ã€ŠHeir Apparentã€‹


 Prologue

    Heir Apparent

    Prologue:?

    The creaking door interrupted Visha Woad¡¯s prayers, and the repetitive thump thump thump of heavy boots on the hardwood floor drove away any fleeting desire of ignoring the intrusion and returning to her ministrations. She knew who was coming to visit; the only person who would dare make so much noise in this particular room was her patient¡¯s father.

    ¡°Good day, milord,¡± she greeted him before she had even started turning around in her chair.

    ¡°Good day, Healer Visha,¡± the Count greeted her. His normally smooth and cultured voice was heavy with fatigue, owing to the weight he bore on his broad shoulders. ¡°Has there been any change?¡±

    ¡°No, milord,¡± she regretfully informed him. Turning in her chair, she regarded him with sympathetic eyes. The late afternoon light shining through the nearby window fell directly on the man as he stopped near the foot of his daughter¡¯s bed. The Count¡¯s long, dark hair was beginning to turn grey at the temples, and twin trails of grey streaked through his short beard, bordering either side of his pointed chin. His steely grey eyes gazed down at her patient with sadness and love. The tenderness behind his eyes caused a wave of warmth to spread across Visha¡¯s chest and stomach.

    ¡°... I see.¡± Valens Salvorin, Count of Balreeve, reached forward and placed a hand on his daughter¡¯s still foot. Artesia, as usual, did not respond. She lay still and unmoving on her bed. The only indication that they weren¡¯t staring at a corpse was the slow rise and fall of her blanket-covered chest. ¡°Is there anything else that can be done?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Visha murmured, her head downcast. She stared at the carved wooden pendant she wore around her neck. The design on it was rather simple, unlike the badges of those in higher offices, but it had been lovingly sanded to a smooth finish. Different colored varnishes had been worked into the wood, bringing color and life to the image of Tycorin, the God of Health and Healing. The Bleeding God, her patron deity, who had opened his own veins and shared his life-giving blood with mortal Men, soothing their wounds and restoring their vitality.

    An act that she, in this particular case, had failed to do.

    ¡°The shivers stopped on the second day, and the fever on the third,¡± Visha recounted to Valens, who knew as well as she did how his daughter¡¯s treatment had gone. ¡°The rash has long since been cured, as have the hives. As far as I can tell, there is nothing wrong with her. And yet¡­ she will not wake.¡±

    ¡°Surely¡­ surely there must be something,¡± Valens asked, a twinge of desperation in his otherwise calm voice. ¡°Some potion or ointment, anything, that will wake her.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, milord, I¡¯ve tried everything I can think of,¡± Visha said, tears prickling at the edges of her eyes. The Count was, by all accounts as well as her own experience, a just and honorable man. No man, either noble or lowborn, could honestly claim that the Count had mistreated or taken advantage of him. Of everyone who had suffered under this plague, the Count and his daughter were perhaps the least deserving.

    Though, perhaps, the worst part for Visha was admitting that all of her carefully learned skill and Gods-given talent was not good enough to cure everything.

    ¡°... I see,¡± Valens said as he bowed his head. With a deep and heavy sigh, he said, ¡°Then I suppose there is only one thing left to do.¡±

    ¡°What¡­ what is that, milord?¡±

    ¡°Pray.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Are you ready, my lord?¡±

    Feeling a bit of frustration, Valens turned away from his saddlebags and looked towards the man who spoke to him.

    ¡°I seem to be missing the jar of lunar spirits, Lupis,¡± Valens told his companion, gesturing lightly at the saddlebags he had been searching through. ¡°Do you perhaps know where it has wandered off to, Captain?¡±

    ¡°I placed it in the cart before dinner, my lord,¡± Lupis replied. A large man, he stood head and shoulders over all but the largest of men, and was half-again as broad in the shoulders. His auburn hair was also beginning to turn grey, though he kept his face bare save for a rather impressive moustache. ¡°Everything is prepared, just as you ordered, sir.¡±

    Count Salvorin looked around the small courtyard in front of the castle¡¯s stables. A dozen of the castle guards, knights one and all, stood resplendent in their brigandine cuirasses, the overlapping metal plates polished to a brilliant shine. The County Guard numbered nearly one hundred, each man having been hand-picked by Count Salvorin himself to act as his personal guard, both on the field of battle, and here at Balfors Castle. Their arms and armor were all paid for out of the Count¡¯s purse, as was the custom for landless knights in the service of the landed nobility.

    ¡°Well then, let¡¯s be off,¡± Valens belatedly replied to his Captain of the Guard. Placing one foot in his stirrup, Valens grabbed the saddlehorn and hauled himself up, smoothly swinging his other leg over until he sat astride his destrier. Once settled, he used a skill long since learned out of necessity and projected his voice, shouting, ¡°Mount up!¡±

    The dozen knights obeyed, each of them easily hauling themselves into position on their saddles. It was one of the other major advantages his knights¡¯ lighter style of armor afforded; they did not need a squire¡¯s assistance to mount their horses.

    Valens pressed his knee against his horse¡¯s flank, the well-trained charger turning away from the pressure as he had been taught. As this was not a war party, none of the knights bore the standard of the County, nor did they carry their lances. The only indication at all that these were the County Guard were the tabards each of them wore over their armor, bearing the coat-of-arms of the County of Balreeve; a gold pine tree set in a white circle on a field of red.

    The small mounted procession filed its way two-by-two out of the small courtyard enclosed by the stables, and into the main courtyard between the middle gates and the keep. A few dozen men-at-arms -not proper knights like the County Guard, but skilled soldiers none-the-less- in the employ of the Count milled about. Several were cheering on a pair of men duelling in the practice arena, while others shot at targets with bows and crossbows. Still more guarded the gates or patrolled the walls, performing their duties as required.

    The keep of the castle sat atop a large promontory overlooking the surrounding countryside. Long ago, before the fall of the Teranthian Empire, this promontory had been a wooden fortress used by the Imperial Legions during their northward expansion, and had remained a strategically important fort in the region. Castle Balfors had been built on the ruin of the old hillfort centuries after the Cataclysm, once civilization began to return to the old Imperial territories.

    The top of the hill, at some point lost in the mists of history, had been levelled off. The steep, nearly impassable slopes made for a natural defensive barrier; indeed, a wooden palisade would have been sufficient to hold off all but the most determined assaults. As it was, though, several centuries ago the middle walls had been built out of packed earth between an inner and outer stone face. At nearly twenty feet tall and six feet thick, they were a formidable defense. Crenellations lined the top of the outer face of the wall, and large, round towers bristling with arrow slits lined the wall at regular intervals.

    Past the gatehouse, the dirt track turned to the right and descended the steep slope at an angle. It ran several hundred feet along the curve of the hill until it finally reached the bottom of the promontory and onto somewhat more level ground. Wooden houses and shops lined the dirt road, their daubed walls whitewashed, making the dark wooden tresses stand out in comparison. The largest houses, at three stories tall, were built closest to the road to the castle, with others growing shorter and shorter the closer one got to the outermost walls.

    The sole exception to that was the buildings nearest the central market square; the wealthy merchants who could afford to buy land near the square could also afford to construct larger buildings, most with the shops on the ground floor, and their living quarters on the upper floor.

    ¡°The stench is worse than usual,¡± Valens commented, rubbing at his nose. ¡°It hasn¡¯t been this bad since the siege¡­¡±

    ¡°Aye, milord,¡± Lupis, who had been riding next to Valens, acknowledged.

    Valens eyed a woman, kneeling just outside the door to one of the larger houses. She was dressed in rough clothing dyed black, and wore a similarly colored shawl over her hair and face. Her arms were wrapped around herself and she rocked back and forth, her mournful wails mixing with the other cries of despair rising up around the city.

    ¡°What is the latest count?¡± Valens asked, keeping his voice low, barely audible over the sound of the horses¡¯ hooves and the wailing mourners.

    ¡°Nearly a thousand,¡± his Captain replied. Lupis shook his head and made a religious gesture, as if to ward off the illness.

    ¡°Marwyn have mercy,¡± Valens sighed, swearing on the name of the Goddess of Mercy and Justice, and shook his head. ¡°It seems as if this plague will never abate.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps, perhaps not,¡± Lupis shrugged. ¡°Only the Gods know.¡±

    Valens scratched at his beard, snagging a louse between his thumb and index finger, killed it, and flicked the body away. ¡°As if the lice weren¡¯t bad enough,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°Haven¡¯t seen it this bad since the last campaign,¡± Lupis acknowledged. ¡°And it¡¯s always bad on campaign.¡±

    ¡°Aye, that is true,¡± Valens agreed. ¡°But I have never seen it this bad in a city not under siege before.¡±

    Lupis remained silent for a moment as the procession edged their way through the market square. Normally, stalls would line the large, open space as travelling merchants or countryside freeholders displayed their wares to the city¡¯s populace. It was not so today, nor had it been so since rumors of plague had spread to the surrounding areas. Travelling merchants passed by rather than stop, and freeholders elected to remain at home rather than risk catching the illness.

    Instead, a large pyre burned at the center of the square. A few unfortunate workers, tired and dirty and covered in soot, threw the newly dead onto the pyre, in the hopes that burning the bodies would halt the spread of the disease. Families gathered in small groups and mourned those they had lost; perhaps when the plague had abated, they would craft a small gravestone and place it on sanctified grounds, where the dead were typically buried. Given the present circumstances, though, the unusual practice of burning the dead would have to suffice.

    ¡®Better the stench of burning flesh than the stench of rotting flesh,¡¯Valens admitted to himself. While burning flesh turned the stomach and lingered wherever one went, it was infinitely preferable to the sickening rot of a mass grave; he had seen and smelled those more than once during the last war, and he fervently prayed he would never have to see one again.

    ¡®Though, the rumors of Kymringr raiders may make that wish impossible¡­¡¯Valens admitted to himself.

    The County of Balreeve was far from the coast, perhaps a little more than one hundred and fifty miles, and nestled in one of the few wide passes in the Gaelspine Mountains. That did not mean that his fief was immune to potential Kymringr raids. The peoples of the Frozen Coast raided where and whence they could each summer, after planting season but before the harvest. During winter, their seas were so choked with ice that not even their famously seaworthy shallow-draft ships could navigate across the Northern Sea.

    It was those ships, though, that allowed the Kymringr to raid as far inland as they could. During his grandfather¡¯s time, a force of five ships and nearly two hundred warriors had sailed up the Balan river and landed not fifty miles from Castle Balfors. They had managed to raid and burn several small villages, and when his grandfather called his banner-men and levies, the raiders had fled back to their ships and sailed back down the river with their ill-gotten gains.

    ¡°What troubles you so, milord?¡± the Captain asked, interrupting Valens¡¯ musings. ¡°... is it your daughter?¡±

    ¡°No. Well, yes, of course I¡¯m worried about her,¡± Valens corrected himself. ¡°But my thoughts were on the Kymringr.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Pirates, raiders, and overall scum, Kyril take ¡®em,¡± Lupis swore darkly. ¡°Attacking the defenseless, and fleeing at the merest hint of a fair battle.¡±

    ¡°True enough,¡± Valens chuckled darkly; there was no lost love for the Kymringr in the Kingdom of Scael; not since they had burned down the capital city a century or so ago, destroying the main Temple of Velieris there. Even their merchant traders were not allowed in the Kingdom¡¯s ports. ¡°Still, I¡¯ve heard unsettling rumors of late¡­¡±

    ¡°What rumors, milord?¡±

    ¡°That the Kymringr have been united under the rule of a single King once more,¡± Valens said, making a gesture of prayer to Valieris. ¡°I do not know whether these rumors are true, but there have been fewer raids these past few years.¡±

    ¡°I doubt there is any truth to the rumor,¡± Lupis shook his head. ¡°It took a living legend of the likes of Thorven the Great to unite those savages before, and he was the chosen of Angelor, God of War.¡±

    ¡°That does not mean another cannot do the same.¡±

    Lupis remained silent as the procession passed through the outer gate. The few houses that had been built outside the walls were all universally smaller and less well-kept than the ones in the city proper, with the exception of the traveler¡¯s lodge and the brothel next to it; per custom, those were to remain outside the city limits.

