Chapter 2 "Petals"

Kathio walked with Pen beside her. She’d long since begun to feel worried about the strange movement among the grass at every side of the beaten track and she wondered about who could have beaten the track in the first place. Far ahead was the tall tower and they seamed to walking in a straight path that would pass it. Thargon had told her the journey would take a week and the tower was a half way point.
Peak was right about the days of three hours each, but after that it was just night. The land was so wide and flat she could see all the way across the canyon and could finally appreciate how high the cliff had to be to block so much light on such a vast land. They were in the second day and had found exactly how light was taken for granted as it was nearly impossible to travel in the darkness, yet they did so. The darkness was not like the nights in the river lands- where the sky would turn black and there would be stars.
The land was dimly lit until true night fell and they knew it was time to sleep. During the days, she could see her footing but it was like it was day and the curtains were shut and the distance she had to walk to open them was not worth the effort. They could see the sky; it was blue but seamed somewhat dimmed by the invisibility of the sun.
When the light came, the flat lands before of her looked dark green and black, still. There was a thicket around the base of the tower, which was made of white stone. She hadn’t expected the tower to seam so light, even in the sun, as she’d expected something dark and grave. There was nothing more beautiful in the entire expanse of the planes, but she knew that the dark would come and the tower would be black again.
She remembered one of the nights when old Morgan came to tell a story of his ventures in the huge room where the fire was lit, the communal hall of the village. She remembered how he was sat at the level of all the children, on the floor, despite his age. She remembered his wrinkled face being half light and half shadow where he sat next to the fire, facing all of the children of the village.
She’d admired him, but never wanted to be like him though her father was going to teach her how to use all of the same skills such as sword play. Old Morgan would tell tales of the beautiful elfen people of Tir’Heulwen, with their flowing blond hair and blue eyes the colour of the sky in the spring- not the darker colour of the summer- or eyes the colour of thick ice. She fantasised about herself being a beautiful princess of those distant lands with hair past her waste, wearing a long white dress and walking through a tall forest with pointed ears, a delicate touch and soft mauve eyes.
That dream was flattened by her father. “Those are enemies of ours; don’t give the children ideas that those people are good people. The people of that Tir have a very different idea of what is right or wrong. They don’t punish their criminals, they exalt them!” He said as his frown deepened into the bridge of his nose.
“I see… you would rather me give the children nightmares tonight?” Old Morgan laughed.
There was an excited gasp among the children and giggles rang out among them.
“It seams they’ve already chosen, they wish for me to tell them a dark, dark tale of another race from afar… Shall I tell more of TirHeulwen, children?” He guided them for their answer with the tone of his voice.
They all shook their head glumly and protested. “No… can we hear a new story, Mr?” Pen insisted.
“You want to hear another story? Who wants to choose a place? You, Pen?” He looked at her and his influence over the children was the kind that adults couldn’t see anymore but he was telling them what he wanted them to say if they wanted to hear the most exciting stories.
Pen shook her head and looked back at the ground.
His eyes moved to Kathio, who was playing with the ends of her golden hair. When she realised she was being stared at she lifted her head and glared back with her cobalt eyes glinting in the torchlight. He seamed impressed by her defiance. “Would you like to choose a story, Thio?” He asked.
She nodded.
“Where would you like to hear about?” He looked at her more carefully, but this was one little girl he couldn’t control.
“Somewhere farther away than TirHeulwen… but not too far… Because we can’t go there if it is too far away…” She said childishly and he grinned at her innocence.
“You can go anywhere in the world if you know how to travel there… but TirHeulwen is very, very far away.”
“No it isn’t.” She said bravely.
“Oh?” He looked amused.
“I’ve seen it on a map; it’s right next door to us, to TirAvon.” She said. “That’s why we’re enemies, which is silly really because everyone in the village is friends with the people next door to them but we can’t be friends with the people who live in the country next to us.”
