The Chronicles of Wyrden: In the blink of an eye (part 1)

Bala Gara was a small village on the coast of the peninsula known as the Raven’s Claw, this jutting grey outcropping of rocks were constantly abused by a harsh unforgiving sea and it had over the years turned the shoreline into a jagged talon-like curve that still fought against the harsh tides and stormy waters. The village was unremarkable and eked out a tiny life at the western edge of the continent, separated from the rest of the Claw by a tall range of mountains that dominated the eastern ridge and were known by some as the Yavols.

The Yavols prevented direct trade and the village became highly self-sufficient, providing for itself and free from the watchful eye of the rest of Hestonia, including the ever-present Church of Progression, a hundred year old order who had been tasked with the reclamation of these heathen lands from superstition and magic. They worshipped a god known only as the One God of the Infinite Machine and this being was as indifferent to their prayers as an engine is to the understanding of a heart and soul.

Yet within the coddled walls of stone and under the thatched rooftops, there were those who dreamed of another life beyond the safety of their village and beyond the grey teeth of the mountain range that seemed to look down with a disapproving kind of rocky silence. Late at night Hanna Astara used to dream of flying in a wind-ship, far, far away from Bara Gara and over the horizon, she used to think of herself as a dashing noblewoman replete in the finest of clothes and dancing with the most popular gentry of the time.

She would imagine all of these scenarios and collapse into a restless sleep, her dreams became fragments of the fantasy world that this ten year old child could conjure, lit with daring adventures and incredible escapes in the nick of time. These tiny hopes gave her a much larger hope that one day she might soar beyond the house and hearth, become something much more than the daughter of a fisherman and his wife, the butcher.

An early morning sun brought with it the first rays of blood red light; a soft breeze from the sea carried the smell of fish and the tang of salt on the air to waken the girl from her latest dream. She stretched and cracked a yawn, threw her arms out wide and let the sheets slip off her; the nightgown she wore was a heavy thick woollen garment and was slightly damp with sweat from the humid night. Hanna rubbed her eyes and padded over to the mirror, she gave her reflection a brief glance and found a wooden handled brush – it was nothing like the pearl handled, golden gilt comb she had been smoothing through her hair in the dream.

“Hanna,” bellowed a voice from below her, it was her father, Matthan. “I need you to hurry up and get dressed, have you forgotten your aunt is coming to visit?”

His voice snapped her out of the daydream, imaginary courtiers fell away and were replaced by the shabby wooden walls, the slightly yellowed curtains and the single dressing table with a cracked mirror held barely upright in a rickety wooden stand.

“Coming father,” Hanna replied and tugged the brush through her blonde hair, it caught several times and she soldiered on. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

She dressed quickly enough and threw on her shirt and skirt; she really wanted some new clothes. Her garments were slightly frayed and the green skirt did not really match with the yellow shirt. Hanna could blame it on the village life, it was tough and the chores she had to do had long since given her a mild form of arthritis in her left hand, her beautiful fingernails had been bitten down to the quick almost. A habit formed whilst she lay on her bed worrying on how best to please her father. She had not gravitated well to the fisher trade, being somewhat clumsy and after taking off the first finger of her left hand when she tried to emulate her mother, they decided it would be best if she cleaned up and mucked out animals.

This particular job she didn’t mind awfully much, she was fond of animals and often talked to them more than people. She had a particular fondness for horses.

She made her way down the stairs and her slightly oversized shoes clattered against the wooden slats. When she finally reached the kitchen, the stern face of her aunt was there to greet her. Both mother and father flanked her; the white-haired woman looked somewhat like a queen with two royal subjects either side of her. Aunt Doria was a sour faced older woman, she had narrow features and there was something about her eyes, pure specks of jaded green that unnerved the girl when she looked at her (something she tried not to do often). Her portly frame was barely poured into a badly designed corset and a skirt of wine red made the woman look more like a red lantern girl, than a matronly aunt.