    ¡°All the royal families of Scael, Wittan, Fyne, and Louche are descended from Thorven the Great, and half of the great houses of the Electorate can trace their lineage back to him,¡± Valens continued. ¡°Even my family has some small portion of Thorven¡¯s blood in them.¡±

    ¡°With all due respect, milord, I¡¯ll believe it when I see it,¡± Lupis grunted, stubbornly resisting the very idea that the Kymringr could ever unite again. ¡°I¡¯m more worried about Wittan.¡±

    ¡°The King of Wittan is married to the King of Scael¡¯s sister,¡± Valens pointed out. ¡°There will be no war between our two kingdoms.¡±

    ¡°And yet, the Duke of Saxebury has been feuding with your liege-lord, the Duke of Caent,¡± he countered, perhaps a bit more argumentatively than a man of his station should. ¡°I heard rumors that the Lord Justice of Wittan has called a Thyng.¡±

    ¡°Where in the Gods¡¯ names did you hear that?¡± the Count asked, surprise written across his face. A ¡®Thyng¡¯ was a sacred meeting, overseen by a priest or priestess of Marwyn, meant to arbitrate the end of hostilities. Each side would argue their case, and the priest or priestess would render judgement. If one or both sides refused the judgement, it left only one recourse; war.

    ¡°A merchant fresh from Reeveport, just before the plague struck,¡± the larger man replied, his smirk lifting his bushy red mustache and pressing it against his nostrils.

    ¡°That is worrying,¡± Valens admitted, looking away into the growing gloom of twilight. ¡°The Duke of Saxebury is the second son of the King of Wittan; if it comes to war, his father will undoubtedly come to his aid.¡±

    ¡°Even worse, King Brogue may decide not to aid Duke Ambrose,¡± Lupis pointed out. ¡°It¡¯ll be the Duchy of Caent alone against the whole of the Kingdom of Wittan.¡±

    ¡°And us along with it¡­¡± Valens sighed. ¡°And a refusal on my part would be seen as a betrayal.¡±

    ¡°Aye, but such is the lot of a vassal,¡± the larger man quipped, slapping Valens¡¯ armored back with heavy blows, jostling the smaller man.

    ¡°Oof!¡± The Count was pressed against the saddlehorn, nearly draped against his charger¡¯s neck. With a joking protest, he cried, ¡°Unhand me, you lout!¡±

    Several of the Count¡¯s Guard, following behind the pair, chuckled their amusement.

    With the mood sufficiently lightened, the group descended into their typical ribauld jests as they followed the road to the west, following a winding path up the steep slope.

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    The torches flickered in their brackets every time a gust blew into the mouth of the cave. The half-dozen acolytes continued their mournful singing, the wind rustling their heavy robes. It was chilly, for late springtime, but it was to be expected; they were halfway up the mountainside, after all.

    Even so, Valens rubbed his hands together. They were shaking, partially from the cold, and partially at the prospect of what was to come. The anticipation and worry clashed in his gut, and he felt a rising nausea.

    ¡®Calm down,¡¯he chastised himself.¡®It¡¯s no worse than forming up for battle, and you¡¯ve stood bravely then. You can stand bravely now.¡¯

    With pursed lips, Valens dragged his eyes away from the chanting acolytes and looked around the small shrine. It had been built into a cave at some point in the mists of history, long before the Cataclysm and the fall of the Teranthian Empire, and those events had happened over a thousand years ago. Though the walls still appeared to be natural limestone, granite flagstones had been set in place throughout most of the cave¡¯s floor.

    ¡°It is almost time.¡±

    The voice coming from behind him startled Valens, and he quickly turned, one hand gasping the hilt of his sword. The old woman, her hair long, grey, and matted, was dressed in robes identical to the other acolytes, though an ornate sash wrapped from shoulder to waist indicated her status as High Priestess of Selatura, Goddess of the Moon.

    ¡°Have you prepared the sacrifice, my lord?¡± she asked, her voice thready and brittle from age.

    ¡°I have,¡± Valens nodded and gestured towards a pure white lamb held in the arms of his Captain of the Guards, Lupis.

    ¡°Very good. Place it on the altar,¡± she said, pointing towards the mouth of the cave.

    The waist-high slab seemed to have been carved from a single block of stone. Every surface of the dark grey granite had been polished to a mirror shine. A small raised lip, barely a thumb-length tall, lined the altar top, and a small groove had been carved into the smooth surface just inside the lip. A hole had been drilled in the groove on the side closest to the cave opening.

    At Valens¡¯ nod, Lupis placed the lamb on the altar. Though the poor beast struggled, its four legs were tied together. Aside from some bleating, it quickly gave up its struggles and lay still.

    ¡°I trust you know the rites?¡± the High Priestess asked.

    ¡°I remember them,¡± Valens reassured her.

    ¡°Good. Here, take this.¡± The priestess held out a dagger hilt first to the Count. The curved blade was as black as night and polished to utter perfection. There was no crossguard, and the hilt appeared to be made from ivory. Valens took the knife and balanced it in his palm; it was much lighter than he had been expecting.

    ¡°When the moon fully rises over the mountaintops, you may begin.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, High Priestess,¡± Valens absently said, most of his attention taken up by the blade.

    Turning his attention from the blade, Valens took his position at the Altar. He stood facing the mouth of the cave, pointing towards the east. It was a nearly cloudless night, with only a few faint whisps to obscure a few of the stars. The moon, not quite full, was beginning to peek over the mountain tops on the far side of the valley. Dozens, or perhaps hundreds, of orange lights could be seen spread across the valley floor; a large collection near the center of the valley was Castle Balfors and the surrounding town, while other, smaller collections were the many peasant villages that dotted the countryside.

    ¡®My home¡­ my family¡¯s legacy¡­¡¯he thought to himself.

    The Salvorin family had lived in this valley since before the Cataclysm. At least, that was what the family histories claimed. Generations of his ancestors had lived, worked, ruled, and died in this valley. Kingdoms and Duchies and lesser principalities had come and gone, and yet his family remained.

    ¡®And now, it is just myself, and my daughter¡­ my precious Artesia¡­¡¯

    The fickle fortunes of fate, at first felicitous and fitting, finally faded and fell, forsaking his family, fading fast as a fairy-light in the fog of the fens. War, illness, and accidental death had slowly pruned away the branches of his family tree, until only he was left. Valens parents, despite trying for years, had only managed to have one child. Valens own wife, Maven, had died in childbirth. And now, his only daughter, Artesia, lay on her deathbed.

    The damnable plague infesting his lands struck without warning. A sudden onset of fever and headaches, then an outbreak of rash, then finally delirium and death. The priests, with all their poultices, potions, and healing prayers could do little to fight the illness; after all, there were only so many potions and prayers to go around.

    ¡®Please¡­ Selatura, my family has revered you for generations. Please, hear my prayer.¡¯

    The tone of the singing acolytes changed. Their pace got faster, the men singing deeper and the women higher. The harmonies echoed throughout the cave, louder than the half-dozen acolytes should have been able to produce on their own. A high ringing sound began to resonate seemingly from between his ears; the sound of it set the hairs on the back of his neck on end.

    The light of the nearly-full moon, just now fully visible above the mountains, bathed the dark altar in an otherworldly glow. Flecks of color, like the stars on a moonless night, shone seemingly from within the stone itself.

    Following the ritual he had been taught as a young boy, Valens pressed the dagger against the lamb¡¯s neck. The acolytes held the final note to the sacred song, now singing so loud that Valens could feel the resonance in his chest. All at once, the acolytes fell silent, and in that moment, Valens drew the dagger away with a sharp swipe.

    Even as the lifeblood of the struggling lamb spilled onto the surface of the altar, Valens began his prayer.

    ¡°Hear me, O¡¯ Selatura, Lady of the Moon.¡± Valens¡¯ voice rang loud and clear through the cave, even as he kept his eyes locked on the moon. ¡°Hear me, Selatura, Bringer of Sleep. Hear me, my lady, Guardian of Dreams.¡±

    Holding his hand to the side, the High Priestess pressed the small bottle of Lunar Spirits into his hand. Glancing at the bottle just long enough to make sure that the cork had been removed, Valens began pouring the liquid onto the weakly twitching lamb on the altar. The sharp scent of pine sap and licorice, along with the acrid stink of alcohol, blended with the coppery tang of freshly spilled blood, the combined essence wafting through the cave.

    ¡°As in the days of old, I bring to you an offering, that you might turn your gaze upon me,¡± he continued. Dropping the now-empty bottle, he held out his hand. The High Priestess pressed one of the still-burning torches into his palm, allowing him to grasp the handle. ¡°May the offering please you, my Lady, and may the smoke carry my prayers to your ears.¡±

    Valens pressed the burning end of the torch to the lamb¡¯s body. The volatile Lunar Spirits quickly lit, and the hungry flames began consuming the offering. The acolytes began singing once more, the somber sounds softly echoing through the cave.

    Turning his gaze from the burning sacrifice, Valens bowed his head, and began to pray.

    ¡°My family has long been dedicated to your service, O¡¯ Selatura,¡± he began, his voice quiet. ¡°For generations, you have blessed us for our devotion. My family will always be grateful for that. I pray to you now to ask for a blessing that I have not earned. My daughter¡­ she lives, and yet she will not wake. I ask of you, please, release my daughter from the realm of sleep, so that my family line will not end with me. I beg this of you, my Lady.¡±

    The wind, which had been blustering about all night, suddenly stilled. A tingling ran down Valens¡¯ spine and goosebumps ran down his limbs. The burning sacrifice and all of the torches around the cave flared brightly, the flames climbing up, higher and higher, until they licked the arched roof overhead. Peering through the nearly blinding light of the burning flames, Valens watched as the fire consumed the offering in mere moments. As soon as the last speck of spilled blood on the altar was consumed, every flame suddenly extinguished all at once.

    Holding his breath, Valens watched, transfixed, as the billowing smoke swirled down from the ceiling and coalesced into a human shape. The silver light of the moon seemed to turn liquid, flowing into the forming figure, lighting it from within. Long, silvery hair flowed from head to waist. A robe with wide, billowing sleeves seemed to settle around the ephemeral image, and it twinkled like the night sky. The silvery moonlight glowing from within obscured the precise features of the Goddess¡¯s face, but there was no mistaking this goddess for any other.

    ¡°My lady!¡± he exclaimed, even as he dropped to his knees and bowed his head low. The whispering of cloth against cloth echoed through the suddenly silent cave, alongside the rattle of metal on metal, as everyone else bowed as low. Murmured echoes of ¡°My lady¡± and ¡°Selatura¡± slipped from the lips of everyone alike.

    ¡°My child¡­¡± the voice seemed to echo strangely in the cave. It was motherly and gentle, like a lullaby gently coaxing a young child to sleep.

    ¡°I have heard your prayer, Valens Salvorin,¡± the goddess continued. Valens felt a barely-there touch against his bare head. ¡°My most faithful follower¡­¡±

    ¡°Thank you, my lady,¡± Valens said, his voice quavering.

    Selatura¡¯s touch drifted down the side of his head and gently pressed against his chin. Valens lifted his head and turned his eyes to his goddess¡¯s face.

