Eothain paused, staring right back into the green eyes, her hand
reaching back slowly, scrabbling at the leather sheath of her sword
helplessly, and keeping her eyes on the watchful green eyes. Silence
fell, until all of a sudden, Aidan’s arm shot forward and smacked the
creature in the bushes between the eyes. Instead of a beastly roar of
irritation, what emerged from the bushes was a whiny, child-like squeal
of annoyance at having been found. Aidan grinned, and dragged out from
the bushes not some demonic entity, or wild beast, but the same little
boy she had seen before, grinning from ear to ear, giggling fiercely.
Dragging him out by the collar of his faded jerkin, Aidan beamed wryly
at Eothain, while the little boy clung to her side and looked up at her
shyly.
“Eothain, allow me to introduce my little brother, Willum.
Say hello, Willum.” Willum just stared up at her from under his shaggy
locks, smiling shyly, before uttering a barely audible “’llo.” Eothain
grinned widely in relief, taking her hand down from her pack and ruffled
Willum’s hair playfully.
“Attack innocent strangers much, wee Willum?” Eothain cooed, but Willum ignored her, and looked straight up at Aidan.
“Ma
told me to tell ye that she wants ye back home before supper gets cold,
and that Da’s home!” Willum beamed excitedly, his eyes wide with pride
at the very important task he had been assigned. Aidan’s eyes lit up,
before she saw Eothain’s bewildered expression.
“Da has been away
on a mission for a very long time… um, on a very special mission, from
Lord Addison. Whenever he comes home from a mission, he sometimes tells
us stories of his missions, the safe parts anyway…” she stuttered,
looking down for a minute, before perking up right away. “But now he’s
home! You’ll have to meet him!”
Before she could argue, Willum
clasped her hand in his tiny one, and began tugging on it persistently.
Aidan laughed softly, and Eothain joined in, her heart filling with joy
and light at the sight of the stubborn Willum attempting to drag her
single-handedly to their home.
“Alright, alright, I’ll come. How
far is it, anyway?” she asked, as Willum relinquished his grip on her
hand, and beamed up at her, showing off his two new front teeth growing
in.
“Oh, just across the river and through a few more woods,” Aidan replied, playing with Willum’s hair affectionately.
“Over
the river and through the woods, to your family’s house we go, then,”
Eothain smiled, submitting to Willum dragging her excitedly, with Aidan
laughing behind her. Lets hope that nobody turns that into a nursery rhyme for children, that would be awkward, she thought.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~
As
the three ventured out of the woods, into a wide, circular patch of
grass under the open sky, Eothain was awestruck again, for the second
time that day. In the center of the clearing, a tall watchtower stood, a
warm, fiery glow beaming from its narrow windows. Like the White Gate,
the tower was crafted from pure white stone, its ramparts decorated by a
fluttering silver banner, emblazoned with a golden horse-head. Its
thick, heavy-looking wooden door was hanging flung-open, flattened bars
of dark iron bolted to the door, reinforcing it. The luscious smell of
the fresh-baked bread and roasted chicken emanated from the open doorway
in strong waves, beckoning her in silently.
Silhouetted in the
open doorway was Mrs. McGordon, now out of her armor, dressed in a
simple tunic. She smiled warmly down at the three approaching, a mild
mischievous light glinting behind her aged eyes.
“Daughter of
mine, did ye come by way of Armorica, by chance?” she called out,
grinning wider at the mock-scowl of irritation flashing across Aidan’s
face.
“Nay ma, we just had tae pick up the wee skraeling from
Haven’s Gate, and she was a wee bit dozy from the armory and the Wall,”
Aidan quipped, shoving Eothain encouragingly forward into the intense,
concerned gaze of Mrs. McGordon. Face to face with her, Eothain felt
like she was a child again, under the stern yet kind watch of Brother
Martin, the wandering Franciscan friar who first taught her how to read
and write. One pair of young, curious green eyes stared into another set
of older, yet mirthful green eyes, and silence fell, as the two
examined each other cautiously. Seeing her closer up, Eothain’s opinion
of her changed, a minute bit.
Mrs. McGordon was short, as she had
seen before, her short-cut hair dampened with sweat from working in the
kitchen. Her face was gently etched with laugh lines, from many years of
joy and happiness, despite her occupation. Her dark green eyes were
filled with light, but also age and weariness, as though she had been
fighting non-stop for a very long time. A pale stripe arced down her
left eye, an old battle scar long since healed over. All in all, she
seemed a perfect blend of mother and warrior. A woman who could
simultaneously whip up a batch of mouth-watering stew while fending off
hordes of enemies with a broken sword, and still make sure her kids got
to bed on time. One who had seen much suffering and blood, yet still was
filled with Light and joy.
"Alrighty then," she smiled softly, as
though she was amused by Eothain's silent observation. "Lets get you
lot in for the night."
~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Dinner in the McGordon
household was nothing like she had ever experienced before. Within the
watchtower, tunnels and subterranean rooms stretched out for miles. On
the ground floor, a long, rough-cut slab of wood served as the dining
table, worn smooth by generations of McGordon family members dining off
of it. Settled around the table were nearly a dozen short, stumpy logs,
carved elegantly into chairs, with two tall, high-backed chairs, carved
out of tree trunks, one placed at either end of the table. engraved into
the sides of each of the chairs, intricate Celtic vinework twisted and
weaved amongst scenes from the Bible.
