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Three paces to the locked wooden door with a hole just large enough for a bowl to pass through, turn and three paces to the stone wall, then tilting her head up trying to see anything but pale light from the tiny window at the top before her pacing began again all the while wringing her hands. Normally Desiree had no patience for inactivity yet now was very glad the woman sharing this cell with her hadn't woken as she was pushed in by two guards after making sure all her jewelry was removed and throwing a blanket in the corner. She had to think, yet her mind couldn't function on anything but flashes of the recent past, how things could have been different, what happened, what went wrong. Desiree's dark hair now in disarray swirled with each turn as her pacing became faster. Would they keep her here forever, she couldn't think of the alternative! She remembered once when Papa took her and Marken to the city selling produce, they saw an unusual gathering toward the main square. A tall man with a dark hood over his head showing only grey eyes was holding a long sword as another man was bent over the stump of a tree with hands tied behind his back while people gathered to watch justice done. Shivering yet at the same time denying her own circumstance, surely they wouldn't do that to her? No, never, it was an accident wasn't it? Why did she have this secret, guilty feeling of relief that her husband of only a year was finally gone never to harm her again? Calling on all the knowledge and wisdom of her sixteen years of life, Desiree squares her shoulders finally stopping her incessant pacing as she leans her back against the wall with still distracted eyes staring at the woman yet not registering whether she was awake or asleep, a resolve forms in her mind as a whisper, almost a prayer escapes.

I pray to all the gods Marken never finds out what has happened to his baby sister!

She would remember this day forever, as if it had lasted months, not hours. Greeting the early morning sun, Saela stood up from the pile of straw she had spent her night in. Plucking single pieces of straw out of her long, waved black hair, she moved towards the barn’s door opening it wide and enjoying the fresh air on her face. She knew well this might be the only breakfast she was getting today.

Fluently she went over the grass, feeling the cool thaw at the soles of her feet with every step. She still remembered the small stream’s location where she had freed her horse the day before. Kneeling down, she started washing her copperskinned face, drinking the cristal liquid and thanking Oldra for her safe sleep tonight.

“Ey! Serinjah!” She sprang up like an animal, ready to fight or flight, but it was just the farmer whose wife she had helped with their youngest child’s birth last night, getting a small piece of bread and a night in the barn in exchange. The Albarians were always in trouble, always ill, but they were not very grateful, that she had already learnt by now.
Bowing her slim neck, she told him a good morning, but he did not answer her greeting. “Get your horse off my fields, and off you go! I don’t want my master to find out I had you on his land all night!” Saela bowed again, and turned her head, whistling softly and calling “Jira!” with the calm voice horses loved so much.

Her chestnut stallion answered with a loud, shrieking sound, as he approached her. A classy head and elegant, long legs, his mane braided many times, falling free over his neck. He slowed down as he came nearer, lifting his legs high up in proud trot and bending his neck snuffling. Saela smiled at him, and gave him his morning kiss before she turned back to the farmer, her hand still patting the horse’s mane. “I won’t take long, I will just get my things out of the barn, after that we’re gone.” Snorting, the farmer returned to his house, and Saela lost no time gathering her pack and jumping on Jila’s unsaddled back, controling him just with her legs and her hands on his neck, being almost one with the animal. Serinjah did not put metal in a horse’s mouth to force their will upon them. They just asked and the horses helped them.

“All animals are your friends, always remember that” her grandmother, who had helped leading the clan once, had told her a dozen times. “Jira is your friend with the fast legs, and a wolf is your friend with the fine nose, a panther is the velvet-paced friend with the shining eyes. Only when you learn to listen to them, they will listen to you. True power is never over anything, it is the connection of Oldra’s creation and you inmidst of it.”

Saela had always had healing hands, the ability to listen stronger even than her grandmother. But also the ability to gather knowledge and to use it to help those who were in pain. Her mother had wanted her to become a shaman of the Ama-Shoon, but Saela knew this was not her path. Although she could have a lot of honour, it did not feel right. Her people had always listened well to each other’s feelings, and no one forced their children to become anything they were not ready for.
Saela now was on a journey to find her true purpose, and Jira helped her to get to it faster. Leaving her people had been hard, and still, after three weeks of travel, it was hard to listen to the night and to stare at the stares, watching the moon without those she held dear.

The young Serinjah should not come far. “Murderer!” Someone yelled after her, and surprised, she turned round. The farmer followed her, yelling full of hatred and anger. Saela remembered his wife being sick and underfed, as had been the children. When she came here last day, hail had destroyed all this autumn’s grain, everything those people lived on. They had not eaten to save what they had for the winter. The farmer’s wife had been too weak for a birth, and it was a wonder she had lived up to now. Saela had not mentioned it because in her eyes, it was obvious. Her parents had taught her not to disturb nature’s ways, and death belonged to her life like breathing, like riding. It was just now she realized Albarian people did not welcome death as a friend, but as an enemy, protesting like little children who did not get their milk.

“Stop, you witch! Stop imidiately!”

She sprang from Jira’s back, waiting for him to catch up, to ease the pain he felt, she could now feel it and was sorry for him. But she still had not understood the people of Albar fully, she soon learned that.


The cell was cold, and dark, only one small window at the top of one of the walls. A small bit of light fell downwards, not touching the ground, not touching her. She had never felt so left, so lonesome. She had never been in such agony, not even in the winter five years ago, when she dislocated her arm falling from Jira’s back, trying to get a connection to him as one of her first tasks in her shaman’s training. Oldra had given her strength back then, but this time it was different. She was nowhere near wind, water, grass and sun.
Pain ran through every part of her body as she curled up on the blanket they had given her. It was not pain because she was parted from Jira, it was not even the pain because of the terrible things they had done to cause her agony and make her admit things she did not do. This pain was because for the first time in her life, she was no longer able to feel the connection between her and nature. It was gone as if it had never existed.

