The smell of the blade, it’s the first thing she always
recalls from her dreams, not the pain or the heat, the
foul stench of dead blood and muck tarnishing the steel,
if you could even call it that. Then the sounds and the
screams of battle, her eyes open and are flooded with
darkness, towers of smoke, in front of her the sky opens
and shards of ice bigger than trees poured down onto
the field, crushing, impaling all those unfortunate to be
in their path. Somehow she manages to pull the blade,
from her side, it’s dull and has left a flesh wound, barely
a wound at that, in front stands the man who drove it
into her side, his stance is sloppy, his demeanour tries
to betray his fear but he stinks of it, his eyes are the
giveaway, he’s never seen this before, his first war and
he’s on the wrong side.
Then her arm swings upward from her side drawing the
blade clasped to her side in its ornate sheath, it gleams
pristinely even in this dark place and then in the same
motion she rips up and then down, careful to wipe the
blade clean before covering it again.
The man falls to his knees, his makeshift armour, a tunic
with some ancient chainmail split and shredded by her
blade, his flesh sliced cleanly open, the blood inks out
and dyes the clothes, he falls forward in the mud,
making no sound, only dying.
Opera is pulled from her dream, the air is cold, the
water tossed into her face even colder, ‘Get up girl’,
with her hands bound, she wipes her face and eyes, the
others are already standing, she clambers to her feet,
the man holding the bucket checks her shackles, his
hands finding their way around her body, he leans and
smells her hair ‘Might just save up my wages for you
girly’, he grins a broken smile, his breath clings to her
skin and soaks her hair – this was her life now, it had all
changed so much in only a few days.
Three nights before she was sitting by the fire while her
father recounted old stories, great battles, tremendous
creatures and of great evils and the mighty heroes who
vanquished them. Great evils? She didn’t think they
were real until the village she called home was visited
by them, twisted shadows of men scouring through dark
nights, they happened upon the sleepy hamlet and in
one night, they had destroyed it all, her home, her
family, her life. Amidst the chaos, her father had
smuggled her out of the village into the brush, he held
her close, his voice choked back a farewell before he
turned and left her in the woods and returning to fight
for his people. She watched it all burn, she heard their
screams and all she could do was weep until she was
overcome by exhaustion.
She walked for hours until she stumbled on a merchant
caravan, a middle aged man he offered her a bed and a
ride to the city of Waterbridge, it was all too good to be
true. He sold her to these men and now she was headed
south through the Wastelands and to a place she’d
never even heard of.
Her wrists were sore, her legs ached but she was pulled
into a march, her line was mostly men but behind her
was another woman, older, she’d only spoken once,
asking Opera if she knew where they were and then
falling silent when Opera shrugged her shoulders. As
they walked her mind wandered to the dream she’d
had, it was the same dream every night now since the
attack, she was on a battlefield, she’d slain the same
man each night, was there some meaning to it all?
It was too hard to concentrate or even give it a lot of
thought, her hunger pains had returned and as hard as
she tried to ignore them, she could feel her body
beginning to give way to it, “Hang in there little one,
tonight we will be free”, the croaked whisper came from
behind her, she turned her head slightly, from the
corner of her eye she watched the woman, her head
bowed as if she’d said nothing.
Did she imagine the voice?
. . .
One month ago...
He lay in bed awake, priding himself on, the crow began
to call, priding himself on the fact that he had risen each
morning every morning for the last year before that
blasted bird had time to erupt the monastery into the
daily morning frenzy. He turned in the bed, sliding his
feet onto the cold stone floor, stand up, he wiped what
little sleep remained from his eyes and stretched
upward and then swooping his hands down into the
bowl of clean, clear water, he glanced at his reflection in
the bowl and smiled.
It had been almost three years since he’d been sent to
the monastery at White Cliff, his parents had wanted a
scholar so they paid to have one, regardless of his own
wants and wishes. These stone buildings had been his
school and his home and admittedly things didn’t start
off so well but he’d settled eventually and was now
beginning his new year with a sense of enthusiasm,
helped by the fact he would finally begin his
apprenticeship under Master Bottick, regarded as one
of the best practitioners of medicine in the entire
country, if not the entire world.
Slipping out of his room, his eager steps were almost
two at a time, his robes were simple and plain all but for
the green sash he’d received the night before, a mark of
his achievements so far, all the third years wore them to
highlight their dedication to scholarly pursuits. He
twisted and turned each corner of the dormitories
sharply, sidestepping and curling around one or two
familiar faces with a speedy good morning, he’d made it
into the Grand College grounds in record time.
The place had finally stopped putting him in a state of
awe, for a monastery, White Cliff didn’t spare the
expense in construction and decoration. Thick stone
walls for protection against any possible attack where
painted inside with lavish carvings, golden framed
paintings of iconic masters and ancient thinkers, high
mahogany beams suspended delicate tapestries.
Deeper into the college grounds closer to the Offices of
the Masters, displays were laid out of old artefacts and
timeless pieces dug up during hunts and digs, that was
where he was headed this morning to meet with the
man who would help him become all he now wanted, a
healer, a doctor.
The door to Master Bottick’s office acted as a final
barrier to Lee, his future lay inside he grasped the black
iron handle and turned, the door didn’t budge, instead
the lock banged and rattled, a mocking sound. Maybe
he was early?
Behind him he heard footsteps, a Page, the First
Master’s Page no less, ‘Novice Lee, your presence is
requested in the First Master’s office, if you’d like to
follow me sir’. The page turned on his heel and headed
to the end of the hallway, Lee was confused but
gathered his thoughts, perhaps he was to meet Bottick
here, maybe he’d misheard the instructions or misread
the letter of acceptance, it would be fine he convinced
himself.
The Page glided the door open, no doubt this fellow was
the envy of all the other staff, he must get paid more,
he’d have to put up with First Master Varun, a brilliant
man matched only in intelligence by his temperament.
The office was rather simple, he’d only been in it once
before, when he first arrived and it hadn’t changed
much since then bar a few more dusty stacks of books.
Inside Varun was sat behind his desk, another man, was
eyeing the shelves and shelves of books, his fingers
gliding along the aged bent spines of the books, Master
Artafas.
‘Good morning Novice Lee, forgive me but I don’t
believe in dawdling about this subject, Master Bottick
has passed away.’
Abrupt and to the point, his face didn’t even twitch
when uttered the words, surely the two scholars were
friends or even acquaintances not that you could tell by
his reaction, Lee stared in disbelief, ‘How?’
‘What do you mean how? He is dead, what more is
there to know about it? My boy it would seem that you
are in fact the only third year without a mentor and that
simply can’t be. For the time being I have assigned you
to Master Artafas, while his pursuit of Forgotten Arts
might not be to your taste, I’m sure some study is better
than no study even if it isn’t the most challenging’.
Lee couldn’t believe what he was being told, just like
that his future was gone, once more what he wanted
didn’t seem to matter and now he was being saddled
with a Master nobody else wanted?
‘Now if that’s all, I ask that you both leave me to my
work’, Varun waved them out the door, the Page closing
it firmly and quickly behind them both.
Artafas shuffled down the hallway not even
acknowledging the Novice as he brushed passed him,
his mind lost in the pages of the tome he carried, he
disappeared behind another door that closed with a
resounding thud.
Lee stood in the hallway piecing together everything
that just happened.
Chapter II
“Run and Hide”
Coming next month!