Part II~ The Girl

Winter brought plagues to the King's nation. The pestilence predicted by the river god's high priests wrought terrors to the land. "It is a cleansing" they preached in the temples; "It is a curse" they moaned in the mead halls. "Six years and the king's ambition to rule the lower alliance has brought a blight to the land and a hollow in our bellies."

Isobel wondered if it might not be both as she watched the pall bearers carry away her father's body. The many clansmen sang dirges to their king, grieving for the future they had fought for and yet would not be. A year later, as the winter snows swept into spring rains, Isobel pondered how easy it was that such a powerful figure as her father could be brushed away like last-year's dust, reduced to mere memory.

She sat in the drafty chambers in the upper floors of Kilfaarg's greatest castle. Today she turned eighteen. Today she relinquished all her power. If only her father could of held on to life for another two months. Kilfaarg could go without a designated ruler for no more than five seasons, and if the heir to the kingdom reached the age of nineteen within that time, than they could be emancipated and rule with the assistance of a chosen lord until they reached the age of twenty-two. At that point, the heir would complete the tests of chivalry necessary to rule alone. If, by some mischance however, the heir was unable to finish the tests, then a tournament would be opened allowing all contenders age nineteen to thirty to compete for the throne.

As a female, Isobel knew she would never be allowed to rule, let alone compete in the tournament. She had hoped her stepbrother, seventeen-year-old Mundae, would be able to ascend, however, he fell short two months the council deemed critical. Now, until he reached the age of twenty-two, and could call for a tourney, the Lord Protectors would rule in his stead. As the oldest of the royal children, she would be deemed most threatening. Now it was only a matter of time before she would be hand-fasted, either to a high noble, or to the river god as a novice.

A few of the candles in her chambers spluttered out, leaving a smell of burnt tallow. Stretching, Isobel rose from her seat and whistled a few sharp commands to the maid outside the oaken door to her quarters. Isobel instructed her to bring more wicks for the tapers. The maid rushed to do as she was bid. As soon as the girl was out of earshot, Isobel lightly skipped down the four flights of stairs to the hall. She glided across the floor, skirts barely brushing the rushes newly strewn across the floor. When she reached her destination, the stables, a large black dog bounded to her side as she approached one of the horses. She fed the dog a sweetmeat, and reaching inside her pullover, gave an apple to the stallion.

The stable hand on duty harnessed the huge charger for her and with a wink, nudged open the stable doors. With the dog at her side, and the horse at her beck, she took the reins and smiled at the man. The stallion wheeled for a moment before darting out of the stable and across Kilfarrg's murky moat on the bridge. Isobel plunged into the forest bordering the lands, a tangle of wilderness untouched by men.

Laughing merrily, she held out her arms for the touch of the forest, welcoming her back into its folds. Her dark, waist-length braid flapped in the wind, slapping her back with each stride of the horse. The huge beast under her and the dog at her side began to sweat from the exertion; their breath came in misty clouds on the cold day. With the girl on his back, the horse spiritedly cantered through the snaking woodland trails, and veered off its usual course to chomp on the leaves of a candlewood tree. She hopped off the saddle. Isobel brushed back a curtain of vines, to reveal a beautiful clearing.

Gasping, she took in the magical scene. The area was hedged by silver aspens, their long torsos swayed to the rhythm of an almost imperceptible breeze. A small stream wove in and out of the quaking trees which were illuminated by light rays of early sunshine. When Isobel looked to the very center of this hideaway, she noticed what her first glance had failed to consider. At the very center of the clearing, surrounded by what looked to be the remnants of a fire, was a boy.

When she approached the sprawled figure, Isobel revised her first judgement. The body was, undoubtedly male, but not a child as she initially suspected. The man looked to be between the ages of 15 and twenty, judging by the fine tufts of stubble upon his cheeks.

The girl jumped back when she noticed his hand twitch. She was no stranger to death; by the pallor of the man's face she had assumed the worst, though his skin seemed unmarred by burns. Slowly, she approached and felt for a heartbeat. Her query was answered by resolute "thump, thump". The stranger slowly opened his eyes and asked, "Are you my guardian angel?"