by Kai Widdeson
While we had been labouring away with the decorations, everyone else had set about preparing for the feast. The hunters risked staying out late into the evening, desperate to provide enough food, I have never seen them take as many risks as they did then. Everyone was working long past their usual hours. If you weren’t hunting you were collecting fruits, if you weren’t collecting fruits then you were helping in the bakery, or in the fields, or the decorations. There was always something to be done.
It was long-past noon when they had finally arrived, Becker rushed forth to greet them as soon as loud instruments began blaring. Nobody in living memory remembers seeing as many of the colony soldiers as we did that day. The foot soldiers came first, led by Becker who had an unmissable strut in his stride. He had been present during the activities of the previous few days and given everyone strict instructions on the proper way to act. As a result, he marched through the streets which were lined by all of us, kneeling in the dirt with our heads bowed. Still, despite myself, I had dared to allow my eyes to flicker upwards briefly as the royal carriage passed.
Its walls were a deep purple, the same hues as the sky before a summer’s dusk. Bright beams and intricate patterns decorated the delicate looking frame as its wheels bounced and tumbled over the uneven path. The carriage was wide enough that a pair of horses were required to pull it, a ceremoniously dressed man drove them forwards with the cracks of a long whip. On the side of the carriage, a faint gold trace outlined a doorframe leading onto a small step hovering above the dirt in which we knelt.
Above this door was a meshed window. As the carriage passed, the glint of wide eyes emerges from the protection of the carriage and small fingers cling to the metal. The royal children. At that moment a young girl’s gaze turned to me, eyes vaguely interested but passive, not dissimilar to how another child might examine a rogue worm snaking across the soil. My eyes darted to the floor in fear, Becker had yelled at us all enough for me to know that I had certainly been caught at something I shouldn’t have been doing.
The carriage passed without incident. I would like to say that its passing had allowed me to breathe easy but in truth I had stayed awake in terror for the next few days, convinced that they were going to come for me. But no, it wasn’t me who would have to fear their wrath.
It had been one of the serving boys. The feast had been lively, thankfully the Royals were only staying for the night and so we could at least arrange the night’s festivities without having to keep some in reserve for the future. The boy had tripped, that was all. As soon as he had released his startled cry as his shoe caught on the uneven ground, all the villagers had turned to watch as he slowly fell through the air. His fingertips clung tightly to the bowl before him but there was no stopping the still steaming broth that sloshed over the sides and towards the princess.
The murky brown liquid immediately began to seep into the princess’ dress as the Queen harshly snapped at the serving boy. The young man had barely come of age and here he was facing the unreasonable wrath of the Queen herself. Meanwhile, the princess stared silently at her ruined dress as her maidens began fussing over her. She did not squeal or complain, but rather acknowledged the steaming mess before her and turned her cold attention to the young man barely older than herself.
I remember it all so clearly. That poor boy, Harry, if I remember correctly, would become an example to us all. The colony soldiers had left their meals and in an instant, they had punched the wind from Harry’s lungs.
My mind clouds a little at the chaos that ensued, whether by panic or training to avoid such an unpleasant memory I’m not sure. Harry had been dragged kicking and screaming through the dirt of the path through Avlym. Becker and his men gathered everyone around the largest of the firepits, he would make sure that no one would miss what was about to happen.
Mother had tried her best to shield me from what had happened next, thankfully, between her and the crowd of people, most of the spectacle had been blocked from me. But we all heard the noises.
The drawing of the sword. The gentle sizzle of disturbed coals tumbling into the grass. Harry cries of fear and apology. The colony’s words to the crowd, prolonging the serving boy’s agony. The sword slicing through the air. The pained wails.
The second that their attendance was no longer forced, the crowd had dispersed, eager to rush their loved ones into the fake protection of their homes. I had been too curious and had looked back as Randall ushered me and my sister back towards our home.