It took a long time, but finally sleep lifted the pain away from her body, taking her soul with it out of the cell and up to the poor Jira, who was now held in the Duke's stables.

The wounded and the dying where still screaming as Marken made his way to his captain's tent. The wet mud almost soaked his boots from his feet as he marched through the military camp somewhere in Albar. As he got closer to the captain's tent, he could hear some man cheering and raising their glasses for a toast.
"Captain Finnigan. Due to your massive engagement and our tactical instinct we were able to defeat Lord Haiden's troops with acceptable losses of men. I raise my glass for you." - "Lord Kinas, i thank you for your kind words. Me and my people are proud to fight for such a noble man…” They continued praising the other one as Marken spit on the ground, murmuring to himself
“Gods damned nobles…sitting in their tents, drinking wine…while others die for them…” As he stood in front of the tent, the guards ordered him to wait till the nobles and the captain finished. It took almost 2 hours and 5 bottles of wine for that.
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He only had few minutes left. Panicly he threw his belongings into his small bag, wearing an old travel coat above his rusty chainmail.
“Asking the captain to let me go…I am such an idiot!”
Cursing himself, the captain, the captain’s mother and other people he didn’t even know, Marken prepared himself to desert before the guards could get near him to stop him from doing so. But he had no choice. His sister married. A young guy from his old village told him so as he joined the mercenaries. Unfortunately they began to fight…and the boy got a sword rammed into his face.
Now, Marken had no choice. If he wants to know what happened to his sister…he was forced to get home…or was it still his home? He sadly thought as he made his way into the increasing autumn rain…

As a drift of cool autumn breeze blows in from the almost unseen window, Desiree's pale green eyes stare yet see nothing while her mind flashes images of recent events and even days long past. Crossing her arms over her body almost as if to comfort herself she slowly gives in and slides down as silent tears wash a trail of dirt from each of her cheeks. With long straight ebony hair following her decline on the rough stone wall until she sits on the stone floor. Bending her knees and wrapping her arms to hold them with head on resting on top she continues her whisper.

I miss you.

After much time, the dirt and streaks of tears wiped from her face, Desiree drifts in and out of a troubled sleep.


Never having seen Mama as she died giving life to her only child, the stern face of Papa first plays in her thoughts. When older she remembered asking Marken as she climbed into his lap on one of his breaks from the seemingly neverending farm work.

Do you remember my Mama?

Smiling at his answer as he reached to tousle her hair, Marken's voice reflecting the broken, changing timbre of a boy becoming a teen as he turns to look deeply her eyes.

She was beautiful like you Desiree, pale green eyes, dark straight hair, the shape of your face and even your skin are like her. Though not my Mama, she treated me with kindness. I know if she could, she would be with us both now.

The sun almost blinding in intensity as she tilts her head trying to see him, a small frown forms as her words reflect thoughts that have troubled her for some time showing just this once a maturity above her age.

Is that why Papa never looks at me Marken, he misses her?

Seeing the flash of sadness cross his face with possibly a hint of consternation in his eyes, her question never got answered as a gruff voice shouted.

Get off his lap and let him get back to work..go inside and start cooking our supper girl!

Desiree quickly jumps off her brother's lap yet gives him a parting whisper.

One day I will learn how to read from the priest and play a beautiful flute just for you Marken, just like she did!

Seeing just the briefest grin fall over his face was enough to harden her resolve as she stopped at the cottage door to watch them walk away, Marken almost as tall as Papa already. Desiree's eyes widened as a revelation crossed her young mind, something she just realized yet never consciously accepted before. Marken was her world.


Searing pain on her side kept Desiree from being able to stand at her first try while her breath was held until the throbbing subsided. Closing her eyes taking shallow almost panting breaths she managed to straighten her shoulders enough to relax and with one hand on the wall finally stand. Wondering if that last kick before she akwardly swung the sword he had thrown near her broke a rib, Desiree realized nothing could be done anyway and barely stopping herself from shrugging turned to look at the sleeping woman. She was quite beautiful in an exotic way and Desiree's incessant curiousity got the better of her wanting to ask tons of questions so she loudly cleared her throat hoping the woman would wake.

Saela almost jumped up at the sudden sound. All sleep fell from her, and like an anxious animal, she cowered on her blanket, eyes black as the night itself burning over to the other woman. The wake had been a shock, and still surpressing the shake of her limbs, she breathed through deeply, trying to recognize as many of her opposite's features as possible in the darkness. Dawn was falling outside and shapes were already melting away.

The other one was about her age, although she looked younger. Sixteen winters, Saela guessed, as she could not think of the woman being already seventeen. Ebony hair flew down her back, surrounding her dainty and petite shape like a shadow of silk. Her light skin and the dress she was wearing were a sign for Albarian origin, but the young Serinjah could not guess what profession her cellmate might have. The dress had once been pretty, although it seemed not to be as comfortable and practical as her own leather clothing. Now, the whole front of the Albarian's gown was darker than the rest, dirt, or even blood, Saela could not tell in the halfshadows.

The Serinjah decided to say something, and in the singing, sonore accent her people got when they tried to talk other human languages, she asked: "Who are you, and why are you in here?"

