by Lee LaCroix
“Could you help me with my father? I wish to bury him out back,” she asked with downcast eyes and a delicate voice.
Garreth helped the daughter carry the man out behind the smithy and laid him on the grass. With a pair of shovels, they broke the earth into a deep grave and placed the man inside with all the respect they could muster. Fresh tears streamed down the daughter’s eyes as she watched dirt conceal the only person she had ever truly known or loved. Garreth stood in bowed reverence as the woman returned from the house with a decorated blade, shining with polish and radiant with an inlaid design. She plunged the blade into the dirt as a headstone. To her, it was a brilliant exemplar of a man whose character was as good as his craft.
“I want to thank you. Not just for honouring my father but for saving my life. After I killed that man… I am sure terrible things would of happened to me if you and your boy had not have intervened when you did. The Blackwoods are not known for their kindness,” she turned to the hunter and spoke after she had reflected on her actions.
“I only did what I felt was right, and I am sure my son did the same. Today was not my first meeting with Blackwoods, and I could not allow them to continue to oppress the people they share this land with,” Garreth explained.
A renewed flushness arose in the woman’s face, but this one was not of grief but of anger.
“My only friends, fellow merchants and craftsmen, were scared from the Crossroads with the Blackwoods’ thugs, threats, and taxes. We don’t get much business because folk are too scared to travel on the roads and fearful of highwaymen never impeded by the Queen’s Aegis. Forests around Amatharsus are being leveled like never before, and farmers are strong-armed in desperation. There isn’t a place or province in our land that the Blackwoods don’t seem to have their strangling fingers around,” the woman spat, her voice rising to a familiar, simmering anger.
“I share your concern and distress. The Blackwoods attacked my home and what I hold dear. My son and I are on our way to the city to find the truth behind these troubling times,” Garreth replied in a solemn voice.
The woman turned back to the grave and hung her head in mourning.
“I wish you well in your journey then. May you have more luck than my father did,” she said as she kneeled beside the grave.
When Garreth and Novas left the inn, the innkeeper and the bartender were outside on the crossroad spreading fresh dirt and gravel over the areas that had been stained with conflict. Even though the two travellers were packed and prepared for another stretch of their journey, Garreth still had one last duty to perform. They leapt upon the carriage and directed the ill-kept steeds north a ways into a nearby field. The wagon wheels creaked in protest as Garreth took the carriage onto the plain, which was barren albeit a spreading of short grasses and resilient brush. The cart came to rest in a soggy depression that was not far from the road.
Garreth released the horses from their tiresome labour, unbinding them from the cart and holsters. In weary reaction to their freedom, the animals trotted away and faded off into the distance behind a row of trees. The hunter and his son collected a bunch of dry plants nearby and made a small bundle of tiny twigs and handfuls of turf. With some flint from his pack, Garreth struck some sparks to the tinder and nursed the fire into a healthy flame. They each tossed a torch onto the bloodstained wagon. Before long, the wheels had splintered and fell inward as the wagon’s bed, with the fallen Blackwoods, crashed to the ground with a loud smash. Novas smelled a pungent and nauseous odor for the first time but did not know that it belonged to flame-bitten flesh. The billowing wind made it difficult for him to escape the smoke, and he crouched on a bushel of thick grasses nearby. The wagon was reduced to ashy pieces and the bones were charred to a blackened hue before the two decided to throw damp soil across the pyre.
Turning away from the fading smoulders of the fire, Garreth and Novas travelled uphill towards the road where a figure in a dark brown robe stood to meet them in their path. As they approached, the person withdrew their hood, revealing a shock of red hair. Her eyes moved from the funeral pyre to the men who climbed the slope.
“More than they deserve, I feel. For their deeds, they should be the sport of crows and maggots,” the forgemaiden stated as the men drew near.
“Indeed. But the good people of the Crossroads do not deserve any further burden from the Blackwoods today,” Garreth spoke as he met her eyes.
Novas walked along on the road north, and Garreth nodded and moved onwards, leaving the red one behind them.
