Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls

by Chris Ward

  To reach the plains of the Lowlands below Fairview by the quickest route meant taking the large woven basket that was winched down on a thick rope by a huge derrick which was swung out over the great cliff at a point where it was somewhat indented giving some protection from the wind. It was not for the faint hearted, but the rope had only parted once, many years before and then by luck had cost only the life of three prize pigs. The basket could carry five men if required, but three was normal. The rope was made of a specially woven hemp spooled onto a huge wooden wheel which was turned by a pair of work horses walking in endless circles. The two thousand cubit drop was too great to do in one continuous lift, so cut into the rock at five hundred cubit intervals were large chambers in which were replicated all the mechanisms required. There were dwellings and stables and a forge at each stopping point, for horses were needed at every level. Most travelers were grateful for the stops, but the toll was not cheap and only those of reasonable means, or soldiers on Council business could afford to travel in such a manner. Rema had shared the basket with a wool merchant who was traveling to Amrosi to secure a shipment for the next season’s weaving. He was a sullen fellow and Rema wondered why he was traveling at night, but reasoned fairly that the merchant might well have wondered the same of him.

  Rema had traveled by hired cart over rough roads south towards Ramos, skirting the Great Southern Forest. At times he walked alone and slept rough in an isolated haystack. He would shoot a hare and roast it over a simple fire. His unusual bow was not taken seriously by any and south of the Snake River which was more settled, he carried it wrapped in a cloth and strapped to his back with his quiver and arrows. It could have been any number of things, and then it was a common enough sight to see a traveler on the roads carrying a bundle in that manner. Usually he enjoyed this type of overland travel, a chance to meet some interesting people who knew the roads and the mood of the countryside. He could listen and learn with little conversation, but he had found it strange this time. He was struck by the change in the population. Usually the Lowlanders were friendly enough if they did not know you were from the Upthrust, and even then it was only the rudest who would say anything to your face. But on this trip Rema found it hard to get into conversation with anyone who had no need to. Windows in villages were shut and almost everyone seemed to avoid contact with each other. Fear hung in the air. There was evidence of fire and burnt buildings in almost every hamlet, and the farms looked tired and unproductive. On such rich plains Rema thought it all most unusual. And he had noticed more soldiers and mounted guards all riding black horses with much yelling and general intimidation. He himself was struck by an oafish guard who took some exception to the way Rema had looked at him. He still ached from the boot to his ribs and a gloved fist to the jaw.

  In an inn on the road just north of Ramos he had fallen into conversation with an intelligent man who claimed to be on the run, having been accused unjustly of theft and other crimes. He had said that there was trouble brewing for all but would not give more details. He was nervous and left quickly pulling a hood low over his face.

  Rema had found Serenna after two days in Ramos. Her directions were not clear and the city had changed so much since he had last visited many years before; his search for his troublesome cousin was full of a growing anxiety. There was something greatly wrong in Ramos which sat on the mighty Luminos River. The King had by decree co-joined his title with this mighty river by way of boosting his importance. Lord Petros Luminos, it was a name feared by all. The king had tried to change the name of the city to Petros, but such was the outcry and the drop in trade that in a fury he had to leave it by its known name and instead by decree, changed the name of a port town on the eastern coast to Petros. Not a few had died in the uprising that this had caused. But he had prevailed, and the name was now Petros on pain of death.

  The Luminos River was almost three leagues wide where Ramos sat on its northern bank and the water traffic was constant and confused. The city lay almost a hundred leagues from the sea but the river was navigable all the way to Ramos, and well beyond. It was unusual in that the prevailing winds allowed the biggest of sailing ships, carefully managed to sail right up to the city and the current was always strong enough to take them back again once their business was completed.

  Rema had been beaten and robbed twice within a day of arriving in Ramos; he was not seriously injured and he only lost a small amount of money, being able to escape on both occasions by a combination of wit and swift running through narrow alleys. By the time he found Serenna, having slept rough one night under a bridge with a group of drunken sailors who had no ship that would take them, he wondered why anyone would ever want to live in such a lawless place.

  Serenna lived in a sombre but rich looking timber and stone house not far from the wharves. She opened the door to his knock, and was overwhelmed to see him. He remembered her first words.

  ‘Oh Rema, you’ve come, I knew you would, come in, quickly,’ she was crying immediately but he noticed that she took a moment to look quickly up and down the narrow street to see if anyone had noticed her visitor. It seemed not, but she was wrong. Rema had been spotted; in fact he now realised that he had walked right into a trap.

  They had talked awkwardly at first. Rema was cool and unsure of his temperamental friend, whilst she was keenly aware that she had acted unwisely in leaving her community so hastily, and was unsure how to repair the hurt.

  Rema was introduced later that evening to her husband Jycob whom he thought a strange character, almost soft and too polite; he’d had a vision of a huge hulking brute of a man, but this was not the case. However, later that evening he overheard a short exchange between Jycob and a servant which gave him immediate cause for alarm. It was little garbled since there was wall between him and those he was straining to hear, and he was trying to talk with Serenna at the same time; but as far as could tell, Jycob was wanting to get a message to someone in authority to the effect that ‘he had arrived.’ He realised that in some way he had been lured to Ramos and to that very house for some sinister reason.