The voice, her odd accent abruptly demanding answers surprised Desiree so much she stumbled back to the wall hitting it hard with her back causing the pain to reappear instantly as her breath left entirely. Gasps of words burst forth without any thought as her hand covers her side protectively.

What..who are you?

Catching a second wind along with her scrambled thoughts as her mind grows calmer with the receeding pain she finally offers a tentative smile.

Greetings, I am Desiree Montcada, as far as why I am here, it must be a misunderstanding.

Gazing toward the door, in a tremulous whisper not looking at the woman anymore.

They called me a murderess.

Saela had to surpress a smile as the other woman asked for what she was. "My name is Anasaelariafernmur, and my people is the clan of the Jo-an-nin. Our hunting grounds are far from here... I rode almost an entire moon."

She noticed the confused look on her opposite's face, and sighed. "I am a Serinjah, and you can call me Saela. That is shorter and most of your people can't remember my real name. They bother not with learning our language."

Saela stood up, stretching towards the fading light. The back of her leather clothing was striped with dark, but if she had just broken open several wounds on her back, she did not show it. Perhaps it was just dirt anyways...

"So... what does Desi-ree say? Have your names meanings in Albar?"

Desiree

Speaking with his usual sarcastic voice, a smirk perpetually on his face when talking to her as the noble aims a kick having pushed her to the ground in his drunken state. Easily rolling away when he stumbled toward her with only a minor tear in her flowing garment, she looks around the room determined this time to not let the abuse continue. Unexpectedly he managed to prevent her opening the door just when her hand grabbed the handle as she was summarily turned to face him while he leaned closer and breathed a fetid breath on her face cruelly whispering appearing very satisfied.

Does it mean desired, or wished for? No one wishes for you now..your brother gone, and your Papa sold you to me!

The sting of his words hit her to the core of her being as she flinched almost giving up entirely then her eyes travel down his silk vestments seeing a space just large enough under his arm to duck under before madly dashing to the other wall. Not stopping to think she spied his prized weapons carefully hung and manages to pull one down barely able to hold it surprised at how heavy it was. Quickly turning to face him, the sword awkwardly held she only saw the sneer as he lunged for her before turning her head and closing her eyes..

You have no idea what you have started now..

Suddenly his words stopped with a small grunt and she felt the sword being pulled away. Prepared to run again, Desiree gives him the briefest glance then totally stills not even breathing as he falls back, the sword angled into his body as he gazes into her eyes the shock apparent.

How did you..

Falling, his words would never be known.



Finally answering Saela after a long pause..

I don't know, Marken said that my Mama named me before she died, she was Salkamaerian.

Walking toward her she bundles her torn skirts before her and sits on the ground.

Can you tell me Saela, how long you have been here, and what they will do to us?

The Serinjah furrowed her brows as she tried to answer that last question. "When they brought me in here, I saw the sun... it was two fingers ahead of the horizon." She lifted up her hand, pulling two of her fingers together to show how far she meant. "I slept in, when the light started to vanish... and slept through the moon... and now the sun is almost gone again. So I guess she passed once more."

The second part was even harder. She had only understood half of the trial she had been put through, a trial where she was not allowed to speak free and where they only asked questions, but strange questions. She decided to ask her cellmate if she understood more than Saela herself had, telling her about what happened in a strange, emotionless way of her singing speech.

"There were many men up there... and they spoke, I think it was your way of a trial. But I was not allowed to speak openly, they ask questions... the sun wandered almost a hand while they were still asking. I did not understand what they wanted me to say... But they asked if I had made the hail, and destroyed the grain. They said it was evil Serinjah witchcraft. I told them witches are not evil, and I am shaman, not witch... but they would not listen to me.
They also... they hurt me to make me say what they wanted to hear. They say I killed the woman. I did not, it was Oldra's way. Sometimes she gives, another time she takes. The woman was sick, and it was her rightful time to go, I told them."
Saela furrowed her brow even more, sitting back down again she drew her legs to her body, wringing her arms around them. Although every movement seemed to be painful, she moved skillfully, a peaceful expression remaining on her face.

"They said I would join the woman on the other side. But it is not my time now... When I told them that, they laughed and joked they would make it my time." She tilted her head a bit, looking at the other woman thoughtfully. "Do you think they kill us?"

Although the words lasted in the cell like a thread, she herself did not seem to care much. Emotionless she looked at Desiree, waiting for her to speak.

„Who are ya? Show ya face! “The guard looked at Marken doubtfully as Marken lifted his hood. A cold grin on his face was the last thing the guard saw before Marken thrust the hidden dagger into the man’s neck. “Sorry…family business…” Dragging the corpse behind a tent he took a look around. No one was near, so he could risk searching the guard for weapons and other things. Although he knew that money was important, he was almost excited as he found a small but useful crossbow under the man’s cape. Shoving it into his bag, he put the bolts into his bootleg. The rain was falling heavy when Marken, the deserter, left the camp on his way home.
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He’s been on the road for almost a week now, tired, hungry…never been dry for 10 days now. But he knew, the longer he would need to get back, the harder it would be on the road for him with the winter coming closer. He was coughing for 6 days now, uncertain of the reason…the cold? Or maybe an illness from the war? Or worse? He wasn’t sure about it…but he hoped his sister would serve him some hot soup as soon as he arrives…
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He scratched his head, the red hair beginning to grow again. He was forced to keep it short at the mercenaries… but now he was free…he smiles as he remembered how often his sister told him that she loved his hair…and his beard, now fully growing, finally.
While was deep in his thoughts, he took the small rat he shot with the crossbow form the fire, tasting it. Cursing on the smell and the taste, he slowly ate it…

No!

