The life of Hlideð Kwithen

 

Hlideð she was called, because, unlike all other children, she always spoke the truth[1]

Her mother, Altanes Kwithen, had died giving birth to her daughter. She had been a warrior, fighting away far to the east with other peoples. She returned to her home in the land of Grougin broken by something which had happened to her, but of which she would never tell. She returned carrying her child, but of its father, she never spoke a single word. She died in great agony giving birth to her daughter, and is forgotten.

The child was raised by her uncle and aunt, Kalaez and Pentaem Kwithen, who lived in their old family home in the southern reaches of Grougin. It was her aunt who gave Hlideð her name when she was four years of age. If she had any other name before that it is no longer remembered.

Her family was not wealthy, but then none of the realm of Grougin were so. She thus soon took her place alongside her cousins in helping to hunt the wild mountain and forest creatures for food. It was a hard, but simple life, one in which the children played their part by helping the elders so. Her youth passed swiftly thus, and it was of liking to her. It was also a dark pity that this way of life could not last for her.

By the time of her tenth year she had become much as she was to remain, looking fragile to the touch, but with the strength of a bear and a heart of iron which only revealed itself in times of need. With her long blond hair and a fair face, she was a most beautiful child. However, she was ever alone among her family. Her cousins saw her as an invader into their lives, and no matter how much her aunt and uncle tried, they could never make her their own child. She had no close friends, perhaps because of her often fiery temper. Indeed, it could be said that others noticed even in her youth that something was wrong within her, something was never right.

Soon after she turned twelve, she began to suffer a server illness that no healer could cure or indeed even understand. She had never been a child with the best of health, but this was far worse than anything she had ever had before. for days on end she would be confined to be wracked with a delirious fever, and then, without warning, she would be up and about. But through all of her twelfth year it returned again and again, so much so that her aunt and uncle feared for her life.

One day, only a few before her thirteenth naming day, she and one of her cousins were working in what passed for the barn shifting hay. With out warning Hlideð fell to the ground screaming in pain, and began to have what seemed like a fit. Her cousin, seeing that this was bad, rushed to Hlideð’s side. The girl was terrified, but in a few moments, she was going to be come much more so. Hlideð let out a blood curdling scream, and from her back burst two giant wings, splattering the girl with blood. With an almighty cry, she fled from the barn calling for help as she frantically wiped the blood from her eyes. For a few moments Hlideð lay in a daze, before coming to her senses. She crawled to her feet, and tried to stand. It was then that she looked at herself. She let out a great cry of dismay, and fled into a dark corner of the barn, crying her eyes of for the first time in her memory.

A few minutes later, her aunt ran into the barn, her daughter having brought her. “Hlideð!” she cried, “Where are you? What has happened?”

She looked around for a few moments, until she heard sobbing coming from a corner. She walked into the shadows. There she found the dreadful sight of her niece huddled up in a corner. She was covered in her own blood and her clothes were torn apart. But what Pentaem could not miss was the two giant wings hanging over Hlideð’s back. She was in shock, but not in the dark, for she knew what Hlideð was, she was a Romine.

“Go away!” Hlideð whimpered

“Do you know what you are?” asked her aunt.

“No!” Hlideð cried, “Go away!”

“You are a Romine!” her aunt said, raising her voice, “Your mother was raped by a Nikarin and you are the result, you are not human, and you no longer belong here, you must leave.”

Every single word cut deeper and deeper, but the last brought her out screaming. She could not believe that her aunt has turned so cold in just a few moments. But such was the shock of what had happened, that she did not reply.

“I will give you ten days,” said her aunt, “I owe your mother that much. GO back into the house now, wash yourself and take your belongings, you can stay out here after that.” She faltered then, as if her would were really too harsh, but she then said, “Then you must go….I am sorry” Then she left, and went to the house to make sure all were out when Hlideð went in. For a few moments, Hlideð just sat in shock, until her strong will fought its way through.

A short while later, she darted into the house, seeing her aunt and her cousins out on the field. In a large travel bag she gathered up clothes, food, and the few belongings she could not part with. She then washed all the blood off her body, and slowly cut up he clothes so she could actually ware them. Through all of this, she continued to cry her eyes out, but slowly her grief was being replaced by anger and determination, anger at being rejected, and the determination to survive.

