by F M Andrews
“Phatrick! Javrick! So lovely to see you,” he exclaimed as he reached their table and placed a glass of rich dark beer in front of each of them. Both stood, smiling, and Fenrick shook Phatrick’s hand and hugged Javrick. They looked hale, healthy and happy as they usually did. Having boisterous, wayward children did not seem to vex them at all. It was good to catch up with them, but he couldn’t put off the reason for being there any longer, and lowering his voice and leaning forward he asked, “Can we go to your home to talk? I have something I need to discuss in private.”
Javrick and Phatrick glanced at each other looking mildly concerned. “The girl’s haven't done something have they?” Javrick whispered, her hand seeking Phatrick’s.
“No, no, nothing like that!” Fenrick replied in his most jovial voice leaning back in his seat. “Just wanting to catch up really,” he reassured them.
The miller’s cottage was warm and cosy with a fire in the hearth and the smell of yeast thick in the air. Javrick was also the local baker and tomorrow’s loaves were proving in the small room off to one side. The sound of the gurgling stream was always present like a reassuring chant. Fenrick sat at the worn, polished table and Javrick fussed in the kitchen, quickly producing the most wonderful, crusty bread slathered in yellow butter and bright berry jam.
“Not much, I’m afraid,” she murmured as she placed the plate on the table.
Fenrick’s eyes lit up. He had been here before and he knew just how delicious it really was.
“So what was it that you need to talk to us about?” Phatrick asked.
Fenrick was caught with a mouthful and had to chew faster than he wanted to reply. Reluctantly he pushed his plate away, he would have to wait until he had completed his task before he could finish it.
“Alright, here goes,” he thought to himself.
“I have some news that I did not want to share with the village. I need to tell you because Feld needs a large favour from you both.” He leaned forward, crossing his arms and resting them on the table. He looked from Phatrick to Javrick who were both watching him intently.
“Go on,” Phatrick prompted.
And so Fenrick told them of the trolls, of the danger to Feld, of Zail and Errin and how she was their only hope and finally he explained about the girls and their part in the whole saga. When he eventually wound down to the conclusion of the tale he was met with stunned silence. “Oh, I nearly forgot,” he exclaimed, digging in his pocket “I have a letter here from the king explaining everything and offering to help you financially while the girls are away.”
He thoughtfully took another bite of bread to allow them to digest the news and all its consequences and to read the letter.
The twins were their only children and although the girls were so wild that they were totally unmanageable, they were still very precious to the miller and his wife.
Javrick was the first to recover. “Do you think they will be safe?” she asked in a whisper, tears gleaming in her eyes.
Fenrick flinched. This was the question he had been dreading. “There are no guarantees in life but I know Errin and I know that she would never willingly place another person's life in danger. If she did not think that the girls could do this and return safe, she would never have asked,” he replied in his most sincere voice.
“I will escort them personally to Errin and Dissan and his troop will look after them from then on. I cannot imagine what they will face or where they will go when Errin sends them to find her shards of power, yet I can assure you that Errin would have made sure that they will be as safe as she can make them. The real trouble is that we don’t really have much choice.” He paused for effect. “We just can’t save Feld without your girls.”
Phatrick and Javrick looked at each other one more time, a silent communication crossing between them, then Phatrick gave a tremulous sigh and silently nodded. “As you say, we don’t have much of a choice. They will want to go. Ha!” he snorted. “They will love to go and the truth is that there is no way we could stop them going even if we wanted to.”
Javrick grasped Fenrick’s hand and looked up at him imploringly. “Please make sure that they come back. They maybe wild, they may be impossible, but they are ours and we love them.”
#
The next day Fenrick went to find the girls. Their parents had thought that they might be in the forest to the North of the village as, apparently, they had a hut there. The storm had hit with a vengeance just after dark, whipping branches, banging doors and shutters and the rain had been torrential, almost drowning out his singing. It had passed by morning leaving behind strewn branches and deep puddles that reflected the passing dark clouds, blown by the bitter wind.
Eventually Fenrick spied a tattered pennant snapping in the wind. It was made of what looked like and old table cloth but printed on it was a two headed eagle. This was the symbol that the girls had created as their own personal herald. Fenrick had to smile; there was nothing shy or bashful about these girls. They were proud of who they were and prepared to let the world know it. The banner marked the entrance to a small side track and Fenrick turned his horse into it. There was no avoiding the dripping vegetation that overgrew the path and in no time he and his horse were very damp and splattered in mud. As he rode the sound of rushing water grew louder and louder until he eventually arrived at the edge of a narrow chasm filled with rushing white water several lance lengths below. The vertical cliffs were covered in bright green moss that glistened with a myriad of droplets from the spray drifting up from the churning water below. Tiny white flowers like stars dotted the steep, vertical cliffs, which looked impossible to climb. The only way across the chasm was a crude bridge of three ropes, one for the feet and two at shoulder height, presumably for one to hold on to.
“Great!!” Fenrick thought sarcastically. “Really great. It looks as if you will have to stay here my friend,” Fenrick murmured to his horse as he gently patted its forehead. He knew it would not wander. They had been together a long time and trusted each other completely.
