by Alice Ivinya
Avan's Gift
Queen Avan, Volume 1
Alice Ivinya
Published by Alice Ivinya, 2020.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Avan's Gift (Queen Avan, #1)
Chapter One | The Washer Woman
Chapter Two | Journey Through a Dying World
Chapter Three | An Unusual Companion
Chapter Four | An Unwanted Guest
Chapter Five | The Windmill
Chapter Six | Herne
Chapter Seven | An Uninvited Guest
Chapter Eight | Avan’s Gift
Chapter Nine | The Girl in the Tower
Chapter Ten | The Prince and the Rogue
Acknowledgements
Avan’s Curse
For my mum who inspired the idea for this prequel.
Queen Avan: Part One
AVAN'S GIFT
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, uploaded or transmitted in any form without the author’s written consent. This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Published 2020
First edition published November 11, 2019. Second edition March 28, 2020. Third edition June 9, 2020
Copyright © 2020 Alice Ivinya.
Edited by Claire Staley
Cover design by Milktee Studios
Chapter One
The Washer Woman
ALL AROUND ME WERE signs my country was dying.
I bent over the dirty shirt, beating it on the washing rack, when a bird startled me, fluttering and jerking down from the sky with feeble wing beats. Klia, washing beside me, barely looked up. Birds fell from the skies nowadays.
The tiny creature hit the dust of the courtyard and for a moment all I could see was black feathers fighting the dirt. I dropped the half-washed shirt and hurried up to it. Its tiny chest rose and fell once, then the only movement was the tiny fleas crawling out from under the feathers. I bent down to feel its chest muscles but my fingers only found a sharp keel bone that spoke of starvation. Its eyes were sunken and dehydrated. I wiped my hand and pushed the body to the edge of the yard with my foot.
I noticed Klia watching me. “No meat on it,” I called.
She looked disgusted, hands on hips. “I can’t believe you actually touched it. As if you would eat such a sick bird, anyway. You’ll catch those worm things that live under your skin.”
“Might be worth it,” I mumbled. “I haven’t eaten meat for an age.”
Somehow Klia heard me and screwed up her face. “You’re gross, Avan.”
I rolled my eyes. “I would cook it properly, silly. I wouldn’t get worms.”
I returned to my laundry before Mistress Claire could catch me slacking, and stretched my aching back. I wiped the sweat from my eyes and my dress clung to my sticky legs so I pulled up the skirts to knot them above my knees. The slight breeze felt wonderful on my bare skin. I loosened the ties around my collar to make it easier to breathe.
“Looking to impress the visitors, Avan?” sniggered Klia as she beat a shirt clean. Her pale hair was working its way free from her headscarf as she rocked back and forth.
I flicked a bit of soap at her. “If they try to carry me off to Herne, I’ll give them a piece of my mind. By the earth, it’s hot.”
I picked up the damp clothes and staggered under the heavy load to the washing line hung between two dead ash saplings. In this heat, the washing would dry instantly. None of it was as clean or sweet smelling as normal. The drought meant there was little water to spare for washing clothes. There had once been a stream running through the courtyard with flat rocks placed all the way down for scrubbing. Now it was just a dry trench that tripped the unwary and all we had was a few buckets of well water for the whole day.
I’d almost finished hanging the last of the trousers when Mistress Claire bustled into the courtyard carrying a new basket from the inn. My heart sank at the sight of so many more dirty clothes.
“Look what we have here, girls. I’ve not seen clothes so fine in a decade. I think this one is Ioran silk!” She pulled out a pale green shirt and held it up to her plump body, standing tall. Then she saw the red wine stain. “By the earth how do they expect us to get that out with the amount of water we have. Careless, it is.” She shook her head, tutting. “Now girls, you’ll need to use the special soaps on these. Remember that colours run in Ioran silk unless you use cold water. And... by the earth, Avan, what are you wearing?”
I shrugged. “It’s hot, mistress. There’s nobody here to see.”
Mistress Claire threw the silk back into the basket. The temperature did not help her temper. “We’re all hot, Avan. No need to use it as an excuse to lose all sense of dignity. What if the visitors from Herne came out here looking for people with the Arts? You would shame all of Vale.”
I rolled my eyes and untied my woollen skirts so they fell back down to my ankles. I straightened my pinafore over the top, but left the top of my dress untied. It could be so hot that birds were falling dead from the sky, but I would still have to look respectable. Mistress Claire still glared at me. Her frizzy brown hair was peeking out of her white headscarf and dripping sweat.
Klia grabbed the silk shirt from the basket. “I say we make the stain worse. Spread it around. Unpick the stitching on the trousers. Fill them with bird fleas.”
Mistress Claire’s already red face turned horrified. “What has got in to you two?”
“Serve them right for coming here and stealing our Growers. Bet they don’t care if the lot of us starve.” Klia smirked at me but I knew she was serious.
Mistress Claire grabbed the shirt back, nervously. “These men are from Herne. They’ve been sent by the king. Have some respect, girl.”
Klia shrugged. “Maybe you should wash that lot then, if you want it done right.”