Though her aunt had given her ten days, she had decided to use just the one. She would not allow herself to be so ridiculed again, and so planned on leaving in the morning. However, not knowing in the slightest what she was going to do, she stole an axe from the weapons cupboard, and a leather jerkin and a great cloak from her aunt, a piece of spiteful revenge. She then made sure she had everything, and picked up a couple of books that she liked, as well as a few more practical ones such as a book of maps and several history books. Having secured all this, she was about to walk out the door when her youngest cousin, an eight year old, walked through the door. She took one look at Hlideð, and screamed before running out the door. Hlideð said to herself “No fear, I’m not hurting anyone, I shall be gone in the morning in any case.” She shook her head, and walked out to the barn, and closing the doors behind her, she fell asleep almost at once.

She had a restless night full of worry and savage dreams. The weather took a turn for the worse over night, with a foul wind blowing up, Hlideð thought it was a bad omen for times ahead, but by morning, the weather had again turned fine, and the sky was clear. When she awoke, she hoped beyond hope that it was all a nightmare, but she was not granted that gift. It was much later than she planned already, near midday, so she got up, put on her cloak, and slung her bag over her shoulder, and prepared for an unknown life. None of her family were there to see her go, though a few watched from a respectable distance, but not even her aunt or uncle had come to say farewell, and thus she left without saying a single word. Everything she had ever known had been lost, but her life was just beginning.

 

From only a dozen or so miles from the family home she was on her own, she had never been further than that before in her whole life. She had decided that she would go south. For what reason she did not know. She did not know much of the outside world, much less where the lands of the Romine were. In truth she knew nothing of the Romine at all, and everything her aunt had said was both new and devastating to her. Thus with all her cares now gone, she walked south at her own pace. It took her hours to catch her first hare, she had never done it on her own, and her wings seemed to hold her always off balance, but catch it she did. She spent those first days getting used to the wild life, and then she tried to do the one thing which she at least had the right to do, she tried to fly.

At first she seemed to do well. In her frost attempts in the early hours, she managed to get off the ground for a few moments, before she gave up for the day. But she could go no further. She continued southwards every day, and every morning she tried again, but could not fly. It made her bitterness and loneliness grow, and the were many days where she felt as if she should just give up. But from somewhere she forged the strength to go on. The thought of exploring the world was what kept her going.

Some twenty days later, she crossed the border into Pfounbimous. To keep away from prying eyes she skirted the mountains on her journey, remaining in the more wild lands where few people lived. She did not want to find her way barred by those wishing for trouble.

A few days later, as she walked into more wild lands with her wings free, she came nigh to one of the many small lakes which littered the eastern hills of Pfounbimous. As she passed one she was surprised to hear a voice near the water. Tugging her axe free, she edged closer to see who it was. She saw a young man, scarcely older than herself if at all, sitting besides the lake singing, very badly to himself. His song was of times past, of Avternain, of Glimer, but the lines he kept repeating were those on Harien Kaldar, the speaker of doom. Though he could not sing, there was stark emotion there, as if the words meant much to him. He was a scraggly boy, his hair was long and dark, and his clothes were in a great state of disrepair. But Hildeð saw him as different for everyone else, for if one could speak of different races with such emotion, he many well tolerate her. With a little caution, she took a few steps forward.

It took only a few moments before he heard her, and he span around and looked straight at her. For a moment his stare verged between wonderment and outright fear, then he smiled.

“Ah, it is strange days,” he said, seemingly to himself, “When a Romine is seen in the glades of Vear Vinotz.” He sighed and stared back at the water, “It is Adam Othl and Joele Romine all over again.”

He continued to stare at the water, and Hlideð, to try and get a few words from him, asked, “Who were they?”

“You do not know?” asked the youth, and Hlideð shook her head, “Well, a history lesson shall be in order, but for now, I think it is best that I should ask my acquaintances’ name?”

Hlideð, a little confused by his fast dialectical speech, took a few moments to answer, “Hlideð, Hlideð Kwithen,”

“I am glad to meet you Hlideð,” he replied, “my name is Kwaiðen Zandaz. My life is yours[2]. Now if I may ask, what brings a Romin, seemingly from the ice by voice[3], south to these forests?” 

Hlideð sat down beside him, fearing no malice from him any longer. “That is a tale I would rightly not tell” she replied.

“Ah,” said Kwaiðen in sudden realisation, “Then there were times of abandonment behind you?”

Too late did Kwaiðen realise his mistake, as Hlideð hung her head as if in shame.

“It often befalls Romine of Mavine mothers,” said Kwaiðen, “Or so I have heard.”

 Hlideð sat in silence for a few moments, before asking, “Is it true that my mother died because of me?”

Kwaiðen suddenly found himself at a loss for words, and turned away, but it did no good.

