Episode 52

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

At first, when Doran spotted the man stepping out of the shadows and onto the moonlit road, he thought little of it. Another traveller making his own way to his own destination. But as soon as the man turned to face the oncoming cart and raised his hand to stop it, Doran’s heart sank. The old traveller cursed his distracted brain. Had he had his wits about him he would have seen the man up ahead and perhaps had time to change direction. But these were narrow roads and even the stupidest of travellers knows not to take them after dark. Doran felt even stupider than them right now, stupid enough perhaps to even to deserve the robbery that was about to take place.

“Woah there my good fellow.” The man in the road had a deep and smooth voice. He spoke with a smile but kept his eyes hidden under the brim of his travelling hat. He wore a green shirt, dark riding trousers and tall black boots. On his hip was a sword which he was making no effort to hide whatsoever. Doran’s stomach followed his heart in dropping. He ran a quick mental list of all the things that he kept on him that were of value, judging each in turn by what he could afford to lose and what might satisfy this man. Caramel, the donkey, brayed at the interruption to her journey. And perhaps she sensed her master’s nerves.

“I… I want no trouble,” said Doran.

“Then you shall have none,” said the man, his smile never fading, “so long as you do as we say and stay quite calm then this night shall remain trouble free.” At that he gestured with both arms to Doran’s flanks. Three more men were emerging from the tree line, dressed in similarly dark colours and each carrying weapons. Two were on his right, and one on his left. Doran muttered a curse under his breath.

“I suppose it’s coin you’ll be wanting,” said Doran, having given up hope of escape. There was no way Caramel could outrun the group. He directed the comment to the leader, who smiled again.

“You catch on quick, good sir. If you would be so kind as to direct my colleagues to your more valuable wears then they can relieve you of them and we can be on our way.” Doran tsked and pointed to the back of his cart.

“There’s a few pewter goblets and a silver plate there. The rest is only valuable to me.”

“We’ll be the judge of that.” One of the other men barked the retort, causing Doran to jump a bit. While they were rummaging through his life’s belongings Doran turned back to their leader.

“I’ve encountered many thieves in my time on the road, but few quite as eloquent as yourself. You’d do better making a living as a poet.” The man bowed low in genuine thanks.

“You flatter me, traveller. I’ll admit to have considered a career on the stage at one point. But this is just as lucrative and far less embarrassing than those dreadful tights.” To his surprise Doran found himself laughing.

“Well, here’s one paying customer you’ve entertained. Although I would have preferred to buy a ticket.”

“Rest easy traveller,” the highwayman replied, “imagine you’ve bought your ticket and the show is bad. If you close your eyes this will feel much the same.” Doran shook his head. This man’s brazen cheek had to be admired, even if he was a dastardly thief.

Just then a slight breeze rustled through the trees and pushed the fallen leaves across the dusty road. A shiver shook Doran’s spine. Autumn was in full fall and he’d taken to wearing his large travelling cloak at night. The whispering wind was the only other sound that could be heard above the shuffling and clanging of the thieves behind him. Doran kept an eye on them, lest they pull a dagger and steal his life on top of his wears.

“Just a few plates eh?” one of them, a short, stocky man with a beard, said gruffly, “what do you call this then?” He held a small wooden lock box up and over his head to show his boss. The verbose bandit craned his neck to see.

“Bring it here,” he said in that clear and confident tone of voice. Doran knew that protesting would only increase their interest in the thing. A part of him had hoped they’d overlook it, but that hope was dashed now. Doran’s mind played out a quick mental story of the coming weeks. Back to begging, back to sleeping in the cart, back to sharing his meals with Caramel, back to basics. His eyes followed the man holding his lockbox like they were watching an executioner carry an axe to the block.

When the fellow was part way between the cart and the gang leader the wind picked up again. As the gust that moved the leaves on the road reached him, he appeared to trip and stumble. His boss clicked his tongue as he watched him try to catch his balance.

“Well you won’t be making the dance troop this season, that’s for sure. What’s the matter with you man? Are you drunk?”

The man carrying the lockbox looked about him. His face was pale and his eyes were wide. All his bravado was lost, carried off with that last gust of wind. “I… thought I felt…”

“I… I… I thought, fumbling your words as well as your feet now are we? Bring the box here.”

