A plain meal of bread and water broke her fast.

Her middle of the day meal, cheese, and an overheard irrelevant conversation.

Early afternoon with boots kindly returned Charis found herself escorted from the Dungeon in a slow march to the Great Hall which allowed her eyes time to recover from the dark. Along the way she straightened out her jerkin and pants as best she could all the while trying to flick off any dungeon grime.

After last night, Charis remained perplexed, the Lord upon hearing the facts, clear and concise as possible threw her in the Dungeon. The small audience, initially grief-stricken upon hearing the details of Halius’ slaying then hissed and jeered when she recounted the tasks completed to preserve his body and ultimately await the rescuers. The Throne Room devoid of sympathy by story end. Her father’s wisdom failing her, his lessons, no matter the attempt to make them fit her situation couldn’t. The facts proof a stranger murdered Halius plain and obvious only the Baron and the Baroness couldn’t assuage their grief on the absent and the slain. She didn’t try to convince the Baron of her grief, thinking he would know. How couldn’t he? Focusing instead on getting the facts correct and now payment due. The Castellan did try to warn her.

The Lord and Lady waited upon their throne chairs, hand in hand. Charis led to a kneeling position before them, uncertain of the purpose of this second attendance and unable to fashion a façade to gain their sympathy and prove her innocence by demonstrating her own grief over Halius’ murder. Charis assessed them both through tired red eyes not realising theirs, matched hers.

“It seems you were to blame for my son’s death.” The Lord stabbed his finger at the young girl standing before him. “Your creeping around startled the stranger and caused him to kill my son.”

“It wasn’t like that Lord,” she pleaded tearing. Her hope crushed by lies, she realised the executioners didn’t want to believe the facts. “The stranger wasn’t aware of anything. Your Son ventured close to him, very close, before the stranger acknowledged him. Then your son seemed to know him as he sat easily beside him, a stranger.”

Charis continued to speak afterwards into the silence of the Great Hall, unable to stop herself blubbering on, nonsensical. This was a result of the doom now clutching at her heart, all about her condemned her with their eyes. Her eyes meanwhile traced the joins between the stone laid on the floor, nervous, unable to look up and face the adults arrayed against her. Then her hands covered her face to hide the tears about to burst forth and her trembling chin, as raw emotions sort freedom. Didn’t they realise Halius’ death pained her deeply? She easily spent more time with him than they ever did!

“If I failed anywhere, I did not release my arrow earlier, before Halius ...” Charis confessed, her face twisted by the pain of failure, her bawled fists rapping against her thighs.

“You admit your guilt then!” the Lady of the Keep accused.

Charis slowly lifted her face, not caring about the tears or the trembling. Her accusers weren’t there at the time! They still didn’t know what happened or how it happened after I told them, clearly and, the facts only, last night! Why don’t they believe me? Such an injustice!

“Not guilt, Lady, I … we were too young to know someone could murder like that.” Her hand reaching to wipe tears from her eyes. “So sudden, talking one moment and then … then, gone Lady, my friend of eleven years gone, and I don’t boast another friend, no one, not even one. I grieve for him and try to be brave, yet I still grieve for him, my only friend, he accepted me when no one else would. I would wish him alive in a heartbeat if within my power.”

Her face back in her hands now, trying to contain tears finally flowing freely after denial. She wiped them away and without knowing briefly revealed her hacked ears before her well-trained hair fell back in place. All in the court knew about the scars, although in polite company, none discussed them as the local folk always considered her mother ‘touched’ in some way.

“I could only think to kill the one who killed my friend. I needed revenge. Your son the only one to accept someone as different as me and deserved his killer slain.”

Charis stood, disregarding court etiquette as they disregarded her truth, dragging her hair back to reveal her ears and then showing the rich deep brown clumps of hair in front of her face forcefully.

“Don’t you understand, I don’t know who I am without him, he was my only …” The last word stuck in her throat, her mouth opening and closing until it stayed closed as grief consumed her voice.

The Lord broke the silence. “At my age I have seen death and some I dealt myself. I examined my son and his wounds fit a story of anyone who would slay a boy, by surprise and from behind.”

“I would not do that! Your son, my friend we talked beforehand, he agreed to talk his way around the stranger, please trust me! Or at least trust I speak the truth here and now.”

His disbelief at her truth caused her to find her voice and yell, although her voice a rasping screech. She desperately scanned around the Hall and homed in on the backpack, her eyes wide, one hand frantically pointing.

“The knives of the stranger, the metal is strange … they stay sharp.” She hushed herself. “One still has Halius’ blood on it.”

The Lady didn’t need to yell or sob, she remembered Charis yesterday, recalling her son’s murder like reporting a Keep’s Ledger. The Lord and the Lady in agreement, if she loved their son as a brother or possibly more, her coldness condemned her yesterday, any claim of lifelong feelings for her slain companion extinguished in that singular callus display?

“What you say proves nothing, after meeting the stranger you could easily obtain one of his knives and killed them both?”