  Feigning tiredness he had asked for a bed and was shown to a private guest room by Serenna. He had had a short and difficult conversation with her which revealed a number of things. She regretted her marriage to Jycob but was being treated well, only that for a short time before she sent her letter asking for help this had not been the case. This confirmed in Rema’s mind that she had been used to bring him to Ramos for some reason. Promising to talk more in the morning he waited until the house was quiet, and then collecting his things he had left by a rear entrance only to be accosted in an alley by a waiting guard who had slashed at him with a sword, cutting his right thigh. Rema had managed to elude this man by climbing several walls and running over rooftops using all his mountain experience until finally losing himself in the many streets and alleyways. He had spent a night in a drinking inn and left Ramos early the next morning by a western road, not wanting to return the way he had come.

  He was bewildered but only interested in getting safely away. Three days later he had arrived on the edge of the great Southern Forest where the mighty Luminos emerged from it, to begin its slower meandering down to Ramos and the ocean beyond. He had rested in a logger’s camp but had by chance seen a cohort of the King’s men arrive, clearly in pursuit of someone. Catching sight of the three Wolvers convinced him that he was their target and he had taken to the forest immediately trusting his ability to run and use his simple map to get way and lose them in the impossible terrain and tangledness of the ancient trees.

  Rema lay in the cot having gone over it all, in as much detail as he could remember It was all vivid but lacking reason. He felt concern for Serenna, but it seemed that she was beyond his help. He felt sad that he had had only a few hours to begin to rebuild a broken friendship and that it not been possible. He never believed for a moment that she had wanted him harmed, but that she had been manipulated by others; he was at a lost to know why.
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br />   He knew that he had escaped death only by the intervention of the strangest and most wonderful person he had ever encountered. Mentor of Revelyn. He could not begin to understand the magical powers of this man and suspected he was a wizard like those the legends spoke of in old Revelin when the first people of the land had settled in the far north. There were many rumours that a remnant still lived in the great Forest of Ravilin which stretched for many hundreds of leagues across the north of Revelyn almost from sea to sea. The old legends spoke of powerful magic and wizards who could change the lives of men and even the course of history. But Rema realised that this was all just a hopeless guess. In truth he had no idea.

  And then he thought about his name. He had tried to put everything in order and now he had arrived at a point which made him feel so very peculiar. As far back as he could remember he had known his name to be Rema Bowman, living in the Safeness, high in the Mighty Mountains, his parents the loving Riga and Sooth Bowman who farmed goats and grew a few crops and made the best bows in all the Highlands. They lived the simplest and noblest life he knew, a life he had always loved. But Mentor had suggested there was another truth and it scared him. It made no sense at all.

  Finally, tired out, Rema fell asleep and dreamt of strange and frightening things. There was fire and burning houses and people lying, dying; a frightened young man who held his hand but lost him and of parents who were cut down by sword and spears. He saw himself sitting in the dirt as a small child and then being grabbed by a large mountain of a man, and then a ship, thin and fast and rough seas, the smell of salt and drums and chanting and being sick and so very scared.

  Rema sat up in a sweat, crying like a child. Like Remy Cantira cried when he lost his parents and was taken by the invaders. Rema remembered, and from that moment on it changed everything.

  In the morning Mentor served Rema a hearty breakfast but made no comment or inquiry about anything that had been spoken of the previous day. He showed genuine concern though when Rema mentioned the strange creature he had seen the in the valley clearing during the night. He asked several questions and walked back and forth with a deeply furrowed brow.

  ‘Not good, not good at all,’ he muttered, ‘things have progressed more quickly than I have realised. No, Rema I cannot tell you what it is, for you have nothing to compare it with. All I can say is that it makes those three Wolvers you killed seem almost friendly. I need to look into this; this is not a good development.’

  ‘What am I supposed to do if it comes upon me?’ Rema asked now greatly disturbed. A creature more deadly than a Wolver!

  ‘There is no advice I can give you. Stay out of its path at all costs.’

  ‘That’s all?’ said Rema astounded.

  ‘I’m sorry Rema, that is all. Now I have a surprise for you,’ Mentor left the room and returned a moment later with his bow and quiver of arrows. ‘This should save a trip back to that sad little town of Efilon.’ Rema thanked him sincerely. He had feared he would never see his weapon again and would have to start all over. He noticed that the quiver was now full of arrows all identical to the ones he had used to kill the Wolvers, but he was not greatly surprised considering the events of the past few days.

  ‘Now,’ said Mentor, ‘the journey must begin, there is much to do, come.’ Rema picked up his few things including a small leather bag which contained some food and drink which Mentor had provided. They went outside together and stood in the bright morning sunshine watching the mist lift off the forest below, a forest which was alive with birds and small creatures scurrying about completely unconcerned.

  So different from last night thought Rema.

