“Come, join me in my tent, we have much to talk about, much to catch up on.”
“Martin, I would like you meet my niece, Mica.”
Martin dropped his hands from Elijah’s shoulders and bowed slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mica. How is it that a skinny old grey-headed bastard like Elijah has such a beautiful niece?”
“I think it might have had more to do with my mother.”
“That I can understand,” said Martin as he looked back at Elijah.
“Come, you are both welcome.” He led them back to his square white tent.
A strip of faded green carpet led to the doorway that was covered by a verandah of canvas. As they entered the warm tent Martin clapped his hands and servants appeared, bowing and offering apologies for their slow attention, it seems they should have anticipated their master’s return. “Food and wine for my guests.”
The servants quickly left through the rear entrance of the main tent, to other tents were the food and wine was kept and prepared. Martin ushered Mica and Elijah to the soft cushions that were bundled together on the red carpet that had been laid over the grass. An unlit brazier sat in the middle of the tent. One of the servants, a middle-aged man with straight blond hair to his shoulders, appeared with a decanter of wine. A second man, younger than the first, carried a tray with three goblets. He spoke to Martin. “I have taken the liberty, sir, of informing your son and daughter that you have guests.”
“Thank you, Atta.”
Atta left the tray on the floor while the long-haired servant filled the goblets and passed them around. He then stood back discretely, but not so far away that he couldn’t refill the goblets as needed.
“To your health, Elijah and Mica, and might we have another good year after the blessing of the priests,” said Martin as he raised his goblet.
“To friendship,” added Elijah.
They both waited for Mica to speak as it was customary for everyone to announce some sort of futuristic offering when a toast was made.
“To justice, may it succeed and bear the fruits of its labours.”
Martin peered into the unflinching eyes, saw the determination and the fire in them, something that he had seen many times before; that blank, fixed stare of someone set on a path. They all drank from their goblets.
“As usual, Martin,” said Elijah, “you seem to be able to procure fine wines when others fail.”
“I have some good contacts, some good friends in the wine industry in Gongway. Although they are suffering under the king’s taxes, they still manage to siphon off some of their best wines to their more reliable paying customers.”
Just then, a young girl, with red hair, freckles and a sweet smile entered the tent. With her was a young man with long blond wavy hair. Both were around Mica’s age. The girl wore a light green dress trimmed with white, the young man, wore knee length tanned boots, loose fitting fawn trousers and a red shirt. He carried a sword at his side.
“This is my son Peter and my daughter Melissa,” said Martin, his face glowing with pride as he looked up at them. “You have both met Elijah before, this is his niece, Mica.”
“It’s a pleasure to see you once again Eiljah and to meet you Mica,” said the smiling and seemingly gentle Peter.
“At last, someone I can talk to,” said Melissa with some scorn.
“Melissa was reluctant to come with us this year as her mother was staying home. The journey is too much for her now,” added Martin. “Mica, why don’t you go with Melissa, I’m sure you two can find something to talk about while us men debate more serious matters.”
“Go with her, Mica, Melissa might be able to find a hot tub for you where you can bathe in safety,” said Elijah.
The thought of a nice hot tub, scented soap and another woman her own age as company had Mica quickly on her feet.
“Bring your goblet with you, Mica, we will secure our own wine.”
Melissa led her into another tent where there were two fine looking wooden tubs. “Do you want to have a bath now?”
“I’ve been dreaming about a real bath for weeks!”
“We hire these from the merchants in Tursy each year. It was my mother’s doing, she wouldn’t come here without having some bathing facilities and I have become accustomed to having a nice hot bath. I’ll have the servants heat some water and prepare them while we drink our wine and chat.”
Melissa called the servants, two matronly women and a young boy and gave them their instructions. Melissa and Mica sat down in cane chairs with plump cushions to sip at their wine.
“You have many servants,” said Mica with some envy.
“Yes, we use a lot of servants, we have to,” she said with some resignation.
“Most of our people are struggling to survive, so we employ as many as we can, to give them and their families some means of survival. We don’t pay them any money, as the king’s tax collectors would only take it away from them. Instead, we see that they are well fed, that their houses are weatherproof and their children educated. They want for nothing.”
“How is it that you are able to do this?”
“Horses, Mica. Back in Moorland we have the finest herds of horses in the land. The king needs good horses for his army so we are left alone.”
“Your mother is ill?”
“Sick of travelling to this place, that’s all, she has no belief in these blessings, no belief that it is actually doing some good.”
The servants began pouring hot water into the tubs.
“You have travelled far?” asked Melissa.
“From Cragmoor.”
“You came down the same road as we did then. Did you see any bandits?”
“A couple, but they gave us no trouble.”
“You do not dress as a woman?”
“I was brought up amongst men.”
“Do you know how to use that sword?”
“Yes.”
The servants brought more water, the tubs were now ready. Melissa jumped to her feet and began taking off her clothes. Mica did the same.
“Mica, you have wonderful skin, so golden, so brown compared to my lily white.”
