Halkeginian Interludes: Chapter 2 - The Odd Life of Tiffania NicTighearn

Deep in the craggy Westwood forest of Alba, near the City of Dun Eideann, lay a long-forgotten hamlet. It was small, consisting of a few wooden buildings nestled in a clearing by the base of the Labhair Mountains.

A well sat in the centre, old yet well maintained with a fresh spring of water flowing deep beneath. To the northeast, a barn of decent size filled with tools, wood, and supplies, and a makeshift workshop nestled in a cosy little corner where leathers were tanned, arrows crafted, and clothes repaired. Beside the barn, to the southeast, was a cottage, big enough for a large family to live in comfortably—two storeys tall, not counting the attic, with whitewashed walls and grey tile roofing.

There was also a chicken coop, fenced in wire to keep the foxes and wolves out; a stable, though only one horse lived within its wooden walls; another, smaller, cottage repurposed for more bedding; a garden filled with flowers and herbs of all sorts; and an outhouse, further away from the rest of the hamlet.

Few knew of the hamlet's existence. Fewer still knew where it was. The lands around it was treacherous to the unfamiliar, and the mountains was home to trolls. Locals knew delving too deep into the Westwoods was almost always a death sentence. But, lately, other rumours started to spread about the forest. Rumours that it was home to the fair folk, ancient first-born who vanished a time after Founder Brimir first stepped foot on the White Isle—specifically one the locals call the Ban Sidhe.

There was no proof of these claims, though. At the most it was old tales of wayward travellers and delinquents delving into the forest. They would reappear days, even weeks later—well fed and clothed—but without any memory of what happened. Most were quite adamant that they had only wandered between the trees for a few hours at the most.

The rumours were true, of course. Sort of, at least. The forests were occupied, and the memory loss was, in fact, due to ancient magics, but not from some story-book faerie. No, it was all the actions of a single young woman: Tiffania NicTighearn. An orphan of barely sixteen years. She and her big sister Mathilda had taken up lodgings in the hamlet and had made it their home. In a way, it was their inheritance, after all. And the memory loss? A spell of her own, cast to keep her home secret from those who would do harm to her, her sister, and, especially, her wards. Her children.

They were orphans, just as she, who Tiffania had taken in so they may live without want for food or shelter. After all, she knew what it was like to fend for herself. And these days, with the civil war ripping Alba apart, times were tough. And, sure, it was hard work raising them. But she had three years' worth of experience, and every day she saw how carefree they were—well, it made everything worth it.

So, when the ground began to rumble one spring morning, rumbling like a furious wyrm, she snapped wide awake and launched out of bed. The first question—What was going on?—was quickly overshadowed as the reality of the situation sunk in. It didn't matter what was going on. The house was shaking, the ground was shaking! Where are the kids? With that single, resounding question in her head, she took off in a sprint, barging out of her room and down the halls. "Children! Children!" she cried. "Where are you?"

The only reply was the boom of thunder above and the terrified wails of birds. Tiffania cowed, every inch of her body screaming for her to hide, to curl up beneath her bed and weather the storm. It was like some dreadful knell that struck something deep and primal inside her mind. Tears came to her eyes, and she whimpered like a terrified child, but she forced herself forward. Her children could be in danger, and she would never forgive herself if she abandoned them.

She peaked out a rattling windows, hoping—yet also terrified—that she would find her kids outside, perhaps running for cover. She didn't. It was dark. Too dark to make anything out but the faint outline of twisting trees and the swirling masses of birds against the grey skies above. It would've been terrifying even if the world wasn't trembling. Her footing felt uneasy. She had only been on an airship once, but the sensation was eminently familiar. Just moving through her house was made almost impossible as she stumbled over the floor, bracing herself against the walls.

All the while, she continued screaming out for her kids, barely able to hear herself over the cacophony blaring outside. And by the time she reached the atrium on the first floor, she had seen no hide nor hair of them. Their bedrooms were empty, the study devoid of life. She wasn't even sure if they were inside or elsewhere in Westwood.

She hesitated; hand outstretched toward the door. Do I leave? Do I stay? There wasn't a right answer and she felt as if it was life or death.

And in that second it took to decide, the world suddenly stilled.

