The first few chapters are preludes into Jehanne's life: the 'Merlin' parts shall follow. Also, the sequences below indicates a new section of the story: I apologise if I do not always use three, as I forgot how many to use halfway through writing the first few chapters. Please enjoy.
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Her eye's narrowed, and her mouth opened slightly, revealing a pink tongue lightly touching the tip of her front teeth; gently lowering one eyelid, she paused, then slowly reopened it.
Holding for just one more moment, she released the arrow. It snapped out of the bow, flying in a short, sharp shot. There was a gentle thud as it hit the deer's chest, and then the accustomed bray from the animal.
Sucking in her breath, the girl jumped down from her perch in the tree and hit the floor with an equally dull thud: launching herself into a run, it was a quick sprint to the fallen doe fifty metres away.
Throwing herself down onto her knees, she skidded the last few metres to the animal. Stopping herself by clutching at the grass, she came to a halt beside the creature: taking a knife from her belt, she stabbed the deer quickly in the heart, killing it.
She did not understand other hunters: taking care to stroke the animal and slit it's throat, sitting vigil till it's death; it was wild and would become more panicked by the random petting, and to slit it's throat would be to prolong it's suffering. No: her way was much better.
She wiped the knife clean on the grass, leaving the strands gleaning with red, before tucking it back into her belt. Flitting a look left and right, she pulled her long axe from her quiver, swung it up into the air, then came down with force upon the deer's hind leg. Taking the limb, she put it into the sack, and began dismembering the animal; piece by piece, she had collected the all the meat, including head, she wiped the blood from her hands onto the grass.
Standing up, she looked down at the mess of blood on the ground; sighing, she rubbed her foot back and forth across the scarlet patches: when she stopped, most of the blood had been pushed into the moist soil underneath the grass, and what was left she didn't care about.
Turning from the kill site, she held back a cough as she began the descent down the sloping forest's floor; the woodland was not particularly thick, and the sack was beginning to drip blood. Throwing the bag over her shoulder from in her arms, she began jogging.
The sack was thumping heavily against her right shoulder blade, and the thin strip of blinding morning light was peeking over the horizon, hitting her directly in her eyes. Twitching her head and wrinkling her nose, she kept running slowly down the hill. Approaching was the bank of the forest: it was a 10 foot drop, separating the woods, which stopped just before the drop, from the large grassy field that led to the village.
The field was an expanse of waist-deep plants in summer - a mix of crops, born of seeds drifting from farmer's nearby fields, and common, but overgrown weeds. It being March, it was still cold enough to produce a cloud of smoke with every breath in the morning, but warm enough for the shoots of the plants to peep into the brittle wind.
Yet the danger of the plain separating the village and forest was, any illegal hunters: which happened to be them all bar the King's men, could be caught between the forbidden hunting ground and the safety of the village. To reach the village, you had to successfully cross the field, dodging the arrows which were flung at you if you looked suspicious enough; hurdle the long gate - the entrance to the field - and race quicker than the guards and arrows chasing you across the bridge over the river Lyone. If you managed to set both feet over the cobbled bridge, onto the dirt path to the village, the soldiers could not touch you, and bows would be set aside.
Of course you had the occasional soldier who attacked you even after you reached sanctuary, purely out of bitterness of the loss of his kill, but surely, what hunter would go hunting without a knife?
Stalking to the edge of the trees, she could see no one lurking around field, gate, nor bridge. She sighed, almost exasperated at the lack of men; it was well known the soldiers were lazy brutes, and did not bother to patrol small forests or hunting grounds at such an early hour. Well, there was no reason for exasperation at least: this would mean an easy trip and less time spent plucking the soldier's arrows out of the meat in the sack, which protected her back from their fire.
The forest was open for public access, for the likes of travelling parties, and healers collecting herbs. But the soldiers were less than honourable to women travelling alone, or even the old and crippled. There had been many a time when you could here the faint scream of a women far off, or nearby screams as she returned to the village half-dressed and weeping; sometimes, bodies of the nearly deceased were found floating near the banks of the Lyone, for such cocky soldiers saw no need for these waste of spaces, and saw no need to hide there lack of contempt for them or their corpses.
She inhaled the wind which was blowing in her face: there was not the usual smell of the soldier's opium, or their fire which they often started to keep warm. They were not there.
Relaxing the tension in her shoulders, she stepped from the woods with partial ease. Approaching the bank, she sank and sat on the edge of the small cliff. Normally, to enter the forest, she would use the hills on either side: but sometimes she had to climb up the bank if she was in pursuit, or being pursued. Similarly, to get down the bank, you could use the hills if you had time; but normally, you would slither off the edge of the bank, or if desperate, jump, and hope you don't break your ankle on impact.
Clutching the edge with one hand, and holding the sack over her shoulder with the other: she slid over the edge and dropped. She landed in a crouch.
If there had been soldiers around she would have had to sprint across the field. But there being none, she walked across it; her muscles contracted with every step, ready to fling themselves forward into flight, always ready for the starting dash. Even walking was quick and feverish when crossing the expanse.
It had taken her a few minutes to cross, but she allowed the muscles aside of her mouth to release slightly when she laid her hand on solid wood of the long gate. Instead of vaulting the fence as she had done in the past, she unlocked the latch, opened the fence slightly, and passed through.
Relocking it, she coughed and released a cloud of white into the air. Through the white haze, the forest seemed to be sprinkled with snow, which it had been not too long ago; it seemed like a miracle every time winter passed, and even no snow in March was rare.
