Forgotten Dream
by Senbazuru
«
So. It was decided. There was no conceivable escape. I was finally going to the convent, to be exiled to a place of giggling, gawking, gagging girls; most of whom were Gifted – something that I most definitely was not. My father was probably more fortunate than even he knew. I was finally going to be put out of his sight…perhaps forever.
«
"I don't want to see you again."
The words still rang in Alanna's ears. She turned her head to gaze out of the carriage window at the thick mist that was descending on the forest pathway. Autumn always brought such mists. The Trebond peasants steadily complained about the dampness of the rolling fog – winters were mild and summers hot, but by the Goddess! Why couldn't they have a decent, refreshing rain rather than the damned fog?
No one was ever satisfied.
Alanna was, perhaps, the one who found comfort in the autumn mists. Something about the way the air curled and spread like a swirling sea of grey…it calmed her. Yet it was foolish to like the mists. Scanrans, neatly blanketed by the natural cover, could steal up right to the very edge of the fief and raid it with ease. That was why the lord of Trebond always heightened his security during the harvest months. That was also why he had only sent seven guards to accompany his daughter to the City of the Gods.
"Then you won't."
She snorted at the memory, feeling a pair of large blue eyes stare timidly at her from the other corner of the carriage. With a sigh, Alanna turned in her seat and stared back at the small child.
Maude had found a spark of the Gift in the tiny girl, so it was determined that the child would be sent to the convent in the City of the Gods to be trained in her talents. In exchange for this honour, the girl had volunteered to act as maidservant to the daughter of Lord Alan.
The child was greatly pitied.
"Gwyneth," warned Alanna, "your eyes will pop out if you stare any harder."
The child gasped and clapped her hands to her eyes; which had, if possible, grown even larger at Alanna's words. Alanna bit her cheek to keep from grinning and resumed gazing out the window.
Quickly, her urge to smile faded, soon replaced by the morose feeling that had accompanied her ever since her departure. She leaned her forehead against the sill of the door and sighed.
"Upset, are you?" Maude had quipped early that morning.
"My," she had retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "How did you ever guess? My father tells me that he never wants to see me again and, adding insult to injury, proceeds to outfit me with an entire wardrobe of purple gowns. You are so observant."
Maude had pursed her lips grimly and looked back down at her work. "Don't get snippy with me, Lady Alanna. Goddess knows I've put up with enough of your escapades in the past, that I have. You should be grateful that I'm keeping silent about the leggings that you've smuggled into your chest."
Alanna had felt immediately contrite. It really wasn't Maude's fault that she was being exiled. Maude was simply the chief healer. And it was true that the healer had kept silent about many things that could have, in the past, hastened the trip to the convent. But soon the conversation had turned back to what Maude stubbornly called her destiny.
"You'll find your place, mistress. It just might take a while."
"I know where I belong. I'm skilled with weapons, Maude; even Coram said I was a natural. I ought to be out there fighting some great, evil…thing!"
Maude had been unimpressed as she ordered Alanna to fetch a bundle of herbs – specially prepared for Alanna's journey – from the chief healer's room. Alanna had taken one step – just one – and had promptly stumbled into a piece of furniture, ripping an entire section of her new gown. The oaths that flew from her mouth both startled and horrified the older woman.
"Have caution, Lady! You best show respect towards the gods. They'll not take your swears lightly…"
Alanna had rounded on the healer, purple eyes blazing. "Do you even think that they care whether or not I swear at them? Do you even think that they're interested in the pitiful lives of us mortals? Do you? It doesn't really seem like it, does it? I don't think they give a copper whether we mortals live or die, just as long as we thoroughly entertain them while we're at it."
"Alanna –"
"I've prayed, Maude. Don't think I haven't. It's just that they've never answered my prayers before. They've never helped me. Because," her words rang with defiance, "they - don't - listen."
"It's true," Alanna muttered to herself, staring blearily at the swells of grey that drifted past the carriage. She twitched her nose uncomfortably, stifling the urge to sneeze. "For all we know, there are no gods."
"I wouldn't exactly go that far," a deep female voice replied. "Sure, it is true that we do not always curry to the favour of every chit that demands an audience. But we do exist, though mortals may often wish otherwise."
