by Jack Wright
Erisian emerged from the longhouse looking a complete mess, with an awkward, apologetic look on her freckle spattered face. Her muddy brown armour was mismatched, she was wearing a bracer as a shin guard and her shirt was on backwards. Her scruffy, long hazel hair was all over the place, resembling a pile of hay. Just how she liked it.
Hellisdal had been graced that morning by the rare occurrence of a clear day, something rather uncommon in the wastes of Norskar. The sun, already nearing its peak in the sky, beat down upon the village and turned the usual frigid breeze to a blissful mildness. The many browns and beiges of the old wooden buildings were lit up beyond their regular grim appearance as the sun brought out the traditional patterns and runes that decorated their walls.
“There you are!” Her father boomed. “How many times do I have to tell you-”
“It isn’t very chiefly to oversleep.” Eris groaned carelessly, batting her scruffy fringe from her face. “I guess it's a good thing I’m not the chief then!”
She’d heard every one in the book. She hated being the chief’s daughter with a passion. It wasn’t that she hated her father, he was always good to her, it was just that she didn’t want the responsibility. She wanted to see the world, not stay cooped up in the village all her life filling some pointless leadership role.
“That’s just it. You will be and you need to start acting like it. I don’t want to see you late to a single session this month, understand?”
“Yeah…” Eris sighed defeatedly.
“Good. Now, get down there.”
She knew he was right, as the chief’s only child she was obligated to uphold tradition and succeed him. Still, she resented the idea of being eternally constrained to the village.
Erisian hopped down from the decking and into the training area. She grabbed her sheath and drew her sword. It was quite simple by design, but being daughter to the Chief gave her the privilege of a steel sword, rather than an iron one. Of course, all the soldiers in the Kingdoms had steel swords, but amongst the Chiefdoms they were rare and thus were often a simple of power and authority - in which case it represented everything she didn’t want.
She entered a fighting stance and began jabbing and slashing at a sack of hay, a stand in for a practice dummy. She loved sword training, it was so satisfying. The instructors always told her she was a natural and the best of the trainees, but she was never sure if they really meant it, or if they were just sucking up to her because of who she was. Equally, she almost always won in fights against the other trainees, but was never sure if they were just letting her win as to not risk angering her father.
Having annihilated the sack of hay, Erisian moved on to another. This time, she sheathed her sword and grabbed a bow from the rack. She liked to treat the bow like a game of a sort, rather than training. She wasn’t bad with it, but her skills with it were nothing compared to the sword. It was more just something for relaxing between sword training.
She slid the arrow into position and drew back the bow. Steadily, she levelled her aim and prepared the shot. She let the bowstring slip from her grasp and the arrow whistled straight into the ramshackle fence behind the dummies.
“Damn.” She hissed, sliding another arrow into place.
“‘Risian!”
Jon sprang from behind and grabbed her shoulders. Erisian jolted in surprise, prematurely firing the arrow through the window of the mead hall. She turned and glared at him furiously.
“Sorry…” Jon mumbled, his mouth a wobbly smirk as he tried to hide his amusement.
Erisian attempted to maintain her glare but quickly broke down into sniggering. “I’d say I can’t believe you, but I can.” She laughed. “I hope you got a damned good reason for interrupting me!”
“Just came to say goodbye.” Jon sighed.
“Oh yeah, you’re starting the Journey today!” Eris exclaimed excitedly. “Looking forward to it?”
In truth, Eris was unfathomably jealous of Jon. The Journey was a sort of ‘coming of age’ for the men of the chiefdoms, a chance to go out and see the world. It hurt to see people living out her dreams.
“To the year of walking around in the wilderness alone with no food or money?” Jon muttered sarcastically. “I’m absolutely thrilled…”
“You know, I think there’s a bit more to it than that.” Eris rebuked, slotting the bow back into the weapon rack.
“Well if you think so, why don’t you do it? You’re eighteen, right?”
