The Gathering Storm - Elsewhere, Book 1
Chapter 4

Two large brown eyes peeked out from behind a leaf, followed by a mischievous grin. Caeya giggled quietly as she watched her sister scamper towards her carrying a spool of ribbon whose yellow tail fluttered behind her in the breeze. Neryn popped the spool between her teeth as she clambered up the trunk and along the wide branch, plonking herself down next to Caeya with a squeal of delight. The two sprites were happily braiding the ribbon through each other’s green hair when a commotion broke out below them. Doorsh and Mirren, who had noticed the ribbon missing when they began to trim the dress they were making and were searching the edge of the forest for the likely culprits, screamed when a stranger emerged from behind a thicket of trees.

“Please, quiet, I mean no harm,” He said in the Manguin tongue but with a harsh accent they had not heard before which only made them more nervous. Mirren grasped Doorsh’s arm and glanced behind her through the thinning branchlets of the forest edge to see if their screams had alerted anyone. Hanble and Fron were heading in their direction, their alarm evident on their faces. Both lithe and strong, even the sight of them gave Mirren courage. She turned back to the stranger and really looked at Him. He wore skins and furs like a Haraquin but lacked the wings, pointed teeth and bald head of that race. In fact, His hair was long and unkempt, extending into a full beard and moustache so that little of His face was visible. His blue eyes were piercing though and Mirren felt them boring into her, intimidating and yet at the same time strangely pleading. He reached out His hand to her and although Doorsh squealed in fright she sensed no aggression.

“Please,” He said again, “I need your help.”

It was the last thing He said for some time. An empty wooden spool hurtled through the air from the branch above and hit the stranger squarely between the eyes, knocking Him unconscious.

“Nice throw, Doorsh,” said Fron admiringly as he arrived at their side. Doorsh just shrugged and pointed up to where Neryn and Caeya were congratulating each other on their victory.

Nula woke to the sound of urgent rapping on the door of Emerden’s Vardo and high panicked voices calling her name. She slipped out of bed, wrapping a sheet around herself, and opened the door. Caeya and Neryn stood on the steps outside with tears running down their cheeks and horror filling their eyes.

“Nula, you have to come!” cried Neryn, grabbing her hand and trying to pull her out of the door.

“It’s the nest; something’s wrong!” added Caeya, her green curls bouncing as she hopped from one foot to the other, pulling at the sheet which was nearly wrenched from Nula’s grasp. “Hurry, we need to go!”

Nula was startled by their distress and agitation and decided just to agree to go with them and ask questions on the way, but she did insist they allow her to dress properly first. The Sprites alternately hopped impatiently on the grass and clung to each other, sobbing in fright and confusion, until Nula emerged from the vardo in her work tunic and leggings.

“Okay, tell me where we’re going. What’s happened?” she asked as they set off towards the trees.

“We didn’t tell you before about the nest; we wanted to keep it our secret for a while,” explained Caeya, her lip trembling.

“And now something’s happened and we don’t know what to do,” wailed Neryn, throwing her arms round her sister’s neck.

Nula crouched down beside them, suddenly understanding.

“Do you mean that one of the Sprite trees has been nesting? That something has happened to the eggs?” she asked.

They both nodded miserably. “Our home tree,” they confirmed. Nula thought for a few seconds then rose and started back towards the caravans.

“I need to wake Emerden and bring him with us. We might need another pair of hands.”

Soon they were all heading back across the Bridge of Aught Else and into the trees, hurrying to the base of Caeya and Neryn’s home tree. The trunk was wide, covered in dark brown bark that was rough and crevassed in channels and knots that provided ample hand and foot holds as they climbed. Emerden used his bare feet to grip the bark, curling his toes around the rough wood in the manner of the Sprites, while Nula wedged her boot toes into gaps and crannies as she levered herself up the trunk. As they neared the canopy, where Nula knew the nest would be located, she began to notice that some of the leaves were withered and browning.

“Emerden, look,” she said, pointing to a branch of brown and yellow leaves.

“That’s very odd,” he confirmed. “It’s much too early for the autumn turning to begin.” He looked around them. “It’s not only this tree either, but it’s only at this height. None of the lower leaves have changed. There’s something else too. No wildlife up here.” He pointed to a pack of greenlings scampering among the branches several metres down, and Nula realised that he was right. They had seen birds, squirrels, even insects in the lower reaches of the tree but there were none among the withering leaves. Nula reached up to grasp the next branch, but the bark broke off in her hand, soft and rotting.

“Careful climbing here,” she said. “Watch where you put your hands and feet. Try to go round the worst areas.”