I saw Harry’s pale face in the flickers of the flames, he knelt before one of the many tree stumps that normally seated those in the evening. His arms were clutched against him, blood drenching his shirt and the ground beneath. I remember the gasp of realisation as I watched Harry get dragged away. The serving boy was taken away by my mother and Ida, but his hands remained on the tree stump.
Mother and Ida had bustled Harry towards Ida’s home where they could care for him. They came within a few meters of the princess as they passed. Her face hadn’t changed, she still had not uttered a single word. There was no remorse or guilt in her passive look at them as they passed, no shock or disgust, not even any smugness or satisfaction. She had been completely indifferent.
That day I had learnt the true source of my people’s hatred towards the colony, its roots went so much deeper than hunger and poverty. Harry hadn’t survived. His life had been cut short, all because of an unfortunate mistake and the cruelty of a stranger.
I know of the colony’s inhumanity, we all knew particularly after that night. There had always been whippings, beatings, starvation and torture, but never had we witnessed such unprovoked brutality. The royal visit so long ago had awakened us to the might of the colony. They had punished us for something so small, with less consideration than they might use to choose their attire in the morning.
If the colony catch us, I have no doubt in my mind that they will kill us. With this conclusion as my walking companion, I quieten my exhaustion and focus on scaling the peak in front of us.
Eventually, around three quarters up the side of our incline, we stop at an opening. The air is thinner, and the wind sharper. The very faintest of soft orange glows from deep inside. There’s no chance the light would betray the camp for any scouts scouring the area, even from here you could almost convince yourself that the slight hue was a trick on the eyes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It’s like the whole mountain has simply been hollowed out, a shell to the camp infesting it. Crudely made torches have been attached to the sides of the cavern, stretching far below to a central ground level. We had to pass several guards and watchers as we made our way through the labyrinth of tunnels, all of whom were alert at first and then left speechless as a lost forest prince in Avlym when they realised who was walking past them.
After squeezing through a slit barely big enough for one, and which required a lot of manoeuvring to get Edwyn through, we had emerged onto rocky outcropping into the cavern on which we now stand.
Guy, Jaq, and I are left overlooking the camp as the others immediately move to escort Edwyn to medical aid. A combination of rough steps and gravel slopes lead down to the floor of the cavern, where a fair few dark shapes can be seen either bustling around or huddled together in groups. In between us and them are several other stony ledges, home to either more makeshift beds or various key sections. For example, some way off to our right one such ledge hosts a stockpile of weapons, another only a single flight of stairs from the floor has a few mountain hairs hanging over a small pit. Finally, Edwyn reappears briefly being carried across part of the floor. A couple of the larger men carry him the rest of the way through an opening, disappearing from sight.
“How are they doing?” Guy breaks the silence. I would have expected him to rush to the ground floor at the first opportunity, but he looks slightly hesitant, nervous even.
“As you’d expect, they’re cold, hungry, and frightened. But we’re hanging on. It’s too risky to light a pr
oper fire in here, which also makes cooking food a little slower. We’re getting buy just, catching a few fish and a little from hunting, but we haven’t got many large pelts, and they go towards the children. With our providers slowly disappearing as well it’s not getting any easier. The torches help a little with the cold but unless you’re close, their heat in a place this size counts for little,” Jaq answers.
Below us the noise has risen slightly, heads have begun to turn in our direction, clearly some of Jaq’s people have begun to spread the word of our arrival.
“They need leadership,” Jaq continues.
“I know,” Guy replies.
“They need a king; they need you.”
“I know,” Guy repeats.
Together we make our descent, Jaq in front, me bringing up the rear. It takes a good few minutes to reach the bottom, and I keep up my trend of losing my footing wherever possible, contrasting to Guy who seems to be in possession of constant unwavering balance. By the time we reach the last of the steps a large crowd has formed to greet us, or rather, to greet the return of their new king.
The noise reverberates round the stone walls and the expressions are mixed, some immediately bow on one knee, whilst others cheer and applaud the arrival, more worrisome though are the few who look on wearily, too tired and spent to be capable of such emotion.