The birds continued their hellish scream, the thunder still booming overhead, but the shaking had stopped. It was almost jarring.

Hesitantly, Tiffania opened the front door and looked around. The sky was still dark, birds still flying, trees still swaying. Thunder continued booming overhead, but it was the final roar of a mighty beast and the world slowly returned to normal.

The clouds parted and bathed the land in morning light.

By this point Tiffania had no idea what was going on. What had just happened? She had witnessed storms before—frightful storms—but none were so powerful as to shake the very ground. None were so terrifying that they left the birds fleeing in terror. But all questions were second to one: Where were her kids?

"Aoife? Luc?" she called, taking a step out into the courtyard of the hamlet. "Elbhlin? Fleur?"

An alien dread coiled around her heart with each passing second, strangling her lungs as she resumed her frantic calls out for her children. She checked the second cottage where the older children slept, but found nothing. The chicken coop was next, but, again, nothing but a mess of feathers and broken eggs, and several beedy dark eyes staring blankly at her in the far corner. The chickens were fine. At least she hoped. Terrified but fine.

It was when she approached the barn, however, calling her kids' names, she found the first sign of them as a small voice called back. "Tiffa?"

Tiffania perked up. "William? Is that you?"

She rushed inside the barn, finding the place an utter stye. Tools had fallen from their hooks; supplies had spilled onto the floor. Och, what a mess! But there, peeking out from a mass of hay, was, unmistakably, William—one of her younger wards. An Alban boy whose parents perished in the civil war and was left to fend for himself. One of several victims of the senseless violence.

The moment he saw her, and she saw him, he took off, sprinting into her arms—tears streaming down his face as he collided into her, wailing. She was about to ask where the others were when two other figures cried out in crushing relief—"Tiffa!"—and piled on. The twins. Octavius and Latvia. Urchins, who ran away from the abuse of the church-sanctioned orphanage in Dun Eideann.

Three of nine.

She half-hoped that the rest would come crawling out of the wood-work and into her arms, but none other came. So she focused on the three at hand, whispering words of comfort and besetting them with questions: Are you okay? Is anyone hurt? Where are the others?

For the most part, the three were fine. Shaken up, scared out of their wits, but fine. They had hidden under the workshop table when the ground started shaking and things started falling from the walls. But once she got to the all-important question, the three froze. "Where are the others?" she repeated, suddenly feeling like they were hiding something from her and suddenly fearing their answer.

"I—I don't know," said Octavius, sniffing as his eyes resumed watering, snot dribbling down his lip.

Tiffnia wanted to comfort the poor boy, to tell him everything was going to be alright. But it wasn't alright. Six kids were unaccounted for, and she needed to know where they were. "Please, just tell me where you saw them last."

"I—Aoife," began Latvia. "Aoife and the others. They—they went hunting."

Tiffania's stomach rolled violently, her body freezing. "Hunting? What? What are you talking about?" Her breathing began to quicken, a pain growing in her chest. "What—where—where did they go? When did they leave?"

The children cowed, guilty, afraid. She forced herself to calm, steadied her breath. They were kids. The oldest was barely eleven. "I don't know," said William. "An hour ago? They went east, towards the mountains."

"Okay. Okay." Tiffania took a deep breath and got up. Looking at the twins, she told them to go to the big house. "Stay there and don't come out, until one of us comes home. Okay?"

"Aye, Tiffa," the two dutifully replied, and quickly took off.

"William." The boy perked up. "Come with me. We've got to find them."

He nodded, scared, but trying to put on a brave face.

Knowing what needed to be done, the pair quickly got ready—grabbing some sensible boots, some rope, and some medical supplies in case anyone was hurt. Tiffania also made sure to grab her wand. And with that, she set out into the forest with William following dutifully behind.

...

The Westwoods were dense, with trees as thick as men. The canopy only allowed a few slivers of light to reach the forest floor. It would've been beautiful—the beams of light shining down onto the detritus below, and she found the crunch of leaves, branches, and all sorts of vegetation a relaxing sound. But not now. Now, nothing mattered more than finding her children.

Hunting, she seethed out of frustration. Hunting! What were they thinking! "Why did nobody tell me they were going out?" she asked William. "You all know the rules. If I'm home, tell me when you're leaving the village."