Doran’s eyes narrowed as he watched the bearded man. He glanced over his shoulder twice before he was close enough to hand the box over to the gang leader. At that moment, a cloud passed in front of the moon temporarily plunging the scene into darkness. By the time he could see again the box was on the floor.

“Bumbling buffoon…” the gang leader muttered under his breath. By now the rest of the group had gathered around Doran’s cart to watch the interaction. The bearded man was mumbling some excuse and the gang leader was walking over to the box which had clattered to the floor some feet away. As he bent down to retrieve it Doran’s breath caught in his chest. There was no wind, he was sure of it, but somehow, the box jumped away from the leader’s fingers as if, well, as if it had been kicked. The whole group froze. The leader stood up in shock, as if the box had bitten him. His eyes were more curious than scared. He looked over his shoulder at Doran.

“A neat little trick, traveller. I’m sure the more superstitious thief would have left you alone by now is that right?” Doran didn’t even hear the question. He was transfixed by what he saw. One of the other robbers seemed to have noticed it too as he raised a trembling finger and pointed at his boss’s hip. There, slowly, his sword was working its way out of its scabbard seemingly, on its own. The metal reflected the silver light of the moon and illuminated the leader’s shocked expression. The nerves of the man on Doran’s right suddenly broke and he ran yelping into the treeline. The leader suddenly came to his senses and reached for the sword's handle, at which point the sword sped up and remained floating in mid air, its point aimed directly at its owner’s throat.

Not knowing what else to do, the gang leader put his hands up in surrender.

“Very good old man, you can stop with the theatrics now.” Doran detected the crack of nervousness in his voice.

“I’m doing nothing Sir…” Doran replied. A smile crept across his face as he watched this dangerous ruffian come to terms with the situation.

Then, as the moon shifted into a new position in the sky, a hand became visible gripping the sword handle loosely. The small crowd watched as a wrist, then an arm and even a shoulder slipped into view. In a matter of seconds a figure was there, her red hair bathed in moonlight. A young woman standing defiantly between the thief and his prize.

“Leave this man alone,” her bright blue eyes dazzled daggers at the thief. Doran could not believe it, this spirit or forest nymph must have heard his prayers and come to his aid. The highwayman tried to hide his surprise.

“And may I ask on whose authority this order is being given?”

“On the authority of the girl with a sword to your neck.” The highwayman smiled.

“So one girl against four… well, three grown men. What if we simply fight back and overpower you? Those boots look like they might be worth something.” Doran was once again in shock at this man’s brazen confidence. The young girl narrowed her eyes,

“Make one move that isn’t turning around and running away, and I’ll skewer you like a cooked apple.” The highwayman chuckled.

“Young lady, in my experience, those who don’t kill quickly don’t intend to kill at all.” The red haired heroin raised an eyebrow at this.

“Who said anything about killing?” at that she flicked the end of the sword upwards and darted it forwards with blink speed. The tip was driven up into the highwayman’s tri-cornered hat and came out from the top where it was held momentarily glinting in the moonlight. The highwayman was visibly sweating now, and Doran could see a trickle of blood mixing with the sweat. The sword had opened a cut on his forehead. Before he could do anything else, the girl hoisted the hat off his head and used the sword to place it on her own.

“You little tramp…” the highwayman was losing his cool now. Backing away he glanced over to his remaining comrades, “Don’t just stand there gawking, she’s just a girl, get her and get me that box.” The two men, emboldened by their captain’s plight, rushed over from the cart. The man with the beard pulled a cutlass from his belt, the other brandished a nasty looking club. The young lady with the red hair turned her attention to both of them and smiled.

