by G R Jordan
With Calandra sat behind him, Ferrean kicked his heels into the horse and started a slow trot. Calandra threw her arms around Ferrean, saying she was merely holding on but her grip was much too tight for that.
Leaving
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 white 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.”
With Calandra sat behind him, Ferrean kicked his heels into the horse and started a slow trot. Calandra threw her arms around Ferrean, saying she was merely holding on but her grip was much too tight for that.
The Village
His head broke the surface of the water, and Calandra watched the rest of his figure emerge from the river. There was a deep scar down his left side where she had staved off a death blow but only just. Walking up the grassy bank, he then stopped before her, unashamed by his lack of clothing. Over the last few days,
she had seen more tenderness from him than ever before. Free from his duties, he seemed totally focused on her. Caring, supportive and utterly dependable on.
“I think you would have enjoyed the river.”
“I needed a rest,” said Calandra. “After all, we haven’t been just lying around these last couple of days.”
“Well if you need me to remain aloof, just say,” he teased.
“And you would remain aloof?”
“If my hunger was abated.”
Calandra took one of her swords and slapped his buttocks with the flat side. “When is a man’s hunger ever abated?” Turning over onto her front, she laughed into the ground. Suddenly, she felt her leggings being removed before two arms picked her up. Fighting the honed instinct of the previous months to react and take on this threat, she relaxed as he carried her to the edge of the river.
“Don’t you dare!”
“After this morning’s workout, you need a wash,” he laughed and tossed her into the water. She felt the current push her along, and she surfaced to see Ferrean diving in. She waited for him to surface but was caught unawares as he dragged her under by the legs. She felt him begin to kiss her and opening her mouth to respond, she was instead choking as water broke through the seal of their mouths.
Together they crawled onto a large rock in the middle of the river. As his hands reached for her, Calandra struggled to remember a safer or happier time.
***
There was a chaffing on her inner thigh which was causing her great annoyance. Calandra was never comfortable on horses, having always been a foot warrior. But this honour he had bestowed on her was too great to allow mere annoyances to get in the way. The great steed was being led by its master, something it was clearly unaccustomed to. As lord of his lands, Ferrean would also be on the great horse while others cleared his way. But he had insisted. Even in earlier years, before they had become closer, Calandra had never seen or heard of any woman being placed on his horse, never mind Ferrean actually leading it.
The valley they were walking in was lush and green, with great tall trees providing a canopy against the strong sunlight. The musky odour of the fallup tree grabbed her nose turning her head towards where the small draughts of wind had picked it up on its travels. Calandra was feeling alive. From nearly running from this man, she had begun to believe he was committed to her, ready to journey this life with her.
As they followed the river, it bent sharply and entered a new valley. Calandra’s senses began to warn her that something was up. The taste of death was in the air, palatable to one who had seen so much fighting. And the vibrant colours of the forest had changed to browns, not of autumn but to those of finality. Her hand shifted to one of her swords.
Ferrean was absentmindedly swinging his staff around his wrist, similar to how he was before battle. It had been a week since she had seen this. So she wasn’t out of her mind, merely seeing the reality around them. Alongside the path, Calandra noticed some circles of what seemed to be the remains of fires. Ferrean let the horse loose and walked over to investigate. Bending down, he sniffed the air above the circles and then spat violently on the ground.
Jumping off the horse, Calandra raced to his side and bent down, brushing aside his restraining hand. It was a dreaded smell but one which had not been uncommon over the last years. Except this was slightly different. Burnt flesh had its own repugnant smell and all of the connotations that came with it. But this was if anything cleaner. More like the remnant of an explosion than of a sustained burning. Stepping back, she was horrified at how she had grown used to making such grotesque conclusions.
“Come on,” said Ferrean. “Let’s turn back and take another route.”
“Why? You have never stepped back from some evil or disturbance in your lands. How does this not warrant your time?”
“You warrant my time, I have given my last few years to battles and defences. But now, you shall have my time.”
Calandra shook her head. “I would rather have you than have your time.”
“Is this not the bloodlust returning to the warrior?”
“You know, I was once rescued from those who caused my parents to die and my village to burn. So how do I walk away? How do you just leave them?”
Calandra felt Ferrean staring into her eyes and blushed slightly. Without another word, he turned back to their original path and began to walk deeper into the decay ahead. Calandra removed her other sword from the horse’s saddlebag and took its lead, following in step behind Ferrean.