On the face of the table,
deep indentations and cuts into the wood hid amongst the smooth surface,
as though in times past, the table had been used as a barricade, or a
doctor's table. Currently seated around the dining table was Eothain,
settled next to Aidan, Willum settled across from her, and nearly half a
dozen bundles of happy, squirming raven and chestnut-haired children,
ranging from barely walking to about ten or twelve. The table itself was
set with bowls of stew at each seat, and a pile of loaves of
tantalyzingly fresh bread on an earthen platter, in the center of the
table. Sitting at the end of the table, clad in a chain mail jerkin and a
green tunic, thick black hair pulled back behind him, was Jacob
McGordon. He stroked his beard thoughtfully as he watched over his
children proudly, before his eyes strayed to Eothain, huddled shyly
towards the end of the table.
"So now, one more mouth at the
table," he quipped dryly, his gentle, glittering blue eyes off-setting
the comment. All the same, Mrs. McGordon smacked his hand with an iron
ladle before settling down next to him. She smiled encouragingly down
the table at Eothain, while Mr. McGordon cleared his throat softly, but
ominously enough to silence the entire table. As one, they bowed their
heads, and closed their eyes, and Eothain hastily followed their
example.
“Dear Lord,” he began. “Thank you for giving us this good
day. Thank you for friends- old, and new.” Eothain smiled softly to
herself at this. “Thank you for watching over us another day and
bringing young Eothain into our home. Bless our food to our bodies, and
this evening's rest to our souls. We ask this in your Son’s most
precious name. Amen.”
“Amen,” the rest of the family chorused, and
Eothain did the same silently. This was entirely different from how her
own family did prayers, a lot more relaxed and casual, for one thing,
but still she felt at home here amongst this crazy, wild family from the
mists. After a moment's pause, the occupants of the dining table burst
back into excited, happy chatter, eating away. Eothain could only pick
up snatches of the varied streams of conversation. Aidan's little
brothers and sisters were excitedly telling her about their adventures
during the day, Mr. McGordon was chatting idly with his wife about
something to do with the Old Nation, and an invasion.
Eothain,
however, just dug into her bowl of stew with a vengeance, feeling a
rising warmth within her as the luscious hot stew poured into her. She
felt a tugging at her sleeve, and looked down to the shyly smiling face
of Willum, offering her a slice of bread.
"Awh, thank you," she
smiled appreciatively, took the slice, and bit into it. Melted into the
moist, hot bread was a glaze of honey, seeping into the pockets of the
bread, setting her taste buds ablaze. Mrs. McGordon, despite her snarky
sense of humor and harsh past, she was an excellent cook.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~
After
dinner was over, and the dishes were washed and put away, the family
gathered in front of the communal fireplace. The fireplace was small,
crafted from finely engraved bricks and stones, the chimney narrow, yet
the fire glowing from the fireplace had all the comfortable warmth and
gentleness of a forge at rest. Mr. McGordon had dragged over one of the
stools from the kitchen, and when everyone was comfortable, he began his
story.
"In the western coast, far off, lies the misty isle of
Iona. Haunted by the souls of lost Roman legions and pagan Druid cults,
no life is left on the holy isle... except for the remains of a
fortress." He paused, staring off into the past. "In days of old, the
fortress had been a stronghold against the forces of the evil one, and a
haven to wanderers. Legend says that the fortress of Zion was destroyed
in a battle with the vanguard of the evil one himself.
"A few
months back, the Riders sent out a cohort, to explore around the island,
just as a normal scouting mission. They never returned. A few months
ago, Lord Addison tasked me to investigate, with a Century of Riders,
to see what happened. When we got there, the island was... different. It
was as though every shadow, every bush and hill, had evil things
cloaked within.
"When we reached the remains of the fortress, they
had been rebuilt. Its gates forged of pure black iron. The ramparts
blood-stained. And dangling from the left gate, almost like some sick
souvenir, were the 40 helmets of the Century. When the gates opened...
aish, it was like the gates of hell itself opening, with its forces
charging out to meet us." The man shuddered, and his wife
sympathetically caressed his hand encouragingly. Eothain could see in
his eyes that he was on the border line, between his life as a Rider,
and his full-time occupation of being a father and husband to his family
and wife. He seemed like he had seen much evil in his days, but
whatever happened on Iona had terrified him beyond all his battle
horrors. Mrs. McGordon took the silence as an opportunity.
"Alright,
the lot of ye, story-time's over. Now, tomorrow's a big day for all of
ye, the first day of group training session. You all rest up well, else
Gwaine will be awful hard on you during drills." With that, the cloud of
younger siblings drifted off with murmurs of "G'nigh' mum'n'da" and
headed off to bed. Looking back at Mrs. McGordon still trying to comfort
her shell-shocked husband, Aidan led Eothain out through the kitchen to
a spiralling stony staircase, leading her up through the levels of the
tower, passing by a heavily-stocked armory, a sparring room, and several
bedrooms, before they reached the door at the top of the stairs,
decorated with a circular Celtic knot engraved into the door. As Aidan
pushed open the door, she smiled apologetically.
"Now, this won't
be what you're probably used to, but Ma figured you could use some
company. Sorry 'bout the mess." The room, like the rest of the tower,
was circular. The windows were narrow, but widened inwards, leaving room
for maneuvering with a bow to attack marauders below. Standing against
the walls, in between the window slots, was a small bookshelf, a large
iron-banded chest, presumably for clothing, and a four-legged stand,
with her furca latched into it, acting as a clever stand for
her armor. In the center of the small room, two narrow cots stood, their
sheets neatly tucked in and cleaned. Eothain smiled in astonishment,
and stepped inside, letting her pack drop at her feet with a clatter of
steel plates. She was home at last.