The cutlass came in first, whipping through the gloom like a serpent’s venomous fangs. Whoever these men were, they were trained fighters, ex-soldiers perhaps, thought Doran. The girl was not phased though, she brought the sword up to riposte the strike before aiming a well timed kick at the man with the club. Her heel connected with his stomach, pushing the air out of his lungs with a sickening oof. He almost dropped the club but managed to collect himself quickly enough to unleash a flurry of fury powered strikes. The girl ducked, dodged and parried them deftly making sure the wooden weapon hit only air. Whenever a blow came close she would use her free hand to knock her attacker’s fist and send his weapon hurtling to the side of her. She used her newly acquired sword to deal with the cutlass. She moved it through the air like she was wielding a ribbon. Doran could barely keep his eyes focused on it. After dancing with the two men for just thirty seconds or so, she kicked her foot out again. This time it connected with the cutlass man’s knee, knocking it backwards and sending him straight to the floor. Then she waited for the club to come forward for a final attack before guiding it downward with her sword, curling her free hand around the man’s wrist and then popping the club out of his grip with the butt of her sword. She then threw her weight backwards and sent the man hurtling past her towards the grassy bank where he promptly got stuck in a bush.

With two of the three ruffians now writhing on the floor, the warrior sprite turned her attention back to their leader. She raised his own weapon up at him once again. The highwayman glared at her and shook his head. To Doran’s surprise, a smile crept across his lips.

“It seems as though I need to hire better help. My lady, you have bested us. I must say that I’m impressed. Now if I might get my hat and sword back then I promise to obey your previous order and leave this man, and yourself, alone.” The young woman seemed satisfied by his words.

“You can have the hat, but I’m keeping the sword.” The highwayman bowed.

“I expected as much. Still, you can’t blame a chap for trying.” As he stepped forward to take the hat with his right hand, Doran noticed his left hand reaching back and gripping something in his belt line. Before he could shout a warning though the highwayman’s left hand was out, clutching something silver and sharp. Doran breathed in and tried to form a warning with his words, but none came. His thoughts had stopped just as the dagger had done. On its way to the young woman’s throat the knife was trapped in middair. The highwayman looked at it with astonishment and started to grapple with the fixed point, like he was trying to pry his wrist free from an invisible hand.

And then Doran saw it. Not a hand. But a set of powerful jaws. A beast, big as a deer was crouched beside the man, freezing his arm in place with its teeth and becoming slowly visible just as the girl had done before. The highwayman was not prepared for that. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and a primal fear overcame him. He dropped the dagger and yelped, pulling his arm backwards with all his might. The creature let go of him at that moment and he stumbled backwards, tripping on his own ankles as he desperately tried to put distance between his body and the animal’s teeth.

Once the other men had spotted the beast, there was no stopping them. All three of them picked themselves up and ran straight for the treeline, following the path of their fourth comrade who seemed to have had the right of it from the start. Had Doran not been quite sure that this girl was on his side he might have joined them. He looked back at her and saw her chuckle a little.

“I guess I get to keep the hat too!” She spoke to the animal whom she then knelt beside and showered with thanks and attention. When she finished she turned her attention to Doran who was still sitting on top of his cart, dumbfounded. She smiled at him and went to collect his lock box.

“There you are Sir,” she said, grinning. As Doran took the box off her he noted that she seemed genuinely pleased to be helping him.

“Uh tha… thank you, young lady.”

“You’re most welcome, good Sir.” She looked back along the tree banked road, into the dark distance where the road twisted out of view. Her eyes narrowed.

“May I ask where you’re heading?” Doran was still shaking himself out of the shock of the past few minutes, but he found his words after a brief pause.

“Oh nowhere in particular. I travel the road in front of me. In truth I had planned on resting somewhere two days past but I… I could not.”

“I grew up in these mountains,” she replied, “so I’d be happy to travel with you until the next town.”

“Much obliged my lady. If we encounter more ruffians though I’m afraid I won’t be much help.” She laughed at this.

“It’s always safer to travel in groups, and you can leave any ruffians to Fritha and me.” She took the empty space on the cart bench beside Doran, “my horse is just up ahead, we could hitch the cart to him, give your donkey a rest.” Doran smiled,

“My lady, you are too kind. First you save my life, now you save the life of my donkey. I’m not sure which of us will be more grateful. I know these hills a little but I can’t remember a town nearby, where exactly are we going?”

The little girl patted a cloud of dust off her thick travelling trousers, Doran watched the dust get caught in a moonbeam that had wound its way through the forest canopy. The invisible girl smiled as she turned her attention back to the road ahead.