    ¡°I weep for you, my child,¡± she told him, her voice turning somber. ¡°If it were in my power to grant, you prayers would have already been answered.¡±

    ¡°But, my Lady¡­¡± Valens began, but hesitated. Did he dare contradict a goddess? For his daughter, though¡­ ¡°She¡­ Artesia sleeps but will not wake. Is the power over sleep and dreams not within your godly realm?¡±

    ¡°It is, Valens Salvorin,¡± she said, her voice soft and soothing, even as her hand pushed his long hair from his face. ¡°But, while Artesia¡¯s body sleeps, her soul has already departed this world. I cannot bring back the dead; such a thing is impossible.¡±

    ¡°Then-¡± Valens voice cracked as he choked back a sob. ¡°Then all is lost, and my family will die with me.¡±

    ¡°You are still young, Valens. You could yet take another wife¡­¡±

    ¡°No. I cannot,¡± Valens looked down and shook his head. ¡°I swore on Marwyn¡¯s name that I would take no woman other than my wife for as long as I live¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure that Marwyn would not hold you to your oath, now that your wife has passed on.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± Valens hesitated, shamefully looking away from the glowing goddess. ¡°Even if Marwyn would release me from my oath, I would know myself as an oathbreaker.¡±

    ¡°You truly did love your wife¡­¡± Selatura said with a sigh of resignation. ¡°Though¡­ there is one thing I could do.¡±

    Valens looked up at her, hope shining in his watery eyes.

    ¡°While I cannot bring your daughter¡¯s spirit back to the realm of the living,¡± she said, looking up at the roof of the cave. ¡°I could find another soul to take her place.¡±

    ¡°My Lady¡­ is that not¡­ forbidden?¡±

    ¡°My husband, Kyril, will allow it, with some stipulations.¡±

    ¡°What¡­ what stipulations, my Lady?¡± he asked.

    Selatura cocked her head, as if hearing something from a distance. A chill breeze swept through the cave, carrying with it the faintest hint of grave rot. Valens shuddered; the power of the God of Death was not something to be taken lightly.

    ¡°This¡­ trade must never be spoken of, and you will swear an oath on Kyril¡¯s name to that effect.¡±

    ¡°Yes, my Lady, I swear it, on Kyril¡¯s name.¡±

    ¡°Furthermore, the balance must be kept,¡± she continued. ¡°A soul for a soul. As you have served me in life, you will serve my husband in death.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± he paused and swallowed. The holy texts had little good to say about realm of Kyril or of his servants. If he agreed to this, he would forfeit eternity in Philosia, the land of paradise, for an eternity in Braxos. ¡°I swear it, my Lady, but¡­ but only if I am allowed to visit my wife in Philosia.¡±

    Selatura crooned and placed a hand to her chest. ¡°Your love for your wife deserves to be recorded in legend, my child. I will see to it.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, my Lady¡­¡± Valens took a deep breath and steeled his soul. ¡°I am ready.¡±

    Selatura cocked her head to the side, looking down at him. After a moment, she chuckled and patted him on the head once more. ¡°Oh, my child, you misunderstand; Kyril does not want your life now. When the Fates decree you life is done, only then will you begin your service to my husband.¡±

    Valens let out his breath, a tightness somewhere in his gut relaxing. ¡°Th-thank you, my Lady.¡±

    ¡°You are welcome, my most faithful follower.¡± Selatura stood to her full height, or at least her current form¡¯s height, and reached into one of her ephemeral garment¡¯s sleeves. When she withdrew her hand, she was holding a bottle, seemingly made of a dark, smoky, nearly opaque glass. She leaned forward and placed the open top against her cheek. A bead of liquid moonlight gathered at the corner of her eye, slid down her cheek, and into the bottle.

    When she pulled the bottle away and placed a stopper in the top, there was far more liquid light than could be explained by a single tear. Despite the darkness of the glass, it continued to glow with an internal light.

    ¡°When you return home, pour this into your daughter¡¯s mouth,¡± Selatura told him, holding the bottle out to him. Valens reverently took the bottle in both hands and hugged it close to his chest, as if he feared dropping it. ¡°After a day and a night, she will wake; on this, you have my word.¡±

    ¡°T-thank you, my Lady,¡± Valens nearly sobbed as he bowed so low his forehead touched the pavestones. ¡°I am forever in your debt.¡±

    ¡°Your family is precious to me, my child,¡± she said as the inner light filling her form began to fade and her hazy form began to dissipate. ¡°As long as my moon shines in the night sky, I will always be with you¡­¡±

    For several long moments after the image of the Goddess faded away, the worshippers in the cave remained still. The torches that had previously been extinguished flared to life once more, bringing a dim but warm glow back to the erstwhile temple. Eventually, though, the acolytes began to rise, one by one, and turned towards their respective duties.

    Valens did not move until the High Priestess placed a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, his gaze met hers. The old woman¡¯s otherwise passive face was betrayed by the light of fanaticism in her eyes, the intensity of which made Valens distinctly uncomfortable.

    ¡°My Lady has truly blessed you, my lord,¡± she said, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. ¡°What did she say? What message does she have for us, her faithful devotees?¡±

    ¡°You¡­ did not hear?¡± Valens asked, taken aback. ¡°But I¡­¡±

    ¡°We could all see your mouth moving, my lord, but not a word reached our ears once Selatura appeared.¡±

    ¡°Oh. I¡­ see.¡± He turned away from her, relieved that no one else heard his conversation with his patron deity. It felt too¡­ intimate, too personal to be shared with people he barely knew. ¡°Perhaps¡­ it is Her will that what was said remains for my ears only.¡±

    The old woman¡¯s face fell, and a slight frown tugged down the corners of her lips. ¡°Perhaps you are right, my lord. Alas, if only¡­¡±

    The High Priestess trailed off, seemingly staring at nothing in particular deeper in the cave. After a moment, she continued, saying, ¡°The trek back down the mountainside is dangerous in the dark. I will have guest rooms prepared for you and your men.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    With slumped shoulders, the old woman slowly shuffled deeper into the cave. Valens remained on his knees. The flickering torchlight sent odd shadows dancing across his downturned face, even as he stared at the twinkling light glowing from within the smokey glass bottle he held cupped in his palms.

 Chapter 1

    Chapter 1

    The scene of carnage was more than a bit surreal. After all, it¡¯s not every day that you see the aftermath of one¡¯s own fatal accident. Or one¡¯s own dead body, for that matter. I¡¯d always thought that the whole ¡®out of body experience¡¯ thing was made up, or at the very least some sort of hallucination caused by the brain shutting down, or something along those lines. I¡¯d never believed that a soul was real.

    I was rethinking those assumptions.

    The mangled remains of my Subaru could hardly be called a ¡®car¡¯ anymore. Rather, it more closely resembled those wrecks they show on drunk driving commercials. Even worse was the blood and offal spilling out of the crack between the driver¡¯s side door and the snowy ground.

    I stared at my mortal remains. Snowflakes sparkled under the light of the full moon as they fell all around me, slowly accumulating on the cooling metal. The 18-wheeler I¡¯d crashed into was laying on it¡¯s side in the ditch about a hundred yards further up the road. I watched, feeling more than a bit of relief, as the truck driver climbed out of the cab and made it down to the ground.

    ¡®At least my stupidity didn¡¯t kill anyone else¡­¡¯

    What else was I supposed to call it other than sheer stupidity? Doing 80 mph on a snowy highway in the dead of winter wasn¡¯t my smartest move. Definitely my last, though.

    ¡®I thought I could handle it¡­¡¯

    I mean, I was an experienced winter driver. I¡¯d grown up driving in snowy conditions, and the all-wheel drive and anti-lock brakes should have helped keep me stable. It didn¡¯t, though; not when I hit a patch of black ice while accelerating to get around the semi truck. Next thing I know, I¡¯m going sideways down the interstate, and then the nose of my car is sliding underneath the truck¡¯s trailer, and then¡­ crunch.

    It¡­ wasn¡¯t a pleasant way to go. Trust me.

    ¡°Well¡­ shit. Now what?¡± I asked myself out loud.

    The wind was starting to  pick up a bit. Not that I could feel it, mind you, but it was starting to blow some of the powdery snow around. The storm was finally clearing up, and had been for a while. The full moon was still somewhat low in the eastern sky, between the eastern horizon and the line of clouds moving further to the west. The thin ribbon of clear night sky was quite beautiful, considering the circumstances.

    A particularly strong gust picked up a fair amount of loose snow. I watched it swirl around for a moment. To my astonishment, the blowing snow converged together into an image, something of an illusion of a woman. Liquid moonlight seemed to flow into the image and light it from within, and a patch of the night sky seemed to wrap itself around her, until it appeared that the woman was wearing a robe made out of the night sky.

    I blinked my spectral eyes. The image remained.

    ¡°Huh. That¡¯s¡­ new.¡±

    ¡°I think you¡¯ll find I¡¯m rather old,¡± the woman¡¯s image replied.

    I looked around; a police car with flashing lights was pulling up to the scene of the accident. I was pretty sure they couldn¡¯t see me, since I was a ghost now, but they didn¡¯t seem to be reacting to the woman either. Maybe she was some kind of ghost too? Or maybe¡­

    ¡°Are you¡­ Death?¡± I asked, a bit hesitantly.

    ¡°No, child, I am not.¡± The illusory woman took several slow steps, closing the distance between us. ¡°I am Selatura, Goddess of the Moon. What is your name, child?¡±

    ¡°Levi Shriver,¡± I replied. ¡°And I¡¯m not a child; I¡¯m twenty-six.¡±

    ¡°I have lived so long that even the other gods are children to me,¡± Selatura replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. I couldn¡¯t see the specific details of her face through the silvery light shining from within her being, but I could see the faint smile she wore. ¡°Do not take it as an insult, child. It is not intended as one.¡±

    ¡°Call me Levi, then.¡±

    ¡°Very well, Levi.¡± The goddess appeared to look around at the scene. She approached the mangled remains of my car and ran her semi-spectral hand along one of the least damaged sections. ¡°I am always surprised at what you humans can accomplish. In a world without magic, your kind always finds ways to make the rules of the universe work to your advantage. Such wondrous machines¡­¡±

    ¡°... magic?¡± I asked a bit incredulously. Then again, considering I was talking with a being who claimed to be a literal goddess, maybe the idea isn''t so far-fetched.

    ¡°Mmm. Yes, magic. Most universes have it, you know,¡± she went on as she leaned in closer to inspect some part of the car. ¡°It¡¯s rather unusual to find one that doesn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve been to a few?¡± I asked. ¡°Different universes, that is.¡±

    ¡°Oh yes. Even a goddess needs a vacation every millenia or so,¡± she said with good humor.

    ¡°Is, uh¡­ is that what you¡¯re doing here?¡± I asked. ¡°On vacation?¡±

    ¡°No, I am not, though I may have to remember this place. It seems entertaining¡­¡±

    ¡°So, then¡­ what are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°Recruiting.¡±

    ¡°For¡­?¡± I asked, gesturing at her to continue. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    She looked at me, her head tilted to one side in curiosity. ¡°You know, you¡¯re awfully disrespectful for a dead mortal. I am a literal goddess! And yet, you speak to me as if you are addressing an equal. What makes you think you can act in such an uncouth manner?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ hmm. Let me see¡­¡± I hesitated. After a moment of getting my thoughts in order, I shrugged. ¡°Look at it this way. If you are a kind goddess, you won¡¯t mind being addressed so casually. My lack of reverence should be expected; I¡¯m not one of your worshippers, after all, and I lived most of my life as an atheist.¡±

    ¡°And if I demand your respect?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Then you¡¯re not the sort of goddess I¡¯d consider worshipping,¡± I told her rather bluntly. ¡°Respect is never given, it¡¯s earned. Otherwise, it¡¯s only fear.¡±

    She seemed to consider my words for a moment, tapping her chin with one finger. I wondered for a moment if perhaps I¡¯d gone a bit too far; if she was a genuine goddess, there¡¯s no telling what she could do to me.

    After several long moments, Selatura asked, ¡°If that is so, then how does one earn respect in your eyes?¡±

    ¡°Through action.¡± After a moment, I paused, and amended my statement. ¡°Through competent action. By taking on one¡¯s duties, and succeeding.¡±

    ¡°And what duties does a goddess have?¡± she asked, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

    ¡°Dunno,¡± I shrugged. ¡°Never met one before.¡±

    She laughed. It was a gentle laugh, ringing through the air like bells. Perhaps a bit motherly, as well; it had a certain gentleness to it.

