An Offering for the Champion

An Offering for the Champion

Chapter 1: Departure

Slowly and methodically, I loaded everything I would need into the saddlebags. A tinderbox and a small iron pot from my dad, a warm bedroll, soap, and travelling food from my mom, and a book of herbal medicines from Mary at the apothecary. The bare essentials that would get me to my destination. I didn't expect anyone to see me off, it was well before the dawn, but the elderly apothecary had come anyway. I'd hoped to forgo the endless goodbyes, but for my best friend in the town I could make an exception.

She placed a wrinkled hand on my face and a few tears spilled from my eyes. "I don't want to leave."

She didn't need to say anything, in her old age she had trouble talking at all, she simply embraced me as she had through so many trials in my young life. Her presence was comfort enough. With a shuddering breath I mounted Nelly, the horse that had been provided for my travel. Nelly huffed as if carrying me was a personal indignity. I bade farewell to Mary, and I was off to face whatever lay in wait for me.

Less than a mile down the road I glanced behind me at the town that had been my home for 23 years. I knew I shouldn't have. My heart only grew heavier seeing the sight of this slow country life I would never have again. The way the town nestled in the valley along the banks of the river, the way the smoke rose from the chimneys, warding off the chill of early spring. It was beautiful, and I knew in my heart I would never see it again.

Beneath me, Nelly neighed indignantly, as if frustrated with my reluctance to leave, but she could endure a few moments of closure. I was leaving into the unknown, where no maiden of my people had needed to go for a generation. The village was under threat, and the duty had fallen to me to rouse our champion. For generations our town had lived under the protection of the Godswood to the south, a grove of ancient oaks where a great spirit was said to live. When we faced a threat, an offering was made, and the town would survive and thrive. It so happened that the spirit's favorite offerings were women, and while nobody knew for sure what was done with them, none ever returned. Nonetheless, I pressed forward towards what had to be done.

Seven days ago, we'd first seen the bandits. It wasn't the first time we'd had wandering thieves and vagabonds, but this was different. These weren't unemployed sellswords looking for a quick mark, nor were they travelling troupes who nicked a few odds and ends while they told your fortune, these were professionals. Dozens of tall men with cruel swords, and there were mountain folk among them, half giants who reaved and pillaged but rarely banded together. Compared to the inhabitants of a remote mountain village, it was a veritable army. There was hardly a sword or spear to be found among our people, and the hunting bows we used for wild game were useless against the heavy mail these raiders wore. We needed our champion, and it had fallen to me to bring him.

As my home faded over the horizon the grief in my heart lessened a little. It was a strange thing to be travelling alone. My whole world had been in that town but there was something freeing about an open road and wind in my hair. I'd ridden a horse before, but always under supervision. Riding alone might have been a wonderful experience in other circumstances.

The road ran along the eastern bank of the Arvel River. The same river which made up the western border of the Godswood. As forest roads in the mountains went, it was clean and well kept. The mild winter had spared us the work of clearing downed trees along every lonely mile. We made excellent time thanks to this, which made for enjoyable riding, but I could never fully banish the thought that every minute bore me closer to my unknowable fate.

When evening settled on us, we found a flat secluded area a dozen paces or so from the road to rest. I drew water from the river and began to build a fire from the long dead branches littered along the forest's edge. It took a few tries with the flint and steel my father had quickly purchased for me after my selection, but the tinder finally caught, giving me a warm glow of satisfaction alongside the glow of the firelight. I brought the water to a boil before drinking it and grabbed some jerky from the saddlebags. My legs ached from the hours in the saddle, and my stomach was a knot of hunger, but somehow, I had never felt so good in my life. Mixed with the pleasant feeling of freedom was a bittersweet reminder of my fate. I wondered if things had been different, might I have enjoyed a life of travelling according to my whims? The stars slowly emerged from the darkening sky and the only light that remained to me was that of the glowing embers.

"Goodnight, Nelly. Wake me when the sun rises."

She puffed as if to say that she'd wake me well in advance of that.

