Brenin remained by the window. The mighty
arched windows stood as high and wide as the room, it
was all that stood between him and his city. To the
back of the room, central to the window, was his
humble wooden desk, filled with messy papers. He
was a great king, but an unorganised and untidy one.
Brenin gave a long sigh as he glared from the
window. “It’s a shame, Mord,” he turned to face her as
she stood silent by the door. She felt small in the
room, like the entire kingdom had swallowed her up.
“The council only see this world for what it can earn
them.” He walked towards his desk and slowly sat at
his golden rimmed chair with plush red leather
covering.
Mord remained fixed to the spot, she held her
hands at the front of her, her shoulders hunched
forward. “It’s the way of the world, sadly,” she softly
replied.
Brenin lifted his hand, “Please,” he invited her in,
offering her a seat, “how is this world supposed to
recover, if all that drives the council, are coins?” he
seemed melancholy. He knew the world needed
compassion, but greed was all that seemed to drive
them.
Slowly, she made her way towards the desk.
“Erm…” Mord did not want to speak out of turn, she
was not shy, but this was her king. She lifted her head,
her voice was quiet, “I was a soldier once, Sire.” She
struggled to find her words. As she reached the desk,
she lowered down into the chair opposite, her eyes
seemed to struggle to focus. “I’ve never seen battle,
but I have seen some of the worst atrocities this world
could offer.” Brenin’s brow creased as he listened, he
leant forward, placing his elbows on the desk in front.
“It just takes one,” she softly said. Brenin held his
head up to listen. Her brows gave a sorrowful frown.
She looked directly into Brenin’s eyes. “One man, or
woman, can change it all, it takes a great leader to
make a good follower. Now, you are the one man to
change it, but you are here, behind a desk,” she
laughed as she turned, “arguing with your council.” It
was a ridiculous notion, but she honestly believed that
he could be the man to bring about the change they
needed. “This world needs you,” her voice became
soft, “if I may speak freely?”
Brenin quickly blinked, shocked that she was not
already. “You seem to be fine with that so far, I’m not
going to stop you.”
“When I was young, your father frightened me, he
frightened his people,” she softly explained, she could
tell by the drooping of his slight smile that she would
need to tread lightly; “your father would never bring
that change, he used fear to guide his people, you use
compassion.”
Brenin drew back. “I admire your honesty, Mord,
many have died for less,” he mockingly said.
“I’m just a maid, sire,” she said with a sniggering
laugh, “I know nothing of politics.”
“I like you; I need an honest person in the palace,”
he said with a quiet voice, “the world has darkened,
and I need guidance, from a soldier who found hope.”
He gave a wide smile towards her. Slowly, he leant
forward. His tone became low and haunting, “I know
who you are, Mord. No one comes through these
doors without me knowing who and what they are, you
left my army, the day you found hope, but you left that
hope behind.” Brenin leant his elbows on the desk
and folded his arms. His voice softened, “Why?”
She knew why, she knew what it was for, but did
not know if others would understand. “Wonder,” she
replied, her hands began to relax, she did not feel as
tense as she spoke of the child she had found, “the
child was destined for greatness, and she would not
find that with me, it isn’t the last I’ve heard of her.”
Brenin could see the promise in her eyes, he could
see that Mord was a traditionalist, she believed in fate,
she believed heavily in the gods, and she knew that the
child would one day wake the gods to listen to the
plight of Cammbour.
As the night began to set in, the palace became
quiet. The council halls emptied, Brenin remained in
his chambers, he had taken Mord’s words to heart.
Tensions with Bourellis had often been tempering on
inauspicious. As the night lingered on, Brenin came to
his decision. The war camps needed a shimmering
hope and he wanted to give that hope. Bourellis
needed to know that they were being listened to, and
so he showed he had listened.
The council would be left in tatters the following
day, as Brenin announced a visit he would be making
to the northern camps, his visit would be welcomed by
all in Cronnin. Their king loved to travel. The people
enjoyed seeing him for the most part, he did not allow
for the lavish travel that his councillors would try to
insist upon, he was happy with a carriage and his small
entourage of the King’s Guard. One hundred soldiers
lined the way for Brenin’s new journey to the northern
camps.
