Wandering Home
Tracy137: Hello again! Nice to see you! Assassination? Who do you take me for woman? Honestly, what do you expect from me? And as far as the Knights go, you're 1/3 right. So, good luck trying to figure out the other 2/3. Break up the dynamic duo of Van and Bors? I don't seem that daft, do I? You need not fear the life of your book. It will be safe. I'm not going to be writing a book any time soon. I do like leaving people in suspense when I write these short chapters that don't give any information away. It makes me feel powerful.
June Birdie: Welcome! Nice to hear from you! I love seeing new reviewers. I got you curious did I? Well, that was the whole point. LOL. Hope I keep seeing you here!
MedievalWarriorPrincess: Hello! It intrigues you does it? Well that's wonderful to hear. And to be quite honest with you, I have no idea where this is going to go. I'll just let the characters do their thing and see how it works.
Julianna Edwards: HA! I have captured you! There is no escaping! LOL. Anyway, it is ironic is it not? I know you'll keep me on my toes when it comes to terrible characterization.
Barbara: Aww…yay! I love it when I get something authentic feeling. Has a nice warm and fuzzy feeling. And as you are very aware, tense is my issue. I'm sure there are tense issues abound here. Try not to hate me.
Now enough of me. On to what you really came here for.
Chapter 1: Discovery
Slowly, with as much caution s they could muster, these three made their way to the gate. It seemed a shame that there was no side entrance where they could slip in without being noticed. The last thing they wanted t do was broadcast the truth that they were refugees, looking for a home.
"Ye are absolutely sure that there is not another entrance?" the forest green cloak demanded of the storm blue one. "Absolutely sure?"
"Aye, for the hundredth time this eve!" the storm blue cloak said in exasperation.
"Just be thankful that there is the cover of darkness; otherwise we'd have bigger issues."
Both cloaks snapped their heads in the direction of the russet one. They stood at a stalemate before conceding to the logic of Russet.
As they approached, the sound of thundering hooves broke the peaceful silence of the evening. Dashing to the wall, they pressed themselves against it, waiting for the riders to approach. In pale moonlight, the Knights of Arthur Castus can be seen, striking an impressive image. The three figures slunk deeper into the shadows, trying at all costs not to be seen. Dust and wind stirred as the Knights galloped past this little nook. The heavy door of Hadrian's Wall creaked open, and in the wake of the horses, three figures scurried in.
The sights and sounds of the Wall at night hit these three with untold force. The sheer size of the fort is astounding. Hundreds of people living one place, all sharing the same space. From the marketplace, shop keepers are calling last call for goods. The taverns are starting to get into full swing.
Russet turns to Forest and Storm. "Áit?" she questions. She has no idea where they are supposed to go from here.
"Well I for one am am starving," Storm says before heading off to the taverns. She stops after a few feet and asks, "Are ye coming or not?"
A groan escapes Forest's mouth as she and Russet head off behind Storm. Reaching the warm glow of the fire around the central tavern, Strom casts off her hood, revealing long abundant bright copper curls that go past her waist. Slinging her small pack to the ground, she hops up and sits on a table. Russet comes up beside, drops her pack by Storm's and pulls off her hood a well. She has wavy honey hair that reaches her bit past her shoulders.
Forest is the last one to approach the table. She is the most cautious in this new place. Inwardly she smiles at Storm's forward actions, but outwardly she shakes her head. This small action causes her hood to fall back to show her deep auburn hair that flows straight down to her mid back. "Ye have to make a show?"
Diplomatically, Russet says, "Don't be over harsh on her."
"Siúr," Storm says. "When have I been one to follow convention? I'm not about to jump around and make a scene if that is what ye are worried about." Her storm blue eyes that matched her cloak glinted mischievously.
Forest eyed her sister worriedly and quirked an eyebrow. There were a thousand different things that Storm could do that would compromise their unobtrusive existence here. The plan was to simply blend into the community and make it seems as though they had been here the whole time. But knowing Storm's propensity to wander off the path, Forest feared that they would be found out. A refugee never wanted to find out the Roman answer to refugees.
"You there!"
All three heads snapped in the direction of the voice which called out to them. Striding towards them was a Roman guard. The three women recognized his as one of the guards that had been guarding the Gate when they had snuck in behind the Knights.
"What are you three doing here? We don't want any refugees here."
The three sisters looked at each other, silently forming a plan. Like caged animals they waited while the Roman approached. He was saying something, but they heard not a word. Survival was their plan right now, and all were willing to follow through with it.
"Where to you three belong? Who's your master?"
All of them bristled at that comment. They were the slaves of no one. Not now, not ever. By the blessings of the Goddess they had remained free from Roman enslavement. As the Roman closed in on Russet, she flicked her hand so minutely that anyone was sure to miss the signal. But Forest and Storm saw it and bolted. The Roman was confused for just long enough that Russet had a space to get by. Cloaks fluttering, they splintered in various directions.
Forest dashed for the closest building she saw. It was the stables that she found herself inside. Carefully glancing around, she made sure that there was not a Roman in sight. Slowly she made her way around the inside of the stable. The scent of horses and hay was comforting to her. It smelled just like childhood; always running around the village stable, teasing the stable boys. She laughed quietly to herself as she remembered all those times.
