by Jason Malone
Matilda wandered about the small grove we had stopped in. This was a holy place, I felt, untouched by civilisation. Birches surrounded the area, looking like they had been caked in icing, but in the middle of the grove was an enormous, ancient oak. The trees around us were covered in snow, but this oak wore not a single speck of it. A boulder lay beside the tree, hugged by the oak’s wide roots, and green grass grew sheltered from the weather at the tree’s base. My worries seemed to pass away in that place.
“Matilda, this is an excellent spot to camp tonight,” I said. Matilda was exploring the grove, taking care not to stray into the dense parts of the wood. I tied the horse to a tree and approached the oak. It was a thing of beauty, planted by the Gods themselves. This tree must have been as old as the world. I placed my hand on the trunk and rested my forehead against it, whispering a prayer.
“What are you doing?” Matilda asked. She had come to stand behind me.
“This oak tree is sacred,” I replied. “I was just letting this grove’s guardians know we would be staying here for the night.” Matilda looked confused, but I just grinned. The old ways are often strange to people these days. “You might see some odd things tonight, but do not be alarmed. The spirits of the wild are only a threat to the man of today because the man of today has forgotten how to befriend them.”
Matilda only nodded and went back to the horse to unpack her things. I felt bad for the poor beast. It was being used more as a pack mule than as a horse, made to carry all the things Matilda wished to bring with her: clothes, books, bug jars, not to mention all our camping supplies and food.
When I travelled alone, I would need little more than my weapons and my tinderbox. The land provided me with food, and I would sleep on the ground using my cloak as a blanket, but Matilda insisted on bringing a cooking pot, bowls, cutlery, bedrolls, pillows, and food to last several days. Yet Lilly was a sturdy beast and did not complain.
I helped Matilda unpack and removed everything from the saddle to give Lilly a break from her burden. I was right to choose this place. The winter days were short, and already night was drawing near. Had we continued, we might not have found a better place than this. Or a safer one, for that matter.
“Are you certain we will not be discovered here?” Matilda asked.
“I am certain,” I said. “Your father’s men will need to rest too, and I feel they are far behind us.”
Matilda sighed. She had no choice but to trust me.
“The first night away from home is the hardest,” I said. “But it won’t be long before we arrive at my hall, and you can sleep in a warm bed under a hard roof once more.”
Matilda smiled at that. “We should make camp,” she said.
“Aye.” I nodded. “Give me your flask. I’ll try find a stream nearby to refill it. I will also fill the pot. Perhaps we can have a stew tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” Matilda said.
I left the grove to go deeper into the woods, taking our flasks and the pot with me. I was in luck. There was a pond fed by a small waterfall a short walk from where we made camp. I decided to scout the area a bit to check for any signs of potential danger and to look for food.
I found some wild berries then filled our flasks and pot back at the waterfall. Just as I was about to return to our camp, I heard Matilda scream.
My heart skipped a beat. I sprinted back to the grove, bursting through shrubbery and spilling water everywhere. Matilda stood by the oak, stunned with fear.
“What is that?” she cried, pointing to the ground.
I sighed, and a wave of relief washed over me. “It’s called a mole, Matilda.” The creature was digging through the snow, sniffing about, and appeared to take no notice of her.
“It’s hideous. It has no eyes,” she said.
“It has eyes, they’re just small. Leave the thing alone. And please, try to be more quiet.”
She kicked snow at it, and it shuffled away into the bushes. I shook my head, but then we both laughed. The sun was setting now, so we set up camp. Matilda laid out the bedrolls under the oak and made a circle of stones while I searched for deadwood, and just as the sun fell behind the trees, I made a fire.
Matilda prepared a stew with the water I had collected using vegetables and herbs she had brought from Henton. It grew dark. Soon the two of us were eating a delicious meal by a fire under the holy oak. Matilda brought extra blankets in which she wrapped herself. “What was your first night away from home like?” she asked.
I smiled and looked up at the stars. “Well,” I began. “It was cold, and it rained, I believe. The man who would be my master came to my family’s farm when I was, um, eight years old. Gods, that was twelve years ago, now. Anyway, when he left, I went with him. We camped out in a cave for shelter, on a hill above a vast meadow. We had been riding all day long, and my arse — pardon my tongue — was killing me. I was cold and wet, but it felt good to be able to lie down.”
Matilda was staring at me as I told my story, eating slowly, as if I would stop talking once she finished. I continued.
“My master and I — his name was Brendan — built a big fire in this cave and warmed ourselves, and he told me all kinds of stories about his life. I’ll admit, I was terrified at first. I was heading out into the unknown, set to train for a career I did not understand but which I knew was a dangerous one. Then he pulled out this.” I unsheathed my sword and held it up in the light. The orange reflection of the firelight danced on the blade, and the glow of the moon made it shine. “The blade’s beauty still amazes me to this day.”
“It is pretty,” Matilda said.
“Brendan told me it would be mine one day, and now here it is. I did not understand why back then, but a few years later I figured it out. Brendan had no sons, no heirs to pass on his possessions and his lands, so he adopted me, his apprentice, and left me everything he owned in his will.”
