Chapter 2
Days Past
Caspian grew under the watchful gaze of Fate in quite a literal sense.
A great obsidian rendering of the Fate’s eye hung over the door of the abbey orphanage, its distant sight keeping unblinking vigil over the woven path of destiny.
He could not recall the first time he saw the abbey, the first time his own dark eyes had become lost in its watchful stare.
Though soon enough, he could barely recall anything of his life before it.
However hard or often he tried, Caspian had no memory of his parents whatsoever.
In his earliest memories, Caspian had lived on a farm.
There had been a mother and a father (though he knew without a doubt they were not his own) and their children, who were all nearly grown.
Yet he was unsure whether these people were relatives or simply kindly strangers who had taken him in.
By the time he was old enough to ponder such things, they had long since gone.
Late at night when the dormitory was lit only by moonlight, the others would spin fantasies of leaving the abbey.
Some hung their hopes on their rightful family coming back to claim them, while the rest awaited the appearance of rare, kind strangers to usher them into a new life.
While it would have been nice to have a real family again, Caspian put little hope in such things.
He’d learned from a young age that his look unsettled some.
His hair was white as winter, and his skin almost impossibly fair even after hours in the summer sun.
While the other children had eyes of blue or brown, his own were purely black all around.
Strangers would look down on him in a moment of surprise or even fear before moving swiftly on.
This did not trouble him as much as one might think, partly because Caspian simply didn’t share the others’ desire to leave.
The old stone abbey was like a castle, with the most exciting places to explore and an untended courtyard where they would play swords with discarded branches.
He would climb the bell tower to see the doves and sneak into the dank catacombs of the cellar as far as he dared.
The sisters of the abbey were kind. They taught him that the Fate worked in mysterious ways, that sometimes one’s path takes a darkened turn, but that is why no one is meant to walk it alone.
On nights when it was too cold to sleep alone, they would gather all together in the hall and light a fire in the big hearth.
They would tell stories of heroes triumphing over dragons and ghouls and all manner of fell creatures until they all drifted to sleep in a great huddle.
And they always made the best of things when there wasn’t enough food to really fill their bellies (which was more often than not).
It was this difficulty that led to the abbey’s most sacred unwritten rule.
When you were grown enough to take care of yourself, you left.
There were too many little ones who needed the abbey’s hearth and food.
Staying longer than you needed was lazy; moreover, it was wrong.
Of course, the sisters never said such things, though they knew well enough that when their charges came of a certain age, they would sneak out the window and not be seen again.
Caspian couldn’t recall if anyone had taught him this rule or why it was in place.
It was quite simply the way things were done.
Though Caspian had never been sure exactly how old he was, when he reached the age where many of his playmates had gone, and the rest were beginning to discuss when they would follow, he decided it was time for him to do the same.
Caspian had always held high ideals of nobility and therefore harbored no desire to overstay his time at the abbey, though he would miss it dearly.
As much as he tried to kindle hope within him that he would find a new life out in the world, a profound sense of parting came over him as he slipped through the abbey window in the dead of night.
He scaled down the eaves with nothing more than a loaf of bread and a spare shirt to make his way and tried not to look back.
By morning, Caspian had walked all the way to the nearest town.
He’d been there many times before. The notion of finding work as a farmhand had taken root in his mind.
He was certainly strong enough for farm work, and though he knew very little about the workings of farms themselves, he was a fast learner.
He spent many hungry days in the market, asking farmers who came to sell if they could use the extra hands, but they all refused him.
A few were kind enough to spare him an apple or even a loaf of bread.
On one dreary night after an especially hungry day, Caspian concerned himself with where he might find shelter.
The weather was taking a cruel turn, and he did not want to risk a fever added to his troubles.
As he wandered, wondering if the innkeeper might allow him to spend another night in the stables, Fate smiled down on him in the form of an old friend.
Roland had always spoken of traveling after leaving the abbey, going out to seek his fortune at the Crossing or even Stormhaven.
This made it double the shock for Caspian to find him here, not two days’ journey from where he’d begun.
Their reunion was hastily made as the first flecks of rain fell around them.
Roland led them through streets and alleys until they reached an abandoned shop.
The doors were boarded shut, but Roland went to the ivy that was slowly growing over the old place.
He produced a rope that reached up to the second story window.
They scaled it one after another, coming into a warm common room.
There were four other boys there. Well, some were boys.
Others were bordering on manhood. Caspian recognized two faces from the abbey, though they had both been older than himself.
The most senior of their company, whom Caspian did not know, offered him a mug of hot soup and told him that a friend of Roland was a friend of them all and was welcome to stay with them.
Caspian was the happiest he had been in weeks as they stayed up late into the night talking and joking.
His stomach was full, and when he slept, it was on a soft cot by a warm hearth.
And while it wasn’t fit for kings, it was certainly good enough for him.
The next day, Caspian woke early with the others, and it occurred to him to ask what they did for work.