“I want to go to the city with you!” the woman called out from behind.
The two travellers stopped and turned. The woman braced her bouncing pack in a tight grip as she jogged to catch up to them.
“I have always wanted to leave the Crossroads, and I have a way and a reason now. I want to meet with the Queen and plead the problems of the Crossroads. I need to know why the Blackwoods can go unpunished after destroying my home and my family. I cannot travel alone. I have nothing left now. I just want to know,” the woman protested, nearly out of breath.
“It would seem we are both searching for answers then. But you know these roads can be very dangerous. You’ll have to do as we do, and you might have to save your life if we cannot,” Garreth warned, recalling the violent episodes of their journey thus far.
“I have a sword. I may not be able to use it well, but I can lift it,” she said has she unsheathed the same fiery weapon now decorated with notches at its edge.
“I have another blade… one that never met its master before he was slain. It can be a gift for your boy, if you’ll have me along,” she offered as she withdrew another sword in its scabbard from her pack, presenting it with desperation and earnest.
“My name is Kayten,” she proclaimed as she held the blade aloft.
Garreth stepped forward, took the weapon, and withdrew it from its sheath. Garreth found it had a sharp edge and a decent shine, so he twirled the sword and tested its balance. Its leather grip felt supple in his hand, and the hilt and pommel were fixed solid.
“It is a good weapon, Kayten. I hope Novas will not have to use it. But if he does, it will not fail him,” the man said as he sheathed the blade and passed it to his son.
Novas was excited but serious, for he recognized the responsibility of owning such a weapon. He became apprehensive of the road ahead where he might have to use it. Garreth turned, gestured towards the road ahead, and continued onward with his son beside him and Kayten close behind.
Act Two
Chapter Seven
The midday sun cast short shadows on the trees, brush, and the three travellers who passed through a lightly wooded area on the Great South Road. The land had warmed since dawn, and the wind had lost the remainder of its chilly bite. Kayten seemed to be unaccustomed to travelling as Novas was, for she was consumed with much of the passing scenery. As the road weaved through a valley of many rising hills, Garreth kept his eyes fixed on the bend in the path ahead. He did not wish to be taken by surprise again and assumed that they would soon meet traffic on one of the capital’s busy trade roads. Novas had taken up the rear of their coterie and had continued to study the pathways leading off well-worn route. The boy held the hilt of his sword with a rigid grip as if he was waiting for something to suddenly strike.
“You two move on this path like you do not trust the ground you walk on. Is it the Blackwoods that trouble you… or something else?” Kayten proclaimed as she examined their cautious searching.
“I have travelled to the capital many times before, and the roads are seldom this quiet. I fear that something more foul than the plans of bandits may be at work here,” replied Garreth as he continued to peer into the distance.
“After the Crown Aegis stopped patrolling the roads, the only travellers we’d see, save the Blackwoods, were caravans followed by armed guards. No one felt safe alone on horseback anymore,” Kayten explained as she recalled the travellers she had glimpsed from her days besid
e the forge.
“With good reason, I am sure,” Garreth responded as if remembering a finer time that had now been lost.
The trio remained quiet and steady for the remainder of the afternoon, stopping only once for a brief period to rest sore feet and weary limbs. To disguise their location from any passersby, they left the road and found a clearing in a wood that was protected by surrounding brush. Novas and Kayten both welcomed the stop, for both were unaccustomed to travelling such distances at a steady pace. The two younger sat upon a fallen trunk while the eldest rested between them with his back upon it. He unpacked the chunk of bread and a few sticks of jerky and offered up his water skein to those who were thirsty. As they sat in the clearing, Novas had felt a sense of calmness and safety that had been robbed of him since encountering the Blackwoods on the forest path yesterday. A return to a familiar place seemed to dismiss the anxiety of this dangerous travel. Novas allowed the song of the forest to speak to him, and he found a satisfying rest at that time, but he realized he must leave so such places would remain in the world.
