LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  ‘She don’t play well with others,’ Jemely said.

  ‘So she ain’t at school, then?’ he asked.

  ‘Nah. As dumb as a hen this one. She’ll be Capacia’s lap dog.’

  Why was Jemely saying those things? I wanted to scratch her, or punish her for being so mean. But good girls didn’t do things like that.

  ‘Oh yeah, I remember that woman. The lame Mystoria trader, yeah? Charming lady, that one. Generous with her coin, too.’

  Jemely snorted. ‘It’s easy to be charming when you got breasts and gold.’

  The man hooted with laughter as we exited the store. But there was nothing funny about what Jemely had said, and I was angry at her. Maybe she hadn’t meant it. Adults often seemed to say things they didn’t mean. If I could see her face, I’d know if she was being sincere.

  Jemely didn’t sound the sort that was pretty; she was too callous. Mother had said that virtuous ladies were meek and humble, and Jemely was neither. I imagined her with small, wideset eyes, scraggly pale hair, and a nose so big birds would try to perch on it. Then I realised that thinking such mean things made me as bad as her, so I stopped and focused on the feel of my new boots.

  With every step my feet thanked me. The soft leather lining and toughened exterior conquered the rough landscapes I might encounter. Even so, the boots were uncomfortable. They dulled my senses. Knowing the texture and temperature of the ground told me something about my location, and had become a guiding sensation.

  The crunch beneath my boots changed, no longer gravel, but twigs and leaves, so I knew we weren’t on a road. The sounds of forest life called from my left and right, and I stayed close to Jemely. The Borrelia River was fed by the mountains. As it was spring, the mountain snow would be melting fast, making the river run deep and fresh.

  The walk from Borrelia town square to the river’s edge was longer than expected—half an hour or so. The turns and twists in the road rendered me lost and upset, especially when I lost count of my steps. It was then that I felt the full impact of how the blindness would limit me in life; every day I’d be a small rowboat without oars, stranded in the middle of the ocean.

  I tightened my grip on Jemely’s arm.

  ‘Are you scared? Don’t worry. We’ll get home again.’

  Jemely tried to encourage me onwards, but then more sticks cracked, leaves rustled, and the noises seemed to grow louder behind us. I whirled around.

  ‘Got ghosts in your head or something?’ Jemely asked.

  ‘Someone’s there,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t see no one. Don’t hear them, neither.’

  The footsteps came closer, and still I remained frozen, waiting, unable to run, unable to move.

  ‘Oh, there they are. By my needle, you got good hearing, don’t you? People always use this track, nothing to be scared of. Look what happened to your father. He hurt someone, and he suffered for it, didn’t he? So people are scared to break the law because they get punished. No one will hurt you.’

  The footsteps continued towards us, and I remembered how I’d fallen to the ground in the middle of the town square. People had laughed. Everyone had seen my badness and that I was deserving of hatred. Maybe one day I’d go to the river alone, and someone would stalk me on the lonely trail. I’d be attacked. No one would believe me; no one would care. They’d think me just a mad blind girl spinning tales. And like always, I’d be alone.

  ‘Jemely,’ a man shouted from a distance. He broke into a run, his footsteps getting closer.

  ‘No time to talk, got chores to do!’ She took my hand and squeezed. ‘I’ll keep you safe,’ she whispered. But her tone was tense, strained, and I wondered if it was me making her nervous or the man.

  ‘Pretty friend you got there,’ he said upon reaching us.

  My heart raced. I moved behind Jemely and dug my face into her back.

  ‘Fie! She’s a child, you sick fiend.’ Jemely turned us away by grabbing my arm. Her fingers squeezed while she forced me to walk. Her pace was slow as she carried a basket of dirty clothes.

  ‘Come on, Jemely. You can’t still be angry at me. I told you that girl meant nothin’, just a baker’s daughter.’

  Jemely didn’t slow her pace. ‘Oh? And what am I, then?’

  He came up beside us. ‘You’re a doctor’s niece. That’s far better than a dairy maid. Here, let me carry that.’

  Jemely snorted. ‘Get your hands off. I don’t need help from a frothy, fly-bitten fleabag.’

