‘Dad!’
Oskar threw his fists against the door as hard as he could.
‘Dad!’ he screamed again. ‘Dad!’
The turmoil and shouting from before was gone. It had become silent.
Oskar sprinted out the backdoor towards the kitchen from the outside. The front door had been chopped into pieces, the ground turned into a pool of muddy footsteps. His heart hammering in his throat, and his mouth dry, Oskar pushed the broken door up and entered the kitchen. He clutched his necklace in a closed fist against his chest: the necklace his dad had given him long ago. It burned against his fingers. A body lay splayed out on the floor by the kitchen table.
‘Dad!’ Oskar said, but as he approached it became obvious that the lifeless shape wasn’t his father. Relief surged into his stomach, not quite quenching the sick feeling of fear still present there. He kneeled next to the man and pulled on his cloak to turn him around, but he was too heavy. Face down, the man wheezed into the wooden floor boards. It looked like he was conscious. His eyes rolled up to look at Oskar, They looked hazy, unfocused.
‘Where is my day?’ Oskar said.
The man did not answer. Blood trickled out the side of his mouth. Then he died.
Oskar lurched back and squeezed the necklace. He lost balance and fell on his bum. He had never seen someone die before, but he had seen enough dead farm animals to know that this is what had happened to this man. In the silence after the wheezing had stopped, Oskar’s heart rate settled and he felt slightly ashamed of the panic in his voice. He was ten now; he should know better than to scream like that.
A muffled sound of hooves thudded gently outside. Oskar snapped back to his senses, alert again. He jumped to his feet. What should he do? The house was located far from the village. People only passed by this way to visit his Fenn, his father. The sound of horse hooves against gravel grew louder. Had someone come to help? Or was it the evil men from before, returning? Oskar took no chances. He grabbed the sword from the floor. A familiar face appeared in the shattered doorway. Billie, a family friend.
‘What in the world is happening here?’ Billie exclaimed in shock. With three long strides, he walked over to Oskar and said, ‘Let that sword go!’
Oskar dropped the sword to the ground, as if he had burned himself on it.
Billie kneeled next to the dead man. He touched a small mark on the coat, embroidered in black thread. It resembled two mountains next to each other, or perhaps a set of fangs.
‘They took him,’ Billie whispered and bowed his head with closed eyes. He sat there for a while without saying anything.
‘Billie. What is happening? Where is my dad?’
At first it looked like Billie didn’t hear the question, but then he said: ‘It’s Sonktianth. The Spellcaster. You have heard about The Spellcaster, right?’
Oskar nodded. ‘I think so. He is the king’s friend or something.’
Billie looked around as if making sure no one was listening, then said with a low voice: ‘Sonktianth was chief of the Northern towns after his father before him, but a few years ago the king employed him as adviser. Sonktianth has gained more and more power lately. His villages are still loyal to him and word has it, he has expanded his power and now controls the entire North and West realm. Granted, there is mostly scattered houses and fields in those regions, but -‘ a worried frown darkened Billie’s face, -‘ I have never heard about his soldiers moving this far South. I can’t believe he would send them here. It’s a bold move. The king might turn the blind eye to some peasants in the North, but this… How many of those were there?’ Billie looked at the dead man. It was the most Oskar had ever heard Billie talk: Billie who lived by himself, who always kept to himself and listened more than he talked. It frightened Oskar, but he pulled himself together, met the other’s eyes and said: ‘At least ten.’
‘Did you see them?’ Billie said.
‘No. But I know my dad. He is really good with a sword. Any less than that and he would have beat them.’
‘Fenn is indeed good with a sword, He always was,’ Billie said, his voice soft. ‘We have to leave right away.’ He got to his feet. ‘We have to hurry. Fetch yourself a change of clothes, I will pack the rest. Go saddle Zino, as soon as you are ready. I will meet you outside the stable.’