Blurting a one word denial at her question trying to convince herself as much as Saela, yet eyes unable to hide the fear, Desiree stands with only a small grimace of pain and begins to pace again wringing her hands in complete opposite of the druid's envious emotionless state.

~Step,whoosh of her bedraggled skirt as she turns,step~

Property, the guard said I was property, no trial for me?

Abruptly stopping her incessant pacing as blurry eyes attempt to focus with lack of sleep apparent, she turns to Saela and points to the window.

Is it getting brighter? The street lamps are off.

Not waiting for an answer as a bone deep chill of premonition shivers down her spine, Desiree's voice becomes softer, as thoughts turn inward.

I am afraid Marken.

In the utter silence following her words, with breath held, increasing sounds of movement are heard outside. Suddenly a booming male voice is clearly heard near their window.

By order of the High Lord Alderan, two murderess' will see the sword of Albarian justice on this day. All town's people will gather to proclaim victory for Albarian way of life.


The chattering of people gathering outside was overshadowed by keys unlocking the door to the cell and in unison they turn to gaze at two burly men grim-faced and silent marching toward them. Roughly thrown facing the back wall as both arms were pulled back and hands tied, a quick glance at Saela's hands tied also , Desiree was dragged out of the cell blinking in the dawn light, managing just one whisper.

Forgive me, forgive us all.

His head shaved, wearing a wornout cape, a face darkened from the last 15 months, nobody recognized him as he entered the tavern. He had planed on asking about his sister, her husband and their house. But all he got were rumors about murder, execution and a dead noble. And soon, the sentence will be fulfilled. He didn’t have much time left.
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The narrow pass was prepared, just like the wagon. He even poured some interesting things into the guards wine to have free access to the scaffold. As the sun began to rise for the supposed-to-be last day in the life of his sister, Marken was ready….he would free her…or die trying.

The chestnut stallion’s ears twitched anxiously, but Saela had calmed him before she left with the soldiers, and he did not resist when the men took him to the stables. But as soon as the unlightened stable aisle opened in front of him like an all-devouring gorge Jira’s last bit of quiet manner vanished into thin air. Never before had he, the free creature from the steppe, be imprisoned in a building like this. Panic took him, and all his thoughts clenched instinctively towards flight.

But there were ropes holding him, men shouting at each other… They managed to get the Serinjah-horse into his box, where he stood watching his guards in an anxious and suspicious way.

Varnim had been working for but two years in the stables, and never had he seen a horse like that. The stallion was tall, but more delicate than the usual destrier. Someone had braided his mane loosely, and it waved about the horse’s arched neck more or less orderly. The animal did neither touch his food nor his water, and if one of the men tried to touch him, he lashed or even bit. A very beautiful horse, but he had no branding and he was more inapproachable than some four-year-old.
One or two hours passed, and the stallion still stood like a statue, as if he waited for something to happen, or someone to come. Varnim came to watch him from time to time, but apart from a twitch over his flanks and the nervous play of his ears, the horse did not move. Then, suddenly, he started to rear, a sharp, shrill snicker cutting through the air. Varnim winced, but the animal seemingly calmed down at as fast as he had rebelled, prancing on his position, not making any sounds.

The groom shaked his head, and went off to the tack room, recognizing he had still a lot of things to clean up for this day.

BAM!

Whoever was near, rushed towards the box. The auburn horse reared once more, higher than before, until he stood upright, his sharp hooves whirling through the air, shrilling all the time he continued striking against the wooden barriers. Varnim helped the others catching the headstall and leading the animal out of its prison. When Jira passed him, the groom could recognize the white in his eyes.

Foaming and bucking the grand animal was hardly to tame, six men were just able to master him. Varnim saw his best friend, Rogan, being hit by one of the stallion’s front legs. His agonized screams mixed with an awful cracking sound when his left leg gave out from under him. Appalled cries answered the fact that only five people had to stop the horse now from stamping Rogan to the ground. Varnim jumped forward, trying to protect his friend, shouting out at the stallion to scare him back. The last thing he was to see in his life were sharp hooves coming towards his face and the white panic in the animal’s eyes.
Four men were no longer able to hold him back, Jira rushed off, dashing through the farmyard and through the open gate out towards the woods. The grooms stared after the stallion, but no one even dared to pursuit him.

He was free again.

The market square of Evenbridge, Lord Alderan’s property, was stuffed with people, like on every market day. But they were not only trading, shouting at one another and strolling past the boothes. Today they were also shoving in front of the platform where the bloody event was to take place soon. Saela stood on the chariot they had been put on, staring into the crowd with both amazement and fear. Never had she seen such masses of people in one place, never had she seen them hustling each other that closely. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of foreigners staring at her as if she were some kind of food, or strange animal... as if she wasn’t human at all. The Serinjah’s eyes started to flicker from one to the other, nervously she tried to calm herself and ignore the bad air and the noisiness around her. Lowering her lids she breathed through deeply and reminded herself to all the wisdom her grandmother had told her, to all the wisdom she herself had gathered in her yet short life. “Listen”, she told herself, “listen carefully, do not be attached by the noises around... listen to the inner sounds...”