  ‘Oi, Goda, who ya chattin’ to?’ another man shouted.

  I clenched my teeth. Jemely’s stride had lengthened to a fast walk, with an occasional pause to get a better grip on her basket. Still, she clutched my arm, making it ache.

  ‘Jems is here, Venn. She’s got a new friend,’ Goda said to his companion.

  ‘That’s Garrad’s daughter, I think,’ Venn said.

  ‘Really? That poorly hermit had a daughter?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Shame she’s blind. She’d make a nice little wench.’ Goda laughed.

  ‘Go to! You’re a horrible lout, Goda,’ Jemely said.

  Both men laughed.

  ‘What’s ya name?’ Goda said, poking me in the arm.

  I ignored him and focused on not tripping. Then, the sound of the river lifted my spirits. There would be other people there. Surely they’d save us from the men.

  ‘C’mon, speak.’ Goda placed a hand on my shoulder.

  I jumped and tried to run, but Jemely’s hand held me fast to her side.

  ‘Look out, fool. Don’t frighten her,’ Jemely said.

  One of the men moved between me and the river; the other blocked my way back to Borrelia, trapping me. I could smell the sourness of unwashed clothes and the stench of manly sweat. My heart thudded in my ears. One part of me wanted to run, and another part wanted to scream, but the last and most compelling part wished there was some way to hurt them.

  ‘What’s her problem?’ Goda asked, moving closer.

  ‘What do you think?’ Jemely asked. ‘Her father’s dead and her aunt’s a cripple.’

  ‘I’ve never seen the eyes of a blind girl before,’ Venn said.

  ‘Oh yeah, I wonder why she covers them,’ Goda added. ‘Bet they’re all deformed. Or maybe even missing, just empty holes in her head.’ He laughed.

  Were my eyes ugly? They had to be. Why else would Mother make me wear a blindfold?

  ‘Don’t you dare touch her!’ Jemely cried.

  Hairy arms grabbed at me from behind. My mind transported me back to the night in the tub, to Mother dragging me into the bedroom, my father stabbing my uncle’s leg. I couldn’t breathe; a light sweat formed on my skin. My heart raced. My skin crawled. And my head seemed to jump and pull. Run!

  I kicked backwards. The heel of my new boot connected with something, and as the man whimpered, his grip loosened. I broke free, falling sideways but somehow managing to stay on my feet, and then sprinted.

  ‘Adenine, don’t!’ Jemely yelled.

  Fingers grasped at my dress, but I kept going.

  Boots pounded on the earth behind me, and the other man said, ‘Come back here, you little…’

  I banged my shoulder into a tree. The pain was excruciating, but I kept running.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Jemely yelled, and I knew the men were after me. Branches scraped against my face. The tang of blood and sweat made me raise my arms to swipe the branches away. After a while, the pain in my shoulder was so bad I couldn’t keep my arm raised, and I let it fall to my side.

  ‘Ahh, forget her. Let’s go to the river,’ Goda said faintly from behind me.

  Though the footsteps that pursued me stopped, I kept running. The power in my legs and the wind on my face made me feel as if I could do anything and go anywhere I wanted. I was no longer trapped by my blindness, my fear. I was truly able to choose to be alone, to leave everything and everyone and run far away. My first real taste of freedom… nothing had been sweeter.

 
At first, the silence was comforting. Only a few birds chirped, and a cool afternoon breeze rustled leaves and made tree branches creak. The river’s whispers remained constant, so I knew I ran northeast. As my heart slowed, my skin cooled and the forest sounds crisped.

  I explored the forest, touching trees and feeling the leaves on the ground. Flowers baked in the sun, freeing the scent of their nectar. I removed my blindfold to get a better sense of light, but soon the red glow on my eyelids faded to maroon, and I could no longer find patches of sun to warm me. The sounds of the river were gone. The air thinned and chilled. My boots kept my toes warm, but without a coat, I grew colder. As I shivered, I grew desperate, aching to hear a voice or the running river water, or even the moans of cows and the bleats of sheep. Nothing.

  I was lost and alone in the Borrelia woods.

