by CJ Arroway
‘Too many of our ancestors are now part of the soil that we will need to tread to get to Wyrra, and we will not fight until we know we have the advantage. If Quist sends his army, we wait. If Quist holds his army back to defend Wyrra we wait.’
One of the bolder men dared to raise his voice, but with a clear tone of respect. ‘My King, if we are waiting for them to do something and waiting for them to do nothing, then when would we attack?’
‘Quist is a fool,’ he said calmly. ‘If we wait long enough he will think we aren’t here for him, but he’ll be too afraid to risk the chance we might be. So he will send a small force – not enough to hold the fort, but enough to divide his forces. The fort will fall, be assured, but I don’t want that to happen too soon before they are sent.
‘And when it does fall he will fear this sign of his weakness will draw out his challengers, so he will send away his best soldiers to fight in the field and hide behind the city walls with his personal guard. Or else he’ll run.
‘My father failed – and those before him failed – because we were divided and our enemies were united. This time we turn those stories around and we write a new one; of conquest and glory.’
The men roared approval, and Orlend sat down again, drawing in their acclaim for a moment, before waving his arm to sweep them out of his tent. ‘Leave now – Callan, you stay.’
The warriors shuffled out of the narrow tent entrance, calling their respects as they left. Orlend held out a great hand to gesture for the one remaining man to take a seat.
Callan was Orlend’s chamberlain and seer – the only man he fully trusted to advise him on matters of state, and of destiny.
Magic was banished from Fraxia, all magic tribes had been slaughtered many centuries before. But prophecy was seen as the domain of the spirits, not the spell singers, and seers were tolerated for the use of the court.
‘You had news, Callan?’ Orlend said, putting down the heavy mace by the side of his chair and picking up an empty goblet which he turned over in his hand.
‘The men have returned from the south, Lord King,’ Callan said, bowing his head. He was an unlikely figure in the tent of a warrior king – a plump and jowly head sat mismatched on a body almost entirely lean but for a small rounded belly that hung over the rope belt of his hooded cloak.
‘Do they have her?’ He held out the goblet and a silent servant appeared quickly to take it.
‘Your Majesty, I fear she was not there. My men believe she was being protected.’
‘Do not bring me this news!’ Orlend roared, throwing the goblet across the tent. He clenched his fists, then gestured impatiently to a servant to fetch another. ‘Can you find her?’
‘She will be found soon, Lord King, I feel it. I have seen it in the bones.’ He lowered his hand to mimic the throwing of the dog bones that he claimed as a pathway to visions.
‘She will. And it is nearly time,’ Orlend said, as much to himself as to his chamberlain. ‘I will need your help, Callan. We can take Wyrra, if Quist is the fool I think he is, but we cannot hold it for long. If we don’t have the girl now, we must find her – even if it takes the whole army. She remains the priority. It will be known now we are looking for her, so we can’t risk delay.’
Callan lowered his head and murmured to himself, casting protective charms with his bony hands.
‘So the men must be made to be content with the gold and slaves we take until our work is done and we return for the land,’ Orlend continued. ‘They will hear this better in the bones than coming from me, see to it that they think it is for the best.’
‘Of course, Lord King.’ Callan stood, bowed, and walked backwards out of the tent without raising his head.
The servant had returned now with a full goblet and Orlend drank deeply from it. He stood to pace the tent, his thick hand brushing the heavy linen wall and pushing it out so that the roof taughtened and a little of the dew that had gathered on it ran off down the waxed cloth.
The land was an issue that concerned Orlend. The People and the Myrians called the Fraxians ‘Sea People’ – a term he despised, though it was clear why they did. To those their ships raided for gold, cattle and slaves it would seem that they were born from the sea, and indeed to many Fraxians it may have felt the same.
They had land, but it was barely worth the name. The low lands of Fraxia were washed with the ocean on the western side and snared in the arms of two great rivers to the east – with no defence against either. The tides would rise and flood the lands from one direction, or the rivers would do the same from the other – sometimes both would race to join each other and sweep up the land between them.
