Asha and Tavia

This is a short story I wrote for my creative writing class. It's sort of like an origin story for two main characters in a fantasy novel I hope to write in the future.

I remember the raid. It was mid-winter. The wind was especially harsh that year. It whistled against the windows and snuck in through the cracks of the cabin. There wasn’t much firewood either since we had just suddenly moved from Olaran and Father hadn’t enough time to gather wood before the snow trapped us in. So we had to start burning furniture. At first it was Tavia’s cot which she had grown too big for anyway, but eventually it was Father’s rosewood desk which his friend from the University of Olaran had made for him when he first became a professor.

Despite Mother’s insistence, Father never burnt one of his books. Even when there were no more bookshelves for them to sit on, he was adamant that they were to be left unharmed. So they sat in wobbly stacks on the floor.

Tavia didn’t understand why we moved away from the city and she often complained.

“I hate the North,” she spat, her little eyebrows furrowing. “Can’t we go back, Father?”

Mother was always quick to correct her, giving her blonde head a pat. “This is where we live now, darling.” Despite Mother’s Tavia still wore a scowl.

I, too, wished that we had never left Olaran but I knew something was wrong and Mother and Father thought it best for us to leave and live far away from the capital. Weeks prior, after a dinner party, I had overheard Father talking with the other guests in heated voices. I still missed our manor and the cook and maids, but most of all, I missed our nanny. The small cabin felt empty and cold with just the four of us.

We had left with barely nothing in comparison to everything we had in our manor. We left with only the clothes on our backs and a few weapons. Mother said I could bring my wooden sword and our box of toys, but Father’s books were more important.

“We can always buy more toys, Asha,” Father said softly as he took the chest of toys out of the wagon and filled the space with more volumes. He rested his hand on my head. “Come now, it’s time to say goodbye.”

Our nanny squeezed us tightly before we left and gave us each a kiss on the forehead. She held Tavia’s little hands and spoke to her softly, before telling me to be strong like King Magnus, my favorite of all the legends she would tell us before bed. I can still remember how she smelled: primroses and honey.

When Father would let me, I would pick a book from his stacks and read. I would read out loud for Tavia to hear as she insisted on being a part of everything that I was doing. We would sit on the floor, near the fire, and wrapped in a woolen blanket. They were dry books—stories of past wars, kings, and conquests. I read about the gods of the South, the pirates of the Crosian Sea, and the history of the Universities.

“Father,” I asked in the middle of my reading, “Why didn’t we go back to Veoplos if we were going to leave the capital?” We used to live there for a short time, while Father worked at the University of Veoplos. I remember the heat of the sun on my skin as if it was yesterday. I had never seen my face so tan.

He sighed. “You sound like your mother, Asha.” And that was the end of it.

***

Tavia was sleeping in Mother’s bed, curled up against her chest, when the yelling woke us up. Father was up before I knew it, rummaging around for his sword. I stumbled out of bed and forgot to grab my cloak before I opened the door. The cold engulfed me.

Outside, rooftops burned red and black horses rode throughout the streets, their riders swinging steel swords and slashing through the men of the village still in their sleep shirts. I froze at the sight of it. I shook from fear and from cold.

The roof of the house across the street caved in. Not long after, a woman carrying a lame boy came out. Her face was dark from the ash, tears cut through the black soot. She called out for help, laying her son on the snow. He wasn’t moving, his eyes frozen and glassy.

I stood there and watched. I stood there and watched as a horseman came riding down our street and cut the woman’s throat with his dagger. I stood there and watched as the snow turned red.

When the rider turned to get back on his horse, he saw me standing there. His dark eyes pierced into mine. Blood was splattered across his face. He approached me with a tight grip on his weapon.

My heart beated loudly in my ears and yet I still couldn’t move or scream. I could only watch in terror as he approached.

“Asha!” I hear Father call from behind me.

Before I knew it, my father was in front of him, his shield protecting me from the horseman’s blows.

“Asha, get in the house!” He yelled as he began to fight.

The rider threw his dagger to the side and drew his sword. It was a great sword of steel and it glimmered in the light of the flames. He swung it with two hands and it clanked against my father’s shield, splintering the wood.

“Asha!” My father yelled.

I shook suddenly and quickly obeyed, retreating into the house. As I left I saw my father pierce the rider with his sword in between his armor plates, the blood seeped out and stained the snow.

In the house, Mother covered Tavia’s ears with her hands and huddled in the corner. Her face was firm as she spoke. “Where is your father?”

“Out-outside,” I stuttered.

“Pull back the rug. There’s a floor pantry, take Tavia—”

Father entered the house. His night skirt covered with blood. “Ellyn, the houses are on fire, very soon ours will be too. We have to fight our way out.”