“Yeah, but only the men go on the journey.” Erisian moaned. She hated tradition, thought it was stupid that they should live and die by rules made thousands of years ago.”
“Oh yeah.” Jon mumbled, relenting for only a moment. “Wait, but you’re the chief’s daughter! Can’t you get, like, special treatment or something?”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Well it should! You should ask him.”
“Yeah, I’ve tried - not happening. If I do, all it’ll get me is another thirty minute talking to about responsibility.” Erisian muttered.
“Then don’t ask him. You’re your own woman ‘Risian, just do it.”
Erisian turned to him, an eyebrow raised, and laughed. “You mean run away? I’d love to, but I couldn’t do that to my Dad.”
“Even though he’s holding you back like this?”
“He does all he can for me. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t even know how to hold a sword!”
“True… Well, if you’re not gonna go out there, don’t suppose there’s anything you want me to grab while I’m out there? You know, like a souvenir.”
“Well, since you’re offering…” Eris smirked, trying to think up something. “I think… yeah, I’d love a map.”
“Of Norskar?”
“You know me better than that!” Eris hissed, playfully punching his shoulder. “Of everything! The whole world!”
Jon rubbed his shoulder subtly, trying not to make a big deal out of how much that punch hurt. Lightly built as Erisian was, she had quite a heavy punch. “That might not be easy, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Awesome.” Eris smiled eagerly. “Guess I’ll see you next year, then.”
“I’ll be expecting a real big welcome party.” Jon chuckled. “Guess I’ll see you then. Later, ‘Risian.”
“Later…” Erisian mumbled. It felt wrong to say goodbye to her best friend, even if it was for only a year. “Good luck, Jon.”
“Yeah, good luck I don’t starve to death.” Jon laughed, walking off down the hillside. “See you round, boss.”
Boss - that hurt. Erisian watched enviously as Jon disappeared behind a building - she would have given anything to be where he was. What he saw as a curse, she considered a dream come true.
She sighed glumly and headed back up onto the decking surrounded the longhouse. You could see the whole village from the longhouse and beyond that, the snow-capped mountains and icy northern ocean.
Sometimes, she liked to sit there and just gaze into the distance, thinking of the world she was yet to see. She had heard so many stories about the endless grasslands of Verdenheld, the lush wetlands of Thyresia, the colossal volcanoes of the Shattered Coast - even so, she had so much still to see even in Norskar, up close at least. She’d never even been to a city! Everyone in the village seemed to resent the very idea of them, but she never saw the problem. But then again, she’d never seen, only imagined.
She slumped onto the decking and sat dangling her legs childishly over the edge. Her hair fluttered in the cool breeze as she stared longingly into the distance, fantasising as she always would about the world beyond the village, about epic adventures and legendary quests. She let slip a heavy sigh at the sound of the gates slamming behind Jon. Never had she wanted to go more than she did now.
“Beautiful, isn’t it.”
Erisian turned to see her father standing in the doorway, clad as always in his traditional carved steel plate, decorated with runes and sigils and padded with thick furs.
Brunwulf was a large man in both senses of the word. The once mighty warrior had certainly let himself go in recent years. That said, his is nonetheless a wise and dutiful chief, and a loving father.
“Norskar is a wondrous place. All those stuck up flower pickers in the south go on about how dull and morbid it is, funny coming from people who live in grey houses, behind grey walls.”
Erisian thought for a moment, brewing a question she was unsure if she should ask. “Dad, why do we hate cities so much?”
Brunwulf paused in thought. It amused her that he had to think about it.
“It’s not so much the cities as it is the people who inhabit them. In the Chiefdoms, we have a very simple system, in that the strongest claim rule. But, these ‘Kingdoms’ are ruled by weak little people. They are greedy, manipulative and only out for their own gain. No man like that should lead.”
“But doesn’t it seem wrong that someone, no matter how cruel they are, can get into power just by being strong?”