On any other day, Caeya would have rolled her eyes at Neryn at the irony of a Pixie giving advice on climbing to a pair of Tree Sprites, but today she was too worried to notice. They continued upwards, the Sprites almost disappearing from sight as they hurried ahead to the nest. At last Nula and Emerden reached the broad branch where the wide, thick nest had grown. The Sprites sat on the edge, crying and holding each other, watching Nula to see if she could help them. Nula looked in horror at the sight before her and fell to her knees, holding the trunk for balance. Emerden, climbing up behind her, heard her gasp before he saw what had happened and pulled himself quickly up the final few branches. Before he glimpsed the disaster, he smelled the odour of decay; musty and repellent. First he could only see the outside of the nest, which didn’t look much different, but on the inside the mossy lining had become desiccated and brown. The leaves covering the side were withered, yellow in the centre and almost black at the edges. Then he saw the eggs. A lump formed in his throat as he looked at the flower-eggs, no longer smooth white ovals but yellowing, wrinkled and crumpling in at the top. Nula was crouching in the centre of the nest, gently cradling one of the collapsing orbs. She parted the petals at the top and fearfully peered inside, hoping for a sign of life. The hoarse croak Emerden heard her make told him there was none. He blinked back tears and tried to comfort Neryn and Caeya as they wept for their siblings. Nula went to each egg in turn and discovered them all the same. The sap in which the baby Sprites floated until birth was almost dried up and each damp body lay on the base of the flower-egg, unmoving. The umbilical stem that nourished them and breathed for them as they developed was stiff, brown and cracked instead of green and flexible. Each baby Sprite, fully developed and almost ready to be born, lay still and silent. Looking at their smooth, green skin, wisps of mossy hair and peaceful faces Nula thought they could almost be asleep, then she couldn’t see them anymore as her eyes were so full of tears that her vision blurred. Salt droplets fell onto the entwined branchlets of the nest and her shoulders shook in wordless grief at the unspeakable tragedy. Eventually she rubbed away her tears with the back of her hand and took off her pack, which she had slung on her shoulder before leaving the vardo. She removed several long white bandages and asked Emerden to break off the cover leaf which protected the nest from sun and rain, which he did and laid it on her lap. Nula solemnly removed each baby in turn, wrapped it in a bandage and placed it on the leaf. As she lifted the sixth baby though, she felt a tiny movement in the palm of her hand. She paused, unsure if it had been only her imagination and not wanting to further upset the little Sprites. Sure enough, there was a slight tickling sensation on her skin as the baby moved its arm.

“Em, this one’s alive,” whispered Nula urgently. “What do I do? How do I help it?”

“Well, how would you normally help a baby that came early and was struggling?” he asked, unsure of the answers himself.

“Dry his skin, keep him warm, feed him often and watch him carefully to make sure his breathing and pulse were steady,” she replied without hesitation. “But what do I feed him? Sprites don’t drink milk.”

Neryn and Caeya had been watching intently, sitting on the edge of the nest with their arms wrapped round each other’s shoulders as they sniffed and gave little hiccupping sobs. They both brightened at the news that one baby at least had survived and Caeya volunteered the necessary information.

“Sap,” she said, “and nectar. That’s what we drink when we’re first born.”

Nula handed her a wooden bowl from her pack. “Can you empty what’s left of the nectar from the flowers into this bowl please Caeya?” she asked gently. Caeya nodded and Neryn stood up to help her sister. Nula gave Emerden another bowl and asked him to climb down to where the leaves were still green and tap the tree for sap. While he did this she carefully dried the baby with a cloth then did what she advised mothers of tiny newborns to do, opening the top of her tunic and tucking the baby inside next to her skin where he could absorb her warmth. She took her last bandage and wound it around her back and over the baby twice, knotting the ends for the long climb down the tree. He was so small; he had fitted entirely on her hand. His eyes were closed but she knew they would be dark brown and his hair, damp and wispy though it was, seemed to be a muddy brown colour rather than the more common moss green. His movements were so slight they could easily have been missed and she thanked both the Manguin God and the Power from which the Elves drew their magic that she had not done so. The other five babies, wrapped in their muslin shrouds and folded inside the large leaf, she tearfully placed inside her pack. When Emerden and the Sprites returned, their bowls brimming with nectar and sap, Emerden decanted the syrupy liquids into a water bladder he had on his belt, making a funnel for the tiny opening with a leaf. This done, they prepared to climb back down to the forest floor. Neryn, who had been watching in silence, put her small hand on Nula’s arm.

“Nula?” she asked, looking up with big wet eyes. “Will the nectar drink make all the babies better?”

Her eyes pleaded with Nula to say yes, that she could make everything alright and Nula’s heart twisted at the simple, tragic question. She held Neryn’s shoulders and met her gaze squarely.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart,” she said, watching Neryn’s lower lip tremble anew as she realised the truth. “I can only try to save this one. The others are already gone. We can’t do anything for them now.”

She made to hug the little Sprite but Neryn pulled free and ran back up the branch to her sister, their little chests heaving with grief.

“Why Nula?!” she cried. “What happened? Why did they have to die?”

Nula looked at the puffy, tear streaked faces and felt lost. She had no answers to give, no explanations. It was a strange and unpleasant feeling. She was rarely at a loss for a rational explanation for events in her professional, or even her personal life.

“I don’t know Neryn,” was all she could say. “But I will try my hardest to find out.”

“Promise?” asked both Sprites together.

“Promise.” She confirmed, seeing and ignoring Emerden’s warning glance.

The sombre party climbed back down the tree. Once on the ground, they walked slowly in the direction of the Carnival. Mercifully they met no one and reached Emerden’s vardo in silence. They had barely sat down inside when Caeya stood up again and took Neryn’s hand.