As the Lady of the Keep, her words carried their own weight, and this common girl would not escape her due. Guilty or not she would die like her son. The Duchess needed more blood. Her family would not suffer alone.

“No!” Charis shouted from a tight throat, the protest sounding lost.

Everyone waited for her to speak again as one word would be too few for the likes of her. Everyone except the Lady of the Keep. While in her Keep she would not wait for a commoner girl.

“He was leaving the Keep, leaving you, you were in love with him, and he rejected you!”

The Lady of the Keep’s words floated accusingly across the Great Hall. All hushed to acknowledge their sense and their reason, young lover spurred, a commoner trying to rise above her station. A tragic story, yet so predictable.

“We were hunting companions, no more. He, my childhood hero for bringing light into my tortured life with his generous heart. All others bullied me …”

Charis lowered her voice almost spent in any case. “I considered him brother, he considered me sister. He noble and I am forever common. My ears and hair forever set me apart from normal folk. You all know this is true and my curse to carry and now, without Halius I won’t fit anywhere. We were the best of friends and I grieve for him dearly, more than anyone.” Eyes red and tearing, nose dripping, and body exhausted Charis wondered how to continue, she must, the need to keep Halius’ alive in the stories to be told driving her.

“You wished to aim for higher station and when denied you killed him!” The Lady of the Keep now screamed to the shock of all. Unknown to those around her she sensed victory, the child exhausted and rambling. Silently cursing the Priest’s interference as this charade should have been done last night. Wait for Halius’ body he counselled. Why? Her dead son can’t accuse, he can’t do anything anymore.

“It wasn’t like that,” Charis said simply, now too exhausted to fight anymore. She dropped to her knees broken and sad for her loss, sniffling and sobbing, appealing silently to any gods listening for justice. Surely, the Lord would see the truth of it through his grief if not the Lady. She wiped her eyes and then her nose on her shirtsleeve ignoring the return of the ache in her toe.

The Baron’s Judge Priest slowly stood, compelled on some strange level to intervene. “Can I offer some assistance Lord in the name of Justice?”

The Lord of the Keep nodded at the Priest of Judge, who reluctantly took the five paces to stand beside Charis. The Lady of the Keep clawed the arms of her throne chair. How is this fool going to deny me now?

The Judge Priest assisted Charis to her feet and handed her a dagger. Charis stared blankly at him and then at the weapon.

“Are you listening girl?”

Charis raised her eyes to him and nodded slowly.

“I will sit at this stool. You approach me from behind and pretend, you heard me yes, pretend to cut my throat.”

“He sat beside the stranger,” Charis mumbled.

“What did you say? Are you refusing?”

Charis coughed slightly.

“No, Halius sat beside the stranger on the log. The guards, when they fetched Halius’ body would remember the log, the pool of blood at one end in front of it. No one could sneak up behind Halius, impossible, even his Mother knows that … knew that because she forever tried to or hired others to try.”

Charis’ voice a droning sound now, she considered herself defeated, and agreed to this game or dance with the Priest since it kept her alive for a few heartbeats more.

The Lady gripped her Lord’s arm and squeezed upon hearing Charis’ words, her chest swelling, her son impossible to sneak up on, unless he utterly trusted you and feigned surprise. Her mind twigged, didn’t her son trust his mother?

The Priest fetched another stool and sat it next to the one already there. He asked her to position them both.

“Now, try to slit my throat.”

The Priest sat there; teeth slightly clenched hoping she understood, and a madness didn’t take her.

“I can’t, I am right-handed. The left-handed stranger could of course,” Charis said, speaking with a monotone voice, a dead child talking.

“Lies, only you say they sat that way, it could easily be the other way,” the Lady of the Keep said.

To the amazement of all Charis smiled at her, whimsy overtaking her sanity.

“Ask the guards, the log backed onto the stream, Halius seated on the end, which is where his blood pooled and the stranger shed no blood, he fell backwards into the stream. I said all this yesterday. I tried to speak plain, while on the inside, needing to dredge up the facts, I slowly died with grief. My father always told me the facts were important. I spoke truth then. I speak the truth now. If you end my life, it will be murder, as I am innocent just like your son.”

She sat on the stool bent over, her head in her hands, tired. She knew her words had no conviction or energy in them her only regret would be she couldn’t save her friend. The conversation! The Lord Baron needed to test her archery, needed to test the truth of her words in a martial contest, her voice gone, Charis called to the Lord Baron with all her heart, if not for her, for Halius so his story could be told by one who loved him and never be forgotten. Instead, punishment as her toe ached and she needed to grit her teeth to bare the pain.

All sat stunned. Some in the Great Hall today witnessed her retelling of the events yesterday and didn’t accept them as she spoke so plain. Everyone waited upon the Lord of the Keep, to announce his verdict. The Baron favoured silent tortured death, the Baroness quick, public quartering, both constrained by the presence of the Priest of Judge and after much theological debate begrudgingly settled upon trail by combat if the child didn’t confess her guilt. Priests of Judge, upholders of the Law, the extent depending upon their level of faith of course, and this special envoy upon considering the girls facts last night, impassively as required, believed them mostly true needing to sight the body and if opportunity presented recreate the death scene to be certain.