“Answer me!” Hlideð shouted, “You seem to know more about me than I do myself, so tell me, did my mother die because of me!”

Kwaiðen said nothing for a few moments until a stern look from Hlideð forced him to answer “Yes, I suppose it is true,” Hlideð’s face turned into a gaze of stone with those words.

“but,” said Kwaiðen, trying to put a shine on his words, “You are lucky, you are one of the most gifted peoples on Bair, you will live nigh four hundred years, and can fly, surely that is not so bad?”

“Ha!” laughed Hlideð sourly, “I have lost my home, my family, I killed my mother, and have turned into a creature that I always was taught to be evil, and on top of all that, no, I can’t even fly. Do you truly believe that to be lucky?”

Kwaiðen could not speak for a few moments. Her emotional words had moved him, and he bitterness brought him close to tears, tears of mourning for all those millions who had fallen at the hands of the evils. But when he at last found the will to speak, he brought up one of the more trivial topics.

“You cannot fly?” he asked, “strange, but I had read that it was second nature to your race”

“Well I cannot,” she replied, “I have tried and I have failed, I can barely get off the ground.”

Kwaiðen thought for a few moments, and then asked, “Say, if you would wait until morning, I will try and help you if you like?”

Hlideð was sceptical at that, but she realised that she had made a friend, and a little friendship was better than none. Thus she nodded her agreement. Then, after a few moments, she asked, with a little intrigue, “Well, you know all about me and why I am here, but now I ask you what you are doing out here in the wilds?”

“Ah, well….mm,” stammered Kwaiðen, suddenly becoming very uncomfortable.

“Come on, I have bared my heart, now it is your turn!” She shouted at him.

“Well…Oh alright then fine!” he said finally, “I left home. My parents claimed that I was lazy, but I have never been strong enough t work out in a farm all day, and my heart has never been in it. At heart, I suppose I have always wanted to be a scribe. But a scribe cannot easily choose their own path on that course, they need someone else to help them, and since my parents would not let me have that choice, I left, some fifty days ago, and that is why I am out here,”

He had spoken fast, and by the time he finished, his tone had come close to flaring into outright rage. He was breathing heavily and his eyes stared straight ahead as if in a trance.

“A weight off your mind?” Asked Hlideð.

“Indeed” was Kwaiðen’s reply.

“It is strange,” said Hlideð, “I would have gladly been content with your life, farm work has never bothered me…I suppose we do not always get what we want in life…but we must make the most of what we do get”

Kwaiðen looked up and asked, “So what do you plan to do with what you have been given?”

Hlideð pondered for a few moments, and then replied, “I was heading south, I was hoping to gain knowledge of where my people are, but I do not know…”

“Avin Mina,” said Kwaiðen without thinking.

“What?”

“The Avin Mina[4], the mountains where the Romine live.” He answered.

“You know where they live?” shouted Hlideð with sudden hope and excitement, “Can you show me?”

Kwaiðen looked somewhat stunned, “Sort of, I saw it on a map, and I have read about it in books, but I have never been there, I know where, just not how to get there. And it is over a thousand miles distant, perhaps more, are you sure you want to go?”

Hlideð shrugged, “I have nothing else to do, have nowhere else to go, and have nothing but time, so yes, I suppose I will.”

A short silence fell beside the water.

“Then I will go with you,” said Kwaiðen suddenly.

“You!” half shouted, half laughed Hlideð, “You don’t even know me!”

Kwaiðen laughed as well, “I feel as if I know you better than anyone I have ever met.” He was silent for a few moments, “and besides,” he continued, “It has long been a wish of mine to climb the slopes of the Avin Mina and look down upon the plains of Minarand. It is a journey I had hoped to do for some time, sooner rather than later makes little difference to me.”

For a time they spoke no further. Hlideð accepted his words in silence, for she understood how dreams and wishes could move people. Then Kwaiðen stood up and began to prepare shelter for the night. Hlideð washed in the waters of the lake, the first time she had done so since she had left her home. That now seemed like a dream from a different life. It was approaching dusk before she returned back from the shore. Kwaiðen had built a strong fire beside a rocky embankment, so as to give them ome shelter during the night. He had even taken the trouble to bring Hlideð’s pack up there as well. She sat down beside him and pulled her blankets out, from her pack, she pulled out a single book which she had taken from home, but had not yet started to read, The tales of Adan Othl. Though intrigued, she fell asleep before half a hour had passed, and though Kwaiðen wished to speak to her more, he let her have her first night of untroubled sleep for some time, in peace.