Walking deeper into this new valley, Calandra saw the trees begin to shed all leaves until there was just bare branches which seemed to be rotting. Gradually, all living things seemed to have either left or died. There began to be little warmth from the sun above as an unnatural coldness was in the air. And as they went on further, the river seemed to darken until it was a thick, blood-like red.
“Careful,” warned Ferrean. “this smells of witch and dark wills. You will need more than the speed of your sword.”
“I’ve never seen such as this,” said Calandra looking around. “Everything—this decay—seems to seep into everything.”
“Up ahead,” said Ferrean pointing. “There’s smoke. Several, in fact. It must be a village.”
The pair continued on the path until they found a thick line of salt across the way. The line continued to their right and their left disappearing into the trees. On the path just beyond the line was another circle of burned ash. Calandra swooped down to smell it.
“Human, definitely human. Who’s burning up people?”
Although there was a sense of repugnance from inside, Calandra was amazed at how detached she could be from this person’s death. A large number of people had obviously died, and yet she was more inclined to the mystery than the suffering. If it had been the ashes of Ferrean, would she have been so cold? Conversely, Ferrean was struggling to hold back his tears for these people of his land.
After a few more twists in the path, the trees of the forest let go their disposition to cling to the edges of the path and broke into a clearing, exposing a village. There was little industry and the faces of the people seemed too sad, as if in a state of mourning. Grown men sat idle and crest fallen, women barely managing the task of making food and the children…well, there were no children.
As they walked through the main square of the village, faces looked up briefly before hanging their heads and disregarding the new arrivals. After the joy and celebration of his victory and then the last few days of worry free enjoyment, the scene was weighing heavily on Ferrean. Standing at the very centre of the village, he looked all around him before stepping down from his horse. Taking his staff, he banged it hard on the ground three times which sent a wild echo bouncing off the nearby wooden homes.
“People, listen to me people, it is I, Lord Ferrean, and I demand to see your elders.”
A large man stood up and stumbled over to Ferrean. His face seemed to be beyond depression, and he was barely audible as he spoke.
“You are no lord. Now leave us to our grief or I’ll finish you off.”
Ferrean immediately began to spin his staff, and the man’s eyes lit up as he saw the ends go white. Watching Ferrean, he gawped as the spun staff was embedded in a tree and began to burn. The man fell to his knees and bowed his head. One by one, the villagers copied this giant until only Calandra and Ferrean were standing.
“Woman,” yelled Ferrean, addressing a young female on the ground. “Where are your children? This place seems so dead without their noise.”
“Did you not hear, sir? She has taken them, all away. My child is…”
Calandra stared at Ferrean and saw the rage in his eyes. This matter would not be let go.
Proposals
Calandra stood at the back of the small room. There was a smouldering fire in the middle and seated around it were Ferrean and several men of the village. The women folk were absent by tradition from this type of meeting, and Calandra,
although disgusted by this, kept a respectful distance by lingering on the edges.
Throughout her years of war, Calandra had seen many a grim time when hard talking and dire predictions ruled. But in these times, there was grit and determination, pride and anger, and above all, a resoluteness to face the coming battle. Listening to the men who spoke, there was a finality in their voices, almost a willingness to surrender to an inevitable doom.
“We shall never see them again, my lord. Never! She has them, taken them from in front of our very eyes. Our inheritance, our legacy, wiped out. This village is dead. So go on your way and forget about us and let us linger to our deaths. There is no balm for this sorrow.”
The man who spoke was old and haggard. He had seen seventy winters come and go. He had survived floods and even the occasional summer drought, but this weight he now bore was too much. His eyes were that of a corpse, unfeeling and dim, the spark of life gone.
“The chief is right, my lord.” This was a younger man but Calandra swore he had the same fatalism in his voice. “Even if we had the urge to go after them, the weaponry and spells to defeat the witch, we cannot go far enough. Every man from this village that has crossed the line of salt has burned. I watched my own brother burn right before my eyes. Never did a man feel so helpless, watching him twist and crying out in agony on the far side of that line. No, my lord, thank you for your kind and brave offer but better you go and not incur her wrath on yourself. No point becoming one more to be cursed.”
Ferrean nodded glumly. “I hear your advice, and it carries a certain wisdom, but I need to know what stalks my lands. This witch may not stop here but may seek further children, and I must protect my people. So I ask your indulgence. Please tell me her appearance, indeed how she appears and what her ways are.”
