Chapter 1: Sunrise and Snowfall (pt.2)

That damnable old hag! I knew she couldn’t be trusted.

The pale layer of snow covering the floor of the oak glade scattered as a tall teenage boy jumped from his perch in one of the slumbering trees, cold fury in his grey eyes. He swirled around, his eyes scanning the ground for any signs of footprints or disturbance, but to his disappointment there was none visible.

Probably half way across the peninsula by now, he continued thinking, no doubt tracked us when we left her hut and took our pack after she hexed us.

Stretching his stiffened and chilled limbs, the boy stood staring through canopy of branches for a moment, seeking the aid of the sun or day star to regain his bearings before leaving the glade. A curtain of snow-heavy clouds was drawn over the sky, but the boy was still able to make out the faint rays of the sun fighting through clouds from what he assumed must be the east then.

Limbs stretched and bearings gained, the boy climbed back up the leaning oak he had woken up in, climbing as high as the branches would allow, and sat scanning the landscape. To the south was the oak glade of a few dozen trees, and was the way from whence he had come to this tree before his slumber. The leaves had been bright and burning when he arrived, but he could accept that the wind and snow had made the trees shed their coats early.

To the east lay several low, white hills, fenceposts where the farmers had drawn their everchanging borders this year visible in the snow, beyond which no doubt lay the fishing villages on the eastern coast of the Hellasi Peninsula. Turning north and west, the boy could make out the black line of the provincial road snaking across the flat fields to the walled city of Hellasean, visible a few leagues north of the glade.

‘Guess Hellasean’s our only real option,’ the teenager said to no one in particular. ‘Probably safe to take the road.’ With that, he jumped back to the ground and exited the glade a short distance from the road.

As he reached the low stone wall lining the road, he heard chattering voices coming down the road heading towards the city. Not wanting to be seen, he sank down against the outer face of the wall and waited. A few minutes passed before he glimpsed the horse drawn caravan cresting a hill and moving towards him, two men and a woman, no doubt a mother, father and son, sitting in front. The older man was holding the reins with both hands as his wife and son chattered on either side of him.

‘Yes mother. I remembered to count how many cheese wheels we have. You don’t have to ask every five minutes.’

‘We can’t afford any miscalculations, Ulys. These last few winters have not been kind to us. Tell him, Georg.’

‘Your mother’s right son,’ the father said in a soft voice. ‘There’s a reason we’re coming all the way to Hellasean to sell these. We won’t get enough sales anywhere else.’

This last statement made the teenager perch his ears. They’re also going to Hellasean, a deeper, slow-speaking voice said in the boy’s head, Maybe we can hitch a ride with them.

‘I’m glad we didn’t encounter any fae raiders, at least.’ The mother continued on another tangent. ‘gods know those accursed fiends have become common.’

Curses! The boy thought, the caravan now mere metres away, If they’re against fae or half-fae, we can’t approach them normally.

Hush. Don’t go getting irrational and scaring away the locals. You know what to do. Deep Voice continued.

You don’t have to tell me to not scare anyone away. the boy retorted.

Oooh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the tree branch, a melodic yet mocking voice chimed in.

Shut up! Let me concentrate.

Turning his focus from the voices, who were now in a conversation of their own, the boy pictured in his mind the dozens of boys he knew at the orphanage, settling on young Timor, who had been six when the teenager left the orphanage. Focusing on his memory of Timor, the teenager’s body and clothes briefly became liquid in appearance before morphing him into a spitting image of Timor, his clothes having morphed also to match Timor’s favourite red patch tunic and pants.

Now looking like a six-year old boy, the teenager waited for the caravan to get closer before standing up and climbing onto the road, tears welling in his eyes. From deeper in his mind, the teenager felt a young voice like that of Timmy coming forward and taking control of the consciousness from him.

It was Ulys the son who noticed the boy first. ‘Da, Ma, a boy! There, in the road!’

‘By Filo! Georg stop the caravan.’ The mother said, clumsily getting off before her husband could respond.

‘Retha, watch out.’ Georg said as the horse stopped, ‘It might be a raider trap.’

‘Don’t be daft Georg! Can’t you see this young boy is scared. And besides, except for that oak glade this land is nothing but fields.’

Georg came over to join his wife as they neared the six-year-old. ‘Come here boy,’ he said, gesturing to the boy as he said so.

They took the bait. Deep voice said, sounding pleased, Now to reel them in. Just like we normally do, Timmy.