“My mother was not from this land,” said Mica, straddling the bath and sliding down into the soothing hot water. “What would I give to be able to do this every day?”
“You’re welcome to come here anytime; in fact, I insist.”
“Well, if you insist then.” They both laughed.
The two women servants came back, added some scent to the baths and gave them some fine perfumed bars of soap. Then they proceeded to wash Melissa and Mica’s hair.
“Where is your mother now?” asked Melissa.
“Both my parents are dead.”
“How awful, I couldn’t imagine being without my parents, or my brothers.”
“You have another brother?”
“Yes, Michael, he very rarely leaves the farm. He is content looking after the horses, goats and running the vegetable gardens. He’s not like Peter, who is rather head- strong, and dare I say it, rebellious.”
How are things in Moorland?” asked Elijah as the servant topped up his goblet. Peter was sitting beside him with his own goblet now filled.
“There are rumblings, Elijah. Most of my friends have had enough of the Lothians. They walk into our homes and take what they want, kill anyone who gets in their way; they are a law unto themselves,” said Peter.
“We are better off than some,” added Martin.
“While you do nothing our people suffer,” said Peter, looking directly at his father. It was obvious to Elijah that father and son had had this argument before.
“Sometimes it’s better to suffer a little than to have wholesale death and destruction. Your father and I have seen this first hand. It is not a pretty sight and it would tear the country apart,” added Elijah.
“Have you no pride, no desire for equality,” said Peter, raising his voice.
“Do not speak so loud son, someone
might hear you.”
Elijah knew what Peter was feeling, what was going through his mind. He too had felt that same way many years ago and had taken up the sword. But he and the men who had taken up arms had been defeated, slaughtered like animals in a farmyard. He had lost his family and most of his friends. That was why he walked the solitary road, why he became a storyteller. He could at least keep himself and the past alive that way.
But there was a new generation in the land now, young men like Peter who had never seen war, had never seen mutilated bodies, or seen the tears pouring from mothers, sisters, brothers and children’s eyes. That a new army would rise one day he had no doubt, but he didn’t want to be part of it, didn’t want to face it again.
“Your father and I have our pride,” said Elijah, “but it is buried deep in memories of friends long gone, friends wasted for no benefit whatsoever. We do not wish to see that again.”
“We can raise an army of five thousand in Moorland alone,” Peter answered defiantly.
“The king can raise ten times that in twenty-four hours. In a week or two he could double it. You wouldn’t have a chance in hell.”
“Let us talk no more of war, there are more pleasant things to discuss,” said Martin.
“Have you a boyfriend, Mica.”
“I have no time for men.”
“With your good looks you will have no trouble attracting them.”
“I seem to attract the wrong sort of men.”
“Is that why you carry a sword?”
“Yes, it saved my life once and has protected me from the lustful desires of men.”
“Have you not had the pleasure of a man?”
“No, never,” she said thinking back to the day when the naked bandit had displayed his genitals to her, displayed his erection. Mica slid down into the water letting it cover her head, she did not like this conversation, did not like to think about sex, about love. That sort of thing was for people who had real lives to lead. Her life was following another path, a path of retribution.
The servants brought in some fresh fruit and chicken and put it on the small table near their chairs. Melissa climbed from the bath and began towelling herself dry.
“I have a boyfriend, his name is Astar. He is a stable hand. Father doesn’t like me seeing him. He says I should find someone with money and property. Astar has nothing.”
“What does your mother think?” asked Mica as she reluctantly left the bath and reached for the soft white towel that the servants had left draped over the chair.
“Mother says I should marry for love and no other reason.”
“Your mother and father are at odds?”
“Father likes to think he rules the house but it is mother who has the last word.”
“I should like to meet your mother; she sounds like a practical down to earth person.”
Melissa wrapped the towel around her slim white body and walked over to a rack where there was hanging a multitude of dresses. She chose a long red dress and proceeded to put it on. Mica picked up her soiled clothes from the floor and wondered what it would be like to have clean clothes to wear everyday, or even to wear fine dresses like Melissa. She put on her stiffened cloths. She would have to do some washing while she was here. She brushed her fingers through her now lengthening dark hair, sat down and began to pick at the cold chicken.
“Why don’t you come to Moorland after the blessings are over, you could meet my mother then?” asked Melissa, sitting down in her seat, with one of the women servants brushing her hair.
“I’m not sure of my path, which road I am going to take, but if the opportunity arises I would love to come to Moorland and meet your mother.”
Martin mouthed the chicken leg, bit into it and tasted the sweetened herbs. Elijah broke off some of the succulent breast.
“Elijah, this niece of yours, whom you’ve never mentioned before in all the years I’ve known you, where does she come from?”
“She is not really my niece,” said Elijah, knowing full well that he could trust Martin and his family to keep the secret.
“I thought as much.”
“The storyteller has a story to tell,” said Peter as he stripped the last of the meat off his drumstick and threw the bones back onto the now dwindling plate.