“We have to go tell the others what has happened,” she said quietly. “And we have to take the babies,” she paused and bit her lip to hold back a fresh onslaught of tears. “...to give them back to the trees.”

“Of course,” said Nula, setting her pack gently on the floor. “I didn’t think. I didn’t know what you do when one of you... passes.”

“We bury them under the roots of their home tree,” sniffed Neryn. “All of us together. We cover the roots with flowers. Then the Elves come and sing to them. I saw it once, when I was very young.”

Nula blinked at the word ‘young’. Given the Sprites’ childlike appearance it was easy to forget how much older than her they actually were.

“It sounds beautiful,” she said. “Would I be allowed to come?”

Neryn and Caeya exchanged a questioning glance and nodded simultaneously. “Yes,” they said in unison. Caeya continued, “Because of your help today and also because you’re caring for our little brother. He must be there to say goodbye to his nest mates.” She put out a hand to touch the baby’s head, almost hidden from sight inside Nula’s tunic. “He’s warm now,” she said, almost smiling.

Emerden crouched down and looked seriously at them. “I have to ask you a favour,” he said.”I have to ask you not to take the other babies yet. I need to tell the Council about this, so we can try to figure out what’s happening to the trees. It’s very strange.”

“Like that man in the forest earlier,” remarked Caeya. “He was very strange too.”

“What man?” asked Emerden, puzzled.

“He scared Mirren. He was hairy all over but I think some of it was clothes. Neryn threw a spool at him and he went to sleep. Hanble and Fron tied him up with some rope and took him to the cook house. Then we went to check on the nest, and that’s when we came to wake up Nula,” explained Caeya.

“A strange, hairy man in the forest? Are you sure he wasn’t Equiseen?” asked Nula.

Neryn raised one eyebrow at her. “Very sure, we know what Equiseen look like. This man wasn’t as tall and his ears weren’t pointy and he wore boots. His face was hairy all over – more hairy than yours Emerden. And he spoke Manguin but it sounded weird.”

Emerden ran a hand over his short, neat beard and mused over what they had said. “Did Fron say what they were going to do with him?”

“Yes, he said they would tell everyone so you could all decide what to do.”

“Did he hurt Mirren?” asked Nula.

“No. He was just there and big and different, I think and it scared her. We were in the tree. He asked for help but I had already thrown the spool. It was a good throw,” finished Neryn.

Emerden looked at Nula. “I have to get down there,” he said tersely. “We need to get to the bottom of all this.”

Nula nodded. “I need to feed and change the baby, so leave that bladder of nectar and sap. I’ll follow you in a while.”

She started to unwind the bandage from round her chest, cradling the baby Sprite in one hand, then lifted him out of her tunic and quickly wrapped him in a kerchief so he wouldn’t cool down. Pouring a tiny quantity of the sap mixture into a cup she took a pipette from her pack and began to encourage the baby to drink down a drop at a time. She smiled as he wriggled and stretched, opening his mouth to lap at the thick, sweet liquid. Glancing up, she noticed that Emerden had made no move to leave yet.

“I thought you were in a hurry,” she prompted.

He shook himself out of his momentary reverie, it having struck him how natural Nula was in tending to the little one. She spoke to him of her work in broad terms and he admired her passion and dedication, but of course he never saw her at work. Childbirth and parenthood were unknown quantities to him; a mysterious world into which he had little insight but with which Nula was obviously completely at her ease. He slapped his hands to his knees and stood, focusing again on the matter at hand.

“Okay, I’m going. Are you two coming with me?” he asked the Sprites.

“Later,” replied Caeya. “After we speak to the others. We want to get to the bottom of it too.”

They left Nula drop feeding the baby Sprite and went their separate ways, the Sprites back over the Bridge and Emerden towards the cook house. Once the baby had drunk his fill and Nula had made him a cosy bed in a little basket, she curled up on Emerden’s bed and cried till she had no tears left.

Raya watched and wept with them as they discovered the baby Sprites. She had been keeping a daily watch over the Carnival folk for more than two weeks, looking for more of the golden wisps and trying to explain their presence. She had seen two, both at night, twisting through the Carnival and over the ravine, up into the forest and north into the sky. The performers and audiences alike acted as if they saw nothing of the curling miasma, leading Raya to believe it was only through her magic that it was visible to her. Whether it only happened at night, or was only made visible by the lack of sunlight, she did not yet know.