"I'm sorry," murmured William, trailing behind with tear-stained cheeks.

Tiffania grimaced. It was unfair. She shouldn't be taking out her frustration on him. "It's not your fault. The others are older and should've known better."

"They wanted to surprise you," William continued. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

"What surprise?" Tiffania pressed, never taking her eyes off the ground. She didn't want to trip over a stray root or fall into the crags littered about the land.

"They wanted to make you a special dinner. For your birthday."

Tiffania paused, brow knitting together. Was it…? "Oh." So it was. A touching idea, and she would've accepted the rule breaking hadn't today been so lousy. So, she ignored that for now and focused on finding her wayward children.

...

"Eumann! Aoife!" "Fleur! Elbhlin!" "Caomhainn! Luc!"

Tiffania's throat hurt, and she was sure William's did, too. They had been out wandering the forest for an hour, if she were to guess, and they hadn't seen any sign of her children. It was just an endless forest for as far as she could see.

But she wouldn't give up. Not while the sun was still in the sky. And so she and William continued their search, calling out for the missing six, hoping beyond hope she would find them.

The minutes continued to tick by, and soon two hours had passed. William was looking more and more worse for wear, and Tiffania wondered how long she could keep this up before she'd need to return the boy home.

But… she needed him. If she got hurt, nobody would know. It's why she demanded that everyone travel in pairs. A trio was ideal. If someone got hurt, they wouldn't be alone. Someone could help. And if both got hurt—well, that's why they always made sure everyone was home by nightfall.

It was unfair, though. Utterly unfair. He was only eleven.

"Damn it all to Hel!" Tiffania snapped, balling her hands into fists. "Gods damn it!"

"Tiffa?" William rasped, looking up at her with sad eyes.

"We—we should go back," she said, hating the words leaving her lips. "We'll check and see if any of them got home while we're out and rest up before we head out again."

William looked like he was ready to argue, but he sighed and hung his head. So, the pair turned back and began walking home. Defeated.

About a minute after they decided to leave, however, Tiffania's ears perked. She stopped, tilting her head. And there it was again. Something, just at the edge of hearing.

"Tiffa?" William looked up at the woman who had almost become a mother to him, confused.

Tiffania held a finger to her lips—"Shh."—and strained her hearing as best she could.

There. North. She could hear it. "—fa! Ti—fa!"

It was one of her kids. Her kids! "Tiffa!" It was faint. So faint she almost didn't believe her own ears. "Tiffa! Anyone! Please!" Luc. That was Luc. She would recognize the thick Tristinian accent anywhere.

Twisting on the spot, she cupped her mouth and screamed as loud as she could: "Luc! Luc! I'm over here!"

"Tiffa!" Another voice. Eumann. They were to the north, and they were getting closer.

Her heart thumped in her ear, and without thinking she swept William up into her arms and took off running in the direction of their voices. "Luc! Eumann! I'm over here!"

She bobbed and weaved, running through the forest with rejuvenated energy, navigating through the underbrush with practiced ease. "Tiffa! Tiffa!" They were getting closer, ever closer. And soon—there. She saw them between the trees, exhausted but utterly relieved. "Oh, Tiffa! Thank the Saints we found you!"

"Are you two all right? Where are the others?"

"We're fine," Eumann replied—a tall man and second oldest of the brood. "But Aoife. Tiffa, you gotta come quick."

Luc continued. "She—she fell. Hurt her leg. The rest—the rest are there. We got her out, but—but… it's bad."

"Okay, okay." None of them were dead. Yet. That was good. That was good. She needed to get to Aoife immediately but… William. "Eumann, take William. Get him back to the village and stay there. We should be back by noon."

Eumann nodded, and she let William down to follow him home. Now only two, Tiffania followed Luc to the others, walking as quickly as she could despite how her legs ached.

...

The trek was about half an hour before they found them. Elbhlin, Aoife, Fleur, and Caomhainn, along with a few dead rabbits. They were all there, sitting by a crack in the ground. A shallow cavern. A new one at that, if the sharpness of the rock and lack of overgrowth was any indication. Tiffania could imagine what had happened, and it wasn't pretty. The ground itself swallowing people up usually wasn't.

