Gaum awoke to the heavenly chirping of birds; the same sound he had awakened to every morning since before he could remember. His eyes flicked open long enough to gauge the time before settling closed again. An hour ’till dawn, he thought, time to get up. He rolled laboriously out of his small cot and made his way outside to tend to his morning duties of feeding the horses, cows, and sheep, and of milking the cows.
These cows would never get milked if it weren’t for me, he mused as he worked. My father wouldn’t do it… even when he does sleep at the house.
Gaum’s father was a drunk. Gaum had never seen him without a flask of wine in one hand and a drunken girl in the other. He seldom visited the farm, and when he did Gaum often wished he had not. Gaum didn’t like to be reminded of his father and moreover, didn’t like to think of the impression his father’s charades would leave on his little sister Ghale.
No, Gaum thought, Father wouldn’t lift a finger to help his own mother, let alone his son. Mother has her own chores and Ghale, ah, poor young Ghale, she would love to help, only she’s too young. Gaum thoughts became a wordless mixture of pity for his mother and sister, and anger at his father’s unstirred attitude. Presently, he heard his mother calling to him, “Gaum, breakfast!” and, after completing his predawn duties, made his way to the house by way of the washbasin.
The irresistible smell of freshly cooked biscuits filled his nose as he scrubbed his face with the coldly refreshing water. He finished scrubbing and strode lithely into the house.
Gaum’s mother was bustling about, somehow managing to set the table, butter the biscuits, and herd Ghale towards the table all while maintaining her self-composure. Ghale on the other hand was completely disheveled. She had been attempting to help her mother by cleaning the dishes when Eru, the family’s mischievous dog, had sprinted into the house, muddy after his morning romp with the other farm dogs. Eru had tackled her, held her down with his paws and proceeded to bathe her in kisses, only stopping after he was satisfied that Ghale was muddier and wetter than himself. Eru then dashed back outside and began to wrestle with the family’s pigs, apparently in order to restore his outer layer of mud. Gaum’s mother now shifted the majority of her attention to hauling Ghale outside to the washbasin, deaf to her pleas for freedom.
Gaum finished setting the table and buttered the remaining biscuits at a leisurely pace, pondering the upcoming events of the day. It was the final day of the harvest, which meant that tomorrow the celebrations would begin in Coldgard. Gaum had been eagerly awaiting the celebrations for some time; however, his mother had already made it clear to him that he couldn’t leave for Coldgard, which was about a 6 hour walk, until the harvest was finished, and that he could only go if he was guaranteed to arrive in Coldgard before dark. This would mean that Gaum had to leave right after lunch.
Hmm, he thought, if Djarr were to help, perhaps I can finish the harvest by noon-time, and still have time to reach Coldgard before dark. Getting Djarr to help will be the hard part…
The family sat down to a meager, but satisfying meal of biscuits. “Can I come to Coldgard with you Gaum?” asked Ghale, starting a heated breakfast conversation.
“Absolutely not” Gaum’s mother answered for him, “Haven’t you heard the stories? The roads aren’t safe anymore, even during the day.”
“Wait,” Gaum said, “I thought you said I could go as long as the harvest was finished.”
“You, not your sister”
“How is it any less safe for her than for me and Djarr?”
“She’s too young –”
“She’s only a year and a half younger than me.”
“Yeah,” cut in Ghale, “I’m not that young, besides, I get into less trouble than Gaum, he’s the one you shouldn’t let go, not me.”
“I said NO!”
“Ok, ok, ok,” said Gaum, winking at Ghale, “I understand. You are too young anyhow.”
“Pleaase?” asked Ghale with a slightly transparent tone of acquiescence.
“No.”
They proceeded to eat in silence until Eru slogged smugly into the house. His ears perked up as the mouth-watering smell caught his nose and he tore through the kitchen and into the dining room before sidling coyly up to the table with an innocent expression etched into his shaggy face. His care did not go unrewarded as Ghale slipped her biscuit crumbs under the table when she though her mother wasn’t watching.
Gaum presently ate the last biscuit and strode purposefully to Djarr’s cottage. He hammered on the archaic wooden door until Djarr opened it. “Djarr,” began Gaum.