“I see.” He looked up at her father. “Your girls are intelligent young things, MazhOh. You should be proud of them, as you are of your son.”
“My daughters are a pain!” MazhOh laughed.
“As you wish… I shall tell you a dark tale of somewhere named TirIs… though TirIs is a vast land and I shall only tell a tale of a place named TirDu, but the people are the same.
“All across TirIs are the people of the Is, they are similar to the people of TirHeulwen. They have pointed ears and they are descendants of the elves, but they are known as serpent elves. These elves have skin the colour of the sky and hair, raven black, the colour of aged copper or blood red… but in these areas it is dark green-blue. Their skin is dark and their teeth are whiter than any other race’s teeth. They are strange creatures and keep themselves secret.
“There’s a tower in the middle of the land of TirDu, where she sun does not shine. It is made of black rocks and reaches for the sky it may never touch. In the tower live the people of TirDu. I’m lucky to ever have known them, for they kill all trespassers and despise all that don’t share their temperament and ideas of punishment…
“Their idea is that if you kill, you are killed. They believe that those who do not understand their religion should die and suffer the wrath of the Gods.”
“How are you alive, Mr Morgan?” Pen asked.
“That’s a good question, Miss Orien.” He gazed over the children again then glanced at Kathio’s father who looked reasonably disinterested. “I told them that I could be a spy for them!”
“Oooh!!!!” The children grew even more excited than before. “Mr Morgan! Mr Morgan!”
He laughed. “They let me in as I could tell them all about you children!”
There was little of a story in it, but it was a telling of a people that Kathio had grown to understand was just a way of getting her father off his tail. MazhOh always had a way of picking on Morgan’s stories and particularly hated the ones of romance and war, such as the one of the white warriors near Breet.
“Only tell the children true stories!” He’d objected.
“That’s as I intend to do.” Morgan reasoned where he sat.
MazhOh shook his. “There’s no love in war!”
“Do you not believe me?” Morgan looked surprised, yet roguish. “I tell them true stories of Breet… where I used to fight along side Captain Bran who’s’ real name is Prince Wyragrec.” He turned his attention back to the children. “Captain Bran once fought a battle that could not be won!”
“Oh nonsense!” Kathio’s father protested again, but resumed drinking his ale with no fuss and a grin on his face as he listened.
“Bran was the captain of a grand army indeed, and he was very loyal to the King KalonDu. He was a man that no other man could ever defy or deny any of his orders, with his grey eyes that could stare giants into pixies. He was brave and always protected his people.
“Captain Bran was fighting the white warriors, a race with no identifiable features, no mercy, no flaws, no names and no loss until the day they skirmished in a small town in the mountains of the unclaimed planes.
“Bran’s army had combined with those of Lord Emyr and Lord Sinsir to make an even bigger army. They were on the retreat and met a dead end in the village of Trefac’h. There was a lake as large as the entire river lands, and the cliff walls as high as the walls of the castle here.
“The night before the two sides met, Bran had a dream in which the four guardianesses of this realm told him of a fate. They showed him that there would be one who could show him his true way. They told him that his cousin was only on the thrown for a lie that had been told and that there would be one who could show him, and all of Breet, that the lie was but a lie. They told him that this one person could bring the rightful king to the thrown and that it was essential that Bran would protect this person for the protection of the kingdom of Breet.
“He said that KalonDu, his cousin, was rightfully king and there was no way that there could have been a lie. He told them that they should leave him be, he refused the mission they set to him to protect this one they refused to name.
“They showed him a vision, a woman dressed in white on a silk sheet of green leaves. Her hair flowed down her back, she was a woman of Breet with a thin nose and defined chin. Her hair was long, pale, pale blond and her eyes were the colour of the sky in spring. Her skin was delicate and white. Then, suddenly, the sheet was torn through by the sword of a white warrior.