The Baron, bereft of options, opted for the one remaining option and in that exact moment of Charis’ exhausted plea chose his heart to satisfy an agreeance within and a mystical influence from without.

“I asked the Castellan to setup a target very early this morning. I did this originally to see if anyone in my Keep could achieve what you said you achieved. I asked him to invite several from the village also, offering them a prize. Therefore, I offer you this chance to demonstrate your archery skill. Do you accept?”

Still bent over Charis nodded, beyond caring now, numb, the fight having left her. A small glimmer of hope though. Miraculously her call from the heart to the Lord Baron being heard, in the end a simple relief, her life continuing somewhat longer because of an archery contest, how silly. How fortuitous she overheard a conversation from her Dungeon cell, two guards lamenting their archery skill and missing out on the prize. She peered up at the Lord of the Keep when he failed to say anymore.

“You will be taken to the Courtyard and given your bow and quiver. I will ask your father to be fetched to bear witness I am being just and fair in this, although I grieve deeply.”

The Lord’s voice loud and commanding, his eyes transfixing Charis’, held, only able to see her judge, jury, and executioner, the Lord of this Keep, ultimate authority over all in his land.

The Castellan and a guard grabbed her to her feet, neither kind nor harsh in the performance of their duty. Reserving their judgement perhaps, intelligent, and mature of them thought Charis, what did she think then? She needed to clear her mind and comprehend the events happening around her. The loyal men escorting her would follow their Lord’s lead, her fate the furthest thing from their minds. Believing strangers cared for you or about you; a madness like her mother suffered from?

Charis glanced back at her Lord Baron, gloved hands gripped the arms of his Lord’s chair, neck veins clear even in Charis’ tear blurred vision. She recognised that noble façade; the Baron wanted an ending, quickly, to cauterise his pain. A man of violence, a martial test the perfect test in his mind, quick, absolute, fair, and agreeable to all. The commoner has an impossible hope, yet this is enough to justify her expected death afterwards.

Charis silently thanked the guards for the late delivery of Halius’ body, or perhaps the Castellan for leaving without it as the extra day allowed her to appeal to the Baron’s Court using facts as advocated by her father’s lifelong advice and when rejected the following day accepting the Castellan’s day-old advice, to reach into her feelings, to oddly end up with a test of skill to decide her fate.

The Priest of Judge, identified by his robes, stood beside the Baron observing proceedings. His gaze falling upon the unusual looking commoner stumbling to her death. Why did he intervene? Commoners die, they usually mattered little to him and yet, an urge called upon him in this instance to debate and advocate for justice. Perhaps her impassionate recalling of the facts instead of the usual half-wit blubbering impressed him last night, although the unusual circumstances around the murder also piqued his interest. What a pity the murderer’s body couldn’t be fetched to be examined.

Others in the Baron’s Court an indistinct blend of coloured cloth and eager faces stood and milled about in discussion. A quiet hum emanated from them and curiously a number glanced at her and then shook hands with another. The ‘another’ moved through the throng as they exited the Great Hall to gather once again in the Courtyard.

“Coin on her to succeed, odds?” asked the robed Priest.

“Fives,” ‘another’ replied.

The Priest dropped twenty silver coins into an eager outstretched hand, each bearing the side profile of the Duke, untarnished. The ‘another’ held his breath, face plain until the Priest left, bet marker in hand. Very few took the uncertainty of her succeeding, each who did a welcome gambler. The Priest’s bet though ensured whatever the result he would leave with coin, and he couldn’t believe his good fortune.

---

Nervous with her life in her own hands, or so she hoped; she glanced to her father for reassurance. The target size equal to the size of a human eye and the distance fair, at least in this the Lord’s word held true and everything would be the same including afternoon sunlight. She loosely nocked her best arrow, selecting from a choice of two took some time, it passed quickly for her, although for the Lord he called to her to select and delay no longer. Charis grimaced and nodded to him, accepting his authority. The ‘another’ briefly caught her attention, returning a greedy smile, one hand raised, two fingers rubbing against his thumb.

“Your father stands in front of the target!” the Lady of the Keep shouted. Others assured her the archery skill this girl claimed to have, impossible, so a blacksmith father and his common daughter would represent a truer value for her son’s life. The Lord momentarily distracted by the ramifications; the loss of the sole Blacksmith to the Barony and the difficulty of acquiring another.

The Lord’s witnesses gasped and then chattered. The stakes for this misfit, climbing higher and the interest in the outcome growing as the witnesses almost as one lent slightly forward, some licking their lips in anticipation.

Father hugging daughter, he raised weary eyes to his Lord. Receiving the Baron’s ascent, the Blacksmith’s lumbering gait carried him willingly to the target, Charis’ eyes tracking every sacrificial footfall, another life soon to be in her hands. Easily accepting and trusting, a parent’s blindness perhaps or true faith, what more could a father offer a daughter.

