Saturday, September 23, 2006

Chapter 2

Daelia stood fixed in place, gazing in awe at the city that lay spread out before her. Parsaena was the busiest place she had ever seen. Everywhere she looked were large buildings, houses, street vendors, open store fronts, carts and horses, and people; so many people! Men, women and children hurried by, focused on reaching their destinations, hardly bothering to glance at the young woman who stared at the sights around her, completely overwhelmed.

A vendor from one of the many booths set up along the street spotted Daelia and hurried over; but he shrugged his shoulders and turned back when she ignored his enticements to buy a gold bracelet. Perhaps she is lost, he thought glancing at her strange apparel. The long blue tunic and matching leggings were certainly not the local fashion for young women, and the bow she wore across her back was an uncommon sight in Parsaena. His attentions were diverted by another potential customer, however, and when he turned back, the strange woman was gone.

Daelia wandered through the streets and alleyways, trying to find a particular building in a place called the “southern district”. Before she and Finneas had parted early that morning, he had given her the address of his shop in Parsaena.

“Stay there if you wish, at least until I return in a week’s time. No, you needn’t pay me. Just guard my artwork as well as you have guarded me this night and that shall be payment enough. The owner of the bakery next door has the key; just tell him that I sent you and he’ll unlock the back door.”

She had been shocked that a stranger would entrust her with such a thing as his home and artwork. At her expression of doubt, he had merely thrown his pack over one shoulder and replied, “Well, if I return to find you and my paintings gone, I shall simply have the soldiers hunt you down with dogs, and they would most likely mutilate you past recognition.”

He grinned at the look of horror on her face. As he started down the road he called over his shoulder, “A good day to you, mistress Daelia!”

Though it had sounded like such a simple plan at the time, Daelia was now wondering exactly how she would find Finneas’ shop by nightfall. Entering the first gate she came to had led her directly into the southern district, just as Finneas had said it would, but now she had to find a specific street and she was beginning to despair. Each house, each street looked exactly alike to Daelia. This city was like a maze.

Looking above the rooftops, she could see that the sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow over the buildings that surrounded her. Though she had wanted to avoid talking to people on the street, she realized she needed help. Seeing a bent-over old man standing near the corner of a dreary looking home, she stopped to ask directions.

“Could you tell me where I can find Leiden Street, sir?” she asked as the old man openly stared at her clothing and bow curiously.

Only after she had repeated her question more loudly did he respond by shrugging his shoulders and walking away.

Suddenly, Daelia felt more alone that she had ever felt in her life. She managed to trudge down two more streets before finally collapsing on the doorstep of an empty-looking building. She pulled her legs up to her chest and buried her head against her knees, feeling miserable. Aiden would tell me that I should ask Deus for help; Taerith would keep walking calmly until he found what he searched for, and Ilara... Ilara would have simply placed an arm around her shoulders in silent comfort. Though Daelia had taught her beloved sister many things, she had always secretly felt that Ilara was the stronger one. Daelia usually put on a brave front, while inside she crumbled slowly.
Where are my brothers and sisters?

Deus, please help me...perhaps I have been putting you off...forgive me.

A tentative voice broke through her inner thoughts, “Are you well, miss? May I help in some way?”

She raised her head, meeting the sympathetic gaze of a bearded man wearing a heavy apron.

“Yes, sir; I’m afraid I am lost. I have been walking for hours and I cannot find Leiden Street.”

The man’s eyes brightened, “Well, you are fortunate, young lady; this is Leiden Street.

The girl stared at him in disbelief, then broke into tears.

“There, there, child, don’t cry,” he patted her shoulder as she tried to control her sobs, “Come into my shop and you shall have some bread. I baked it fresh this morning. Come, come.”

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“Finneas! Finneas Culwart sent you here?” the baker, a man named Sealen, turned from the hot oven his bearded face red.

"Yes. Do you know him?” Embarrassed by her tears outside, Daelia sat up straight in the wooden chair and tried to appear more capable than she felt. Sealen had set before her two thick slices of oat bread and a mug of hot cider and she was relishing her first meal of the day.