Tiffania rushed to Aoife's side, slipping the bag of medicinal supplies off her back, and beginning to treat the wounds. A fracture, they told her. And a nasty cut. The kids had done an admiral job with makeshift bandages (torn strips of tunic), but they hadn't done anything about the bone. If they wanted to get her back home, they'd need to deal with that first.

Carefully removing the bandages, she disinfected the gash with some alcohol and applied something cleaner. Splints were tougher. They didn't have anything suitable on hand, but the forest was filled with wood. They'd make do. Some thick branches would be good. Fortunately, Fluer was a mage—a better mage than Tiffania—and could cut decently sized branches from the trees. Alright for now, until they got home.

With that done, Aoife was all patched up. Tiffania breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Fluer. "I've stabilized her leg. You should be able to carry her back home, okay?"

She nodded again, squeezing her wand tight in hand.

Tiffania continued. "The rest of you, when she's in the air, I need you to guide her back home, okay? We don't want Fleur getting exhausted, all right? And we don't want her to accidentally drop Aoife."

The rest chorused their agreement, and—on the count of three—Fleur cast a simple levitation spell, lifting Aoife from the ground, as the others began guiding her back home.

...

The next two hours were long and gruelling. Sure, it was easier getting back, but she still had to deal with nine children in various states of upset. The cottage dining room needed to be—and not for the first time and certainly not the last—transformed into a temporary medical facility. And there was Aoife's wounds to deal with. Properly this time. Fortunately, they had the supplies. It wasn't the first fracture she'd dealt with and she was getting quite good at it, even if her only teacher was a stolen book on the subject.

Soon enough, Aoife's leg was in right shape and properly triaged, and everyone was blissfully quiet.

"I hoped you all learned a valuable lesson today," Tiffania said, collapsing on her Chair, too tired to put on the airs of a Disappointed Parent. "What if the shaking had been worse? What if you all weren't so lucky? What if the ground had opened up and swallowed you all whole?" As much as she wanted to hold what little hardness she could muster, to teach her kids that, no matter how sweet an idea might be, safety comes first, she couldn't. Looking at their tired, guilty faces, her heart melted. She sighed and tried to smile. "Just. Please. Please. Tell me before you go out. I don't want anyone getting hurt again."

"Aye, Tiffa," the nine chorused. None were willing to argue. Not today, at least.

They all lapsed into an uneasy and exhausted quiet. They were all too tired, both physically and emotionally, to do anything but lounge about like lazy cats. That is, until someone decided to break the silence with a question nobody had been willing to voice, yet.

"What happened?" Fleur asked. "What was the shaking?"

"I—" Tiffania hesitated. She honestly had no idea what happened. Young as she was, she had never experienced anything like this before. And she hated not knowing. One of hers had gotten hurt and she couldn't even tell them why. "I don't know."

But I plan on finding out.

...

Hours later, Tiffania was up in her room getting changed. She needed information and she needed it now. It didn't matter how tired she was. It didn't matter how much she just wanted to curl up on the couch and spend time with her kids. She needed to know what happened and, well, they needed supplies. There was no way of knowing if such an event, such a disaster, would happen again.

So, she picked out a nice and thick blue dress and a large cloak to keep warm, stowed her wand in her sleeve, and strapped a dagger to her waist, and plucked a scarf from her collection—an exotic purple thing she had gotten for a birthday in years past—and tied her hair up elaborately. As much as she loved the aesthetic, there was also a pragmatic side to her little headscarf.

Tiffania was an elf. A half-elf. And while her children knew and didn't care, the rest of Alba—the rest of the Brimiric nations at that—did have a problem. So, it was probably for the best that nobody found out. Though, it was a pain to make sure her ears were snug and securely hidden beneath the fabric.

When she got downstairs, she found most of her kids lounging in the dining room. Someone had made tea and it seemed they were all trying to distract themselves, whether by game or by book. But once she entered, they all turned to look at her.

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Caomhainn asked, sounding frightened by the very proposition. The rest seemed to share his apprehension.

Tiffania sighed and nodded. "Yes. I'm not arguing this. I want you all here, save and sound."

