Chapter 2: A Chance Meeting
Godric set off after a quiet breakfast with the innkeeper. He hadn't the faintest idea of where he was going in particular...only a direction, but that was still more than he'd ever had before. Suddenly he felt a new sense of purpose...he felt as if some day he would contribute to something much larger than himself.
The sun was bright outside, and the sky a rich azure blue. The winter air was cool, crisp, and pleasant. Godric smiled slightly to himself as he trekked along. His mind began to wander as he traversed the rolling countryside, the snow just beginning to melt. On long journeys--as this was sure to be--he found himself asking the same questions he had asked countless times before.
His earliest memory was of the night sky. He could recall the image so vividly that he could point out the various constellations. He remembered seeing the brightest, most beautiful light imaginable, like a great glowing orb, drifting slowly up into the night. The light had made him feel warm inside, and loved. Then it disappeared. The chill of the night struck him and began to cry. Godric had spent hours wailing and shivering, unable to move. Finally, when it seemed that he would freeze to death, a large pair of hands had picked up him.
Godric had been a newborn then. What did the memory mean? What was that beautiful white light?
He spent the first twelve years of his life as most children did. The couple that had taken him in treated him well, but never as if he were really their son. Most of his time had been spent tilling the field, or tending to the livestock. His foster parents seemed to always be off doing one thing or another and were rarely home. When Godric was about seven years of age, he discovered a box beneath his foster parents' bed. Inside the box were old manuscripts and parchment, covered in writing he could not red. At breakfast one morning he confronted them about it, demanding to know what it was. He was so adamant that they decided to send him to church on Sundays to be taught how to read. However, they either found a different hiding spot for the mysterious box, or they destroyed its contents, because young Godric was never able to find it again.
One night after his thirteenth birthday, he had left home with little more than the clothes on his back. To this day he wasn't sure why he did, he just felt a strong calling to leave his old life and begin a new one. He also hoped to find out more about his past and what had become of his birth parents. Whenever he had asked his foster parents that question, they grew very silent, exchanging glances with one another.
"We are not permitted to say" the old man would tell him. No matter how insistent he was or angry he got, they still would not budge.
So he had left to find out for himself.
A small stream was coming up in the distance, and he quickened his pace, wanting to fill his waterskin and splash his face.
He knelt by the stream and started a bit upon seeing the face looking back at him from the clear water. Godric traced a finger along the healing welt on the right side of his face and watched the reflection do the same. It was going to leave a nasty scar. He smiled bitterly.
As if I needed any more lines on my face, he thought as he filled his waterskin. He took a moment to cleanse his face, saw that the welt was still there and not going anywhere, then sighed heavily and continued his journey.
***
It was nighttime when he heard yelling in the forest off to his right. It sounded as if someone were being robbed by bandits…but how did that concern him? He kept on walking…then a deep, searing pain flared up in the welt on his cheek. He gasped and clutched at his face, looking over at the forest where he had heard the yells. For reasons he was not sure if, he felt he had to go in there and see if he could help whomever it was.
Godric crept slowly into the forest, creeping ever closer toward the loud voices. He saw a clearing up ahead, and crouched in some bushes on the outskirts.
There was a group of six rough looking men, all gathered around and harassing a very large woman. She stood at least three inches taller than her aggressors and looked as if she would have no problem taking on one or two of them alone. Armor glinted from beneath her travel cloak, and Godric also saw a very peculiar, small scabbard at her side. Her fair skin was glowing red in her anger; her tightly woven blonde ringlet curls seemed to shake with wrath.
One of the men, presumably the leader of the pack, stepped up close to her.
"She's a feisty one, ay?"
The men chortled with laughter, closing in on her.
The woman smiled menacingly.
"Feisty" she said slowly, "is an understatement."
"Yeah?" said one of the other men, drawing up close to her. He got so close that he pushed his face in her hair, took a big whiff and said "Why don't you show us, dearie?"