Charis wiped tearing eyes on a sleeve. The eye sized target now masked somewhat by a forest of curly black beard hair, the great artery in the adjacent neck presenting the slimmest of margin for error. How many times did her slim fingers run through that great beard, disappearing due to depth? Narrowed eyes now focused upon him, the one she loved beyond reckoning. A warm fatherly smile, full of unconditional love greeted her in return. How did it come to this? She lost Halius and now possibly her father … why? Charis nocked her arrow again and raised her bow to aim, she couldn’t. She lowered her bow. Her father mouthed the words ‘I love you daughter’ and Charis survived the heartbreak when the Lord barked an enquiry.

“Do you refuse girl?” the Lord questioned, the Lady shifting eagerly forward in her chair.

Charis set her jaw to prevent any harsh retort escaping. Her mind returning to the task at hand, saving her father’s life, another loss so soon after Halius unbearable and … unfair. Her loss greater than the Lord or Lady, why must she be on trial, why must her father pay? Grinding teeth ignited an inner fury, growing with every heartbeat. With a certainty her bow eased smoothly into a comfortable well practiced position. Clear purpose claimed every muscle and sinew, intent and outcome aligned as never before.

With arrow nocked, will fuelled by fury demanded the missile fly true. Charis pulled the bowstring back to touch her cheek, concentrating on accuracy, the bow as taunt as needed. Reassuring warmth from behind her bellybutton caressed the fury within, reshaping the raw emotion to purpose. The warmth grew, an eye traced along the length of the arrow shaft, and she imagined the arrow accurately embedded in the target regardless of the bushy camouflage.

Charis let the arrow fly. A slow-motion deja vu moment occurred as she willed the arrow to strike its target, confident in her skill. If she erred her father’s life forfeit. Those in the courtyard caught their breath, they expected her to fail, most wagered coin on her failure and hence willed against her. Except unknown to them they gathered too far away to exert their influence upon the outcome.

The thud of arrow hitting target unleashed Charis, springing into action sprinting towards her father stone in hand, poised to strike. A satisfying smile graced the Baroness’ lips, the madness of her son’s murderer revealed, and justice would soon follow and yet doubt persisted, the Blacksmith didn’t flinch. Locating a suitable stone consumed much of Charis’ arrow choosing time and now, triumphantly, she drove the arrow through the wicker target. Charis enacting an exact copy of her actions so there could be no doubting her words. A father’s embrace effortlessly lifting his daughter off her feet. The stone released back to the ground.

All gasped.

Charis turned to face the Baron who pushed himself up from a high-backed chair, taking one long breath, preparing. The Priest of Judge then offered him council, unbidden perhaps. The Baron now deflated, stumbled back into the regal-looking chair, waving them both away; hands then reaching to cover weeping eyes. The Baroness screamed at the filthy commoner escaping justice.

“You caused his death you should die as well! Together in life, together in death I say! Why should she live! Why?”

The Lord comforted her, while waving the Blacksmith and daughter away again, unnecessary as across the courtyard the pair could already be observed in unseemly haste approaching the Main Gate. His wife gibbered in between howls not making sense although he understood well her grief as he shared that same grief. The guards made no effort to stop them, obeying their Lord’s command or too stunned themselves.

Charis’ father knew a woman's grief and realised its influence on a husband. They hurried through the Main Gate of the Keep, seeking the village and the freedom to escape beyond in any direction. The crowd parted to allow them through, wondering what would happen next, after all a Lord’s son died and yet a common peasant lived.

Elated, slightly in awe Charis stayed silent, trying to comprehend her own freedom and the fact her father still lived! Justice prevailed and her innocence proven by right of arms, an archery contest, at least for now. Obviously, her father felt the reprieve would be short-lived, lumbering along under a labouring breath, herding his daughter before him.

His Smithy not far from the centre of the village, which they reached quickly, urgency still upon them. Charis finally realised by the pace her father set; something was still wrong. Was her release a pardon only until trial by combat forgotten and grief called for further satisfaction?

Tired from last night and this morning, his preparation rewarded by hope delivered. He quickly grabbed the small sack of clothes and rations waiting for them in the Smithy, readied earlier in the morning and they both walked with haste out of their village. She finally relaxed the grip on her bow and sighting the sack wondered what became of her backpack. They didn’t follow the trail out of the village, heading instead into the foothills of the mountains which loomed behind the village.

"You must be far away by morning daughter as a mother's grief can reach a great distance, especially if she is married to a Lord.”

“I thought this over father, I am innocent, you know, don’t you? You believe me?”

A father’s hand rested upon a daughter’s shoulder, slowing their pace until stopped, the daughter receiving the gentlest of hugs.

“You and Halius, two joined at the hip, inseparable. There would be no way known either of you would leave the other or lead the other into danger or death willingly.”

---

They travelled into the night walking the length of as many shallow streams as possible guided by a covered lantern which permitted the meekest of light out into the dark. Well after Death Season, the water still held a chill from the snow melt coming directly off the mountains.