"Know him! Why, that young fool is my neighbor…left here yesterday on some escapade or another; always moving that one.” Sealen refilled her mug with more piping hot cider as he spoke. “I did not know he had a lady friend, though…too busy painting on rich people’s walls to have any friends but me.”

She was quick to correct him, “We are not friends; I met Finneas only last night on the road. I have nowhere to go and he was kind enough to let me stay in his shop until his return in a week, then I shall move on from here. He did say though that you would have the key to let me inside. Where is the shop?”

“Why, the very steps I found you sitting on outside belong to Finneas’s shop! You said you were lost, but there you were the whole time, right in the spot you had searched for so long. What a coincidence!”

’Twas not coincidence, sir. Deus blessed me despite my unbelief, and led me to you.”

“Who is this Deus? Is he travelling with you?”

“Deus is the God who has power over all,” Daelia paused as the thought struck her, “And yes, I do suppose he is travelling with me; but not in the way you mean."

The baker looked at the strange young women who spoke so openly about a single, all-powerful God. He pondered her words as a customer entered the tiny shop. A young woman, carrying a basket on one hip and a baby on the other, bought two rounds of barley bread, paid, and left quickly. Just as she passed out the door, another customer, this time an old man, came in. He and Sealen exchanged several friendly, good-natured remarks before the old man began a ten-minute tirade on the rising taxes in the city “to pay for those young squanderers and their frivolous feasts and parades.” Sealen merely nodded understandingly as he continued to knead dough on the long counter. Finally, the man asked for a loaf of oat bread, which the baker gave him, and left the shop after dropping a few coins in Sealen’s big palm. “Don’t know as I’ll be able to come as often anymore, my friend, if all of my money starts going out in taxes,” he said on his way out the door.

Sealen shook his head and kept on punching the dough with the heel of his hands, speaking more to himself than to Daelia, “My taxes are as high as anyone’s, but what can a man do? My sales continue to drop; my friends cannot afford to buy as much, even to feed their families. But our people have no voice. Someone much higher than us makes the decisions and it does no good to stir up trouble...only disaster can follow.”

Daelia was not sure what the old man had been talking about; she had never heard of taxes. What were they for and who did they go to?

At her inquiry, the baker gave a laugh completely void of humor, “That, miss, depends on who you ask. Our money is supposed to be going towards improvements on our streets, waste removal, the military, feeding the poor and other things. But people are beginning to suspect that funds are being diverted into private purses.” He stopped kneading for a moment to look Daelia in the eye, “Despite the proud praises young Finneas may sing of Parsaena, she is not the magnificent city that once ruled this region.

“I am but a simple baker and have very little knowledge of politics and the roles of the governor; but even the simplest of men may realize when the future of their city is being compromised for the excitement of one night’s wining and feasting.”

He saw the confusion in her expression, but waved his hand in dismissal. “Never mind, child; our troubles are our own and you say you shall move on in a week’s time.” He went into a back room, and returned with a large iron key, “Now, let us see if we can get you into Finneas’ shop for the night.”

Monday, September 04, 2006

Chapter 1

The sun was setting over the trees, casting a red flush across the hillside. Shadows grew longer and a night-wind rustled the branches of the firs, casting eerie silhouettes across the path. Daelia, weary and saddlesore, watched the fiery sphere sink lower and lower, finally giving way to the pale moon as her horse plodded slowly onward. Soon it would be too dark to ride any further; the first day of her banishment was nearing its end. She began looking for a place to settle in for the night. Or at least for her horse to settle in—there would be no peace in her sleep this night. Since daybreak, the long hours on the road had been spent chiefly in brooding over her misfortunes, and now at the end of the day Daelia felt no closer to understanding these mysterious turn-of-events than ever. Her one consolation was the new sensation of freedom slowly creeping upon her. She was free to go anywhere she liked! You have always wanted to see what lies beyond Braedoch—now here is your chance. New people and beautiful places; you should be happy.