    ¡°You are a strange mortal,¡± she told me with almost fondness. ¡°Foolish, perhaps, but honest. I can¡­ hmm, respect that.¡±

    I chuckled at her wordplay; it was one of my guilty pleasures in life. Or, in the afterlife, I supposed.

    She turned and looked at the mangled wreck of a vehicle I¡¯d died in. Gesturing at it, she asked, ¡°This was you?¡±

    Embarrassment and shame welled up in me, and I found I couldn¡¯t meet her gaze. ¡°... yeah, it was.¡±

    ¡°A tragic death then. An accident?¡± When I nodded, she continued. ¡°A shame you died so young. What did you do in life?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a¡­ I was a shipping manager for a factory.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. I suppose you often work this late at night?¡±

    ¡°No, not usually,¡± I shook my head. ¡°I got off work hours ago. No, I was on my way home from boxing practice.¡±

    ¡°Boxing¡­?¡± she asked, looking at me curiously.

    ¡°Ah¡­ a sport version of a fist fight.¡±

    ¡°Oh, pugilism. You were a pugilist?¡±

    ¡°Not professionally or anything, no,¡± I shrugged. ¡°Mostly just for fitness, but I fight in amateur tournaments once or twice a year.¡±

    ¡°For¡­ fitness?¡± she asked. ¡°Are your people not well?¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s not that. It¡¯s that my country is so wealthy even the poor can afford a lot of food,¡± I explained. ¡°That means that a lot of people are¡­ overweight.¡±

    ¡°How strange,¡± she mused. ¡°A nation where even the poor are rich.¡±

    I shrugged. On one hand, I could try to explain the complexities of modern life, and the various expenses even the poor had to pay, but I decided that would probably take up too much of her time.

    ¡°Are you leaving any family behind?¡± she asked. ¡°A wife, children?¡±

    ¡°Well, my parents and siblings, but no. No wife, no kids.¡±

    ¡°You never married?¡± she asked. ¡°Isn¡¯t twenty-six a little old to remain unmarried?¡±

    ¡°My mother certainly thinks so,¡± I snarked. ¡°I just¡­ never found the right partner.¡±

    ¡°I suppose I can understand your perspective,¡± Selatura nodded. ¡°After all, I did not marry my own husband until I was several millennia old.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t sure how to respond to that, so I chose to say nothing. Instead, I looked around. Several more police cruisers had shown up in the meantime, along with a fire truck and a pair of ambulances. The truck driver was wrapped in a blanket and sitting on the back end of one of the ambulances. Most of the police officers were setting out road flares and setting up roadblocks, but a couple were collecting evidence and taking photographs. I supposed they had to investigate my death to determine if anyone was at fault. I hoped the truck driver didn¡¯t catch any flack for my stupidity.

    ¡°So¡­¡± I broke the silence after a moment. ¡°What happens now?¡±

    ¡°Now? I suspect you¡¯ll soon be ferried to whatever passes for an afterlife in this universe.¡±

    ¡°... so there is an afterlife?¡± I asked. ¡°Can you tell me about it?¡±

    ¡°I am not permitted to say,¡± she said, looking away. I opened my mouth to ask further questions, but Selatura interrupted me before I could. ¡°Do not ask any more questions on this subject, Levi. Even the dead are not permitted to know until¡­ well. Until later.¡±

    ¡°... I see.¡± I frowned. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll probably be gone soon?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    I looked back at my mangled corpse, then up at the sky, before finally turning my gaze back on the goddess.

    ¡°Well, it was nice meeting with you, at least,¡± I said. I took a few steps towards her and held out a hand for her to shake. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth.¡±

    Selatura looked down at my hand, then back at me. For a moment, I was worried that she wouldn¡¯t take it, but my fears were unfounded. She took my hand in hers and gently squeezed it as we shook.

    ¡°It certainly was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Levi. Although¡­¡± she tightened her grip right as I began to withdraw my hand. ¡°I may have a proposition for you, if you are interested.¡±

    ¡°... that depends,¡± I said slowly. ¡°I¡¯ll want to know the details before I accept, you understand.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± she nodded. Finally, she let go of my hand. ¡°It is a bit of a long story, but I suppose we have time enough for that¡­¡±

    I shrugged and nodded.

    ¡°Many generations ago, the Salvorin family dedicated themselves to my service. For more than a millennium, they have faithfully worshipped me, built shrines and temples dedicated to me, and performed great deeds in my name. Even when most of their friends and neighbors chose to venerate the New Pantheon and began to disapprove of their dedication to me, the Salvorin family stayed true. In return, I have granted them many boons and blessings.

    In recent years, though, ill fortune, war, and illness has withered away at their numbers until only two were left; the elder, a man named Valens, and his daughter, Artesia. By yet another stroke of ill fortune, a plague descended upon their city, and young Artesia fell ill. Though healers did all they could to heal her body, and succeeded in that regard, poor Artesia¡¯s soul had already passed on.

    And so, Valens prayed to me and begged for my assistance. Alas, what he asked of me was beyond my power, for no god or goddess can bring back the dead; his daughter has passed on and cannot come back.¡±

    Selatura paused and wiped a silvery tear from her eye before it had a chance to roll down her cheek.

    ¡°However, there is one thing I could do,¡± she continued, her glowing eyes boring into mine. ¡°I can place another soul into her body, to take her place and become Artesia Salvorin in body, if not in soul.¡±

    ¡°... me,¡± I stated.

    ¡°Yes. You. If you are interested.¡±

    ¡°What would I have to do?¡±

    ¡°Swear an oath on your mortal soul that you will carry on the Salvorin family legacy, that you will worship me as Artesia¡¯s ancestors before her, that you will perform great deeds in my name, and that you will spread my religion as far and wide as you are able.¡±

    ¡°I will not force people to convert,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°I would consider that to be immoral.¡±

    ¡°I am not asking you to convert people at swordpoint,¡± she shook her head. ¡°Rather, I ask that you provide a shining beacon, an example of what my followers can accomplish, so that all may see the benefits of worshipping me.¡±

    I tilted my head to the side and considered the idea.

    ¡°And¡­ if I fail?¡± I asked.

    ¡°That depends. If you try to the best of your abilities and still fail, I will not punish you in any way,¡± she said. ¡°Only if you fail to try, or if you fail to give your best effort.¡±

    ¡®Well, it¡¯s certainly tempting,¡¯ I thought to myself. ¡®On one hand, I get a second chance at life. On the other hand, though¡­¡¯

    I wasn¡¯t particularly enthusiastic about taking on the life of a young woman during a time that, I surmised from Selatura¡¯s reaction to my car, was far less technologically advanced than I was used to. Even if there weren¡¯t any particular social restrictions to what I could or could not do, I would have to worry about hygiene. Women were particularly vulnerable to unsanitary conditions during day to day life, to say nothing about childbirth. And from the sound of things, I would probably be expected to ¡®carry on the family legacy¡¯ by having children at some point.

    ¡°... can I make a request?¡± I asked.

    ¡°You may,¡± Selatura nodded patiently.

    ¡°If I agree, will you let me keep my memories of this life, and is there a way you can give me the memories of¡­ what was her name? Artesia?¡± I asked, to which the goddess nodded. ¡°Let me keep my memories and gain her memories, and I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    ¡°Very well, it is agreed. Take my hand,¡± she said, holding her hand towards me. I took it, grasping it gently. ¡°Bring it to your lips, and our pact will be sealed.¡±

    I hesitated, but only for a moment. Instead, I leaned forward and lifted her hand. My lips brushed against the back of her knuckles.

    ¡°It is done¡­¡±

    Everything went white, and...

    <hr>

 Chapter 2

    Chapter 2?

    With a gasp, I shot up in bed. The bright light in the room sent daggers of pain deep into the back of my eyes, so I squeezed them tightly shut and tucked my head into the crook of my elbow. My heart was racing and a thin layer of sweat covered my whole body. Where the air in the room caressed bare skin -namely, my arms, neck, and shoulders- a clammy chill raised goosebumps. For several moments, I took deep, rapid breaths as I tried to settle the sudden bout of panic.

    ¡®Was it¡­ was it all a dream?¡¯ I wondered.

    Images of the accident replayed themselves in my head. I could see every crack and crevice in the trailer tire as it bore down on my passenger-side door. The image of it was burned into my memory, as clear and vivid as if I could physically see the scene. I shuddered; what happened after was¡­

    ¡®No, don¡¯t go there,¡¯ I reminded myself, interrupting that train of thought. ¡®Focus on something else.¡¯

    I recalled the out of body experience, the meeting with the Moon Goddess. Selatura, was it? Parts of it were¡­ blurry, for lack of a better word. Like a half-remembered dream. Still, the words of our agreement played through my head as clear as day.

    ¡°Swear an oath on your mortal soul that you will carry on the Salvorin family legacy, that you will worship me as Artesia¡¯s ancestors before her, that you will perform great deeds in my name, and that you will spread my religion as far and wide as you are able.¡±

    ¡®Well, shit. It was real, wasn¡¯t it?¡¯ I asked myself.

    Slowly, I lowered my arm. Light still flooded through my closed eyelids, but the driving pain was¡­ less than it was before. Good news, as far as I was concerned. It was a bit like waking up with a hangover the morning after a night of heavy drinking. I didn¡¯t get those very often, mind you; I didn¡¯t drink often or very much, and on the rare occasions that I did, I always made sure to drink a few glasses of water before bed. Sure, it meant that I would always be forced out of bed early in the morning to use the bathroom, but it beat the headaches and nausea.

    I opened my eyes a crack, squinting against the still too-bright light. It took a minute of squinting, blinking, and rubbing at my dry eyes to get them properly adjusted. Blearily, I looked around the room I found myself in.

    Most of the light streamed in from an open window. The bright sun was rising just over a line of mountain peaks in the distance, just as it did every morning. Memories of waking up to this very scene most mornings played through my mind. I furrowed my brow; those memories weren¡¯t mine.

    ¡®Or are they?¡¯ I wondered. Hadn¡¯t I asked for Artesia¡¯s memories? I had grown up far from any mountain ranges, so they couldn¡¯t be mine. And yet, they felt so familiar, so¡­ normal. ¡®Since I¡¯m in Artesia¡¯s body now, does that make them my memories?¡¯

    Ignoring the identity crisis for a moment, I returned my attention to the room I found myself in. The window didn¡¯t have any glass panes. A set of shutters were attached to the outside edge and opened out, while off-white curtains were drawn open on the inside. The walls of the room were made of light grey and tan stone held together by a dark grey mortar.

    There was a tall wardrobe next to the window, made of a pale colored unvarnished wood that had been sanded to what looked like a smooth finish. Rounded edges and intricate scroll-work showed the care that had been put into crafting it, and the arched top reminded me of some older antiques I¡¯d seen before¡­ well, in my previous life.

    The large four-poster bed matched the wardrobe in both color and style, as did the chest of drawers and the small desk set against the wall opposite the door. Most of the floorspace was covered by a red rug with gold pine trees set inside white circles. Not real gold, mind you, just a bright yellow dye that matched the tasseling along the edges of the rug.

    The only real decorations in the room (aside from the furniture and the rug) were wrought iron candelabras set into the stone walls. There were several half-melted candles in each one, though none of them were currently lit. The whole room was rather¡­ basic. The furniture was finely crafted and spoke of quality, but it was much more utilitarian than I was used to.

    ¡®I guess that¡¯s what I should expect for this place,¡¯ I mentally complained with a frown, remembering that the world I had been sent to was not as technologically advanced as the one I was used to.

    I felt an itch on my scalp, so I reached up and scratched it. My hair was matted and greasy, and it felt absolutely disgusting. I felt something moving under my finger, and I reflexively withdrew my hand.

    ¡®What in the world¡­?¡¯

    I ran my fingers through my hair and searched around. Something wriggled again, and I pinched at it. It took a moment to work it free from my tangled locks, but eventually I was able to bring it into view. The small thing was dark brown and about the size of a sesame seed. Short legs flailed from a flattened oval body.

