by G R Jordan
There had been passion and nights that reminded him of their early times together. Nights when the bed sheets were soaked in sweat and he wasn’t left shaking in fear. But there were also such moments of disconnect and anger, tears of frustration that he knew a full return to his family at this time wasn’t on the cards. And to all this, add Cally parading around.
There was something about her this time, though. She was almost brazen which wasn’t like her. Playful, yes. Teasing, yes. But not so obvious. The kitchen door opened and Calandra walked in wearing just a crop top and her knickers. Reaching round Kirkgordon, he felt her brush up against him when he knew she had the dexterity to have avoided him completely. She reached again, and he forced himself to stop enjoying the moment.
“What the hell’s up with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come off it, Cally. You know how I feel about you, and you know it’s a no-go zone, but you just assaulted me with the most flesh I’ve seen of you since Russia. And this is playing for keeps.”
“Don’t be daft. You know I know,” said Calandra and grabbed the wine bottle and turned. Kirkgordon grabbed her wrist and spun her back round. Fighting hard, he avoided gazing at her body but instead looked deep into her eyes. He saw hurt, extreme hurt.
“It’s just an anniversary. A very old one.”
“Really. Just an anniversary.”
“Yes. Just an old day to forget.”
“And that means you come on to me? What gives you the right…?”
“Piss off, Churchy!”
She slapped him across the cheek. It felt like his face was about to come off. Recovering, he was about to chastise her, but she had fled the room. Swiftly, he followed her to the living room where she was spread on the ground before a roaring fire. Her face was buried in the hearth rug. Gently, Kirkgordon took hold of her and turned her shoulders round. Her face was drawn in regret and there were streaks of ice from her tear ducts.
“Can’t even bloody cry, Churchy. Eight hundred years, and I can’t even cry for him. How cold am I?”
“Who?”
“Him. Why do you think I’m like this? Why do you think I’m so cold?”
Kirkgordon shrugged his shoulders and reached his arms fully around her. The cold of her skin nipped at the flesh of his arms, raising goose bumps. Carefully, he slid himself along the floor so that he was sitting with his back on the lower front of an armchair, and he drew her in before wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Tell me. Slowly…take your time and just tell me.”
Calandra lay back and her head nestled beside his. Gradually she stopped her choking snort and brought herself under control. Gripping his forearms with her hands, she pulled them tight into her.
“Just hold me, don’t let go. You can’t let go. It’s been eight hundred years. Too long. So very long. His name was Ferrean…”
Ferrean
The black clad figure before her spun around, causing the chained weapon to flail before her face. Calandra ducked, barely a second before her head would have been decapitated. The warrior before her paid for his lack of precision as she cut across his chest with both blades before kicking his form to the ground. A whirling dervish, she ripped across the boggy ground, dainty on her feet but strong in her strikes, sending many of the invading filth to the ground.
There wasn’t glee in her expression but there was pride that these many years of training had not gone to waste. Throughout the seven-month campaign on the Deradian calendar, a full year in earthly terms, she had not left his side. And nor should she have, for she was one of his chosen elite, there to defend the lord of the land with her life. But she would have fallen for him willingly, without any form of military command or sense of duty. A lifetime of knowing him had turned into a year of loving him.
There wasn’t time to admire his use of the staff, swung around his body at a speed that was seemingly impossible. Neither was there time to watch the white fire that burnt on the extreme ends of the weapon, a fire that dispatched foe after foe. Most lords would fight from a beast, be that a horse or a raging Bilgstrot, the tamed giant hogs of the north. Yet Ferrean fought on his feet alongside his men, commanding a respect and trust that Calandra had never seen in another.
From beyond the ranks of Eliere, the black clad warriors she had been dispatching for the last half hour, Calandra could see an immense figure, dressed in armour with protruding spikes and horns, pushing its way to the battlefront. It stood some twelve feet high, a giant amongst the massed ranks, and it sought out Ferrean. Without hesitation, Calandra worked her way to Ferrean’s side, dispatching many without a thought. It served the scum right for all the raiding, raping and pillaging they had done to the lands.
“Stand aside, Calandra, this abomination wishes to test my strength, and it shall understand the lack of wisdom in its desire.”
Obediently, Calandra stepped aside as the giant came forward. Ranks broke on both sides and Ferrean quickly came face to face with his future. The giant carried an axe whose blade was the height of Ferrean himself. Unlike many of his own warriors, Ferrean was only of average height and had a lithe appearance. Dressed in only green leggings and a woollen shirt, Ferrean had the look of a craftsman or woodsman rather than a warrior, but he had the swagger of one who knew better.
The giant creature swung its massive axe and Ferrean stepped casually aside before beginning to spin his staff. The ends began to glow white, streaking a circle around Ferrean’s head. Ignoring this move, the giant swung the axe across and down at Ferrean, but the lord of the land was more than ready. Deftly jumping over the blade before side stepping the second blow, he kept his staff twirling at an incredible speed.
