Go For Stories

He clung to the ox until the herd’s frantic escape eased into a gentle migration, where he took the opportunity to dismount from his steed. The oxen strolled into the woods and V’esen headed off in search of the path home. While he expected the soldiers would eventually come looking for him, he knew he had a decent head start and was in no real hurry. The leaves overhead rustled as a slight breeze blew through the trees, cooling his sweat-soaked brow. Now that he was away from prying eyes in the camp he swept his hair from his face and tucked it behind his ear, whispering his thanks to the wind. There was never a better feeling than that which he got after a successful heist. He revelled in this as he made his way through the forest.

However, the feeling didn’t last long. As he moved a branch out of his way, a tremendous pain wracked his brain. He grabbed his head with both hands as spots formed before his eyes and he collapsed to his knees. Waves of nausea rolled through him and he fell to the ground. His body convulsed and his vision failed.

Moments later, colour came back and he looked around. He was now on his feet in the middle of a forest, but not the one he had been in. Here, the trees were wider and sturdier. It seemed familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on the reason why. He tried to walk, but was unable to move.

“What’s going on?” he asked himself as he felt his body move under its own steam.

He was running, but he didn’t know where, or even why. Somehow he knew he wasn’t being followed. The only sounds he heard were the gentle bubbling of a nearby stream.

‘Hold on,’ he thought, ‘I know this place.’

Sure enough, as he crested a small hill, the stream came into view. It was about a dozen paces wide and flowed into a short drop, where it cascaded into a round pool. Here, the water swirled about before heading further downstream. As a child, he used to come here often to cool himself in the hot seasons. This is where he had met Caral the very first time. She had laughed at his then-scrawny body and splashed water in his face.

He didn’t have long to dwell on his past, as he dove into the water and allowed the current to pull him through the woods. His vision dropped out once more.

When it returned he was climbing a tree, leaping from branch to branch and swinging to the next tree. Yet again, he tried to control himself, but to no avail. As he swung up to the top of an enormous and solid tree, he found himself staring at an old castle. While he could see people moving about in the grounds, the castle itself seemed to have been left to ruin.

Now he was inside the castle, only this time he was not himself. He stood in shadow, watching his own form; back pressed against the stonework in a room lit only by a single beam of sunlight. He left the cover of the shadow, brandishing a sword. In one fluid move, he sliced V’esen’s head from his shoulders. The body fell to the ground as the head rolled across the room and came to a stop, face up. The mouth was wide in shock and the eyes rolled for a moment before the light faded from them and his markings grew dim.

V’esen gasped and sat up. He was back in his own body and the oxen grazed nearby, making soft snorting sounds. His hands shot to his neck, rubbing the spot where he had seen his head removed. The skin was unharmed. He felt cold; cold and ill. What in the world had happened? Was it a dream, or a vision of the future? He stood on shaky legs, hoping it to be the former.

He had no idea how long he had been lying on the forest floor. The darkness was not as complete as that of true night and birds called through the trees. He took off at a hesitant run, checking the helm was still in his possession. It was time to go home.

*          *          *

He entered the village the next evening with the helm in his bag and a smile on his face, the hallucinatory episode in the forest put to the back of his mind. It had been months since he had been here and he always enjoyed coming home. The people liked him, he was not persecuted for who he was and, of course, there was Caral.

But before he could visit her, he would see his parents. Their house sat within view on the edge of town, its steep sloped roof and high chimney standing out amongst some of the lower buildings in the area. Theirs was a luxury afforded by their role in the Natural Order, the religion of his people.

He jogged up to the front door and knocked three times.

“What do you want?” His father called from inside the house.

“I need food,” V’esen replied.

“No food here. Try the inn.”

V’esen hammered on the door with his fists.

“Just let me in, you old goat. I’m tired and you’re making me angry.”

There was a period of silence before footsteps came stomping through the house. The bolt scraped as it was slid from its hole and the door flung open.

“I told you never to come here again,” his father growled, holding his face so close to V’esen’s that his eyes fogged with every breath.

V’esen glared back for an uncomfortable amount of time before a voice broke the tension.

“Don’t you two get bored of this?” V’esen’s mother asked. “You do it every time.”

The two men backed away from each other and burst into laughter.

“Obviously not this time,” said V’esen with a huge grin on his face. He wrapped his mother in his arms. “I’m home.”