Mistress Claire moved the basket to the table. “If you two were my daughters, I’d give you both a good beating.” She started sorting the clothes into colours and materials. At least there weren’t any furs with this weather. It could take ages to brush all the dust and dirt from them. I put my hands on my hips as I waited for my share of the soiled washing.
Mistress Claire softened her voice as Klia started to help. “They won’t force your father, I’m sure. And if he decides to go, you could go with him. If there’s anywhere that will survive this drought, it’ll be Herne.”
Klia shrugged again and stayed silent. Her brave mask of nonchalance was starting to slip. We were risking starting one of Klia’s infamous sulks. If she fell into self-pity, Klia could avoid speaking for days, her huffs and sighs putting everyone off communicating with her. We shared a look. Mistress Claire wanted to avoid that as much as I did.
“He’s not even that gifted,” I added. “He can’t make land fertile, can he? He just makes the plants grow quicker. I mean, he could barely be called a Grower.”
Klia nodded, not lifting her eyes from the clothes. After a moment she said, “They have Growers from the villages to the east with them, including Elmhill and Firegrove. They even have some from Greater Dale. If their Growers chose to leave when they have greater food stores, ours will leave too.”
Mistress Claire pressed her lips into a firm line and decided not to respond. She divided the washing into three piles, keeping the expensive items for herself. I was disappointed not to have the silk shirt. I’d never felt silk before and was tired of washing nothing but wool, linen and leather. The older lady started beating the garment on the rack with her bat and rubbed salt into the stain. Klia was given the pale clothes that needed to be soaked with lye soap. She spread a sheet over t
he top of them and covered it with ash, then started pouring what little water she had left through the bundle. As if the visitors were not taking enough from us with the Growers, they expected us to wash their clothes in our meagre supply of water too. Why should some people be privileged just because of where they were born?
I was finishing my second quilted doublet that stank of sweat from being worn under chain mail, when Klia’s little brother skidded into the washing court. Finn’s mop of brown curls bounced around him. How could he run in this heat?
“Klia, the visitors have left the inn. They’re going to the town oak. Everyone is gathering to hear them.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her out of the courtyard before she could speak.
I looked longingly at Mistress Claire and she sighed. “Off you go, child,” she muttered, flicking her hand. “Let me know what they say.”
I smiled and gave the woman a quick kiss on the cheek, something she pretended infuriated her. “Thank you, Mistress Claire,” I called as I darted away. I dodged the filthy cook’s apron she threw at me in retribution.
I followed Klia and Finn through the crackling dead vines that covered the entrance to the washing courtyard. They had once obscured the square from passersby with broad leaves and delicate yellow flowers that covered you in fragrance as you pushed through. Now each vine was brittle and bare, showering me with fragments of dead leaves that lingered in my hair and clothes. The Growers saved their strength for Growing crops now the drought was in its third year, and everything else was left to die. Like the birds. This summer was the hottest yet. It made it hard to work and everyone was irritable. There wasn’t a single person in Vale who didn’t start the day looking west to see if the rain clouds had finally come.
Once out of range of Mistress Claire, I slowed to unbutton my sleeves from where they bunched uncomfortably above my elbow and let them fall loosely to my wrists. One good thing about the drought was that my hands and arms were no longer submerged in water all day so my skin wasn’t red and bleeding by the afternoon. They were still dry and rough, though. I absently let my mind run over the familiar considerations of what I could do instead of washing. Most people did the same jobs as their parents, but I’d hated weaving with Ma and the arguments that had ensued.
I hurried down the dusty road to the town oak. Tall grasses and flowers had once lined the paths, shaded by spindly trees. All had long since died, and the bone-dry grass and wood had been removed as a fire risk. Now everything was bare and sombre. I remembered the houses as explosions of colour from flowers and leaves. Now their walls of bare soil and tree trunks were exposed, ugly and haphazard, since they had never been intended to be seen.
Like most towns in Marchwood, Vale had an ancient town oak that the rest of the buildings were built or Grown around. Countless generations of Farthi had gradually sculpted it until the base of the trunk was wide and squat, creating a platform where people could stand. Seats were carved in the branches circling above so that all could watch and listen. The tree was the only splash of green in the town now.
People were hurrying, gossiping noisily, up all the dusty roads to the tree. Some had even dressed up in dyed clothing. It appeared the visitors from Herne were already there since two guards flanked the entrance to the tree. I wondered how important they were. At least one had to be nobility to afford an Ioran silk shirt, and apart from our lord in Greater Dale, I hadn’t seen nobles before.
I reached the bottom of the tree just as the voices within died down. I climbed up the gnarls and knobs of bark that formed steps and slipped to my normal place in the higher branches where I could see clearly but not be noticeable. Below, Mother Helda was hobbling from the centre of the trunk, which was flattened like a stage, to the only seat at the same level, padded with cushions for her bad back. She must have just announced the new comers and quieted the crowd. She was our chief Grower, and I had had little to do with her since she had tested me on my tenth summer, along with all the other children, and found me unable to Grow.