I laid out the bedroll mother had given me for the journey and stared at the purpling sky as it slowly gave way to the brightest star's I'd ever seen in my young life. Without the lanterns kept lit by the village I could see so many more than normal. The wind sighed gently as it passed through the branches of the roadside trees and the river babbled endlessly as I drifted away to unconsciousness...

I'm milling about nervously in the town square when the village elders emerge from their homes. I can feel my heart in my throat as they consider the several clay tiles resting face down, the tiles that will rule the destiny someone here today. There are a dozen or so other girls I can see with the same nervous energy. All the village's unmarried girls of age to be wed were included in today's lottery, even the mayor's daughter looks nervous. No matter what, one of us is leaving town for good tomorrow morning.

Time seems to slow as the elders deliberate. A moment feels like an hour as they observe the strange selection procedure. Bird calls are all that breaks the tense silence. The belling tower strikes noon, dull and ominous; 'gong, gong, gong...'. Finally, a tile is selected and the voice of the man holding it hesitates, then croaks out:

"Calliope."

In an instant the eyes of the entire town fall on me, following me whichever way I go. The stares make it feel like I've died, and I haven't even realized it yet, as if I was being carried away in a casket. My legs feel like gelatin. Somewhere across the way I see a mother hug her daughter in relief. The thought crosses my mind, how will my family react when they learn that tonight is the last I will spend with them?

Dawn is still an hour or two off when I felt a wed nudge at my leg, but at least I can stop reliving that moment for the time being.

"Nelly, you asshole," I murmured to myself. She seemed eager at every step to speed our journey up, the very thing I'd rather avoid as I paradoxically enjoyed my first taste of freedom on the way to the end of that same freedom forever. The look she gave me dared me to continue my obstinance, a look which she punctuated with a sharp snort, spraying me.

"Fine, fine. I'm getting up." I quickly checked my reflection in the river and washed off horse snot and road dust from my face. I grabbed an apple for Nelly and another strip of jerky for me before I repacked my assortment of goods and hesitated. The Godswood was still a good day's ride away, but I was loathe to waste even a moment of my short-lived freedom, especially at the behest of an ill-tempered horse. I surveyed my meager possessions- a tinderbox, a bedroll, a small pot, a pouch of traveling food, a bar of soap, and my book of herbs and medicines. Satisfied that everything was accounted for, I reluctantly mounted again and set off again toward my new home.

The wind was stronger today, rustling the branches and whipping my hair every which way until I gave up on letting it run wild and tied it back in a long ponytail. The sky was gray too, with clouds that seemed to blanket the world like a vast quilt. I wondered absently if this forest spirit had a house, or if he lived a more primal existence exposed to the elements. I shivered, imagining sleeping outside in the cold and rain and pulled my pale blue travelling cloak more tightly around myself.

The day dragged along in dreary monotony. The road was blessedly empty. I'd have expected to run into the caravans that journeyed up and down the mountain passes. Were they waiting for warmer weather? Or were these bandit attacks more widespread than we realized? The thought was troubling, but for now at least there was nobody to harass me on the road. At a distance I could see the ring of tall stones that signified the border of the Godswood.

There was a hiccup in Nelly's gait. Before I could see anything amiss, she reared up, neighing loudly and chafing at the reigns. "Whoa! Nelly!"

My words did nothing to calm her. She whined aloud, as if the sight of the high wall of stones in the distance distressed her. She reared again and I tumbled to the muddy bank. What on earth was the matter?

As if to answer my question, half a dozen men approached from the woods, perhaps a hundred feet ahead of me. They held cruel swords and two had bent bows in my direction. Seeing the approaching bandits in the open, Nelly bolted in the direction we had been travelling. One of the men- apparently their leader- barked orders to go round her up. The leader trotted towards me with a cruel smirk. "What have we here? You're a long way from home."

When no answer besides the wind in the trees and the gentle gurgle of the river was forthcoming he continued, "Girls ought to know better than to go riding alone. So much... unpleasantness on the roads these days."

