Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls

by Chris Ward

  Suddenly she caught sight of someone she knew.

  ‘Ma Gingham,’ she called and waved. Ma Gingham stopped dead, as though by command and then, seeing who had hailed her, relaxed, and smiled weakly, with one hand on her heaving bosom.

  ‘Oh Sylvion, welcome home dear, give my love to your kindma, got to go,’ and she was gone, leaving Sylvion standing stunned.

  What is going on she thought, this is not the Wildwood I know.

  She remounted Lightfoot, and walked her slowly up the main street. A few people smiled and waved at her, but no one wanted to stop and talk. It was not a long street; Wildwood was not a large town, but in the past it would take her an hour to make the short way from one end to the other. There were always old friends to greet, and many things to discuss since her last visit. She swiveled in her saddle and looked back. The street was almost empty; there was a feeling of sadness and fear which lingered and Sylvion felt her heart almost break. She had come home but it felt like somewhere else.

  She dug her heels into Lightfoot’s girth very gently, and with a soft ‘Git-on,’ they walked sadly on.

  At the very top of the street, just before she would usually turn off right and find her way through the rather disorganized collection of dwellings along the north track which led out to Wildwood forest and her family home, Sylvion realised that a new building had been constructed, right on the junction of Main street and Wildwood track. Old Jeem’s salt store had been demolished and in its place was a freshly whitewashed guard station with a smart verandah out front, and a timber shingle roof with stables behind. Five beautiful black geldings were tethered ready-saddled to a rail, and as she drew level, the conversation of their riders became clearer as they sat on the verandah talking loudly in the soft afternoon sun.

  ‘Well lookee here,’ said one, noticing Sylvion approach, ‘Now there’s a fine sight lads, don’t think we’ve seen this beauty before.’

  ‘Ride’s like a man,’ said another, ‘perhaps she wants to be a soldier; hey lass come on over we’ll teach you all you need to know!’

  They all laughed and clapped each other on the back. Sylvion had a bad feeling about what might happen next, but she was not scared, her steed was the equal of any in the north and she was mounted and they looked like they would take some time to get organised. She stopped Lightfoot in the middle of the road and looked over at the untidy bunch.

  Not the elite of the king’s guard that’s for sure, she thought.

  ‘Looks promising men,’ said the largest of the squad, a solid man with a heavy face and eyes which spoke of a slow mind. ‘Don’t be scared miss, we don’t bite.’ He chuckled at his wit.

  Sylvion turned Lightfoot towards them and moved several paces in their direction, then halted. She was facing them now and knew that they could see her well. She was not falsely modest. She knew that at twenty years of age her body was firm and shapely, the soft leather riding breeches she had fashioned herself followed her figure and her hair was long and free. Without any overt display Sylvion knew that the soldiers, so far from home would take a good look at her.

  Well let them, she thought, let them see what they will never have. She knew it was a little foolish, but this was her town and their presence surely must have something to do with the change she had just seen.

  The rest might submit, but not me, I will show them that I will stand up for this town.

  Soldier Slow (as she had quickly named him) stood up, and tidying himself a little, but making no improvement at all, stepped down off the verandah and walked the few paces over towards Sylvion. He knew the others were watching him and so, puffed up with bravado, and with a completely mistaken understanding of what young beautiful women want, went to secure his prize. He knew that the big grey horse would need to be kept quiet if he was to get the lady off, and so he did what any horseman would do, he went to grab Lightfoot’s bridle. He was a big strong man but Lightfoot was far stronger and pulled back. He put two hands up in an attempt to subdue the beast which was what Sylvion had been waiting for. In a flash she had her sword out, and leaning down along Lightfoot’s neck with one quick upward movement sliced through the leather belt which held the soldiers trousers; they promptly fell to the ground.

  The man was stunned, it was so quick and unexpected that he stood for a moment with both hands on the bridle not realising that having forgotten that morning to put on his undershorts, he was revealing all to the world. As the other men recovered from the shock of a young woman using a sword against one of the king’s men so skillfully, they could not help but laugh at the misfortune of their friend.