What little farming was possible was too often put on hold as fields turned to lakes or crops were strangled with salt. It was a hard land and had bred a hard people. Long ago they turned from trying to pull a living from the sodden soil and instead farmed the cities and petty kingdoms of neighbouring lands for gold. The water that made their land poor also kept it safe, while their warriors picked away at those lands that had greater wealth but less stomach for a fight.
But Orlend was a king, and he did not want a kingdom of salt. The legends of Fraxia spoke of a golden land fat with wheat and cattle, of great kings and palaces, and calm rivers of fresh sweet water that quenched and fed the rich soil. This was the lost land, stolen by deception and the evil of magic – and, when he had the girl, he would be the one who returned it, and all would call him The Reborn King.
The Fish
Evie and Luda had waited until dawn to assess their position. The sky had cleared and the sun was now rising from the waters of the other ocean to be lit again. The glow of its new fire coloured the treetops of the Black Hills valley as it stretched far up and away from them. To the other side, the waters of the estuary were now calm and still, and the sun was just picking out the first ripples of light on its surface.
‘We’re on the wrong side,’ Evie said wearily.
Luda nodded silently. They were still at the junction but on the southern bank, while the way to Wyrra was to the north. And now they had no boat.
‘There was that place with the little rapids about three hours back where I think we could cross,’ Evie said.
‘Three hours downstream in a boat, six by foot. At least.’ Luda grumbled, then – catching Evie’s eye – he jumped up. ‘That’s ok – that’s not too bad. We can dry off on the walk.’
But Luda’s pessimism was not misplaced. There was no road along the riverside at this point, and the going through the trees and over the high rocky sections of bank was slow and uneasy. Several times they had to double back when what seemed like a path led to a steep drop into the river, or an impassable wall of thorns.
Four hours had passed when they agreed to rest again and eat from what was left of their provisions. Luda had kept their sack tied over his shoulder, but it had soaked through from the churn of the water when the boat turned and only some of the dried meat and the nuts remained edible.
They had found a way down to the waterside but it was still too deep to ford here, and Luda thought it would be another two hours at least until they reached the narrow, shallow stretch of white water where they would be able to wade across.
He laid out the bag, with what was left of the food, to dry in a pool of light that gathered on a large, flat rock by the river’s edge. Evie was lying on the bank in the shade of a small willow and had already closed her eyes, lulled by the steady whirr of mayflies over the water.
Luda listened. The sound was soothing, and soon it melted into the chorus of birdsong from the trees, then to a soft and haunting melody that now seemed to come from the river itself.
He watched as the water danced gently around the rock – transfixed by the beauty of its movement and the sweetness of the sound. The water appeared to take form – for a second he thought he saw a face, or the movement of an arm in the shapes of the water. A feeling of overwhelming peace and calm trickled down the back of his skull an
d his mind felt warm, soft and heavy, like a honeycomb dripping sweetness down into his body, as the water wound its way around the rock.
‘Oh no you don’t!’ Evie cried. Luda suddenly snapped back and found himself looking straight at a sharp-faced boy whose striking almond eyes were blinking in pain as Evie dug her fingers in deeper to keep his arm exactly where she had it, the food bag still gripped in his captive hand.
‘Ow, you’re hurting me. Stop it!’ the boy said.
‘Drop the bag and I’ll let go.’ Evie snapped. He dropped it; she didn’t let go. ‘What were you doing Luda?’ She turned with a scowl. ‘You were just watching him take it?’
Luda felt disoriented as though he had just been shaken awake from a lucid dream. ‘I… who. There was music!’
Evie looked at the boy as if to demand an answer, gripping his arm tighter.
He winced again. ‘You’re supposed to be asleep. Why are you not asleep?’
Evie glanced down at his free hand, wondering why he hadn’t used it to pull himself free. She could see it was holding tight to a small bone whistle.
‘Was that you making the music?’ Evie asked. ‘Is that what this is about?’