As the giant began another sweep of the axe, Ferrean somersaulted towards it, bringing his staff down upon its helmeted head. The helmet was rent asunder, and the staff buried itself in the creature. Letting the giant fall to the ground, Ferrean turned to face the remainder of his enemies, crying aloud for the next challenger to come. As one, they broke their lines, fleeing the battle site.
“After them, every one of them is to be driven far from this land. After them I say!”
Calandra turned round to give chase but an arm snaked around her waist. She knew that arm and she let it reel her in to its owner.
“But not you. You have someone to attend to here.” Ferrean swept her into his embrace and together they kissed long and deep. Battle exhilarated, Calandra and her passions were running high.
“You’ve done it, my love. There’s no way they will return from this. The land is free!”
“And I am free too. Free to enjoy this goddess who fights at my side.” Ferrean smiled at her and drove another kiss into her mouth.
“You will always have my swords!” answered Calandra when their kiss had broken.
“I don’t want your damned swords,” laughed Ferrean, and he swept her into his arms, spinning her round, roaring out his victory.
“But we celebrate with the fallen first and with the standing, my lord.”
“Must you remind me of my duty instead of what pleasure I am having? But you are right, and we shall. We shall raise a roar to our fallen heroes. And then we shall enjoy the night for I am to take your breath away without a weapon in sight.”
Ferrean dropped her to her feet and ran after his chasing warriors, crying aloud that they should run harder and bring his enemy to heel. Watching him, Calandra wondered how they would manage now that the world was changing. Would he still be so besotted with her when she needed no weapons to defend him? Would the exhilaration still be there when there was no slaughter beforehand?
***
A cold wind blew across the battlements, and the day’s sun had long descended. Calandra had watched Ferrean lead the warriors in toasting their dead, and she thought of her friends that had fallen. Still, they had died honourably and as they would have wanted. But there was a pang of doubt as she wondered had any of them really wanted death. She had seen
such brutality in these last seven months, and yet she seemed to glory in it. She looked out into the distance, and the now safe and free lands that lay on the path back to her home. Part of her wanted to go on fighting. He loved her in action, he adored watching her display her blades at pace. With the war on, she could never leave his side. But now?
“All are inside, enjoying the warmth of the fires, the taste of beer in their mouths, laughter ringing round the hall and retelling tales of glory already recited several times tonight—all except you. You choose to stand here, embracing the elements, the cool of the air and the smell of death on the wind. Why do you stay so far from your fellow warriors?”
Calandra did not need to turn to identify the speaker. Ferrean’s voice came to her in dreams as well as on the battlefield and in the dark of the night. A proud fighter, she always held an upright bearing but her stomach began to feel light, spinning inside. A hand stroked the side of her neck before playing with her long dark hair, then another hand joined rubbing the stress from her shoulders.
“Most would be wrapped up, keeping the chill at bay, but you never do.”
“It’s the air on my skin, the cool, crisp air. It reminds me of something, of a place I can’t quite recall.” Calandra sunk her shoulders into Ferrean’s touch and closed her eyes. “I can hear the sea, the waves crashing, and the taste of the salt in the air. There’s no stench of death on the wind where I am. Only a bracing invite to enjoy the surroundings.”
“I sometimes forget you weren’t born in our lands,” sighed Ferrean, “But you are one of us. I’ve always seen you as one of us.”
“You have always welcomed me, but it hasn’t been the same from everyone. Many were against it. ‘Not a true one. Never a fighter,’ they said.”
“But you are. You have shown them. You came through the regiment. There is no harder route than the Sisterhood. So few women make it. You should be proud, indignant of any scorn. You are one of our elite. And you are loved. So loved by their own lord.”
Calandra allowed herself a smile. “I know, I know how you watch me, how you want me. And it is only you that keeps me here, for my heart is elsewhere. You are the anchor that keeps me close. You are my future.”
She felt the kiss on her neck and the wrapping of arms around her. But they would be momentary. He would have to return and celebrate, to mingle with his subjects and warriors. It seemed that Ferrean’s work was never done, always someone else to see to.
“I will go now and leave you for the night. But tomorrow I shall send the armies back, call the return home. And you and I will return by a different path, together, alone. And we shall linger!”
His hands slid across her body as he kissed her one final time. The touch enthralled her, but she never looked back to see his departure. This was not the first time he had promised time alone and always he had been called to something else. Calandra accepted the enveloping cold of the night instead to comfort her.
Calandra had seen the dawn in on the battlements and the vista before her in the cold light partly disgusted her. She watched as too few soldiers reluctantly wheeled a cart around to collect the dead. They would be taking them to a great, freshly dug pit, a short distance away. Many back at the homelands would complain that they were not brought back for burial on the pure soil, the hallowed ground. But Calandra was a stranger, an incomer and struggled to remember her home. It was all just images and smells.
Having heard someone approach, despite the attempts to conceal it, she refused to react. Two blades were suddenly upon Calandra, one whose tip was pressing into her back and one now held at her throat.
“Sloppy. To believe all danger is gone merely because the battle is over.” It was a voice she had grown to hate at first but then to love, one she respected almost above all others.
“One does not react to such infantile taunts.” There was a blur of arms and legs before Calandra stood over her would-be attacker. “And you have the feet of an elephant.”