“Keep going daughter, the water may trick the Lord’s dogs, we will obtain alternate transport shortly I hope.”

Following one of the streams, true to his word, a horse and wagon waited for them. The horse and wagon continued to travel within the stream, driven by a farmer who knew the lay of the land well. The wagon left the stream at a ford, the adjoining track leading to the farmer’s house, navigation in the darkness accomplished under the light of a single bullseye lantern suspended from the wagon. The farmer now appreciated following his Blacksmith friend’s advice to drive the same path that very morning in case they needed to ensure an escape. As the Blacksmith assured the farmer he would walk the streams leading to their rendezvous point to ensure he wouldn’t get lost in the night.

“I know the danger this places your family in, and it is a debt I can never repay.”

“It is no great matter, I am glad your daughter won release, especially since I took the effort to prepare this morning for such a thing. It would be a shame for such effort to be wasted and as a farmer you know I dislike waste.”

The farmer smiled at both his friend the Blacksmith and his daughter. Two grateful return smiles rewarded him.

“Father what will become of me?” whispered Charis.

“I have taught you all I know, and you have learnt more besides. You must make your own way now. Travel to the city and disappear in the crowd and perhaps one day you will be able to return to me.”

---

The male adults agreed she needed to continue travelling tonight otherwise the Lord and his retainers on horse would easily make this farmhouse by early morning. While they tried to avoid people during their runaway, the Lord’s dogs would represent the most obvious danger as well as the fact most knew of the long-time friendship between the village Blacksmith and mountainside Farmer.

They also confirmed Charis would only be safe in the City, well away from the Lord and Lady of this frontier land. The farmer offering wagon, horse, and an only son to drive it. The farmer refilled the wagon’s lantern with oil in preparation certain the limited light would permit the driver to guide the wagon into any wheel ruts on the trail and not stray. While the men prepared the wagon, the farmwife took Charis inside the farmhouse.

---

Placing a lantern upon the Kitchen table, the wife whispered, “I know you’ve been raised since young by your father so you may or may not know the answer to my next question, it is important though as I intend to disguise you as a boy.”

Charis nodded cautiously. She recalled Halius suggesting the same solution and slapping him. There would be no more suggestions from him, the thought almost bringing her to tears, moisture welling up unbidden.

The farmer’s wife embraced Charis upon noticing her eyes reddening. “There, there you poor thing, you have escaped, and the question isn’t that bad dear. Do you know if you’ve received the Goddess’ blessing when born?”

“I am not sure dear lady. I never knew my mother well, a few memories when very young and after surviving sixteen Death Seasons my father has never mentioned her.”

“Do you bleed between the legs? You know what I mean?”

“I am not sure.” Thinking to herself. “Mmh no, I have never bled unless cut,” Charis answered quietly.

“While very unusual I have heard of it before a girl child not receiving the blessing when born. Your breasts will not grow much more than they are now, and you will be unable to bare children. In all other ways you will still be a woman, you understand. Also, your disguise as a boy won’t be betrayed since you won’t bleed being unblessed.” The farmwife held Charis at arm’s length. “Perhaps this is then your fate, child.”

Charis gasped, shaking her head in denial, more differences, further away from normal. An ugly duckling, her one true friend slain, soon to be separated from her father, alone in an unknown world beyond village and forest. Reaching for a chair to sit in, she peered up into a face of kindness, her throat too dry to speak she nodded her sad consent. What strange new life would she need to live now, wondering if her father knew what he made her into, an unblessed, not truly a woman, although thankfully, not a man. On the other hand, could her condition be due to her mother’s neglect?

“Your breasts are still large enough to need them wrapped flat. I will fetch a piece of bed sheet. It will do the job nicely.”

As she wrapped, Charis winced, the silver circle piercing her flesh. The farm wife frowned, her hands deftly releasing the cloth, allowing the constriction to relax. Unwinding the cloth further revealed a bloodstain and matched the location. Cautiously massaging Charis’ breast to find the secreted item, the farmer’s wife narrowed her eyes while meeting Charis’.

“It’s a sliver of silver I found, which wormed its way into my body. My father doesn’t know.” Charis’ hands reached for her face, the farmer’s wife dragging them down foiling the attempt to hide.

She nodded. “It will be our secret. You can’t be wrapped though if too painful?”

“Wrap it please, you surprised me is all. I will need to tolerate some pain for my safety.”

To complete the disguise, she wore the old farmer pants laid out for her. Once on, the farmer’s wife pointed to a chair and once seated took to Charis’ hair with shears. When she reached Charis’ ears, she paused sadly knowing the story and then continued, leaving enough hair to cover the mangled tips of both mainly shortening the fringe and the back.

“We will need to throw your hair in with the pigs as it has always marked you as different and you best wear this broad hat to cover what remains.”

Charis took the offered gift and positioned it upon her head, the farmer’s wife making a final adjustment.

“You have been so kind, I don’t know what I would’ve done, my next step … my head is still spinning, wondering how I am still alive,” Charis whispered, afraid to say the words out loud and tempt fate.