“She’s still not married then?” the nasal tones of the woman floated into Hanna’s ears as the girl entered, she bobbed the barest whisper of a curtsey and then waited in the doorway.

“No,” her father narrowed his eyes imperceptibly. “None of the village lads are really all too fond of her; she’s somewhat of a plain girl really.”

“Yes, yes,” Doria drawled. “I can see that, not even some kohl and lip rouge would make this one into a fine work of art. I don’t know where you went wrong.”

“I think she’s pretty enough as she is,” her mother said and remained however at Doria’s side. “She might flower yet.”

The elder woman heaved her bosom in that corset and Matthan heard it strain, he gave a visible wince at the sound and then motioned the young girl to sit down, “Come on dearheart,” she hated that nickname. “Join us; we need to talk a bit about some things.”

Hanna didn’t like the sound of that and she reluctantly pulled up a stool, she looked into her mother’s bright blue eyes and fair face. She saw only the barest shred of emotion there; it was as if Kara was distancing herself from the girl.

“What’s wrong?” Hanna asked softly.

Aunt Doria looked as if she was about to reply and Matthan put his hand on the woman’s shoulder, “I’ll handle this,” he answered and it seemed to mollify her.

Her father frowned a little and he said softly, “You know how you aren’t very good as a fisherwoman, or as a butcher. Well,” he searched for the easiest way to say this. “Without trade between us and the rest of Hestonia, we rely on everyone in the village pulling their fair share of the weight.”

Hanna looked at him with deep brown eyes, this wasn’t sounding good at all, “Yes father,” she said sullenly.

“Your aunt is offering us a tidy sum of monies for your help dearheart,” Matthan said and tried to smile, he knew the family were in a dire need of the ikons, “she wants to take you with her to Mistvale and have you assist with a business she runs there.”

Hanna blinked a little, they were selling her? This caused the girl to choke up slightly, she fought back the tears though because as much as she despised Doria, this was the perfect chance to go beyond the walls that had been her home for the last ten years. If her mother and father truly needed the money and she was a dead weight, she would have to go along with this plan.

A single tear slipped down her right cheek and she clenched her fists under the table, her ragged fingernails dug into the skin slightly, “I’ll do whatever you need me to do, to keep this family afloat,” she replied, a rather adult response from such a young woman.

Aunt Doria was marginally impressed and she thought for a moment, perhaps there might be a shred of hope for this stripling after all. Her father smiled softly and her mother bit back against a wave of tears, as much as she didn’t want to do this and loved Hanna a great deal – it was outlined to her by the persuasive aunt as the only way. The larger woman shuffled in her seat and rubbed her hand under her nose.

“Well said,” she replied after a short while. “You’ll pack your things and leave with me on the only way across the mountains.”

“A windship,” Hanna replied hopefully and for once in all of this her eyes almost lit up. “Is it a windship?”

“Oh no, no,” Doria said and smiled a crooked smile. “There’s no facility for one of those here.”

“Oh,” Hanna sighed a little and picked her fingernail with her thumb under the table.

“It’s a hot air balloon,” the aunt watched the young girl’s reaction now, Hanna’s eyes took on a look of interest and she perked up again.

“Almost as good!” she blurted out and then snapped her jaws shut.

“Quite,” Doria answered and her steely gaze travelled from mother to father before it settled back on the young girl. “I don’t see you running to get packed young lady?”

Hanna blinked and it finally sank in, she was going to leave the village. It might be in the company of her rotten old aunt, but she was going to leave Bala Gara, all the heartache from the village boys and her snotty peers. She didn’t quite understand how much of a pivotal moment this would turn out to be; even right then she had no knowledge of the machinations of fate that cranked on in the background, shaping her life’s path as the cogs of the universe ground on. Her bottom lip trembled a little and she turned from the table to walk slowly back up the stairs.

“Thank you for this Doria,” Matthan said and moved from where he was standing, he poured a measure of tea into a wooden mug, sweetened it a little and then drank deeply from the beverage. It had been standing a little too long and it was akin to a broth-like soup. “I really need to stop letting the tea brew for too long.”