    ¡®Oh eww!¡¯ I instinctively crushed the louse by rubbing my fingers together and flicking it away.

    With a bit of a grimace, I pulled one of the long locks around so I could see it. I don¡¯t know what I was expecting, but I didn¡¯t see any living lice crawling everywhere. Still, the thought of playing host to such parasites sent a shiver of disgust down my spine. The jet black strands were tangled together and it didn¡¯t appear to curl much at all. Though, that could have been because of how dirty it was.

    I let the hair drop and looked at my hand. The skin was light and pale, almost the color of pure cream. The fingers were long and slender, and the bone structure was rather¡­ delicate. There wasn¡¯t a hint of a scar or callus, or any indication in any way that the previous owner had done a hard day¡¯s work in her life.

    I frowned. Even as a child, I¡¯d played outside often enough that I¡¯d had little scars and calluses. This young woman, apparently, did not venture outside very often at all.

    ¡®I suppose that¡¯ll have to change,¡¯ I resolved. A healthy body was as important as a healthy mind.

    Pulling the blankets off of my legs, I continued inspecting my new body. It was slender and willowy, as far as I could tell, with little hints of pudge here and there, mainly around the stomach and thighs. I could see hints of dirt and grime on nearly every patch of skin I could see, and I felt oily all over. Even worse, I stank of sweat and body odor.

    Wrinkling my nose, I resolved to have a bath as soon as possible. There was a large copper tub down near the kitchens that the servants would fill with warm water, soap shavings, and scented oils. They¡¯d work the whole tub into a lather, and I could sit and soak in it until the water cooled, if I wanted to.

    I frowned; those were Artesia¡¯s memories again.

    I leaned back against the pillows and contemplated the thought. Would I lose my sense of self? Would I stop being Levi, even if only in my head, and start being Artesia? Or would I always feel like an outsider in a body that wasn¡¯t my own? Or would I become some mix of the two?

    I didn¡¯t know. And that, perhaps, was the most frightening prospect. The ignorance.

    I wasn¡¯t sure how long I stayed like that, merely contemplating my existence, but my fugue was interrupted by the heavy metal latch on the door. The rod was lifted out of the latch with a heavy clack sound, and the door swung open.

    A young woman walked in, carrying an earthenware pitcher in one hand and a cup in a similar style in the other. Her honey brown eyes met mine and she stopped in place. She gasped and reflexively let go of what she was carrying. The pitcher smashed on the stone floor, sending clear water and pottery shards flying, soaking the lower hem of the white robes she was wearing.

    ¡°Lady Artesia!¡± she exclaimed. She wasn¡¯t speaking English; between the rolled r, the occasional glottal stops, and the different tenses and gender conjugations, it was quite different from what I was used to. And yet, I could understand it perfectly. ¡°You¡¯re awake!¡±

    The woman rushed across the room, ignoring the broken pieces of the pitcher that crunched under her foot as she did. I didn¡¯t recognize the woman; there was no sense of familiarity, even from Artesia¡¯s memories. But there was something about her eyes and light brown hair that felt¡­ I don¡¯t know, comforting. It was a difficult feeling to place.

    ¡°Healer Woad?!¡± I heard a voice from the hallway. A man wearing some sort of brigandine armor poked his head around the corner. ¡°I heard a crash, are you alright?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Sir Brant,¡± Healer Woad said over her shoulder. ¡°I was just surprised is all. Would you send word to the Count that Artesia is awake?¡±

    I leaned around the healer¡¯s body so I could get a better view of the guard. I couldn¡¯t see his face through his helmet, but it did rotate until it pointed in my general direction. The knight stood up straight and said, ¡°Right away!¡±

    He disappeared from the doorway, and the healer turned her attention back to me.

    ¡°How do you feel?¡± she asked, her voice gentle. She reached out with one hand and placed her palm across my forehead. ¡°Any aches or pains? Any soreness or itching?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m fine, thank you,¡± I said. My voice was¡­ ragged, and I grimaced a bit. It felt like it hadn¡¯t been used in a while, and sounded sleep-fogged and half drowned in phlegm. On the plus side, I didn¡¯t accidentally slip into English, and the language I was speaking -called Pommeran- sounded almost identical to Healer Woad¡¯s, though with a slightly different inflection. Artesia¡¯s memories seemed to indicate that the healer spoke with a peasant¡¯s accent, while I did not.

    ¡°By Tycorin, that is a relief,¡± she said, sounding genuinely grateful. She looked down at me, her head tilted to one side and her brow scrunched up. ¡°... you don¡¯t recognize me, do you?¡±

    Feeling embarrassed, I ducked my head, allowing my long hair to fall over my face, and said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s to be expected,¡± she sighed. ¡°You were already delirious with fever when I first arrived here.¡±

    I looked up, peeking between the strands of my hair, and studied her. Her skin was tanned and a touch weather-worn, as if she was used to being outside. Her light brown hair had streaks of dirty blonde running through it. It didn¡¯t look like modern highlights or dyes, rather it looked like natural sun-bleaching. Her robes were entirely white save for a sort of vest or bodice made of a dark brown leather, and a red sash wrapped around her waist. A wooden pendant hung from her neck, the fine carving depicting a bleeding man.

    She was quite pretty in a farmer¡¯s daughter sort of way, I thought.

    ¡°Well, it doesn¡¯t matter,¡± she said, breaking into a gentle smile. ¡°I¡¯m Healer Visha Woad.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you,¡± I said as I reflexively held out my hand. Visha looked at it in confusion, and then back at me. ¡°I¡­ uh, wanted to thank you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, my lady,¡± she said, somewhat hesitantly. Seeing that she was making no move to grab my hand, I withdrew it.

    ¡®I guess they don¡¯t do handshakes here,¡¯ I thought.

    I suppose it was to be expected. This was a different culture, on an entirely different world. Hell, they even spoke a different language! It was, perhaps, a touch of foolishness on my part to assume that handshakes were common here.

    ¡°Is there anything I can get you, my lady?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Water, please,¡± I said. After catching another whiff of my terrible body odor, I grimaced and said, ¡°And a bath. I¡¯d really like a bath.¡±

    ¡°Encina!¡± Healer Woad called over her shoulder.

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am?¡± A middle-aged woman replied, poking her head through the doorway. She wore a tan dress with a dark green apron. Small stains and discoloration speckled both garments, but they didn¡¯t look dirty, per se, merely old and well-used.

    ¡°Would you bring another cup and pitcher of water, please?¡± Healer Woad politely asked her. ¡°And could you get a bath started for the young lady?¡±

    ¡°I will, ma¡¯am.¡± Encina, the older lady, scurried off.

    For a moment, the two of us sat in silence. My head itched again, so I scratched it, plucked off another louse, crushed it, and flicked it away.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you have a remedy for lice, do you?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not,¡± she shook her head. ¡°My healing spells don¡¯t get rid of them. There are some poultices that do work, but with the plague, we¡¯re desperately short on herbs and medicines.¡±

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°Plague?!¡± I asked, surprised.

    She looked at me, somewhat surprised. ¡°Yes, plague. How did you think you fell ill?¡±

    ¡°... I don¡¯t remember,¡± I (somewhat) lied. In Artesia¡¯s memories she seemed fine until the sudden onset of fever.

    ¡°Well, you caught the same sickness as most of the city,¡± she went on. ¡°Your father was so worried about your health that he hired me to treat you.¡±

    ¡°Is it¡­¡± I searched for the term I was looking for. I wanted to use the word ¡®epidemic¡¯, but there didn¡¯t seem to be an equivalent in Pommeran. Instead, I asked, ¡°Was it a particularly bad plague?¡±

    ¡°Yes, it was,¡± Healer Woad said, looking away. ¡°Many people died of it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be, it is not your fault,¡± Healer Woad tried to reassure me with a weak smile. ¡°Even the Gods cannot cure all ills.¡±

    I plucked another louse from my hair and flicked it away. Being aware that there were tiny insects crawling through my hair gave me the chills. It was kind of like that old internet prank, where you tell people ''you are now aware you''re breathing manually'', and they become hyper aware of their breathing. Only, in this case, I was hyper aware if every single sensation on my scalp.

    ''Disgusting creatures,'' I complained even as a shudder ran down my spine.

    "What about home remedies?" I asked. "Do you know if any of those work at all?"

    ¡°My mother always swore on tallow,¡± she said, a faraway look in her eyes. ¡°Rub it into the scalp and wrap your head before bed, then rinse with vinegar in the morning, and wash with soap and water. With a proper combing, it kept my brothers and sisters mostly free of lice.¡±

    "... I''ll have to see if the kitchens can spare any tallow and vinegar, then."

    "You''re awfully eager to get rid of them."

    "They''re pests," I said, frowning. "I''d much rather be rid of them than ignore them."

    The healer gave me an odd look. She opened her mouth and took a breath, but before she could utter a word, the door burst open.

    ¡°Artesia!¡±

    A long-haired man quickly strode into the room, his boots thumping against the floor. Artesia¡¯s memories recognized him immediately, and a burst of love and affection welled up in my chest.

    ¡°Father,¡± I greeted him with a smile.

    ¡°My daughter,¡± he murmured more to himself than to anyone in the room as he drew level with the bedside. I saw the beginnings of tears welling in the corner of his eyes as he leaned over and pulled me into a tight hug. ¡°You¡¯re awake¡­ by Selatura, you¡¯re awake¡­¡±

    It was¡­ unsettling, to feel emotions that weren¡¯t really your own. Artesia¡¯s memories held many a fond moment between her and her father, and her affection for him ran deep and true. Still, the emotions felt¡­ I don¡¯t know, somewhat foreign to me. I did my best to return the man¡¯s hug the way Artesia would have, but my mind was focused more on my own thoughts and feelings.

    ¡®I suppose I still identify more with Levi¡¯s memories than Artesia¡¯s,¡¯ I rationalized in my mind. ¡®Still, I have a role to play. I swore on it¡­¡¯

    ¡°Leave us,¡± the Count said softly.

    ¡°Of course, my lord,¡± Healer Woad said. Over the man¡¯s shoulder, I saw her dip a curtsey before leaving the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

    Once the door was closed, the Count released me and pulled a chair up beside the bed. He rested his elbows on his knees, folded his hands in front of him, and bowed his head.

    For several long minutes, we sat in silence. I couldn¡¯t see much of his face, so I couldn¡¯t really gauge his mood. He seemed happy to see that I was awake, though. Ecstatic, almost.

    ¡°When you fell ill with the plague, I thought that all was lost,¡± he began. His voice quavered with the weight of his emotion. ¡°If you had¡­ had died, the family line would have ended with me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I murmured. Reaching out, I placed my hand on his, gently squeezing them in silent reassurance.

    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault.¡±

    Something about what he said nagged at me. ¡®Why would my death end the family line?¡¯

    ¡°Father,¡± I began, my voice low and cautious. ¡°Can you¡­ can you no longer father children?¡±

    The Count lifted his head and looked at me, his eyes sad and watery. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ not that I can¡¯t, it¡¯s that I won¡¯t. After your mother, I don¡¯t think I could bring myself to love another woman...¡±

    I furrowed my brow and looked away. ¡®I probably shouldn¡¯t ask. It seems like a sensitive subject, but¡­¡¯

    Turning back towards him, I met his gaze and asked, ¡°Why?¡±

    He stared at me for several moments before sighing and looking away. ¡°Did I ever tell you how I met your mother?¡±

    His words brought to mind a number of conversations in Artesia¡¯s memories where he¡¯d told her stories about his wife, but none of them were specifically about how they met.

    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t think so?¡± I asked, more than stated.