“There’s no need to keep calling me ‘my lady’, I’m no highborn heiress. My name is Lilian Lausanne and we’re going to Benlunar.”

As they rounded the last corner and the town gates came into view, Lilian was feeling many things. She was feeling excited to see her home again, she was feeling happy at the prospect of reuniting with her parents and for some reason she was feeling nervous. If her new friend Doran had noticed this trepidation, he said nothing about it. Both travellers were tired having journeyed up the rest of the mountain throughout the night. The sun was rising beyond the valley and as they passed through the town gates its warm rays touched Benlunar like a golden caress. The Stave Church came quickly into view, its brown walls turned burned sugar in the light. The houses around the town square soaked up the sun’s rays happily, reflecting the golden light back onto the flagstones. Lilian’s breath turned to spouts of fog in the morning freshness. The cart rolled past bare branch trees and Lilian listened to the crunch of dry leaves under hoof and wheel.

“That’s the inn,” she pointed a little ways downhill from the town square towards The Fox and Octopus, “you can find lodging and a stable there. In fact, I might come with you now and leave Afaran there.” She gestured to her large, black horse who was still pulling the cart. Doran turned the reigns to guide the beast downhill.

“Your home is beautiful Lilian. I didn’t even know they built towns this high up.” Lilian chuckled as she hopped down from the cart.

“You should stay a while. We get visitors in the Spring and Summer but it gets pretty quiet this time of year.” Doran considered the possibility. Looking around he saw flower pots on window sills and decorative family crests painted above the doorways of the wooden houses. He’d certainly stayed in worse places.

“I might just do that…”

Once they’d stabled the animals and parked the cart they said their goodbyes.

“I hope to see you soon Lilian, thank you again for helping me on the road.”

“A Pleasure!” replied Lilian, “Thank you for the stories and the company. I’ll see you around town Doran, find me if you decide to leave early.” And with a flash of white teeth and a whirl of red hair Lilian was off down the road followed closely by her faithful feinhound. Doran watched her go for a few seconds. He laughed to himself a little. Strange how one so gifted and magical made him feel like he was the special one.

The butterflies in Lilian’s stomach became more agitated with every step towards her home. Could she even call it her home anymore? Would her parents be happy to see her? Would her old room still look the same? She felt a wet nose prodding at her palm. She looked down.

“You’re right, I’m being silly.” Fritha let out a low jangling sound and ran a few steps ahead as if trying to hurry Lilian along. Lilian giggled and chased after her and in just a few distracted seconds, she was standing in front of her house.

It looked like something out of a storybook. She could hear the river in the middle distance and the light rustling of leaves as the breeze passed through the canopy. Sunlight dappled the vine covered walls and the bright blue door looked so warm and welcoming, it might as well have been wide open. Lilian never did like going through the front and she had not changed so much as to alter the habits of a lifetime. She went round the back to check to see if the kitchen door was open. A slight push found that it was and so Lilian walked in.

She looked up to see her parents, her mother in her nightgown and her father in a shirt and trousers. They were sitting at the table enjoying some breakfast but that was quickly abandoned. They looked shocked at first, then they smiled, then they laughed and finally they cried. And Lilian joined them in all these emotions. Laughing and crying as they hugged her so tightly that she could barely breathe. Her Mother said very little apart from whispering the words “it worked” when she first laid eyes on Lilian. Her Father was full of questions. How was her journey? Where had she come from? What road did she take? Was she well? Was she hurt? He asked them so fast that Lilian barely had time to answer one before the next was upon her. Tea was hastily made, bread quickly buttered. Fritha was fussed over terribly and given the biggest breakfast she’d seen in weeks, which she promptly gobbled up in a matter of seconds.

They caught up for most of the morning. Lilian told them all about her adventures on the road, her time in the capital and her journey to Zandt omitting certain details around the times where she’d been in mortal peril. Her parents worried enough. She also neglected to tell them about her advances in Gloaming, it would have taken too much time to explain and the last thing she wanted was her mother telling all her friends that her daughter could turn invisible. That was an awkward evening at The Fox And Octopus she would rather avoid.