Oskar did as he was told. He ran to his room and paused just long enough to wonder when he would be back. Not too long, he decided. It didn’t take him long to pack a change of clothes, his pocket knife, his travel mug, and his favourite knitted blanket, the one his mother Ruby had knitted for him before he was born. He had never known his mother. He had a small painting of her in a frame on his bedside table that everyone said looked just like her. She had long, brown curls, just like Oskar’s own hair, except his only reached a bit over his ears. Her eyes were kind, even in the picture, and she had a dimple on the right side of her face from smiling crookedly. Should he maybe bring the picture? No, they wouldn’t be gone long, and he didn’t want to risk losing it. He ran all the way to the stables, and saddled Zino without cleaning him. The horse stepped anxiously from leg to leg, sensing something was up. Oskar pulled him out into the courtyard and had to try twice before getting into the saddle, as Zino danced around nervously.
Billie was already mounted on his golden brown mare, Sun, as strong and sturdy as Billie himself. ‘You are fast. Come on, let’s go before we risk running into more riders.’ He kicked Sun into a steady trot. Zino galloped after her by the lightest touch of Oskar’s heels. They were going North, but that was all Oskar could tell.
They had been riding for about an hour, and the village of Karvaby had almost disappeared behind them. They headed up the mountain side, and the horses breathed heavily with the effort. Oskar realised Billie had not told him much about what was happening, or what was going to happen next. He didn’t have time to ask. Not far away, dark shapes appeared against the mountain side. Riders.
‘They must be the ones who took your father.’ Billie slowed his horse down to a brisk walk. ‘Looks like there are four or five.’
‘How do you know they took him and didn’t just -‘. Oskar couldn’t finish his sentence.
‘It would be rather strange to bring a dead body back to where they came from, no? Besides I think I see him, tied across one of the horses.’ Billie was whispering now. Sound could travel far in open land, if the wind was just right, Oskar knew as much. The riders disappeared behind the top of a hill.
‘Let’s follow them. I cannot take them on alone in an open space like this, and also it wouldn’t be any good. Sonktianth would just send more soldiers, if he’s that intent on getting Fenn…’ Billie’s voice became lower and lower, as they walked the horses up the hill. At the top of the hill, Oskar was met with empty widths of grass dancing synchronously in the wind. They halted their horses.
‘Where did they go?’ Oskar said, his voice small. He stood up in the stirrups. Nothing. The landscape was deserted. He turned around to ask Billie, but the question stuck in his throat. Riders came up behind them, galloping at them, swords raised. Billie followed Oskar’s gaze and tensed.
‘Get back!’ he roared. Oskar wasn’t sure if it was at him, or the riders. Billie drew his sword. Oskar felt naked. He didn’t have a sword, only his tiny little pocket knife. It wouldn’t do much good here. Chaos. Horses and riders everywhere. Billie chopped at the riders, with heavy strokes but no technique or precision. Oskar froze in his saddle, holding on as Zino tried to turn and run.
‘Run, Oskar!’ Billie screamed.
There were too many riders. One galloped in a circle around the chaos, trying to get Billie from the back. Another rider stayed at the periphery: he balanced a body. It lay across the neck of his horse. Oskar recognised the green-black jacket and small, muscular frame: Fenn, his father. Oskar snapped out if his immobility. He didn’t know what to do, only that he had to do something. Desperation drove him. He kicked Zino, and the horse charged straight into the fight. It caused confusion. One of the horses pranced, throwing off its rider. The horse with Oskar’s father jumped to the side, and the rider had to struggle to keep both the unconscious man and his horse stable. Oskar made Zino rear, which confused the riders even more. He charged forward into the clump of horses, cutting off Billie from his attackers.
The rider who carried Oskar’s father pulled at the reins, turned his horse, and galloped away from the fight. Oskar pursued. Zino had rested for many days and did not have the extra burden of carrying two full-grown men. Within seconds, Oskar had caught up with the other rider. Perhaps he could somehow cut off the horse by riding in front of him…
His father’s face was pale, and his hair sticky with blood. Oskar felt sick looking at it. The other rider slowed down his horse very suddenly. By the time Oskar saw it, it was too late. He pulled hard on Zino’s reins, and tried to keep his eyes on the situation, but the rider had already disappeared behind him. Oskar turned in his saddle just in time to see a large, shiny sword come crashing towards him.