Four strangers remained on the stage, all with short swords at their hips and two wore mail and stood still and alert like guards. The other two were smartly dressed and looked around with their faces raised to capture our attention. They looked like father and son. The older one was already talking and was grey-haired with tough leathery skin from a life in the sun. The boy beside him looked young in contrast and constantly fidgeted, uncomfortable from the attention. Older or younger than me, I wondered? Hmm, my bet was on younger. The bright silk shirt probably belonged to him.
“Psst! Avan!” came a sharp whisper that made many people frown and glance up. I followed the noise and saw Klia with her brother perched on a smooth bough. I quickly scrambled up to meet them, the tree designed to make climbing easy, even in a long dress.
“Thought Mistress Claire had kept you for a moment then,” said Klia as she shuffled up to give me room.
“Nah, still soft as butter. Anything happen yet?” I pulled a tiny unripe acorn off the tree and fiddled with it in my fingers.
“No. I bet you a jug of water that you can’t hit the stuck up one with that acorn,” she whispered.
I grinned. “The young one?”
Klia nodded and found an acorn of her own. “Yep, that one. You should have seen how he swaggered on, all straight backed and imperious. Look how uncomfortable he is with all us peasants!”
I tossed the acorn up, above the platform, in a wide arc. When it fell, it looked like it had come from above our heads. An innocent seed dislodged by a bird or the wind. I immediately sat back, leaning on my arms.
The acorn landed two feet from our target.
Finn stifled a snigger. Klia tried next. She flicked the acorn up and adopted a bored expression. The acorn hit one guard in the face. He looked up at the sky. My face cracked and I bit my tongue to stop myself from laughing. Next to me, Klia was holding her breath, her shoulders shaking.
The older man was still talking, but his tone became serious. Finn elbowed Klia and jerked his head to the stage.
“Kind people of Vale, I know these times are hard and the future unknown.” Klia coughed to cover an escaped snort as she tried to breathe normally. A few people sat in front gave us a glare. “It is a time where we must unite as a country to see us all through, rather than let any food or skill be wasted. No man should feast while his brother starves.” The man let the sentence linger to entrap his audience. Thankfully Klia didn’t interrupt the silence with any more noises. I could tell she was biting her lip hard. “Our tribe has long flourished because of the gifts of our people. These gifts are now all that lies between us and starvation.” People were leaning forward now with small nods. “As you know, many of the rivers have dried up. The great River Herne alone flows strong and most of the land adjacent to it is sulphur plains where the very soil scalds to touch. The fields north of Herne are the best chance we have of growing enough food to supply the whole nation.” A few apprehensive glances rippled through the crowd. Those fields were far away from here. “The River Herne runs wide there and the skill of enough Growers could mean a full crop every month. This would be enough to feed not only Marchwood, but fulfil trade with the neighbouring countries of Tahara and Eltaria.” He spread his arms out side and turned in a circle to face all the village. “Therefore, we ask for all Growers to bravely step forward and accompany us north to Herne. All your family’s needs will be seen to and you will be richly paid. Any others who wish to travel to easier lands are welcome to accompany us too.” The old man bowed his head but kept his arms outstretched in welcome.
I shredded an oak leaf. It had been a good speech. I almost found myself convinced by his logic. “If we give up our Growers,” I called down, relying on the height and leaves to shield me, “who’s to say we can rely on Herne’s charity? We’ll risk starvation.”
A few nods and mutters.
The elderly man placed a hand over his chest. “You have my word as a Farthi and as chancellor of Marchwood that all
the food we produce will be evenly distributed. King Joseph is honourable. However, if you doubt your safety, you are welcome to join us in Herne.” He gave a welcoming smile.
Another voice spoke up. “What about the River Herne this side of the sulphur plains? It still runs strong in the south too.” The River Herne wasn’t far from the other side of Greater Dale.
The chancellor grew serious. “I’m afraid that the Tharans are becoming more bold. Raiding parties are leaving Tahara more and more frequently to steal food. They have even started kidnapping Growers. They grow no crops of their own, as I’m sure you’re aware, and the grasslands are becoming barren. They are struggling to feed their flocks and herds, and the trading villages on our southern border are refusing to sell their food. If we concentrate on growing food down here, we fear it will be stolen.”
I shivered. The border was only a day and a half on foot from here and the Tharans all rode horses. They were a nomadic people, used to travelling quickly and skirmishing with each other. They didn’t have Growers like our tribe did, but had the Art of bonding animals. Huge bears and wolves would attack alongside them and hawks and falcons could track you so there was nowhere to run.
I had only seen Tharans in the villages south of us, when we had delivered produce to trade before the famine. They had dark hair and pale skin and eyes that glared. Yet the furs, wool, meat and horses they traded with us were worth the risk of welcoming them.
I hugged myself despite the heat.
“He’s going to do it, I know it,” muttered Klia. “He will take us all north as a Grower and say it’s for our own good. That it’s safer.”
It took me a second to realise she was talking about her father. I took a long look at my friend, unsure of what to say. She knew her father best. “At least you’ll always have enough food. And you might not have to do washing anymore?”
Klia shrugged. “I don’t know how to do much else, Avan.”