It was clear they didn't like her decision. She wouldn't either. It was down right hypocritical, but she didn't think her heart could take her kids being in danger again. Nevertheless, they seemed to accept it. "Fleur's in charge," she continued. "Nobody is to leave the village. I'll be back by sundown."

The kids all nodded. "Please stay safe," said Luc.

"Don't worry. I will."

...

Dun Eideann was a few hours away, at least by horseback. If nothing went wrong, she'd be home with an hour or two of sunlight to spare. But, if anything were to slow her down it was the damned forest itself. Leading a horse through the winding paths was hard enough, but she had just spent the last hour calming Svadilfari down after the morning's fiasco. At least it was easier than calming the chickens—she'd have to thank Eumann and Elbhlin for doing that.

But once she was free from the forest's grasp, there lay the Deira highway—a great and ancient cobblestone road built thousands of years ago by the first Alban kings. It stretched from Eabhraig through Dun Eideann and up to the north-most port-city of Ros Fhobh. Dun Eideann was still hours away, but she would be able to kick up her legs, so to speak, and enjoy the ride.

It was peaceful, beautiful, and the sun above had warmed the land to a comfortable degree. A few years previous, she might've had to worry about bandits and other highwaymen causing problems, but they were no longer a problem, at least in this part of Alba. Now, the roads were free for merchants and couriers and travellers of all sorts, and even though she was always uncomfortable under the eyes of the law—well, she certainly did feel safer as she passed a few patrolling soldiers, out looking to make sure the road was safe to travel.

After a few hours travelling down the winding road, Dun Eideann (or Saxe-Gotha to the ruling nobility) came into view in all its glory. A beautiful and ancient city of stone built into the mountains itself. Legend held that the first brick had been laid by Brimir himself—and that fact alone would've made it a popular destination for pilgrims of all kinds. However, with Antonius' Wall and the ranges around, it was also a strategic stronghold and a centre of commerce for the surrounding settlements, from Obar Dheathain to Glaschu. Between it and Lunnainn, it was perhaps one of the richer cities of the entire kingdom. Or, should she say "republic."

Even if the civil war was still inconclusive, everyone knew the royalists were on their last legs. Their sympathisers were being hunted, the royals themselves were under siege in Newcastle-sur-le-Tyne, and while she loved the idea that peace would return. Well, the war left a bitter taste in her mouth, and not just because the republic was built on the backs of zealots.

Still, as cautious she was whenever travelling into the cities, she couldn't help but be beset with a strange nostalgia. She had grown up in the city. Kind of. And through all the bad, Dun Eideann held a special place in her heart. And it was hard to ignore that the city was simply gorgeous with grand walls, spire-like towers, and colourful brick homes atop terraces carved from the mountain itself.

Once she reached the gates, she quickly navigated her way to the stables to stow her horse. After paying the fee, she entered and quickly made her way down the main streets toward the markets, unwilling to be distracted by anything else.

Yet, as she shopped, she put an ear out for gossip, hoping to figure out what happened without actually speaking to anyone. And true enough, the city was abuzz, either whispering conspiratorially or boisoriously discussing the morning's events. People complained about broken valuables, cracks in their walls, and the horrid lightning. Apparently, the disaster had been more destructive than she first thought. I'll have to ask Luc about repairs tonight…

More, though, nobody seemed entirely sure what happened outside of knowing something happened. Everyone's imaginations came out in full strength, each explanation more wild than the next.

"I heard that the continent is to blame for it all."

"Cromwell was right! They're all rife with heresy. Surely this is a sign Ailoresgyniad is a just cause!"

"I heard it was an elven attack, right in the Tristainian heartland!"

"Really? How do you think they snuck across the border?"

"Romalia snuck them in, of course. Heretical bastards…"

"Elf attack? Pah! Methinks they struck a deal with those demons. It wasn't an attack on them, it was an attack on us! Trying to knock Alban out of the sky!"

"I mean, isn't it the Springtime Familiar Summoning today? Maybe something—"

"The End is Nigh! We must repent! We must take back the Holy Lands! I call on ye, take up arms! We must fulfill the prophecy as Saint Cromwell the Redeemer decrees! The Void shall consume our ancient enemies! No cost too great! Repent! Repent and take back the Holy Lands!"