‘You heard it then?’ he said, seemingly confused. ‘I thought maybe you hadn’t, you see. Like, once there was this deaf man–’
‘Are you using magic? Are you Daw? You don’t look Daw.’ Evie’s expression darkened and the boy looked quickly around as if scouting out an escape route, or at least someone who could tell him who this girl was who wouldn’t sleep when she was told.
‘No! Magic is sin, lady,’ he grimaced. Evie wasn’t sure if she was more amused by his incompetent straight face or the fact he’d called her ‘lady’.
‘We’re all sinners in our own way. Go on, get lost.’ Evie relaxed her grip and the boy rubbed his arm but didn’t move.
She looked at him, curious. He was unlike any People she had seen and was certainly not Daw. He was thin and wiry, wearing a pair of dirty, dark green trousers that seemed far too short for his legs, even though he was little taller than she was. Now she saw him more clearly, he seemed to have a face that looked much younger than it actually was.
‘I apologise, I was just hungry. The name’s Aldrwyn,’ he said, holding out his hand which still bore the marks of Evie’s fingernails. ‘I still am. Hungry that is.’
‘Evie,’ she replied, grudgingly taking his hand but not his hint.
Luda and Aldrwyn exchanged nods.
‘Are you heading to the Black Hills?’ Aldrwyn asked. ‘I can show you a much quicker way if you are.’
‘No. Wyrra.’
‘Wyrra? Well you’d better know you are going completely the wrong way.’
‘I know,’ said Evie wearily. ‘It’s a long story. We need to get to a crossing further down this way. We lost our boat.’
‘That’s pretty careless!’ Aldrwyn smiled, and Evie’s lip curled in disdain, which he ignored. ‘No need though – I’ll take you across here if you like.’
‘You have a boat?’ Evie’s face straightened and she looked around hopefully for any sign of it.
‘No. I swim. I’ll show you.’
She had had enough of being in the water, she thought, but the idea of another two hours of thorns and dead ends meant she was willing to try anything. She followed as he led them down the bankside to where the pebbled edges turned to water.
‘Don’t worry – I could carry ten of you across if I wanted,’ Aldrwyn boasted, as Evie tentatively stepped into the shallow shelf on the waters edge that opened to deeper, wider blacker water. ‘Hold on to my shoulders and we’ll be across in no time.’
Evie looked at Luda for reassurance that she was not about to do something stupid, but he just shrugged. ‘Here,’ she said, handing him the food bag, ‘keep hold of this and if he tries anything, throw your knife at him.’
‘But I don’t–’ Luda began to protest and Evie shot him a look. ‘Of course, yes, I’ll use my knife.’ He half-heartedly gestured the action of knife-throwing, though it looked to Evie more like he was trying to slap away one of the skitting mayfly, and she raised her eyes to the sky.
Evie wasn’t sure how long the crossing took. She had her eyes closed the whole way, but when Aldrwyn returned for Luda she was surprised at the speed and ease with which he moved through the water.
‘So what are you doing in Wyrra? If you’re looking for work I might be able to help, if you don’t mind getting your hands dirty,’ Aldrwyn offered, as they made their way through the more forgiving terrain of the opposite bank.
‘We’re visiting a friend,’ Evie said.
‘Must be a good friend to walk all this way,’
Aldrwyn had a restless, half-playful, half-nervous energy about his movement and language that Evie was starting to find irritating. She wasn’t sure how much longer she wanted his company on this journey, although for now he was the only one who knew the way. Or at least the only one who claimed to know the way. She didn’t respond.
‘She doesn’t talk much does she?’ Aldrwyn now started to buzz around Luda, hoping for a response this time. ‘You liked my playing then?’
Luda threw him a glance that was meant to look contemptuous but couldn’t hide his interest.
‘It’s just a talent I have, I guess. People love my music, it makes them… more giving. Opens up their minds to beauty, and their hearts to generosity!’
‘You mean you steal from them,’ Luda snapped back.
‘That’s harsh. The way I look at it is: they get something from me, and they give something back. It’s a reciprocal arrangement. I just help them along by choosing what they give – save them having to think; it’s always so hard to decide on an appropriate gift.’