She wasn’t happy; couldn’t be happy when she did not know where her brothers and sisters were or how they were faring. Perhaps these feelings will pass, perhaps someday I can forget. Forget her family? How could she even think she would forget them? But it hurts so much. Daelia groaned, tipping her head back to stare at the stars twinkling overhead, letting the breeze blow through her hair, long fallen out of its combs.

A branch alongside the path ahead cracked loudly. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she gripped the reigns more tightly, straining her ears for more sounds. Nothing—all was silent but the wind, and the clip-clop of her horse’s hooves. Had she imagined it?

The horse stopped as she pulled back sharply on the reins—there was something watching her from beneath the shadows, she could feel the eyes burning her. Daelia swung the bow off her back and reached for an arrow, but it was too late. Two rough hands grabbed her right arm and the fabric of her long cloak from behind, jerking her from the saddle. A second person seized her horse’s halter before the horse bolted in fright. Daelia threw a punch at her attacker, but the large man evaded the fist and pushed her to the ground. In the scuffle, she accidentally lost her grip on the bow, and it went flying into the tall grass beside the road.

“Don’t fight little missy, and we won’t hurt ya too much.” Snarled the man who held her pressed to the cold ground on her stomach, arms pinned behind her. She struggled, but the man was simply too strong. “We’s just gonna borrow your horse here and whatever items of worth ya might be carryin’ if ya don’t mind.”

“I most certainly do mind! Now let me go!”

The dirty man laughed, blowing foul breath into the girl’s face, “Don’t matter if ya mind or not, we’re takin’ ‘em anyhow!” Something pointy jabbed between her shoulder blades, “Now quit yer movin’ or I’ll be forced to use this knife in a way you won’t like.” Quickly the stinking man went through the pockets of her heavy cloak and the small money bag she had tied around her waist, all the while keeping the knife poking into her back.

He removed her money bag and searched her pack of clothing, leaving clothing strewn about on the ground, then turned to his partner who still stood holding my horse. “Ain’t got much on her but these coins and the horse; we’d better take what we got and get outa here.”

Then as quickly as the thieves had appeared, they were gone again, taking the horse and all of the girl’s money with them. Daelia herself lay stunned on the side of the road, too shocked to move. Her transportation and means of getting food had vanished; only a few articles of clothing were left to confirm that the thieves had ever been there.

Slowly she began picking up the scattered items, stuffing them back in the discarded cloth bag. Where is my bow? In the dark it was almost impossible to see anything in the grass and brush, but she slowly felt around with her hands, searching for the smooth wooden handle of her treasured bow. Though she discovered her quiver of arrows that the man had carelessly tossed aside, she could find nothing of the bow.

Exhausted, cold, and trembling still from fright, Daelia sat between the roots of a large fir tree with her bag and quiver. Pulling her cloak close around her, she willed herself to breathe evenly. From a distance off an animal began to howl mournfully. She felt the gravity of her situation fully, realizing how close to danger she had come that night. What is going to happen to me out here, all alone with no weapon? I hope I will live to see the morning. Are the others having such a bad time of it as I am? Don’t think about it--try to sleep. A very long night followed for Daelia, with a sleep that only led to nightmares. In her dreams, the thieves returned—but instead of the dirty man whom had kept her bound, in the dream it was Duard; robbing her of everything she held dear.

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The sensation of raindrops on her cheek woke Daelia from a restless sleep. The morning sky that greeted her was dark with storm clouds, and a blustery wind from the north blew cold. Good traveling weather it was not, but satisfyingly appropriate for her current disposition.

Standing up slowly, she tested out each sore limb—the result of her cramped position between the roots of the tree and trying to stay warm. March was a fine time for Duard to send us wandering over hill and dale. He could have at least waited till May, the lying, worthless...

The thought died when her eyes alighted on an object lying not far off in the wet grass, right beside the road. Gathering her bag and quiver, Daelia hurried over, knowing that she had found what she had spent so long searching for the previous night. The treasured bow was unharmed, only a little wet when she picked it up and examined it; and lying in the very spot that she had gone over so carefully.

