The Fall of Ossard ot-1 Read online

  “A bodyguard?” I asked.

  “Just for now,” said my father.

  Mother nodded, her movements anxious.

  I said, “It’s because of the kidnappings, isn’t it?”

  Father nodded.

  Mother said, “No, not at all, and it’s just for a short while.”

  I turned to face him – my bodyguard.

  He stood tall and solid, in his late twenties, with blonde hair and blue eyes spaced between the occasional scar. He tried to smile to win me over. It sat strangely on such a big man, one made bigger by an armour of leathers, and a scabbarded sword at his side. He looked like he’d just come from the bloody battlefields of Fletland, our people’s war-torn homeland across the sea, so much so that I checked his boots for mud – to my disappointment they were clean.

  He shifted, moving his imposing bulk awkwardly on our polished floorboards and setting them to softly groan. He just didn’t belong in our civilised household, or for that matter any home.

  I smiled; having him around would drive my mother mad. “Well, I guess it could be fun having my own bodyguard.”

  Sef’s smile broadened.

  Mother sighed in relief.

  Father grinned. “How about we give it a try by letting him take you to the markets?”

  I was making it too easy for them, so I let my enthusiasm fade. “I guess…”

  Sef’s smile faltered, making me feel bad. It was my parents I wanted to toy with, not him. He obviously didn’t have a lot of experience with children.

  I found a grin. “I guess. He looks like he could handle anything.”

  Their faces lit up.

  Then I went on, “And he’s got a great sword.” I turned to him. “Can I hold it?”

  He looked to my parents.

  My mother paled while my father shook his head.

  That’s when I delivered the punch line, “Killed anyone with it?

  Mother nearly fainted.

  He squatted, coming eye to eye with me. “Only those who deserved it.”

  I looked into his eyes, cold pools that had seen a lot of worse things than a spoilt girl of thirteen.

  Well, if I needed a bodyguard, I guess he could do the job. He was bigger than Father, and easily worth two maids and my mother in a fight.

  Father filled the silence. “The markets then?”

  Sef’s smile dropped, now all business. “The markets.”

  I took a step back, my bravado dead.

  All four of us took the family coach, Sef up front with the driver while my parents sat inside with me. My parents spoke of nothing in particular, just mundane household matters, both nervous as we headed out from home and away.

  We arrived under overcast skies at the edge of Market Square. Crowds and stalls filled its wide expanse, all the way to its bordering sides marked by Ossard’s grandest buildings; the guildhalls; Cathedral; and Malnobla, the residence of the lord of the city-state.

  Sef helped my mother from the coach and then reached up for me. He tried to be careful, but his strong hands held too firm, seeing me twist against them. In response he tightened his grip.

  I gasped, “You’re hurting me!”

  Father frowned. “Come now, Juvela, be good.”

  Mother stood to his side, worried but silent.

  Then we set out.

  Sef walked a pace beside me, or a step or two behind. He watched the crowd for trouble, and my parents for directions, but more than anything he watched me.

  Mother looked at some cloth, and then some fruit, before we headed towards the livestock stalls. Amongst them we found a boar running around an otherwise empty pen. Alone and in a strange place, the brutish animal had become frenzied, to the amusement of a small crowd.

  The owner was trying to calm it, but the tusked beast lunged at his handling attempts. We watched for a while as the owner called in two men to help. Armed with long poles, they began forcing it into a corner. Soon they’d have it. With the chase over we moved on, my mother not wanting to watch its likely death.

  I led Sef and my parents down a narrow path that cut between two banks of pens, some empty, while most hosted goats, pigs, or sheep.

  My mother complained, “Juvela, the animals’ filth is everywhere!”

  “But there are lambs ahead?”

  Father looked to his women and sighed, then noticed my shoes already caked in muck. “Juvela, go and have a look, but take Sef. We’ll walk around and meet you on the other side.”

  Sef offered an awkward smile.