    ¡°It was almost twelve years ago, during the last war with Wittan,¡± he began, his eyes unfocused and a sad smile on his face. ¡°After King Brogue¡¯s army routed the Wittans at the battle of Lothrin, I and my bannermen were sent to relieve the siege at Reeveport.¡±

    ¡°When their scouts discovered we were coming, the besiegers formed up to give us battle,¡± he continued, his gaze focusing back on me. ¡°They numbered several thousand, and I and my levies merely half their number. Eventually, we formed up and prepared to attack them. Before the battle had begun, though, the defenders in Reeveport sallied out and threatened their flank.¡±

    The Count shook his head and chuckled. ¡°Those defenders looked a right mess. Half-starved, filthy, and wearing whatever makeshift armor they could patch together, they looked more like forest bandits than a proper army. Still, they fought with pride and ferocity that day. I¡¯ll never forget their bravery, nor what the men chanted as they charged¡­¡±

    ¡°What were they saying?¡± I asked, leaning towards him.

    ¡°They chanted ¡®Maven Pascha, Maven Pascha,¡¯ over and over again. Your mother had put on a suit of armor, rallied the defenders, and led them into battle. That was the first time I ever heard your mother¡¯s name¡­ ¡±

    ¡°Is that when you met her?¡±

    ¡°No, not quite. After the battle was won and the besiegers dispersed, my men made camp just outside the city walls, while I and the other nobles were invited into the city for a celebration.¡± He gave a wry smile and shook his head. ¡°It was hardly a royal feast; the siege had left the city dangerously low on foodstuff. In fact, if we hadn¡¯t captured the enemy¡¯s camp, we wouldn¡¯t have had much of anything to feast on!¡±

    ¡°Did you meet her at the feast?¡±

    ¡°I did. She was¡­ well, in all truthfulness, she wasn¡¯t at her best,¡± he admitted. ¡°During the siege, she had convinced her father, Lord Mayor Pascha, to open his personal larders and warehouses, and give that food to the starving citizens. She looked nearly as starved as everyone else in the city, and the dress she wore that was ill-fitting and quite dusty. Still, she was a polite and well-mannered hostess, and obviously beloved by the people.¡±

    ¡°She sounds like an amazing woman,¡± I said, my voice soft. ¡°Is that when you decided to marry her?¡±

    ¡°Just the opposite, actually.¡± Seeing my confused expression, the Count laughed. ¡°The Lord Mayor was so thankful that I¡¯d broken the siege that he offered his daughter¡¯s hand to me in marriage. I refused.¡±

    ¡°But¡­ why?¡±

    ¡°I was young and foolish and determined to marry for love,¡± he admitted, looking a bit sheepish. ¡°Your mother was the same in that regard. Later, she told me that she was both relieved that I had refused, yet incised that I had done so entirely without consideration. Apparently, she took it as a slight, and was quite cross with me for some time.¡±

    ¡°But, then how-¡± I began, but a knock at the door interrupted me before I could continue.

    ¡°Enter,¡± the Count said firmly, his voice projecting loudly through the room.

    ¡°The young lady asked for some water, my lord,¡± the woman, Encina, deferentially explained as she entered the room. ¡°I have it here for her, and another cup for you, my lord.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Encina, I¡¯ll take them.¡±

    ¡°Of course, my lord.¡± She offered them with a curtsey.

    The Count -I suppose I should start using his name, Valens- poured water from the pitcher into each of the cups and offered one to me. I had intended to only take a light sip, but the water tasted so good I ended up draining the whole thing.

    Valens chuckled and took the cup from me, refilled it, and held it out for me. I took another sip, but the majority of my thirst had been quenched.

    Valens looked over his shoulder and saw that Encina was still standing by the door. ¡°Is there something else you need, Encina?¡±

    ¡°Only to inform you that the young lady¡¯s bath will be ready on the hour, milord.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, I will see to it she does not let it go cold.¡± He gave her a warm smile. ¡°Please, leave us. I wish to speak with my daughter alone.

    ¡°Of course, milord.¡±

    She curtseyed again and swept out of the room. For several moments after the door closed, the two of us sat in silence, occasionally sipping from our glasses of water. Eventually, though, I broke the silence.

    ¡°If mother was so angry with you, then how did you end up marrying her?¡±

    ¡°That is a story for another time, I think,¡± he said, shaking his head.

    ¡°Mother was a strong woman, wasn¡¯t she?¡± I asked, lost in thought. ¡®If I play this right¡­¡¯

    ¡°Aye, she was, and I loved her for it.¡±

    ¡°Do you think I could be as strong as her some day?¡± I asked. I tilted my head up and opened my eyes a little wider than normal. With the hopeful expression I plastered on my face, I gave Valens the best ¡®cute and innocent¡¯ facade I could possibly muster.

    His eyes softened and he gave me a soft smile. ¡°I¡¯m sure you will be.¡±

    ¡°I want to be like her,¡± I told him with my best ¡®cute and serious¡¯ face. ¡°I want to learn to use a sword and lead men into battle.¡±

    Valens frowned, and for a moment I thought I had pushed a little too far. ¡°Your mother never learned to use a sword.¡±

    ¡°Then¡­ then when I do, I¡¯ll be stronger than she was,¡± I stated with childlike certainty.

    ¡°The battlefield is no place for a young noblewoman,¡± he said, shaking his head.

    ¡°But Mother fought,¡± I pointed out.

    ¡°Yes, she did,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°But, she caused quite the scandal by doing so.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± I asked. ¡°Is it¡­ forbidden, for women to fight?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ no, not exactly.¡±

    ¡°Then why would it cause a scandal?¡±

    Valens sighed and looked out the window. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s because the only tales of women warriors are of Kymringr shield-maidens and from the nomadic peoples beyond the Altain Kush. Both the Kymringr and the nomads are horrible, barbaric people. They raid and rape and kill with no remorse or mercy. They do not hold to the Godly Virtues of Honor, Mercy, or Charity. In essence, they were calling her a heathen barbarian trying to lead people astray.¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ I don¡¯t care what they say,¡± I huffed and crossed my arms, still playing up the cute and childish angle. ¡°I¡¯ll be a¡­ a Lady Knight.¡±

    ¡°Oh, will you now?¡± he asked, a chuckle shaking his shoulders. ¡°A Lady Knight?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I¡¯ll be the best most¡­ most¡­¡± I paused, looking for the right word. ¡°Most knightly¡­?¡±

    ¡°Most chivalrous knight?¡±

    ¡°Right, the most chivalrous knight,¡± I nodded, carefully enunciating the unfamiliar Pommeran word. ¡°And the most graceful lady.¡±

    ¡°How in the world can you be both at the same time?¡± he asked, still chuckling at my intentionally childish antics.

    ¡°Well, when I¡¯m dressed as a Lady, I¡¯ll be the most perfect Lady, and when I¡¯m dressed as a Knight, I¡¯ll be the most perfect Knight.¡±

    ¡°I see. A Lady Knight, huh¡­?¡± he trailed off, staring at nothing. ¡°It¡¯s going to be a lot of work, you know.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of hard work.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to work harder than you ever have before,¡± Valens explained, his voice turning serious. ¡°A knight must dedicate a lot of time and effort into learning the ways of war. It won¡¯t be easy, and it won¡¯t be fun. In fact, it¡¯ll hurt a lot. Furthermore, you still have much to learn about being a Lady as well. Doing both may be more than you can handle¡­¡±

    ¡°I can do it,¡± I said, my voice soft yet intense. ¡°I¡¯ll work hard, I promise.¡±

    Valens sighed looked out the window again. ¡°Your bath should be about ready. Why don¡¯t you get cleaned up? When you¡¯re finished, we can speak over some lunch.¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­ father.¡±

 Chapter 3

    Chapter 3

    The bath was every bit as luxurious as Artesia¡¯s memories had implied, and yet it fell far short of what I was used to. For one, when the water started to cool, I couldn¡¯t just turn a knob and get a fresh injection of hot water. I would have needed to ask one of the scullery maids to bring me a fresh kettle, and to be honest, I didn¡¯t want to bother them or distract them from other, more important work.

    The large copper tub was certainly a luxury item in this particular world¡¯s current technological status. It would have been able to comfortably sit a fully grown man, let alone a small, willowy nine year old girl. As such, I was practically swimming in it. The soap was a little bit harsher than most off-the-shelf bars one could buy at a typical store, but in my old life I had preferred a more natural bar of soap with more masculine scents anyway. The soap they¡¯d used was scented with some sort of rosemary or pine sap or something of the like, with a hint of some kind of flower added in. I quite enjoyed it.

    The bathwater was barely lukewarm by the time I was finished soaking. I sat, wrapped in a towel, on a stool in front of the washstand along the wall of the tile-lined room. The intricately carved ivory or bone nit-comb I was running through my hair was doing a fantastic job of removing nits and live lice. Unfortunately, it was also doing a good job of tugging at the roots, and at times was a bit painful.

    Still, with every dip into the bowl of steaming water on the washstand, I saw proof of how effective it was. The still-living lice that had been pulled free futilely struggled, but soon grew still. They weren¡¯t drowning, though; the heat of the water was killing them off. Without chemical insecticides, the easiest way to kill lice was to overheat them with hot water. Boiling potentially infested clothing and bedding was a good way of killing the eggs before they could hatch. Even a thirty minute cycle in a tumble dryer on hot was enough. Boiling water was almost overkill. Almost.

    I was almost done when a knock came at the door to the bathing room.

    ¡°Enter!¡± I called in a high, clear voice. The earlier drink of water and a long soak in a bath had me feeling much better than when I¡¯d first woke up.

    As the door swung open, I looked over my shoulder to see who it was. The middle-aged maid from earlier today, Encina, slid sideways through the door and closed it behind her. In one hand, she held a small pile of clothing.

    ¡°Pardon the intrusion, milady, but I brought you a fresh change of clothing,¡± she said, her lowborn accent much more pronounced than Healer Woad¡¯s.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, giving her a grateful smile before turning my attention back to combing my hair.

    The polished bronze disk hanging from the wall over the washstand made for an imperfect mirror; the color of the metal reflected everything in a sepia tone, and the slight imperfections distorted the image somewhat, but it would suffice. Large scale glass making probably hadn¡¯t been invented yet, nor had a silver-mercury reflective backing to make a proper mirror like I was used to.

    ¡°Would you like some help, milady?¡± Encina asked.

    ¡°Yes, please,¡± I sighed with relief. ¡°If you would be so kind¡­¡±

    ¡°Of course, milady,¡± she replied in a gentle, motherly tone.

    She stood behind me and took the nit-comb from me. ¡°Where would you like me to start?¡±

    ¡°In the back, if you could,¡± I said, waving a hand vaguely behind my head. ¡°I couldn¡¯t see it well enough.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    She set to combing the areas I wasn¡¯t able to get to with economical strokes. She was surprisingly gentle about it, though; despite occasionally running into a tangle or a nit, she was able to work the teeth of the comb through it with minimal discomfort.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got such lovely hair, milady,¡± Encina murmured. ¡°You got your father¡¯s colors and your mother¡¯s silky tresses.¡±

    ¡°... thank you¡­¡± I belatedly replied, not sure if I should feel flattered or weirded out. I wasn¡¯t used to people complimenting me on my hair¡­

    ¡°Lady Maven always did take good care of her hair,¡± Encina continued. ¡°She was always proud of it, more than anything else.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Your mother was a very slender woman,¡± she explained. ¡°She was a late bloomer, you see, and was often made fun of by the other burgher girls back in Reevesport. Her hair was the one thing they couldn¡¯t tease her about.¡±

    ¡°... I see,¡± I lied. While I¡¯d had my fair share of insecurities in my old life, body issues hadn¡¯t been one of them. I wasn¡¯t a model by any stretch of the imagination, but it was never something I¡¯d received much flack over. Still, I could understand, if not relate.