  CHAPTER TEN

  OWLS HOOTED AND WOLVES CRIED. My toes had rubbed raw on my freshly crafted boots. The pain caused me to limp. Night descended along with its frosts and promises of defeat. Hopelessness grew as I wandered around lost and alone in the dark. I gave up, slumped down onto the ground, and leaned against a tree.

  The relief of finally sitting was blissful, but my joy was brief. Once I stopped moving, I became aware of how cold I really was. I began to shiver, so I wrapped the length of my dress around my legs and made a sort of bed out of the surrounding leaves and twigs. Unfortunately, the leaves were still wet from the previous night’s frost, and a cold breeze pushed the moisture through to my skin.

  When my shivering turned violent, I tucked my thick hair into the nape of my dress, making a sort of scarf. It didn’t help. Forest crickets were in full chorus, and other insects buzzed nearby. In an attempt to distract myself, I named each animal’s call, which I had learned to recognise at my uncle’s shack many years ago: barking lizard, bear, snout pig, and snow lion. The last frightened me a little, but the growl was distant.

  I ignored the feeling of predators stalking me and escaped to my imagination, my last defence against my suffering. At the very bottom of what Mother called Arcania, our continent, the weather was tropical. Along the bottom of Arcania were animals that swung from trees by their tails, and on the beaches grew palms. Some of them dropped delicious fruit with hard shells. The water there was like glass, and the day as blue as royal silk. The fantasy formed clearly in my mind, and I imagined granules of sands between my fingertips, and sea animals splashing about in the rocky shallows.

  Then I added people, starting with Mother. She was on the beach, making mountains out of wet sand, and Father helped. Mother was walking, her legs repaired. She could run, too, and in my delight, I tickled her. She splashed warm, salty water at me, and I kicked some back at her. I’d seen a picture of a sandy beach before in a book.

  My fantasy faded when I lost feeling in my fingers and toes. My breathing was laboured under the sudden shock of reality, and my lungs ached from the cold.

  Branches snapped, and I imagined ghouls or witches searching for dead animal parts to use in evil brews. I tried to go back to my warm beach, but it was no use. The threat of the dark, the continuing howl of wolves, and the unbearable coldness kept me awake.

  A sudden breeze parted my scarf and chilled my neck. My nose ran, and my ears ached as if they would break off and fall to the ground. I needed warmth, and the only way to get it was to get out of the wind. I decided to dig a large hole in the dirt, but when I pulled my arms away from my body, the cold rushed in to take their place, and I gasped, hugging myself. It was hopeless. I was hopeless. I dug my chin into my dress and blew warm air from my lungs. But the contrast between the warmth of my breath and the cold outside only made my teeth chatter.

  When the wind grew stronger, I knew I was going to freeze to death. All my attempts to stay warm had failed. I may as well have been naked. My world became smaller. There was nothing outside of my discomfort.

  I used the bottoms of my shoes to dig up dirt. When I had two long holes, I pushed the loose dirt onto my legs. The exercise had warmed me slightly, and as time passed, that warm feeling became hot, searing, as if my skin were boiling or someone had immersed me into a mound of hot coals. I clawed at my unbearable prickling skin.

  When the prickling stopped, the cold returned. Then I heard footsteps in the distance. Sneaking footsteps. Someone was hunting me, but I refused to be caught, so somehow I dragged myself out of my bed of leaves and dirt and hid behind the tree I’d been nestled against.

  ‘I am here,’ said a foreign voice. The trickery of a witch. She would pretend to care about me, then cut me up into pieces and mix them in a cauldron to brew magical potions.

  I wasn’t safe. So cold, so alone. When I stood, my muscles were like hardened clay. I took one step forward. My knee popped, and I collapsed into the dirt. I curled around the tree trunk, making myself as small as possible. Bark scratched my arms, and the roots of the tree dug into my ribs.

  One day you will be happy, Adenine. I focused on Mother’s voice in my head, trying to believe her words. The witch approached me, as light as a doe bounding across the meadow, her footsteps barely audible. There came the strike of flint on steel, followed by a whoosh of flame.

  I wanted to scream for her not to burn me, but I couldn’t speak.

  The flame swished through the air, and when she spoke, her voice sounded like a demon’s. ‘Speak your name, girl.’