  My mother paled. “Can we leave her alone?”

  Father put a hand to her back as he began to steer her away. “She’s not alone, she’s with Sef.”

  I skipped down the path. I could see a dozen lambs in the last pen.

  Sef followed, but also kept his distance.

  The lambs huddled in straw near the fence, it made from a tight weave of oleander canes. I went to them, squatting down as I slipped a hand through the lattice to offer the nearest my fingers.

  Sef walked past, coming to a stop only paces away.

  The owner of the lambs, a fat Heletian, approached him to see if he represented a possible sale. They talked while I patted the closest animal, marvelling at its innocent face.

  That’s when I sensed something behind me, it cold and sudden.

  I looked down by my side to see a pair of black boots. A man stood there with his back to Sef, but Sef also had his back to him.

  The man wore a dark cloak to protect against the coming rain that the sky promised, yet it also harboured something else – something akin to the chill that lurked in Sef’s eyes. Earlier, I’d been a little spooked by Sef, but right now this stranger had me terrified.

  He said, “It seems you’ve made some friends.”

  I just stared up at him.

  “There are other friends you can make…”

  Sef’s voice came firm and hard, along with the ring of his sword as he unsheathed it. “She has enough friends, sir, such as me.”

  He’d escaped the lamb owner, moved around, and begun to push between us. I got up and stepped back behind him, putting a hand to his beefy hip.

  Screams sounded from the other end of the pens. The three of us ignored them, caught up in our own intrigue.

  Sef and the man locked eyes. At the same time, I swear, the very air chilled.

  I looked down at the stranger’s feet, his boots dulled by a sudden frost as strands of mist rose to drift about.

  That wasn’t right…

  Sword in hand, Sef squared his shoulders and announced, “You’ll need to do better than that!”

  The stranger showed some surprise.

  I didn’t understand what they were doing, and had no time to think as I was distracted by a second set of screams. They were followed by a loud and bestial cry.

  I turned to discover that the baled up boar was now charging towards us. Pink froth ran from its snout while blood streamed down its side; behind it, the beast’s owner lay tripped up amidst the pen’s ruined fence.

  I cried out, “Sef!”

  Following the narrow lane, the boar drew closer.

  Sef hissed at the stranger, his sword held between them, “Get gone!”

  The stranger chuckled. “So much to worry about!”

  Sef said, “I can manage.”

  “But so little time!”

  The boar neared. We only had moments.

  I looked for a way through the fence, but the gaps in the lattice were too small, and the canes too thick. The lambs on the other side scattered. “Sef!”

  The boar was upon us.

  He swung his sword up from between him and the stranger, half-turned, and then brought it down from over his shoulder and out to his side. The move left me under his arm, and between him and his steel.

  The beast reached us as the blade’s tip flashed down.

  The sword caught the boar on its great wet snout, with the charging animal’s momentum driving its head onto the raz
or-sharp blade. Sef held it stiffly, forcing its tip into a gap between muck-covered cobbles where he strained to wedge it.

  The boar opened its own skull and then collapsed into the path’s mess. After a moment of spasmodic kicking, a wet squeal, and the spray of blood, it finally succumbed to a quick death.

  Not wasting the chance, the stranger lunged around Sef’s side and grabbed for me.

  I screamed.

  Sef brought his knee up to hit the stranger under the jaw, and at the same time lifted his sword and brought the hilt down on top of the man’s head. He then turned and stepped back to pin me protectively between his back and the fence.

  The stranger slumped to the ground.

  Sef’s blade hung in the air in front of me, half its length red. He asked, “Juvela, are you alright?“

  I whispered, “There’s blood on your sword!”

  “Juvela, your parents are coming. Tell me you’re alright!”

  I took a deep breath. “Yes!”

  He stepped away from the fence, freeing me, and then squatted down to be eye to eye. “It’s alright, it’s the boar’s.” He smiled.

  Still giddy with fright, I threw my arms around his neck to hug him.