Mord watched as he left, the window of his
chambers allowed for a view to the courtyard at the
front of the palace. She knew of Brenin, he was not
what she expected. Mockery followed him like a bad
smell, being known as ‘the attentive king,’ his travel
would often lead to a break in the council, feeling lost
without him there. It was unusual for a member of the
royal house to travel as often as he did. He always
searched for simple solutions, with a worsening war,
he would need a solution, this had proven difficult to
find.
A whisper had woken Brenin, he knew of a man,
know by many as The Shadow and known as The
Commander, a reputation had allowed for The
Commander to be mentioned in the halls of the
council several times, having heard enough of the
whispers, Brenin was also on the mission to find the
upcoming champion of war, and crown him as a true
commander, offering him a quick solution to a
growing problem.
Chapter Two The Unknown Girl
he deep smell of pine smoke filled the air,
carried by the chimneys in the bunkhouses.
T The camps were ablaze with autumn. Cold
yellow and brown leaves warmed the floor of the
forest. The evergreen trees gave off the pungent smell
of pine, coupled with the smell of rotting leaves;
birdsong brought the world to life as they worked
tirelessly foraging ready for winter. The camps were
full of the warm welcome of winters approach. The
echoes of the howling wolves seemed to be creeping
towards them, as they headed down the mountains,
ready for the harsh northern winter.
The Unknown Girl woke to a fresh autumn
morning. Frost
had already begun to line the settled
leaves on the ground, giving them a winter gilding. She
could hear the noise outside, the camps were void of
the usual sounds of anvils, the mills had stopped
working. Children lined the streets; order was difficult
to find. Excitement lit the air as they awaited the
arrival.
With her ragged clothes cleaned, the Unknown
Girl made her way into the fresh autumn wood. The
crunching leaves brought a smile to her face as she
carelessly made her way through. The magic of the
forest was something she felt a need to add to, kicking
the leaves into the air she lifted her hands, allowing
them to slowly flutter around her, a bright golden glow
filled the forest leaves.
The bitter morning had many shivering as they
made their way through the camp, but the chill
awakened the Unknown Girl, she did not feel cold at
all. The Aenlic moon was ending, the tall trees
stretched as far as she could see. An old, cobbled path
carved through the forest to reach the village on the
other side, was now overgrown, brambles and small
sapling trees favoured the path.
Upon the sight of the first few redwoods standing
proud among the forest, the Unknown Girl began
searching the wood. She knew the forest well. The
forest hummed with life all around her. Finally, she
came upon the clearing she knew so well, a large fallen
redwood provided her a seat. She came closer, to see
someone had been there before her. She looked to a
pile of stones sat on a flattened curve of the fallen tree.
“I didn’t leave you here.”
The short grass and creeping ivy offered the
perfect place for her to play. As she looked down, her
bare feet were comfortable among the soft mosses.
Each stone was fully inspected by the Unknown Girl.
She twisted them in her fingers, the blemishes were
her favourite part, wondering, ‘what could be inside?’
Silently she played with the stones. Fluttering birds
above gave no care that the Unknown Girl had visited,
a four horned deer wandered close to the clearing.
Small rabbits went about their business. Her attention
strayed from the stones. A rustling bush to her left
took her by surprise. She furrowed her small brow,
making her way towards it. A light breeze in the
canopy covered the songs of excitement in the camp.
Stepping closer to the bush, she whispered, “I see
you.” two perfectly green poplar leaves fluttered in the
browning bush. Slowly, the leaves separated, her smile
grew. She had a sure tone as she insisted, “I know it’s
you.”
The breeze in the canopy grew stronger, a
woman’s voice carried on the breeze. “Blessed
birthday, my Librye.”
The Unknown Girl stepped back. “Thank you,
Mother.” The girl knew the pooka well, she watched
as a flash darted from the bush and landed on the
fallen redwood.
“Can I have my name today?” asked the Unknown
Girl.
Mother, as she was known, had a small brown
humanoid body, large poplar leaf wings and a pointed
acorn head, her skin was the complexion of soft bark.
Instantly, Mother transformed, a sparrow now stood
beside the stones on the log.
“Sit with me, my Librye.”
The girl skipped over, she sat on the fallen
redwood beside the stones.
“Thank you for my gift,” she seemed excessively
grateful, “the treasures of this world,” she looked to
the seemingly ordinary stones.
Mother hopped closer to the Unknown Girl, her
voice was one of power and pride. “Child,” she softly
said, “show me your magic,” her voice was a whisper
of wonder.
