by Mary Ting
Perhaps the cries I heard in my waking nightmares were the sounds of those poor souls.
I swiped at tall grasses with my sword, for I did not want to imagine these people or my life without Father and Mother.
“Would you like to rest?” Father brought me back to the present.
“Aye.”
I dropped my arms to my sides. The sword grew heavy as a tree, and my arm muscles throbbed. I should be used to holding my weapon for so long, but no matter the months of training, Father always pushed me just past my limit. The thrill of battle spurred me on when practicing with him, but would I be able to endure in real life?
Father rested his hand on my back, guiding me as we strode toward our cozy house. Mother would be bustling about the kitchen and, with luck, a hearty midday meal would be waiting in the common room.
As we neared the house, cows and sheep greeted us from their paddocks. Tom, the fine calico mouser, darted into the barn, doubtlessly chasing some vermin in the hay we’d laid in for winter. I noted the autumn bounty waiting for harvest in the garden. The vegetables and apples from the trees we’d practiced under would make some of my chores in coming weeks.
The gloomy clouds had bunched together. Their ominous bellies thickened, thrumming with charged energy. Far off in the distance, more storm clouds, black as the devil’s heart, headed toward us. Rain would surely come our way. The cool breeze that had been a relief earlier stung through the fabrics, making me shiver.
As we neared our house, Mother greeted us. She had taken off the cotton square from around her waist to reveal a simple lavender dress. Mother frowned when she eyed my destroyed braided bun and again when she saw the dirt on my clothes. She gave me a cup of water and then shifted her attention to Father.
“Richard.” Mother placed a hand on Father’s arm. “You almost killed our daughter. She’s just a girl, not a boy.”
Her comment struck me. Had Father always wanted a boy instead? He loved me, but I secretly wished I were a boy for him. Perhaps I would be a better fighting companion.
Mother turned to me. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”
She took the empty cup from me, handed it to Father, and then took my wooden sword, relieving the pressure on my shoulder.
“Thank you for the water, Mother.” I already wanted more. “And I’m well, I assure you. No need to scold Father.”
I lagged behind, annoyed, as we continued toward the house. I wished she would stop fussing over me. Many girls my age had already wed or gone into service with a wealthy family. Just because I hadn’t left home did not mean she should treat me like a child.
Mother should have been used to my training. I had been training with Father since I was old enough to hold a weapon, though I understood her concern. Father had used more force that day, and my garments and hair likely showed it. He had fought me as if we were on equal ground.
I felt proud, and my confidence grew.
“Midday meal is ready.”
Her lips became a thin line, and I sensed a change in her attitude. She mustn’t be pleased with my tone.
“Thank you, Mother. My tummy eagerly awaits the delicious food,” I said to appease her.
I hadn’t meant to sound ungrateful—she was only thinking of my well-being—but the hunger pangs and exhaustion had put me in an ill mood.
Mother’s face softened, and her lips tugged at the corner. “Thank you, Jaclyn. I made your favorite soup.”
“I can’t wait to eat it, but before I do, may I visit Angel? I woke late this morning and didn’t have a chance to greet her.”
“Be quick about it,” Mother said. “If you don’t hurry, your soup will get cold.”
“You’re the best mother in all the land.”
“I’m your only mother.” A soft giggle escaped her mouth.
“But you’re still the best.”
I gave her an innocent smile she could not resist and then sprinted away.
Chapter Three
Hidden Hoard
The sun glowed through the small barn windows high above like Heaven’s light. Fresh hay and earthy horse dung, the scents of home, swirled around me as my shuffling caused a stir among the livestock.
The chickens quickened their steps and scattered, giving me a clear path. I waved my arms like Moses parting the water. My father’s horse, Daniel, turned his head toward me, then Angel did the same.
Angel stepped forward and stood in the sunlight. With a coat white as snow, she looked majestic. I’d chosen her name. Angel. She looked like one with the sun’s rays pouring down on her in glowing ribbons. All she needed was a set of wings.