  He responded immediately by bending down and pulling his pants up, which gave Sylvion the opportunity to move forward, and putting a shapely leg on the top of his head pushed him forcibly backwards so that he sat down hard in a fresh pile of manure, somewhat winded and not a little embarrassed.

  ‘Don’t, ever touch my horse again.’ Sylvion spoke in a loud firm voice that carried down the street. Then she stood her ground.

  Soldier Slow was furious, he knew immediately sitting in the dirt, that however this turned out he would be a laughing stock for all his days, the story of his humiliation at the hands of a pretty woman would be passed about from camp to camp, exaggerated and embellished and every opportunity to remind him would be taken. That’s how it worked; he’d done it himself and laughed at others, taking pleasure in their discomfort. Unfortunately this knowledge did not prevent him from further stupidity; his blind anger ruling his actions. He sprang to his feet and screamed at Sylvion.

  ‘How dare you, I’m a king’s guard,’ and he stepped forward pompously drawing his sword, and forgetting that his belt was no longer working. His pants fell around his ankles again leaving him revealed once more, and ridiculously pointing his sword at Sylvion who started giggling at the sight.

  ‘Soldier, put your sword away.’ The voice of authority came from the Captain of the guard who emerged from the station in a quiet dark anger. His next words seemed humorous, but their intent was deadly serious.

  ‘Soldier Sleeman, pull up your pants, there are enough scared people in this town without you making it worse.’ Soldier Sleeman, so named, did so.

  ‘Now get yourself clothed and fix your belt and come see me first thing in the morning. Till then you are to remain in your bunk.’

  ‘Yes Captain.’ Soldier Sleeman, sword in one hand went to salute but realising his pants would fall again slunk off clutching them tightly. As he stumbled away he tried to re-sheath his sword, but one handed it was never going to work. The other men roared with laughter at the ridiculous sight. Sylvion knew she had made an enemy then, and realised that in her own town it might have serious consequences.

  The captain of the guard ordered the men to ‘Fall in,’ which they did somewhat anxiously, and then waited.

  ‘Captain Bach at your service Miss, I apologise for the behavior of Soldier Sleeman. He will be dealt with severely.’ He smiled an oily smile and smoothed his very showy moustache and then stood in the street before Sylvion and Lightfoot with legs apart, chest out, and hands behind his back.

  ‘However it would be best in future if you did not either draw a sword in anger against one of the King’s guard, or kick them to the ground. These things do not go down well. I will do what I can, but in a small town you will perhaps meet up with Soldier Sleeman at another time, and I will not be there to rescue you.’ There was no mistaking the threat, but Sylvion bridled at it.

  ‘I thank you for your advice Captain Bach, but I have no need of rescuing and I will thank you to teach your men to keep their hands off young women.’ And with this Sylvion reared Lightfoot and cantered away along Wildwood track without looking back. Her heart was beating furiously and she regretted almost all of what she had done, but admitted that she had enjoyed her little victory immensely.

  The remaining soldiers meanwhile were sniggering at their Captain’s small discomfort. He turned on them and spoke in the quietest but most
deliberate of voices.

  ‘She has returned. We will give her a day and then we will act. If any of you idiots behave in the least manner like Soldier Sleeman you will spend the rest of your miserable service protecting the Gnabi salt mines. This mission is of the highest importance and I do not care for my men to be so humiliated in public.’ He paused, then yelled. ‘Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes Captain,’ chorused the men.

  ‘Dismissed,’ said Captain Bach, and then as cruel afterthought he called loudly.

  ‘Soldier Moss!’

  ‘Yes sira!’ said Moss halting and saluting automatically.

  ‘Well done soldier Moss, said the captain sarcastically, ‘you know your name. That level of commitment could see you rise to squad leader of this rabble in no time. Dismissed.’ Moss wasn’t sure what the Captain meant having absolutely no understanding of sarcasm at all, but seeing that the others had gone and the Captain had returned inside he frowned and sheepishly followed the others.