The bright midday sun shone down on the grassy roof of her home, half buried in the hillside, yet it didn’t seem to beat as mercilessly as usual on the white, limewashed walls. The house had three rooms; a kitchen in the middle, a parlour to one side and a bedroom to the other. The kitchen and parlour shared a large fireplace whose chimney protruded incongruously from the hillside above. A second, smaller stack emerged several yards away, rising from the smaller fireplace in the bedroom. The walls were all whitewashed, the furniture sparse and practical. A small, unglazed window with wooden shutters allowed daylight to dispel some of the shadows in each room, but dark corners allowed spiders to build their homes undisturbed and catch the unsuspecting insect life that flew into the house. A little green lizard crawled along the bedroom wall above the window, competing for the steady diet of insects. The house smelled of the herbs which hung in bunches from the ceiling to dry and of the stew bubbling over the kitchen fire. Raya kept a neat kitchen garden, foraged for wild foods in the woods and meadow hedgerows and caught fish in the lake and game in the woods. The few people who came to the island seeking Raya’s counsel and assistance brought other supplies in trade for her help: soap, thread and cloth, tea, flour and the rarer ingredients she required to work her magic. It would have been an idyllic existence had the isolation not been enforced, but Raya had been banished to her island thirty Turns previously and was held there by powerful enchantments.

Born in the beautiful city of Lytos Bor, she was the youngest child of a prosperous Myrial merchant and his wife. Her talents for the magical arts had manifested themselves at an early age and she was sent to the university to be given training and instruction by the Immortal Roon. The Roon were masters of all forms of magic and sorcery, including the secrets of time itself, making them the only truly immortal race in the realm. They were time-smiths and seers, spirit finders and weather painters, healers and skilled syphoners and distillers of every kind of magical substance. They were also masters of spell weaving and illusion and of transformation of form. Academics of the highest order, a Roon might spend a century in pursuit of understanding of a single subject. They were a benevolent race who had established the university in order to teach those Myrial children who proved ‘talented’, so that they would learn to control their abilities and use them for the benefit of the city. Raya had arrived at the university as a curious and excitable child of nine, three Turns younger than the rest of the lowest class. She found her Roon instructors to be kind and patient and she and her fellow supplicants worked hard to please them. Raya’s talents far exceeded those of the other first year students and even most of the second years and she soon learned all the lessons of those levels and was placed with the third year class, where it was supposed she would find the work more challenging. Raya was diligent and passionate, absorbed in her work to the exclusion of almost everything else. She did not make many friends, although she was not proud or arrogant and never boasted to her peers of her achievements. Children will be children though, no matter where or when they live, and Raya encountered jealousy and bullying, both in the classroom and in the dormitory she shared with five other girls. She tried to ignore their taunts and buried herself in her work, progressing through the standard schooling given to all the students and the four years of senior apprenticeship awarded only to the most promising adepts. In the face of constant rejection and torment by her peers, Raya had become gradually more insular and bitter.

Her ambition to better everyone grew until it exceeded all reason and she attempted to surpass even her Roon professors by uncovering the secret of their immortality. Their fury when she was discovered knew no bounds and was compounded by their fear of what she might be capable of. The laws by which the Roon governed the people of Lytos Bor prohibited the destruction of another person, no matter what their crime, so Raya was banished to her island on the far side of the mountains and a magical enchantment woven by the combined powers of the Roon to prevent her ever crossing the waters of the lake again by binding her life force to the life of the island. She had grown resigned to her fate over time and since her story had become legend in the great city she was not short of visitors seeking her help.

Bustling about in her kitchen Raya now added scoops of various ingredients to her bowl and mixed them thoroughly under the watchful eye of the large, black raven who was her constant companion. Spooning dollops of batter on to a large, smoking griddle over the fire, she hummed thoughtfully.

“Breakfast!” squawked the raven eagerly, flapping across the room from its perch to land on a chair back close to the table. Raya laughed, flipping the drop scones to cook on the other side and fed the greedy bird some crumbs. Once they had breakfasted on scones, fruit and tea Raya brushed off her skirt and went to her crucible to work. She had decided to try and draw some particles of the gold miasma out of the atmosphere using a combination of weather magic and syphoning, then examine them to try and determine their nature, origin and purpose. It was likely to be a difficult and time consuming endeavour, but Raya was convinced that there was some dark portent to this event and refused to leave her questions unresolved. What she would do with the answers; well that was another matter.

Vineder felt his head throbbing before he opened his eyes. He wondered why his shoulders ached until he realised that his hands were bound behind him. He was lying on his left side, ankles tied too, he noticed, and the sun felt hot on his face. He was uncomfortably warm in his layers of wool and leather, even though he had tied his fur cape to his pack again that morning before continuing his search for help. He cracked open one eye to glance about him, but started as a small, green face appeared upside down in front of his own.

“He’s awake!” shrieked Neryn, bouncing frenetically on the ground, her green hair tumbling over her shoulders as she looked at the stranger from every angle.

“What’s your name?” asked another green face, this one clouded by a mass of mossy ringlets, as Caeya pulled at his beard and stroked his fur-trimmed boots. “Where did you come from? How did you get here? Are you dead?”

“If I am I think I’m in hell,” muttered Vineder. Aloud he asked of the now gathering crowd, “Could someone get these... shrubs... off me? And untie me?” Caeya stuck her tongue out at him and Neryn harrumphed at the insulting comment.

“Sorry stranger,” said a pleasant voice behind him. “But not until you explain yourself.” A pair of leather boots walked into his field of vision, topped by green britches and a loose white shirt, sleeves rolled above the elbow. He squinted into the sun to make sure there was a head above the shirt. It had almost as much hair as he did and appeared to be smiling, although in silhouette it was hard to be sure.

