by G R Jordan
“Her ways, sir,” roared the chief, “are death. Do you not understand? Death! So leave!” His chair toppled as he left the room, followed by all but one of the men folk who sat in his chair with his face buried.”
“Why do you remain?” asked Ferrean.
The man—Actually he’s a boy, thought Calandra seeing his face for the first time—turned to Ferrean and grabbed his hand.
“My wife will have no more children. We cannot. There were complications. So Mairder was our only one. And we only had three years of her. So I want you to try, I want you to bring her back. If you don’t, my wife will remain dead, for now all she does is sit and stare at the little bed. Do you understand? We are dead. There is nothing to lose.”
“What does your daughter look like?” asked Calandra from the gloom.
“She’s blonde, with a dimple on her left cheek. Call her dumpling, and she’ll laugh.” The boy bowed his head. “Tell me she’ll laugh again. Give me a grain of hope.”
Ferrean put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I will ride out and address this witch and bring back your children. But tell me what does she look like?”
“She is like nothing ever seen around here. Pale blue was her face, almost as if it were made of another substance. She even sparkled like diamonds, sunlight glistening off her face.”
“Really?” asked Ferrean. “That is hard to believe, given the drabness and utter lack of life in what she has done here.”
“But be careful, for she can disappear into the wind, caught up in a maelstrom of blue. None of our men got near her. She just broke apart those who approached her. You’ll need to reach her from a distance. Don’t go close, I beg you, sir, for Mairder’s sake, don’t get too close.”
“But where is she?” asked Calandra.
“She took the east path out of the village and then up towards the mountain behind us. How high and where, I don’t know.”
“Calandra, it seems we shall be drawing swords again. We shall take provisions and then make our way to this witch.”
Calandra watched Ferrean step out of the room and couldn’t help but feel proud at his actions. Yet inside, there was a part of her crying out that they should just move on and continue their special time together. But it couldn’t suppress the warrior who was crying out to be unleashed again. At times, she imagined herself being that caring woman in charge of a family, or ministering to orphans, and then it changed to the wild warrior as the bloodlust rose in her throat.
Once outside, Calandra sought a blacksmith who, in exchange for money, sharpened her swords. As she waited for Ferrean to obtain provisions, Calandra went through her sword meditation in preparation for battle. As her feet stood still, her swords were a blur around her. Several people watched in a dull amusement, but she saw nothing as she rolled the swords around her arms and body.
With Ferrean’s return, Calandra took up her position in front of the mighty steed which bore her lord. He had looked very solemn and spoke only one word, “On!” in order to leave the village. Heading east, they soon picked up the trail of over thirty children. The way was decrepit and for a woman who had stood in the blood of her enemies, Calandra pondered why she was so ill at ease.
“Make sure you stay behind me when it comes,” said Ferrean.
“Why? I’m here to protect you, sworn to die for you. And I have my swords, we shall match whatever this witch is together.”
“No, we won’t. Not now, Calandra, not when you have become so dear to me.”
“My lord,” replied Calandra, “if you doubt me, why did you bring me into your honoured guard?”
“Calandra, stop being ignorant. You are not who I fought with through these campaigns. I want you to stand with me in all things, not just war. Where I go, you will go. Where I rule, you shall rule. Did you think I was just taking you aside for some days of fun? Do you think so little of me?”
“But you know I can’t. Look at me,” said Calandra and stood in front of Ferrean’s horse. “I am a foreigner; they won’t allow it.”
“Then we shall wander this land together without the baggage of rule and responsibilities. We shall be the most dangerous nomads this place has seen, until we add to our devious band.”
Is he teasing me? wondered Calandra. He’ll never leave the people behind. And even if they did allow me, the outsider in, I doubt I could play the part. Standing in fancy dresses at his side, receiving people for negotiations on trade. I am a shield maiden, a fighter, I know so little else.
A hand touched her face, and Calandra snapped back from the faraway place she had been in. Ferrean was down from his horse, kneeling in the mud of the path and had both hands raised above him. His head was down and his hands holding her cheeks. She had seen this a few times and had been told about it, but she never expected to experience it for herself.
“Walk if you must,” said Ferrean, “but know this heart is dead with your steps.”
This was his people’s marriage proposal, their giving of their all to another, it could not be taken back. Calandra wasn’t ready. Ferrean was about to face an extreme danger, but he had halted for this. And how could she commit to a life in politics and peace, amidst the angry looks and deceitful stares, knowing she would always be the incomer lady, his outsider?
Looking down, she could see his figure trembling slightly. The shoulders were quaking. Ferrean had faced dangers untold with a resolute face and never a moment of doubt. She knew he liked her and knew they had such fun and frolics but surely he wasn’t this invested. She could never have hoped for this. Her heart leapt until the weight of decision grabbed it. This would be a standing down of her, no longer a shield maiden protector but one to be protected. Her hands touched his shoulders, and she ran her hands through his hair. He didn’t move, awaiting her decision.