“Yah, I will.” Interrupted Djarr
“Eh?”
“You came to ask me to help with the harvest so that we can go to Coldgard and I’m saying that
I will.” It was not a question.
“How’d you know?”
“Do you or don’t you want my help?”
“Well yeah but –”
“Then shut up and let’s get to work.”
The odd thing about harvests, thought Gaum, is that the amount of time it takes to finish decreases substantially with each additional worker. Silence reigned over their chore for several hours until Ghale tread lightly up to Gaum, “So when are we leaving?” she asked.
“Shhh… mother might hear, but we’re almost done here so we’ll leave right after noon-time meal.”
“Mother won’t hear. She’s gone.”
“Where’d she go?”
“How would I know, you know that she never tells us when she leaves.”
“Weren’t you gonna’ follow her today?”
“I was before I decided to come to Coldgard with you.”
Gaum sighed despairingly, women are so willful… even miniature ones, he thought. Yet he dropped the subject and graciously entreated her to fix them some lunch. After she left, he turned to Djarr, “I have half a mind to leave her here.”
“I have a whole mind to leave her here” Djarr snorted back “and to tie her down to keep her here.”
“We can’t do that Djarr she’s not a dog.”
“We can, and we will if we want her to stay, ‘cause I’d wager my fattest pig that she’s muley enough to try following us if we leave her”
“Djarr, don’t you see?” began Gaum
“Yes, I see,” Djarr interjected, “I’m fully aware that she has been waiting all year for this festival, and that she’s likely to make up a story that would get us in trouble if we leave her; however, I also see us being responsible for her if she comes, and us getting into more trouble for taking her than any tale she invents would get us into.”
“Well I see her telling the baker who stole her cakes last week, and telling your mother who put her drying clothes in the mud, and my mother who spread all those terrible rumors about her, and the blacksmith who beat all his horseshoes into those obscene shapes, and telling the brewer who drained his barrels and filled them with fermenting manure.”
Gaum and Djarr both jumped as Ghale, whom neither had heard approach, said, “Don’t forget about the time you two took Eru to a skunk’s den.”
“That too,” said Gaum.
And so it was decided then that the three of them would set out for Coldgard immediately, consuming the meat, cheese, and bread that made up their lunch en route.
**********
The sun drifted lazily into an autumn afternoon as Gaum and Djarr strode down the heavily wooded path to Coldgard while Ghale and Eru skipped ahead. Gaum cast about in his brain for some pleasant topic to discuss and, failing to find one, resigned himself to walking in silence. Djarr however, did not, instead broaching the one topic that Gaum had shunned.
“Aye, so ye’ve heard the stories then haven’t ye?” asked Djarr, who tended to forget his grammar rules when he was especially excited or distraught.
“What stories?”
Djarr threw a nervous glance along the tree-line before answering, “Wolves ye imbecile! Have ye heard about the wolves?”
“I’ve heard some,” said Gaum, “more than I should like to have heard as often as not.”
“Aye, I’ve heard the blasted creatures’ gone crazy. They ain’t satisfied wit sheep or deer no more, I hear they got a tastin’ for human flesh. There’s been talk in the village that only half the travelers down this road live to see the end of it.”
Gaum cut him off with a finger to his lips and a tacit nod of his head towards Ghale before he could say more. Djarr acknowledged him with a slightly raised eyebrow and was about to resume his morbid tirade when Ghale screamed. Gaum nocked an arrow as he hurried to her side; Djarr too had his axe loosened, and was with them in an instant. A revolting scene awaited them. The putrid corpse of a man lay broken in the road, though in reality it was little more than a pile of bones. The eyes were long since pecked out, as was the liver. The fat and muscle were gone too; all that remained were the strings of ligaments and the stench of decay. Eru barked once at it, nudged it with his snout as though expecting it to wake, and then backed away. A deeply troubled appearance supplanted his normally cheery countenance. The other three echoed his dismay.
Ghale ran to her brother and buried her face in his shoulder, “Who is it?” she cried.
“Perhaps ye mean who was it?” said Djarr with a gruff laugh.
Gaum shot him a look that would freeze ice, “I don’t know Ghale, but Djarr and I are going to make sure that it doesn’t become us, but we need to keep moving.”