I backed up, crawling on my back I touched the river's edge and knew it was hopeless. I'd be shot dead before I could swim away. Maybe that was preferable to whatever they had planned for me. I cursed myself in frustration. Had I really come so far only to be ambushed at the last fucking mile? Why here? Had the bandits somehow known we'd send someone to this wood? The sense of freedom I'd tried to cultivate in the last few days shattered in an instant. The sneering captain continued further and I splashed at him petulantly.

"None of that now, girl. We can make this easier on you or harder, it's no skin off my back." But as soon as the words left his mouth there was a shout from one of his men. The archers turned in confusion as one of the men was being grasped by tangled roots that had emerged from the ground. His companions staggered away from him, panicking. A second vine erupted in a cloud of dirt and began to grapple one of the archers. He jerked away wildly. His bow loosed. The arrow flew straight for me.

Sharp pain in my arm cut through my terror. It was the gusting wind that saved me. A blast of air knocked the arrow off its course, grazing my arm instead of piercing my heart. I collected myself, adrenaline surging through my veins. The captain's eyes looked behind me, his face stricken. I could hear him muttering, pleading. I could see the remaining men who hadn't yet been grappled turn to flee. A melodious voice rang out from behind me.

"You may wish to consider standing back. I wouldn't want you to be harmed." I turned and there he was, the forest spirit. At least, it had to be him. Who else would be 7 feet tall with pointed ears and chin. He looked both strong and lithe, equally suited to splitting logs as he was to dancing. A thin sheen of clean sweat coated his upper half where he wore nothing, displaying his bronze-colored skin proudly. In one arm he held a long wooden pole. Affixed to the end was a gleaming bronze blade wrought in the shape of an elongated leaf, sharp and terrible. But the most distinctive part of his features were his eyes. They were pure green. There was no white and no pupil. It was an unsettling sight.

I continued my hasty retreat into the shallow river water. The captain looked to be in shock, simply muttering to himself, "She said you wouldn't be here." over and over. He offered no resistance as the spirit floated towards him, borne like a dry leaf on an autumn breeze. The leaf blade swiped faster than the eye could follow, and the captain's head fell to the ground. Behind him, his men still struggled against their restraints which by now had bound their limbs and gagged their mouths. I watched in shock as the thick roots began to descend back into the earth, their captives still in tow. They tried to scream, but no sound came as they were swallowed by the earth. For a few minutes their struggle was still visible as shifts in the dirt. Then the gentle rise and fall of the ground ceased, and all lay still.

I stayed perfectly still, my mind in shock at what had just happened in the space of a moment. When he was satisfied that the bandits were dead the spirit turned towards me. I shuddered at the way he looked at me. It felt like he saw directly through me, like he could perceive clearly all that was in my heart. He saw my terrified expression and appeared concerned. His musical voice came again, clearly concerned.

"Was I wrong in believing these men meant to harm you?"

I blinked, then shook my head. He approached and I recoiled from him.

The puzzled expression returned, "You are frightened. Of me?"

I nodded shakily. In the back of my mind I wondered who wouldn't be frightened after that display.

He cursed in some language I didn't recognize, then he began to change. His stature diminished until he was just a few inches taller than me, his pure green eyes changed to resemble a man's, with a white, a pupil, and a green iris. "This wasn't the first impression I was hoping to give, but right now your safety is more important. You're injured. I can tend that wound on your arm." He came closer and his expression went sour- like someone who bit into a lemon. "After you bathe first. I won't have you bringing the smell of iron in with you. The river runs through the Godswood, no one will bother you in there."

At once he departed, perhaps eager to make his home ready for me. I didn't mind the idea of a bath; in truth I was certain I was filthy from falling into the mud. My cloak had been spared the worst of it, but my riding pants were wet and stained.

My breathing had steadied by this point and my immediate fight or flight response had passed, but I had no illusions, this was far from a safe place. I had just witnessed this thing turn two others into fertilizer without so much as batting an eye. I had to proceed cautiously, lest I offend him. I entered under the arch of stone that marked the entrance. The air was clean and crisp here with a pervasive floral scent, all of which made me feel even more dirty by comparison.