Alanna slowly lifted her head, took a deep breath – and sneezed. She sniffed, refusing to look away from the scenery (even though there wasn't much, just fog rolling on fog and even more fog…) that spun past the window. "So tell me, O wondrously practical One. How do you gods choose those who are deserving enough for answers?"
The Voice sounded cool and unconcerned, yet the underlying power in it made Alanna flinch. "Did it ever occur to you, O wondrously insolent one, that sometimes the answer granted is a negative one?"
"Maybe. I just find it hard to believe that you take everything into account before making your decisions." Alanna turned her head at last and dared look the Voice full in the face.
It was not long before she had to look away. She had seen a simply clad Lady, tall and graceful, with long ebony hair and vivid emerald eyes. Eyes that had pierced Alanna to the core of her heart. It was an uncomfortable feeling, having her entire soul laid bare in the matter of one cool glance.
"I believe," murmured the Lady, "that I fully comprehend your situation."
Alanna closed her eyes. Somehow, it seemed easier to talk to the Lady this way. "Okay, so maybe you do understand. But answer me this, if you would. Why? Why was my request refused?"
"Ah, well that depends upon which request you are asking about." The Lady's voice was rich with amusement; the sound of a hundred sweet, clear bells ringing splendidly in the undertones. "Are you referring to the request where you wanted me to turn you into a man, or the one about making frogs drop out of your brother's mouth every time he opened it to snitch on you?"
Alanna blinked. "You must be the Goddess."
A laugh, melodious and lovely. "Yes, O insolent one, I am."
Alanna forgot her uneasiness about looking at the Goddess and stared intently at the deity. Gwyneth was cradled in the Goddess' lap, looking angelic in her slumber. The child stirred only once, to grasp a handful of the Goddess' emerald gown. The Goddess bent her regal head and gently kissed the child's forehead.
"They are sweet when they're young," the Goddess remarked thoughtfully.
Alanna almost rolled her eyes. "But not when they are older."
"No, not when they're older. When they grow old, they become insolent."
Alanna had the grace to blush. The Goddess smiled gently at her. "You would do well to follow the words of the healer. A little respect is never amiss…but never mind that. It is time we talked, you and I."
"I've never asked for a gods-blessed visit," Alanna informed the deity. "I simply want answers."
"That is a small request and not at all a foolish one, considering what awaits you down this road."
"The convent," Alanna groaned. "I'd rather kiss a dead toad."
The Lady's eyebrows rose, delicately questioning. "That could very well be arranged, if you so wish."
Alanna pointedly ignored the offer. "What I would like to know is simple: Why can't I be a knight?"
The Goddess' amusement faded. "For many reasons. Mostly because your destiny lies elsewhere. We have plans for you, young one. Also, there is a law forbidding female participation in battles. We gods do not like to meddle with the laws of men."
"It's a stupid law," Alanna declared. "There are records of women warriors dating over a hundred years back. What made the king ban them from the battlefield?"
"The last female fighters date back to the reign of King Gregory. His sister was slain in battle while defending him. He was distracted by the loss and a good portion of Tortall was lost to Tusaine that day. As a result, women were ruled out as distracting influences on the king's men and thus, all women were sent home to their families and fiefs." The Goddess looked troubled. "It was for the good of the country."
"Distracting influences on the king's men?" repeated Alanna incredulously. "I have no plans of being distracting. I could have disguised myself. And, anyway, no one would care if I lived or died."
"On the contrary, I can think of at least three people who would be greatly devastated if you died…but that is beside the point. There are more reasons as to why you could never be a knight," said the Goddess. "Physical reasons. Your breasts would have developed; your monthly bleeding would have started; and bathing, indeed, would have been difficult to maneuver without losing cover. It would not have been long before your sex was discovered and you were sent home in disgrace."
"It would have been worth it," stated Alanna flatly. "If I had been sent home in disgrace, I would be marked as unfit for marriage. That alone would have made the attempt worth while."
The Goddess' voice was soft. "Are you that opposed to finding love, my daughter?"
"Love?" Alanna scoffed. "My father would have given me in marriage to the wealthiest suitor; most likely the one I hated the most. Marriage has nothing to do with love. And besides, I don't need love."