‘No!’
Oskar dodged the blow, but lost balance. The sound and movement from the falling sword spooked Zino into motion. Oskar desperately grabbed a bunch of hair between his hands, but the rider swung at him again, and the only thing he could do was throw himself out into the open space. A sharp pain in his leg told him he hadn’t been quick enough. Then he was flung down into the mud beneath thundering hooves of horses. The last thing he heard before passing out was someone screaming.
Oskar woke up with a very strong, intense pain in his leg, and headache. His eyelids shivered. All he saw was a piercing white light.
‘Oskar? Can you hear me?’
Oskar blinked and tried to focus his gaze. There was a blurry figure above him, against the bright white light. Strange.
‘Oskar? Say something.’
‘What do you want me to say,’ mumbled Oskar without really recognising his own words.
‘Oh thank all the Spells of the world. You are awake! We have to keep moving. It’s not safe here. They probably already sent more riders after us.’
‘What?’ Oskar’s head swam. He could feel on the bumpy surface under the blanket and the sharp wind that they were still outside. His memory was foggy.
‘What happened?’
‘There is no time to explain. We have to get you back in the saddle in a hurry. It’s too dangerous here, and too cold. We will have to take a little detour to a small town not far from here. At least then we avoid the mountains… Your leg also needs tending to, it could get infected.’ The large hands grabbed Oskar’s shoulders and pushed him up into a seated position, then all the way up on his legs, Oskar could not support his own weight. Strong arms lifted him into the saddle. Oskar closed his hands around the thick black mane in front of him.
‘Zino,’ he mumbled. He felt a hand on his shoulders, supporting him so he wouldn’t fall.
Several hours later, they reached a small town. Oskar felt considerably clearer in his head, though still dizzy and motion sick, and his leg hurt terribly. The rider had struck him across the thigh, leaving a long gash. He avoided looking at it. But he could ride on his own, at least. Billie no longer needed to support him, and Zino walked calmly as if sensing its owner’s weakness. On the outskirts of the town, Billie stopped his golden mare.
‘It’s important that you don’t tell anyone your name, okay?’ Billie said with concern. ‘You mustn’t say where you’re from or who your father is. Or what we’re doing.’
‘Yes,’ said Oskar. His voice was hoarse after the long silence.
They rode into town. Billie aimed straight for the first inn on their way. Oskar leaned against the wall, trying to not look too sick. He didn’t like the concerned looks the inn keep was throwing his way. Soon Oskar was propped up in bed. The sounds outside his window were not unlike those he would have heard back home. It was the same birds whistling, the same wind moving tree branches, and the same rhythm to the voices talking softly. Billie talked quietly with someone at the door, a man, who proceeded to sit down on a chair next to Oskar’s bed. He pulled the cover away.
‘You don’t have to help,’ Oskar said. ‘I’m okay.’
The man shot him a sharp look. He was much older than Billie, his hair was greying and he had lots of wrinkles around his mouth, forehead and eyes. He didn’t look like the kind of person who liked to be argued with. He pulled Oskar’s trousers down, carefully lifting them free from the skin. Oskar felt the fabric pulling at the wound. He winced.
‘Lie still,’ the man said firmly, but not unkindly. The trousers lifted free from the wound and were dropped to the floor.
A memory sprung to life in Oskar’s mind from what now felt like another life, back in his village. Every spring, when the snow melted, Oskar’s father would mark off a space in the courtyard with rocks: a small arena for them to train throughout summer until the frost made it impossible again. His father had always been much better at sword fighting than Oskar. When he was younger, Oskar would get upset when his father hit him with the wooden swords, resulting in days of soreness and bruises. Then his father would laugh at him and give him a piece of sweet, dried fruit, but as the years went by, this had become more of a humiliation than a comfort. It had been a while since Oskar had truly felt the urge to cry. But he felt it now. Angrily, he bit his tongue and reminded himself that he had to be strong. For his father’s sake. Hadn’t his father just told him a few days earlier that he was proud of him? This made Oskar grip his necklace tightly and blink away the tears that were already almost dried up in his eyes. With renewed courage, he looked down at his leg. The gash drew a bright line from thigh to knee.