Father had traded for her at a nearby town the year before. She’d cost two gold coins and a bushel of apples. I had never seen such rare beauty before.
Angel’s tail flopped back and forth, her head bobbing in recognition as I came for her. Tied up, she could not move any more than the length the rope allowed.
“Good day, Angel.” I stroked along her smooth back as I nestled my head by the side of her neck.
She nickered in response. Backing away, I examined her body.
“I had a terrible dream again.”
I swept the barn with my eyes. I needn’t, as the nearest home lay miles away.
“You don’t think I’m turning into a demon, do you?” I released a heavy breath. “I suppose I’m a lackwit for asking such a question. But the cries frighten me. These dreams have come almost every fortnight since I turned sixteen. I feel like the devil is coming for me or perhaps I’m turning into ... I’ve gone mad, I tell you.” I shook my head and let out a soft laugh. “I train with Father each day. I’m getting faster and stronger. I hope never to raise my sword, in truth, but ’tis better to be prepared.”
Angel bobbed her head and puffed air from her nose. She might not be able to speak, but she understood me.
“I must get back. Midday meal awaits.”
Instead, I jumped to sit on the bale of hay. Being with Angel always gave me a sense of serenity, and talking to her helped me push the previous night’s terror aside. As my feet dangled, I grabbed a piece of hay and stuck it in my mouth.
“Does it taste good, Angel?” I laughed as I chewed.
With no one aside from my parents to confide in, I found comfort in talking to Angel.
Angel’s mouth opened to grab the end of the piece, so I let her have it. I didn’t relish the taste of dried grass, anyway.
Peering up to the high ceiling, I marveled at the craftsmanship of the structure Father and his friends had built. All the boards angled up to an arch in the middle. In the center, spider webs hung in intricate patterns of fine artistry, glistening in the sunlight.
“Jaclyn.”
Mother’s voice carried on the wind. I flinched and sprang down.
“Well, Mother calls, Angel. I’ll visit after chores.”
I caressed her once more. On my way out, I stopped by Daniel’s stall. He came toward me, and I rubbed his head.
“Greetings, Daniel. Look after Angel for me, eh?”
Father had taught me the first rule of caring for horses was to examine their bodies for cuts and bruises. He had been there that morning, but I checked Daniel anyway. As I studied Daniel, something shiny reflected a blinding gleam in my eyes.
I took a step back, blinking, then leaned forward, hoping I would catch it again. When nothing happened, I looked over my shoulder, making sure Father did not lurk, and went inside Daniel’s stall.
“Good day, Daniel.” I ran my hand the length of his body.
I invaded his domain with care, unsure what he would do. Daniel ignored me and let me slide by. Bending to my knees, I shuffled the hay and dirt away.
What in Heaven’s name?
The wooden boards lay side by side but had enough space between them for the light to penetrate if the sun hit the right spot. A hidden secret hoard lay below the straw.
My imagination ran wild. What if I had found gold? But Father had built the place,
so he would have known about it.
Then, perhaps, he’d stored gold there for desperate times. Whatever lay inside, he mustn’t wish me to see.
No, Jaclyn, don’t look. Don’t do it.
But why not? Don’t you want to know?
Curiosity won, and I needed to find out.
My heart pounded as I gripped the handle and lifted. A black, threadbare blanket covered the items inside, but a tip of something stuck out. The tip must have been what caught the light, but it did not seem shiny enough.
It did not matter what had caught my attention; fate had brought me to find what was inside the hoard. Or so I told myself to justify acting like a thief.
Unfolding the cloth to the left and then right revealed the hidden objects. A sword, two daggers, and one old lance rested inside.
The beautiful sword had been made of fine, polished steel with an intricate design crafted into the handle. It looked like a sword the king’s soldiers would use.
I wanted to hold it, but I dared not. I needed to leave. Mother or Father would come looking for me.