The Goddess smiled quietly. "You may find otherwise, someday." The slender outline of the deity's body was growing faint. The Lady shifted Gwyneth from her lap to the seat and leaned forward to gently brush Alanna's forehead with a slim hand.
"You have a tough road ahead of you, my daughter. With no mother to guide you, and with no friends in reach…I wonder if you are strong enough."
Alanna met the Goddess' eyes steadily. "Strong enough for what? I fear nothing."
The Goddess was fading fast, her voice a mere whisper that lingered in the coach before the wind caught it and whipped it away. "You are only human, Alanna of Trebond. Nothing more."
And Alanna was once more alone with the sleeping Gwyneth and her own troubled thoughts.
«
If being a hero means giving up your life, would you rise to the occasion? Would you be the first one in line, the first to throw yourself at the mercy of a bloody axe aimed for your sovereign's head? Would you be willing to give up your goals, ambitions…everything…to make sure that the ones you love are safe? I often wonder this. Whether I'd be strong enough, I mean. What if I fail, later on, to do my duty? What if I lose all courage and run away?
--Lady Elisyn of Conté, sister to King Gregory
«
"Matthew?"
The shout sounded uncomfortably close to her ear. She ignored it - and the sudden jerks that shuddered through the carriage's frame as the carriage began to pick up speed. Matthew, the driver, was well known for his liking of ale. Most likely he had drunk a little too much and given the horses free reign.
Her dreams enveloped her again, teasing away her grasp on reality and turning her thoughts once more to the gods. Did she really have that conversation with the Goddess? Maybe that, too, had been a dream. She didn't really care. The fog made her want to sleep and forget.
One of the horses whinnied. There was a strange thud.
"Matthew!"
The cart jolted. Someone cursed. Another thud.
Sleep was obviously not going to be had. Alanna sat up abruptly and rubbed her eyes, feeling very frustrated. She pushed back the velvety curtain that covered the window.
Fog. Had it gotten thicker?
Something flashed in, brushing a stinging blow against her ear as it passed. Alanna quickly let go of the curtain and dropped to the floor. The child was already awake, her blue eyes scared as she slid noiselessly off her seat to join Alanna.
"An arrow," Gwyneth whimpered. "Someone shot it, right there." The child pointed to opposite wall, right about where Alanna's head had once been.
Alanna rubbed her face tiredly. "Scanrans."
Outside, they could hear the muffled curses of the guards as they slowed the carriage. A disheveled lieutenant opened the door quickly and grabbed Alanna's arm.
"Lady, get your maidservant and go."
Alanna frowned. "Why?"
The guard looked grim as he leaned farther in and pulled a cloth-wrapped package from under the seat. "Scanrans," he said simply as he deftly undid the ties and withdrew a quiver of arrows and a longbow.
"I know that there are Scanrans," Alanna hissed, keeping her voice low. "What are they doing here?"
He smiled thinly. "Attacking us, I'd say, milady." He shoved the weapons into her hands.
Alanna stared numbly at the weapons. Her bow. Who had slipped it in there? Had they been expecting an attack?
Another small item fell from the folds of the packing cloth. Complete with leather leg-sheath, the throwing knife was as perfectly crafted as any Alanna had seen before. Wordlessly, she strapped the sheath to her leg and slung the quiver over her shoulder. She could hear the sound of arrows thudding mercilessly against the carriage, and the shouts of the Trebond guards at they retaliated. She bit her lip and turned back to the guard.
"How many?"
The guard was already gone, leaving the door swinging open.
Sighing explosively, Alanna grabbed Gwyneth's arm and carefully slid out of the carriage, whispering instructions to the child. "Trebond is that way. Don't go on the road. Stay in the denser parts of the forest. If you have to, use your Gift to protect you."
They were within the forest, finally. Alanna turned to the child. "If you –" She stopped abruptly. Gwyneth held a glowing ball of flame, coloured red. It lighted up the little girl's face, illuminating the fear in the child's eyes.
"I can only make fire," Gwyneth whispered, on the verge of tears. "I won't be able to make it to the fief alone. Please –"
Alanna sighed. "Two are more easily seen than one," she explained softly, then smiled. "You can do more than I, Gwyneth. Light one of them on fire, if you can."