Guy, recognising what his people need, has become a beacon. All solemnity and exhaustion replaced by grins and greetings. He seems a foot taller now, shoulders back, chin up, and standing straight, the personification of hope and defiance against the wrongs that have been committed against them. Jaq has stepped down to leave us and join the crowd, facing his king and joining in the celebrations.
I notice that, much like their king and our escorts, many of the people before me have varying artistic marks covering their faces. The same dark green ink highlights their features, their skin a canvas for the ink.
Among the rejoicing towards Guy, I notice a few glances in my direction. Most obviously confused, clearly these people were all familiar with each other in the way that I know everyone in Avlym, however they are reacting to my presence differently. Some continuing cheering when looking over to me, perhaps they identify me as a new ally or are maybe just eager to share the joy with anyone they can, whereas others are wary of me and either eye me suspiciously or return their attention to Guy. I suppose I cannot blame the latter group, these people have been through so much at the hands of the colony, lost almost everything, I do not take their carefulness to heart, if I had been through all that they had I wouldn’t be too quick to trust a stranger into my new home either regardless of whether he’s been brought to us by the heir or not. Both groups are in the minority however, most worrying of all is the third set of people, the ones whispering. They shoot me quick glances, lasting a mere fraction of a second, before turning to converse in hushed tones. It is not hard to guess the topic of discussion as they regularly return their attention to me.
A small commotion begins at the back of the crowd until a parting appears down the middle. Said parting is quickly filled as hands emerge, clawing their way to the front and making a path for a lean figure I can now see above the heads of most of the crowd, working his way forwards. Eventually, the man makes his way to the front, unlike most of his brethren he is dressed in several layers, which hang from his lean slender frame. Shoulder-length dirty blonde hair drapes over sharp eyes and chiselled features. Between the hair and the swirling patterns of ink stretching from his jawbone to his temple, very little of the man’s skin manages to peek through. Despite us being a couple of steps up from the ground floor he’s still almost at eye level.
“Orrian!” The man exclaims, arms wide. His smile does not reach his eyes.
He’s staring directly at Guy, and only now do I realise I still hadn’t been given Guy’s real name, but there’s no mistaking who the man is talking to.
“Faelyn,” Orrian smiles back, similarly his smile is fixed, it has not gone unnoticed that the man has neither kneeled nor addressed him properly.
“You’re alive,” Faelyn states factually, still with that disgustingly false grin.
“I am.”
“And I see you’ve brought a visitor,” The giant eyes me suspiciously.
“This is Dale, he’s the reason I’m alive. He’s to be treated like one of us now.” Faelyn whilst having previously ignored me, gives me his full attention now. It may be my paranoid imagination, but he seems to be looking at me like something to be kicked off the bottom of his boot. Always eager to avoid attention and certainly in front of such a large crowd of strangers, I immediately drop my gaze and feel my cheeks redden.
“Of course,” Faelyn drawls, “but we’ve already got too little food for too many mouths, he might have to provide for himself”.
“We’ll make it work,” Orrian asserts “He’s to stay here as my guest, we need to decide what-”
“Where have you been? Apparently, you ran away.” Faelyn interrupts. Mutterings have resumed within the crowd, Faelyn’s disrespect has not gone unnoticed.
“I was chased, and now I’m here. Thanks to Dale and Edwyn, but as I say, we need to decide what we’re going to do next. Some scouts saw us on the way and the Halpians will find us before long.”
Faelyn laughs incredulously.
“Are you serious? You reappear only to bring the enemy to us! I think we have a right to know just where you’ve been, if you’re going to march in here like this.” Faelyn’s voice is rising dangerously, the background mutterings match this as a palpable sense of disloyalty towards the king intensifies. Faelyn meanwhile has coloured and he talks through clenched teeth.