Against my better judgment, I reached for the lance.
It did not appear to be anything special—not valuable like the sword. Why would Father hide an old lance as if it were some sort of treasure?
I began to tug out the lance, careful not to poke Daniel or the wooden walls in such a tight cramped space. Taking a step away from the poop and shifting my body every which way possible, I pulled the lance out, avoiding Daniel’s hooves.
Surprisingly light in my hands, the aged but smooth rod felt cold, like an icicle on a winter branch. The tip had been made of steel—simple, yet a golden streak curled upward to the point.
Real gold? Brass, perhaps.
I studied it, intrigued as to why Father had it and where he had found it. Placed upright, it towered over me. I could not question him unless I admitted sneaking, and I did not think he would like his daughter poking around where she did not belong.
“Jaclyn?”
Father.
I needed to go.
Yet, the lance captivated me enough to pay the price of Father catching me red-handed. Running my finger along the length once more, I decided to test its sharpness.
“Jaclyn.”
Father’s voice echoed from outside the barn.
Just as I touched the tip, it nicked me. I gasped and jerked back, not by the cut, but from the sensation. I felt as if I’d touched a boiling pot. Heat blazed through me, something strange happened when I got that wound. I saw an image.
Something with amber eyes had stared at me, but I didn’t understand what I’d seen. Was it the devil? It flashed for a split second, but faded just as I dropped the lance.
Oh, Lord.
I shuddered and rubbed my arms.
The lance clattering to the barn floor startled Daniel. He began to stamp and shift in the small space, making a lot of noise.
Stupid horse.
It took a great deal of care to grab the lance without getting kicked.
No, not stupid horse, stupid me.
I scrambled to put it back. Then I covered everything with the blanket the way it had been, closed the lid, and shuffled back the hay and dirt. Wincing, I sucked the small pearl of blood on my fingertip, covering any evidence of what had happened.
“Jaclyn, are you here?”
My heart galloped faster. I slapped my arms behind me, hoping Father would not suspect anything.
“Father. I’m here with Daniel.”
Pressing my back against the wall, I shifted away from Daniel. My heart hammered in my ears as I covered them to drown out Daniel’s agitated snorts.
Father’s pounding footsteps came closer, and then he appeared. He stroked Daniel to calm him down.
“Whoa, Daniel. All is well.” As he continued to caress Daniel, he shifted his attention to me. “Jaclyn. Why are you in here?” He spoke softly to soothe the horse, but his eyes showed anger.
I stilled, afraid to move. Any disturbance would spook Daniel again. I had to think fast. Easy enough. I had become a great storyteller from the lack of playmates. Since childhood, I’d spun tales to entertain my parents after dinner.
“I thought I saw a cut in his hind leg, so I decided to examine him. I wanted to make you proud of me.” I lowered my arms to my sides and smiled sheepishly.
His irate expression relaxed. “I already checked him this morning. He’s well. Go eat your meal.”
“I will.”
Step by step, I carefully moved around Daniel.
When Father turned away, I rubbed at my index finger. I had only touched the tip of the lance, not pressed my finger into it. How had it nicked me?
Perhaps my imagination had captured me. Mayhap the stories I made up addled my mind.
I gazed at my fingertip again and found no hint of a cut, only a smudge of blood I had wiped away. After rubbing my eyes, I looked again.
Nothing.
I blinked and looked again.
No cut?
I stared and stared.
Impossible.
I shook my head and blamed it on lack of sleep, but it didn’t explain the blood.
Before I left, I looked over my shoulder at Angel. She would not have been startled like Daniel. Angel would have remained silent and still.
Standing under the sun’s rays as if she enjoyed the warmth, she appeared tranquil as could be.
My beautiful angel without wings.
Chapter Four
The Story
When day neared the end, the sun settled low across the horizon, casting hues of fiery red and orange. As Mother made supper, Father and I tended to the animals.