Tiffania took that as her cue to leave. By that point she had bought everything she needed (and a bit extra) and she didn't want to see what would happen if the zealout started drawing a crowd. She had a nightmare of being singled out by such madmen, pegged as an elf for some asinine reason or other. They were right, of course, but them being right only meant there was a pot of boiling oil in her future (assuming her brain couldn't conjure something worse).

Quickly, making sure to avoid the zealot as much as possible, Tiffania pushed through the growing crowds and off toward the gate, trying to make herself as small and as unnoticeable as possible. Without much care for niceties, she took back her horse, packed her supplies into her saddle bags—the medicines, bandages, alcohol, chicken feed, and some Tristian pastries—and took off before anyone could stop her.

Only once the city was beyond her sight did she calm down and take a breath. It was overwhelming, not just the borderline conspiracy, but the city itself. She loved Dun Eideann, she truly did, but it could never outweigh the growing unease she had whenever out in a crowd. Especially these days. No, she preferred the peace and quiet and acceptance of her little hamlet.

But at least she now knew something. Whatever happened it probably started on the continent. Hopefully, this meant it would stay on the continent, unlikely as it was.

Still, at the very least the evening still looked beautiful. She always loved the provincial landscapes—the trees, the mountains, the clouds above. It was simply breathtaking. Especially on Alba, floating high in the sky near the continent.

But her reprieve wouldn't last.

She was just coming up around a corner. The road skirted around the southern tip of the Westwood forest—too far away to properly dismount and begin the trek through the woods. Her eyes were out, looking off at a glen that meandered down to the airy coast, when she heard it. Faint at first but growing closer.

The sounds of a horse. No, a few horses. Their hooves loud, clattering against the cobblestone highway in a full sprint. Instinctively, Tiffania looked behind her, but as far as she could see there was nobody. She hesitated, pulling the reins to slow down. Svadilfari huffed, his own hooves clattering against the ground nervously. They were getting closer, whoever they were. Closer and closer and she still couldn't make out who they were or what they wanted.

Tiffania had half a mind to dismount and pull Svadilfari into the forest where they'd be safe, but before she could make up her mind, around the corner came a spotted white horse sprinting furiously.

The two horses met and promptly panicked out. Tiffania was almost thrown off but held on for dear life as Svadlfari backed up, trying not to be run over.

Whoever was riding the other horse wasn't so lucky. He fell off with a yelp, hitting the ground hard, before his horse began sprinting away. It was a young man. Almost as young as she. His clothes were fine, robes of azure, clearly expensive. And in his hand was a wooden wand. A noble. A noble's son, at least. And he was afraid.

But before anything could be said or done, three other horsemen and a wolf came charging around the corner—though these men had the brains to halt before they suffered the same fate. And once Tiffania saw them, all she could do was gawk.

They were soldiers. She could tell just by how they held themselves. Yet, they weren't any ordinary Albani soldier. These men wore no helmet, revealing bald scalps tattooed with inscriptions she knew to be scripture. Two wielded swords, the third a simple black wand—their leader. And they were dressed in chainmail with a white monastic scapular fitted over top, a black rune embroidered in the centre—the Tir rune.

"Oh," Tiffania muttered. They were Cromwell's men. His inquisitors. "Mac na galla…"

"Halt in the name of the Holy Cromwell the Redeemer!" the mage inquisitor barked, words seeping with zeal. He lowered his wand, pointing at the boy.

The boy clutched his own wand tight, hyperventilating. His eyes darted about, briefly looking up and meeting Tiffania's own. And the moment their eyes met, she could see his fear—pure and blinding—but also rage and despair. There was blood on his face. Blood on his clothes, too.

"Lass, this is none of your concern," the man said as what must've been his lupine familiar approached, growling menacingly. "This is the business of the Ailoresgyniad. You are free to go. But this man is a traitor to our Holy Republic."

Tiffania suddenly found herself with a choice.

She could nod her head and continue her day as if she hadn't seen anything. The noble's son would be taken into custody, and he would be tortured and executed publicly for his parent's crimes, unless he renounced his titles and pledged undying loyalty to Cromwell.

Or she could step in. She could save the boy.