“A story it is indeed and it is far from over. She was raised in Cragmoor by an old warrior. She is an orphan. Her parents were slain by Lothian troops some fifteen years ago. The only thing she owns is a sword and a book of fairy tales and she has no idea where her parents were from. Mica was only about five or six when they were killed, she saw everything.”
A rather traumatic experience,” added Martin as he sipped at his wine.
“For ten of the last fifteen years she has trained every day for four hours with the sword. I believe that revenge drives her, torments her, and has probably taken over her very soul. She is very proficient with the sword and can draw a bow as well as any man. She killed two bandits who interrupted her bath. She hid the sword in the water where she was swimming. The men didn’t have a chance.”
“As well as being able to fight she’s a thinker, a woman to admire in more ways than one,” said Peter as he tried to imagine Mica naked. What a sight that must have been for the two men!
“The old man trained her well, drummed into her every warning, every instinct that a warrior should have. She is no fool, she can fight, she can read and write and surprisingly, at times, she can be as gentle as a lamb.”
“What happened to the old man?”
“He passed away. Mica had nowhere to go, so she came with me.”
“And you, looking for a story, didn’t object,” added Martin.
“This could be the ultimate tale.”
“A chance at the Guild, perhaps?”
“That as you know is the pinnacle of any storyteller’s quest and this story might just qualify me.”
The Guild was an ancient tradition existing since the beginning of time. It had grown out of the caves, out of the rustic cabins, from the lofty mountains and the seas stretching around Islabad. Tales of romance, of high adventure, of warriors and princesses abounded; the themes and plots were endless.
Every year during the winter, the storytellers gathered at Darfor, the capital of Steppland. They came before a committee of their elders, their stories judged and if deemed to be worthy they were invited to stand on the podium of the Guild. Each year this happened and at the end only five were chosen. Elijah had attended for the last ten years but was yet to reach the podium.
“Does she seek her revenge here in Tursy?” enquired Peter.
“I have no idea what she seeks in Tursy,” replied Elijah, sipping more wine. It was starting to go to his head.
“What about the men who killed her parents, does she know who they are?”
Elijah looked at Peter, saw his interest, revenge was something that young men and some women took rather seriously. Even he had once, but his ardor had died with many of his friends, although deep down he still craved revenge, still would like to see his brother pay for his crimes. “She has never spoken of them, but I believe she knows who she is looking for. You wouldn’t train with a sword in the rain and snow for ten years if you didn’t have some idea who you were after.”
“Then we might expect some excitement.”
“Be careful what you wish for, son.”
“She is fast with the sword, very fast, if you see her fight it will be something to talk about for a long time,” said Elijah.
“You would class her as a master swordsman then?”
“I would at that Martin. I would never draw against her.”
Peter came into the tent where the girls were. “Elijah has asked me to escort you back to your camp; it’s getting dark out there. He and father will more than likely drink themselves into a stupor.”
Mica was about to say that she didn’t need an escort but decided against it, it would be good for her to be seen with some of the locals, some of
the people that were trusted. She needed to become one of them, to also be trusted. Elijah had warned her of spies, people who worked for the king, who mingled within the crowd and reported anybody that appeared suspicious. She needed to make sure she was seen as belonging here, as part of the furniture so to speak.
“I’m coming with you,” said Melissa as she stood up and slipped on some leather sandals.
They strode through the camp side by side. Melissa and Peter acknowledged a thin man driving in a tent peg, a couple with two children and a group of young men whose eyes followed the girls.
“It’s a bit like a family reunion, a lot of these people have been coming for years,” said Peter as he waved to another group standing at the entrance to their tent.
“I think some of these young men come to find girls,” said Melissa.
“I concur with that,” said Peter, eyeing off two pretty girls who were coming up from the creek with buckets of water.
“This blessing, how long does it go for?” asked Mica.
“One day, the anniversary of the battle. Why, are you thinking of taking the blessing?” asked Melissa.
“No, I was just curious, that’s all.”
Peter strode ahead of them as they left the camp and started to climb the gentle slope. “The blessing is in two days’ time.”
On arriving at the camp Mica introduced Peter and Melissa to everybody. Melissa was delighted with the children and was surprised to learn that Mica was teaching them to read and write. Then they left, giving Mica and any of her friends an open invitation to visit them any time.
Gabriel had managed to purchase some fresh steaks for their evening meal but Mica declined as she had eaten with Melissa. He had also found out that the troops that were normally here were out chasing bandits, the garrison was being held by a skeleton force. That explained why they had not seen any Lothian soldiers. Still, Mica felt restless.
Mica wasn’t tired so she decided to take a walk after informing Gabriel where she was going. She skirted the main camp and crossed the gravel road that climbed over the saddle. She kept to the high ground, followed it to the other side of the camp and crossed over a small creek that tumbled down over some rapids. From here she could see the town and all of the main camp. Cooking fires dotted the land. Pale yellow lights, diffused and tiny shone through the windows of the houses in Tursy itself.
The Orphan and the Shadow Walker Page 9