Sweat dampened my forehead and rolled down my back under the loose tunic. Dirt smeared my face, hands, and clothes, and I stank like the pigs.
Father took off his hat, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and placed his hat back on his head as we continued toward the house. Day after day, he wore the same ridiculous hat.
“Your hat is old and ragged. I shall buy you a new one.”
Father dipped his head low, catching his hat in his hand, and stuck a finger through the hole on the top. He inhaled a deep breath, seemed to search for words, but kept quiet.
“This hat holds a special place in my heart,” he finally said. “I’ve had it since the day you blessed my life. It holds a wonderful memory of you. I shall hold it forever and carry it with me wherever I go, as I carry you in my heart always. I do not need a new hat. It has flaws, but ’tis mostly whole and still useful.”
My heart soared and filled with happiness. Father rarely spoke so tenderly, but when he did, he lifted my spirits and gave me wings to fly.
I wanted to tell him I loved him, though we hardly spoke those words. Father showed his love through actions. Actions carried more weight, anyway.
Though it would have been nice to hear the sentiment from him, or to say it myself.
“Why not ask Mother to patch it?”
Mother spent countless hours mending holes in our tunics. Never waste what can be fixed, she’d say.
“It would not be the same. The hat shows what it endured. If you can forgive its flaws and see the beauty, then it is saved. Keep my words to heart, Jaclyn. Forgive and show love. Lead with love in your heart. Then you shall shine through the deepest darkness. That is the way to save and to be saved.”
“Aye.”
Father no longer meant the hat. He often taught me lessons from commonplace things. But that lesson he gave so often, I could repeat it in my sleep.
“Who shall wash first?” Father dusted the dirt off his tunic.
“Draw straws for it?”
Father smirked, and he stopped to pluck two weeds growing by the house. “Which of these will you choose?”
He arranged the stems in his hand and held them out to me. When I drew one, he declared it the long straw and dropped his own. I pretended not to notice his was longer. Instead, I jumped for joy.
“I w
on.”
Father’s smile glowed. With his permission, I skipped to the back of the house. As always, Mother had fetched a bucket of water for us to wash in.
After dipping the rag, I twisted it to squeeze the icy water and wiped my face. It stung my bones as I washed under my garments and along my hairline. Then I changed into fresh clothing in my chamber.
Father came inside just as the silhouette of the thick dark clouds in the night sky appeared. No rain had fallen, but I sensed it would soon.
Mother had set candles to light our cozy home, and a fire crackled under the cooking pot to keep us warm. The smell of Mother’s stew drew growls from my stomach as I helped her ready supper.
“Say grace, Jaclyn.” Father set his elbows on the table, hands clasped, and lowered his head.
He had never asked me to pray before a meal, so his request surprised me.
“Grace.” I giggled.
I loved teasing Father. His eyebrows furrowed as if I had spoken in a different tongue. Then he chuckled softly when he caught on to my childish jest.
“Jaclyn.” Mother wagged her finger.
I snickered under my breath.
“Pray,” Father requested again, narrowing his eyes at me with a hint of a smile. Despite his stern tone, his lips kept twitching.
“Aye.” Clasping my hands, I bowed my head and closed my eyes. “Heavenly Father, I thank thee for a good day and for our meal we’re about to receive. Please forgive our sins”—I thought about the snooping I’d done in the barn earlier—“and deliver us from evil.” When I opened my eyes, my parents nodded with approval.
Mother poured stew into a wooden trencher before me, and then she passed fresh bread while Father placed a chicken leg on my plate. My mouth watered at the rare treat. After I poured the milk into our cups, we were set to eat.
“I shall be going to town the day after tomorrow.” Father scooped stew into his mouth and pulled a piece from his chunk of bread. “It’ll be just you and your mother. I’m entrusting you with a sword. You will be fine. I’m sure of it, like many times I’ve been away before. I’ve trained you well.”