“We used up time dealing with those Blackwoods today. We’ll be lucky to reach the city gates by dark today,” Garreth informed between mouthfuls as he searched the sky above.
Novas snapped out of his recollection and nodded to his father. He looked to his side to see the smith’s daughter, whose face once was shrouded with woe was now set with determination. Kayten looked straight ahead but not into the forest; the place she could find resolution was the future. She caught his glance, formed a tight-lipped face that was neither glad nor sour, and rose from her seat. The two men packed their supplies, arose shortly after, and parted from the place of momentary peace.
Eventually, Garreth felt a growing sense of relief that it had been so uneventful since leaving the Crossroads. Being constantly alert for danger was a skill that called back to his days in the Crown Aegis. It was an ability that he had rarely had to exercise on his long trips as a ranger in a once safe kingdom. Regardless of how much had changed, his use of awareness and suspicion came back to him easily, and the keenness of agility kept his vision and movement sharp and precise. He had heard the sounds of occupation even before they had planned to pass the corner of the next hill. He signaled Kayten and Novas for silence, and the two waited behind the hill as Garreth ascended with quiet and caution. He crouched behind some thick brush and looked into the road ahead.
A small cabin stood beside a ravine with a steep drop that met a rushing river. It looked a similar structure to the guard’s barracks at the Crossroads and matched its state of disrepair. Strewn about were cart wheels, metallic joiners, and piles of rope, which seemed to be left about in a haphazard fashion. Pulled up beside the house were two wagons filled with sacks, crates, and piles of furs. Garreth focused his sight as much as he could in the fading light and was certain that these carts carried the ominous sword, hammer, and axe sigil that the Blackwoods called their own.
The road ahead led to a wide, wooden bridge that spanned the Fenross River. The bridge was blocked by makeshift barricades made by fallen timber and second-hand rope, which with its carved edges would stop any carriage or horse. Two men stood against the rails of the bridge while another sharpened a blade near the cabin’s opening. The two on the bridge seemed to be in an argument over something Garreth could not make out. Their idle posture, shady countenance, and dark leathers made Garreth assume the worst of their identity. The hunter crawled back down the hill to find the questioning faces of the other travellers.
“The bridge ahead is blocked. By the Blackwoods, I’d guess. We’d all like to avoid them as much as possible, so we’re going to find a different way to cross the Fenross,” Garreth whispered as the two crept in close.
Novas nodded, and Kayten shrugged.
“We’re going to head east along the river side till we can find another crossing… perhaps a shallow or natural formation. The Fenross is not known to be gentle, so we’ll just have to hope,” Garreth informed as he started to lead the group in a wide circle around the camp.
The Fenross had flowed over the land for centuries and had formed a great crevice by the wear of its surging waters. While the body was not wide enough to permit trade vessels, it was not uncommon to see the bobbing of anchored boats as they harvested the river’s bounty. There had once been makeshift bridges that travellers would use to cross the shallows, but a more secure edifice was required as time and trade progressed in the kingdom. The Woodreach Bridge was built during the expansion of the Great South Road and was wide enough to facilitate the passing of caravans and carriages side-by-side. The occupation of the Woodreach Bridge forced tradesmen and travellers to take less frequented roads to reach the capital, which put them in greater danger of attacks from highwaymen after the abolition of the Crown Aegis.
As the Woodreach Bridge was no option to them, Garreth, Kayten, and Novas hiked east along the side of the Fenross in search of an alternative way across. If they strayed too close to the valley’s edge, sections of dirt and stone fell away without warning and vanished into the frothing waters below. Novas had never seen a stream in his wood that surged with so much energy, an intensity only matched by the churning sea. With careful steps, the three continued until terrain became more unbroken, and the river opened up into a wider body of water less dominated by current. The pool was filled with curling ripples that shimmered in red and white in the reflection of the fading sun. Garreth spied a dock and boat on the far side of the basin and a construction that was more a wooden tent than a cabin itself. Beside the lake, the trio hiked through the sparsely wooded area, over rows of fallen trees, and through waves of leafy foliage. As they approached, a fire burned outside of the shelter where some hanging fish roasted on a spit.