Matilda’s eyes widened a little. “You are a nobleman?”
I laughed. “No, no, far from it. My master’s ancestors served the kings once upon a time. The old dynasty. They grew rich from their trade and were granted some lands and a house. They passed these down from generation to generation till they came to my master. Then he passed them on to me. But I am neither noble, priest, nor commoner. The Gifted are often called ‘casteless,’ but whether that means we are above the castes or below them depends on who you ask.”
“But you were born a commoner?”
“Yes. My ancestors have been free peasants for generations.”
“Well, you may be casteless, but you definitely have a noble soul,” said Matilda. She blushed and stared at her stew.
“Thank you, I suppose. Anyway, after that we went to sleep, and that was my first night in the wilds. I was afraid at first, but after that I realised it wasn’t so bad to be away from home.”
“Why did you leave in the first place?” Matilda asked. The question brought a memory to the surface, but I pushed it aside.
“A story for another time,” I told her. We both went still when we heard a noise coming from beyond the grove, and Matilda looked terrified. Something was moving in the bushes, crushing snow and twigs.
Then it squeaked.
“It’s just that mole again,” I said with a sigh. Matilda let out a deep breath and put her hand on her heart.
“I was preparing myself for death,” she said and then let out a nervous laugh.
“I told you that robbers won’t bother us out here,” I said.
“I fear the rebels more. I have heard stories about how they live in the wilds and that they are ruthless. Supposedly they starve you, then cut off your fingers and force you to eat them, or else die from hunger.” She tightened the blankets around her.
“Who did you hear that from?”
Matilda thought for a moment, frowning. “One of the king’s tax collectors,” she said at last. I let out a sharp exhale.
“Do not worry about them, Matilda,” I said. “Should the rebels be near,
which I doubt they will be, I will talk them out of harming us. Besides, I scouted the area earlier and found nothing.”
“Thank you, Edward,” she said. “For all you have done for me.”
I half smiled and finished my stew. I still felt the weight of guilt on my shoulders for betraying Harold’s hospitality.
Matilda and I talked for a couple more hours. I was glad to have finally cheered her up and have her talking at last. As the night went on, she became friendlier and happier, and I discovered her sense of humour and her passion for tales of adventure and romance. She was a charming young lady, and I admit that on that night I already felt we were becoming friends.
Around midnight, Matilda fell asleep while I was halfway through telling a story of how I once aided a family haunted by a supernatural seal that raided their wine cellar on a nightly basis. She was resting against the oak, and her eyes slowly closed as she drifted off to sleep. I laid her down on her bedroll all wrapped in blankets and then sat up against the trunk of the oak, lost in thought, before I too was embraced by sleep.
I woke to the sound of singing. Our fire had gone out, but the area was illuminated by a strange glow. At the edge of the grove, not far from us, were lights bouncing and making circles. I thought I was dreaming. A beautiful melody sung in a language I did not know filled the grove, but at the same time it seemed distant and quiet.
The lights danced around in a circle, moving back and forth around the grove, and I blinked. This was not a dream, and these were not lights. I realised they were people, all women with white hair and pale skin, wearing white dresses, and they were glowing, as if the light of the moon radiated from them. The women danced with each other, moving in perfect harmony with their song. Their bodies moved with a sort of gentleness but filled with energy.
“Elves,” I whispered. I watched them for a few moments, awestruck. They appeared not to notice us. I reached over and shook Matilda awake.
“Edward?” she groaned.
“Matilda, do you see that?” I said.
Matilda rubbed her eyes and sat up, then her jaw dropped. “What is that?” she whispered.
I nodded at them. “Look closer,” I said.
She shuffled closer to me. “They’re people,” she said. She was frightened.
“They are elves. Aren’t they beautiful?”
They were indeed things of beauty, and I had not seen elves in this manner before. We were both mesmerised as we watched their small bare feet tread softly on the snow as they twirled and swayed and made the grove sparkle. Matilda held my arm.
“I have never seen elves before,” she said. At that moment, one of the elves broke away from the circle and danced over to us. She left no footprints, and once she came close to us, I noticed her true beauty. Her snow-white hair flowed over her shoulder, falling all the way down her back. Her dress was thin, and through it could be seen every detail of her perfect form. She had flawless skin and eyes of the deepest blue.
The elf approached Matilda, her hand outstretched, accompanied by a small smile. Matilda looked up at her and slowly lifted her hand.
I took Matilda’s hand instead and pushed it back to her chest. The elf frowned at me.
“Not this one,” I said.
The elf smiled and then bowed her head. She then knelt, took my face in her hands, and kissed me. Her hands were softer than anything I had felt before, but her lips were as cold as ice. The elf stood back up, curtsied, then glided back to her group. Matilda looked both amazed and confused.
“What…?” she said. I stared at the performance before us, and Matilda gripped my arm tighter.
“She wanted you to join them,” I said, my eyes still fixed on the elves.
“Why did you stop me?”
“Because,” I explained, “you would dance with them for the rest of the night, experiencing the purest ecstasy, and at dawn the elves would bid you farewell. The sun would rise, you would feel the warmth on your skin, but you would find that many years had passed. You would have aged less than a day, yet all those you know would be long dead.”