 

She was awoken next morning by him, having had a night untroubled by dreams or nightmares. It was still dark; Milare was still a diffuse glare over the horizon. She mumbled a bit before she scrambled a question, “wha…what’s happening?”

“Remember what I said?” asked Kwaiðen, “I said I would help you to fly, and I mean it. So up!”

Hlideð struggled to her feet and yawing with great enthusiasm, wandered down to the edge of the lake, and splashed some water on her face, which gave her the bare semblance of wakefulness. Then she went and found Kwaiðen who was sitting down beside some trees.

It was a hard morning to say the least. Though Kwaiðen had no real idea of how to teach Hlideð, his main virtue was that he was a merciless verbal bully who, through constant shouting, never let her give up.

“Come on!” he cried repeatedly, “Up! Try again!” such words were repeated every few minutes, the constant reply was a multitude of curses followed by “I am trying as hard as I can!” such words were repeated every time she crashed back to earth, and she said them a great many times.

For several hours they continued relentlessly, but most times Hlideð struggled even to get off the ground. By late morning they were ready to give up and Hlideð was both exhausted and felt a fool for failing so badly, but Kwaiðen’s stubbornness would not let her give up. Hlideð, pouring with sweat, decided to give it one more try. Flapping her wings constantly and running at full speed with Kwaiðen shouting after her, she finally lifted off the ground. Once in the air, she found it an easy skill, at least for a few moments until she nearly landed in the trees. She walked back to Kwaiðen, utterly exhausted, but with a smiling face at last, and more joyful than she could ever remember. She was so happy that she did little but talk for several hours, and though neither of them had ever been particularly good about talking about their emotions, through hunting, resting, and reading, they did little else that day.

 

The next morning, Hlideð was up early just to fly. She found it much easier that day, and spent nearly an hour in the air before tiredness finally brought her down, as did the need for some food. She thus came down and ate some of her provisions. Kwaiðen awoke shortly after, and it was only then that they made true plans of what to do next.

“Do you want to leave tomorrow?” Kwaiðen asked.

“I suppose so,” Hlideð replied, “we have no reason to remain here forever.”

“I suggest that we gather some supplies then,” said Kwaiðen, “we don’t want to stop every day to gather food.”

They spent the rest f that day gathering that which they needed. Kwaiðen caught several rabbits, and Hlideð used her new found ability of flight by flying south to see what lay ahead, but saw only the forest for hundreds of mile to the south and west, while on the eastern horizon there lay the mountains of the Avin Hwëvi. Both wished to go over the mountains to meet the Ezleg of Alazarline, but they realised that they would see the Ezleg when they passed through Ravenline far to the south. They spent the latter part of the day patching up their rucksacks and gathering some fruit. By nightfall they were ready to go, and both were very tired, so slept soundly through the night.

When morning came they gathered their packs and cleared their camp, it was then that their journey southward began.

 

In the days which followed they set a leisurely pace. They had hundreds of miles to travel and thus saw no need to tire themselves needlessly. They were also travelling through Vear Vinotz, a forest so large that it was by its very nature a place of calm. Also, the land of Pfounbimous though which they were travelling, was a crossroads from both north to south and east to west, and so no one was going to stop two children out of hand, though Hlideð was careful to put on her cloak when anyone came near. Occasionally they stopped for a few days here and there, but they nonetheless soon crossed Pfounbimous and crossed the border into Dimpfous, a crossing done at night and over a ford to avoid suspicion. Here they found a land and people, which though tolerant of outsiders, seemed more worried at seeing two children walking across the country alone. Several times they were almost stopped, but due to fleeting exits, they were lucky not to.

Their journey across that land went faster because of this. Nonetheless both came to enjoy the life on the road, and also the country life was enjoyable to them, having not been to anything more than a village across their whole journey. However, on the southern border, they came back to civilisation for a few days.

They reached the town of Nathl on the southern border, a market town which had the most easterly bridge over the river Daro before the mountains. Unless they wished to go climbing, they had to cross there.

It was market day, and people from a hundred miles around had gathered at the town, many from across the border. Both Hlideð and Kwaiðen knew that it would that day contain one of the few bits of civilisation that they still cared for, and that was books. It was a cold day, though that would never stop the market, so Hlideð put on her thick cloak to hide her wings, which would not seem out of place, and they went into town. She herself was in a happy mood, and she was darting from stall to stall with such speed that Kwaiðen had trouble keeping up with her. They eventually found a small book stall. Two children, a boy and girl, both about eight or nine years old, sat playing beside it, while behind the stall an old, but active looking man, stood trying to sell his books. He was not having much luck.

