by Sharon Gibbs
Christopher was hungry, his stomach rumbled and lunch seemed like it was a month ago. At twenty-four Christopher towered over his aunt and uncle. He was tall and had the physique to match. Christopher’s strength came from the hard work he’d done all his life. His hair was as black as the night and worn a little too long. Rose always complained that he’d catch it alight in the forges. With warm brown eyes and a strong jaw line he caught the eye of many young ladies in the village. His uncle had always been a swordsmith and made all the tools and weapons the people of The Dale needed.
Now he hated to make the weapons, just as Christopher did.
Rose walked down the path to the workshop. ‘Christopher, are you finished? Supper is ready.’
‘Nearly, Aunt Rose,’ he said. ‘I’ll be along soon.’
‘Well don’t be too long or your supper will be cold.’ She smiled as she walked back to the house. Christopher had come to them when they were in need. They weren’t able to have any children of their own and Rose had become withdrawn and melancholy. Albert had been at the end of his tether and had sent her to stay with her sister, but she’d returned just as sad as she’d left. That was until Henry and Christopher had arrived at their doorstep.
Henry knew he could depend on them to look after the child. He was desperate to hide Christopher and thought Albert and Rose Claremont would take him in. Henry knew how much Rose longed for a child of her own. Rose and Albert would dote on the boy and shower him with the love and affection he needed. Albert could teach him his trade and could be counted on to keep the boy safe until he returned. He’d make sure Christopher learnt to read and write but also learn the art of healing and how to wield a sword and fight with any weapon. Rose took to Christopher right away and as Henry had thought, showered him with all the love she had in her heart. She had so much patience for Christopher, who’d been whisked away from his family and the only home he’d ever known. It took a while for Christopher to settle into his new life with Albert and Rose. Rose would often hear him sob himself to sleep at night and it broke her heart.
Christopher settled the forges and locked up the workshop before he strolled up the path to the back door of the house. There was a barrel of water near the porch with soap and a cloth to scrub away the day’s grime. As he washed the sweat and soot from his face and hands he smiled. Rose spoiled him, and Albert and always made sure they had what they needed at their fingertips. He climbed the steps onto the back porch and entered the kitchen.
Albert sat in an old rocking chair by the fire. Christopher looked at him and noticed how much he’d aged since his friend Edgar had been found in front of the old church. Christopher knew that life was hard for his uncle and every day it seemed to draw the very essence from him. Albert was shorter than Christopher and although he’d thickened around the waist, he was still muscular. He had a full head of hair and though it wasn’t black like Christopher’s it was still quite dark. At the age of sixty-five he was a healthy specimen of a man.
‘Evening, Uncle,’ Christopher said as he went over and gave Rose a kiss on the cheek.
‘Argh! Christopher I didn’t think you’d ever finish, lad,’ Albert said and smiled. He knew how Christopher was when he worked on things that pleased him. He was the same himself. He sighed and said, ‘Tomorrow we must begin work on the swords for Kovak.’
Christopher grunted he knew it would be a long day for him and his uncle.
‘Come on you two, up to the table or dinner will be cold,’ Rose said as she set the food down. They seated themselves and talked about their day.
‘What happened, Uncle, when you went into the village earlier?’
‘Not much. I met with Ben and some of the others,’ he said.
‘What did you meet about?’ He’d heard a lot of talk from his friends how the men of the village met regularly.
‘Not much, son. We made plans for the season and organised to finish the doors on Jimmy’s barn.’ Jimmy Cracken was a local farmer who planted corn and wheat each year for the village and the excess he’d trade when he travelled to Hedgerow.
‘So when do you plan to finish the doors on the barn?’ Christopher had to work for any information from his uncle.
‘Oh, on Sunday when we’re free,’ Albert said, as if it were no big deal.
Christopher didn’t understand the need for the barn as there were never enough crops to store. As soon as the crops were harvested the soldiers confiscated the majority of the yield but he kept his thoughts to himself and directed his conversation to his aunt.
‘Aunt Rose, you’ve outdone yourself again,’ he said as he ate his dinner. Although they ate meagre fare they were lucky they’d enough coin to buy the small comforts such as butter, sugar and meat from time to time. It wasn’t the money, but the lack of goods to buy. Unless you could go out and hunt, meat was usually scarce as the soldiers bought the majority that was for sale. Tonight Rose had made venison stew because their friend Old Ben had been out and had landed himself a deer. He’d skinned and butchered the deer before he’d taken it home and shared his bounty with his friends.
Many years ago Ben had witnessed the destruction the invaders had inflicted. Back then it’d been a pristine and productive landscape, but now the land was littered with broken stumps where the soldiers had hacked trees down and used them for their fires. The damage the caravans of soldiers had left behind was immense. As the hordes had passed through the countryside they’d left the tell tale signs of gluttony. Broken wagons in need of minor repair had been left to rot. Campfires strewn with partially burnt wood scattered the landscape after the army had left and the caravan continued on.
