by Jason Malone
Thus, Hefenstea became the goddess of vengeance and now wanders the Mirror Worlds hunting down the Defiler. She is almost always depicted with a basket of heads in her left hand and a sword in her right, which is stabbed into the chest of a Thorn — a servant of Vylan — lying at her feet. She wears a torn dress, with one breast exposed, and her face is a wild mess of fury. Her most striking feature, however, is the large set of moth’s wings growing from her back.
“Why me? I do not understand,” I said.
“Nor do I, Godspeaker. Nor do I.” The priest went over to a small chair in the corner of the room and slumped down into it with a groan. “Hefenstea thanks you for your offering. You may go now.”
I bowed one last time, thanked the priest, and then headed back outside. I remember thinking how eerie that encounter was, but at the time I thought little of it. Only later did I begin to understand.
I decided to browse the stalls for a little while to pass the time, and that was when I saw a man selling jewellery. He had a small but pretty collection.
“Are these all handcrafted?” I asked the merchant. The man behind the stall was short but stocky. He had a large red beard, and his head had been shaved — he was probably balding and wished to hide the fact by shaving his hair off.
“They are,” said the merchant, hands on his hips. “Any you like?”
I browsed his stock. They were well crafted, and it did not take me long to find the perfect piece. “How much for this?” I asked, picking up a small silver necklace. The pendant was in the shape of a moth.
“Five silvers,” he said.
We haggled for a bit, of course, before we agreed on a final price. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out three silvers and dropped them into the craftsman’s hand. One, two, three. I pocketed the necklace and carried on through the market. I had gone to that stall intending to buy a gift for Matilda to honour our new friendship. After all, if I was taking her out into the world, we would need to be friends. When I saw that moth, I knew it would be the perfect gift for a girl who loved insects and the goddess Hefenstea.
I spent the rest of the day wandering the town and the woods around it. Most of the locals avoided speaking with me, but I was pleased enough with that. The solitude is nice sometimes, especially when I need to think.
I had devised a plan to help Matilda get away from Henton, and I told her about it once I returned to the hall just before sundown. She seemed to think it would work. We would need to sneak away in the night, and Matilda said it would be best to leave through the cellar. But before I left her to prepare her things for the journey, I made sure one last time that she was certain this was what she wanted.
“I am sure about this, Edward,” Matilda said. “I have wanted this for a long time, and now is my chance.”
“I really think you should consider telling your father. You are his daughter, and if you tell him what you told me, he may change his mind,” I said.
“I know, but what if he refuses? Any chance I did have would be gone in an instant.”
“Think it over, Matilda. I will keep your secret, if that is what you think is best, but consider how your family will feel if you disappear in the night.”
I left Matilda alone and headed to the main hall, where I waited for Harold’s feast. I was concerned about him being unaware of his daughter running away — not just because I would be betraying his hospitality, but also because it would break his and Eloise’s hearts.
Still, I had made a promise to Matilda.
The feast began after sunset. Some of the villagers filled the hall and crowded around the long table, including the priest, who appeared to stare at me, despite being unable to see. Harold sat in his high seat at the end closest to the fire, of course, and his wife sat on his left. Alia sat beside Eloise, and Matilda beside Alia, while Gunn sat on the opposite side of the table to his father’s right.
I sat between Gunn and a fat man called Merewald, the commander of Harold’s two-dozen oathmen — warriors who are bound by oath to defend a lord and his family. Venison was served, along with various other meats and wild fruits and vegetables, mushrooms, and breads. A barrel of some imported wine from the south was also opened, and servants regularly refilled everyone’s horns. Songs were sung, tales were told, and everyone seemed genuinely happy. I almost forgot about my plan to take Matilda away.
Matilda seemed glad too, but she barely spoke and drank not a drop of wine.
Sometime during the night, Harold began to talk of Winterlow and the coming year. I kept glancing over at Matilda while Harold spoke of his plans, and she looked uncomfortable. She stared down at her plate and picked at a piece of bread. I assumed she could not keep a secret any longer, because while Harold was talking, she looked up from her plate to her father and said, “I am going away with Edward.” The sound of cheerful chatter died down to a murmur before the whole hall went silent.
“Excuse me?” Harold said. He looked from Matilda to me and then back to Matilda, his mouth half open.
“I want to see the world, so I am going with Edward tomorrow. It is my decision,” Matilda said.
A flicker of anger appeared in Harold’s eyes, but he held his composure in front of his guests. “Did you not think to consult me about this first? What if I want you to stay here?”
“This is my sixteenth winter, Da. I am old enough to make my own decisions.”
“Old enough?” Harold sat back in his chair and shook his head. “This is not about age, Matilda. I cannot let my own daughter go wandering through the woods. Would any of you?”
Harold held out his arms, addressing his question to all of his guests. Many of them shook their heads or murmured in agreement. Harold was right, of course. It would be irresponsible to let his daughter go travelling with someone whose job is as dangerous as mine. I dealt with death, and no man wants his children involved in that.
Harold then turned to me and sighed. “And what part do you have in all this?”