“Gladly, but for pity’s sake help me to sit up.”

Emerden crouched beside the strange looking man. He was stocky; broad shouldered and heavy set with thick, dark eyebrows. He smelled like he hadn’t changed clothes or bathed in weeks. Emerden beckoned to Jonor Flax and between them they hauled the man into an awkward sitting position. When he saw Jonor’s legs and ears he started more violently than he had at the green skin and hair of the tree sprites. Now able to turn his head and see properly, Vineder looked warily round at the crowd. Many of them had pointed ears of various shapes and sizes, but without the horse legs. Some were pale skinned, though not as pale as himself, some were bronze or even brown. Their hair was as likely to be flaxen or fiery orange as brunette or raven and a few were elderly with hair of grey or white. Some were taller than he, some shorter, but all of a more slender build. The two shrub-children still hovered near him, staring and whispering together, but kept in check with stern glances from the man who seemed to be their leader. Vineder had never seen such variety of appearance before.

“So, my friend,” prompted Emerden. “Are you going to tell us who you are, and how you came to be here?”

Vineder drew a deep breath and began.

“My name is Vineder and my people are the Anaerin.”

“That’s like me! My name’s Neryn!” exclaimed the sprite, before sensing that she probably shouldn’t interrupt the story and sitting down on a log. Vineder smiled briefly and continued.

“I have travelled for many days to seek your aid,” he said. “I sailed my boat past mile upon mile of cliffs: cliffs of pale sand rock, cliffs that shrieked as if in pain as the wind whirled through tall pillars of stone that guarded them, cliffs so sheer and smooth no man could scale them. I had to tear my arms to shreds rowing past a great and hungry whirlpool that wanted to suck me into its burlin’ maw. I tried to turn inland when I saw a river mouth, but the wind would not fill my sails and there was no strength left in my arms to row. I had long finished my rations and had no fresh water; in short I was skunnert. I must have passed out and who knows how many more river mouths I missed as I slept, but when I came to I saw an estuary and there was enough wind to get across the current and up river. The cliffs were massive and there was no breeze in that channel, so I forced myself to row again. It seemed miles before the cliffs shortened and I came to a place where I could pull the boat ashore and rest.

I filled my water skins and roasted a rabbit, then slept like a bairn under my cloak. The next day I followed the river, hoping to find a village, but soon I was fighting through a forest so thick I was scratched by thorns and tripped by roots at every step. When the trees finally thinned I was met by two screaming lassies, then someone knocked me out.”

Having finished his story, Vineder fell silent.

“Oh, yes, I believe that was the... um.... shrub,” said Emerden. Neryn scowled at him and pouted. “From the way you describe your story,” he continued, “it would seem that you came from north of the Daraeyan desert. But there’s nothing there as far as I know, all the way to Centre’s Tree and the Chasm. Besides, you are neither Jentsie nor Raquin.”

Vineder looked up, surprised, his eyes showing recognition.

“You know these names?” asked Emerden. The other man nodded.

“The Anaerin have helped the Jentsie runaways since they began to escape from their Raquin masters nearly four centuries ago,” explained Vineder. “We have taken them in, adopted them into our families, since they’re hardly more than bairns when they arrive, wet and exhausted, with no more than a thin blanket to keep off the cold. That’s how I learned your tongue, from them. Those monsters the Raquin make their lives truly terrible. Bad enough to risk that climb, anyway.”

“Escape? Climb?” asked Jonor Flax. Then realisation dawned. “You mean they climb up the Chasm and escape into the Unknown Country? You are from the Unknown Country?”

Vineder smiled. “To me yours is the unknown country. I know mine quite well. But yes, there is a chasm between my people and yours.”

This revelation was shocking to the Carnival people. In all the history of the realm, no one had travelled to the north of the Chasm and they had never heard of anyone claiming to be from there. They had not even thought there was anyone living there and they regarded Vineder with some scepticism, unsure whether to believe him and yet compelled by his strange appearance and accent and the details of his tale.

“And why have you come here?” asked Nula gently from her seat on Neryn’s log. “What could persuade you to make such a dangerous journey?”

Vineder looked at her bleakly. “The end of the world.”

The clang and scrape of steel on steel rang out across the plains in the early twilight, accompanied by grunts of effort and occasional laughter. Aysh and Mikkol had eaten early once again, snuck out of the village and run out to the Lone Rock and then a couple of miles further, to a copse of trees near the river; a ring of eight mature oaks with bushes filling the gaps between the bases and a good sized clearing in the centre. It made for an excellent hidden practice ring away from prying eyes.

