Blood of Quartz

Part 1 - Chapter 1

River Bend - Heathshire

"I should be back soon, once I plead the village's case," Erik said, shifting the cloak over his back. His mother tsked as he fumbled with a buckle. She waved her hands, chiding him with her eyes, and snugged it tight against his shoulder when he gave in and let her.

"There," she said. "Better?"

Nodding, he looked around the main kitchen in their home, crushing river rushes under his feet, taking in the flickering sheen of the fire on the polished wood of the table in the corner. How warm and bright the room seemed, when only a few days before, it had been insufferably dull and cramped. In the distance people in the village were starting their day, dogs barking, the ponderous bellow of a cow punctuating the still of morning.

Home. This was home. Erik did not know if he would return. He wanted to memorize every detail. Breath hitched, he determined to be strong.

As he slid his eyes about the house, they stopped at the crumpled parchment on the table. That was the reason he, and many of the village's men, were leaving and he frowned as his mother dusted imaginary dirt off of him, humming as she did.

"Stop fussing," he muttered and she wrinkled her nose at him.

He did not want to answer the summons to muster from the Earl of Berrigan. Most assumed it was to march in some petty feud skirmish, or a show of strength while some random nobles rattled their swords at one another. Even if he didn't want to leave, he and the others had absolutely no choice. If they didn't, they would be punished.

On the other hand, if he was conscripted, he could send pay home. If he was punished, no help would be given at all, and his family would starve. Options were limited so he chose the least offensive path.

Erik was tall, dark-haired, stoic and serious, typical of a farmer's son, with a well-honed wiry frame used to the routine of manual labour. He was well-respected as part of the community as much as any of the older men, the head of his family by necessity.

The summons before this had taken their father, and his older half-brother Craik. They had yet to return five years on. Only his sister remained to keep food coming to the table once he left, his mother never one to work the fields. She tended the extensive gardens, and drove the hogs when necessary, of course.

His mother. She was left now with no men in the household, but was standing calmly in front of him. She gave no indication of worry, but from her busy hands and thinly held lips, he could see she was holding herself in check.

"Look after Mother, Ylaine," he clipped as he turned, levelling a gaze at his willowy, determined younger sister. She was perched on a bench, a curved needle and crude twine in her hand, fixing a cloth sack, muttering as she worked. Erik wondered at how it held together, the multi-coloured patches all but erasing the original well-softened oilcloth. It was a traditional travelling sack with a waist sash, and had seen far better days. Waste not, he reasoned, but wondered why she bothered fixing it at all.

"Of course I will," she shot back, frowning. "But as you said, you'll be back."

He thinned his lips, knowing full well his lie had not held any traction with her whatsoever. She snipped the thread with her teeth angrily, standing at the same time, her movements fluid and strong. She strode to the table, and stuffed a length of soft linen cloth, a loaf, some hard cheese, and various other bits of things wrapped in other small scraps of cloth into the sack. She spun, thrust the bag into his hands, and glared at him.

"Take this. Food, spices for the campfire meat you catch. You'll need to eat."

He held up the bag, raising his eyebrows. As their eyes met, she burst into tears, covering her face. He reached, pulled her to him with one arm and then his mother with the other. They stayed in a wordless embrace, his sister quietly sobbing into his shoulder, his mother squeezing him for all he was worth through his sturdy travelling clothes. It had to be enough for now, he thought, because he expected that from the earl's gathering, they would likely leave directly for Gods-knew-where. If he could, he would send messages back to the village, but whether he would know who to send it with was another matter entirely.