Taking a deep breath, she hoped she wouldn't regret her decision. Nodding her head, as if to agree to the inquisitor's command, she slipped her hand beneath her sleeve and—in a single fluid motion—pulled her wand free and pointed it centre-chest of the mage. "Fyr!"

Now, even though Tiffania was a mage, she wasn't a very good one. In fact, she felt like she was probably the worst mage to have ever lived. There was only one spell she could cast. One single spell. At least, only one she could cast successfully. Everything else ended with an explosion. Some spells ended in a catastrophic explosion—one that could render trees into little more than splinters—while others would simply blast a man off her feet.

It was annoying. Made chores harder around the village. What she would give if she were a half-way competent water mage. Patching her family up would be far less of a pain, and so would the cleaning and the gardening and so much else!

But here? Today? At this very moment? Well, an explosion seemed just the thing.

The second the short incantation left her lips, there was a brief pause where nothing happened. Then—CRACK!

A ball of pure kinetic energy exploded against the mages chest—not hard enough to seriously injure—but when the horse bucked and panicked, he was thrown to the ground. His men, similarly taken off guard, barely had time to register what had happened before they were bucked off their mounts as well, crashing to the ground painfully. Nearby, the wolf had yelped, agitated, too terrified to act beyond growling by it's master's side..

Tiffania, herself, had to rein in Svadilfari, who too was bordering on a panic. It was a struggle, but she held tight and got him to stay. Still, she knew the inquisitors would only be distracted—disorientated for a moment. So she made every second count. "Go! Run to the forest!" she said, letting sling another explosion.

The boy obeyed immediately, sprinting into the forest to hide. With him gone, and the men distracted, she raised her wand high and began her chant: "Feh, Oz, Rada—"

Two of the soldiers, the ones who hadn't been hit by an exploding spell, rallied as quickly as they could—curses spitting from their lips but unable to do anything else. She was a mage. They weren't. Here, they were nothing but human shields. All they could hope was for their leader to challenge her, distract her, so they could be of use.

"Geofu Iw Eoh—"

The inquisitor, recovering from the blast, began to raise his own wand. But before he could finish his spell…

"Tiw Ac Naod!"

The air stirred around the three like the summer heat above the stone streets and the men and wolf stilled, eyes vacant. A second later, they all seemed to snap out of it. "What—what's going on?" one said, and quickly Tiffania stowed away her wand and put on her best impression of a terrified maiden.

"Sirs, oh noble sirs!" she cried, as hysterically as possible. "Are you okay?"

"We're fine!" cried the inquisitors, dusting themselves off as they pulled themselves from the ground. They looked hurt, though it didn't appear to be anything serious. "What happened?"

"The brigand!" she replied, forcing tears to well in her eyes—her sister always said she was good at that. Certainly a lot of help when begging for food on the streets. "He—he cast some kind of spell! I thought he had killed you all!"

The men grumbled; their dignity obviously wounded. "Which way did he go?" the mage inquisitor demanded all the while the rest went about collecting their spooked horses.

"Towards Dun Eideann, good sirs!" she replied, gesturing to the mountain. "He threatened to kill me if I ever spoke up."

"He was bluffing, lass," he replied, "We'll have him caught and brought to justice."

They left a few moments later, charging off towards the city. Tiffania briefly considered wiping their memories again. She didn't like the idea that they'd seen her. But that would be more trouble than it was worth.

Once the inquisitors were far enough away, Tiffania looked into the forest, searching. Was he still here or did he—Oh, he's still here. She could see the blue of his robes very faintly in the dark, hiding behind a particularly thick tree. Dismounting her own horse, she drew closer until she was just under the canopy, and gestured. "It's clear," she said. "You're safe."

Almost hesitantly, he pulled himself from the tree and approached.

"Thank you, m'lady, for saving me," the boy said, trying to smile yet it looked more like a grimace. "You—you're of noble birth, too?"

Tiffania shrugged, not sure how to answer. "I just know a bit of magic. What matters is that you're safe now."

"Well, thank you again, m'lady." He hesitated, unsure, then bowed once again. "I—I—um. My name is—I am Alwin of Durham, son of Baron Edward of Durham. My family is forever in your debt."