Sweat beaded on Aysh’s forehead as Mikkol put her through her paces. She had been a fast learner and even though it had only been a few weeks since Mikkol began teaching her she had already mastered the basics and was learning more advanced attack and defence moves. Mikkol was deeply impressed both by her natural ability and her deep concentration and focus. She was determined and passionate, always eager to learn a new technique, never willing to quit. Mikkol continually had to urge caution: even though their courtship was now official and they were allowed a little more freedom to be alone together, continually sneaking out of the village would raise more than eyebrows if it were to become known, especially at dawn and dusk. Aysh listened to him and was always careful not to be seen, but she was continually fighting an urge to be reckless deep within her. There was a knot of stress and worry somewhere in her stomach, fuelled by fear of her future, fear of being boxed up and labelled ‘wife’, ‘mother’, of having her days timetabled by the demands of her home, her work, her children, her husband. Of losing herself slowly in the picture everyone else wanted to paint of her life. Her stomach churned as she realised she had no idea how to stop it, how to change anything. Mikkol had promised he would find a way, but Aysh knew he was never going to try and change all of Equiseen society, overturn thousands of years of tradition and fight for people’s rights to choose their work: forge or sword and spear. It wasn’t that he was unwilling to support her, just that they both knew the elders weren’t ready. The last person to try and change his path had been Jonor Flax, twenty Turns previously, and his mother still lived in their village. She acted as if her son was dead and Aysh had seen the grief in her eyes. She was not yet born when it all happened, the battle that changed Jonor’s life, but the story was passed down in hushed and fearful voices by older children who had seen it to those who came after them as fable or parable. It was a story Aysh knew by heart.

Jonor was an Equiseen who had never felt quite at home in his own skin. He trained with the other boys from the age of five, but his heart was never in his sword drills or practice with spear or bow and arrow. He was not incompetent – his accuracy at the target was unmatched – but the thought of exchanging the practice target for man or beast was abhorrent to him. Nor was he craven; Jonor could swim, climb and balance on branches or narrow ledges better than anyone and never shrank from a challenge, leaping and turning somersaults that risked life and limb. He simply would not take a life or injure another creature. He was endlessly fascinated by the Carnival, always trying to sneak across the Bridge and past the guard, hiding in a group of Elves or Pixies. He joined the children of the Carnival families and learned to juggle, tumble and walk the high rope. His equine legs proved to be an obstacle at first but he soon learned to adapt the techniques. He would sneak back at dusk, trying to avoid the disapproving glances of his parents at his unexplained absence and enduring many scoldings over his behaviour. When Jonor was fifteen the Manguin of Lytos Meer came in force against the forest, once again protesting the Elven control of the Fall’s Gate and claiming land rights through the forest and across the Bridge. The council tried to keep the peace, reiterating the reasons why they had established the Bridge guard and the Carnival in the first place and explaining that the world of men had moved on to such a degree that to go back would be impossible. The Meerans would not listen. They numbered two thousand men including stripling boys barely trained, grizzled commanders who stayed in their tents, cooks, pot washers, smiths, stewards and errand boys. The real fighting force was more like twelve hundred, yet they outnumbered the Equiseen four to one.

Those Manguin from the villages near Lake Merriem turned out in support, since they had more common feeling for the Faerie folk than for their city dwelling cousins. Many Elves joined them who were skilled either with sword, bow or magic. Even the Pixies, though a very peaceful race, were determined not to let their side down and armed themselves if they could, or helped to evacuate the villages into the forest so that the women and children would be safely over the river from the fighting. The force of the forest now stood at seven hundred and among them stood Jonor Flax, armed and armoured, ready to defend his home and his family, yet fearing the guilt he would feel when forced to kill an attacking soldier.

The Meeran camp faced them across the two joining branches of the River Mist, upstream from the villages where the grasslands border the Near Plains. The villages stood deserted, the evacuation having been completed in short order when the approaching army came over the horizon, since the villagers feared pillage and burning.

The Equiseen and those with them kept well back from the river, forcing the Meerans to ford it if they wanted to attack, thus opening themselves to showers of arrows and to vicious metal spikes hidden among the slippery rocks on the river bed. Those who made it across were driven back by the highly skilled Equiseen and their compatriots. Naturally the Meerans had archers of their own and also constructed rough log bridges which were heaved into place across the river and catapults, which threw large rocks and showers of burning brush at them. The Norns spent a great deal of time and energy repelling these volleys, and also healing the injured among their comrades.

Part of the Meeran force broke away and tried to flank them, crossing the Mist River Bridge and coming over the lake in fishing boats, so the forest force had to divide itself to meet this second onslaught. It was a fierce and bloody battle that went on for days, regrouping, building and coming on again.

In the end, the last Meeran troops retreated, admitting defeat. They returned to their camp, packed up and left, nursing their wounds across the plains. Jonor had done his duty, but the cost was too high. He looked at the dead all around him and wept. As they removed all the bodies from in and around the river and burned them out on the plains, he decided he could no longer stay.

Given assurances of shelter by his friend, Emerden, he told his father that he was going to join the Carnival. Enraged by this betrayal, his father drew his sword, grabbed Jonor’s braid and sheared his hair short in one swing. He wept with shame as he told his son never to cross the Bridge into the forest again. From that moment until his death ten Turns later, he acted as though he had never had a son. Jonor had felt the eyes boring into him as he collected his few possessions from the village, broke his mother’s heart and crossed the Bridge of Aught Else for the last time.

Aysh was pondering all this as she parried Mikkol’s blows and the break in her concentration made her miss his back swing, causing her to drop and roll under the blade. Mikkol paused, panting and regarded her quizzically.