Murmuring these words in Serinjah, she managed to cast away all that hold her mind, and almost meditating, she tried to sense something friendly around her, someone who might be able to help. Never had she had a task that hard, a crowd like a wall of hatred and fear aswell. It really took some time, she did not even realize she was drawn away from the chariot and onto the platform, when a face came to her mind. Opening her eyes she directly stared at the red-haired Albarian, a total stranger. His eyes were locked on the woman next to her, and she could sense a strong affection. Perhaps he was a friend of Desiree, pitying her fate. And then Saela’s concentration broke, letting the loud, annoying sounds flood her mind again.

There were more people in the market that day then she had ever seen and some she recognized while the rest were just a blur of faces and voices. Attempting to stand as tall as her petite height would allow with shoulders back, Desiree still felt a flush form on her cheeks at the words which seemed to meld together.

I knew it would come to no good, that peasant and the noble!

You know, she was practically given to him for a pittance so her Papa could make that farm last one more year and it killed him anyway!

Yes, I heard the brother left, don't blame him, no life on that farm anyway.

Who is that woman standing next to her?

Desiree gazed up to the sky knowing in her heart this was the last sunrise she would ever see then, with hopefully a modicum of calm, toward Saela. Noticing the druid staring past her shoulder, Desiree began to turn yet the world turned dark when a bag was abruptly thrown over her head while being shoved forward then down to her knees and made to lay with her head against something hard. The voices now seemed to quiet as her calm withered away completely, her body shaking with fright.

Do you have any last words Desiree Cutter Montcada?

Yes, she had a lot to say, with thoughts such a jumble of images as to render her mute. Never having seen her Mama, yet with a clear picture in her mind from Marken's detailed descriptions among her myriad questions, Desiree knew without a doubt in the sudden hush that the sweet voice in her mind could be no other. The transient peace overwhelming her allowed her voice to finally echo the words.

He is here.

The market was crowded. Aside from the merchants, customers, thieves, guards and other scum, many watchers had come to follow the execution. After the execution of two women had been proclamated, the day was starting to become the most important social event in town since the birth of the two-headed-piglet and the burning of the “responsible” maid.
Slowly, Marken took a look around. Over there stood Rolf, a mean and stupid slob. His father owned the farm next to the Cutter-Farm, before he burnt himself and his wife while he was drunk. Back then, Rolf had the same vicious grin on his face as he had now while he waited to see the girl being killed he used to pick on. Next to him stood the Miller-twins, 2 viragos being as old as Marken. They used every opportunity to goof on people, bickering and playing tricks on them. Marken grinned as he thought of their father. It was common knownledge that he forced his will on many of his maids…and he surely didn’t stop at his daughters. All three of them would surely not recognize Marken. He got older and harder in the past year, clearly visible in his face.
The arrival of the carriage ripped him from his thoughts. It stopped next to the tribune. Several guards covered the prisoners as they got out. His heart almost stopped beating as he saw her. He remembered his sister as a beautiful girl, only 15 years old as he saw her the last time. But on the tribune stood a woman, oppressed, confused and unsecure.
He sighed and began his work. While the herald called the judgment on the tribune, Marken sneaked to the horses of the carriage. The guards were on the tribune, who would ever dare to steal a carriage on a full marketplace?
All eyes were locked at the herald as Marken threw a rope over the horse’s head and attached it to one of the towering joists of the tribune.
“Do you have any last words Desiree Cutter Montcada?”
Marken got pale. “They really are in a hurry today those bastards!” he cursed as he saw the deathsman standing over his sister. The axe high above his head, Ifnar, executioner in the fifth generation, looked to the carriage. A bolt, fired by a grim looking man, was the last thing Ifnar ever saw in his life.
Using the moment of shock, Marken hit the horse, making it run away. While he ducked under the rope, the horse began to pull on the joist. And just like he planned, the joists he sew in the night before broke down and the whole tribune collapsed, whipping the guards from their feet. Marken jumped onto the tribune, grabbed his sister and threw her over his shoulder. While he made his way through the perplexed guards to the other side of the tribune, suddenly a barbarian woman stood in front of him. Her reflexes and instincts seemed to save her from falling down and now she stood there, between Marken and the wagon full of straw he bought the last day. Without even thinking, he threw his sister into the straw, the Serinjah falling with her while he got on the coach box. Cursing on the additional weight, he brought the horses he stole from the Miller-farm to move. The crowd, still shocked by the actions just some winks ago, jumped out of the way. Except Rolf. Marken laughed as he saw Rolf getting crushed by the horses.
As the guards finally were able to gather themselves for a hunt on them, Marken already left the unfortified town, heading to the woods. He forced the horses to run for their lives. He was sure, the advance wouldn’t last for long. But he was able to reach the hollow way before the guards got into range. Holding the reins with his mouth, he tried to enlighten the torch as a bolt hit the board of the wagon. The penetrators were riding about twenty meters behind him as Marken raised the torch. The old fishnet he got from his father was full of straw and oil. As Marken threw the torch into it, the oil immediately began to burn and the flames cut the ropes within seconds. Just as the guards wanted to ride through under the trap, the burning straw fell down, blocking the way. The horses of the guards, not trained with fire, went through and bucked off the guards, several of them breaking their bones as they hit the ground.

The woods embraced him like a dark river, shadows running over his velvet fur like algae through a shoal. Snorting the horse pranced forward, his ears twisting as he turned his head all the time trying to scan his surroundings. Jira did not look back, his instincts told him very clearly that he was not being followed. Setting one hoof in front of the other he carefully paced through the forest, listening to every single sound that might be a sign of his human friend. He missed her soft voice and her calming palms on his neck, he even missed the weight she caused on his back. Without her, running was less harmonic than it had ever been. After spending the night alone in the undergrowth of some young trees, Jira was desperate to find her. Somewhere she needed his help, for that he was sure. If she didn’t she would have long come for him.