  I squashed my eyes together and pressed my cheeks into the tree. Blend, hide. I hoped my very desire would make me invisible to the demons. Never would I give in to her tricks.

  Hands as hot as suns touched my arms and I wanted to cry out, but the sound swelled and died in my throat. The one breath exhausted me. The witch whispered into my ear, her voice slurred like father after drinking too much ale.

  ‘Don’t…’ I tried to yell again, and the dryness of my throat made it a whisper. My skin crawled under the corrupted woman’s touch, as if the space between my bones and my skin was filled with spiders. The sound of flames surrounded me. There was no warmth, only cold fire, a common witch’s trick. And then my fight was gone. I gave in to this magical creature. It was easier than I thought. Surrender would be like slitting my throat when burned at the stake.

  I fell into darkness.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DROWNING. I WAS DROWNING IN fire water. The witch had taken my nightmares and made them real. Water lapped at my shoulders. The air was muggy, and my lungs felt clogged. But the smell was familiar… such a clever deception. In my mind, I saw that the water I was in was red with blood.

  ‘Adenine. It’s all right…’

  My panic strangled me with one hand and seized my sanity with the other. I thrashed against the witches that held me. A coven—I was in trouble. Water sloshed, and I scrambled to get a good hold on the sides of the tub. My feet found a groove, and I pushed up with both legs.

  ‘Sheesh, she’s strong.’

  ‘No. No!’ I had to get out of the bath. Was Father still alive? I had to warn him or the witches would have him, too.

  ‘Hold her,’ a voice I recognised said, but I couldn’t put a name to it. Tricky witches.

  My skin burned. The coven was punishing me for my crimes by boiling me alive. Two sets of arms forced me further into the water. And then I saw my uncle’s body. Dead. Knife imbedded in his chest. He rose and pointed a pale finger at me.

  ‘No!’ I shrieked.

  ‘Adenine! Calm yourself.’

  ‘Let me go.’ I thought I heard the water around me bubble. Was it boiling? The water seemed to both sear and freeze at the same time.

  ‘Has her changes begun yet?’ asked the witch from the forest.

  ‘No, she’s still vulnerable,’ Mother replied.

  Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. What was happening? My uncle’s face disappeared from in front of me, and when the familiar reddish-maroon colour returned to my eyelids, a sweet voice whispered, ‘Adenine. I love you, my darling girl. Stay still, or you will lose your fingers and toes.’

 
‘Mama?’ I shook my head. The witch’s tricks were convincing. It couldn’t be her; it wasn’t her.

  ‘Yes. It is your mama. You are home. I know you’re in pain, but your hands and feet are blue. You need to warm up.’

  I hesitated. Was it really her? ‘Mama, why? Let me go, Mama. What did I do?’

  ‘Nothing. You are being so brave.’

  My mind sunk into the burning pain. After many more moments, feeling returned to my fingers. The water was no longer scalding. A fog lifted from my mind. Was it true? Was I really home? I relaxed and drifted in and out of awareness. Time was fractured and formless.

  ‘Adenine, are you awake?’

  I roused at her voice. ‘Yes, Mama.’

  ‘This water is cold, darling girl. Please believe me. We need to make it hotter.’

  ‘Oh no, Mama, it burns, please.’ I sobbed.

  ‘Shhh, it will be all right. You’re so much better than you were.’

  Varago said, ‘Even at her age, her resistance to illness and injury is flabbergastingly impressive. She still may lose one of her toes, though. Thank goodness you made her buy boots, Capacia. She might have lost a whole foot.’

  Lose one of my toes? I remembered running away from Jemely in the forest. And then what? So much strangeness. The cold… the unbearable cold. I drew in a deep breath. The air was still uncomfortably thick, but I no longer felt as though I was suffocating. I tried to flex my fingers, but the joints were stiff. One of my knuckles cracked. ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Sh… stay still.’ Mother stroked my face.

  I let my head fall against her hand and sighed. Home. She was my home.

  ‘I’m sorry, Adenine,’ Jemely whimpered.

  It took me a few moments to realise why she’d apologised. She’d stood by while those men had grabbed me.

  ‘They wouldn’t have hurt her. They were playing. Jesting,’ Jemely added.

  Lies! She was just like Garrad.