    ¡°She needn¡¯t have worried, of course; she grew into a truly beautiful woman, before she passed.¡± Encina went on. ¡°I think you¡¯ll grow just as beautiful, milady.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Of course, she was very kind as well,¡± she went on. ¡°She treated everyone well, even lowborn like me and my husband. Why, I remember one time¡­¡±

    As she worked her way through my hair, Encina recounted a number of stories about Artesia¡¯s mother. Most of them centered around her kindness to noble and lowborn alike, and how much the castle staff had loved her. Sprinkled here and there were good words about Valens, as well. It was¡­ honestly, a relief. I don¡¯t know what I would have done if I¡¯d been born into a noble family that treated the common people poorly.

    ¡®At least I won¡¯t have to worry about a peasant revolt,¡¯ I thought, but immediately chastised myself for thinking it. They were people, not merely cogs in a machine. If they were being treated poorly enough to revolt against the nobility, the nobility probably deserved it.

    ¡°There we are, milady,¡± Encina¡¯s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She rinsed the comb off with still-steaming water from the kettle and set it on the washstand to dry. ¡°Now, let¡¯s get you dressed.¡±

    ¡°Let me take a look at them first.¡±

    Encina gave me a strange look, but said nothing. I unfolded a pair of culottes, a garment that looked like a frilly pair of shorts with ties at the waist and knee. The cloth was cool to the touch, but was obviously not silk; at a guess, I¡¯d say it was linen.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Turning them inside out, I leaned in close to inspect the seams. Sure enough, I spotted the small discolored yellow lumps that indicated nits. I huffed and set them to the side.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Encina asked as I reached for the next article of clothing.

    ¡°Looking for nits.¡±

    ¡°Nits?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a sign of lice,¡± I said, somewhat distracted by my search. The stockings, too, had signs of nits.

    ¡°Lice?¡± she asked. ¡°In the clothing?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not too different from hair.¡±

    ¡°Well, then, how do you get rid of them?¡±

    I looked up at her, only just now realizing that I¡¯d let slip a bit more than I¡¯d intended. ¡°Er¡­ you can boil them, then wash with soap and water.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯ll get rid of the nits?¡±

    ¡°It will, though it won¡¯t do much good if the person wearing them has lice.¡± I shrugged. ¡°Getting rid of the lice in clothing or bedding doesn¡¯t do much good if they¡¯re still in one¡¯s hair. You¡¯ve got to take care of both.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll instruct the maids to boil all of the laundry, milady,¡± Encina said with pursed lips. With a sotto voice I probably wasn¡¯t supposed to overhear, she said, ¡°Lice, in my household? Never!¡±

    ¡°Still, these will have to suffice for now,¡± I sighed, ignoring her little aside.

    ¡°Of course, milady.¡±

    <hr>

    The private dining room was a small room, just across the hall from Valens¡¯ study, on the second floor of the family wing in Castle Balfors¡¯ keep. It was nothing particularly special; the table was only large enough to sit six people, or perhaps eight if you didn¡¯t mind rubbing elbows on occasion. Valens had intended this room to be for private family dinners only. Guests and other important visitors would dine with the family in the formal dining room, which was much more richly furnished. This room wouldn¡¯t look out of place in the home of a moderately successful burgher.

    His dearly departed wife, of course, had adored it; it had reminded her of her family¡¯s home when she was a young girl, long before her father had been elected as Lord Mayor.

    Today, it was just he and his daughter. Once the servants had delivered the food and drink, the two of them had been left to eat in privacy.

    Valens took another bite of his mutton stew, subtly observing Artesia out of the corner of his eye. Healer Woad had done a fantastic job keeping his daughter¡¯s body alive; to his eyes, Artesia looked healthier than ever.

    And yet¡­ it seemed wrong.

    The daughter he knew was a fussy young girl, one who had grown perhaps a bit too used to her station in life. She was excessively formal, begged him for the latest fashions coming out of the capital, and was often quite biting when she chastised the servants around the castle. Of the five Great Virtues the Gods commanded mankind to hold dear, the only one Valens believed his daughter held had been Honor. Of Duty, Mercy, Charity, and Justice, Artesia had shown little.

    ¡®Perhaps that is why the Gods took her to Philosia,¡¯ Valens speculated in his own mind, absently chewing on a roll. ¡®The question remains¡­ what kind of person did Selatura place in my daughter¡¯s body?¡¯

    Valens was not an ignorant man; he knew his letters, and his personal library was the largest in the Duchy! Aside from the monasteries, that is, but not even the King could claim to have a larger personal library than even the smallest of the monasteries in Scael. Among his collection were great titles from before the Cataclysm, carefully preserved by those self-same monasteries, works of history by more contemporary authors, and several books on the martial arts detailing the use of a variety of weapons.

    Being a well-read man, Valens understood exactly what Selatura had been implying. Her exact words echoed in his ears.

    ¡°While I cannot bring your daughter¡¯s spirit back to the realm of the living, I could find another soul to take her place.¡±

    Selatura¡¯s words were clear; his daughter was dead. Or rather, her soul had passed on. Who she was as a person was lost to him until he, too, went to the afterlife. In her place was another, some other soul placed into his daughter¡¯s body.

    ¡®Perhaps this is punishment for my own hubris,¡¯ Valens lamented to himself. ¡®To see someone else wearing my daughter¡¯s face¡­¡¯

    Oh, how badly he wanted to speak of it to someone. Lupis, his dear friend, or maybe to Pontifex Traust, the high priest at the local temple. Yet, in the two days since Selatura had manifested, every time he had tried to speak of it, his breath would be pulled from his body. He had sworn an oath on Kyril¡¯s name to never speak of it, and the God of Death was enforcing that oath.

    ¡°...¡± Valens opened his mouth and tried to speak, intending to confront the stranger wearing his daughter¡¯s face. Again, the breath was stolen from his chest and the words would not come. Sighing, he instead took another sip of wine.

    That this person was no longer his daughter was certain in Valens'' eyes. Even if he hadn¡¯t known, he was sure he would have been able to figure it out. For one, this person slouched slightly in her seat, whereas his daughter would have sat up with her back straight. This person¡¯s elbows rested on the table top, where his daughter would never have dared to let such a thing happen.

    Even if one could explain that as fatigue, or the aftereffects of the fever, there were other indicators. The mutton stew was a bit on the bland side. Before, his daughter would have complained and demanded a jar of pepper or other expensive spices to add flavor to it. This person did no such thing; rather, she had merely sprinkled a pinch of salt over the top and mixed it in. Not a word of complaint was spoken, nor did she grimace or frown. In fact, she seemed to enjoy the rather common fare.

    Not like his daughter at all.

    Most unusual, though, was her request to become a knight. His daughter disliked being out of doors, even to play in the fields like other children her age. In fact, as far as Valens could tell, his daughter¡¯s greatest ambition in life was to marry a Duke or a Prince and live a life of luxury. She wasn¡¯t interested in learning how to manage a household, or how to keep track of finances, or how to find skilled servants, or anything of the like. Before the plague, Artesia had resisted his every effort to try to teach her these things.

    ¡®Perhaps¡­¡¯

    ¡°Artesia,¡± Valens caught her attention before the thought even had a chance to fully form in his mind. Upon catching his daughter¡¯s eye, he continued, ¡°Why don¡¯t you join me in my study after lunch? We can continue your finance lessons.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± she replied with a gentle smile. ¡°I¡¯d be delighted.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. You¡¯re not usually so eager for these lessons,¡± Valens replied, one eyebrow raised. ¡°Did you have a change of heart?¡±

    She opened her mouth to respond, paused, pursed her lips, and finally nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±

    Valens tilted his head, waiting for her to elucidate. After a moment, he prompted her, asking, ¡°... so, what was it?¡±

    ¡°What was what?¡± she asked, furrowing her brows.

    ¡°What changed your mind?¡±

    ¡°... the plague, I think,¡± she replied, looking down at her half-eaten bowl of soup. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ what if it had been you that had fallen sick? Or¡­ or died? Who would have looked after the household then?¡±

    ¡°Before, you always used to say you could just hire a steward,¡± Valens reminded her. He kept his keen gaze on her face, trying to gauge her reaction.

    At first, she furrowed her brows, then frowned and shook her head.

    ¡°Stewards¡­ can¡¯t always be trusted,¡± she muttered. ¡°An unscrupulous steward would find a way to steal. Some would change the record books, and others would add false payments for goods or services that were never received. If I don¡¯t know how to manage it myself, I could never trust myself to double check a steward¡¯s work.¡±

    ¡°If I had died before you were of age, though, the Duke would likely appoint a Regent to manage the County on your behalf.¡±

    ¡°... perhaps that is so, but I wouldn¡¯t trust a Regent not to steal either,¡± she said, stubbornly crossing her arms. ¡°Trust that they will do their appointed tasks, I suppose, but I would always verify they are not doing it wrong.¡±

    ¡°Wise words,¡± Valens noted. His eyes narrowed slightly; the answers Artesia was giving was not what he would previously have expected from his daughter. Still, he set the thought to the side for a moment and continued. ¡°All the more reason for you to learn these lessons yourself.¡±

    ¡°Of course, father.¡±

    ¡°On another matter, your tutor, Madam Constans, has decided to seek employment elsewhere,¡± Valens continued. ¡°I suspect she wished to flee the plague. Not that I can blame her, of course, but I will have to find you a new tutor.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± she nodded.

    Valens wryly added another mental tally against her; his daughter had very much enjoyed her lessons with her tutor. She would have vociferously protested Madam Constans¡¯ departure.

    ¡®I suppose I¡¯ll just have to face the facts; she is not my daughter,¡¯ Valens admitted to himself. The thought sent a pang of sadness through his chest.  ¡®At least, she is not the same person as my daughter was. Still, this is what I asked for. I¡¯ll just have to make the best of it.¡¯

    The question that remained in his mind, though, was this; what kind of person was she? Was she a good and honorable person? Would she live up to the Great Virtues? Or would she be decadent, deceitful, and dishonorable like the Teranthians?

    ¡®I suppose I should find out¡­¡¯

    ¡°Earlier, you said you wished to become a knight,¡± he told her, changing the subject. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because I want to be strong,¡± she replied without hesitation.

    ¡°Why do you feel the need to become strong?¡± Valens pressed her.

    Artesia looked away, her brow furrowing. Absently, she tapped her dirty spoon against her chin, smearing a bit of gravy-like broth on her chin. She looked as if she was deep in thought, her eyes staring off into the future beyond the stone walls that enclosed them both.

    ¡°The fates have placed our family in a position of authority over our people,¡± she said, her tempo measured. ¡°The people under our command have a number of duties they owe to us, as their overlords. However, we, in turn, have a number of duties to our people. One of those duties is to protect them and lead them in battle. If I am to fulfill that duty, I will need to learn how to protect myself.¡±

    ¡°Why do you believe you will have to shoulder that burden?¡±

    ¡°... you said you will not be having any other children,¡± she said, looking at Valens with saddened eyes. ¡°When you die, rulership of this County will pass to me. I want to be ready for it.¡±

    Valens pursed his lips and looked away. If there was any lesson he had ever wanted to teach his daughter, it was the one this stranger had just expressed. Duty; one of the Great Virtues, the essence of Duty was to perform the tasks required of you, and to see to the care of those who depend on you. Just as a peasant must obey his liege lord, a lord must protect and provide for his peasants.

    ¡°... I see,¡± Valens said after a moment. He caught Artesia¡¯s eyes and held them for a moment. Sadness and determination filled her gaze, he saw, even though she wore a mask of indifference. ¡°Very well. Sir Brant is the most talented swordsman in my retinue. I will ask him to teach you.¡±

    A broad smile spread across Artesia¡¯s face, and her bright blue eyes lit up in happiness.

    ¡°But!¡± Valens interjected before she had a chance to say anything. ¡°I will not make it an order. If he refuses, I will not force him to teach you. If you misbehave, he may choose to stop teaching you.¡±

    ¡°Yes, father!¡± she said, her excitement dampened but not extinguished. ¡°I won¡¯t let you down, I promise!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll hold you to it,¡± Valens asserted. ¡°Now, finish your stew. We¡¯ve got finance lessons to cover.¡±

    ¡°Yes father!¡±

    With more than a little nostalgia, Valens watched her fall upon the remains of her lunch like a pack of wild animals.