“He stared angrily at the four guardionesses. He was furious that they should let the white warriors be so disrespectful and they replied with “but it is you who lets them be so, Bran.” The image faded and left Bran alone in the dark, before he awoke.
“That day, they were attacked. They believed that these fighters were going to kill them as their blows could not harm them, yet they wounded many of Bran’s men. However, in the skirmish, no man was killed but a white warrior was captured.
“The warriors all dressed exactly the same, unalike to the warriors of TirAvon who wear many different types of armours and many different cloaks and carry different weapons. They wore silver armour, silver masks, white cloaks with hoods and cloaks. Their masks revealed nothing of their race or heritage. These creatures were thin, tall beasts with a silent step. If one was standing behind you, you wouldn’t hear him until his stroke fell! Pao!”
The children jumped and gave little squeaks. They giggled for a while then resumed listening intently.
“Bran didn’t feel he wanted for his cousin to be removed from the thrown, he was loyal to him, so, very deep in his heart, he felt he wanted to let their prisoner escape. However, his loyalty to his king told him that this was the prisoner the king wanted to see. Bran could have killed the prisoner but he didn’t want to because of that deep, deep feeling that he needed to let this story run and let the woman with the eyes like the spring skies die as she would bring Breet to a different end, perhaps a bad end.
“He felt guilt, for his responsibility was to serve the four guardianesses whether it was official or not. He knew that he would have to do their bidding so he would have to hold on to this prisoner until he knew what to do and he knew the guardianesses would show him what needed to be done.”
“Why didn’t he take off the mask?” Pen asked. To her, it was pure common sense and didn’t need thinking about to be done.
“It would be disrespectful and some had tried. Y’see, when the warrior awoke, he was tied to a post with three feet of chain for him to move around. He didn’t like that at all. He looked around at those who surrounded him and a man was about to reach for his mask when
“Wham! The man found himself on the floor and that’s when it started. They’d thought this warrior was unarmed, but all of a sudden he had a silver dagger and another. One for each hand! There were thir-“
“Quiet, Morgan.” Said a woman at the sides.
He craned his neck to see who it was. “Oh… Dwrgi.” A grin spread across his face and he could have been but twenty years old.
“These are children; they don’t need to hear that story.” She told him in a soft voice.
“Should I tell another? I am attempting to show them that love can happen during a war.”
“Don’t tell that story…”
“There is another I could tell… about a young man, a young poet, who found himself mixed up with the very same war.”
She laughed. “Learn this, young children. Love can happen anywhere but that doesn’t mean that you will find it everywhere you go and don’t assume that, because of the stories my good friend tells you, you will find love in exactly the same way. Not every man who saves your life will be your true love. Love can be rare, very rare. Some people may never find it.”
“Do you believe that?” Morgan looked at her and his command over the children forced them to look at her, also.
“I do believe it. But the story goes on… Leave out the parts that aren’t good for the ears of children.”
“You’re such a cynic, Dwrgi.”
This was the story Kathio knew had to be myth. She knew this story couldn’t possibly be true. It was of a power so great that there was no reckoning with it, a power that could only be unlocked by love and fate. She didn’t believe in fate. She believed everything was as simple as it was; she didn’t hate the idea of fate but she didn’t believe in it. Fate was for the stories that she so enjoyed listening to. She did not believe in ‘true love’; it seamed a bit overrated and she believed in politics and there was no room for someone to ‘fall in love’ and forget their duty. It could not fit in the real world.
The story was of a woman who hid her identity to stay alive long enough to avenge the deaths of her family. Fate brought to her the one man who would help her. The man was the rightful heir of a thrown and he did not know it. He was given, by fate, the person who could tell him the truth about the demise of his childhood friend and explain what really happened.
Remembering those stories reminded her of how much older Atheilel was than Pen and Kathio. Atheilel was helping in the village hall at the age of thirteen, while Kathio was five and Pen was seven years old. Thargon was fifteen, but he never attended those sessions. Kathio knew little of him.
