Terraless

by Thorby Rudbek

  She walked back to the stairs, down, and turned, wondering where the cat was, to see him sitting, staring at the back door. “Something happening, little friend?” Sure enough, the cat meowed, though only his ears tracked her comment – his eyes were still on the thick panels of the rear exit. At that moment, there was a series of three rapid thumps on the door. The girl sprang to the nearest window and looked out, trying to catch a glimpse of the person – surely it is another human? – that must be out there.

  “Come on, boy!” She pulled back the bolts and, grabbing her sword pommel for reassurance, dropped down and began to roll out, under the door. She quickly stopped, as there was something laid on the ground, just inches away. A leathern bag. Looking around, confirming there was no one there, she opened the bag and found a round, soft-crusted loaf there, together with two apples. Hmm, I know the name of that food! She smiled as she reached for the rosy-coloured shiny skin. A quick bite confirmed the sweetness of the white interior and she grabbed the bag straps, intending to pull it in. No. I think this would be right. She put the apple down, keeping the bitten hemisphere upward, and grabbed the round loaf with both hands. It tore nicely in half and she left the bag outside, with one half loaf and one apple (unbitten!) for her unknown benefactor.

  Half an hour later she had finished her second meal, this one with hunks of meat and bread wrapped together and the remains of the apple to follow, washed down with some more of the still-fizzy well water. After she had stretched, and seeing that the cat was also satiated (though he had only sniffed at the small hunk of bread she had offered him and had restricted himself to a small selection of meaty fragments and a few licks from a bowl of the well water), she looked outside again. Funny, it’s still not getting any darker! This was said as she acknowledged the tiredness creeping up on her. She could feel the bed calling her, so she checked to see that her bow was nearby, unhooked the twine, and stood the beautifully carved wood near the corner of the room where the unlit fireplace presided in all its grandeur. With the cat walking beside her, she went upstairs, used the hoop and hole feature again, found some stubby lengths of bristly rope to clean her teeth and stepped into her own bedroom. This really is mine. I wonder what it all means… She noted that the glowing object or creature in the sky was now slightly higher than before – another occurrence that seemed counter-intuitive – and watched it for a while, until her eyelids drooped so much that her view of it was more than half obscured. She closed the curtains, stripped off her clothes: boots, tunic, leggings, and put on the comforting nightdress again. The bedclothes seemed to press her into the puffy mattress, and… in a moment, she was asleep.

  ***

  Waking was disorientating, but only momentarily so. She looked up at the ornate ceiling and upper walls. The woodland scenes looked inviting and she wondered if she would find them on her travels. She could tell that she had slept deeply and long and was refreshed. And I know who I am, or at least who I was yesterday! She eased out from under the covers and checked around the curtains to discover that the source of light, hidden now from direct view by a thin layer of clouds, was apparently located in the same general vicinity where she had last seen it. How can that be? There’s supposed to be changes!

  Her cat friend appeared at the bedroom door – or doorway – and stretched, looking at her intently as he finished this morning ritual, as if to say: ‘about time!’

  “Oh, come here!” she reached down and picked him up, turning him over in her arms. His eyes, those pale green ones that had surprised her so much the previous day, seemed to smile at her as they closed with contentment. “You need a name! Perhaps you already have one…” She rubbed around his ears as she contemplated this thought. “Rauffaely. That is your name.” She leaned forwards and touched her nose to his, and then put him down, stroking the ruffled fur until it gleamed and lay in perfect order along his back and sides.

  Rauffaely looked up, opened his pink mouth in a large yawn, licked his lips fastidiously, and meowed once.

  She laughed. “You have a name… I suppose I must have one, too!” Time will tell. Perhaps today will be a great day for discovery! But now, I must start this new day well.

  In the room with the bathtub and hoop and hole feature, she found some more semi-hidden storage behind further carved protuberances – all these walls must be so thick, to have so much inside them! – and was pleased to find a huge towel of deep-pile cotton in the first one she tried. It was, of course, a dark brown in colour. If I am indeed to start this day right, I need to use that tub for more than just hand-washing! She walked down the stairs to the store-room and searched it for the thing she hoped would be there. Once her eyes adjusted to the comparative gloom, she walked through, past the stacks of metal panels, looking. At the back of the room she found a black shield, covered with a huge, draped burlap cloth which had slipped somewhat to reveal the upper portion. No, not quite… She moved further on, and found another, covered completely with the same burlap material. This one turned out to be green – a powerful, deep, living green that made her think of big trees in endless forests. There was one more burlap-covered object, a few feet beyond this second one which she had covered up again, as she had the first. It was much taller than the others. This must be it! She pulled a little hesitantly at the burlap and it slid off without a sound. Yes! Revealed from behind it was a very large panel of beautifully polished silvery metal, nominally shaped like the other two shields, the same approximate width, though much taller, but without the slightly convex shaping of the outer surface. Thank goodness for that! She recovered the panel and lifted it gently, finding it was very heavy, but that she could easily lift it. Clearly this is not meant to be used in battle! The thought of battle – a world where such implements as were stored around her were used – this world – made her blood race and her head pound. This is a wondrous place!

