Book 5, New, Harsh Morning: Day One

The pitter-pattering of little feet running here and there woke me. Opened my eyes. Right. Sleeping under a tree, beneath its large bough, in the soft pine needles and soil, no Brin to hug me. I raised my gauntleted hand to touch its rough bark, sticky sap touching back. Orange and black fur ruffled nearby branches, little bodies scurrying away quickly.

I jolted, clawed at the loose ground and dry pine needles, pulled myself out. More light footsteps. Spiders? Quickly standing, looking around, I didn’t see any hairy, slow moving legs or webs. Under another tree, brown furry triangle ears pointing above a branch, small canine body below, the fox ducked its head to stare at me. My eyes must have gotten their pattern or something, because I suddenly saw a bunch of foxes, all hiding in the trees and bushes around my make-shift camp.

Foxes. They’d bowed to me back at my castle, followed me during the Spring Campaign. I couldn’t remember any news of foxes eating people, but there were certainly enough of them around to try. Despite that they were keeping their distance, I backed into the clearing, slowly.

A caw caught my attention up over my left shoulder. Crows sitting in the trees all around. Ravens sitting above them in the canopy. It was creepy, all these animals staring at me. But I knew the birds were on my side. They’d helped me during the battle and after, attacked the Ketzillian forces while our troops were retreating.

Memories of the battle returning. We were outnumbered, but we had better weaponry, and it had started well. Gun outsmarted their feared chariots, then Maitlan crushed them. Our war rhinos smashed through their lines. We were going to finally drive Ketzle out of the kingdom.

Except the mages betrayed us, withdrew magical protection from our army – their own people! – letting the Ketzillian mages drop fire and death on our soldiers. Gun died first. And then our mages killed Morry. All to attack me. Grand Magister Tye must have figured out what Etienne knew. That I was too powerful to let live. His actions killed so many, many of our men. Good men.

Fire and lightning lit up along my armored arms, circling, dancing around my hands. Tye needed killing. I would find him. None of the mages would survive my wrath!

Branches nearby caught on fire. Crap! I shut off the energy and the world became darker, slapped and slapped at the fires on the pines, putting them out before they spread. Grey ash gently fell onto my breast plate.

I sighed. How was I going to take on such a vast and powerful enemy when I didn’t even know where I was, didn’t know where I was going and had no idea what to do once I got there? And barely understood, let alone controlled, my own powers. Looked at my dirty, sweaty, and now ashy armor and sighed again. I was lost.

No, I had a destination. A temple in the far north, beyond Castle Bechalle, over the border and inside Laemacia. It was so important, Etienne used his last breath telling me to go there. Answers were in that temple. Hopefully, knowledge of who I was, why I was here, why I had these awful and impossible powers. I needed those answers.

Some might be found in the satchel Etienne gave me. I merely had to open it, check for maps, read his journal. It was that easy. But I left it alone, tried not to think about it.

I didn’t know exactly where I was. But the general direction, I knew. I’d headed north after the battle, following an animal trail. Running away from my army more than fleeing the mages. Our magical battle torched and tore the battlefield into a hellscape, causing so many deaths, reducing both armies to the dead and dying, injured and desperate. I had to get away before the mages and I killed everyone. Destroyed everything and all.

I double checked the darkened pine to see if it was still burning. A forest fire chasing me, announcing my presence, wouldn’t be helpful. Safe on that front, it was out.

Just past the tree was the long sloping meadow where I’d sat and stared at the heavens so long into the night. Thick green grass, tiny blue and white flowers scattered about, a deer meandering up the middle. It looked up, then bolted off into the forest as I stepped forward to take in the view. The trees surrounding the glade were large and tall, wide at the top, stealing most of the sunlight at the canopy and leaving the ground beneath mostly open, but not empty. Little herbs and grasses huddling about, vying for the attention of pollinators, dreading the attention of herbivores.

Turning from the glade to last night’s bed, I checked to see if I’d left anything behind. The saddlebags Maitlan gave me lay there. Right behind them, four foxes, two large and two smaller were smelling the bags, their heads bobbing up and down.

“Hey!” I yelled, walking toward them. They ran off into the trees, and I picked up the bags. Dry rations were in there, but I didn’t think they were out to steal my food. None of the little critters approached again, just watching me warily from beneath the trees, behind bushes.

I ignored them. Maybe they’d go away.

Took a last look at my camp or whatever it was. My walking had disturbed the ground, turning over clumps of pine needles. And the burnt trees. It was obvious someone had been here, so I was trackable. Not a lot I could do about that.

It was going to be a long walk to the temple. Heading north honestly wasn’t difficult. These rolling hills lined up roughly east and west and I had come from the south. All I had to do was continue on the animal trail I followed until it went down the hill. Then cross the valley, climb the next hill, repeat.