As soon as he reached the gorge’s rock face, Jira noticed that he not only pranced through a wood, but through a tree-infested gorge. High above him, the rocks ended somewhere on a plain or in another forest. There was no way further on. Sniffling, and scenting, he turned around, the rock face in his back. His ears played while he winded to find his new path.

Many small rivers went through the valley, he smelled them despite the many other distractions around him. Trees, tall and strong, with underwood between them, filling the free spaces between the trunks. Jira found a trail of some other big animal, following it carefully he still covered his surroundings with his sharp senses. Nothing unusual interrupted his trot while he advanced into the woods.
But then, sharply, stirring, he felt their bond reconnecting. Stopping where he stood, freezing, the stallion listened. Shouts from upwards, galopping horses made the earth under his hooves vibrate. Jira hoped so hard it was HER that he bursted through the undergrowth, rushing parallel to the rock face in order to find a way up, to those noises. Human noises ment humans. And Saela was human.

Whhiisssshhhhhh

The sound of a weapon , a quick groan then silence as Desiree's eyes remain tightly closed even under the bag. Can she still think and be dead? How soon will she know? Should she feel any pain? Hearing a horse run away her heart flutters uncontrollably as her body suddenly flies up in the air wrapped in protective arms encircling her waist. A sob escapes feeling those arms leave as she lands on hard wood mixed with soft hay. Shaking her head furiously to get the bag off, Desiree almost succeeds until the carriage moves with a jolt summarily knocking her feet out from under her while her body tumbles toward the wooden edge. The bag slipping off afforded her glimpses of countryside sliding past before her eyes look past the druid who had rolled next to her to lock on the driver. Knowing every inch of those shoulders, even though the hair was short, she recognized the way he handled the reins...

Leam!

Still she repeated the command to herself, whispering in Serinjah. “Anagopta yo iwan yong, sui ikoyaka yo ahmu okomni... Anagopta yo tima hel hotaka.” ((“Listen carefully, don’t be attached by the noise around... listen to the inner sounds.”))
Almost in trance she heard him coming, she knew what was about to happen and yet did not know it. Trusting in the mother godess, in Oldra, she remained where she was. Oldra had heard her call. Saela had found her center now.
The collision still came unexpected, lifting her off her feet, and her light body was thrown through the air into a bunch of hay. She rolled off, opening her eyes as the carriage already left the town. Turning around slowly she recognized Desiree next to her, staring at the back of their saviour.

“Leam!”

Saela forced herself to stop staring, and sending a short thankful prayer to Oldra, she listened again, trying to search their surroundings for any sign of followers. Before she could get in trance, she already saw them – a group of riders, catching up.
The carriage flew through a forest, and into a hollow way. She wanted to call out, warn the driver, but he already had noticed the guards aswell. Holding the reigns with his mouth, he tried to light a torch. Frowning, Saela looked up just in time to see what he was up to. She suppressed an angered call because he was about to harm the wood – then it was done, a burning barrier was giving them another advantage.

They did not stop until they came out of the forest. In front of them, the plain ground vanished in thin air. Leam jumped down, freeing the horses from the carriage, and leading them aside. Saela climbed off as well and, fluently avoiding the canyon, stepped to the man who had just rescued her.

“Pilamayaye, Leam.” Thankfully, she bowed her head, not asking what would be next, how he had planned or if he had planned a further escape. Their paths were already parting, even when she had the strange feeling they would intertwine once more soon enough.

He heard his sister saying his name, calling for him. But he needed to focus on their escape. Finally, after they got rid of the horsemen, Leam jumped from the carriage, wanting to help his sister to get off it...and to hug her, kiss her...and telling her how he missed her. But as he got to her, she already jumped from the carriage, falling on her knees. Worried if she hurt her, he got on his knees, holding her arm and pulling her up with himself. Just as she looked into his face, she simply smiled.
„Desi...“
He gave her a short kiss, then embraced her.
„Desi...we need to get away from here...they will follow us...can you ride?“
Not waiting for her respond, he left her, getting to the horses to free them for a ride. Just as he began to get them loose, the other woman, the Serinjah, spoke to him
“Pilamayaye, Leam.”
He just looked at her, frowned and nod as she left.
„Desi, can you ride?“
Focusing on their escape again, he tried to get through it. After she told him she could, but she would need help to get on the horse, he assisted her to get on the big animal. After some more seconds, he went to the carriage, kicked it and slowly, but with increasing speed, the wagon began to roll downhill, towards the canyon. As it crushed on the rocks deep in the canyon, Desi and Marken already made their way heading north...

So cold, colder then she has ever been in her life, yet feeling more safe with Marken then she had in a long time, Desiree gradually becomes more confident with the horse yet the mare was soon lost...wandering away in the dead of night. They now both rode the same horse and it felt good with Leam's strong arms around her holding the reins. Once she even managed to climb on herself, leading the mare to a small hill first, as he broke camp then smiled with pride as Leam walked back laughing in surprise easily jumping up behind her and taking the reins. After a few hours, Leam's deep voice rumbles in her ear..

Desi it is time to give the horse a little break or we will loose this one also.

.. before climbing down to walk next to her keeping a hand on her leg.

I can walk also Leam.