Doria gave a snort and shrugged her shoulders, “I might as well use her for something,” she said snottily and her eyebrow rose. “Perhaps with a little training she might even do as second best for one of the clients who are not so picky.”

“Are you suggesting that my daughter joins your whorehouse as a worker,” Kara’s voice rose a little. “If you are, then, our opinions on the matter differ.”

“Shut up Kara,” Doria replied and waved the woman away with a flick of her hand. “It’s one of the oldest professions, better than mucking out pigs, chopping up meat or gutting fish,” the elder woman smiled thinly. “Or are you jealous that your daughter could make more ikons by lying down, than you can by selling your poorly cut slices of barely fed pig and cow?”

Kara opened her mouth to speak and Matthan waved his hand sharply behind Doria’s head, “It’ll be just fine Doria, thank you very much for interceding on our behalf, we’re very grateful for what you’re going to do for us and our daughter.”

“I should think so,” the stuffy woman replied with a huff in her voice.

Kara bit her tongue and gave her husband an acid glare; she turned her back on them both and then stormed out of the room. She’d go and tend to these poorly fed pigs and cows, miserable old bitch. The door slammed with enough force to unseat a couple of pottery ornaments, one that Hanna had brought for her mother. Matthan was quick to grab it and put the shards in a drawer; he’d try and fix those later on.

Aunt Doria sat there with a supercilious smile on her lips and gave a little ‘tut’ as Kara stormed out, “You need to teach that wife of yours some manners, the lash is good for that.”

“Enough Doria,” he finally had the guts to say. “You can do whatever you want in your establishment, here, we’re the law.”

“Lax as it is,” she said snidely.

Hanna came downstairs at this moment with a tiny rucksack made from badly stitched leather; she dragged with her a small raggedly eared crudely made toy cat. Doria looked at the girl and shuffled her feet under the table, put her hands down on the wood and heaved as she stood up. Matthan heard the table creak a little and he gave a wince.

“Where’s mother?”

“She’s out feeding the animals, so they don’t starve,” her father answered and his look dared the elder woman to say anything in reply.

Aunt Doria gave the barest of nods and started to move through the door, “Come then,” she waved a hand. “It’s time to go, kiss your father goodbye.”

She looked at Matthan, ran up to him and gave him a tiny hug, no kiss however. Hanna dragged herself towards the door and didn’t look back, she walked out into the bright clean air and took a deep breath, she so wanted to run back into the house and hide from them all. But, this was a chance she had to take. Her mother was there tending to three of the pigs, she knelt down in the muddy floor and tossed grains from a sack into the troughs.

“Bye mother,” Hanna called from where she stood and then turned her back on the woman, if they were going to send her away, the last thing Kara needed was a crying child on her conscience – so Hanna made that choice for her. “I’ll see you when I can.”

Kara didn’t look at her daughter; she cried and was thankful that the sound of the gorging pigs covered up her sobs.

Aunt Doria shuffled along the small dirt track and lifted up her nose at the various rickety homes, small stone hovels and homes of these people. They were so simple and so utterly without refinement, and the smell, oh the smell. It would take her servant girls six washes to be rid of that stench; she would probably need at least three baths to wipe the memory of Bala Gara from her body.

So the elder woman and her young charge walked down the small road, silently, neither said a single word and they were observed by all the villagers. Children who were playing by the road side stopped, stared and some of them said unkind things about Hanna. She ignored them, threw back her head and said in a loud voice.

“Come along Auntie Doria, these boys and girls are beneath our notice,” she lifted up the cat into her arms and put her best foot forwards towards her waiting destiny.

The aunt couldn’t help smile at that, either the girl was a flowering actress or she might actually be able to teach her something. Perhaps in that moment there was a bond created between the two. Over time it might grow into a tiny amount of fondness. Hanna could only hope, like it or not, Doria was now her family and her old life was about to be left behind.