  He patted my back with his free hand. “Your parents are nearly here. Please be brave, I really need this job.”

  I nodded.

  Sef stood as we noticed that the cloaked man had gone.

  I said, “He’s gotten away!”

  Sef frowned. There wasn’t a trace of him.

  My parents arrived.

  Father cried out, “Well done!”

  Mother dropped down to her knees in front of me. “Are you alright?” She was trembling and close to tears.

  “Yes,” I said, “I like Sef, he’s great!”

  Father laughed and nodded, while Mother sobbed with relief.

  That night they discussed the terms of Sef’s employment over a roast boar dinner.

  Sef became my closest friend, and, for me at least, part of the family. He had great patience. Not only did he watch over me, but he also talked and played, telling me stories of his adventures in Fletland.

  Few families in Newbank could afford such a luxury, but it did keep me safe. Meanwhile, around us, the abductions not only continued, but worsened.

  My burly swordsman never again had to raise a blade to defend me – well, not back then. In my early years I thought it was because I was unique, you know, like most children.

  I was special!

  The adults around me reinforced the notion by the way they watched me grow. I thought they were looking for something, some telltale sign of my hidden glory beginning to bloom. There wasn’t any. Later, I realised that they were just watching my all too ordinary progress into womanhood.

  With its arrival the adults began treating me differently, like some kind of precious jewel. Only Sef didn’t. Secretly we joked that the biggest threat to me came from my overprotective mother and her countless rules.

  My father, an observant and warm-hearted man, asked me to be patient with her overbearing ways. He explained that my grandmother’s dying wish was for my mother to take good care of her yet-to-be-born children. He said it plainly, telling me for the first time that Grandma Vilma had died in the riots that saw the Inquisition forced from Ossard, during the dark days known as The Burnings.

  That moment had been a turning point for the city.

  The expulsion of the Black Fleet marked the beginning of a new age of prosperity for Ossard, even for its marginalised Flets. Gradually the era faded, growing corrupt and wrong. That was when the child stealing had begun.

  They never found the bodies, not even their clothes. Rumours abounded to blame everything and everyone. Occasionally, unfortunates would be set upon by accusing mobs, yet the kidnappings continued. It seemed that nothing could stop them.

  The only thing the missing children did leave behind were their heartbroken parents, parents who carried unseen but deep wounds. Such hurts don’t heal, instead they’re re-opened by memories as if cut afresh every day. Left untreated they only spoil.

  A city is the sum of its souls – when some begin to turn, all stand endangered.

  It begged my maturing mind to ask what kind of city could allow such a thing? Perhaps a city too distracted by its own success.

  Who cared if Flet children were being stolen from the slums? Not the Heletians ruling Ossard. In the city of Merchant Princes, anyone with the power to help was too busy doing business. In truth, it would take the theft of one of their own before they’d even notice the problem.

  In many ways the city was as lost as its stolen children. And as the years passed and I began journeying through my teens, I felt lost too.

  As my seventeenth birthday neared, my days revolved around little else than my mother grooming me for marriage. I didn’t know to whom. Nothing had been arranged, but whatever the future brought, a pairing would have more to do with influence and wealth than love. I didn’t care much for the notion.

  The rude realisation that I’d soon have my own household and eventually children left me cold. I wasn’t ready for it. I could only hope for a kind man with a good heart, with whom my feelings might change and grow.

  In truth, I think my real fear was of becoming like my mother.

  Meanwhile, the abductions continued, three or four a season and always of children under twelve. It was a tragedy, but it meant that I was well and truly safe, and that meant that Sef was no longer required.

  We all seemed to come to that realisation at the same time, both Sef and I, and my parents. It left me numb.

  Surprisingly, Mother insisted on keeping him on. We were too used to having him around and wealthy enough to afford it.