“Careful,” Orrian almost whispers the words but they ooze venom, he raises his voice to address his people at large, “You will know where I’ve been, and how I returned to you. But this is no talk for such late hours, we’ll continue this at dawn.”
“I- of course,” Faelyn whilst clearly wishing to continue this discussion now, seems to think better of it and attempts to regain his composure, “We’ve got a space in the corner for your friend and I’m sure we can sort out somewhere above for you for the night.”
“Thank you, I will join you shortly but first I wish to check on my people,” Faelyn’s eyes flare again at that last part, Orrian ignores him and continues “Jaq please find a space for Dale.” He nods to me reassuringly before stepping down from the steps. He confidently strides past Faelyn without another word and heads towards the nearest of the families.
Jaq gently taps me on the shoulder before guiding me past Faelyn’s dirty looks towards a quieter area. Orrian has already begun chatting to a mother with a couple of children across the cavern floor. A small group has started gathering around him and it’s slowly increasing. Regardless, he holds his conversation with the mother before moving onto the next of his people, but not before I spot him take off his shirt and wrap it around the shoulders of the shivering children.
Seeing him topless for the first time since my mother had forced clothes on her back, I have no option but to admire her and Ida’s work. His back is covered in long white scars, with only a few still scabbed over. They’ve healed as well as anyone could care for them, only time can make them disappear now. I note also the effect of seeing the scars that his appearance will have on his people, I hope they never find out that I am at least partially responsible for some of the bruising on his face. Curiously, apart from the green around his ear, the rest of his skin has been left untouched by the ink, much unlike some of his companions.
We head away from the stairs and towards a lone alcove in the rock, far from the rest of the people for which I am grateful. I turn down the offer of a rag for a cushion when Jaq asks, Faelyn had said they were stretched enough on resources as it is, and it will only harm my relationship with these people for them to see me taking vital comforts away from them. Despite my protests however, Jaq refuses to let me go unfed, reappearing after a couple of moments with most
of a lightly cooked fish which I devour in seconds. Once convinced of my comfort, it would appear that he is more loyal to Orrian’s wishes than certain others who do not need to be named, he sets off to re-join his king.
Now that I’m properly alone I take the opportunity to inspect my surroundings. Families litter the floor and now that the commotion with Orrian has concluded some have returned to their spots in the alcoves spotted from the top of the stairs. Although, many still swarm him and try to demand his attention. The whole area is dimly lit by the makeshift torches, which are tended to very occasionally, and now that I’m in the shadows away from the heat of the people I’m really starting to notice the chill.
I slump with my back against the far wall, just to make sure that everything is in front of me. I don’t know these people and I would be particularly foolish to trust Faelyn or one of his men behind me in the night, he’s already made it abundantly clear that he would rather I wasn’t here. It takes a little adjusting, but eventually I find a position without too many sharp edges digging into me.
In my little spot I’m not too far from what I assume is the medical section either, it’s hidden from view but every so often I catch Edwyn’s groans or the sounds of the medic’s workings. Faelyn has returned to one of the highest ledges in the tavern with a small group, clearly a location in the camp demanding respect and power for its inhabitants.
A few armed guards can also be seen dotted around, a few are on the stairs, with one particularly close to the walkway to Faelyn, another couple are silhouetted against the torchlight next to the weapons pile seen earlier. A very lightly armoured man also lounges against the separate set of steps leading specifically to the food area, presumably to keep order and protect the rations. These guards are all obviously armoured and only take a quick glance to recognise.
Worryingly I notice some more discrete watchers lurking in the shadows. They are dressed normally, that is to say without armour and with either light clothing or topless, yet they fidget constantly and some idly fondle what may be unseen hilts. I also notice several of the closer ones furtively looking over at me, though they are quick to look away whenever I catch them at it. I am suddenly increasingly conscious of Edwyn’s knife in my waistband, it would not do for them to find me armed. I am a little surprised that Orrian didn’t have it taken off me, I suppose that by trusting me he’s hoping that I can find it in myself to return the favour.