“Are you okay? You don’t seem to be really here.”

“I was just thinking. About Jonor Flax.”

“Jonor Flax? Oh, the old story about not breaking with tradition.”

“Except it’s not just a story, Mikkol. His mother lives near me; I’ve known her my whole life. My cousin says his father died from grief over his betrayal.”

“Okay, well ten Turns seems like a long time for grief to take effect, but I’m sure it was horrible,” Mikkol paused, not really sure what Aysh wanted him to say.

Aysh glanced up at him from where she sat on the mossy ground and sighed. Looking at her feet, she explained the root of her distraction.

“I just don’t see how you can keep the promise you made to me last night.”

Mikkol crouched beside her and cupped her chin in one hand. He touched his forehead to hers, breathing in the comforting scent of her.

“I don’t know either Aysh, but I will. I will find a way to make you happy. I don’t think I can change the whole Equiseen way of thinking, but even if we can gain our fathers’ support maybe they could persuade the elders it’s time for change, even small changes. It has to start somewhere.”

He sounded unsure even as he said it and when he looked into Aysh’s eyes he was met with stark terror.

“Mikkol have you utterly taken leave of your senses? If you tell our fathers you’ve been teaching me to fight they’ll have us both shorn before you can say change, never mind effect one! I know my father; he’s very traditional. And yours - the captain of the bridge guard? Can you honestly see him giving me a job? Letting us work together every day?”

Mikkol looked at the ground, chagrined.

“Maybe not,” he conceded. Then a new spark of enthusiasm brightened his eyes. “We’ll leave then; go and live in the mountains, or Lytos Bor or somewhere.”

“Leave? Leave your shining new position on the bridge guard? Hand back your cuffs? Would you really do that for me?”

Mikkol fingered the embossed leather arm cuff regretfully, but turned a resolute face to Aysh.

“I would. I’d do anything for you, for us. So that we can be happy together. I’m sure Lytos Bor has guardsmen – maybe even guardswomen!”

Aysh felt her eyes fill with tears as she gazed into his adoring face and her heart swelled.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” she sniffed, smiling. “There can’t be another man as good as you in the whole realm!”

“Well, there isn’t another girl in the whole realm to inspire anyone else to such goodness,” reasoned Mikkol, kissing her forehead. Aysh laughed and pushed him away.

“Don’t be so mushy-gushy!” she grinned, blushing. “Okay, enough talk; let’s practice more before the light goes completely.”

They stood and took up their swords again, but a rustling of leaves in one of the bushes made them both freeze in their tracks. Mikkol raised a hand to tell Aysh to stay where she was and placed his other index finger to his lips. Aysh mouthed ‘rabbit?’ but Mikkol frowned and shook his head. He crept toward the bush. More rustling indicated someone or something trying to escape out of the far side of the bush but Mikkol darted round and caught them as they emerged. He was shocked to discover that the kicking, screeching fury of tangled hair struggling to free herself from his grip was his own sister, Taya. He tried to overcome his shock and the sudden squeeze of fear around his stomach as he dragged her back into the clearing where Aysh was waiting. On seeing Taya, Aysh felt her blood run cold and a wave of nausea sweep over her. Taya wrenched herself free of her brother’s grasp with a squeal and faced them both, shaking with rage, tears running freely down her face.

“How could you do this?” she shrieked. “You’ve ruined everything! You’re right about our fathers; when they find out what you’ve done you’ll be shorn, and banished... and, and...”

“Taya, please!” pleaded Aysh, going to her friend, but Taya pushed her roughly away.

“Get away from me! I thought you wanted to be part of my family, not break it apart. I thought you wanted to be my sister. Couldn’t you have been happy with just joining with Mikkol? If you love him so much why isn’t that enough? How can you want to ruin his life – all our lives?”

“Taya I’m sorry,” cried Aysh, weeping herself now. “You don’t understand how I feel. It’s never been enough, what was expected of us. I’ve never felt okay with that, but I never knew how to change anything. Mikkol understands me; he’s the only one who does.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand. It’s our way of life, Aysh. It’s always been this way. What gives you the right to say it’s wrong, that it ought to change? Maybe there’s something wrong with you. You’re disgusting!”

“Taya,” warned Mikkol, “stop. Look, if you would try to calm down we can talk through this, try to make you see things from our point of view.”

“I don’t want to see things from your point of view. It’s warped – it’s wrong! I’m going home to tell our father everything, and you can’t stop me!”

“No!” shouted Aysh and Mikkol together, fear palpable in the air between them. Mikkol tried to reason with his sister again.

“Taya, please let me talk to father. Let me ask him to bring the joining forward. He should hear it from me, man to man. But they don’t need to know just yet. They’re all so happy and excited now, planning the ceremony and the party. Let’s not spoil it.”

Taya crumpled to the ground, sobbing brokenly. “Why did you have to ruin everything? I don’t know what to do. I loved Aysh, she was my best friend. But all this is so horrible, I don’t even know if she should be part of our family now. When it all comes out, everyone will be shocked and miserable, mother will be heartbroken, if you weren’t joined and you kept away from her, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for us.”