I opened my mouth to speak, to admit my betrayal and offer my apologies, but Matilda interrupted before I could say anything. “Do not blame him, Da. This was my idea. Edward knew nothing of it until now.”
I shut my mouth, thinking it wise to let Matilda handle this. Harold was her father, after all. He stood and waved to his guests, forcing a smile. “My apologies, friends. Continue your feast! Enjoy the food and wine,” he said. “Matilda, come with me.”
The guests resumed their conversations as if nothing had happened. Matilda stood and brushed the crumbs off her lap then dutifully followed her father out of the main hall. I watched them leave, then Gunn gave me a gentle nudge.
“Matilda is his favourite daughter, you know. He is not going to be happy about this,” he said. Alia overheard and tossed a piece of venison at him, and they both laughed. Eloise just stared off at nothing in particular. “She has wanted to go travelling for a while now, ever since that old wanderer and his wives came through a few years back.”
“That wanderer was Alcyn,” said Alia.
Gunn grunted. “The girls think the man was a god, but I doubt it. Just a crazy old hermit, even said he came from Winterhome. He told us that old legend about King Emrys, and ever since then Matilda has wanted to travel in the hopes she can make some stories of her own.”
I said nothing, so Gunn turned his attention back to his food. I had lost my appetite. I now just wanted the night to be over so I could go to sleep and leave early the next morning. I did not want to cause any more trouble than I already had. What was I thinking? I should never have told Matilda I would take her away. I should have said no from the start and forgotten about her. But Fate had other plans.
Matilda and Harold came back into the hall and took their seats back at the table. Harold slumped into his chair, nodded to me, and said, “Forgive us.” That was the last thing he said that night, except to whisper some things to his wife every so often. He spent the rest of the feast emptying horns of wine into his belly.
M
atilda played with her food for a while, her eyes wet, and avoided looking at me. I do not know what was said between Harold and Matilda, but he was clearly not going to allow his daughter to wander into the world with a stranger.
Alia and Matilda left the feast early and went upstairs, and so I spent the rest of the night talking with Gunn and Merewald about hunting. I tried my best to forget about the embarrassment of the earlier scene. After most of the guests had left, I too decided to return to my room for one last night in Henton. I felt sorry for Matilda and wished I could help, but it seemed there was no chance for her to leave with me.
Or so I thought.
I lay awake for a while that night, wondering how I would apologise properly to Harold the next day. However, I would not get that chance, for my door opened without warning and Matilda hurried in.
“We must go soon,” she whispered. “The guards are changing over.”
I sat up, dumbfounded. Matilda was wearing a plainer dress than before, a cloak, and some riding boots. She set two large bags down on the floor then came and knelt before me.
“Please, Edward. This could be my only chance.”
I did not know what to say. The Gods teach us that we must keep our word and stay true to the promises we make. But they also teach that we must respect our hosts.
I do not know why I did what I did next. I hurried to pack my things, helped Matilda with one of her bags, and then crept out of the room. The hall was silent, and the way was clear. Matilda stayed close behind me. We had little time to waste.
Then we heard footsteps. I held my breath and froze.
Eloise appeared ahead of us. She stopped for a moment then marched towards me. It was over.
“Does your bed not suit you, Godspeaker?” she asked. She glanced behind me at her daughter.
“It does, My Lady. Forgive me, I—”
She raised her hand. “Quiet. The guards have retired, and a new set will arrive soon. They have been told to watch for you.”
“My Lady?”
“Do not think I approve of this. Far from it. But I wish only for my daughter to be happy, and if that happiness can only be found outside of Henton, then I must accept that, even if my husband does not. But you must be far from here before the break of dawn.”
“Oh, Ma. Thank you,” whispered Matilda. She pushed past me and threw her arms around Eloise.
“Be safe, little one, and trust your guide,” said Eloise. “The Gifted possess wisdom far greater than they may show.”
I let them say their farewells, but it was brief, for we had to make haste. After one last hug, Eloise let her daughter go, and the two of us made our way to the cellar and out into the courtyard.
As Eloise had promised, the guards were nowhere in sight, but how long till others arrived, I did not know. Even so, we stuck to the shadows, and under cover of darkness we hurried for the stables where Matilda could finally put her bag down. She sighed, stretched her back, and then leant against the stable door.
“What in the Heavens do you have in these bags?” I asked.
“Everything I need,” she said.
I grinned and doubted she would actually need most of it. Regardless, I quickly attached our bags to a brown mare named Lilly. She was Matilda’s favourite horse, and she insisted that we take her. I was racked with guilt for stealing not only Harold’s daughter from him, but also one of his horses. I knew I could never show my face in Henton again.
“This is frightening,” Matilda said as I helped her into Lilly’s saddle.
“This is your last chance to change your mind,” I said.
Matilda shook her head. “This is also the most excitement I have ever had.”
I smiled, but behind that smile I was nervous. I did not want to think about what would happen to me if I were caught.