Ghale didn’t move except to hug him tighter, “Promise me you’ll never leave me Gaum.”
“Why would I leave you?”
“Promise you won’t!”
“Ok fine, I promise,” Gaum said, slightly unconvincingly.
“Enough with this gushy nonsense,” Djarr said with a gesture towards the carcass, “we have to keep moving or we’ll all three wind up lookin’ like that thing.”
The four set off once more in greatly sobered mood; no longer did they skip or make idle conversation. The tightly nit pack trudged down the forest trail in a solemn silence. Gaum moved with an arrow half-strung, and Djarr fingered his loosened axe. Even Eru travelled with abnormal care, growling every now and then at unseen horrors, and the group breathed a unanimous sigh of relief as Coldgard crept into view.
**********
Saele casually opened her startlingly emerald eyes and flicked the fiery red hair out of them at Iduna’s light touch upon her lips. Iduna reached out mentally to her, it is time, came the unspoken message. The pair rose serenely and woke their eight companions while maintaining the vigil of silence. The nine women then encircled Saele and awaited her instruction. She was the leader of this small band of rebels, yet she was troubled. So few she thought, we are all strong, but will so few suffice? Shall we stand alone against the thousands? A myriad of questions and doubts clouded her brain, but she forced herself to focus; reaching out to her companions’ minds, We must move quickly if we are to survive, she began. It has been said that the old blood runs strong in these woods; however I know not how much truth there is to the rumors. Iduna, she allowed her eyes to touch those of Iduna and continued, you shall take half of the women to Samia. You must repel the forces of Romult. Samia must not fall.
As you command was Iduna’s tacit reply. She appeared to glide as she took four of the women westward towards the forests of Samia.
Saele then turned her attention to the remaining four women. You have come far from your homes in Midgar. Every one of you has been tried countless times through the harsh winters of the north. However, the true test has not yet come; your future trials shall pale the adversity you have hitherto endured together. Nevertheless, I believe there is still time to treasure one last golden day of peace. Go now to the festival in Coldgard and enjoy yourselves. Here she paused briefly, a mischievous glow capturing her visage as she continued in a lighter tone, I hear the Ilsiahnallian men are rather good-looking.
Saele heard stifled murmurs of approval as she spun on her heel and, golden hair whirling, began to move with a peculiar rapidity southward towards the streets of Coldgard.
**********
“Oho my sweets, what have we here?” asked the innkeeper, sinister as a wolf stalking its prey.
“We, err, we need a room for the festival,” Gaum replied hesitantly. The four were in the crowded common room of the Coldgard’s only inn as dusk crept across the sky. Gaum glanced anxiously at his companions, yet found his own apprehension echoed in their expressions.
“I think I’ve got just the place.” His hauntingly emaciated frame, hirsute face and beady, hungry eyes glowing golden in the lamplight added a consummate degree of deceitful malice to his words and cast an unpleasant aura over the entire scene.
“And where might that be?” Djarr asked with his typical cynicism, “Perhaps a perfect stall in the bloody stables?”
“Aye, somethin’ like that” hissed the innkeeper, eyes flashing with ineffable hatred “but whether you take it or leave it, it’s the last place in this whole blasted city.”
Gaum glanced outside at the rapidly darkening sky as it began to rain before replying, “Well I don’t see that we have much choice. We’ll take it, if only to stay dry..”
A hush fell upon the common room as the door opened and Saele glided in, elegant enough to turn every head in the room, yet commanding enough to make even the heartless innkeeper shiver. “Owwwww,” came a hoot from somewhere among the masses, “Ye got us a dancer!”
Saele laughed, substantially brightening the inn’s mood. “Perhaps later,” she replied with a sly wink as she strode up to the innkeeper, “if I’m to entertain these dogs I shall need a damn good room.” she said deviously.
“I’ll give you the best,” replied the wolfish innkeeper, “ye can share my bed an’ my wine.”
“Pssh you wish, I’ll sleep alone in the barn before I sleep with you”
“So be it, ye’ll sleep with these scrubs in the stables, or ye’ll not sleep here at all” he cackled with a drunken gesture at Gaum.
Saele gave the four a measuring glance before replying with a curt, “So be it.”