Fenrick was not afraid of heights but neither was he totally comfortable with them, so he reasoned the best way to approach this was to not give himself time to think about it.
The ropes were slippery from the rain and spray but they were tightly strung and hardly wobbled as he cautiously slid his way across. The updraft from the ravine was quite disconcerting though. He only looked down once and immediately regretted it. The water was much further down than he had at first thought, foaming as it made its way past jagged, moss-covered rocks and boiling through narrow crevices. There would be no walking away from this if he fell.
Cursing under his breath he eventually reached solid ground on the other side. With his hands on his knees he leaned forward and took a deep, thankful gulp of air. He was exhausted already and he hadn’t even found the girls yet.
The path continued on for a bit, through browning bracken and mossy[CL14] tree trunks. The tangy smell of damp foliage and the sharp scent of decaying leaves filled his senses. It would be a very pleasant place on a warm summer day he thought, but on this cold autumn morning it was really quite dreary.
Rounding a bend he spied a bright splash of colour in the trees. Gratefully, thinking that this must be the girl’s hut, he strode on towards it, trying to avoid the next, imminent, shower of rain.
A loud snap stopped him in his tracks, a big mistake, as he quickly found out, as his ankles were seized and he was unceremoniously tipped upside down and hoisted up into the trees.
It all happened in the blink of an eye. One moment he was standing on firm ground and the next he was gently swinging, upside down, from a very tall tree, his blood rushing, very uncomfortably, to his head.
The girls had struck again!
This was ridiculous, and in a moment of pure frustration, he clenched his fists and let out a very loud, unarticulated roar. Like an idiot, he had left his sword and knife in his saddle bags to keep them dry. After several calming breaths, he cro
ssed his arms and began calling the girls by name, hoping that they were within hearing range.
He could project his voice to the back of a packed hall and he used all his skill to make his voice carry as far as possible. One can only shout to a seemingly empty forest for so long and eventually he subsided telling himself he was saving his strength for throttling the two culprits that had placed him in this embarrassing position.
He heard them before he saw them.
“Fenrick, Fenrick, is that really you?” they called as they raced towards him down the path.
“What on earth are you doing? It takes us forever to set that trap and you have to go and set it off,” Elarick demanded.
Both girls now stood beneath him, dressed in men’s trousers and leather jerkins, hands on hips, heads tilted back, staring up. They were almost identical, with shoulder length black hair and large dark eyes which were outlined with long lashes that swept up to almost touch their arched eyebrows. The only difference between them was that Elarick had a small mole on her right cheek. Their skin was a warm pink with flushed cheeks from the cold and their full lips, usually rose pink, were now, at this precise moment, almost white, pressed together into identical straight lines of disapproval.
They were as beautiful as porcelain dolls until they moved or spoke.
“Well, it is lovely to see you, too!’ Fenrick spluttered sarcastically, unable to control his sense of indignity. Here he was, strung up like a piece of game in their trap, and they were cross at him! “Get me down. Now!” he snapped.
“Alright, alright, but you do look really funny,” Elarick giggled.
“There might be one little problem,” Emarick said, digging her toe in the mud and looking down, avoiding his eyes. “We haven't yet quite worked out how to unset the trap.” They both looked up at him again, thoughtfully.
“What!” Fenrick exploded. “You must have thought of that when you made this bloody thing,” he gasped, gesturing at his rope bound feet that were now beginning to feel numb. He was just grateful that he had had his good riding boots on or it would have been a lot more painful.
“Oh, I know!” Ela squealed and ran off
Ema continued to stare up at Fenrick. “Didn’t think it would really work and to be honest we had almost forgotten we had put it here. We don’t use this path much.”
“You mean there is another way in,” Fenrick moaned. “I didn’t have to cross that damn rope bridge and trudge through the mud?”
Ema giggled again. “You are funny. You fell for all our tricks. I thought you would know us by now. The banner was to lure stupid people into our traps,” she finished as if that explained everything.
Fenrick, slowly turning at the end of the rope, was, at that moment, quite prepared to concede he had, indeed, been very stupid.
“Got it,” Ela yelled as she came panting back down the trail.
Fenrick continued to turn slowly and at last Ela came into view holding, of all things, a bow and arrow in her hands.
He did not even have time to protest before he heard the bow string twang and felt a tug as the arrow miraculously hit the rope. He began to fall, head first, toward the mud below. He was so surprised that he nearly forgot to curl into a ball; however, in the end, reflexes took over and he hit the ground with his shoulder and rolled.
Gingerly he uncurled and shakily stood. He was not sure what he was most surprised at: that Ela had hit the rope or that he was uninjured.
Ela and Ema, on the other hand, were whooping with delight, doing a little kind of jig.
Fenrick quietly took stock. His clothes were covered in mud and his ankles hurt but otherwise he seemed to be okay. He could see that, as he had expected, this trip was definitely going to be very interesting.