“A suggestion dear, those in the Keep taught you noble manners and ways, in the city, they will be valued. Find a Master of an Estate and his wife and impress them with your learnings. He may be the Master of his Estate, but his wife will be Mistress of her House and she will demand for herself and in particular, for her daughters to be taught the ways of nobles.”

Charis nodded, weakly smiling in agreement. Could she really make a new life for herself so easily? Could she have followed Halius? Were his foolish notions valid and she the blinkered one? Her heart ached; she would never be able to apologise to him now … tell him he was right, join him.

---

When questioned the wife suggested it would be better for them to encounter two brothers rather than a girl and a boy. A bow in the hands of a boy expected, although they needed to be careful in case someone, somehow recognised the unique handcrafted weapon.

Charis leant into her father’s chest for one last embrace. “Father what will you say when I am gone?”

Stroking her hair, holding her close, he chuckled. “I will tell them you became wilful when we returned to the Smithy after I suggested time on a friends farm would do you good. You were determined to return to the forest to slay all those like the stranger, until you found their leader. And in that moment, I recognised the same madness in you which afflicted your mother and let you go.”

Silence. The night it seemed, afraid to break the quiet. Charis sniffled once, collecting herself.

“I believe you father.” Charis recognised her father’s story could so easily be her future and if she did, those at the Keep would also, which meant her father and the farmer’s family should remain blameless and safe.

Charis climbed into the tray of the wagon assisted by her father. Ducking her head as he pulled the cover over, whispering a final goodbye during the tie down. Hiding in the middle of the tray, surrounded by bales of hay, a casual inspection wouldn’t reveal her as the cover would need to be untied and removed or substantially pulled back.

Enclosing Charis within the wagon allowed father to separate from daughter easing the leaving, otherwise he would probably offer to do something completely mad and travel with her if they waved to each other as they went their own ways. He knew she would agree, and it would doom them both, this concealed goodbye better, undercover he wouldn’t see her fade into the distance, and she wouldn’t be tempted to run back to him.

The wagon bounced and jostled over wheel ruts and despite the subdued pain in her chest and Charis’ emotions driven raw from her ordeal, she easily found sleep amongst the hay bales, laying her head on the gifted sack of clothes and rations. Contrary to the plan, her father stayed at the farmhouse. If the Lord’s retainers did visit the farmhouse, he could tell his story and if disbelieved, any immediate vengeance would fall upon him and not the farmer and his family.

---

Dawn of the next day and Charis awoke to rough voices questioning the farmer's son. She felt a clutch of panic in the pit of stomach, fearing discovery and trying to roll out of the hay bale prison without success. Trapped, Charis regressed into a frightened child, trying to convince herself no monster lurked on the other side of the hay bale, or she wasn’t the reason her mother left her and her father. A mother that hated her child so much she scared her so terribly. I’m sorry mummy, I will be good this time, please stay. She willed with all her heart; please don’t search; nobody to peak and find her under the cover; repeating the mantra, the single-focused chant settling the yips in her stomach and ultimately spreading a calmness over her. The only protest requiring special attention a subtle throbbing in her big toe.

At some point the riders galloped off and the farmer's son yelled the ‘all clear’ to confirm her safety. He jumped down from the wagon bench and untied the cover, Charis rose from her hide to burst free enjoying the fresh air and sunlight upon her face.

“They will be back,” he said, simply.

Charis nodded in agreement and collected her sack and bow.

“I can’t explain why they didn’t find you, I stuck to my story of picking up a plough for the farm. Perhaps I am convincing.” His follow up smile welcomed by Charis as she hefted the sack on her shoulder.

“I would drive the wagon further for you along the backways and farmer’s fields except I don’t know them this far west after travelling all night and this morning. Sorry.”

Charis tousled his coarse black hair. “I thank-you and I will be fine, what will you say when they catch up with you again if you aren’t asleep of course?”

“A dumb farm boy like me, simple, I forgot the balance of coin required to purchase the plough I was sent to fetch, so I expect a whooping when I return to the farm in shame. I won’t fall asleep, my father warned me to sleep extra.”

Charis hugged him, satisfied another shouldn’t die trying to save her. A boy of perhaps fourteen Death Seasons who still had his whole life ahead of him.

As the wagon disappeared back the way they travelled Charis took to the fields striding towards the mountain foothills, any trail would be patrolled she reasoned. Past the middle of the day, she could deny her stomach no longer. She dreaded stopping, too much time to think so made it brief. A cube of cheese and two apples are eaten in the company of a field of yellow flowers, their perfume sweet with countless bees attending to them. The beating of their wings reminded her of her dream. She felt a great collective loss strike her heart.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. As fast as she wiped, more escaped her eyes. Tears for her mother when she left, tears when as a child she blamed herself, tears when the stranger slew Halius, tears for herself when she faced the Baron and now more tears. What would be her future? As a boy? Alone and afraid. She admitted to herself, the world around her scared her, no father to run back to, no home. What will become of her? Will the Baron find her?