The water near the bank was clean and slow moving, perfect for bathing. The bank itself was less private that I would have liked, but since I figured my only companion in the whole forest here was that spirit, it would have to do. I hung the travel-worn and muddy clothes from a nearby branch and set to bathing. The river water was icy cold, fresh from the mountains as they still clung to winter's chill. Gooseflesh covered my body as I scrubbed away 2 days of travelling from my body. Confident that I'd made myself presentable, I left the riverbank and looked at the state of my clothes. I gave them a tentative sniff and curled my nose. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wondered darkly if it would amuse him for me to come to him naked. I took the cloak and wrapped it around myself, deeming it the least soiled of what I had, and I carried the rest back with me.

His house wasn't far, and to my surprise Nelly was there, waiting patiently for me. She had all her saddlebags intact, except the ones holding the cookware. I wondered if she had gotten rid of them intentionally, knowing her master's aversion to iron. I stroked her face softly, delaying my introductions for another moment. The house looked cozy, made of pine logs that were stacked in interlocking layers. I hesitated at the front door, but there was no going back. As much as I dreaded what might come, I couldn't abandon my family to the raiders. This needed to be done, and it my responsibility. I knocked firmly at the wooden door.

It only took a moment for the spirit to answer, still looking at least somewhat human, still shirtless. He gave a faint sniff and looked satisfied, "You can come in if you like. Sit down and let me tend to your arm."

The interior of his house was warm, well furnished, and pleasant. There was a hearth burning a few logs to ward away the chill, a table and several chairs made from tree branches that looked molded into their shapes. Bundles of herbs hung aging from the walls and ceiling in places. I recognized a good many of them from working in the apothecary shop. Ginger, fennel, basil, lavender, ginseng. I wondered where he grew them. A ladder in the corner of the room hinted at the existence of an attic.

Only one bed.

I thought to myself. It seemed like confirmation of the village rumors.

My arm had mostly stopped bleeding, but it still stung painfully ever since the adrenaline of the encounter faded. My host brought out a sharp hook made of bone and some tiny silk thread in one hand as well as a gray-brown mass in the other.

"Chew this, it will help a bit for the pain." Willow bark. I took it and began to chew it absently. I realized looking at him preparing the needle and thread I would need to shrug one side out of the cloak. I cursed my choice of attire and tried to compensate with the other half of the garment, but no matter how I moved it I was uncovered in some way or another.

I gave up my attempt at modesty, looked away, and relaxed my arm as he dabbed the bloody mass with a wet cloth and began to carefully stitch the wound closed. He was professional about his work, but all the same he was achingly close and smelled of cinnamon... or at least what I had imagined cinnamon must smell like. The caravans were always sold out of the more exotic spices by the time they reached us. He startled me out of my reverie when we added "I should have buried them all for the crime of wounding you."

I didn't know what to say. I had watched it happen in terror, fearing for my life, but somehow hearing him say it like that was the most attractive thing I'd ever experienced in my young life. I sat awkwardly silent, blushing furiously. Why was I reacting this way? I could feel the gentle touch of his hands as he stitched my wound closed and tried not to think about how his deft fingers might be put to other use...

"Why didn't you? Bury them all, that is."

He paused in his work, "Dead men tell no tales. I wanted to make very clear to these rabble the consequences of attacking someone on my doorstep. It displeased me to see such an affront, especially for one promised to me."

Something about the possessiveness in that statement made me burn inside. Why was I reacting this way? This was a dangerous place, I tried to remind myself. He continued to tend my arm with tender affection and despite myself I was letting my worries drift away.

"All done. Try to avoid moving your arm too much or you'll tear the stitches out." I looked over at the neat row of silver stitches, practiced and precise. Somehow, I'd hardly felt a thing the whole while. He gave me a once over, his penetrating stare taking in my whole visage. I felt a tingling warmth in my core under the weight of it despite myself, and with a conscious effort I pulled my cloak back tight around me. He sighed and continued, "You look tired, and no doubt you're weary from your travels. Sleep if you wish. We'll talk when you feel more yourself again."

Feel more myself again. That was delicately put. I shifted uncomfortably, "I don't think I could sleep if I tried... I'm here so you'll protect the village." I paused before adding, "What do you plan to do with me?"