“Here, Great books from the past! Ezleg made histories of the world! None better west of Var malir!” He cried in succession. Still no one seemed interested, except of course, Hlideð and Kwaiðen.

Hlideð ran up to the stall and began rummaging through the books. The old man asked her, “Hello young lady, are you looking for anything special, or are you just browsing?”

Hlideð shook her head, “I’m not sure, there are a few things…but”

“Ah, a northerner from Grougin I beleive,” said the man, realising at once where she had come from, “A long way from home?”

Hlideð shook her head, “I have no home any more,” she answered, forgetting her caution.

The old man looked at her for a few moments with worried and inquisitive eyes. Slowly, due to her appearance, things began to fall into place, he asked her, “Tell me young lady, does your mother know that you are here?”

She looked at him suddenly, and realising what he meant, she felt like running, but he placed a finger to his lips, then smiled.

“No,” she replied eventually, “my mother died when I was born.”

The old man looked truly sorrowful, “perhaps then you would like the tale of Adam Othl and…”

“Joele the Romine?” she finished, continuing the word games, “perhaps, but…”

“Ah there you are,” said Kwaiðen, out of breath and pressing towards her, “I’ve been looking for you, why can’t you just slow down a bit?”

“Ah, and a boy from Pfounbimous,” said the old man to no one in particular, “A true selection we have here.” Hlideð smiled weakly in reply.

Just then a few shouts were heard from a stall across the road. Obviously someone was getting upset about a purchase. People tried not to take notice, but without warning things got violent. Several people were pushed across the road and they crashed into the old man’s store, scattering people everywhere. Hlideð crashed to the ground, and her cloak was pulled off in the chaos. After a few moments, the fighting came to a halt, and all the assailants looked at her, for her wings now hung free above her shoulders.

“A…A Romine,” a few stuttered.

“Get her, she must die!” shouted a great deal more.

At the last moment she jumped into the air, and flapping her wings madly, she managed to escape their clutches, and the sudden scramble for her had caused the fight to resume, and there was chaos in the streets. Amidst the chaos, she saw Kwaiðen pointing south across the river, and then he started running that way, and she went on across the town from above. But as she crossed over the bridge, she heard shouts from the guards on both sides of the river, and suddenly arrows shot past her. She desperately tried to avoid them, but she was an easy target. One arrow struck her in the arm, almost knocking her out of the sky at once. Screaming in agony, she swooped low towards the trees, but at the last moment, a second arrow struck her wing. She fell out of the air, landing luckily on some bushes on the edge of the trees. In great pain, she tried slowly to crawl into the trees. She was save by the fact that the riot had spilled into the streets and then across the bridge, so that the guards had their hands full elsewhere.

Crawling through the trees for some time, she finally found an isolated spot between some bushes where she could stop. There she tried to pull the arrow from her arm, but she had not the strength nor will to do so. Thus she sat there shivering in pain and shock, made worse by the fact she had lost her cloak and the weather was still cold.

It was nearly an hour before she heard Kwaiðen shouting for her. She shouted back meekly, and he eventually found her, and he was distraught when he saw the state of her. But he had no idea how to take the arrow out. But just as he was about to try, there came another shout.

“Young lady,” a voice called, “is you out there.”

For a few moments Hlideð felt like staying still and hiding, but then she realised who the voice was.

“Over…over here,” she whimpered.

   Through the bushes came the bookseller and the two children. In his arms he carried her cloak and her pack, and once he saw her, he instantly carried a sorry look on his face.

“I’m sorry my young friend,” he said gravely, “It seems that most of our race does nothing but fear what it does not understand, and all there have no memory of the treaty it seems,” he shook his head.

He walked up to her, and put her things down beside her. He had a quick look at her arm and her wing, and then asked her, “Do you want me to take them out?” Hlideð murmured her positive reply.

He pulled out a little flask and said, “Drink this, as much as you can, it will dull the pain,” Hlideð took a long swig, and proceeded to cough heavily, the alcohol was very strong, and it made her feel sick, but it did dull her senses somewhat.

Then the bookseller moved to her arm and gripped the shaft of the arrow, “This will hurt,” he said, and with that he twisted the shaft and pulled it out in one go. Hlideð screamed in pain, and continued to whimper as he moved to her wing. That had been the easy one.

The second arrow had gone so far through her wing that the tip protruded from the other side. In a flash he grabbed hold of it, and twisting it, he pulled it out in only a second. That second was too much for Hlideð, who after another bloodcurdling scream, fainted outright.