"Too la roo…" a voice broke the silence. Forest ducked down behind a stall, watching closely. From one of the stalls, a man emerged, dressed simply.
"All this work, and I never get credit," the man mumbled. "It's not so bad I suppose. It's good work; better than some I've had."
Forest relaxed when she realized that it was just a squire muttering to the horses. She settled down in the stables, wanting a few moments peace while her sisters were running around. Goddess knew that she would need some patience if she had to get them out of any trouble. The last thing she wanted to explain right now was why she was hiding in the stables.
Russet on the other hand was trying to avoid every singe Roman in the tavern area. After giving the signal to Forest and Storm, Russet had slipped by. Those few little seconds of confusion, she had ducked behind him and ran. Every Roman in the place was on his feet, trying to figure out where three young women got to. Looping around the back, Russet dashed into the washroom of the tavern. She ran head long into a woman with an armful of mugs. Everything went everywhere, mugs clattered to the ground and some shattered.
"Hey now, watch yourself lass!" the redheaded woman said.
"I'm so terribly sorry! Here, let me help ye clean up." Russet immediately went down and began to clean up the mess she had caused this woman.
She studied Russet for a moment. "You're not from around here, are you?" the redhead inquired. Her curiosity was struck up due to the young woman's accent and style of clothing. There was something, different, but at the same time, comforting.
"Nay, I'm not." Russet eyed the woman, trying to figure out this woman's intentions. She could be potentially dangerous, but yet not.
Just then, a small army of children came bustling in. "Mum, mum! Gilly punched me! Number 5 is biting me! Four pushed me into the pigpen!" Thousands of complaints came issuing forth.
"Alright, just wait a moment, will you?" The redhead surveyed the group. Would she ever get a moment's peace from this lot? 'I've got to work…"
Russet looked the scene over. Obviously the woman was the mother of all these rambunctious children, and she needed a moment to settle whatever crises needed to be solved. "Here, let me clean all of this up while ye tend to your children."
The woman looked at Russet, completely baffled. "You'll… oh… alright. Sure. I'll be back in a moment. The name's Vanora by the way."
While Russet was dealing with the finer points of managing work and motherhood, Storm was whipping through the fort, trying to find somewhere that the bloody Romans were not. Her feet brought her to a small building, seemingly used for storage. Checking it see of there was anyone of authority around, Storm ducked in.
Before her eyes was one of the most wonderful sights she had seen. An entire armory glinted in the moonlight streaming through the window and door. An array of swords, daggers, bows, pikes, armor and everything else imaginable was there. She could not resist the temptation to touch at least something. A dirk with a Celtic knot for a pommel caught her attention. To her, it was more beautiful than any regal jewelry. Back home, she had watched many a smith craft something like this, and she had always longed to learn the craft.
Taking the dirk down from the wall, she began to go through practice motions. She had been informally taught some aspects of combat, but she was mainly self-taught. With natural rhythm, Storm began to move in patterns, wielding the dirk. It was a small guilty pleasure for her to be able to access weapons. She had a fighting dirk, but nothing as beautiful or efficient as the one in her hand.
As she traced intricate step patterns in the dusty ground with her boot clad feet, Storm was oblivious to the world around her. Only when the door lock clicked open did she stop, freeze, then dart behind a pile of armor.
It was the Knight's squire again. He seemed to be doing a routine check on the armory. "At least everything is in place. Clean, organized; just like it should be. Probably the work of Dagonet or Tristan." His eyes wandered over the area once more, lingering slightly longer of the pile of armor that Storm was behind. "Must get rid of that old armor. Doesn't fit anyone anymore," he muttered before walking out.
Once the old wooden door had slammed shut, Storm breathed a deep sigh of relief and climbed out from behind the pile. Her curiosity intrigued by this squire's words. It seemed to her that this fort was an unusual place; one where the Roman influence was not too severe.
"Must go find my siúrs. I wonder what they've been up to. This place is most curious." Storm quietly snuck out and began to wander the fort as though she had always been there. There was something to be said about the ability to blend in.
It wasn't long before she came upon her sisters. They were seated at a table in the Tavern. The packs that they had dropped were still there, undisturbed.
"Siúr fáilte," Forest said dryly to Storm. "Wonderful of you to join us once again. And what have you been up to?" She eyed her sister in her usual fashion; not scolding but not mockingly either.
Storm flashed the dirk. "Look what I nicked from the armory! Lovely piece is it not?"
"You did what!" Forest snapped. "Do you know…"
She never had time to finish her sentence. An official looking Roman was walking towards them flanked by the Knights. The Knights themselves looked less than thrilled to be doing this. They all looked at each other, silently asking if they actually had to go through with this.
"You three are illegal refugees here at Fort Hadrian in the Roman land of Britain. As such, it is out duty to try you and punish you as seen fit by Rome and the Holy Father the Pope." The man motioned to the Knights. "Take them to the Round Table." When the Knights merely walked over and placed strong hands on the women's shoulders, the official said, "And don't pity the wenches. They shall get what they deserve."
Gaelic Lesson #1
Áit where
Siúr sister
Siúr fáilte welcome sister
A/N: I know, I was evil and put a cliffie. It's called writer's prerogative.