"You—you don't have to do that," TIffania said, now feeling slightly uncomfortable. Formalities weren't something she was used to. "Um. So are you alright? You're not injured or anything?"

"I'm bruised, but fine."

"What about the blood?" she asked. He didn't seem like he was lying, and it didn't look like he was cut.

"Blood?" He pulled at his shirt, spotting the crimson stains on azure cotton. He blinked, staring at it for what seemed like the longest time before he returned her gaze, eyes dimmer than they were moments before. "It… it's my mothers." His face twisted. Agony. Pure agony. Tears welled in his eyes, and he looked as if he were about to break down at any second. "I—My—my family. They—they're dead! They—they killed them! Slaughtered them! They're dead and I—I have nothing. Nowhere to go. Nothing…"

Tiffania could only stand there, awkwardly. He wasn't one of her kids. She couldn't comfort him as she did them. All she could do was stand there and stare, sympathetic. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, again, wiping his eyes. "You—you don't have to worry about me. I—my father told me what to do. I'll—I'll find a way to Newcastle. Or—or I could go to the continent. I'll be fine."

Tiffania frowned, knowing what she had to do. In the back of her mind, she knew it was a risk. A stupid risk. But… but her entire life was a risk, and she couldn't just let him go off on his own. It'd be suicide! He didn't even look like he had money, and she wasn't sure he knew how to pass for a commoner to even get where he needed to be. He'd be dead by the week's end. With fidgeting hands, she took a breath and made her offer. "If you want, you could live with me and mine until you're ready."

Alexander blinked. "Really? Wait—I—"

"We live out of the way," she interrupted, "and you'd be safe from any of Cromwell's men. All we would ask is that you help out around the place, and you'd be fed and clothed, and there'd be a place for you to sleep, too."

"Thank you for your kindness, m'lady," he said, bowing deeply again. "I—I would pledge myself—"

"Oh, no you won't!" Tiffania snapped, and Alexander recoiled. "I'm just trying to help," she added, softer. "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened to you."

"Well, thank you, Miss…" He paused. "Ugh, I didn't catch your name."

"Tiffania," she said. "Though everyone calls me Tifa. Tiffania NicTighearn," she replied, then, before he could continue thanking her, she began saddling up on her Svadilfari. "Hop on. I live just a bit further up the road."

"Really?" he replied. "Towards Saxe-Gotha or…?"

"We were invaded by Germania once," Tiffania replied. She honestly had no idea why the nobility wouldn't go back to the original name. Yes, they'd been conquered for a century or two, but the common folk hadn't forgotten. "Anyway, using the Germanian name does nothing but peg you for a noble, and a sympathiser for the crown. A bad look in these parts."

"Uh, yes. You're right..." he said, as much as it seemed distasteful to him.

Tiffania rolled her eyes. Dun Eideann was a beautiful name!. "Anyway, I live north. Closer to the mountains."

"Oh…" He set about pulling himself up behind her on to the horse. "I didn't notice any villages nearby. How far is it?"

"Of course you didn't notice. It's in the forest."

"Wait. You live in the forest?" She could feel Alexander tense behind her.

"Aye?" she said. "Is that a problem?"

"But—but—but what about the Ban Sidhe? What about the trolls and werewolves?"

Tiffania rolled her eyes. Stupid commoners scaring the stupid nobles with their stupid superstitions! She wondered whether it'd be worth telling him or not, or if it'd just scare him to the point he'd just run away. Nah...

Sighing, she decided to just burn the bridge when she came to it. "There are no werewolves," she replied, trying to be patient with the poor boy. "And the trolls don't come off their mountain. You respect them, they'll respect you—unfortunately, many humans don't respect them, but that's neither here nor there. And the Ban Sidhe is just a silly superstition."

He wasn't convinced. "Are—"

"We're burning daylight, mate," Tiffania replied, a bit impatiently. "If you wanna hop off, go ahead, but I've lived in those forests for half my life and haven't met the Ban Sidhe once—nor any werewolves for that matter. I know my own home."

"If you say so…"

"I do say so." And with that, she spurred the horse forward and back onto the road, mentally preparing herself for the "picking up another stray" jokes that would come. At least Mathilda won't find out until she gets back...