‘I—I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,’ he said, voice and mannerisms near-perfect replications of the real Timor.

‘What’s your name son?’ Georg asked.

‘Ti- Ti-Timor.’

‘We won’t hurt you, Timor,’ Retha said, holding out her arms in a motherly fashion. ‘We’re just some farmers going to the city.’

‘My Ma and I were going to the city,’ the boy said. ‘Then some pale men came and t-took our things. Ma said she would go to the city and find help.’

‘Oh you poor child,’ Retha said as she and Georg led the boy back to the caravan, where Ulys had been standing with the horse. ‘You can ride with us, and then maybe we’ll find your Ma together once we get there.’

‘O- Okay.’ We can lose these three as soon as we get to the city. The teenager thought, watching the Timmy voice fool the farmers.

‘Are you hungry?’ Ulys asked as they set off down the road, hooves and wheels clattering on the cold stones. The teenager realised he was, in fact, quite hungry, starving even, and accepted the offer of cheese, bread and salted leeks.

The rest of the journey was uneventful. However, the more his three kind Samaritans spoke, the more questions the teenager started getting in his mind.

Fae war? Last I checked the fae were a disjointed and fractured race, yet apparently they’ve been united under a single warlord for nearly two decades? We couldn’t have slept that long. Deep Voice muttered, confused.

Probably just a misspeak by the locals. The teenager thought in reply.

Y-you’re too loud. Timmy moaned. However, he seemed to have also said this in the outside world, for Retha apologised to the boy for babbling on about ‘grown-up stuff’ so much.

Inside voice, Timmy. Inside voice. Deep Voice said, strict but warm.

As they neared the city, the boy started panicking again. Before them was a line of several carts and people waiting to enter the city gates, which stood silent and locked before him.

The farmers were just as confused as the teenager. ‘Pardons be begged,’ Georg called to the driver of a cart of barrels before them in the line. ‘Why are the gates shut?’

‘Haven’ ya heard?’ the cart driver said. ‘Due to ‘em fae sendin’ spies into ‘ese northern cities to open the gates for their raiders, all people enterin’ the city must undergo a search before gettin’ allowed in.’

Retha seemed to pick up on the boy’s tenseness. ‘Don’t worry, Timor. We’ll get in and find your Ma.’

Time seemed to creep by slower and slower as the cheese makers and the boy neared the front of the line. Don’t start to panic now, Deep Voice said comfortingly. Think of this as a game, Timmy. We have to see how long we can pretend to look for our mother, okay?

A pair of fur coat-wearing guards made Georg halt as they reached the front of the line. One going to the back of the caravan while the other stood marking a list at the front.

‘Names and business.’ He said in a thick Hellasi accent.

‘Georg Chesmonger, here to sell our cheese at the south market. This is my wife Retha and son Ulys.’

‘And the young boy?’ the guard asked, pointing his stylus at the teenager.

‘Our nephew, Timor.’ Retha replied before her husband. ‘We couldn’t say no when he insisted we bring him along.’

The guard stared intently at the boy for what seemed an eternity before nodding and writing on his list. ‘You done, Nars?’

‘Yeah. Just some general travelling supplies and four dozen cheese wheels.’ The second guard, Nars, said as he came back to the front of the caravan.

‘Very well.’ The guard with the list said, standing aside as he finished writing. ‘Welcome to Hellasean, Chesmonger family. Open up!’

With that, a smaller entrance set within the large gates opened, allowing for Georg to drive his caravan into the city, the streets already bustling with people and animals.

When they reached the market square, Georg and Ulys jumped off to untie the horse and place the wheel spokes. Georg handed his son a pair of silver coins and pointed down a nearby road, down which Ulys led their horse.

‘We shall go find your Ma in a tad, dear,’ Retha said as she got off, and helped the boy off. ‘You just wait around here while we set up the stall, and when Ulys returns he’ll help you find her.’

I’m tired. Can’t one of y-you come and play a bit? Timmy thought.

Go play hide and seek with the nice sir and lady, and I’ll wait for them to find me. The teenager replied.

Top class performance, Timmy. Melodic voice chimed in.

He waited for both Retha and Georg to be at the back of their caravan unloading the stall poles, before he darted behind a stack of crates, morphing his appearance to look like a hunter he had come across on his travels after fleeing the orphanage. Morphed, he came out behind the crates and passed the Chesmonger stall, where Retha and Georg were frantically calling for a boy named Timor.

Now, to find the inn we came here for, the teenager thought as he made his way through the crowds of market-goers.