Morgan told another tale of peoples, or mentioned them many time. These people were of a different kind, they weren’t bound by country of birth, colour of skin or eyes and hair, gift and graft or race but by their purpose.
“Even you, Kathio, might be touched by these ones some day. They are the mistresses of fate. They are the controllers of the world. They make your future by your own will and they write your wants and needs. They make the stories I tell and the stories I am going to tell.”
His eyes were fixed on her as if, out of the entire crowd of children, she was the one his words were aimed at. “They can’t tell me what to do. No one can.”
“Indeed.” He laughed again then sighed and looked over the children sitting before him. “Have I ever told you of the land of the hierarchies?...”
There were many stories that he told them, he taught them all about the world and the lessons he turned were the ones that Kathio, though reluctantly, learnt the best. However, Morgan never told anyone where he came from and the night Dwrgi breezed through was the only night they remembered that he’d come from the outside and people knew him from the outside.

Chapter 1 of "Petals"

Kathio remembered what the seer had told her and what the people of the rocks had said. There shall be a journey where the line will be tainted but your path home will still be as clear as ever though the soil will be crimsoned with blood… Take this. The package she’d been handed by the seer was still unwrapped in her sack. The mountain people gave her advice only, not a forecast. Keep that which is dear to you very close, all the time, even in promise that it would be returned. It’s what she did not say that will be of more importance. The truth always finds the liar who opposes it.
She stared over an expanse of marsh. There was only darkness in front of her. Tirdu was an expanse of unbroken shadow. She could see that there was a cliff where it ended so far ahead. It was like a long, thin streak of light at the horizon. She imagined the land was warm and dry, but green seamed to sparkle amongst the white. The horizon was jagged with the tops of tall buildings, one stood out in particular. The castle of Tirsàël was the ruling place of TirHeulwen.
Thargon and his troops were below her, preparing things and fare welling friends among the mountain people. They were inside the canyon of the four serpents where the serpent elves resided. There was light, but it did not shine on the land. In the centre of the vast domain was a huge tower of uneven, black rock. Half way up, the light started to shine on it and she could see that the walls were mostly made of thick glass. She did not step forth. The tower, silhouetted against the sky, looked like a long black cord hanging from the centre of the sun.
“There are three hours of light on these planes. Such short days they have…” Peak stood next to her with his bright cyan eyes set in his black skin. His light green-yellow dread locks hung down over his chest, they were tucked behind his ears. There seamed to be more feathers in each lock. He was holding something, and seamed to be pondering about something.
“Thank you for guiding us, my friend.” No one had made her feel more welcome in these distant lands than Peak had.
“No.” He grinned a demonstration of his pearly white teeth. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence… and especially for bringing Pen and Atheilel with you.”
“You know we are not here deliberately, don’t you?” She smiled and frowned at the same time when she turned to him.
“It’s fate that brought you here, not your own free will.” He spoke to the wind as he stared back over the dimness before him.
“We will be travelling home; I doubt I’ll ever meet you again.”
“You will… you will come back.” He said optimistically. His note changed. “More importantly, as you walk through those lands… you should be protected. It may look baron and deserted but that suits the beasts that live there… You should wear armour and arm yourself with something. Take this.”
He offered her a short sword with a curve at the end. The handle was silver with simple engravings of birds into it. In his hands, it was resting on top of a sheath attached to a loose belt. “It’s a falchion.”
“Why does everyone seek to give me gifts?” She cocked a brow at him. “I don’t wish to be given things by everybody. I’m a simple soul, just like everyone else.”
“No soul is simple, Miss Orien.” He corrected her. “You might understand that when these gifts that so many people give you become useful.”
“Thank you.” She said quietly when he pushed the object towards her and she was forced to take it. She reluctantly grasped the handle and cast her eyes over it slowly.
“No matter what, you must find your way home… no matter what lies for you on the path. You will make yourself their hope and ithout you they might not make it home.”
