. Without the Jarle, the Stromel would die. How would they know what to do, or how to live? They would be like lost children, wandering the earth without direction.”
“And so it is,” the actors chorused. They all stood and bowed.
The audience clapped politely.
“Hail Agnor!” the actors cried.
The audience stood, placing their hands over their hearts in the eternal gesture. “Hail Agnor!”