‘I guess that’s the work you have in Wyrra then. I don’t think it’s something we’d be interested in, but thanks anyway.’ Evie had leaned back into the conversation to interrupt it sharply.
‘That’s a shame,’ Aldrwyn chirped, ‘’cos I’m sensing you have a bit of a hidden talent yourself, don’t you? We could make a very good partnership.’
Evie flushed. ‘I’m not really a musical person.’
Aldrwyn laughed. ‘No, I can tell.’
They walked along in silence for several more minutes. Luda and Evie kept their eyes firmly on the narrow road that had now opened up out of the tall grass of the riverbank and was taking them northwards towards the Wyrran Plain. Aldrwyn was quiet, but his restless manner suggested he had more questions to ask and was still weighing up what reaction they would get.
But it was Evie who eventually broke the silence. ‘I think we can find our own way from here. Thank you for your help on the river. I don’t have much but you can have some of our food as payment. It’s the best I can do right now.’
She reached into her bag and Aldrwyn stepped back, holding up his hands. ‘I told Luda, I prefer to choose the method of payment for my work and I’ve not chosen yet.’
He pursed his lips and rubbed his chin in an exaggerated mime of deep thought, while Evie watched him, shaking her head.
‘Ok, I’ve chosen – I would like to have your company all the way to Wyrra. That will be payment enough.’ He followed up with an equally exaggerated bow.
Evie rolled her eyes and Luda folded his arms firmly. The three continued their walk out into the horizon-wide flats of the plains.
By the time the sun began to disappear, Aldrwyn told them confidently that they were little more than half a day’s walk from Wyrra. ‘It’s quicker by foot the way we’ve come’, he said. ‘That’s why I was crossing where you found me. You’re very lucky.’
‘Yeah, so lucky,’ Luda mumbled sarcastically. Aldrwyn did his best to look hurt and Evie smiled slightly to herself.
They were out on the open plain now, and the sunset filled the wide sky with warm orange, yellows and reds as the last narrow cap of its bright circle dipped below the far horizon. They chose a small copse of elm to shelter for the night, and propped a
fallen branch against the low crook of one of the smaller trees to create a frame for the grasses, twigs and leaves that would cover their shelter.
The night was clear and cold, bringing the brilliance of stars into clear focus; filling the wide, dark sky with a million specks of light. Evie looked up from the fire she was building to see the bright Evening Star cradled by the first waxing crescent of the new moon. She thought of her mother and of the things she wanted to tell her now.
Aldrwyn sat down next to her, dropping the bundle of dried sticks and kindling he had gathered from the floor of the copse.
‘We call that the Sky River,’ Aldrwyn said quietly, gesturing at the milky flow that rose and fell from the far horizon. ‘That’s where my people came from and where we go back to when we die. At least that’s what they say.’
‘Who’s they? Where do you come from?’ Evie asked, finally looking away from the sky to catch Aldrwyn’s reaction.
‘A long way away,’ he said looking up longingly to the night sky. Evie followed his gaze to the stars.
‘No, not that far away!’ Aldrwyn laughed, pleased with his teasing. ‘But far enough that I can’t go back. Not for a while anyway.’
‘What you did, at the river, was that your magic?’ Evie asked. ‘Is that why you’ve run away?’
‘I didn’t say I’d run away,’ Aldrwyn chipped back. ‘It’s a sort of magic, I guess. Yes, you can say it is. Why? Are you worried I’ll corrupt little Luda?’
‘Magic is a sin, you shouldn’t be flippant,’ Evie began, taking a handful of the sticks and propping them together over the growing flames.
‘I don’t get it,’ Aldrwyn said, sitting up straighter, clearly warming to the opportunity to debate his view on magic with a penitent. ‘Everyone is so uptight about it. ‘It’s all: “magic is sin”,’ he gurned a comically disapproving voice. ‘Especially here. You throw children in jail for doing magic. What is that about?’