At that moment the woman socked him with one hand while drawing a wooden rod from the scabbard on her side. The leader was shocked for a split second, then yelled and threw himself toward her, but not quick enough.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The man fell to the ground with a thump, stiff as a board.
Godric couldn't believe his eyes…had she just done…magic?
The other men were flabbergasted as well, but it didn't take them long to come to a conclusion.
"Oi! She's a witch! GET HER!
The woman was able to fell a couple more of the men before one of them grabbed hold of her, seized her wand and snapped it in half.
"Now what'll you do, witch?" he jeered as he held her from behind.
"Do you think I need that silly piece of wood to do damage?" She slammed her head back into his and he howled with pain, releasing her. She spun around and as she did she drew a large battle-axe that had been concealed beneath the robes on her back.
"Come on you lot. She hasn't tasted a man's blood in days." She ran her finger along the length of the blade.
There were now only two men standing, though they both drew their swords, and one also produced a small crossbow.
She charged at them, but just before she was close enough to aim her axe at one of their heads, she found herself flying forward, then hard into the ground. She had tripped over something, and her axe was lying five feet away, just out of reach.
But she hadn't tripped on something, as she found when she rolled over and looked up. There was the leader, recovered from her petrifying spell. He pushed his boot roughly against her throat. She coughed and sputtered, gasping for air.
"What do you think mates? Should we kill her now or bring her to the village to have her burn?"
Some of the other men were recovering from petrification, and the man she'd socked was now on his feet, fuming.
"She's ours, boss."
The leader grinned, baring his rotten teeth. "Right." He looked down at the woman and spat upon her. "Sorry luv, majority rules." He drew a cruel looking sword from the scabbard at his side, raising it in the air above her head.
The blow never fell. At that moment, Godric sprang from his hiding place. He caught them all by surprise, and for the moment they were focused on him instead of their execution. Godric raised his hand in the air, and to everyone's astonishment, a bright blue light began to grow in his outward palm until it was an orb the size of a melon.
"AAAARRRRRHHH" he brought his arm back then thrust it forward, sending the blue orb hurtling toward the group of surly men. It made contact with such an explosion of sound and light that the very trees seemed to shake. For a minute Godric was unable to see for the brightness, but after it faded he was able to see what had happened.
Whether the men were dead or simply stunned, he could not tell, but all six had been knocked down and showed no signs of movement. The woman, however, was unharmed. She grabbed her axe and sprang up off the ground, immediately taking a defensive position.
"Who are you?" she demanded. Godric did not like the way she was rotating the battle-axe in her hands. He was beginning to think maybe it had been a mistake to save her.
"I am Godric."
"Godric…" she lowered her axe and stood up proudly. "I am Helga. You have saved my life, and I am indebted to you. By the laws of my people, I shall spend the rest of my life trying to return the favor you have given me." She lifted her chin into the air and looked at him, waiting for a response.
"Er…really, that isn't necessary, but thank you anyway."
This was the wrong thing to have said.
Helga's cheeks flushed a furious red and she spoke in a whisper, her eyes glistening. "Do you think…that I would willingly put my life into the hands of a…man?" she spat this last word as if it were a curse. Her voice was shaking now, barely audible, and she seemed on the verge of tears, though she would never give in to them. "Do not dishonor me any more than you have already done."
Godric felt something tingle along the welt on his cheek, and he heard a voice in his head say "One shall be loyal and serve thee before all others."
"What are you? Where do you come from?"
"I am an Amazon of the Hufflepuff tribe. I hail from a hidden island deep in the oceans of the South. It is the biggest disgrace an Amazon can know to be unable to defend herself and to be saved by another…especially a man. Were I to return now, I would meet death at the hands of my people and I would deserve it. That is why I must return the favor before I can be accepted by my people again." She looked at him intensely, and he knew there was no way he was going to be rid of her. "That is why my life is bound to yours, why I must serve and protect you every minute of every day, so that if ever your life is in danger I will be there to repay the favor."
"I see." He smiled. "Where were you headed before I interrupted you?"
"North."
"As was I. Shall we be going then?"