“You over estimate me, it is Pen who’ll be the hero. She has proven herself twice the fighter that I am even though our lessons showed more promise in me.
“She’s proven herself, aye, but it is your story that this one will become and you will lead yourself not just of her example but of your own.”
She nodded and he smiled as if he had something to hide.
“I have another thing… It’s to guarantee your safety; I didn’t think they’d arrive in time.”
“You mustn’t.” She told him. “Stop giving me gifts.” She half pleaded.
“Just one big gift, after all… It’s better that you make it home, as you.” He said and gestured towards two dark skinned men who carried a large case between them as they ambled up the path, seemingly effortlessly. “It’s to keep you safe.” He excused.
They stopped in front of her and she didn’t move. The case was cracked open to reveal something that sparkled in the light. There was a breastplate, built for a small build man or a woman and a full helm with a mask that looked a threatening pattern of dark and shadow. They were built to look genderless and the metal appeared thick and heavy. There were engravings around the side that matched those on the hilt of the falchion.
“I don’t intend to fight.” She stated.
“You will find the choice will be made for you on this journey and I would rather think you were well protected on the way across the shade of the land.” He continued.
Before she knew it, the armour was being fitted and there were cuffs, gloves with only a patch on the back of the hand and shin guards to go with it. Her hair was tucked into the helm and she pushed her hood over the top so the mask looked even more sinister. Her cloak covered what the breast plate didn’t as it curved over her shoulder. She flexed her fingers and drew circles with her wrists to get used to the cuffs and gloves. The Shin guards were put into her sack as she was wearing, still, a dress.
“You don’t look like a warrior… yet.” He said mischievously and she shot him a look as if to say this blade will be red if you even mention another thing to add. He laughed in response. “There will be room on the way for you to learn what makes a warrior, but you’ll never need to be one.”
She sighed as she pulled her sleeves down to the cuffs to cover her bare arms. She removed the helm and started pushing it into her huge barrel of a bag.
There was barely any room left. She was forced to remove the cage. In the barred box was a small rodent with white fur. The trained mouse was a gift from the desert women. When she opened the trap door the small creature crawled out and up her arm.
“You seam to make him feel comfortable. How do you feel so easy with a mouse on your shoulder?”
“He’s a cheerful little thing who’s only out to have fun… I think I should name him… I’ll name him Peak, after someone else who is also cheerful and out to have fun.”
Peak smiled again. “You’d better be going; Thargon will be pining for you.”
“Good bye, my friend.” She bowed to him and he did the same back. She didn’t understand why he did that, for she was a stranger in his country where he was prince.
Kathio was the traveller who might never find her destination, she felt as she turned away from the place that had given her so much hospitality. She turned away from that place, where the people had been so kind yet they’d had no reason to be.
She barely remembered why she’d left home and how she’d arrived in this place, so far away. She’d been told so many times, by so many different peoples that it was fate that had brought her there and that every wound was a pain to be taught. She’d learnt many things, or so she felt. She didn’t know what it was she’d learnt, but she felt now as if she understood the world even though she was so far away from it.
Her footing was hard to find as she wandered down the small hill with her sack on her back. She was going to keep it close to her, no matter what. She was going to keep Peak, the mouse, close to her and her Pen and Atheilel close to her and she was going to keep herself close to Thargon’s fighters.
She knew the voyage home was going to be hard, and she knew it was going to hurt. She knew it was going to be impossible and every step making life unliveable. The thought of her being so far away from home after spending her life between the same walls was strange, but she didn’t feel it. She felt like she was doing what had to be done, what she was supposed to do.
Now, she was heading home after a journey that had taken her where she hadn’t been going to. She was going somewhere and she was hoping to the higher ones that she was going in the right direction now more than ever before.
Her heart sank as she felt the darkness slip over her and the light that only shone on the trees where Peak lived was gone. She felt cold and left behind by the sun.