  Sylvion trotted Lightfoot towards her home with an increasing anticipation. She missed her kindma greatly and found it hard to decide who she loved more, her Rema, or the lovely gentle woman who had raised her. She missed her kindpa greatly, but in the five years he had been missing she had come to accept that he was gone, but half hoped that one day he would walk back into her life large as a bear and full of fun as he always had been. For now though she pushed thoughts of him aside wanting to be happy and not wanting anything to take away from her reunion with her kindma.

  The Greyfeld home where Sonja Greyfeld lived, and where she and her missing Sontim, Sylvion’s kindpa had raised their daughter, was old and shabbily beautiful. The garden was considered the best in the district with the oldest oaks and elms and elders and with bulbs and flowering plants from all over Revelyn. There had been a full time gardener for many years until Sontim had gone missing and the finances became too difficult, but Grenfenger still came by every now and then and dealt with the heaviest jobs, but as Sonja Greyfeld entered her elder years the garden had become a wilder place, which Sylvion loved but pained her kindma terribly.

  Sylvion rode up to the house and dismounted. She could not see her kindma so took Lightfoot to the old stone stables and made sure she was fed and watered, and turned her into a clean box with fresh hay.

  ‘Sleep well my friend,’ said Sylvion with a chuckle, patting her horse lovingly on the neck, ‘Tomorrow we go visiting, and you will want to look your best.’

  The sun had set as she entered the house, and there was her kindma sitting by the fire asleep. The table was laid for supper for two. It was a custom which her kindma did always, just in case her daughter came home unannounced, which she mostly did, since news traveled more slowly than she and Lightfoot could travel.

  Sylvion stood for a moment looking at the lovely old woman and felt such love that a tear slipped quietly from her right eye and gently splashed onto the freshly swept floor.

  ‘Kindma wake up I’m home,’ she called softly not wanting to startle her. The sleeping woman stirred and looked at Sylvion for a moment before realising who it was.

  ‘Sylvion oh Sylvion! What a wonderful surprise. Come, come my child…’ and they embraced and sat and talked and ate and laughed well into the night. They talked of homely things, the garden and how the bulbs were late again, and the large oak which needed pruning and the chickens which were not laying as they should although there was plenty of eggs all the same. There was the neighbour’s bull which had broken into the orchard and destroyed her favorite revelapple tree… on and on they chatted.

  And they spoke of other matters, of the town which was so changed and this made Syvlion’s kindma cry in frustration.

  ‘They leave me alone out here, ‘she said,’ but it seems there are so many soldiers about and they harass everyone. The King’s taxes have risen and some can’t pay so they have lost their farms and must work them as tenant farmers. I can’t bear to go to town, everyone is so afraid of their own shadows. It makes me so angry but what can I do?’

  Sylvion decided not to mention her encounter with the King’s guard, judging that it would only upset her kindma; but she bitterly regretted that she had not just ridden quietly by and ignored their lecherous taunts. If she had brought trouble for her mother she would never forgive herself.

  She spoke about Rema and their plans for marriage the following year, and his decision to travel to Ramos to help his troublesome cousin Serenna. At this her kindma, became quite agitated.

  ‘Oh Sylvion that is no place for him to visit, the king is becoming more unbalanced every day. We hear reports that very bad things are happening there. I do hope he does nothing foolish. When is he due back? What does he want to do there?’ She became so upset that Sylvion changed the subject.

  ‘I want to go see the Equin tomorrow.’

  ‘Is that a good idea dear, the forest is a strange place? I’ve never really liked you wandering about in there.’

  ‘Kindma I’ve been wandering that forest since I was eight. There is no danger for me there, and besides I haven’t seen the Equin in ages. Lightfoot will love it.’

  ‘Well I don’t know, I’ve never seen your beloved equin and it all sounds very romantic, but for a young girl; you’re grown now, you don’t need to waste your time wandering in such a strange place. I know that there is magic in that forest, and that means danger.’

  ‘I’ll be fine kindma. I’ve never had the slightest problem.’