  Taking a deep breath he turned to Mentor and spoke boldly. ‘Are you a wizard, I really would like to know something about you?’

  Mentor frowned as though wondering just how to reply. Finally he stood before Rema and placed strong hands on either shoulder and looked deeply into the young man’s face.

  ‘Rema the time of magic and sorcery is almost at an end in this land. This will be a good thing for it does not sit well with human understanding and actions. Remember that. But no, I am no wizard, I am beyond all wizards. And that is enough for now. Remember all I have told you, think upon those things. I am sure you will do what you must.’ Rema had an uneasy feeling then but Mentor distracted him by offering a gift.

  ‘Take this cloak, it is white to remind you of humility, and it has some properties which you will discover in time that will be of some assistance. Wear it confidently; there is no harmful pride in that.’

  Rema saw that it was a most beautiful garment and put it on immediately. It flowed and surrounded him without inhibiting his movements; it even had a hood which fitted him perfectly. It seemed warm and strangely protective and he turned to thank Mentor and was stunned. He had vanished. He was standing alone on the grassy hillside. There was no door or window to a home in the earth, not a single indication that it had ever existed. No evidence that Mentor had ever been; except for the cloak it might all have been a dream.

  The birds sang and the sun shone, but he was alone.

  ‘Thank you Mentor,’ he whispered. ‘Thank you, whoever you are, wherever you are, I will do what I must do. I will do your bidding.’

  And with that Rema Bowman began a journey, the likes of which he could never have possibly dreamed of.

  Chapter 4.

  Sylvion Greyfeld cantered her mount Lightfoot gently along the well worn road towards Wildwood. She loved this part of her journey, one which she had made on countless occasions. The smell of the lavender growing wild by the road, familiar faces and the re-acquaintance with old friends; conversations about children and produce, and of course the weather. She loved the anticipation of her homecoming, and for days before would wake in excitement at the sheer joy of what lay ahead.

  Sylvion had left Farview two days after Rema but by the only other route which led to the Lowlands, the one which most were forced to take. The basket lowered down the sheer cliff was never meant to handle the large volume of people and livestock and general merchandise which a thriving town like Farview needed in its daily life. Of all the towns of the Central Upthrust Farview had the most connections with the people and commerce of the Lowlands. A road had been laboriously cut down the massive escarpment well to the north of Farview where the mighty Vigarn Gorge had cut its way over millennia back into the highland plateau. It was a steep path allowing a single dray or cart to travel in safety, but the Council by law had prevented it being any wider fearing an organized assault from the Lowlands. The Farview Road as it was called, was the only way that any serious volume of traffic could gain access to the Highlands and so it was carefully controlled, with armed garrisons at regular intervals and several clever means of cutting the road completely in any emergency. There were other ways all around the Upthrust of getting up the sheer cliffs but none as open and accessible as the road from Farview to Wildwood. A good rider on a fast horse could cover the hundred and two score leagues in five days but this included a complete day for the descent of the escarpment, such was the traffic and the need for control of movement in either direction.

  Sylvion traveled alone, which was unusual for a woman, but she had ridden since the time she could walk, and her skills with a sword were unequalled by any other of her sex, and even Goodman Cantor, expert that he was, was often bested by her at times when they practiced together for sport. Sylvion had a royal bearing which was often the comment of those whom she passed on the road. She rode like a man, astride the horse and in control, and liked nothing better than to feel the wind in her hair at full gallop and the beast with its ears pricked forward and blowing hard, pulling eagerly at the reins. Lightfoot, her beloved grey mare had been hers since its birth eight years ago in the fallow field behind her kindma’s house, on the forest side of Wildwood. She had watched its birth in wonder and amazement, and the two had been together ever since. Apart from Rema with whom she had fallen so deeply in love, and of course her kindma, Li
ghtfoot was the most precious of all her possessions.

  She had traveled quickly; stopping at night in roadside inns and sleeping soundly despite the rough hard beds. Now in the warm sunshine with the journey behind her, Sylvion drew her steed back to a trot and then a gentle walk as she entered Wildwood once more. She stopped and dismounted outside Pierman’s Store, still her favourite shop, and one of her childhood’s great pleasures, full of trinkets and treasures and lollies and sweets. She always purchased some small present to give her kindma, it was a simple ritual but one which had become an important part of her coming home.

  She was surprised to find the door locked and the old carved wooden window shutters closed. There was a simple notice on the door.

  Reduced hours due to illness. Open after noon.

  Sylvion was perplexed, never in all her life had Pierman’s Store been shut whilst the sun was up. She looked around and realised that this was not the only shop to be closed. The main street of Wildwood was quiet at a time when it was usually crowded. People were about, but they hurried quickly, heads down avoiding eye contact. She could see several closed doors and attached to each was a notice. Sylvion knocked on the door of Pierman’s Store and waited but there was no answer. She began to feel anxious, her town was in trouble, and in living memory it always been a happy bustling place full of laughter and children, stray dogs and livestock. Today in the bright sunlight it was a mere shadow of what it should be.