With Matilda in the saddle, I led Lilly slowly by the reins out into the courtyard towards the palisade’s gate. We moved as quietly as we could, and I was grateful for the layer of snow that muffled Lilly’s hooves. I was tempted to jump into the saddle with Matilda and race off into the night, but that would surely alert someone, and Lilly probably would have struggled to run with the weight of those bags.
I did not notice I was holding my breath. Only once we reached the gate did I let out an exhale. Matilda turned in the saddle, and then I heard voices behind me.
“Guards,” Matilda hissed.
I kept going. They had neither seen nor heard us, so perhaps the Gods favoured us, or we were just lucky. I took Lilly slowly through the streets of Henton, hooded and cloaked. Matilda had her hood up as well. If anyone saw us now, hopefully they would think we were strangers.
A dog barked as we passed a home, its chain rattling. An owl hooted. A cat mewed as we passed through the market. My heart was pounding, pushing me onward.
The Gods were with us. We made it unnoticed to the edge of town, where the homes bordered the trees. The grim, dark winter woods were ahead.
“My father will send men come morning,” Matilda said.
“Then we must be long gone by then.” I climbed up into the saddle with Matilda, put my arms around her, and took the reins. She was shivering.
“They will have trackers.”
“I think we can lose them if we beat them to Oldford.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out the silver moth pendant I had bought, and handed it to Matilda. “Here. This is for you, for luck.”
Matilda wiped her eyes with her sleeve and then took the pendant from me.
“I have slain witches and banished ghosts. I can lose a few old warriors no problem.”
And so onward we went. Matilda’s childhood was behind her, and as we rode off into those dead, dark woods, our adventure — our story — began.
2
Oldford
We could not ride swiftly from Henton due to the snow and the weight on Lilly’s back, but Harold’s trackers would not have the same problem, and I supposed that by the time the earl woke and his men set off to find his daughter, we would be about half a day ahead of them.
We rode all night. It was bitterly cold, but we needed to put some distance between us and Henton before daybreak, so we wrapped up in furs and huddled close in the saddle. Matilda fell asleep eventually, but I rode on.
She woke to the sound of the morning chorus. She spoke little that day, and I let her be with her thoughts while I pushed Lilly on. I could tell Matilda was nervous and had a lot on her mind. That was understandable, even without considering the men on our trail.
The perpetual riding made Matilda sore, and she wanted to rest for a moment. I told her we could not stop until sundown, or her father’s men might catch up. To compromise, I occasionally walked beside the horse, allowing her to have both her legs to one side. That made her a bit more comfortable, but it did slow us somewhat.
We rode for hours that day, making the most of the clear weather while it lasted, and I told Matilda about my home and the world in an attempt to lift her spirits and distract her from her fears. She smiled often, but when she spoke, it was only a few words at a time. We both kept one eye looking over our shoulders for signs of our pursuers. We saw none. Much to Lilly’s discontent, we had to travel off-road but made sure the path south remained not too far away, lest we get lost.
We were riding south to Oldford — and my home. The ground was easy and flat for a few miles, but the forest thickened as we moved farther from Henton and the terrain grew hilly. Henton’s economy revolved around lumber, so the woods near the village were thin, but by mid-afternoon we were deep in the wilds. There were more evergreens here, so there was less snow at our feet and the forest was darker.
Matilda insisted we stop as the day grew colder and the light dimmed. I would have preferred to ride for another hour or so, but I too was growing tired, and I supposed there would be no harm in stopping now that the woods were thicker. I found a well-hidden grove where we could make camp.
“When I was little,” she mumbled to me as I helped her down
from the horse, “I used to play in the woods behind the manor. My sister and I would play witch hunters. One of us would be the hunter and the other would be the witch, and we would chase each other around with sticks. I was often the witch. I was never afraid of the woods, but here I am terrified.” She brushed off her dress and looked up at me, wide-eyed.
“What are you afraid of?”
“I have heard stories of things that lurk in the wild parts of the land. Bogeys, dwarves, ghosts…”
I laughed. “You needn’t worry about them with me, Matilda. I make a living keeping those at bay.”
She nodded, her eyes to the ground. “What about robbers? And the rebels?”
“In these parts? I doubt many travel this road,” I said. “Bandits plague roads where they’re likely to catch a decent haul. That includes the rebels.”
Matilda half smiled and then began pacing to stretch her legs. I was right about the robbers — they only patrol the main roads, and the road from Henton to Oldford was little more than a dirt path — but the rebels were another thing.
In truth, the pretender to the throne and his men rarely left their fortress in the Northern Alps, only emerging for the occasional raid or to scout. The rebels wished to overthrow King Stephan and restore the Eomundson dynasty, but their efforts caused little stir beyond the lands at the base of the Alps, and they lived in a fortress too strong for the king to bother with.
There were many tales of their supporters making camps and hiding out in the wilds across the kingdom, waiting for their captain to raise the banner of the rebellion and call his men to service, and it was said that on that day they would strike out in many places and force the king to spread his armies thin. King Stephan paid well for the heads of these men, but their existence was doubtful. Many young, foolish men travelled into the wilderness to seek them out, and few returned.