Momentarily cheered, she placed the bow over her shoulder, and began to walk as the rain came down more steadily. She was grateful for her heavy woolen cloak, even though she was fairly soaked by the time the sun finally appeared that afternoon.

By this time the landscape had begun to change slightly. Trees were fewer and farther between, and wide, green meadows sprawled lazily over the countryside. The air had also become warmer, making it necessary for Daelia to carry her cloak over her arm. After the lingering signs of winter in Braedoch, the fertile growth of this area was beautiful. She wished she knew where she was, for there had not been a town or village for miles, and she was hungry. The road stretched out before, seemingly never to end. Perhaps once she came to the top of the large hill that she could see several miles down the road there would be a town or an inn. Not that it made any difference. She sighed; there was no money with which to buy food anyways.

In the early evening, she found a bush alongside the path that held a few purple berries, but when she had plucked them all found that she had no more than a handful. One by one she ate them, finding them a little sour and strange in flavor. Though helpful, it was hardly enough to satisfy her growling stomach.

Suddenly, down the road came the faint strains of a melody. As Daelia watched from beside the berry bush, the figure of a man came around the bend and into view. A tall, lanky figure dressed in a bright tunic of blues and gold, the man walked with a jaunty air and whistled a lively tune. A pack was thrown over his shoulder and the setting sun caught the fiery glint of unruly, red hair. He drew closer, and was almost about to pass by when a movement caught the corner of his eye. He jumped visibly, caught off guard by the sight of a girl staring at him from the roadside.

“By the gods, girl, I did not see you! What do mean by just standing there? Are you a robber? I never carry anything of value on my person if you are interested.”

Daelia examined this funny character, taking in his carefree stance and noting his seeming lighthearted inquiry as to her being a robber. The expression on his face said he rather hoped she was a robber, as though meeting one would be rather exciting.

“I am not a robber, sir, and I had no intention of startling you.”

"Then who are you and what were you doing?”

Daelia rather thought it none of the stranger’s business, but out of politeness she answered, “My name is Daelia, and I was picking berries for my supper.”

“Well my name is Finneas Culwart.” He came closer, removing the pack from his shoulder. Seeing his face closer now, she saw that he was much younger than she had first supposed. “If you don’t mind my asking, why do you eat berries for supper? Have you no food of your own?”

“No, robbers relieved my of my purse last night and I have had nothing to eat since midmorning…yesterday.”

Finneas took note of the bow and arrows the girl wore across her back and motioned to them.

“Do you know how to use those things properly?”

Daelia drew herself up to her full height, her ire rising at his forward manner, “I have been using a bow since the time I could pick one up. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean—“

"By the gods, I don’t doubt your ability; my own aim has always been ghastly! Now before you say anything else, listen to my proposal. If you agree to camp with me tonight and keep away anything that might cause us trouble, I’ll share my supper with you. I have more use for your bow than the bread and meat it will take to feed you.”

Though his manner rankled her, having never been exposed to such a bold personality before, she could not deny her need for food. She agreed to guard the traveler in exchange for a meal.
Sitting beside the campfire an hour later, she ate the brown bread and venison with relish, listening to Finneas talk. In fact, he was very good at talking. Daelia was beginning to doubt whether he stopped for breath between sentences.

“It is quite fortunate I happened upon you actually,” he was saying while adding another stick to the fire, “I would have not liked being alone in a place like this all night; because of the wild animals more than the thieves. Like I said before, I don’t carry anything of value with me, only a change of clothing, food for my journey, and a knife. You see, I am on my way to my home in Wainden, if you know where that is. No? Well it is about a day’s journey from here on the other side of the river. Anyways, I am going back to Wainden to collect my belongings, sell my house, and buy a horse. As soon as I have done that, I am going straight back to Parsaena to live, where I will—“

Daelia interrupted Finneas, curious about something, “Where is Parsaena? Why is it better than your home?”

