Chapter 3
I didn’t begin with the death of my father because that memory was far too dangerous. I told Cillian of the day my mother and I left our village when I was eleven, and from there, I could not stop.
We had stayed at Edda’s since Father died, and now my mother was packing what little we had with us.
‘What are you doing?’
She grabbed my father’s hunting knife and tucked it into her belt.
‘We are going to find your family. Your people.’
The family who didn’t want me. I was left with strangers in the most desolate part of the kingdom.
‘I don’t want to find them.’
My mother stopped and looked out the window at the cloudy morning sky.
‘I had a dream last night. It was like no dream I’ve had before.
Olaf was alive and well, and he was pleading for us to go.
’ Her eyes shone with unshed tears. ‘Your father told me that it was time for you to embark on your journey and seek out your people. They are waiting for you.’
‘Do you want to give me back?’
‘No! Never.’ My mother took my hand and squeezed it. ‘We will ask them for help, that’s all.’
‘But how will we know where to go? You and Father said you didn’t know who my parents were or if they were even alive.’
She dug deep into her pack and withdrew a torn piece of faded red fabric.
Embroidered on it – with what looked to be gold thread – was a hand holding a sword.
Above the sword were three symbols that formed a triangle.
At the top was a half-risen sun, to the bottom left was a lightning bolt and to the right, a tree.
‘What is it?’ I traced the patterns with my finger, feeling the fragility of the gold stitching.
‘In my dream, your father showed it to me and said, “Tell Caris to follow the symbols.” This was part of the cloak you were wrapped in the day the stranger brought you to us.’
‘Why have you never shown this to me?’
‘I had forgotten about it,’ she admitted, folding the cloth and placing it back in the sack.
She picked up a piece of charcoal and tapped the map she had drawn. ‘We will have to walk a long way to reach another village. We might even have to cross the Red River.’
I reached for the map and charcoal, and Mother passed them to me with a tired shrug of her shoulders.
The sparse map showed she knew little of what was outside the village she had lived in her entire life.
She had marked villages and hamlets on the southern bank, including ours, but left the rest of Pedion unmarked.
Using the charcoal, I added Murus and Capita above, where Father had told me the king and queen lived.
‘After we find these people, we will stay together?’ I asked, handing the map back to her.
‘We stay together,’ she said with a firm voice.
Over the coming days, we walked a long way. We stopped at every hamlet and village and showed the embroidered cloth to many people, but no-one could tell us what the emblem represented.
We arrived late one afternoon at a shoreside shack with a sign by the entrance showing three wavy lines. An ancient-looking ferryman came out and, after Mother handed him the last of our coins, we followed him to the river.
The ride across Red River was uneventful. The ferry was solid. Large logs interlocked, creating a stable platform for us to stand on. The ferryman used a long pole to push us along the riverbed and sometimes tugged on the large rope tied to the other side to help pull us across.
After disembarking, we sheltered beneath a tree with low-hanging branches. It protected us from the wind but still gave us a view of the river in both directions. A mist formed over the crimson water, and I retreated under my blanket as it came to rest over us.
‘The mist is a good omen, Caris,’ Mother said. ‘It will keep us hidden from anybody passing by during the night.’
We continued our journey north, keeping the river to our left. We would only stop to rest or when my mother recognised an edible plant. Sometimes we’d find bitter greens, root vegetables, or her favourite – fungi.
I dropped to one knee in the long grass to look at leaves something small had munched on. There were rabbit droppings further back. At least one rabbit, possibly more. Eager for fresh meat, we moved inland while I tracked the small game, just as Olaf had taught me.
‘Why don’t you hunt, and I’ll set up camp by the silver birches? It looks like a good place to settle for the night.’
I was pleased that she was allowing me some time alone to hunt. I loved my mother, but since we had been travelling, she had stuck to my side and scared away many a night’s dinner.
‘I will keep your father’s knife to dig up root vegetables that I might find on the way.’ She tucked it into her belt. ‘You can use it to clean and skin whatever you catch when you reach the campsite.’ My mother headed towards the trees, carrying most of our belongings.