..calling Marken by her childhood name for him as she looks with more then a little trepidation at the deepening snow he trudges through, yet accepting his sudden shake of the head knowing she would simply slow them down even more. Unknown to him, and not for the first time, Desiree reaches in their dwindling food bag offering not only his share, but hers as well deciding he needed it much more then her while making their way through the gathering dusk. Stopping to look at a particularly icy patch of ground meandering far in the distance, Marken leads them to a cave just glimpsed as both shiver at the sudden blast of freezing wind from the north portending things to come. Warming her hands on the small fire started near the entrance to the cave, Desiree accurately reads her brother's expression through years of practice yet unlike the past few days of avoidance, her voice begins softly, barely heard above the crackle of the flames.

Yes, I killed him Leam, but I didn't mean to.

Keeping her pale green eyes on the flickering fire, afraid to look into his face..would she see contempt, maybe hatred?

After Papa made you leave, he sold me to him. There are things he did.. but I never wanted to hurt him.

With vision blurred by tears unable to be held any longer, Desiree sobs with relief feeling his comforting arms wrap around her, not caring what happened in the future, his forgiveness all that mattered. Closing her eyes, content to be held, she never saw his worried glance cast out the cave toward the ice field.

Stepping away from the two other refugees, Saela blazed her trail through the underwood. She soon heard hooves behind her, passing away in the distance. It did not matter. She would certainly see those two people again if she was meant to by her goddess.

Whistling softly, she waited for Jira to come back, to answer her. But she was not lucky. No snorting, no breaking of twigs... silence. If there still was a bond between them, it had almost broken.
[serinjah]“Jira, come to me...”[/serinjah] She whispered, waiting for an answer again. But the cold wind brought no snickering with it. As fast as she could, Saela moved on, trying to avoid anything that could give her followers the possibility to wind her, to find out where she was going.
The loss of her bundle soon showed her her own limits, making it difficult to find food, to keep warm, or to dare sleeping as soon as the first snow put a white blanket over every left halm of grass and over every fallen leaf.
Winter had arrived, and Saela, travelling north, knew it was going to be a harsh one. A winter that made wolves even her enemies, a winter that made foes of every living creature alike. This was now about surviving, not only to her but to every other living being aswell, if they knew it or not. The shaman put out the fire she had managed to lit in the night before, hoping that soon new snow might cover the still warm ashes in time, knowing this was almost impossible. Although she usually had not had any problems outrunning the Albarians in the wilderness, with Jira gone she had yet not managed, and they had followed her for five long days. It was time to start running again...

Two days later, she broke in through the snow cover, leaving an easy trail in the kneedeep snow. They closened up, she could not hear them, yet she felt them, whenever she went in the meditating state. Saela stopped underneath some beeches, looking up to the grey sky. New snow tonight. The young Serinjah kneeled down, and breathing through, she decided to put an end to running alone. It was dangerous, but she had to trust Oldra now, and to trust in her own powers. If her ritual went wrong, she could kill not only herself, but also her best friend. But if she did not try, they might never see each other again, and she would die for certain, as soon as they caught her.
This ritual was not about listening. It was about so much more. Her ritual was about calling.

[serinjah]“I call thee, earth, strong mother of all living things. I call thee, sun, light and father to the fire. I call you, my ancestors, and finally I call thee, Oldra, goddess to my people, mother to your children, heiress to Ushara. Help me find my path, guide me to my friend...”[/serinjah]

Praying in her own tongue, she had managed to stash the snow away from a piece of earth she had decided to try first. And her goddess did not fail her: Red clay rested under the snow, and the muddy leaves, as if it had been waiting there for her. Saela did not wonder how she might have been this lucky, she started to dig out some handsfull of the red material instead, putting it in a small bowl she had formed out of the beeches’ bark. Lighting a small fire, she repeated her prayer, holding her open hands towards the sky, ready to receive the sun’s blessings after she had now gotten the earth’s.

But the ritual had not even been started yet, all of this was mere preparing. Putting off all of her clothes, and folding them to an orderly bunch some steps aside, she sat down cross-legged on the snow, balancing the bowl on her lap. Then she started singing a melancholic, monotone way, using random syllabels as any outstander might have thought. In fact, those syllabels all had their meaning to the shamans of her people, and Saela concentrated hard, to not mix them up. Her grandmother had been a decent teacher, and the young shaman knew only too well what damage one wrong syllable might cause to her, to Jira, or even to the forest around her.
Suddenly she was thankfull for not having eaten for three days. Her empty stomach made it far easier to cross the boarder between her reality and the cloudy paths of the gods.

[serinjah]"Chaa-hee-yu, chaa-hee-yu! Oldra, in all your might!
Guard my mortal body, hee-ya-al-niii, hee-ya-al-niii!
Chaa-hee-yu, chaa-hee-yu! All you good spirits of this forest,
Watch over my body while I cross the line of life and death!
Hee-ya-al-niii, hee-ya-al-niii!"[/serinjah]

Repeating the incantation consistently, she took her hands before her body, starting to draw a circle around herself, like a ring of protection. Finishing this preparation, she finally could start what she intended to do. She restarted her monotone recitative prayer to her goddess and dipping two of her fingers into the red clay she had mixed with some ash of the fire before to make it smoother, she started painting the holy symbol of energy on her right arm. It was followed by the holy symbol of friendship, on the left arm, and the symbols of her and Jira’s true names on the insides of her legs. Left, she drew symbols for wind and grass, allegorizing Jira’s name, “wind in the grass”, while she put the symbols for raven and feather on her right leg to tell the goddess her own true name. Finally, she painted two new symbols on the soles of her bare feet, this time they looked exactly the same: signs of reunion.

She now threw the bowl with the remains of ash and clay into the flames in front of her, resting the empty hands with their palms up on her lap. This was where she started calling.