“I guessed as much.”

V’esen released his mother and stood back. Staren looked tired, but happy. Her curly, red hair had grown and now hung below her waist. His father, Rense, looked the same as always, thickset and hairy with eyes that glowed with a lust for life unmatched by anyone V’esen had ever met.

“So,” said V’esen, “about that food?”

Staren rolled her eyes and turned her back, walking into the house.

“Lucky for you, I haven’t prepared anything for just the two of us yet. Take off your boots before you come in.”

Rense slapped his son on the shoulder and headed into the house. V’esen removed his boots and placed them just inside the door, then followed him in. He enjoyed the sound of his walk as it echoed off the vaulted ceiling, bounced around the loft bedroom and returned to him; an improved, more comfortable sound than when it left his feet.

Staren was in the kitchen, scrubbing some vegetables in a tub of water as he entered.

“Did you need some help?” V’esen asked.

“Almost done. Perhaps you could put your stuff down and help your father fix the fence.”

V’esen turned to Rense, who held out a hand.

“No, you sit.” He managed both friendly and commanding in the same tone. “I’m sure you’re tired and need the rest. I’ll be back in shortly.”

He left through a door to the right of Staren. He grabbed an axe off a hook on the wall as the door swung shut behind him. Staren pulled a dripping tuber from the tub and placed it on the bench next to her and turned to V’esen. She gazed at him with raised eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Nothing: just warm clothes and a gourd of fresh water.” By reflex, he drew the bag closer to him.

“What else is in the bag?”

He lowered his eyes. “A helmet.”

“What sort of helmet?” Her eyes narrowed to mere slits.

He sighed. “The Helm of Ren’nel sort of helmet.”

Staren let out a high-pitched squeak and took a small step towards him. “How did you? … Where did you? Is that what you’ve been doing for these last few months?”

“Well, it wasn’t easy to find.”

“I expect not.” She looked at the bag with an uncharacteristic ferocity. “Can I see it?”

V’esen shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

He untied the drawstring at the top of the bag and pulled out the red helmet. Staren grew still, transfixed on the helmet.

“Do you know what you’ve done? The helm hasn’t been held by a member of the Order in over three hundred years. You’ve brought it back to us. You brought it home.”

“I know, mother, I know.” He secreted the helmet back into the bag and looked up at her with a grin and a twinkle in his eye. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“Were you spotted?”

“Not as such.”

“Were you hurt?”

“Nothing I can’t deal with. Are you mad at me?”

Staren grabbed his face in both hands and held him tight. Water dripped from her hands and ran down his cheeks. Up close, she looked older; something he would never have expected from her.

“I would only be mad if you didn’t come back to us. It’s not our job to send you to the wind when your time comes. I worry about you.” Her expression softened. “But no, I’m not mad. You’ve done something amazing for us and our history.” She let him go and sighed. “I can’t pretend that I’m excited about how much danger you’ve put yourself in, but you came home safe and that is what matters. But I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t let your father find out about what you are doing. You know he would want to help. He isn’t as young as he once was and I fear nothing more than losing him.” She put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “V’esen, I couldn’t live without him.”

“Oh? What about losing me?”

She laughed. “You can handle yourself. I trust you to be smart, but your father is headstrong and impulsive. That is not a good combination for a thief.”

“No, but he was a good fighter.”

“He still is. You should see him when I forget to close the door after myself.”

Rense burst into the house, still holding the axe.

“I simply can’t stand a draughty house in the cold season,” he shouted, “but what does she do? Every time she comes in the house she leaves it open for the god of rain. He’s not coming in, dear. Not when I’m around.”

“Yes, yes, I know. ‘Rain lives on the fields, not on the floors.’”

V’esen hoisted his bag over his shoulder. “Perhaps I should leave for a while; let you two sort it out.”

“Nonsense,” said Rense, “you stay, or I go with you. Now, go put your bag in the loft.”

“The loft? But don’t-”

“Just go!”

Unwilling to incur his father’s displeasure any further, V’esen hurried out of the kitchen and up the wooden stairs to the loft. He ran his hand along the familiar, curved railing as he climbed. It seemed as though his parents no longer used this room for themselves. It was bare apart from a single bed with a straw mattress and cushions. He placed the bag with care by the bed and headed back down to the kitchen to help with the evening’s meal.