Finneas sighed impatiently, as though she had asked a foolish question, “The great city of Parsaena lies only half-a-day’s journey south along the River Theine. Surely you have heard of it! No? Where have you been living all this time?” He did not stop for an answer, “The people of Parsaena are far more appreciative of beauty and talent than the unsophisticated peasants in Wainden. My shop receives commissions from some of the noblest families in Parsaena, whereas in Wainden, I sold only one piece of work in three years. By work I mean art, of course.” A thought occurred to him suddenly, “Say! You said you have nowhere to go. Why not go to Parsaena? It is far more beautiful there than any old country village you will find along this road. But I must say I’m getting sleepy; I’m almost too tired to talk. I hope you don’t mind if I go to sleep now, I have a long way to walk tomorrow.”

Daelia nodded her head absently as he stretched out on the ground and promptly fell asleep. She was still trying to sort through his torrent of words. Parsaena? Was is as wonderful as Finneas had told her? He said it was beautiful. Perhaps I can at least journey through it, if only to see for myself.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Prologue

Nearly finished. Only this little bit left before I must go to the house and begin supper. Daelia Romany held the sharp tool loosely in her slender hand as she put the finishing touches on the carving. Weeks of careful labor had gone into this, the culmination of everything she had taught herself about woodcarving. The bow was almost perfect, her best work yet, and now it was done. Daelia set the tool down on the table beside which she sat, and blew the wood dust out of the delicately swirled design. Running her fingers over the length of the three-foot bow, she marveled at the beauty of it. Now there was only to add the string that would send her arrows flying; but that would have to wait until later. Right now she must begin preparing for the evening meal. Taerith returns tonight; I do hope he brings back some fish for us. As she untied her leather apron and hung it on a nail, she mentally planned out the meal: Fried fish, potatoes, and Aquila’s bread would make a nice—

Abruptly the roughhewn door of the woodshop swung open and Ilara’s face appeared, “I thought you may have been absorbed in your work; I came to remind you of the meeting tonight.”

Suddenly, any elation Daelia had felt at the completion of her bow drained out of her. She had forgotten.

Daelia left the woodshop and hurried up the path to the house, taking note of the smoke rising from the chimney. At least the fire has not burned out; I will already have a late start on supper tonight. She paused before passing through the door, hastily sweeping her long dark-red curls back up onto her head with wooden combs, willing them to stay in place. They had fallen down around her face as she worked.

Inside the dimly lit main chamber, she saw that several of her brothers and sisters had already congregated. Taking a place beside her younger sister to the left of the fireplace, she remained silent as her siblings slowly entered the room; glancing around at the faces that stared either at Duard or glanced nervously at each other. The looks that Aiden and Taerith were casting at their guardian could have turned water to ice. The air was heavy with unease and apprehension; and something else—impending disaster. It was so strong, she could almost see it. Then Duard began speaking.

“Braedoch is no longer home to you, nor are you any longer a family. You will each depart alone. You will have nothing more to do with each other from this day forward. You are not to communicate, and absolutely not to see each other. If you do, terrible consequences will follow—I am warning you now."

Daelia’s knees almost buckled in shock at his words. Too far; he had simply gone too far this time. How could he? How dare he! But he did dare, and they would obey, each and every one of them without question. That was just the way things had worked for most of her twenty-three years. She had come this evening anticipating one of Maeron Duard’s lectures on submission or another new rule set over them to further limit their freedom—but not this…merciless, cold cruelty.
"Make whatever preparations are necessary. You leave in three days."
Daelia looked about at her family, most of them now speechless with astonishment; except for Taerith.
"You are banishing us?" Daelia could feel the caution in his question.
"Do you question me?" Duard demanded wrathfully. Taerith's answer was almost a whisper. "No."
I do! Daelia screamed inside. Duard’s gaze swung to her as though he had heard her unspoken thought. Where will we go? What will we do? How could she live without her family?

She decided the answer to her own question as she packed her belongings three days later and mounted her horse, swinging her new bow across her trembling shoulders. She would live, and someday she would see them all again. She could feel it.