A creaky voice cried out as a long, carved branch flew out of the tent followed by a boney limb. Garreth leapt back, gestured with an open hand to signal for the others to remain behind, and then grabbed the sheath of his sword. In an instant, the advancing staff was parried by the covered blade and was pinned beneath the hunter’s feet. An aged head rose to meet the victor’s eyes, featuring a receded tangle of hair and a wiry beard of considerable length.
“Please, spare me. All I have is what I found today. All I have is wood and fish,” the elder begged as his face changed from anger to mourning.
“We did not come here to steal from you,” Garreth informed as he stepped off the man’s walking stick and helped the man to his feet from his knees.
When the aged one decided that his life was not in danger, he raised a hand to block out the rays of the setting sun and sized up the travellers.
“We need passage across the Fenross. Can you help us?” Garreth asked as he pointed to the nearby boat, which was fashioned by logs and the same natural tangle that secured the shelter.
With a keen squint of his eyes, the man looked between the new company, the water, and his boat. He sized up the group and sat back down under the overhang of his shelter.
“I can take you across tonight. The wind is calm and the clouds are gone, so it should be a safe night for crossing. But not before I’ve finished my fish!” the man said, nodding to himself.
The hermit scuttled over to the fire where he clasped the fish speared on the spit, licking his fingers after feeling their crispiness. He tore them off the heated spikes and placed them onto a wooden plate he had fetched from inside the hut. Novas and Garreth sat to the left and right of the eccentric hermit while Kayten kept her distance on the far side of the fire.
“I used to trade away fish up at the bridge, I had a stand and a hanging rack and everything,” the man boasted between mouthfuls. “There were lots of people looking for a light meal on their way to the capital. With the passing merchants and caravans, I could often acquire things to enrich my home.”
“When some goons started charging a toll for using the bridge, people stopped using it all together. When they arrived, they told me I’d have to pay to continue to trade fish there
. When I didn’t, they smashed the booth to splinters,” the fisherman mourned and then swallowed deep.
“Sometimes, they even come this far from the road to steal from me. They took the last of my coin and my stock of dried fish. Now I only catch what I eat. If I can’t catch anything, I go hungry,” he continued.
“I have no family left and no friends, but a life on the water continues to suit me just fine. If they take my boat, I don’t know what I’d do,” he informed them, his gaze dropping into the flames.
An oppressive air hung over the fire and the people that surrounded it. Kayten now saw the man as not a vagrant but a victim of the same callous folk that destroyed her livelihood as well. She recalled the blood in the streets and the man she had slain in vengeance, and she wished that every victim had the ability to find such closure against this shapeless enemy. The fire in her heart burst forth anew, and she became impatient as she wished to be moving on from this place and towards her destiny. She arose from her place with a serious expression and walked over to the shore to watch the fiery flicker of the quiet waves break upon the shore of pebbles.
Being unfamiliar with life outside of the forest, Novas could empathize with the man’s tale only to the slightest degree. The only woes he had known were fatigue, hunger, and occasional sickness; he knew little of loss and pain. Even the threat of the Blackwoods seemed a dangerous illusion to him, for he had never felt the sharp bite of a blade or the smashing blunt of a mace. But the Blackwoods had tried to take his father from him and had succeeded in taking Kayten’s from her. For every transgression he discovered, he pledged to correct the wrongs that we’re being made. The fancy of justice played in his head even if he was unaware of its reality or its consequences.
From the protestations at the King’s side, to the mired confession at the tavern bar, Garreth had travelled the land and had heard his share of tales. He wondered if all of the Blackwoods could be heartless from desperation and found himself doubting it. While Garreth was cautious in confronting this new threat, he did not fear them. What did make Garreth nervous was a suspicion that he knew all too well what was happening to the land and its people, and the challenge may prove too arduous for the efforts of one man to resolve.