The Dernam River would be to my right, all the creeks in these valleys leading to it, tributaries. I’d been on a road by the river the first night I’d appeared in these lands. Later, the Ketzillian army marched north along the river, pacing ours. They probably expanded the road all the way up to the second bridge. From there I could go either west to Maitlan’s castle Yohstone or east to my former castle, now under the control of Brin’s father, Carlisele.

Assuming Laemacia hadn’t attacked and captured it. And assuming Carlisele didn’t give it to Hafthon. Probably the most likely way Carlisele would lose it, to be sure. I was an idiot for not simply giving it to Hafthon. He was the real power in the north, getting the other earls to back him. Until I intervened, of course, doing my best to disrupt their cohesiveness. Hopefully, hopefully, Carlisele still runs the castle and his wife and, even better, Brin, are the real powers behind the throne.

A yawn suddenly overcame me, and a full morning stretch. Reaching out with my arms, leaning back, feeling it in my stomach. Sore back, sore muscles, joints aching slightly. My body was a mess. Sleeping in full plate mail probably didn’t help. The lingering aftereffects of whatever Etienne had cast on me, that awful spell that killed everything around him except me. I shuddered, wondering which was worse, more painful, Bechalle’s torture or Etienne’s help.

I felt gross. No, I was gross, having worn armor all day and all night now. My undergarments, the shift and drawstring boxers, stuck to me, sweaty, the gambeson pressing against them, the outer metal shell trapping the moisture. I missed Brin. She’d bathe me, force make-up on my face and throw me in a dress, ignoring my protests. But right now, what a treat that would be!

Shrugging off the soreness, the lack of toothpaste, coffee, and a shower, I sighed one more time, bid farewell to this glade, and set off.

***

Morning slowly turned into midday, the sun rising up into the sky as I walked along the trail. A path of hardpacked dirt that animals so frequently used, nothing grew directly on it. Sure, grasses sometimes tried. They got stepped on. A vine here and there tried to cross the path. Crushed and beaten.

Roots were pretty much the only living thing that jutted up from the ground every now and again. I tripped a few times, catching myself before falling. That’s the nice thing about being young, your body responds quickly, recovers quickly. Sometimes I stepped right on the roots to get my revenge for their previous friends’ attempts to make me fall.

Other times the roots were helpful. On slopes, at least for me going downhill, they dammed up the dirt, making natural stairs. That exposed them to harsher conditions, their outer skin worn off by animal after animal, hoof after hoof, and now my boots, pressing on them. Some thanks they were getting.

As the path angled west down the hill, Etienne’s satchel bounced against my breast plate. I should open the damn thing, see what was in there. It felt like a book, perhaps a journal. Open it, my little voice told me, learn what he wanted you to know. Plan, prepare, that sort of thing. Nope. Walking was the thing to do, to clear my head. The path took a switchback, sloping back east, trees making way to bushes, which shook and rustled, ahead and behind. It seemed the foxes were shadowing me.

The ravens and crows kept pace above, chattering amongst themselves. Landing in the trees. Taking off again as I continued walking. Flying overhead, some out in front, some way back. Probably keeping watch.

I was the envy of every animated princess. Except the birds didn’t break into song, the foxes didn’t dance. No musical laments about the past, no upbeat, ‘go get ‘em!’ songs of encouragement. They didn’t even offer to do my laundry, a service I dearly needed.

Thoughts were competing for space in my mind as I hiked along in dirty armor. Why were these animals hanging out with me? Etienne died telling me that I was a deity – that didn’t make any sense. And images from the battle yesterday. Morry getting buried as the earth rose up. Liquid fire falling on Gun. So many dying soldiers across the field. I wondered if Rand was ok, hoped Brundle got away. Was thankful Maitlan did.

How many people did I kill? A thousand? Ten thousand? Nothing and no one near my beam could have survived. It melted rock. It was difficult to fully understand what I did, as it was so utterly and incomprehensibly powerful.

A nearby log. I sat down. Slumped.

The enemy mages, those I directed my beam at, died instantly. Their magical shields, useless. Aisu was so confident that she demanded my surrender, thought herself well protected. Nope. I vaporized her without resistance. Then the mage hiding in the trees – sending out a laser in their direction, I probably produced a clearcut back there, stopping them from attacking me. My blasts went through trees, stone, and mages with equal ease.

Probably why they stopped hunting me on the battlefield. Not out of respect for life, no, they’d demonstrated a complete lack of that by betraying our army. Fear for their own lives. It likely meant they were regrouping, planning.

I should have asked Etienne how they stopped the last person like me. The ruler who could wield magic. The king who apparently melted the glaciers and created the rolling hills I now walked upon. I wondered if he also ended an ice age by doing that. Adding so much energy to the planet and warming it up. No idea, but I will say this: he made it easy to tell north from south.