  As it turned out, he was as relieved as me that he was being retained – if now on broader duties. I can still picture him standing in our sitting room, anxious, as my father gave him the news. It left him with a huge grin and trying to blink back tears. Seeing the big man so vulnerable made me giggle. He went a deep red at the sound, but then burst out laughing. Even my parents had joined in.

  I was so happy. We all were.

  If we hadn’t offered the work, I think he would’ve returned to Fletland, but I knew he didn’t want to go. He was afraid of that place, haunted by memories of bloody battles he’d fought, and adventures that hadn’t always ended well.

  Soon enough, he gave me another chance to giggle at him. This time it wasn’t because of held back tears, but my approaching coming-of-age. He began to get awkward around me, just like my father. It was very endearing.

  Mother spent her days teaching me the skills of a lady; etiquette; how to manage a household; and how to master various crafts.

  It was a bore.

  In the afternoons, she’d send me to my loft bedroom with stitching to complete or some other enthralling task.

  I’d often end up sitting at my window lost in the caress of the summer breeze. Once there, it’d not take long before I’d let my thoughts escape the monotony of my work to seek the freedom of lazy dreams.

  Being from amongst the wealthiest of Flet families, I was destined to marry a Heletian to help Father’s business bridge Ossard’s cultural divide. The thought frightened me. Unlike the blue-eyed and blonde Flets, the Heletians with their dark hair and eyes matched to olive skin seemed so different and stubbornly traditional.

  My mother sensed my apprehension, so she started adding a lotusbased concoction to my meals. It was reputed to induce thoughts of motherhood, love, and even lust. I didn’t notice any change, well, not at first…

  Finally, and much to my mother’s relief, I began to look at the idea of a husband, my husband, with a fresh and hot-blooded heart. He became the focus of my dreams, shameful things, as my mother strengthened the dosage so that the fantasies crossed increasingly into the waking day from the sleeping night.

  It threatened to become an obsession.

  I could see him, handsome and wealthy, but at the same time
gentle and loving – a Heletian merchant prince. He would be my hero, standing alongside me through the travails of life, living for me as I did for him. Together, as best friends, partners, and lovers – nothing less than a true couple. We would be inseparable…

  Soon enough, bored with my mother’s lessons, the daydreams became an escape. More and more, when I wasn’t lost in a lotus inspired haze or taking lessons, I sought them out at my bedroom’s loft window, most especially at the end of the day.

  In contrast, in the waking morning, when the grip of the lotus ran at its weakest ebb, my head often grew heavy with pain. At such times I felt trapped by a destiny promising comfort, but no excitement, where I could see a lingering lifetime only to be mercifully ended by the hand of Death.

  Such bleak moods only fed my hunger for lotus.

  I dreamt of a sacred union, of two souls joined by all things honourable in a partnership heralded by angels. It would be so beautiful that even the gods would weep. In time, with the passing of many happy seasons, children and prosperity would strengthen our most important gift to each other – our love…

  I knew it was just a fantasy, but I couldn’t get enough of it.

  I was being enslaved.

  To my surprise, a respite surfaced in the strangest place; my sleep.

  It began a little over a week out from my coming-of-age. At first it was just an image, like a glimpse of a distant land. It wasn’t until after its first few visits that I realised how much I needed it – something to counter my growing dependence on the lotus.

  Every night this new dream came stronger and longer. It pushed aside stubborn scenes of handsome husbands, breathless kisses, and naked, sweat-covered shame. It ran like a vision, as if I flew free with the birds, seeing me glide high above a green and beautiful land.

  Without the passion and lust of the lotus dreams it might sound like a bore, but it stirred something deep within. It gave a sense of life, hope, and liberation: It was of freedom.

  Within its sleeping caress, I dove down into steep mountain valleys and soared up by rugged, snow-dusted peaks. Eventually, that landscape gave way to a rock-lined sound where the sea spilled in. Behind that coast rolled green hills that grew in height and grandeur, and not much farther back, a shadowed canyon cradled in their midst.