  Sylvion went to bed happy to be home, but with an anxiety in her heart which she had never felt before. She lay awake feeling angry at the change which had come to Wildwood and frustrated that there was nothing she could do to change it. She thought of Rema and whispered her love to him hoping that somehow he would know, and then fell asleep, and dreamt of the forest, her wonderful magical forest.

  Her kindma however lay awake deeply troubled; there were things she had never told her daughter about Revelyn and now that the king, that maniac Lord Petros Luminos was unraveling, she wondered about the future, and whether she should tell Sylvion more than she knew, but she was torn by her promise to her husband Sontim and despite his disappearance and death, wanted to honour that oath. She too finally fell asleep, but her dreams were sad and unhappy and the dark forest kept trying to overrun her precious garden, and she spent all night just keeping it back.

  Wildwood forest lay behind the small Greyfeld estate. It was a vast and mysterious place of open woodland, huge trees and glades, hidden valleys and ridges which grew to become small mountains riddled with caves. Folklore had it that it was a dangerous place full of magic and strange creatures, and to be avoided at all cost. There were no roads though Wildwood forest and all travel north of Wildwood town which was very rare, meant a long circuit around to the west or the east. The Svern river cut through its centre, but in living memory no one had ever traveled the fifty leagues of the river which went through Wildwood forest. Every so often a dead animal or human was washed out of the forest and came to rest on the banks of the Vigarn. Wildwood township was sited on the junction of the two rivers, the eastward flowing Vigarn, mighty and rapid, and the southerly Svern, smaller and slower but more feared and completely unknown. The appearance of these dead, floating bloated and rotting in the cold water was always considered an evil omen in Wildwood. At times on a clear day, with not a cloud in the sky, thunder could be heard in the forest and the ground would tremble. This was a time for being inside with doors and shutters securely bolted, for who knew what might happen to any unlucky enough to be caught by the evil which roamed free in the wild woods. Sure enough you might turn up floating in the Svern, but most likely there would be no trace.

  It was rare for any but the bravest of Wildwood’s inhabitants to travel more than a few hundred paces into the forest in search of firewood or wild berries, except for Sylvion Greyfeld who had grown up with the forest as her own. No matter how her parents had tried to dissuade her, she had spent much of her free time
in her youth roaming through the forest. She never traveled far, and always made sure she knew her way back home, but it never scared her. She loved the trees, so old and knowing, so durable and textured. Each tree was home to a thousand little creatures and none of them were afraid. The talk of magic did not scare her.

  And then one day when she was ten, she had met the Equin.

  The day dawned clear and Sylvion woke early, refreshed from a peaceful night’s sleep. She was eager with anticipation. To be home was wonderful despite the dark clouds of malevolence which had so suddenly appeared over her beloved town. She hummed merrily to herself as she washed with cool water from her large jug, the one she had used all her life. A highly polished metal plate was fixed to the wall behind the simple wash bench. Very few dwellings had such a Reflector, and this was a gift from Rema who had brought it all the way from the Mighty Mountains, the only place in all of Revelyn that the Depletium was mined. He could not have afforded it himself, but he had saved the life of a friend whose grateful father owned one of the only three mines in the Mountains. The hard metal could be worked with heat and skill for many purposes, arrow heads, blades and knives; and also as reflectors. It took a week of burnishing to produce the shine which allowed the flat metal sheet to throw back an almost perfect reflection, but the miracle of such a thing was highly prized. Whilst the superstitious thought it dangerous to see yourself as others did, it was a belief Sylvion knew was doomed to die.

  She washed her tangled hair and brushed it carefully, then tied it back with several delicate leather thongs. Her face now shone with the youthful health of the self assured. She descended the narrow wooden stairs to find her kindma already fussing about in the simple kitchen, organising a breakfast of cereal and fruit. This morning was special and there were several hard boiled eggs already cooling in readiness as a treat. Sylvion sensed that her mother was troubled, but not wanting to spoil a perfect morning did not inquire.