Though it seemed to me that that phrase, ‘ruler who had magic,’ didn’t describe me well. I didn’t have whatever the mages had. I produced something greater, much greater, on a scale that dwarfed their energies, no matter that theirs were vast, too. I was an antimatter bomb to their dynamite.

And we had other differences. They manifested flames, moved water and trees whereas I simply produced raw energy. We had some overlap, though. We both made twisters, could set objects on fire.

A nudge against my leg broke my mixed moping and musings. A younger fox, pressing his wet nose against my leg. “Hey, little guy. What’s up?”

It looked up at me. Big round and dark eyes, orange fur around his head and pointy, triangle ears trimmed in black fur. I couldn’t help it, I reached down to pet the critter. It yipped and bolted. At least it hadn’t tried to bite.

The midday’s sun made my armor hot, making me wonder – did I really need it? I could wrap myself in raging energy, burn pretty much anything to ash. And the ravens and crows patrolled endlessly around. Probably didn’t need the armor.

Sleeping in it, walking another half a day in it, the armor was hot and sweaty and gross. Almost, right on the border to being, icky. Armor and gambesons were meant to be aired out, not worn constantly.

On the other hand, what if I slept beneath a strangler? Or a spider found me unaware? Or a wyvern pounced on me?

Probably in such situations, the birds would all know before me. For one thing, there were hundreds, maybe thousands of them. Even if they didn’t, a strangler was just a flammable tree. Easy enough to deal with. A spider was just – shudder – a flammable arachnid. And the wyvern, well, if the magic couldn’t deal with it, my armor wasn’t going to help much.

Standing up, I stripped it off. Piece by piece. Then, the chain shirt underneath. That didn’t even stop Saph’s stiletto, it wouldn’t be much help against a spider.

I was left with my sweaty gambeson, its padded leather pants and shirt and underneath that, drawstring boxers and an upper shift. If only I had scissors, I could trim the stomach area, take the sleeves off, and be a sexy vixen walking through the forest with impossibly small clothes on. Here you go, my clothing would say, have your way with me oh mosquitoes and biting flies.

All that done, I set off again. Walking along, mind wandering. I had to face it. The deity question. I didn’t know where to start. Let’s see. These animals acting strangely. Ravens first, then crows, finally foxes, who seemed to be behaving like the birds. Probably, they were on my side. If a little timid.

But why?

Coincidentally, these were the animal allies of trickster deities where I’m from.

North American cultures had Raven, the clever deity who outwitted others. Crows, too, were often associated with mischievousness and cunning. Foxes were widely regarded as sneaky and clever animals, routinely tricking humans, causing mischief. Only missing was the jackal, but perhaps we were too far north for those daring and bold creatures.

On this world, the trickster gods seem meaner, though. Or, at least, the associated animals do. Demanding heads for help. A boon and a curse, Tread told me. Yet the sacrifice of that long ago king, Brandst was his name, led the crows and ravens to help his soldiers. A middleman figure, then.

That mixed bag of deception and help reminded me of Anansi, the spider god from West Africa. He arrived in the New World with those who’d been enslaved, and helped them, his people, outlast the slavers and eventually prosper.

A god of tricks and tales, mischief and wisdom. Always up to something, that guy, weaving his webs. A person gets caught in one, tugs on another, and sets off a bunch of related happenings they didn’t predict before. It was nearly impossible to know it was him, though, always hidden behind his invisible webs.

Though perhaps that was just humanity’s way of anthropomorphizing the old Scottish saying, ‘the best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley.’ Like my situation. When I first arrived, I just wanted to survive and through my struggle to do so, I found friends, a castle, lost everything and ended up here, on this trail in the middle of nowhere. My plans certainly went agley.

To be honest, I wasn’t very good at tricking people. And no trickster deity had laser beam hands. That just seemed to violate the whole nature of mythology. I could see it now, Jackal telling Prometheus, ‘I can teach you how to make fire, but you mustn’t, gosh, really, just mustn’t teach the humans.’ Wink, wink.

‘Please teach me to make fire.’

‘Ok and here’s a huge laser beam!’ Jackal destroys the Moon.

Yes, massive, intense, unimaginable power simply didn’t seem congruent with trickster deities. Shouldn’t I be convincing everyone to be on my side, against their own interests? Sweet-talking, skilled in hidden meanings, arranging unforeseen traps and problems. Not a naïve child whose best efforts cost her everything.

And anyways, Odin had crows, too. And he was no trickster. More of a father-figure. Harsh, most of the time, kind some of the time, bringing good portents but also warnings. No, Odin would never appear as a bumbling girl, messing up everything.