She could walk but never could she come back to him. Once and forever rejected, it was their way. Once and forever mated never to be broken. The blood thundered round her body, excitement gripped her, and she began to sweat at the enormity of her next few movements. A short lifetime watching him, hungering for him, wanting to know him. But to give up her own self for him, her essence…
She tilted his head back, took his cheeks in either palm before kneeling herself and sealing his offer with a fervent and wanton kiss.
Seeking Help
The situation was absurd. With a pair of swords in her hands, she was kneeling on the ground and assessing the track of many children. Close to her face was a lump of human excrement which gave credence to the other signs she had seen. Take a large number of children away and at some point, one of them will need to go. This was the right way.
Her heart was aflutter and part of her wanted to grab the man on the horse behind her, find a tavern and in a quiet room bind together in the most natural and wildest of ways. But to turn away from this would not be him. And in her heart, she knew would not be her either.
“Calandra, how fresh?”
“A few hours. They can’t be far.”
“Well, I guessed that from the surroundings.”
Ferrean was right. The whole forest around them was dead, not a single living creature or green shoot. Most of the trees were in states of collapse, and yet this witch had only abducted these children a few days before. Her influence on the place was complete despite probably being quite new.
But there was also a hanging presence in the air, thick and black in mood. Time was when Calandra would have doubted these things, believing in only the cold steel she carried. But that was before the campaigns and the darkness she had seen. And this mood was as dark as she had ever known.
They travelled on, warily watching all around until they came across a giant tree in the hillside. It stood alone with the nearest companion some distance away. The ground before it was a mesh of mud and fallen decayed leaves. Ferrean urged his stead, forward but as soon as it placed its first hoof on the leaves it reared, throwing him backward into a heap on the ground. The animal called ou
t in terror and bolted back down the hill. Ferrean had rolled himself upright and now stood with his staff looking at Calandra.
“Maybe you should go back and get help?” he suggested.
“No, we go together.”
“Calandra, this place, it is heaving with evil. I have never felt this vileness before. We need reinforcements. You should go and get them.”
“But you can’t seek her out alone,” begged Calandra. “Let us both return later with reinforcements to dispatch this witch.”
“No! It will take too long. The children require help, and I must try to save them. A witch has no good intent for a child. Go now.”
“No, we are combined, joined, one of each other. I cannot leave you.”
“You are mine, and I am telling you to leave me!”
Ferrean was grabbed by Calandra, and she drew his face in front of hers.
“I know you are protecting me, but I need none. I will fight and die with you now if it is to be. But don’t send me away.”
“Reinforcements,” said Ferrean, “I am a lord, and this evil must be eradicated. Go now. Honour me.”
Calandra began to shed a tear, unknown to her on any battlefield, and she kissed him gently on the lips. Then, without a word, she turned and ran back down the path they had traced.
All her life she had been fit, able to endure and run as needed, but today no speed was enough. Through her head were images of Ferrean in battle and none ended well. Her legs cried at her for what she was demanding of them, but she continued at a ridiculous pace for the distance she needed to cover. After a half hour of running, she stopped abruptly and began to vomit at the path side. A combination of fatigue and fear that she couldn’t control causing her to wretch horribly.
Calandra tried to pull herself up when she heard the clip of hooves on the path. By the time she had stood up, an arm was round her shoulder and a man was supporting her.
“Are you okay, my lady?”
Calandra noticed the standard issue black riding boots and then the black cloak. There was a knapsack across the man’s chest which would be holding letters of importance from various leaders in the villages and towns, most destined for Ferrean’s hand eventually. This was a dispatch rider, one of many who rode designated routes carrying the business of the land with them. Ferrean’s father had instigated them to keep control and to be informed about happenings throughout his lands. Calandra grabbed the man by the shoulders and tried to speak but then doubled over again retching.
“Easy, take it easy. Wait and catch your breath, let your stomach settle down, it can wait.”
“No,” spat Calandra, “no it cannot. You must…ride…nearest battalion…Ferrean is in danger…there is a witch…on his own…rescuing children…bring help as soon as…”
The rider looked at Calandra, her hair wild with sweat and pale from her exertions. “It is you, his outsider. I will help you, look after you. Ferrean will want you looked after, so climb up on my steed and we will get help.”
“No!” she cried pushing the man away, “I will return…to him. Bring help. There is a…trail…beyond the path ahead…up the mountain…amongst the dead trees. Easy to track…easy.”
“But I should help you.”
“No! Go! I said go!”
The rider reluctantly clambered onto his horse and with a last look at Calandra, kicked his heels into his horse and was gone in a blur. The dispatch riders were the fastest in the land, but help was probably three days away.
Ride fast, she thought. Ride so fast.
Calandra knelt for a few moments, sucking in the foul air around her. He needed her, and she would return to him. Standing back up, she knew this time would be even harder, for now she was going uphill. But she was a warrior, and she needed to show him the side she would have to give up in the near future.
Calandra began to run again, but this time was more controlled knowing that she would arrive at battle and needed to be ready to fight. The bile was still in her throat, but she forced it down and kept pounding on until she recognised the enormous tree where she had left Ferrean. But now there was a door sized hole in the mighty trunk. Around that opening were markings, glowing as if on fire, and she slowed down to creep up on the door. In the mud, she saw Ferrean’s footprints and a mixture of hope and fear swam through her mind.