Where there is life there is hope, a fine companion of hers would say and to honour him she drew herself to her feet. Grabbing sack and bow she took one step and then another and then her journey continued. Early afternoon she crossed a village trail not aware a village existed in the foothills of the mountain range.

She hurried on as quickly as she could, in case riders used the trail, hiding as much as possible within the folds of the land generated by the foothills, hopeful she would see any riders before they would see her. Late afternoon she found another village trail. Both must lead to the same village in the foothills, the main trail to Lonely Keep must bypass this village now. If true, how did the village survive?

Charis heard the whistling before she could identify the source. With no way of running without it appearing strange she relied on the fact, none of the Lord’s men would whistle! Company could possibly be safer to travel with like the farmer’s son, so she sat and pretended to be asleep, her broad farmer’s hat shadowing her eyes.

"Hello young sir, are you resting? Can I join you in taking an end of day meal perhaps? I know, a touch early." His light bubbly voice kept in time by the swinging of arms and waving of hands.

“Sure, I would welcome the company,” Charis replied. Two boys on the road would be better than one if ever questioned by the Lord’s retainers.

His hands full, placing cold meat on a slice of bread interrupted his normal eloquence.

"If you don’t mind … me asking … where you headed?”

“I need to travel to the City,” Charis replied.

His hands finally free, he replied, “You wouldn’t be an apprentice by any chance, would you?”

"No, sorry, my father has given me a duty. I need to find my mother's family and when I get there, they will tell me why."

Handing the bread and meat to Charis, a broad smile across his face, he winked and replied. "The entire world loves a mystery. It will be my honour to ensure you arrive safely."

"Thank you, company on the road is always welcome." Charis took a bite.

"Think nothing of it, I am to the city to study magic under a Master Magician, widely renowned for his prestigious talent. There should be others as well we can meet and join, this is the Birth Season Summoning, which I thought you, my first to meet. Can I trouble you for your name?"

"Argh, um ..." Charis stammered.

"You need to keep it secret? No bother, enjoy the cool breeze, the sun is shining gently upon us, so a perfectly delightful day for strolling with a mysterious companion I say!"

“You don’t mind you don’t know my name or who I really am?”

His face smiled and flushed away a quizzical look.

“Well, you wear your broad hat low, difficult to see your face, impossible to see your hair. You can’t remember or don’t want to share your name and since you don’t speak it loudly it must be common or secret. You only carry a bow and I observe a lack of arrows. You seem well-fed, so someone must care for you. So, I decided upon seeing you, a companion on the trail, better than walking alone. So, come on.”

They stood up together and started their journey one step after the other. Charis amazed at his enthusiasm and happiness, she hoped he would infect her with it. As she took another bite of the bread and meat, she noticed he didn’t prepare any for himself. She paused in thought and then dismissed her doubt and took another bite.

At dusk, the pair of travellers reached the main trail. Charis walked with her bow and sack on her back, an empty quiver at her hip. The future apprentice, backpack hitched, walking with her, whistling and in high spirits, an easy companion to keep company.

Cantering towards them the setting sun upon their shoulders, a patrol of three mounted guardsmen caused Charis and her new friend to pause. Charis started to tense, clenching her hands to her sides with determined effort; they portrayed two harmless travellers on the trail, nothing more. Doubt gnawed within and she shuddered, a nervous tremor overtaking her body. Concentrating on the approaching jingling tack and neighing horses she tried to relax, no point in making her discovery easy for them.

They reined in, to halt before them. Charis felt their eyes upon her and refused to raise her head; eyes fixed upon the wheel ruts in the trail and nowhere else. Her companion was not so demure. Then one decided upon something.

“Have either of you seen a girl, young, travelling alone, unusual due to her dark brown hair?”

"We are brothers on the road, my young companion to meet family and me questing to learn magic in the City," his happy reply.

The mounted questioner rocked back in his saddle and tried to follow the apprentice’s energetic hand movements and finally retorted. "Magic, bah, there are only the Gods righteous men should worship now, such as Soll."

Redmoor nudged his horse closer to the magician to be and accidentally yet on purpose bumped into him, pushing him back across the trail.

The smaller, quiet boy backed away from him, his riders, and the apprentice, stumbling backwards, blindly into a ditch. Gripped by fear Charis jammed the hat down; the hair, need to hide the hair, the moment of its discovery would betray her. Charis scrambled further away to hide in nearby long grass, embracing the shadows of approaching dusk.

Meanwhile another trotted around behind apprentice magician and used his horse to push him forward again.

Her hands covered her eyes, face quickly planted into the turf like the young child, mind dominated by fear of capture. I am not here; I ran away, I didn't see anything! I can’t see you so you can’t see me, five years old again her hands on her eyes instead of her ears this time. That time she grasped at the bandages over her bloodied mangled ears in disbelief. Suddenly returned, reliving in detail what her mother did, remembering and trying not to scream; silently chanting instead, I can’t see you, so you can’t see me, repeating the chant endlessly.