  She carried it back up to the tub-room and found a series of carved dragon feet on the wall opposite the tub. Sure enough, the panel fitted perfectly, once the burlap had been removed again. Everything has a purpose – I can see that I am supposed to acknowledge that, though I wish I could know what the purpose is, as well as the fact that it exists!

  She stepped back and looked at the vision before her. There was a tall, slender young woman looking back at her – eyes of dark brown, skin (where it was exposed, which was just her face, hands and feet) of palest creamy white, and hair of dark brown. The young woman smiled back at her uncertainly, and then broke into a big grin. Now, at least I can see who I am! She pulled off the nightgown and slipped into the tub, finding that the water was a little cool, but that she could stand it. A few minutes to soak, the process of undoing the braiding of her hair, the discovery that the block of soap seemed to double as hair-cleaner, and she stepped out, wrapping herself in the huge towel after dabbing her hair to absorb the majority of the water. She left her hair free to dry, got into another set of clothes from the walk-in closet in the bedroom and came back to admire the effect in her new… mirror!

  Again, she felt great satisfaction in recalling the name, though she still had no inkling of the ultimate source of this knowledge. Before her stood a striking figure, dressed, inevitably, in dark brown, but this time the tunic had a ‘V’ shaped neck which showed her collar-bones and some of the curves below. The leggings and boots were more substantial than the ones she had ‘randomly’ selected the previous day, and she realised that these, too, were perfect for her body shape, and for the adventure she had planned for herself. No, that is not really true. It’s not me that planned… I wonder…

  Half an hour after her bath she was down in the eating zone, sharing meat from the huge salted hunk with Rauffaely, her newly-named cat companion. Her breakfast was brief, as was his. Time to find out what is happening, or what isn’t.

  Those pale green eyes stared up at her and the furry beast walked up to the bow and rubbed around the wood, as if to remind her that she must protect herself. She looked back and smiled: “Y
ou should stay here and be safe.”

  To this, Rauffaely replied with a low growl and puffed up his otherwise slender tail. He then sat himself in front of the back door with his back to her.

  The girl laughed out loud. “Okay! You can come along!” She grabbed the bow, pulled back the bolts and ducked under the door, almost squashing the feline as he slipped out and stepped ahead of her, running off into the grass. There, on the ground, was the leathern bag, empty now. She picked it up and tucked it under the belt to which the scabbard of her sword was attached.

  She stood tall, reached back to the quiver and slipped the twine located there into position on each end of the curved wood, flexing the bow fully afterwards and feeling her muscles respond to the call as if, again, some memory was associated with this simple motion. Gesturing at the door behind her, she heard the reassuring sounds of the bolts sliding into place.

  She walked to the well, somehow aware that there was no one nearby on this day. This morning? There was her furry friend, sitting on the well wall, waiting for her beside the bucket. She looked inside and saw the level was reduced from the previous ‘day’. I was right to leave some! Rauffaely jumped up and settled on her left shoulder. Glad these clothes are made of tough stuff! The claws gripped but did not penetrate.

  The girl walked on, into the tall grasses, amused that her companion chose not to walk. Ahead, the endless stalks stretched on, making forward vision impossible, except for the slightly trampled path along which the screaming visitor had presumably returned to … where it, she or he had come from. There, a few feet further on, was the ‘arrow’ left to point the way for her. She walked through it and along the thinner, barely discernible track left for her, or at least created by the passage of the donor of the bread and apple. And the screams!

  Grass, higher than her head at times, made the view almost non-existent, though she could tell the path was always slightly downhill. The air was still, the rustling of the stalks, the crunch of broken, previously trampled portions, all made for a sense of isolation, quite the contrast to what she had expected, venturing forth into ‘the great outdoors’. Looking up, she saw the fluffy white clouds sliding past. Clearly it is windy up there. Nothing else could be seen in the otherwise blue dome, and she wondered what was missing. There is something I’d expect to see, up there. If I could just remember what… Even the ‘sun-thing’ seems to be ‘lurking’ behind the clouds! The walk continued, with no sense of impending peril, for a full hour and a half – though of course no such measurement was made by the traveller – and then the stalks thinned out and the girl and her furry shoulder ornament found themselves looking out across a wide river, though the water level seemed very low between the generous banks, and on the other side was… a town.

  Wooden houses – more like overgrown sheds, really – were crowded together on the far side, smoke drifting lazily upwards from rough pottery chimneys on structures further back, and blank dark squares of emptiness in the nearer buildings, where window glass should have been. The roofing was rough, overlapping slabs of wood, the planking of the walls looked uneven, too, was warped in places, and all of the structures were generally in need of a coat of paint, varnish, or whitewash.

  “Psst!” The girl’s visual interrogation of the shabby town was interrupted by a sound from her left, and she twisted quickly in that direction, her free hand reaching instinctively for the pommel of her sword. There, crouching in the last few feet of the huge field of grasses, was a smaller girl with rough-cut blonde hair – though the dingy tint looked like it was a shade or two darker than it should have been, due to lack of care – almost painfully skinny, with a face fickle-full of fear and firmness. She was dressed in a coarsely woven, button-less, off-white shirt – the two front panels of which overlapped at the front – with straps that wrapped around and tied at the back, and a simple, grey-brown, wrap-around skirt of thicker, almost leather-like material, which came to her scratched and dirty knees.