Loki was the mischievous one in Norse mythology. But he had no animals. Unless you count having sex with a horse. God, I hope I’m not Loki! That would be embarrassing, though maybe not to other deities. They all undertook similar deranged activities.

I was back at the beginning. Animal companions. Lots and lots of them and they seemed really interested in protecting, maybe even helping, me.

Ok, damn, this was uncomfortable pondering these thoughts. How arrogant to think oneself a deity! Arrogant and foolish. I had lost my friends and army and likely kingdom. Yet, wandering alone, what choice did I have, but to navigate uncomfortable thoughts?

***

The dry hilltop of tall trees and sparse undergrowth slowly gave way to tangled bushes, flat bladed grasses, blue, white and pink flowers as I moved downhill. These hills drained into the valleys, the lower levels got most of the water. Greener and colorful, bursting with growth.

The path sometimes had long stretches of easy walking, curved around a lone tree here and there, and other times went through thick bush where I had to duck and weave to avoid branches hitting me. It soon diverged and I took the east route, moving along a small creek in the center of the valley.

From up top, the next rolling hill appeared nearby. It looked easy to reach. Nope! The view was deceptive. Not close at all. I felt so much smaller in the valleys. The bushes and grasses grew taller than me.

As I passed the middle of the valley, the sun high in the sky, the air yet hot, I decided to use a creek to wash up. Squatting in front of the stream, I splashed water onto my face. Even without soap, some of the grime and dust washed away and it was cool and refreshing. Heavenly.

I then stripped, placing my now two-part gambeson, its pants and shirt, on the ground, draw-string boxers and short shift atop those and stepped into the creek. Oof, it was chilly! Quickly got goosebumps rubbing the water all over me and jumped out a little too soon.

And that’s when I felt a little dumb. No towel. Well, I could solve this problem! I briefly flashed into fire and watched the steam rise away into the sunlight. Unimaginable power was great for drying off.

Putting the dirty clothes back on was gross, but I had no other options. If I heated them up, to burn off the sweat, I’d likely just burn them up, too. I promised myself a long hot bath if I ever got back to the castle. And new clothes.

It all made me miss Brin again. I’d basically been treated to a spa whenever she was around. If she were here, we’d walk arm in arm. She’d complain about the conditions, I’d laugh. She’d love the little foxes in the undergrowth. Probably not the crows so much.

Thinking of her reaction to all this craziness brought a smile to my face. Though I made the right decision by keeping her at the castle. If she’d been with me on that battlefield, she’d be dead.

Tried to take a drink from my waterskin, which was exactly as it sounds. Animal skin repurposed as a bag to hold water, sporting a spout. Nearly empty. Might as well fill it up. Except that the water might have bugs in it. Beaver fever, that sort of thing. It would not be fun to traipse around the wilderness with a fever and relentless, unwanted bowel movements.

Yet I could boil the water. Filled up the bag, set it on the ground to not burn my hands, and moved the molecules inside the bag faster and faster. Boom! Steaming water jetted out from it, blasting away the cork.

Long sigh. I was such an idiot.

I picked up the overly warm bag, placing it back in the creek, and said to the hiding foxes, “Yeah, that was stupid. Water expands when boiled.”

They nodded, slightly embarrassed for me.

“I know, I know.”

What I needed was a container. A pot or something to boil the water in, let it cool down. I couldn’t help but smile. Like my helmet. The one I’d left half a day’s walk behind.

I really, really didn’t feel like walking all the way back. If someone was following me, they’d already have found the armor. I’d risk running into them. And, hell, I hadn’t eaten, it was hot and I, well, I was full of excuses.

I sat down on the grass, staring at the waterskin. I could probably heat up the water slowly, to avoid it exploding out the top. Just a simmer. But that might not be enough.

Yet, I had an alternative! The ale jugs Maitlan had included in these packs. All I’d have to do is drink all the ale, fill it up with water, and proceed to walk through this valley drunk. That didn’t seem wise, though. If anything, I had just proved wisdom wasn’t my strong point.

Rummaging through the packs, I dug out a clay ale jug. With it in hand, I thought of a better idea than returning to my old day drinking days.

After emptying the water skin, I poured the ale into it, possibly had a few sips myself, then filled the clay jug with creek water. Dumped that out to rinse it, repeated a few times. Might be a little strange to drink ale-flavored water. Filled it up and slowly set about raising its temperature to boil alive all the little life, the bacteria and small organisms now inside, notwithstanding their wailing and pleas to stop. Sure, I lost a little water as it boiled over. After that, I cooled it, corked it, stuck it in my pack and stood up.

Time to move.

Put my sweaty undergarments on, pulled and pulled the dirty and grimy padded leather pants on, then the upper gambeson, socks and boots and then . . . realized I was on the wrong side of the creek. I should have walked across while bathing. Arg!