Looking inside the door, she saw nothing but darkness. Tentatively, she tapped the ground inside with her foot. At first it threatened to find nothing but then it touched something. Kneeling, she felt the object. It flexed but had the coarseness of a rough staff. Maybe a root, she thought, and she nimbly stepped inside onto it. For a moment, she stood considering the dark. As her eyes slowly adjusted, she became aware of roots moving away from her into a cavernous area. This makes no sense, she thought and wondered if she should go further.
“Arrgghh!”
Ferrean! That was Ferrean’s voice, and he was in pain! Calandra guessed the rough direction the sound had come from and sought roots in the darkness leading that way. Once her eye was fixed on a few, she unsheathed her swords and raced along them, pushing herself at a speed which was knowingly unsafe. Her feet felt the roots beneath until suddenly there seemed to be a darker patch beneath and she realised that the root she was currently on ended. She was going too fast and threw her hands behind her to grab the root she was on. Her hands clung on for her life, and one of her swords dropped from her grasp.
She waited to hear it clatter to the ground, fearing discovery, but there was no tell-tale clang, just a silence. As she listened, she was sure she could hear faint sounds, like those of battle in a far-off distance.
“Arrgghh!” Ferrean again.
Calandra hauled herself up, and finding a new root, she ran after the sound. There was a loud cackle, full of hatred and loathing.
“Fool, mother said you were weak. Now you will be no more!”
The Witch in the Tree
Calandra shuddered at Ferrean’s cries as she ran. Her eyes were becoming more accustomed to the gloom, but she also noted that the darkness was retreating as she got closer to whatever battle Ferrean was in. Single sword at the ready, she concentrated on the roots beneath as she made her way. They seemed dark and heavily twisted, and a pungent odour caught her nostrils as she inhaled deeply. It was like air of a battlefield three days on. Death was there but also a rankness of rotting flesh.
“Arrgghh!”
Hang on, just hang on.
Entering a sudden pool of light, Calandra assessed the scene in an instant. Ferrean was on his knees, his staff behind him and his right arm bleeding heavily. Above him, apparently floating in the air was a hag in black, grey tinges of hair peeking out from under her dark cowl. She held a large knife over Ferrean’s head, and she seemed braced for a downward thrust straight into the top of Ferrean’s head.
Leaping at the hag, Calandra slashed down at her wrists. There was an unholy scream as Calandra passed by, and falling into a roll, she turned to face the witch. With her left hand, the witch pulled back her cowl revealing a contorted and twisted face like the knots in the bark of a tree. The witch then raised her other arm and Calandra saw the bloody stump where she had removed the hand that had been holding the knife.
Calandra stepped across, placing herself between the witch and Ferrean, waiting for the next attack. All this time, Ferrean had not moved, and Calandra wondered if he was still truly conscious. She didn’t have time to look around but instead focused on the witch who was starting to chant. There was a twitching around her and then loud creaking noises like a tree swaying in the wind.
Calandra’s leg was grabbed and pulled behind her. Falling straight down, her face smacked hard into the root beneath her. Next, she felt the roughness of the root scraping her chin as she was dragged backward. But as a trained soldier she had retained her weapon despite the surprise attack and was steeled for the correct moment to free herself.
Her leg was then pulled into the air and she found herself hanging upside down.
Without any hesitation, she swiped at the offending root and became immediately free and began to fall. Twisting, she landed on another root and was thrown into the air again. This time she grabbed a passing root with her hand and was able to steady herself. The witch was surrounded now by roots and cackling loudly.
“How long, my dear, can you survive out there when I am hidden away? One slip on a misplaced root and you go down to oblivion. And then what will become of your man?”
Calandra ducked as one root entangled itself with the one she was on. Deftly, she jumped across to another one before casting a glance at Ferrean. He was still on his knees and meekly leaning forward, his staff still behind him. There was no sign of consciousness, no sign that he understood their predicament or was able to do anything about it.
Inside, Calandra could feel the fear rising. She had stood on many a battle field, often outnumbered, but never had she faced so powerful a foe. Or one who could wield such magic. Always her strength had seen her through. But this time…
A root crashed at her head, and she ducked just in time. Another grabbed her arm and shook her around until her grasp on her sword was released and it fell down to the abyss below. Next the root thrashed her against another root, up and down, side to side until she was battered and bruised, before dropping her onto the main root beneath the witch and beside Ferrean.
Her head pounded and her left side was screaming at her. She tried to raise herself, but the wind had been knocked from her and it was all she could do to lift her head. The roots around the witch opened up and Calandra saw the hag look at her with vacant eyes. Inside was black, deep and dark. And Calandra felt a tingle of ice cold run down her face. It descended across her left breast through her stomach before snaking down her leg. And then there was just a laugh, unholy, mocking and full of malice. Cursing herself, for her eyes wouldn’t shut, she awaited her fate.