Her face hardened at the news. She turned to me. “Keep Tavia safe. Cover her eyes with a strip of cloth and carry her on your back. We must be quick.”

“It’s bloodbath out there, Ellyn,” my father warned.

“We should have never come here.” She spoke grimly. She lifted her hands off Tavia’s ears and spoke to her gently yet still remained firm. “Hold onto Asha tightly. We are going to cover your eyes, but do not be afraid.”

Tavia turned to me, her eyes glassy with tears and her face white with fear.

“Come, Tavie,” I cooed gently.

She walked over to me and in that moment she seemed so young again, fleeing from Mother’s arms into mine. I wiped away her tears with shaking hands. In a hurry, I slipped on my day clothes and my boots, and Tavia’s too. I ripped a strip of cloth off the bed sheet.

“No peeking,” I said softly as I tied the strip over her eyes. She held on tightly to my skirt, her little fingers turning white.

“Come now.” Father spoke.

I held Tavia on my back and stood. Mother took the battle axe off the wall. It was part of her dowry, her ancestral axe, given to her as she had no brothers. I had never seen her swing it until that night. It was a beautiful axe, with her family inscriptions on the steel. She held it firmly and gave my father a nod.

He stuck his head out the door and before I knew it we were on the move. I walked in between my parents, my mother watching our backs.

Most of the houses were collapsed now. I looked behind me to see a part of our neighbor’s burning house fall into our roof, crashing into it and spreading the fire. I tried not to look at the below me. Bodies litter the streets. The snow was red from the blood and was melting from the heat of the flames. It sloshed against my boots. Ahead of us, a woman screamed in agony as her husband was gutted in front of her. Tavia’s grip tightened at the sound.

The rider ripped her blade out of the man’s gut and moved on to attack the woman. Suddenly, my mother’s hands were on me and she pulled me off the street with a tight grip. We knelt down behind a wagon and waited. The rider had begun to approach my father. She screamed in a shrill voice as she swung her blade, only to be met by my father’s shield. She was fast on her feet and despite my father’s best efforts, she managed to cut his dominant arm. He grunted in pain.

Another rider rode down the street and yanked his horse’s leads to an abrupt stop. “Leave him be, Brea!” the rider commanded. “That’s the man we are looking for.”

The rider stopped her fighting instantly and scowled. “Very well.” She hit my father in his gut and he fell to his knees, spitting blood onto the snow. My mother’s hand tightened around my wrist as we watched.

Another rider approached and spoke to the leader. “What are your orders, sir?”

“Burn everything. Leave nothing but ash. We have the man we are looking for.”

“Yes, sir.” The rider trotted away.

The leader got off his horse and approached my father. He grabbed his hair and pulled back his head to force him to look in his eyes.

“Did you think you should run from me, Marcus Odberor?” he sneered.

My father spat his blood in response.

“Come, Asha,” my mother whispered.

“But Father—” I whined.

She held back tears and forced the words out: “We must survive.”

We continued to move. I tried not to think of my father at that moment and instead only focus on following my mother as she weaved through the village, hiding from horsemen as they rode by.

On our way out of the village, we had come upon two men fighting three riders. I recognized one of the men as the blacksmith. He was burly and swung a great battle mace. We would have waited but we were surrounded by burning houses that could collapse on us at any moment, so we took our chance. Another rider had appeared on foot and spotted us. My mother yelled as she swung her axe and cut off his arm, blood squirting onto her woolen dress. Another rider had begun to fight with her now. Amongst her cries, she called out to me. “Asha, run!”

I held onto Tavia’s legs tighter and she hugged me as hard as she could. I ran away, dashing through the alleyways between the burning houses. My eyes were focused on the hilly forest outside the village. Behind me I could hear a rider chasing after me. I didn’t look back.

I jumped off the road and into the tall grass, sprinting into the woods. The trees were too dense for the horse to follow, but I still ran. I jumped and stumbled over their great roots which twisted along the forest floor. I climbed up the hill, my breaths raspy in my throat. At the top, I stopped and collapsed onto the dirt. Guttural sobs over took me and yet Tavia still held on tightly.

I took her off my back and sat her in front of me. As tears streamed down my face, I took off her blindfold. I tried to stop crying in order to keep her calm, but I couldn’t manage it.

“Where’s Mother and Father, Asha?” She furrowed her brows in confusion and looked around.

A sob escaped me. In the distance I could see the village burning like a flickering flame. I held Tavia tightly, her little heart beating loudly against my chest. I rocked her back and forth in my arms like I did when she was a baby. We stayed there until dawn broke through the sky and the village was nothing but smoking ash.