  “You left me the bread and the apple?” The thought became words. And you know how to scream, too, I suppose.

  “And you left me water!” The small girl nodded her thanks. “I am Gefforen.”

  “My thanks, too!” Wish I could tell you my name!

  “Please. Will you help me, Eshezy?” Gefforen seemed to have overheard her thought somehow. She gestured to the grasses where she was hiding, but before the invitation could even be considered, several shouts from across the river drew the attention of the girl referred to as ‘Eshezy’ to that vista again. The second abrupt movement she made caused Rauffaely to jump down and run off into the tall grasses.

  Several men, dressed in mis-matched fur and leather-patched tunics were wading rapidly across the shallow river with crudely-fashioned but large swords held in their massive hands.

  “Oh no!” Gefforen almost screamed as she stood and backed up. “They will beat you!”

  “I am Eshezy!” The girl cried out boldly, hoping that the name given to her by Gefforen would be acceptable, and recognising the tenor of the near-scream from her experiences of the previous day. “I am no enemy!”

  “You are not Eshezy!” The foremost soldier cried angrily. “And, by Seirchaal, you will submit or die!”

  Not if I have anything to do with it! She reached for an arrow, slipped it into place and pulled back in one fluid motion. The twang of the twine and the ‘swooosh’ of the arrow’s flight were followed by a satisfying thud and the soldier cried out as the sword dropped from his hand into the water. The impressive muscles of his upper right arm had been impaled, rendered useless by the penetration. The other three men pushed harder through the water, passing him, crossing the centre of the flow and starting out of the waist-high depths towards the shadows, shouting words laced with anger and the prospect or promise of unrestrained violence.

  The girl, who now was uncertain about the name so nonchalantly pinned on her less than a minute earlier, reached for another arrow. I would not do so well if they were closer. She aimed at the next rushing man – this time her arrow took him in the shoulder and he fell back into the water. The next, running out of the shallows, took an arrow in the thigh and fell a few feet away, in the shin-high flow, his blood creating a trail in the writhing water there, and the last was hit in the upper right quadrant of his chest, leaving him like a statue, his face with an expression of surprise and pain, his mouth gasping as his breathing suddenly was curtailed. He staggered a little and dropped forwards, into the bank at her feet. Too close!

  “Eshezy! You are my Eshezy!” Gefforen dropped before the archer-girl and bowed in wonder and in apparent subjection to the impressive winner of this short battle.

  “Who are you?” ‘Eshezy’ ignored the homage and pulled back on the next arrow that had come to hand. She pointed it at the first victim of her marksmanship, who was still standing in the centre of the river cradling his right arm with his left hand.

  “I am Carranavak.” He bowed his head towards her, but it was clear this was not because of any sense of subservience.

  “And why, Carranavak, did you attack me?”

  “Because you are not of Seirchaal.” The wounded leader staggered and Eshezy – if that was really her name – gestured for him to step out of the river, realising that he was sinking into a state of shock.

  She looked quickly at the others, the one in the shallows, barely keeping his head above the water, and the one near her feet, partly on the bank; the one she had hit in the shoulder had fallen back into the centre channel and was no longer in sight.

  “Carranavak, help this man out of the water!” She directed with a voice which she hoped would sound authoritative, as she could tell that the leader was unconcerned about the fate of his men – he had not looked back once for the one lost in the waist-high depths.

  Carranavak staggered over to his fallen comrade – or minion, more like – and used his uninjured arm to drag the soldier to the bank. He gradually aided the two men as they made their way up out of the
water, by which point the one with the arrow in his thigh passed out and the one with the arrow in his chest continued to gasp, his breaths getting shallower until he too, laid flat on his back and started to drift away.

  Gefforen watched all this transpire, an expression of puzzlement on her face. Finally, she articulated her thoughts: “Why do you help these… these beasts?”

  “Would you have me leave them to die?”

  “They would have killed you and left you for the animals to eat.”

  “If I did that, I would be just like them!”

  Gefforen looked even more puzzled.

  “I am not that kind of person. Do you expect your ‘Eshezy’ to be like that?” She did not wait for an answer but turned again to Carranavak. “Is there someone over there,” she gestured across the river at the shanty town. “Who could dress your wounds?”

  He shook his head as he sank to his knees, his eyes glazing over.

  “Gefforen, is he speaking the truth?”

  The smaller girl nodded.

  “But they could all die, because of me!” One probably already has! Somehow the sight of the injured men, two of which were now unconscious and barely breathing, made the idea of them being her enemies – people she had never met before – seem ludicrous to her. “Gefforen. This town.”

  “Neechaall.”

  “This town, Neechaall – do you live there?”

  “I do.” Gefforen nodded, but it was clear from her tone that she did not feel the term ‘live’ was the most appropriate for her existence in that community.

  “And you have friends there?”

  Again, Gefforen looked puzzled.