“No, that is the way that life has always been - survival of the fittest.” Brunwulf insisted with the usual stoic persistence of their people. “To subvert the natural way is wrong. That is a fact.”
Erisian wasn’t buying it. She didn’t know what to believe, but thought it pointless to question her father. The people of the chiefdoms defended their traditions fiercely.
“Thanks, Dad.” Eris murmured, staring with intrigue at the distant speck her father had always told her was a city. It didn’t look like much from here, but he said it was enormous up close. She could barely imagine it.
Brunwulf looked down at his glum faced daughter, reading her accurately, as he always could. “You’re not up here admiring the scenery are you, daughter?”
She turned to her father and sighed longingly. “No, I…”
“You want to go out there, don’t you? See the world, like you always say.”
Erisian looked down ashamedly, not that she actually was ashamed. “I know, it’s stupid.”
“No. It’s not. When I fought in the Rebellions, I got to see all of Norskar. Burning as it was, it was magnificent. I can’t blame you for wanting to go out there.”
“I want more than just boring old Norskar! I want to see it all, the grasslands, the mountains, the oceans! I want an adventure, like Jon.”
Brunwulf smirked subtly behind his thick ginger beard. Even to this day, Erisian would sit intently and listen to any story of action and adventure she could find. It was all she ever thought about, off in her own little world all the time. Whether in the midst of training or amongst a feast, she could always be found in an absent minded trance of imagination. It was adorable yet equally tragic.
“Jon isn’t going on an adventure, he’s going on a journey of discovery, to learn about the lands he calls home and grow into adulthood.”
“It’s better than being cooped up in this village, looking at the same mountains, the same forests, same everything!”
Her father looked at her with pity. He wished to let his daughter follow her dreams and see the world, after all he wanted her to be happy. Alas, he couldn’t afford to jeopardize the future if his village, even for his daughter.
“You know I can’t let you go. Not because I don’t want to-”
“Because you can’t.”
Brunwulf was silent, his daughter was getting to smart for him. He followed Erisian’s gaze to the horizon. He could see the fire in her eyes, how passionately she wanted to go. Whenever he found her up here, she would always have that same look on her face - one of total conviction, of passion like he hadn’t seen since the Rebellions. She wanted this more than he could even imagine.
“Do you really think you could make it out there? The whole year?” Brunwulf asked - a stupid question really, a question to which he already knew the answer.
“Yeah…” Erisian replied hesitantly. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Brunwulf didn’t want to think about it. Not when his daughter was concerned. “You have no idea the dangers you’d face out there. The things you’d see…”
“Dad.” Erisian shifted herself up and onto her feet to look him in the eyes. “I’m ready. I’ve been ready all my life!”
Brunwulf knew she wasn’t ready, that she never could be. Perhaps though, she needed to see the world for herself - if only to recognise its harsh realities. Tradition be damned, how could she be a good chief if she knew nothing of their homeland?
Brunwulf let slip a sigh under his breath. He couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “Then go.”
Erisian froze. Her breath turned short and her heartbeat wildly accelerated. She had never expected this, not in her life. “What?”
“Take the journey, Erisian.”
She didn’t know what to say. This was it, the moment she’d dreamed of all her life - the chance of action, adventure, romance, just like the stories and the legends. She leapt at Brunwulf and threw her arms around him, embracing him with what seemed to Brunwulf like inhuman strength.
“Thank you, thank you!” She cried, squeezing him tight.
Brunwulf wrapped his arms around her. It was as surreal to him as it was to her - the concept of his daughter leaving his supervision, the very thought of her being alone in the world. It was scary, but also gratifying.
“One year, no more.” Brunwulf insisted softly. “Then there’ll no more talk of adventuring.”
“One year, I promise.” Erisian mumbled into the fur of Brunwulf’s cloak, tears rolling down her face.