 

She awoke some time later, feeling distinctly sore before she had even moved. Sitting up slowly, she found her self feeling a dull pain, but felt very stiff and sore. She quickly realised that she was still in the forest. Then she looked around, and was shocked to see the old man sitting beside her, with the two children also standing there. The little girl said “Hello flying lady.”

Hlideð smiled, and was about to reply when the old man said, “Klesela, Hwetin, go and see to the cart.”

The two children regrettably scuttled off, and the old man sat there looking grave.

“How are you feeling Hlideð?” he asked.

“Um, better…how do you know my name?”

“Oh, your friend Kwaiðen told me,” said the man, “He’s a nice lad, just a bit lost.”

“He is not the only one,” said Hlideð sadly.

“You are not lost,” said the old man, “you know where you are going, he does not.”

“Who are you?” asked Hlideð bluntly, as she still didn’t know his name.

“Oh, just a travelling bookseller,” he replied, “My name is Bhelem[5].

“Othlite?” Hlideð asked

“Ah, yes, you know your names I see,” he said happily, “I was from Mavinzhear, but I have not been there for many years.”

“Who are the children?” Hlideð asked.

“Oh…they…” he stopped.

“What is wrong?” She asked.

“I found them a few years ago in Kwerthenbimous,” he answered, “From what the locals told me, their mother died when they were born.”

“Hlideð looked shocked, “You mean…”

“Yes, I think so. Their parents had no relatives, and Kwerthenbimous has much of its army away to the east, so it is likely that they are Romine also.”

Shaking her head, Hlideð slowly got to her feet. Her aches threatened to bring her down, but her wounds did not seem to be bothering her as much as she feared.

She wandered out of the trees to see Kwaiðen sitting on Bhelem’s cart playing with the two children. Bhelem, suddenly struck with an idea, went to the back of his cart and rummaged through the contents. After a few moments he took out a book and handed it to Hlideð, “Here,” he said, “After what you’ve been through, you deserve a read of this.”

Hlideð thanked him and looked at the title, it read:

 

Adam Othl and the war of Xland

Together with stories of the Ezleg,

The battle of the nations, and of

Joele Romine.

 

The Printers of Neldaron

Var Malir

321 LN

 

An amused smile came to Hlideð’s face, “I’ve had my fare share of adventures this day, I have no need to read those of others.”

“If what Kwaiðen tells me is true, your greatest adventure is yet to come,” Bhelem replied.

She did not reply, and Bhelem was sensitive enough not to press her further. But Kwaiðen, who had been sitting with the children for some time, asked “Shouldn’t we get a move on, we’ve been here all day, won’t the town guard be after us?”

Bhelem laughed, “After the mess that the fight and then Hlideð’s appearance caused, it will be days before they have sorted that mess out and the right people set to look,” but then he frowned and added, “But then, someone may notice us, I suppose it would be safest for us to move off.”

“Us?” asked Hlideð, “Who is us?

“All of us of course,” said Bhelem, “I have got nothing left for here, though in truth the northern Mavine races have never appreciated books. On our journey we will cross both Mavinzhear and Ravenline before we reach the Avin Mina, and both those lands will appreciate these old books, as will the Romine, and besides, I know the way almost to the mountains, which I assume you do not?”

Hlideð did not reply, it seemed almost too good to be true.

“I suggest we go then,” said Bhelem, “we still have a couple of hours of light left, we can make ten miles today.”

Together they got the cart ready, and Bhelem insisted that Hlideð rode in the cart as she was in no state to walk. She put up only a feeble argument before huddling down in the back. She was asleep in only a few minutes, but not before Klesela has asked, “Can you do some flying for us please?” Bhelem spared her from that, but Hlideð fell asleep thinking that one day, that little girl would be able to do it herself.

 

She awoke the next morning feeling far better. Her arms still hurt, but she felt no more pain in her wing. She was still in the cart when she awoke, and looking up, it seemed like mid day. She sat up, ans saw the others sitting beside a tree cooking food. She pushed herself to her feet, and wandered over to them. She said her morning greetings and sat down to tuck into her meal.

“Can we see you do some flying today?” asked Klesela before Hlideð had even taken a single bite. Hlideð broke out in laughter.

“Of course,” she said, “I will do some later, just for you.” She answered.

“Can I ride on your back?” asked the boy Hwetin, “I want to see above the tree tops.”

“Leave off it boy,” shouted Bhelem, “she’s not a horse!”

“Don’t worry,” Hlideð laughed, “Yes of course, I give you a ride, one at a time though.” She was not apt to refuse. For the first time someone had seen only the good in what she was, and that was an intoxicating experience.