The smell of urine and faeces had been pungent after a rainstorm and the corpses the army couldn’t be bothered with had been left to decay. Not only did they leave the area in disarray, but they also took what they wanted. Farmers were made to harvest their fields, even before the crops were ready. Any conflict was considered treason to the army and draconian punishment was meted out to send a clear message for all to comply. So as Arnak moved across the country his reputation preceded him and the people had fallen into line with his plans. The soldiers had been proud to boast how their Lord was good and how they’d live in peace and tranquillity under his reign. When the army moved on, the people left behind had found the strength to bury loved ones, neighbours and friends.
Although the monstrous army had moved on many years ago, the soldiers that had settled in The Dale still took more than they needed and Ben was forced to travel further and further afield to find quarry. Without the trees and thickets, the animals moved to find safety, food and shelter.
Rose cleared away the dishes. ‘Christopher, are you staying in tonight?’
‘No, Aunt Rose. I’m off into the village to see Peter.’
‘Well don’t be too late. We’ve an early start in the morning,’ Albert reminded him.
‘I won’t be late,’ Christopher said.
Christopher helped Rose scrape the plates clean. ‘That’s enough, off you go or you’ll never be home,’ Rose said as she shooed him out the kitchen.
He kissed her goodbye and as he walked to the back door he grabbed his woollen cloak off the peg where he’d hung it the night before.
‘I’ll not be late, uncle,’ he said and smiled. Then he swung his cloak over his shoulder and left the house.
‘Albert, how can you let him go out?’ Rose always worried about Christopher, ever since he’d come to live with them. She worried someone might find out who he was.
Albert walked over to Rose and placed his arms around her and held her tight while he whispered in her ear. ‘Rose we discussed this and you knew this time would come. We need to trust him. He needs to make his own path in this world and who are we to stop him?’
Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s just too soon. I’m not ready yet.’ A tear slipped down her cheek and Albert held her close and pressed his lips against her hair.
‘He’ll be fin
e, Rose, you just wait and see.’
The night air was cool but not yet cold enough to wear a cloak, and Christopher walked down the path to check on the workshop. Satisfied all was well, he continued to the road that led to the village.
Just over half an hour later he rapped on Peter’s front door. Joseph answered. ‘Hello, Christopher,’ he said. ‘Peter’s out back but he’ll be in soon. Come in and wait by the fire.’
Christopher shook hands with Joseph. ‘Good evening, Mr. Gala.’ Then he took a seat near the fire and talked with the older man. It wasn’t long before Peter came in with the last of the wood.
‘All right, Pa,’ Peter said. ‘We’ll be off now or we’ll be late.’ He nodded to Christopher and they said their goodbyes and left the house.
Peter and Christopher were on their way to the quarry. James Gala, Saul and Adam Winters, Carl Poe, and his cousins Rick and Jack Osmol had gathered in the quarry with others and they waited for the last two in their group to arrive.
As they walked along the road to the quarry they saw a faint glow ahead. ‘Come on, Christopher,’ Peter said in annoyance and quickened his pace. ‘Before you know it we’ll have a scout see that fire and then we’ll be in for it.’
As they neared the open cut site they noticed a man by the fire. He drank from a jug and then passed it along. Christopher and Peter moved into the underbrush by the side of the road and observed several men around the small fire. It wasn’t long before they recognised some of the men as their friends and as they entered the quarry Carl Poe stepped forward.
‘Christopher, some of the lads have brought their friends with them. They’re good men and I’m sure we could do with a few more heads.’
‘That’s fine, Carl, but they shouldn’t be drinking.’ That’s all they needed, a few hot heads full of liquor and anything could happen. ‘It’s important they take these meetings seriously. It’s dangerous and it could mean all our lives if we’re discovered.’
As Peter began to kick dirt on the fire a few of the men protested.
‘Lads, it’s important we take care not to draw attention to ourselves. A fire is like a beacon and the smoke can be smelt for miles. A scout could spot us and what good would it do if they were to swoop in and slaughter us all. It’s not like we can say we’re organising a dance or have plans to repair the village church,’ Christopher said.
Some of them mumbled their apologies and they all moved further into the quarry to stay out of sight.
‘Friends, we need to think if we’re to rid our village of the soldiers. There are a good number of them, but they grow lazy and are no longer the force they once were when they first took our village. They only impose their vengeance and enforce the law now when not too many people are there to stand up to them.
‘I think this could be an advantage to us. Although we can do nothing at the moment, we need to think of a way to be rid of them. These are the questions we need answers for. Men of The Dale, we need to put our heads together and form a plan.’
The echoes were unanimous and everyone talked at once.
‘Does anyone have any idea why our fathers meet? It seems strange when it’s only begun over the past few seasons.’
Never before had anyone organised to meet before harvest; word would normally spread and those with the time would turn up to help. The village would gather on a regular basis and everyone pitched in. From houses, barns and sheds to birthdays, christenings and weddings, the village pulled together and helped each other.
‘Maybe they meet as we do, to organise a way to get rid of the soldiers. Who knows what plans they may have thought up. Maybe we should speak to them,’ James said.