It was time to take charge of the situation and the girls. “Start as you mean to go on,” he thought to himself, yet before he could say a word, a single drop of rain hit him squarely on the top of his head. Glancing skyward, he noticed a large, black cloud overhead, which at that precise moment let loose several more fat drops hitting him full in the face. What had started as separate percussion beats, soon turned into a crescendo as the rain became a torrent. Trees in the distance were obscured by the sheet of grey rain and the path at his feet quickly became a small stream. “This day just keeps getting better and better,” Fenrick mumbled to himself, resigned to the fact it might be some time before he would be clean and dry again.
As the rain lanced down the girls turned and ran, splashing up the path towards the smear of colour in the trees that Fenrick had glimpsed before he had succumbed to the girls’ trap. By the time he arrived at what looked like an abandoned charcoal burner’s hut, the girls were already inside and shaking themselves like wet dogs. Fenrick, gasping, took a quick look around. It was very rustic but dry. Glancing up he noticed that the thatch was fresh and the walls were plugged with dried moss and clay and there was a brace of dead ducks hanging by the door. There was a flat log as a table and two bracken beds near the hearth. The fire was efficiently banked and the few glowing embers signified that it could easily be coaxed back into life. All in all it wasn't homely but not bad for two young girls.
Everyone stripped off their cloaks and the girls hung them on pegs by the fire. Emarick prodded the fire and in no time cheerful flames bloomed. Elarick magically produced a fresh loaf of bread with honey and goblets of fresh water for all. Of course the bread and honey had come from home but, still, Fenrick was impressed.
Both girls sat down on a log near the fire and looked at Fenrick expectantly as if it was now his turn to entertain them. Where to begin, he wondered to himself. On the journey to Millstream he had pondered the best way to present his request and had come to the conclusion that you could never tell these girls what to do. The best approach would probably be to ask for their help and present it as an adventure, which he had to admit, it truly was.
“As you might have guessed I came to find you to ask a favour,” he began. Both girls nodded as if to say ‘go on.’ Fenrick cleared his throat. “We have a problem.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Ela asked.
“Well, everyone in Feld, really.” Fenrick replied, realising for the first time just how true this was. “There is a dark magic that lurks beyond our boundary. Up until now our guardians have managed to keep it out of Feld but recently it has become so strong that it is finding ways to get around them and we need your help to fight it.” He had their attention now, eyes alight with excitement, and he was certain that they would embrace this new adventure wholeheartedly. Ruefully, Fenrick thought to himself that persuading them to help was probably the easy part of his mission; surviving their pranks for the next half as he escorted them to Errin was definitely going to be the much more difficult.
Chapter Ten
Hexrick winced.
He had been sitting far too long and his legs were protesting loudly at having to work again. He stood and arched his back into a satisfying stretch. It was time to get going but he was finding it hard to leave this stunning view behind. It had taken him several days to reach this spot, travelling along these windswept coastal cliffs. At first he had thought that it was a cold and dreary place with the constant, battering wind, treeless landscape, infused with the tang of salt air that assaulted his every breath, but gradually, as the days passed, he began to notice that the sea was a constantly changing vista. One moment it was a deep aquamarine blue with smooth, rolling swells and the next it was slate grey with choppy whitecaps. There could be clouds scudding overhead casting racing shadows across its canvas or the bright sunlight, shooting reflected, sparkling starbursts that dazzled the eye.
The wind that he had found so daunting at first now felt like a companion and he even enjoyed its playful buffeting. It was becoming a habit now, whenever he paused for a break, to stand near the cliff edge, scan the sea below and relax into its constant, supporting push.
It was a lonely world. Too harsh a climate to farm, and too steep a cliff to ea
sily access the sea had meant that homesteads and villages were few and far between. Often his sole companions were the sea birds, whose lonely cries only enhanced his feeling of isolation, and his horse, Tilda.
One day, sitting, staring out to sea, he realized that he had never had a time in his life before when he had truly been so alone. His life was always full of people. Growing up in a busy village and then joining Dissan’s knights had meant that he always had company and at first he found it was quite difficult having to be on your own, face yourself, so to speak; however, he relished it now. He felt so much calmer and somehow, more complete. It wasn’t as if he had done the whole soul-searching thing, it was just that he could relax totally. There were parts of the day where he would drift away and think about absolutely nothing, just enjoying the emptiness.
The weather had been kind to him and although there had been the odd squally shower come through there had been no major storms, a fortuitous thing as he was sleeping out under the stars most nights. There had been some scattered villages, and he had certainly made sure he got his fill of beer and oysters, which he decided, after extensive testing, that he was rather partial to.
Taking one last look at the horizon where the steel blue of the sea met the pale azure of the sky in a perfectly straight line, he turned to whistle at Tilda, who was grazing on the fine, windswept grass nearby. If his reckoning was true, he should arrive at Safehaven tomorrow and then his task would really begin. “Come on, old girl, time we got going,” he whispered to her, gently stroking her ears. She lowered her head and leaned her forehead into his chest, took a deep breath and snorted it out, her flanks shivering in delight. “I think that you are enjoying this as much as I am, but we have a job to do, and no time to do it in,” the gruff knight said as he mounted and turned Tilda to face in the direction of Safehaven.