Clearly, they had the means to afford food and good clothes, even if they were clearly squatting in an abandoned tailor’s shop to do so.
The oldest, named Warren, told him they would be getting to work right away, and that he was welcome to join them.
And in that moment, it all felt like the most wonderful stroke of luck.
Caspian followed them out of town onto a well traveled country lane, thinking to himself that they must be day laborers for one of the local farms. The road was still muddy from the night before, and soon his thinning boots were soaked through.
Warren stopped them all before a particularly muddy patch, likely trying to figure a way around it as even the grass at the sides of the road was flooded.
“This’ll do,” Warren said finally.
Caspian was just thinking what a strange thing that was to say when they all heard a cart coming up the way towards them.
Just like that, they all fled from the path, Roland tugging him to follow.
They ducked down into a dell beside the road.
It was very muddy, but still they all lay flat on their bellies.
Caspian followed suit, though his stomach was twisting itself in a terrible knot as he realized the situation in which he had found himself.
From where he was lying, Caspian saw them as they approached the muddy pool.
It was an old farmer and a boy about their age, probably his son.
They shared a long and gangly build, not much muscle between them.
Their cart was pulled by a blonde farm nag, but from where he lay, he couldn’t see the load within.
“Easy,” Warren whispered with a chuckle.
“We can’t,” Caspian hissed to Roland, who shushed him, not taking his eyes off the road.
The last night’s stew turned sour in his gut as he realized what had been done to provide it. He couldn’t stomach it, stealing from innocent people, even if it was for what he needed. There had to be another way, an honest way.
The cart rolled to a stop before the flooded stretch. Warren put on a grim face and began to climb the slippery grass to the road. The others remained behind, waiting for something. Caspian wasn’t going to sit in the mud waiting to find out.
Caspian sprang from the ditch, dashing after Warren. A hand flew out to stop him, but he was too fast.
“Go!” Caspian yelled.
The farmer, who had just laid eyes on Warren, gave Caspian a moment’s glance before setting the horse into motion with a crack of his whip.
This was a mere second before Caspian and Warren collided.
Though Warren was likely several years his senior, Caspian was only slightly smaller, and the countless hours spent playing at swords or exploring the abbey had made him strong.
So as they both fell hard into the mud, Warren had the wind well knocked out of him.
Caspian got to his feet, slipping twice in the mud, which now covered nearly every part of him and had totally filled his shoes.
The others were scrambling up the hill after him.
The farmer’s horse was having difficulty urging the wheels through the clinging mire.
He planted his feet the best he could and gave the back of the wagon a shove.
The farmer cracked his whip again, and that was enough.
The old horse took off down the road as Caspian stood, panting.
Two hands grabbed him from behind, whirling him around.
A second later, a fist connected with his gut.
They beat him, Warren and two of the others.
Caspian sent one down with a broken nose, another got a black eye, but it was three against one and soon he was lying in the mud, getting kicked from every direction as he tried to shield his already bruised face.
“Warren, that’s enough. You’ll kill him,” Roland said over him.
Caspian heard the terrible sound of a fist connecting with his friend’s jaw, but the beating stopped. They spoke amongst themselves for a short time, but his mind was too scrambled to really listen. He just lay there until he was sure they had moved on, and then a while longer still.
When he finally summoned the courage to stand, every bit of him ached. He was so covered in mud he couldn’t even tell if he was bleeding. And as if only to add insult, the sky was growing dark, the telltale scent of an incoming storm heavy in the air.
Without direction or destination in mind, he started to walk down the sodden path, but not back to town.
There was shelter there to be sure, but he was also sure that Warren wouldn’t spare him a second time.
It wasn’t as if he were a coward. It was simply clear that there was no work for him there, and now no goodwill either.
So he set off farther into the hill country, thinking to himself that at least if it were going to rain, he would get clean from it.
All too soon, he got his bitter wish. Instead of mud caked, he was drenched and shivering as the rain came down in heavy splatters.
His shoes had swollen uselessly with water as he trudged on.
After a time, there came a flash of lightning, and by it, Caspian saw a single tower resting at the top of a hill. Beside it was a small barn.
There was no thought behind his next steps, the steps that led him up the hill, eyes never leaving the tower. He was shivering and bruised, starving and utterly exhausted. It seemed a cruel irony that he had been seated by a warm hearth, laughing over a hot meal only the night before.
Caspian unlatched the barn door with trembling hands.
He nearly fell inside. It was warmer, though not by much, and blessedly dry.
There were three horses. One peered out at him from its stall as he passed.
Hanging on the opposite wall, among saddles and pitchforks, was a bag of apples.
Caspian was no thief. His actions that day certainly proved it, but a cart and horse were one thing and a few apples another.
He took three and devoured them, sharing the cores with the curious horse.
At last, when he could barely stand, Caspian mustered the last of his strength as he climbed the ladder to the hayloft.
There he made a bed of straw and fell instantly to sleep.