The magician to be falls to the ground and doesn’t move.

“Get up lad. You must understand Magicians aren’t real, just sleight of hand tricksters,” Redmoor called. No response. Redmoor flicks his hand at Geresal and points to the Apprentice.

Geresal dismounts while handing the horse’s reins to the third of their troop, now distracted, considering the possible consequences of his actions, turning white in the face.

“Lurcas,” Geresal shouted, “take the reins while I check.”

He woke from his trance upon hearing his name and mechanically reached for the offered reins.

Geresal shook the traveller slightly receiving no reaction. He glanced up at Redmoor and then Lurcas and shook his head from side to side. Lurcas wiped some sweat from his forehead and stared at Redmoor.

“I did what you did Captain, gentle, a nudge, I swear.”

Geresal had him rolled over by then, a bubble of crimson on his forehead, matching blood on a sharp and now deadly rock standing proud on the trail.

“We need to leave Captain,” Geresal said mounting his horse as he took his horse’s reins from Lurcas, who didn’t seem to notice.

“Wasn’t there another one? A smaller boy, all I remember is a large hat?” Redmoor said.

“Yes, there was, I remember him, although he didn’t show his face, we need to get him. He could talk against us.”

Lurcas’ words raced as he spoke, as their speaker lost some nerve. Redmoor and Geresal contemplated the situation.

“His head down all the time, he didn’t see our faces I’ll wager and the other one did all the talking, so he tagged along, he will be dead in a month out here,” Geresal said, waving towards the mountains.

Geresal seemed too relaxed when he spoke observed Redmoor. Death in this land too easy and this apprentice would be one more, an accident to be sure, yet death is still death it doesn’t care how it happens he then pondered.

“Still stupid what you did Lurcas. Leave him as he is, someone else can rob him, we’ve done enough,” said Redmoor. He did learn something though; Geresal would probably run instead of standing if called upon to fight, Lurcas at least concerned about consequences, might stay.

“What will happen if he talks?” asked Lurcas, his voice calmer now, settled, his Captain back in control.

“We will worry about it if it ever happens. We are the Lord Baron’s men, and we will get to defend ourselves if accused. If we catch the girl, nothing and no one will touch us, so let’s get back to that.” Redmoor turned his horse about as he spoke to continue the patrol.

“Yes, Captain.” Geresal already riding away leaving Lurcas to take one last check before he also followed.

The fading clopping of the horse hooves broke her from her chanting. Charis carefully peered up from the trailside field. No one in sight, only her former travelling companion, lying still, silhouetted by the fading sun in the middle of the road. Happy with life not many heartbeats ago and now silenced forever. It only took a moment, like Halius she thought.

Again, she didn’t prevent death, worse she hid, afraid. With Halius’ murder neither of them knew about the cold-blooded nature of the stranger, Charis helpless to save her life-long companion. Why didn’t she act this time? Her excuse, they were the Baron’s Guards searching for her! She could have distracted them from picking on the apprentice at least. Then what? She will never know now, she skulked away instead. Useless, utterly useless! To be her companion or acquaintance meant death. She threw up, stumbled back, and plopped down in the field. She grabbed her knees and wrapped her arms around them and rocked back and forth, blubbering.

Charis, dried tear tracks down her cheeks calmly observed the sun’s orange-yellow orb descending, half gone below the horizon. She lamented, no one cared, and self-pity wouldn’t change this. Wallowing in blame wouldn’t make everything better, therefore Charis reached a decision, she needed to keep moving forward to survive. The first step; check her new companion and having witnessed death before she recognised it at once. The Baron’s Guards left him on the trail for another to discover and report. Alone again, Charis resolved to continue by herself, no other choice unless she wanted to find the Baron’s Guards and plead for mercy. How difficult to decide that she asked herself? Choices then decision, simple really. Now she needed to accept simple decision making in real life, not a stupid epiphany after tragic loss.

She didn’t understand why he died or how she still lived, who decides or what decides. Why didn’t the guards of the patrol see her, if not overhear her chanting, while scared and pathetic in the nearby field. Somehow, the world, fate or good luck granted her another chance, she needed to honour and treasure the gift bestowed, life instead of death and rise above her fear. No more fear. No more of her companions would die; she would rather lose her life trying to save them instead of surviving alone again and so swore.

“Halius, I swear upon my life, no others will die in my company while I have breath to defend them!”

Charis studied her former acquaintance. Concluding her only option would be to roll him off to the side of the trail, his corpse being too heavy to lift. As she rolled him, she felt a parchment in the folds of his robe and dipped a hand in to retrieve it. A Letter of Introduction to the Magician School in the city, so no lie then, chuckling, from relief or madness, uncertain which at the time. Halius, are you determined to follow through with your wishes even in death she thought? At least being the Lord's son best friend allowed her to learn her letters. Therefore, in the fading light, she discovered her new name; Gorgos and a few more coppers and silvers joined a goodly portion of her father’s life savings, his final goodbye gift to her.