Finally, after five hours of talking, nine cups of tea, some salted pork and beetroot salad, many more hugs and a few more tears everyone had finally caught up.

“So how long will you be staying in Benlunar?” asked her father, setting down his teacup with a satisfying clink.

“Oh Edward,” protested her mother, “she’s back for good now, isn’t that right Roux?” Lilian couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. In this instance she told the truth,

“I’m not really sure. Certainly I want to stay for the foreseeable future. But after that…” she trailed off, not wanting to upset her parents prematurely. Lilian stood up to go and put her plate by the wash basin in a not-so-subtle attempt at avoiding the question.

“I’m still amazed at how tall you are,” said her mother standing up to measure her shoulder to Lilian’s, “when you left you barely came up to my elbow!” she turned to show her husband the difference in height and as she did, her eyes fell upon the weight driven clock on the wall. “By the stories! Look at the time.” Both Lilian and her father looked at the clock, but the time shown didn’t mean much to Lilian. Her father on the other hand slumped his shoulders and gave his wife a pitiable look.

“Darling, Lilian just got back, do we really want to…” his wife interrupted him.

“Lilian’s return is what I asked for and here she is, I’m not going to deny Sage Fenric my presence after that. Lilian,” she turned excitedly to her daughter, “you should come too.” Lilian looked at her parents, confused.

“Go where?”

“To the Stave, to meet the visitors.”

And so the Lausanne’s left the comfort of the kitchen to walk back into town. Lilian had no idea who these visitors were, but she was glad for the excuse to go back into Benlunar and see a few familiar faces. They bumped into Liny and Xander who were also heading to the Stave, they saw Stine Vichas, a few of Lilian’s old classmates as well as Madam Streng the school mistress. After only a few moments of meeting everyone it became clear that they were all headed in the same direction. It seemed as though half the town were heading to the Stave and not in their usual way like they might do to go to weekly service. There was a buzz in the air, an excited feeling that Lilian found contagious. Everyone spoke of these ‘visitors’ like they were royalty. In truth, Lilian was glad that the attention was off of her. By joining the growing throng all headed to the Stave, she slotted right back into Benlunar life. It was like she’d never even left.

Once inside Lilian took her seat beside her parents. She glanced over at Brother Thomas who was sitting on a small stool beside one of the stalls. His face was a strange mix of emotions, Lilian thought he looked worried or even scared, but as soon as he saw her his face lit up in delight. He mouthed a few words of promise to speak to her after the service and Lilian nodded fervently. As everyone finally found their seats she expected him to stand and take the centre spot. But he remained seated, that look of concern falling back over his face.

Silence descended over the congregation. Lilian felt a flurry of butterflies in her stomach, it was like she was waiting for a play or circus to begin. The crowd were sharing excited smiles and pinching each other’s knees like they were lucky to be there. In a moment, three women entered the main hall from one of the back rooms. They each wore dark cloaks with hoods pulled low over the tops of their faces. Lilian thought their cloaks to be black like Mr Attorcop’s but when they passed the candles she saw how they shimmered a deep blue. Even though most of their faces were hidden Lilian could tell these women were very beautiful. They reminded her of her friend Serena, only they had darker skin.

They took their places in the centre of the hall, facing inwards from the three points of a triangle. Their movements and attire felt oddly ceremonial, like they were about to perform some sort of ritual or wedding. Then a flutter of whispers rippled through the crowd. Lilian followed the gazes of her fellow townsfolk towards the main entrance. A man was walking there, his face similarly hidden by a hood. But his cloak was not dark. It was a muted and beautiful shade of yellow. Like the colour of a sunflower or the middle of a daisy that had been dried in the sun. His cloak dragged a little along the floor behind him, but Lilian did not see any signs of wear on it. He walked slowly, but with purpose. When he reached the centre of the hall he removed his hood revealing a smiling face; fair skinned, green eyed and kind. He looked at everyone in the hall and really seemed to see each one of them. The way he moved, so slow and mesmeric, captivated Lilian as much as the rest of the town. Finally, the service or meeting began. In a crisp and clear voice, the mysterious Sage Fenric said,

“My friends, welcome. Today I would like to begin with a question. Do you know of the garden?”