The Unknown Girl took the stones, she twirled
them in her fingers, feeling each one of them. Her
eyes were lit lilac as she looked towards the stones, her
darkening red hair flowed gracefully down her back.
Taking a stone from the ground, she placed it in the
palm of her hand. With her index finger she softly
touched the top of the stone, a small spark came from
her fingertip. Instantly the stone began to smoke,
splitting open to reveal a bright blue geode.
“Ah!” Mother was impressed, “this is one of the
rarest, it is called vitriol, beautiful, but deadly when
used properly.”
The Unknown Girl listened to every word Mother
said. She took another stone, cracking it open it
revealed a bright pink geode. “I like this one,” the
Unknown Girl gave a wide smile.
“A symbol of love,” replied Mother, “you’re
learning quickly.” Mother looked to the blue geode;
she was upset. “Although, your choices in the stones,
often concern me, Child. You first chose that which
could destroy before that which can save.”
The Unknown Girl was not sure what to say. “I
suppose that sometimes, love and hate, are the same
thing.”
Mother transformed back; the twig-like woman
now stood before her. “You try to be clever with your
answers, don’t,” she warned, “I can assure you that the
answers will come, when you need them.”
floor, an awkward tone caught her voice, “Mother,
when will I get my name?”
Mother walked towards her, a thousand years of
knowledge was imbedded in her skin, the world was a
part of her, and she was a part of it. Mother sat beside
her.
“A name of the pooka is given by what they are,”
she explained, “when I came to this world, I was the
same as you, as I grew, I became Mother, I became
the carer of all, the nurturing spirit, I have children,
grandchildren, great grandchildren and so on, but they
all call me Mother, I am the Mother of my pooka, I
am the one they turn to the most.”
The girl was baffled. “Then what am I?”
Mother’s dark eyes softened, her affection for the
girl was clear. “My Librye,” she felt pity for the
Unknown Girl, she did not know who she was, but she
needed to know what she could be. “I call you Librye,
the Librye is the protector, there to lead, to follow,
through being herself,” she explained.
The Unknown Girl narrowed her eyes, she did not
fully understand. “Then my name is Librye?”
Mother shook her head. Her motherly voice was
soft and sure. “Not yet, not until you are ready to take
the title, of Librye,” she held pride in the name which
was much more than a simple name, “one day, you
will be asked, and on that day, you will know. It is like
taking the title of king or queen, chief or commander,
it is not something you do, until you are ready.”
A pounding drum from the camps sent birds flying
from the trees, they both turned towards the camp.
Mother turned to
the Unknown Girl; her eyes were
tired, weary. “There is a celebration,” said Mother.
The girl lowered her head. “I know, the king is
here, my secrets told me he was coming.”
Mother came close to the Unknown Girl. Her
voice was a soft whisper of insistence, “Then that is
where you need to be.” It was clear that Mother cared
for the girl. She wanted her to live the life of a normal
child, but in a world torn by war, normal was
becoming harder to find. “You may find your name
there,” she softly suggested.
A cheering echo crept through the trees from the
camp. Excited screams of children rang in the air, the
king had arrived. The Unknown Girl turned back,
uninterested, the echoes soon withered and died in
the towering wood.
“I don’t want to be there,” she whispered. But
Mother was gone. The canopy covered Mother as she
flew into the grey skies above the towering forest.
The ancient place spoke to the Unknown Girl, she
felt at home there, part of the world around her, and
yet, she knew much of the truth to the world, her
dreams, her secrets, they had told her more than any
child should ever know. The forest shadows crept
towards her, but she remained, inviting the darkness
towards her, an all-consuming feeling of belonging
comforted her in the darkness of the towering forest.
Entering the camp was a dismal affair for the
King’s Guard. Brenin enjoyed the visits, it gave a
welcome break to the tedium of Cronnin. The
children were all excited to meet him, but the guards
were trained to be weary of all, even children. As they
came closer to the camp, Brenin alighted his carriage.
Waving to the children as he stepped from his
carriage; it soon turned to utter chaos. Children
swarmed around him, and he let them. The guards
pulled the flailing children away from the carriage, but
they came in their droves to get a glance at the king,
his carriage, and the extravagance which had entered
their dull camp.
Sand coloured soil roads lined the way towards the
warden’s hut, most of the streets between the
bunkhouses were cobbled, but the hut stood alone at
the edge of the camp, surrounded by fields. The forest
to the north gave Madoc a view of the towering trees,