by C. Greenwood
***
Gentle hands woke me to the cold, grey light of early dawn. It was still more night than day, and I didn’t understand why I was being awakened so early. Mama bent over my pillow, the sweeping ends of her silvery hair brushing my face.
She whispered, “Come, little chickling. Don’t make a sound.” A strange excitement lit her eyes. I asked no questions but slipped out of bed, exclaiming softly as my small feet touched the cold, dirt floor. Mama pressed a warning finger to her lips, casting an anxious glance into the shadows across the room where Da slept.
She had already collected my things and now she moved silently, helping me slip a dress over my head and pull warm stockings up my legs. She was dressed to go out as well and over her shoulder she carried a canvas sack with a loaf of bread peeking out of its mouth. I was curious where we went in such a hurry it would be necessary to eat along the way, but I kept quiet.
There was urgency in Mama’s eyes and in the quick movements of her hands as she sat me on the floor and tugged on my ragged shoes. I scarcely had time to pull my feet under me again before she took me by the shoulders and guided me quickly through the semidarkness and out the doorway.
The farmyard, illuminated by the faint morning light, stood empty before us. I stole a glance back over my shoulder to where Da lay, snoring loudly in the big bed. Mama and I exchanged conspiratorial smiles as we silently abandoned the little cottage and slipped into the grey world outside. Mama transferred her grip to my hand and led me across the yard, away from the cottage. Stealthily, we veered behind the barn and into the shadow of the plum trees. I felt a surge of excitement because I sensed whatever was happening was forbidden and secret—an adventure.
We crossed the farmyard and topped the ridge, pausing to look down on the sleepy cottage below. Only then did I feel both our moods lighten. On the far side of the ridge lay the neighboring village, but Mama didn’t lead me down that way. I had only a brief glimpse of the low cluster of flat roofs before we moved on. We climbed a steeper hill, then descended its slope into another valley, where a narrow road snaked along its base. Once we were on the road, Mama finally allowed me a slightly slower pace, but I still had difficulty matching her quick strides.
“It is a long way to Journe’s Well,” she told me apologetically. “We need to arrive before the sun is high.” She gave no more explanation than that.
By the time the sky had changed from morning’s grey to a pale blue, I had begun to miss my breakfast. Mama swung the sack around from her shoulder and broke off a chunk of bread for us both. We ate while we walked. Very soon after, my feet began to hurt. Mama lifted me onto her thin shoulders and carried me for a time, but we both soon wearied of that and I walked again.
Mama seemed to grow more agitated the farther we traveled. I sensed whatever mysterious adventure lay ahead frightened as much as it excited her. She began talking after a while, more to herself than to me. I comprehended little of her words. She told me we were making this trek to Journe’s Well to catch a glimpse of the Praetor’s soldiers, camped there on their journey back from the North. They had served the provinces for years, fending giants from our borders and were at last free to return home. These men, the Iron Fists, were the bravest soldiers of our province and were led by the son of the old Praetor himself, she explained.
I barely listened to her words. I couldn’t see how the Praetor, his son, or their soldiers had anything to do with me. Why should I be interested in people I’d never met? Now, if any of the Praetor’s men could ride Carp Wildtooth’s meanest bull, well, that would be a thing worth hearing about.
We reached Journe’s Well late in the morning. Although we didn’t approach very near, I could see even at a distance that the camp bustled with activity. Some men were striking tents and loading supplies onto horses and pack animals. Other soldiers were already mounting their horses. Mama told me they would march to Selbius today, where folk would line up in the streets to watch them pass. In the city, feasts would be thrown for a week to celebrate their return. This sounded very grand to me and I wished I could see it, but Mama said we could not journey so far today. She looked as if she regretted it as much as I did.
Circling the camp, we kept at a distance. No one saw us or, if they did, they didn’t care that their movements were spied on by a silver-haired peasant woman and a small child. There was an outcropping of rock at the base of a craggy hill overlooking the Well, and it was to this we moved, scaling the pile until we could look down on the evacuating camp without being observed.
Mama leaned forward, scanning the ground below. I wondered what she expected to find amid all the activity of rushing men and stamping horses. Then, “There,” she muttered softly. Turning to me, she asked, “Do you see that man, chickling?” She directed my attention to a darkly handsome young man mounted atop a war steed. He had an aura of power that made him stand out from the other soldiers and his black armor and horse were finer than any of those around him.
I shivered, for the sight of the dark man touched something deep within me, awakening a fear I could find no cause for. At the moment I looked down on him his head was tilted back as he drank deeply from a water skin. At his heels a young lad sat a gray gelding and held aloft a pennant depicting a rearing black bear against a field of scarlet. I watched the soldier finish his drink and toss the skin to the boy. Then, as if suddenly sensing my eyes on him, the dark man looked up. I ducked out of sight, seized for a moment by the foolish fear he had read my thoughts, felt the curious connection between us that I did. But no, when I peered down on him again, he had already looked away.
“Did you see his face, little one?” Mama asked me.
I said I did, remembering that harsh profile with the tight mouth and long, hawkish nose.
“That man will be very great one day. I brought you here to look at him because he is going to be important in the future. Do you understand?”
I said I did because it was what she appeared to want. I wondered if she, too, felt the power I sensed emanating from the dark soldier. It was one of what she called her ‘talents’—her magical abilities. She saw people’s inner qualities—their hidden virtues and vices.
We remained hidden among the rocks for what felt like a very long time. I quickly grew bored and, when Mama wasn’t looking, nibbled on bits of bread and cheese from our sack. The sun rose higher in the sky. It was hot, crouching where the bright rays beat down on the rocks. We didn’t leave until the camp was emptied and the last of the dust had settled after the soldier’s horses. Then we crept down from our spot.
As I clambered back down the rocks, I stepped on a patch of loose pebbles and slipped. Mama was too far ahead to catch me, so I fell, spilling headfirst down the hill. A sharp chunk of rock sliced my arm on the way. Then I hit the ground.