[serinjah]“I call the one I lost, the one I miss! Yo-hann-seee, yo-hann-seee!
Step out of the darkness, and into the light!
Return to me, my friend! Listen to my call!
Yo-hann-seee, Jira, yo-hann-seee!
Yo-hann-seee, Jira, yo-hann-seee!
Yo-hann-seee, Jira, yo-hann-seee!”[/serinjah]

She managed to cry out the magical three times on the top of her voice, until her strength left her. Falling onto her own lap, her upper body collapsed. Saela bit her lips, in order to control pain and exhaustion that shook her all over, forcing herself to bow further forward, bringing order in her shivering extremities. She touched her legs with her forehead, then reaching out for the burning bowl in the fire. The mass in it had turned to a bubbling liquid, but she did not even show any pain touching it, and painting the symbol of Oldra’s blessing on her forehead.

“Pilamayaye, Oldra...” She murmured, tired as if she had been running for two days without rest. She stood up to leave her circle and put back on her clothes, even her shoes. After the fire had been put out, she wandered of, but slowly like an old woman. The call had been even harder than she had feared before.

((Translation into Lakota/Serinjah will follow soon, but it will take time because I am no native speaker and have to translate it word for word all by myself, thanks for understanding!))

He sighed as he heard her telling him what happened. Though she broke albarian law, she was innocent. There was no way they could ever return without the fear of being hunted. So they had to continue their way. He slowly raised his voice to say something to Desi when he saw her closed eyes and her slow but constant breathing.

The ice field was large, no tree or rock was visible, it had to be a large lake, frozen, invisible, dangerous. Marken had no idea how thick the ice was and he wasn’t even sure there was something beyond the lake worth taking the risks. But searching for a way around it could take hours and they have gotten this far already. If the gods wanted to punish them for what they did, they would have killed them days ago. So he made his decision. Tomorrow, they will cross the ice.

Placing more wood in the fire, Marken got under the blanket he was sharing with his little sister.

Wearing her only "good" dress which was shoddy at best, she tries to keep the dirt from the carriage off the hem before running fingers through her long hair in an attempt to comb the tangles out yet abruptly stops to gasp seeing the Montcada home for the first time. Never having seen anything so large or wonderful, even with her arranged marriage and despair at still missing Leam, a little excitement forms deep in her belly at the prospect of living in such a grand place. Not having anything but a few belongings in her bag, she jumps down and walks to the front door as the driver puzzles her with his words of farewell.

May Malachin protect you.

The old woman that ushered her in barely looked at her before showing her to a room with a connecting door indicating that was the Lord's.

You will wait here and when he calls, do everything he says making no protest.

The woman left saying nothing more as Desiree waited nervously occasionally pacing the room which was as large as her cottage while thoughts mainly turned to questions...how he would be, would he be kind, would he like her?



Suddenly the dream turned into the nightmare of history as Desiree woke sobbing in her brother's arms while he hugged her tight whispering while caressing her hair.

Desi, it's just a dream, all in the past. Let's eat then leave this cave.

Taking the horse and wood for a campfire, they stand at the edge looking over the ice field as swirls of snow dance like clouds invitingly.

Follow exactly in my footsteps behind the horse Desi, if the ice is not thick, the horse weighs more then either of us, if you hear a crack, turn back the way you came.

Gasping Desiree blurts out her first words without thinking.

Leam, I can't leave you!

Marken's eyes turn toward her with the stern, commanding look of any Albarian noble yet she could still see the hint of deep caring as his voice resonates with finality using her full name.

If something happens get back to the cave Desiree, I will come for you.

Unable to speak as her voice seems to have left entirely, Desiree simply nods becoming frightened at the seriousness of Leam's voice suddenly dreading the trek ahead.

Halfway across they both stop and hold their breath at the sound of a loud crack in the ice. Speaking softly as his gaze travels over every inch of the field before starting to move again...

Keep exactly where you are Desi, not one step to the right nor left.

It seemed like forever yet probably only an hour before they arrived at the end of the treacherous ice and made camp near the forest's edge.

Warming her hands outstretched by the fire, Desiree watches Leam take care of the horse as a smile forms on her face seeing the sun catch the redness of his hair. Running one hand through the still short strands as the only gesture of relief he would make, he finally turns to pull her up into his arms. Leaning her head next to him listening to his heart beat as his deep voice echoes the fierceness of his resolve, Desiree finally feels safe.

We will go to a new place Desi, no one will know us there. A new life.

The sky was already darkening for an early night, when Saela finally noticed the woods lightening up. She slowed down, trying to crawl through snow that made it already hard to walk. Despite the dusk, falling snow still blinded her eyes. Hissing silently she managed to reach the edge of the forest unseen. Underneath the thick snow layer, ice prevented her to sink into the silvery water of the river. She had just decided to cross it at dawn, and stay at her own waterside for the night. And in this very second, Oldra finally granted her wish. She saw him.

She could see the fear in his eyes, and closing her eyes, listening to the water, she knew well the ice would carry neither her nor him. They had no choice but to continue upriver and hope the ice was thicker there.

They wandered through the night, each of them on one side of the river, Saela stopping occasionally to listen to the waters call. Finally, she found a spot where she could dare stepping onto the ice. But as she looked over to look after Jira, she could no longer see him. A tongue of land had reached out, parting the stream in two. From where Saela was standing, she could not see any other living creature. It was then that she decided to cross both streams and the headland, hoping Jira was intelligent enough not to try and cross the river on his own.