Christopher was unsure. He didn’t want his uncle to know of their plans. ‘Well, let’s think on it and maybe we’ll come up with some ideas before Sunday,’ he said.
‘What’s happening on Sunday?’ Peter thought he’d missed something in their conversation.
‘The doors on Jimmy’s barn are to be hung,’ Christopher said.
No one seemed to know this had been organised, so they planned to meet there. Peter, James and Christopher said goodbye and headed back towards the village. At the Gala house Christopher left the two brothers and headed home.
As Christopher walked along the road, he felt the peace and serenity that surrounded him. The moon was full and there was a chill in the air so he pulled his cloak around himself to ward off the cold.
Christopher sauntered up the path towards the house. In the window by the back door, Rose had left a candle lit. The light welcomed him as he approached and he smiled to himself. He loved his aunt and uncle. He entered the house and carried the candle to his room. As Christopher lay awake he thought about that night. What were the men of the village up to? Well one thing he knew for sure, he’d have to wait until Sunday to find out.
Chapter Four
Many years ago when Gerard Antrobus was a young boy, he’d often sit and wonder what life had in store for him. His father, Lord Devon Antrobus, ruled the lands of Reist. The population was large but the land wasn’t as vast as the kingdom across the ocean. Still, their land was rich in produce and abundant in production. Farmers in Reist had no trouble when they grew crops, and they produced quality livestock. The seasons were kind and the rainfall was plentiful. The people lived in peace and harmony throughout the towns, villages and countryside. Trade was encouraged between all, even across the oceans in the lands of Solencia.
Solencia was much like Reist, only larger. They too were productive in all areas, from the cloth they wove to the production of cheese; the talents of its people were endless.
The people of both kingdoms were happy and content and each only retained a small garrison of soldiers, more for show than anything else, and they displayed their talents at Galas and special events. Large expanses of land and a Wizard’s Keep were the two things Solencia had that Reist didn’t.
The Keep was situated in the mountains of Canistar. Their peaks rose and fell abruptly as if they impaled the sky. The Dragon’s Jaw, the locals in the village fondly called them. Mount Bulog was the largest of the mountains in the formation. On a plateau nestled into the side of the mountain stood the Keep. It’d been carved from the mountain and no one could say for sure where it ended. The Keep was where the Wizards taught, lived and studied.
To be at one with nature was divine and should be held in the highest regard. This was their philosophy. To heal within nature’s realm was a special gift. Life couldn’t be extended or death taken away, but the gifts of the Wizards could help heal the sick or reduce one’s pain. The Wizards welcomed students who needed help to learn their craft. One Wizard’s gift may not be the same as another as all were individual and were treated accordingly.
Their talents ranged from prophecy, spells and incantations to visions and the ability to heal, and some were blessed with more than one gift.
Devon Antrobus had noticed something strange within his son. By the age of ten it was plain to see that the boy had some sort of gift. This appealed to Devon because he wanted to provide his people with a valuable resource for the future and if his son could nurture his gift, the kingdom would benefit from his rule. Devon spoke with his wife and she also agreed that for Gerard to retain his gift, he’d need to study at the Keep. Gerard was pleased with his father’s plan and he looked forward to the day he’d leave and travel to Solencia. So plans were made, Devon and his son would set sail and arrive at the Keep in Canistar, just after Gerard’s eleventh birthday.
The day arrived and the whole family was excited. Gerard packed his possessions and they travelled down to the docks, to board the Merryweather. The Merryweather was a fine ship and regularly sailed for trade and passengers. It would take two days until they anchored in dock again. Devon and Gerard boarded the ship and headed on to their quarters. Money allowed them to travel in the comfort of a cabin, while other passengers of less financial means settled for a place on the deck or down in the bow of the ship. As Gerard
stood on the deck he searched the crowd below for his mother. He saw her waving goodbye and he smiled and waved back enthusiastically as the ropes were hauled in from the dock and the ship began her voyage.
Two days later the Merryweather approached the docks. Their journey across the ocean had been peaceful as the weather had favoured them, and it was afternoon when they disembarked the ship at the port of Fledgel.
Devon had organised a carriage to take them further inland to Canistar. They’d stop along the way as the rest of the journey would take almost a week. Gerard waited as his father spoke with an older man who loaded their bags on top of a carriage.
It was a fine carriage, constructed of sturdy Barrobourgh pine. The wheels were thick and strong and had fine steel rims that would take them over the roads on their journey. The carriage had been carved with ornate motifs and was a credit to the craftsman who built it. The windows had thick curtains to keep out the cold. A strong steel rack was set upon the roof, and Gerard watched as the man secured their luggage with rope.
The driver, Gustov was his name, opened the door while Devon and Gerard stepped into the carriage and took their seats and then he climbed to his own, on the outside. He gathered the reins and gave them a flick. ‘Yarh, on with you!’ Gustov yelled and the team of four horses worked together to pull the carriage forward on to their first destination.