“Taya, listen,” said Mikkol, lowering his voice so only Taya could hear him. “I know you love Aysh and so do I; I’m not going to leave her. Whatever happens, it happens to us both. But nothing has to happen, Taya. You’re right that it would break mother’s heart and neither of us wants that. I think once the joining ceremony is past and the seclusion week, maybe it will be different. Maybe Aysh will see that life’s not so bad fitting in with everyone. Maybe she’ll have other things to think about – things like making you an auntie? I know you’d help her to see that, being her best friend. I know I can count on you to help me save her.”

Mikkol threw that last comment in knowing how it would appeal to Taya’s ego. He hated deceiving his sister this way, but he had to buy time for himself and Aysh to plan and he knew his sister very well. She was much more self-centred than Aysh, less mature and mainly concerned with how everything in her little world would affect her personally. Taya had always enjoyed being the centre of attention and was prone to jealousy. Her upset was rather less about the ruination of Equiseen tradition, although she was genuinely shocked by what she had seen and heard, and much more about the destruction of her mental self-portrait of ‘Taya the wonderful bridesmaid, sister-in-law and auntie’. Making Taya believe he could change Aysh’s whole outlook on life just by joining with her and making her pregnant should have been much harder than it was, but since Taya couldn’t really understand why Aysh wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect of wedded bliss and motherhood, it didn’t occur to her that changing that opinion might be quite difficult. Besides, seeing herself as the benevolent saviour, nursing her poor friend through a bout of mental ill-health, gave her a glowing feeling deep inside that she rather liked.

Taya’s eyes glinted with what she believed was understanding as this idea took root in her mind. She sniffed and wiped her eyes and threw a sidelong glance at Aysh as she whispered to Mikkol,

“So it’s like, you’re just going along with this for now, to save her from shame in the future? Because once she sees how lovely it really is to have her own home and a husband and a baby, she won’t want to change things anymore? Okay, I’m in. I’ll help you. Like you said, she is my best friend and I love her. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her either. Don’t worry Mikkol, you can count on me. One day we’ll look back on this and it’ll be like a hazy bad dream.”

Mikkol sadly hugged his sister, half wishing real life could be as simple as it appeared to be in Taya’s head. She had never wanted more, never wished for change. She believed wholly in their way of life, partly because she lacked the imagination to dream up anything different. She and Aysh had become friends because they were born in the same season and their mothers were close. Aysh had remained her friend even once they started to grow apart and she realised how different she was to Taya, partly because she realised how her difference would be perceived and Taya’s friendship safeguarded her from suspicion. Aysh did love Taya though, she couldn’t help it. She was so devoted to her friends and family, so bubbly and happy-go-lucky. She just couldn’t see further than the border of her own village.

Aysh, standing a few metres away and pretending to be unable to hear this whole exchange, couldn’t shake the feeling that her life had just changed forever. They would have to leave now, it wasn’t just talk. Taya would only stay quiet for so long if there was even a hint that she hadn’t ‘reformed’. She watched her beloved Mikkol lie and deceive his own sister, all for her sake, and breathed a guilty sigh of relief. Her insides churned as she thought of all the people they were going to hurt and what she would be making Mikkol give up, and the searing pang of guilt nearly made her want to abandon the whole plan right then and there. But the thought of all the years pretending to be someone she wasn’t steeled her. She walked over to Mikkol and Taya and asked, as if she hadn’t heard,

“Well, are you going to turn us in?”

Taya tried to look sympathetic and helpful.

“I won’t say anything Aysh, for now anyway. Mikkol and I both love you and we want to help you to be happy. I’m going to be there for you every day, to help you plan for your joining or if you need to talk or do something fun to take your mind off things. Whatever you need.”

She smiled at Aysh, thinking what a good friend she was being and how much Mikkol must admire her and how grateful he would be. She clearly had no idea how condescending she sounded.

“She’s talking to me as if I’m mad,” thought Aysh. “I suppose that’s what she must think. And she thinks she can cure me with picnics and swimming in the river! Well, I suppose it’s only for a few more weeks.”

Taya took her hand as if she was some sort of invalid and began to lead her home. Mikkol stowed the swords in waxed cloth under a bush and followed them, his gut clenched and mind racing. There couldn’t be much delay. Aysh would continue the pretence for as long as she could but Taya was clearly going to make it insufferable for her. She had agreed not to tell but Taya wasn’t very good at keeping secrets and an absent minded slip of the tongue was almost inevitable.

For himself, he knew that the longer he delayed the harder it would be to leave. The idea of adventure was exciting to him and the romance of sacrificing all for love and saving his beloved resonated with his youthful need to feel manly and mature. But deep inside he knew their life would be hard. Myrial villages were unlikely to accept two Equiseen strangers in their midst. It might be better in a city, but somehow he still doubted they would accept a female warrior. They would be so isolated, even in the crowds. Their childhood had been so secure, so easy. They were both too young to remember the last Meeran battle. Adventure was a bedtime story to them, full of glorious possibilities, devoid of risk or loss. Mikkol knew the reality would be very different. He trudged home, his conflicting emotions whirling inside him like autumn leaves in the wind.

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