Matilda said nothing. She only stared at the elves. We watched them for a while, too awestruck to sleep, and as the first rays of light crept over the horizon, the elves wandered off into the woods and disappeared.
“Where are they going?” Matilda asked.
“Back to their world, I suppose.”
“That one who came to us,” Matilda said. “Why did she kiss you?”
“Because she could understand me. She was showing me that we were friends, and we needn’t be afraid,” I said.
Matilda frowned. “Bit strange, is it not? Kissing someone to show friendship.”
I laughed. “Not to the elves. They do it down south, too.”
“Have you ever been to the southern lands?”
“Yes, once, when I was fifteen. It was there I had my first…”
“Your first what?” asked Matilda.
“Never mind,” I said with a grin. “We should go. We will make the most of today and travel a fair distance before sundown.”
So Matilda and I packed up our camp and loaded the horse. I thanked the grove’s spirits for their hospitality, helped Matilda onto the horse, and led her back to the road. We were on our way once more.
Matilda was much more talkative that day, though the saddle still made her sore. She complained that she had only ever ridden for short periods around Henton’s thin woods, never over long distances like this.
Still, she tried to enjoy the journey and asked more questions than I had answers to. She seemed very intrigued by our encounter the night before, and I told her what I could of elves and the Otherworld. We almost forgot about the men tracking us, and without the burden that Lilly carried, their horses were probably swifter.
We rode through the forest for most of that day, but towards midday the woods began to grow thinner, and we emerged mid-afternoon into a wide, rolling pasture. The livestock had all been brought indoors, of course, and the fields were covered with snow, but someone had ploughed the road so we could travel swiftly and make good distance that afternoon during the last few hours of sunlight.
We found a roadside inn just as the sun was falling behind the hill and darkness descended on the land, and Matilda was the happiest she had been the whole journey. The innkeeper was wary of me, but Matilda used her name and title to get us good service. We ate and drank well that night and had a warm, soft bed to sleep in. At least, Matilda did. I slept on the floor.
We rode off at dawn the next day through the beautiful countryside. We passed many homesteads, the dwellings of free peasants — called churls — who owned their own land and their own homes, but who were still poor, with just enough land and livestock to keep their bellies full. The recent civil war had made life hard for many churls throughout the kingdom. There were still many people that lived like this, which pleased me, for it was a natural and simple lifestyle and one I wished I could live. But that was not my fate.
We camped in a cluster of trees atop a hill that night, and in the morning it was only a short ride till we came to the Royal Way, an ancient, paved road guarded and maintained by the king and his men, though in recent years parts of it had fallen into disrepair. Matilda and Lilly were pleased to reach this because it meant a fast and easy journey. I promised Matilda that if we rode without interruption, we should reach Oldford before nightfall. And reach it we did.
The Royal Way ran straight through Oldford, but as we approached we passed an ancient and formidable castle that sat on top of a hill beside the road. The castle was home to Adalbert, the lord of this part of the kingdom.
Aside from the king, Adalbert was the wealthiest nobleman in Ardonn due to the trade that flowed through Oldford along the Royal Way as merchants from the south travelled north along this route. Perpendicular to the road was the River Aed, and Oldford sat right where the road crossed the river. There, Adalbert watched over the crossing and his jewel of a town from his ancient towers
atop the hill.
Matilda stared at the castle as we trotted past. Soldiers were pacing along the ramparts and a group of horsemen rode up the hill towards the gate, which was being opened to let them pass. As we neared Oldford’s own gates, merchants approached us, offering bargains for their goods, and beggars harassed us for spare change.
I felt Matilda tense up, but she was silent. I realised she had never seen a town this large before or been in the presence of so many people. It was busy outside the town walls, and it would be even busier inside.
We rode along the road through the newer parts of the town, past houses that had been built outside the walls as the population grew. Although they were newer, these parts were the slums of the city and attached themselves to the walls like barnacles. Only the wealthiest could afford to live within the walls, and with each generation the villages outside grew ever larger and ever poorer.
“The buildings are so tall,” Matilda mumbled as we approached the town gates. “And I have never seen walls this big before.”
We rode through the gates, and the guards gave us a nod. I knew them, having travelled through here many times, and they smiled as we passed. We would be safe from Harold’s men here, at least for a night. Oldford’s gates were locked after sundown, so our pursuers would have to stay outside the city’s walls.
Matilda could not stop staring around at the town, agape. Oldford was a beautiful place. It was cramped, but it had a cosy atmosphere, if you could ignore the smell. The Royal Way that cut through the town was wide enough for eight horses riding side-by-side, and there were pavements on which people could erect stalls or avoid passing carts and carriages.
Above us it was narrower. Most of the buildings were jettied on each floor, and many rose four or even five storeys high. Small bridges crossed from one building to another above us, as did clothes lines and pipes, and some houses even sat on arches above the road. The street was wide but not open, and it felt as though we were passing through a tunnel. Other streets in the town were not as wide as this, and in many alleys and lanes the buildings were jostled so close together that two people could kiss from across the street.