Setting two feet on the cobbles of the bridge was a good feeling, and she let it wash over her as she realised yet again, she was going to make it home. A smile even dared pass her lips.
She stopped near the end of the bridge, and looked over the barrier into the water. All the melted snow from the passed weeks had brought a torrent of water into the river, and the Lyone was now washing dangerously close to the point she knew all too well as the flooding point. She licked her lips carefully, and carried on.
She walked into the sleepy village; it seemed it was just rising now: a few people scattered around on the road, a boy herding a cluster of chickens toward a house. A few men raised their heads as she approached, then looked down; apart from Lian, who smiled and raised a hand at her. The women heard her approach and dug for their money pouches.
A woman kept on flicking her eyes from the girl's to her own belt, clawing clumsily at the string which tied the money bag on.
"Jehanne!" she called quickly before any others, beckoning her with one hand, still trying to fiddle with the pouch with the other.
Jehanne walked over to the woman and set her sack down.
"What can I sell you Rachael?" she asked, untying the string to her own sack with ease.
"A leg please, if you can," the older woman replied, "Is it deer?" Jehanne nodded. "Well then I'll take the hoof as well; Danyel is ill, and a good hoof broth will do him good."
Nodding again, the younger of the two thrust her hand in the bloodied sack and retrieved a deer leg. "It'll be five silvers please."
"Ooh!" Rachael tutted, "Prices are up, are they Jehanne?"
"You got a hind leg and hoof, it's worthy of five silvers," the girl shrugged in reply.
"Well, be sure to charge everyone just the same, or I'll hear of it," the older woman huffed, and she turned away to the cottage, wielding the leg by the bloody stump.
Jehanne moved on to her other customers, and eventually was left with two forelegs, part of the chest, and a few organs. No one else approached her, and even if they did, she would not sell anymore. Turning away from the houses clustered in a circle, the circle making up what people called the Market, she followed the main road leading into the rest of the village.
Lian fell in step beside her, before skipping ahead, turning around to face her, and walking backwards directly in front of her.
"Jehanne!" he grinned, throwing his arms wide, "How was your little hunting expedition?"
Jehanne shook her sack at him and rolled her eyes; the sack dripped a few drops of blood, and stained the dirt where they landed red.
"That's not what I meant," Lian said, frowning comically at her; Jehanne's mask broke and she cracked a smile.
"There were no hunters, nor King's men, if that is what you mean," she smiled, dancing forward a step and nearly treading on Lian's toes, making him yelp and hop back further. "Why do you ask?"
"Well," the boy began, wafting his hands out in explanation, "There has been rumours that King Uther - Camelot's ruler - has sent his son Prince Arthur and a party of knights, out to meet and greet with us Lyone's. The rumours say it is in preparation of talks between the Five Kingdoms of Albion; and apparently, his gracious Prince Arthur and his entourage will be coming close to us, if not to us."
The girl's brow wrinkled with confusion; Whinge was a small village, not normally a social point for other kingdom's finest.
"I know, I know!" Lian exclaimed, seeing Jehanne's furrowed brow, throwing his arms in the air for a second time, "Apparently so! But rumours being rumours, especially if being spread by Bretta, are normally false anyway. But if they are true, I would best be on your watch while hunting; the soldier's numbers will probably double, and then there's the actual chance of running into this band of Avalonites!"
Avalon was the kingdom next to our kingdom: Lyone. Lyone was named after the great river which ran directly across the land; at points it became waterfalls and lagoons, and others - such as the point Whinge was located at - it was just your average river. Avalon held the great and powerful Camelot as it's capital; no one liked to say it, but everyone knew, that being nearly directly on the border to Avalon, if our insane, power hungry King Alined decided to make war with Avalon, Whinge would be the first to go.
Alas, the news of this Avalonite prince coming visit was not unpredicted. Talks between the great Five Kingdoms were happening soon in Camelot; and being the nearest Lyone holding on the border and nearest Camelot, we as a village, had expected some kind of interest.
"Bretta told you as such?" Jehanne asked.
"Indeed she did."
"Bretta is a gossip."
"Indeed she is."
"Well then Lian, what was the point of this warning if you have no such real evidence?"
Lian just smiled serenely at Jehanne's flare of temper; this was the wonderful thing about Lian: he was so hard to get at, through his thick skin, he would simply ignore and deflect Jehanne's tone and comments with no real damage done. And his temperament was so warm and hopeful, his happiness had rubbed onto Jehanne over the years of their friendship.
"Because, if it's false, then it simply doesn't matter. But if I hadn't given you the information because I thought it was false, but it turned out to be true; and you galumphed through the forest like an elephant with some Prince gawking at you, would you have thanked me?" Lian stopped abruptly, hands on hips, causing Jehanne to stop also. "Well?"
"One:" Jehanne snapped, pushing the boy in the chest, and continuing their walk, "I have never 'galumphed' like an elephant: I am silent, as you well know. Two:-" here her voice softened, "- I suppose I should thank you for the information. It would not have served well if I had not known, and it turned to be true."
Lian's grin broadened, his thin, tall frame radiating glory, "Well?"
"Well what?"
"That wasn't really a thank you."
Jehanne simply raised her eyebrows, smiled, and turned onto the small path to her cottage, shrugging her shoulders as if there was nothing she could do.
Lian dropped his jaw in fake shock, then waved, before turning and running to his own small house down the track. Raising her hand in acknowledgement of the goodbye, she fully turned and faced the cottage which served as her home.
She could hear voices inside, and through the open peep of a shutter, she could see the flashes of bodies in the building. Exhaling for a long moment, Jehanne smiled loosely and started toward the wooden front door.