‘It’s long, but not very deep. He will have a scar but no lasting damage,’ the stranger said.
‘So he will be fine?’ Billie said.
‘He will be fine.’ The stranger proceeded to clean the wound with water. He eye dropped some liquid into it. It stung. Oskar bit down on his cheek. Then the man bandaged the wound. Oskar felt relieved to see the gash being hidden behind those clean, white strips.
The next morning, Oskar felt better. Billie woke him early. The sun had barely risen, but Oskar was used to it. He’d always get up early to take care of the animals and train. Sometimes, he would ride to town to play with Herb, the blacksmith’s son. He loved looking at the tools and goods in the smith’s workshop. Hammers so large he could hardly lift them, buckets full of arrow heads or nails. Axes. Horse shoes. Belt buckles. Knifes. Even the occasional sword.
Then there were the long, boring, icy winter days when snow trapped the entire town inside the valley, Billie would sometimes come over to have dinner with Oskar and Fenn. They were old childhood friends, Fenn and Billie, but Billie had not always lived closed by. He’d travelled the world for many years before settling in the village, or so Fenn had said.
‘Eat something,’ Billie said. They sat in the common room. The inn keep had served them some breakfast. Oskar pushed a spoon around in his oats, but he didn’t have much appetite. He thought about his father. A million questions burned inside him. Why was all this happening? Why had Billie gone after those riders? Why had they left home? What did Sonktianth want from his father?
He swallowed too much hot porridge, and it put uncomfortable pressure on his chest from the inside.
‘How do you know it’s this Sonktianth guy who’s behind all this? Couldn’t it be the king?’
‘Lower your voice a bit,’ Billie whispered. He leaned across the table. ‘Don’t talk so loudly about Sonktianth, not now that his soldiers might be looking for us. It was Sonktianth’s sign on the rider’s coat. The one your father… got. Rumour says Sonktianth is controlling the king but nothing is certain.’
‘What does he want with my father?” asked Oskar.
Billie chewed on his bun for a long time, seemingly buying himself some time. He finally washed it down with a gulp of water.
‘Your father is an educated man. Perhaps he knows things that could be useful to Sonktianth.’ Then he looked deep into his mug, apparently having forgotten all about Oskar. Oskar still sat there, waiting for a proper answer. ‘And what would that be?’
‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’ Billie shot Oskar a calculating and rather stern look, after which he turned his attention back to his food. Then he left Oskar to finish his food and went to get supplies and pack the horses.
By the neighbouring table, three men gossiped in an excited whisper. One wore a travel cloak, as if he had come in straight from the road. The others were dressed more like farmers, in rough hemp pants and oversized shirts. Oskar perked up his ears as he heard the king being mentioned.
‘I have heard that the king’s son is on his way here from Kramonia to kill his father,’ said one of the farmers.
‘War is brewing, is all I can tell you,’ the man with the travel cloak answered.
‘Against Kramonia?’ gasped one.
‘No idea,’ the traveller said. ‘I just know the country is swarming with soldiers, collecting taxes. There are also many stories about people who disappear and bodies that turn up but who are never collected by friends or family. It can’t be long before you’ll all start seeing it down here too.’
‘I don’t want to pay extra taxes,’ one of the farmers exclaimed, raising his voice a little.
‘Shhhh,’ the others hushed him.
Billie returned. Oskar was still only halfway through his porridge.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked. ‘We must leave before it gets too late.’
Oskar nodded and stood up. With a glance back at the whispering men, he left the inn.
The mist lay mysterious over the dewy ground.
‘This will be the last town we’ll see in a while,’ Billie said. ‘I have arranged provisions and woolen blankets. Are you ready for the long journey?’
‘To where?’ Oskar said.
‘To Aiviborg, the capital of the king and where Sonktianth resides. I cannot be certain that is where they are taking your father, but it is as good a guess as any.’
Oskar nodded bravely. ‘I’m ready.’