The child looked stunned by the thought. "Like a candle?"
"Yes. A great, big, glowing candle. And when you reach Trebond, tell my father about the attack."
Gwyneth hesitated. "Aren't you going to the fief, too?"
"I'm going to fight with the guards," said Alanna flatly, drawing an arrow from the quiver. "Now go."
She was tired of people telling her that she was important only because of her monetary value to the fief. And to leave the small group of guards in the middle of an attack would be the height of cowardice. She had seen Matthew's body slumped over, studded with arrows, when she had ran for cover in the forest. To imagine the rest of her guards dying to protect her – when she could do nothing to deserve their loyalty – stung Alanna. She had skills, and she could put them to use.
Alanna ducked as she ran forward and flattened her form against the side of the carriage. There were Scanrans everywhere…more than was usual for a typical raid. The heavy fog was both a boon and a curse – it offered temporary relief for the guards, but it also masked the movements of the Scanrans' greater numbers. The arrows that rained down upon the carriage's remains would soon slaughter everyone in that area, even those fighting for the barbarians.
Taking a quick, cautious look around the corner, Alanna notched the arrow to her longbow, took careful aim, and fired. The arrow sped silently into the fray, taking a Scanran in the throat just as the man was slashing down at one of Trebond's tired swordsmen. He toppled over soundlessly. The guard stared numbly at his former opponent's body, then dispatched it by swiping off the Scanran's head. Alanna recognized the guard as the sarcastic lieutenant. Their eyes met – and he grinned and waved.
His wave stopped sluggishly in midair as an arrow took him in the back.
A wave of hot anger washed over Alanna; couple with the sick realization that, had the guard not seen her, he would have been more alert to the enemies around him. Maybe she was nothing but a burden after all. Maybe staying to fight had only made things worse.
A scream of rage bubbled up in her throat, choking her. Almost blindly, she reached for another arrow, scanning the area for a better target. Some Scanrans were beating red flames off their backs, yelling obscenities… strange; she had not noticed them before… A shadowy form on horseback was gliding among the trees at the far end of the battle. She set her sights on that and fired.
The arrow whistled shrilly as it flew through the air, and the shrouded horseman had little time to react. It slid from the horse and crumpled to the ground.
Everything was suddenly very clear. The dense fog was gone and Alanna could see exactly how many Scanrans – no, not just Scanrans…
But the bloody bodies of her guards were what next caught her eye. There had been little hope for any of them in the beginning, and less hope for them now. Alanna had barely lifted her eyes from the six bodies of her former comrades before the seventh guard, screaming a challenge as he charged a horseman, was slain by a Tusaine officer.
She barely knew what to do, or even if doing anything would much help. As if from afar, she watched herself raise her longbow and fire, killing the murdering Tusaine officer where he stood. Another arrow was notched to the bowstring, another arrow fired… Strong hands grabbed her from behind. She kicked out, and jammed the longbow's length into the attacker's soft flesh. More soldiers closed in.
It happened very swiftly. Somehow, her bow was knocked from her hands, the quiver yanked from her shoulder and tossed away. Her left arm hung useless, throbbing dully with pain, but she could still reach her knife with the right hand. Her hand closed around the haft of the knife and she stabbed blindly.
And then she felt a sharp sting in her side.
For the first time of her life, Alanna felt helpless…helpless and scared. She didn't want to die. But her vision was darkening; and the sluggish, roiling pain that was spreading from her side and prickling inwards could only mean one thing: poison.
As her eyes clouded over, the last thing she saw was the face of a Tusaine man, his features distorted with hatred.
"You killed my brother," he spat, his words echoing oddly in her head as her mind slowly misted over. She felt cold…
"May the Dark God grant no mercy!"
Hm. I think this is slightly better than the previous times I rewrote it. Hopefully, anyway. It is certainly longer! A full nine pages this time. Aren't you proud of me, my little muffins? Anyway, review if you wish. I enjoy hearing from you guys.
Soundtrack (songs that I listened to while writing this):
· Sad Exchange – Finger Eleven
· Everywhere – Michelle Branch
· I Still Believe – Jeremy Camp
· Numb – Limp Bizkit
Zenin
Special thanks to my betas, acbworm and Kari.