Something quick and tawny darted from a little mound to my right. I knelt, slowly took my bow from my shoulder, notched an arrow, and let it fly.
Pleased with myself for catching something so soon, I waited for another rabbit to emerge. I looked forward to seeing Mother’s face when I showed up with two rabbits.
The wind carried the sound of voices from the river. There was laughter and splashing, but I couldn’t say if the voices were male or female.
I wanted to know who the voices belonged to, but I also wanted to catch a second rabbit.
The elusive rabbit appeared, and with a slow exhale, I took it down with another clean shot. Taking my rabbits with me, I headed to the river.
I kept myself hidden in the long grass running along the riverbank as I approached the voices.
Two boys were trying to drown each other in the water.
There was splashing from the submerged boy’s arms as he reached behind him to grab his assailant. The other boy whistled a merry tune as he drowned the struggling boy.
The splashing slowed, and still the whistling boy didn’t release him.
I thought about shooting an arrow at him. Not to kill him, but maybe if I could get his shoulder, it would be enough to stop him. But before I could, he let go and made a beeline straight for the riverbank.
I ducked down behind the long grass, getting as flat as possible, and peered through the blades of grass.
He reached the bank and hauled himself up with young, muscular arms. Before he turned around to see where the other boy was, I caught a glimpse of high cheekbones, a firm chin and a broad brow.
His eyes were dark, almost as black as the long, spiky lashes surrounding them.
He pushed his wet hair back from his face, revealing a scar along his left cheek.
It spread across his skin like the delicate lines of ferns that grew in the shade. Starting below his hairline, it ran across his brow but just missed his eye, fanning out on the top of his cheekbone. The scarring trailed down his neck and onto his shoulder, ending below his heart.
I couldn’t imagine how painful receiving a scar of that size would be. Or what could cause it.
I was relieved to see the other boy appearing on the bank alive and well, swearing and spluttering.
I tried to make myself smaller, hoping they wouldn’t see me as they dressed.
They were tall – taller than me, anyway.
Their bodies were mostly hairless, apart from their armpits and groins.
These boys were exceedingly angular and gangly.
They looked as though they didn’t eat as much as they needed, but their lean, muscular arms and legs revealed they were used to working hard nonetheless.
The second boy’s face became visible as he moved closer to where I was hiding.
Like a wet dog, he shook his curly brown hair at his friend.
His smile was big, and he also had a pleasant face with wide, friendly eyes and a sharp jawline.
I couldn’t see the colour of his eyes well, but they looked brown or perhaps hazel.
His voice was deep, however, it got higher as he yelled at his friend as they fought over whose boots were whose.
I hadn’t been around many people my age.
I guessed they were a few years older than me.
Maybe fourteen or fifteen winters old? There was something familiar about them I couldn’t place – as if I had met them before.
I was tempted to reveal myself, but I didn’t want them to know I had been watching them in case they got angry at my spying.
They finished dressing and continued to laugh and push at each other playfully, but soon, they went quiet. With bowed heads and heavy feet, they headed into the woods, and I watched them until they disappeared entirely from my view.
With a hollow feeling deep in my gut, I walked towards the birch trees on the hill. I regretted not revealing myself to them and felt as if the boys had taken something I wanted with them. I had the wild urge to run after them and ask for it back.
Climbing the little hill, I found myself in the grove of birch trees. ‘Mother?’ When there was no answer, I realised I had arrived at our campsite before her.
I collected some kindling to have ready for the fire and waited for her arrival under a large birch tree with my bow and rabbits. Its soft branches swayed gently in the warm breeze.
Feeling drowsy, I briefly closed my eyes while I waited for my mother.
When I awoke, it was night. There was no sign my mother had made it to our meeting place; no fire, none of her things.
An owl hooted close by, startling me.
I called out as I searched the small hilltop for any sign of my mother, and eventually caught sight of the glow of several campfires in the distance.
The confidence and independence I had felt earlier in the day were gone. I needed to be brave for her and not fear what awaited me in the dark. The owl hooted again, louder and closer than before, urging me to move on.