After her bite to eat, Hlideð wandered off with the children to show them some of the flying that they were so desperate to see. But more than just that, she wanted to see how she would get on herself. The wound on her wing, though much improved, had not completely healed by any means, and her arm was still very sore. Thus it was more of a test to herself than for the enjoyment of two little children.

She started by trying to simply get herself in the air. She felt a little pain in trying, but was soon up in the air with the children applauding below. Then she let little Klesela climb on her back, and she flew her around for a minute or so before coming back down, as it was really tiring for her. After a few minutes of rest, she took Hwetin up in the air. Then Bhelem called to them that they had to go, so they went back to the cart and got ready.

The next few weeks were Halcyon times for Hlideð. With a group of people who she could generally call friends around her for the first time in her life she was very happy. Kwaiðen was as chatty as ever, and now that he was travelling with a book seller, he could not stop talking about writing. Bhelem seemed ever happy as the cart plodded onwards, and the two children, ever fascinated by Hlideð, were bouncing with energy. Even the land helped Hlideð. Where as Dimpfous was paranoid and cautious, Gwinoxpfous was full of peoples of many nations and many races, and everyone, with a much more relaxed attitude to life, seemed more joyful. Though they were away from Var Boraet and the centre of commerce, they passed by many traders and other peoples. Hlideð saw an Ezleg in a small town they passed one day, and felt guilty when she realised she had stared open mouthed for a long time. A few days later they saw some Seldar who were trading fabrics. Hlideð found them much more intriguing. Bhelem had stopped the cart for the afternoon to stock up on some supplies, and Hlideð and Kwaiðen, together with the children were left to their own devices. Hlideð donned her cloak and spent the afternoon looking at the Seldar. The two adult Seldar spent ages speaking to each other in a beautiful language which Hlideð admired even though she had no idea how to pronounce it. Eventually, two children came over and spoke to her; “hello?” said a young girl, with a strange, but beautiful accent, “where are you from?”

“Grougin,” Hlidð replied, “far to the north.”

They spoke for a while, until one of the adults came over to get the children. The Adult, a male, looked at Hlideð for a few moments, and then said “good day to you Romine, allies to Almaline.”

Hlideð almost panicked, but though she held still, her face showed nothing but abject terror.

“Do not fear young one. We can tell your race easily. You kind and ours are bound together, and are our allies. I will not speak of you elsewhere, but if you ever reach my land, you will always be welcome there.”

The Seldan then turned with his children and walked away. Hlideð did not speak, for what she though could not be expressed in simple words.

 

After a thirty day journey across the east of Gwinoxpfous, they reached the river Merilm. They crossed the border with little problems, and entered Kwerthenbimous, known as Īlðegwfimous to the natives. Here they passed out of the land where their language was spoken, for Kwerthenbimous was a land of the Helexin people, and they spoke their own language. Hlideð liked the beautiful landscape which they passed, but after that her opinions on that country plummeted. For on their first night in that land, Bhelem told them of the people who lived there.

“They are a strange people here,” he said, “they are not like us, for we can be rich or poor, but we can do what we wish and where we are born to will not always be where we shall remain. In Mavinzhear a farmer’s son could rise to the assembly if they tried. But here it is not like that. You are one of four things, a knight, a farmer, a merchant or a city dweller, you cannot change. If you are born in a city and leave, you will find no one who will teach you to be a merchant, because it is not what happens. If you a born in a city, that is where you will remain.”

Kwaiðen, a farmer’s son who wanted to be a scribe, found this terrible, “That is dreadful, it is as evil to me as Zavner Zar.”

Hlideð could but agree, she may have no aspirations beyond her old farming life, but what if she had? Here she could never have changed unless she fled the country all together.

“Perhaps it is so,” said Bhelem, “but there is a fifth class, and that is outsiders, us, and we may be allowed in and out freely, but that does not mean they will trust us, so be careful. We shall be across the land in a few days.”

 

Those few days seemed like ages to Hlideð. Though the people were friendly, and seemingly tolerant of their passing, when ever anything was exchanged, the attitudes changed so that it seemed as if the native people expected then to steal something at a moments notice. Kwaiðen seemed so angry most of the time that she spent most of her time trying to make sure he was not going to start a one person riot. When they at last approached the border, Hlideð could not be gladder, and Kwaiðen seemed physically elated. They spent some time getting across the river Tarini by ferry, but when they reached the far bank, Bhelem said, “Here we are at the greatest Mavine realm, Mavinzhear.”