“And you have surpassed me,” said Syanna, allowing Calandra to help her up. “But tell me, when will you run?”
Calandra threw a scowl at her former master and friend. Sometimes people were too close.
“It calls to me, and I don’t know where it is. But he holds me here.”
“And the people won’t accept you. You are an incomer despite all you have done for them. They will accept no foreigner on his hand. You can be his wench but never his lady. That’s what comes with being tainted.”
“I am not tainted! I am of the sea and the wind. Where the water breaks on the rocks and large fish are seen leaping and playing, that is where the steel and pride in me comes from.”
Syanna shook her head. “And what do they know of these? You talk of things only far travellers have ever mentioned. And you say you have seen them. All you do is alienate yourself further.”
“And why then did you take me in? Why did you take my brother and me in for comfort and clothing, for food and protection? If we were so strange and repugnant, why do it?”
“You know the answer. You know what I taught you,” said Syanna.
“A warrior without compassion is merely a monster. I know. But tell me of where I am from. Or rather tell them.”
“Inse Catt some called it, Haemodae or Acmodae others said. But the traveller that brought you said Hetlandensis. And you know I have never been, for I believe he was a traveller between worlds, between places.”
“And tell them I am orphaned.”
“I said I gave you protection. You know our ways. A child without parent is nothing. That’s why you are mine. It is your brother’s death that has started this kindling in you to return.” Syanna sighed.
“Well now I am alone, incomer that I am.”
“Run my child, run and begin again. For they will hate you for being his. And this old woman is too old to fight them off again for you. I’m sorry, but I weary with battle and strife.” Syanna sat down on a nearby ledge.
Calandra strode over and with her right hand clutched Syanna’s right hand. She gripped it tight while looking into the older woman’s eyes.
“I have followed your advice for nearly all my life and it has held true. I will wander and find my home. But I will never forget those who have fought with me, and you who have fought for me. Die well when it comes. You are forever my mother.”
The two women stared at each other, and inside Calandra felt she would break at the sight of the woman’s face, the pain behind the eyes. But this was not their way, and she would not disrespect her adopted mother with such a show. Standing upright, Calandra turned her back and strode away, fighting against the regret that threatened to shake her body.
Passing the tables from the previous night, adorned with drunken, sleeping bodies, spilt beer and abandoned food, she turned towards the armoury seeking her weapons before she would take her path. As she entered through the large wooden door, something was placed under her nose. The world went black and she toppled forward. The last thing she knew were hands catching her.
***
The water driving up her nose and into her ears shook her awake in an instant. Trying to take a breath with her mouth, she found only liquid entering and fought against swallowing it. Her hands seemed to be tied behind her, and she desperately sought her binds with her fingers. Working frantically as she thrashed her body, she fought against the fixings that held her feet also.
Her mind fought to control her actions, and she forced herself to stop panicking. With a practiced ease, she disjointed her hands, allowing them to slip her bonds, and she resisted pulling herself to the surface until she was able to free her legs. Desperately short of breath, she broke the surface of the water and prepared herself for any malevolent onlookers.
“By Horely’s locks, you look sublime.”
Calandra shook her head and let the water sail from her hair like a shaggy dog. Staring at the owner of the voice, she found it hard to believe the sight before her eyes. Astride an impressive wh
ite horse, Ferrean was gazing at her with obvious appreciation. There were no guards or servants. There was no entourage of officials. And Ferrean was dressed in modest greens and browns, far removed from his lofty position.
Gazing down at her own clothing, Calandra realised she was wearing a white burial garment, the kind she had seen too many buried in. But she was soaking wet and obviously exposed which was what made Ferrean gaze even more intently.
“I take it you are not wanting me to travel as a corpse for any time further. Or was your disposal attempt merely unsuccessful?”
“It would seem successful enough to me,” laughed Ferrean and threw some clothing out to the ground from his saddle pack. “It’s all there, everything you generally wear.”
Calandra stared at Ferrean bemused by the situation. “Are you alone?”
“Apart from you, yes.”
“But what of your protection?”
“I have you. And I daresay I can handle a weapon myself.”
Is he just teasing me, stealing me away for an intimate moment before abandoning me? thought Calandra. Or is this something else? Am I really something more? More than the incomer to be conquered. Let’s find out.
Calandra threw her garment off and walked in her bare skin towards the clothes that had been thrown to the ground. Watching Ferrean feast his eyes upon her, she took her time dressing slowly, waiting to see if he dismounted. But he continued to stare until she was fully dressed, before reaching out his hand, offering to pull her onto the horse.
“My swords?”
“On the other side of the beast. That’s all I brought apart from my staff. Let’s hope it’s enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“The trip home. With some detours of course. I think I have earned a time to wander. And someone to wander with.”
Calandra gawped. “But the army, and the officials, all your people?”
“Did you not realise, we won? And all the clearing up is better done by Hermandin; he’s so much better at that than me. No, in the early hours of this morning a woodsman left him a note before taking his friend’s body to bury. They can’t find me, they won’t find me. But maybe I can find you.”