She sprang away from Brunwulf and with a confirming nod from her father turned tail and went sprinting back into the longhouse. This was the happiest day of her life.
Brunwulf looked on as she thundered around the corner and out of his sight. As much as he feared for her in out in the world, he knew he couldn’t hold his hurricane of a daughter back forever. All he could do now was hope for her safe return.
Erisian barrelled into her bedroom in a high of excitement, grabbing her rugged leather backpack and slinging it onto her bed. She yanked open her drawers and tunnelled frantically through a pile of clothes, flinging a change of clothes piece by piece into a heap on the bed. She yanked open the drawer below and brought out a small bag of bronze and silver pieces, saved up from years of chores for this precise occasion.
Grabbing her bag and cramming the clothes into it as she ran into the hallway, she stormed into the kitchen. She skidded to a halt and flung open the cupboards, unaware of Margot, one of her father’s servants, sweeping nearby.
“Going somewhere, young lady?” Inquired Margot, her wrinkled eyes peering confusedly through her ragged grey hair.
“Yeah, you could say so.” Erisian smugly replied, brushing various items of food into her backpack.
“Well are you sure it requires you cleaning out this week’s food?”
“Yep.”
Margot’s eyes followed Erisian around the room as she clawed food from the shelves. Knowing how pointless her intervention would be, she turned and went to leave the room. “You’re not running away are you?” She asked, turning back suspiciously.
Erisian smirked deviously. She enjoyed teasing Margot and this being the last opportunity for some time, she couldn’t resist. “It doesn’t count if I walk.”
Margot stood for a moment watching her with piercing eyes. Erisian’s face strained in an attempt not to giggle as Margot attempted to process a response. Sometimes she did feel a little bad teasing Margot, but her gullibility made it irresistibly entertaining.
“You know...” Margot eventually replied, making Erisian immediately regret her decision as Margot turned to prop up her broom against the doorframe. “When I was your age, I had a fair share of responsibilities myself. I learned that you can’t run from them, you’ve just-”
Margot turned away from her broom only to realise that she had been talking to herself.
Erisian, having narrowly escaped old Margot’s enchanting tale, slipped out of the Longhouse once
again. She was ready, at least she liked to think so. How could anyone ever be completely confident about leaving home? She looked herself up and down, checking off a mental checklist in her head. Every piece of her leather armour was present, except the helmet of course.
She didn’t have a helmet, not because she disliked them but simply because she never needed one for training. When your opponents aren’t allowed to aim for your head, what’s the point in having a helmet? It just got in the way.
Bandages? Check. Sword? Check. Food? Absolutely.
“Oh!” Erisian gasped.
She hopped down into the training yard and jogged over to Vard, the head instructor. All the girls had a crush on Vard - that was no secret, they always drooled over his toned abs and thick, masculine beard. Erisian didn’t really care for him. He was handsome and undoubtedly skilled, but throbbing muscles was definitely not her type.
“Hey Vard, how’s it going?” Erisian chirped energetically.
“How’s it going?” Vard sneered amusedly. “That sounds like code for ‘I need to permanently borrow one of your weapons’.”
Admittedly, this wasn’t the first time Erisian had ‘borrowed’ a training weapon. She just hoped that he wouldn’t bring up the training sword she still owed him, which she absolutely did not snap while playing ‘guards and thieves’ with Jon.
“Wow. Am I that predictable?”
“You had that familiar look in your eyes. What’ll it be this time?”
“A shield, best one you got.”
Vard got up from his chair and wandered over to the shield rack, Erisian in tow. “Alright, just for you I’ll give up a reinforced shield.”
He grabbed one of the shields from the rack. None of the training weapons were anything special, all wooden and aged. The shield was reinforced with an iron rim, meaning it was the sturdiest of the lot, mostly used in training against opponents using the hammers or maces as to not crumple the shield’s edge. It was bland and unwieldy, but it was the best she was going to get.