 

This land was unlike anything Hlideð had ever seen. The first thing they noticed was that all the roads were paved, and their journey was both more comfortable and quicker. Then they noticed the people. All were taller than any of the north, and Hlideð and Kwaiðen seemed a year younger than they actually were amongst these giants. Then they noticed how many other races were there. Where as on the journey they occasionally came across a Ezlag or Seldan, here the Ezleg seemed nigh as common as the Mavine, and there were many Seldar, and even some Kalrathen wandering the streets. When they came nigh to the first village in their path, Bhelem said, “you can take off your cloak Hlideð, you will not need it here. The friendship of Adam Othl and Joele Mavine has not been forgotten here. We may even see some of your kind here, if not, we will certainly see a few further south.”

Somewhat reluctantly Hlideð took off her cloak. She felt incredibly nervous at first, but soon she realised that she was in no danger at all here. The first Mavine they passed in the village called out to her, “Erehlain Romine” and no matter that the Mavine used an Ezleg greeting, it was a strange thing to hear any creature greet her friendly.

They pressed south on the Kalatmawen road, stopping nightly in some village. Hlideð was often surrounded by children who wanted to see her fly, or for her to tell them of her people. She did the former willingly, but of the latter she had to say that she knew nothing. She was not sure what to make of all this, though it was certainly better than being run out of town. When she at last had some peace, she asked Bhelem, “Bhelem, where was it in Mavinzhear that you came from.”

Bhelem looked sombre for a moment, “I came from Kalatmawen. I was once part of the assembly that rulers with the monarchs. I left because I lost someone I cared for, and couldn’t face the pain of remaining there.”

“Who did you loose?” asked Hlideð.

“ah, just my love…princess Xoniriz.”

“The princess!” shouted Hlideð.

“Please quieten down Hlideð, yes the princess. Second in line she was, but she never wanted to rule at all. She used to say to me, that she would rather die than be forced to the throne.”

“What happened?,” asked Hlideð

“Her older brother died, and she was forced to take the throne…After two months, she had enough, she tried to flee the city, but when the guards tried to stop her, she fought them, and was killed… I left a few days later; I could not take the scrutiny.”

Hlideð, though she felt sorry for the old man, marvelled. He had once been king of Mavinzhear.

“You may wonder why I am coming back now. Oh it’s not for you Hlideð, there are other ways to get to the Romine. It was just that you made me face my past. I have not been here for eighty years, but there are still loose ends I must tie up.”

He said no more then, and Hlideð, exhausted, found sleep easily enough.

 

A couple days later they reached the edge of the great hiils over looking the plains of Mavinzhear, and it was a beautiful sight in the morning air. Four hundred miles away they could just see the spires of the Avin Mina in the distant haze. They descended down into Dine Pelewe, and began crossing the Great Plains towards Kalatmawen.

Hlideð and Kwaiðen both enjoyed those days. The people of Mavinzhear seemed different to any Mavine that they had ever seen, they were not bound to convention, nor were they slaves to the harvest, as most of the people of that land were not farmers, but could choose their lives. Kwaiðen remarked that it was more like an Ezleg realm than one of the Mavine, and Hlieð agreed. All the very best parts of the Mavine nature were gathered in the Othlites, and Hlideð wished in someway to find a life for herself there. In that land she was as free as any Mavine. But though she held onto that thought, she knew that first she had to see the Romine. Then she could make her choice. Kwaiðen was enchanted by this land. He had spoken to the native people about his dream, and it was clear that here he could become what he wished, he would not have to slave on a farm all day. Only his earlier wishes to come with Hlideð seemed to hold him back.

When they crossed the Mavinez, they came into the most populated parts of Mavinzhear, and to get some peace, Hlideð had taken to wearing her cloak again just to get some relief from the children who plagued her.

 

1 Hlid Kaldon “true”

2 A standard Pfounbimous greeting to strangers.

3 This is referring to the dialects. By this time the Dialects of East Bairgarandic {comprising the peoples in Grougin, Pfounbimous and Dimpfous} were well on their way to becoming discrete languages. However, since the borders did not mark dialects or languages for some time yet, their two forms of speech, spoken reasonably close in distance terms, and though spoken through thick accents and dialect words, were still intelligible

4 Kaldon: “Guarding mountains”

5 Bhelem is from Proto-Vinotz *Bhilim, the Bairgarandic form was Birim, the aspirated B did not exist in Bairgarandic, hence Hlideð’s instant knowledge of his language.

 

 

 

 

Copyright Ben Clapp 2003