    ¡®I don¡¯t know who you are, really,¡¯ he thought, eating his own lunch at a much more reasonable pace. ¡®But you seem like a decent person¡­ so far. Don¡¯t disappoint me.¡¯

    <hr>

 Chapter 4

    Chapter 4

    ¡°But, my lady!¡± Encina protested, bodily blocking the door. ¡°It¡¯s not appropriate!¡±

    ¡°Everything is covered, Encina,¡± I rolled my eyes at her. ¡°Besides, I haven¡¯t much to look at quite yet anyway.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not the point! It¡¯s the principle of the matter!¡±

    ¡°Then please explain it to me,¡± I replied, my own voice growing heated. ¡°Because I¡¯m having a very hard time understanding it!¡±

    ¡°Ladies are supposed to hide our bodies, not display them like¡­ like common street whores!¡± she replied, growing red in the face. ¡°Going outside only partially dressed would cause a scandal!¡±

    I looked down at myself. Medieval clothing, especially women¡¯s clothing, was a fair bit more complex than what I was used to. Even ¡®partially dressed¡¯, as Encina was claiming, meant that I had three layers of clothing on. Linen underthings next to the skin, covered by a pair of culottes and chemise, stockings and braes on my legs, and a billowy shirt. With the shirt¡¯s collar laced and tied, not a single inch of skin below my neck was visible, and everything was loose enough that no distinct shapes could be discerned.

    ¡°My body is hidden,¡± I said, gesturing at my legs. ¡°It¡¯s not ideal, I know, but it¡¯ll have to suffice until I can have something more appropriate tailored.¡±

    ¡°But¡­ but, my lady!¡±

    ¡°Enough, Encina!¡± I snapped at her. ¡°It¡¯s my decision, and that¡¯s final!¡±

    The maid scowled at me and folded her hands at the small of her back. ¡°If that is what you wish, my lady¡­¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I exasperatedly sighed. The maid held the door open for me, allowing me to finally leave my bedroom.

    I had feared that people would stare at me or make some comments as I made my way to the armory, but as far as I could tell, I received no more attention than usual. Though, whether that was because my style of dress was not as unusual as Encina was making it seem, or because none of the servants or guards wanted to raise the ire of a noble, I couldn¡¯t tell.

    ¡®The Emperor has no clothes,¡¯ I thought, referred to the famous parable from back home. ¡®Or rather, the Count¡¯s daughter is underdressed.¡¯

    Finally I arrived at my destination; the armory. Or rather, the Salvorin family armory and salle; the armory for the guards, men-at-arms, and retinue knights was a squat stone building in the courthouse, attached to the barracks. This one was nestled in one corner of the keep, across the great hall from the kitchens and servants¡¯ quarters.

    Feeling a bit nervous, I knocked on the iron bound wooden door.

    ¡°Enter!¡±

    Slipping inside, I closed the door behind me. Sir Brant was holding two arming swords by the quillons, using the light from the open window to examine them. After a moment, he turned towards me and said, ¡°Good, you¡¯re here¡­¡±

    Pausing, he furrowed his eyebrows and frowned. ¡°What in the Gods¡¯ names are you wearing?¡±

    ¡°Something scandalous,¡± I snarked at him, my earlier irritation coming back with a vengeance. ¡°Or so I¡¯m told.¡±

    He bit back a retort, snapping his jaw shut with a click. Looking me up and down with a discerning eye, he rubbed his bearded chin with one hand.

    ¡°Not the sort of thing a young noble lady should be wearing,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°Do you expect me to fight in a dress?¡± I asked with an edge to my voice.

    ¡°As a matter of fact, I do,¡± he replied.

    I almost exploded on the man, my irritation crossing over into full-blown anger. Biting back my initial response, I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. ¡°Please, explain why.¡±

    ¡°A swordsman -or a swordswoman, in your case- should train to fight in whatever style of dress to which they are accustomed,¡± he replied, sounding as if he was quoting someone or something. ¡°If you have a suit of armor, I expect you to train in it. If you commonly wear a noble lady¡¯s gown, I expect you to train in one.¡±

    I have to admit, I was slightly taken aback. I had been expecting an argument based on morality or social expectations. Not a practical reason.

    ¡°This,¡± he said, gesturing at my current getup, ¡°is not what you wear day-to-day, nor will you be able to get away with wearing something like this in certain situations. If you are attacked at a formal gathering, your attackers aren¡¯t going to wait for you to change into something else.¡±

    ¡°... I understand, sir.¡±

    ¡°Good. It¡¯s too late to go change, so this will have to do for today,¡± he continued. ¡°Tomorrow, though, I expect you to wear what you usually wear.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°Now, your father has asked -not ordered, asked- me to take you on as my student,¡± he said. He took several steps and closed the distance between us until I had to tilt my head back to look him in the eye. ¡°He explained your reasoning, and I¡¯m not inclined to disagree; if you, indeed, inherit the County, and are required to lead men into battle, it would be best if you know how to protect yourself.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you agree,¡± I said, smiling up at the man.

    ¡°Be that as it may, this is highly irregular,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°Fightschools and duelling clubs almost never accept female students.¡±

    ¡°Almost?¡± I asked. ¡°There are exceptions?¡±

    ¡°Only one that I know of. Salle Vanqua, a fightschool in Serezzia, has a class for young noble ladies and wealthy merchants¡¯ daughters,¡± Sir Brant explained. ¡°None of the fightschools in the Pommerlands have such classes.¡±

    ¡°Why do they have them there, but not here?¡±

    ¡°Serezzia is widely known as one of the most wealthy city-states in Etrushia, if not the whole of the Teranthian continent. Pirates, bigands, and other ne¡¯er-do-wells often abduct young ladies and ransom them back to their families.¡± With a frown and pursed lips, he shook his head, expressing his contempt for such practices. ¡°A dishonorable practice, to be sure.¡±

    ¡°So, the fightschools there teach the young ladies to protect themselves from abduction?¡± I asked, tilting my head to the side.

    ¡°To a certain extent, yes,¡± he answered, shrugging his shoulders. ¡°Though the lessons are more about stealth and how to kill people from the shadows to make good one¡¯s escape.¡±

    ¡°Lessons like that could be useful,¡± I said with a raised finger.

    ¡°They could, but such tactics are considered dishonorable for a knight,¡± he countered. ¡°Wasn¡¯t that your goal? To be a ¡®Lady Knight¡¯?¡±

    ¡°... it was,¡± I admitted, looking away.

    ¡°Then think no more of such tactics. A knight must face his foes in the open.¡±

    ¡°Does¡­ does that mean you will teach me?¡± I asked, turning hopeful eyes up at him.

    ¡°I will,¡± he said, a small smile tugging at his normally dour face.

    ¡°Yes! Thank you!¡± I said, lacing my fingers and holding them under my chin for maximum cuteness. ¡°Thank you so much!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet,¡± he warned, waggling a finger at me. ¡°I shall not treat you any different than I would a young boy. I expect you to pay attention and work hard.¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°I will!¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t accept any whining or complaining either,¡± he warned me, his voice stern. ¡°Everything I have you do has a purpose. If you slack off or complain too much, my lessons will stop. Understand?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Sir Brant, I understand,¡± I said, solemnly nodding.

    ¡°Good. These,¡± he indicated the pair of swords he had been holding, ¡°are blunted arming swords. Unless and until you specialize into a particular style of sword, you will train and spar with one of these.¡±

    Sir Brant held one of the swords out to me, hilt first. I grabbed the short handle in both hands, expecting to have to strain to lift it. However, I was pleasantly surprised by how light it was; it wasn¡¯t much heavier than one of my dresses, maybe a couple of pounds at most. Even this new body¡¯s underdeveloped physique was more than sufficient to lift it without too much difficulty. Though, swinging it around might quickly grow tiring.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ not as heavy as I was expecting,¡± I commented, shifting my grip so that I held the hilt in my left hand and the dulled blade in my right.

    ¡°Of course it¡¯s not,¡± Sir Brant agreed. ¡°Did you expect it to be?¡±

    ¡°... yes, I did.¡±

    ¡°If it was, it wouldn¡¯t be a very good sword, would it?¡± he rhetorically asked. ¡°Let this be your first lesson, then. A light sword is a swift sword, especially if it is well balanced.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean by ¡®well-balanced¡¯?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯ve heard it in reference to swords before, but I don¡¯t really understand what you mean.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Well it¡¯s¡­¡± he paused, and stroked his chin with on hand. ¡°Well, it¡¯s easier to show you. Watch closely.¡±

    Sir Brant stepped back and turned to the side. He held his blunted sword by the hilt and extended it away from his body. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it into the air. The sword rotated end-over-end, and Sir Brant caught it by the hilt once more.

    ¡°Here,¡± he said, tapping a spot about a hand-span in front of the crossguard. ¡°Did you see? The sword rotated around this spot. This is the sword¡¯s center of balance.¡±

    ¡°Huh¡­¡± I eloquently remarked, eyes wide.

    ¡°If a sword¡¯s center of balance is closer to the tip,¡± he said, tapping the the rounded end, ¡°the sword will cut and slice better, as more of the sword¡¯s weight will carry into the target. On the other hand, the closer the center of balance is to the hilt, the more agile and responsive it will feel, and the more control one will have over the tip.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ a sword with a point of balance towards the tip is better for cutting,¡± I said, mimicking an overhead slice. ¡°While a sword balanced to the hilt is better for stabbing.¡±

    Sir Brant critically eyed my haphazard imitation of a ¡®Three Musketeers¡¯ style of lunge.

    ¡°That is correct,¡± he nodded. ¡°As such, what a swordsman means by ¡®well-balanced¡¯ depends more on their personal preference and style of swordsmanship than on some arbitrary measurement.¡±

    ¡°So, what style do you think I should use?¡± I asked.

    ¡°That depends,¡± he shrugged. ¡°What are you good at, and how do you prefer to fight?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Exactly, which is why we are starting with arming swords,¡± he said, smiling once more. ¡°These swords are not specialized towards slicing, like a Maldhean sabre, nor towards thrusting, like an Etrushian spada. It¡¯s a good weapon to learn from, and it is the most common type of sword in the Pommerlands.¡±

    ¡°I understand, sir.¡±

    ¡°Good. Now, first things first, we will start with the guard position,¡± he said, slipping into a typical sword-fighting stance. ¡°Hold your sword up and away from your body, like this¡­¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Oh¡­ ow, ow, ow,¡± I complained, letting out a long, low moan as I rested my head on the cool table in the private dining room. My arms hung limp, disappearing under the table. My everywhere was sore, not just my arms, but they had certainly gotten the worst of it.

    ¡°Remember, you asked for this,¡± Valens said, his stern visage unable to entirely contain his amusement.

    ¡°Shut up,¡± I grumped.

    Sir Brant had run me through drill after drill, showing me how to hold the sword, how to swing it at an imaginary target from practically every angle, how to properly thrust, and more. It wasn¡¯t only slashing and stabbing, though; he¡¯d drilled me in footwork, from a proper step-in to a quick retreat from an advancing foe, with side-step and dodges thrown in all at once. Every time I¡¯d made a mistake, he¡¯d made me sprint a lap around the salle. It wasn¡¯t a very big room, but doing it so often really took a lot out of me.

    I was certain I would have done a lot worse if it wasn¡¯t for my background in boxing. The footwork was remarkably similar to what I already knew, and the slight adjustments I¡¯d needed to make were much easier because of it.

    The bad part about it was that my first instinct was to raise my fists in front of my face. This, of course, wasn¡¯t a very good idea when holding a sword.

    I had the black eye to prove it, too.

    Still, despite my aching body, I felt that I¡¯d made quite a bit of progress already. I was no master swordsman, and I knew that in a real fight, everything would be fast and chaotic until I got better. The hardest part would be the physical conditioning aspect.

    I sighed and let out another groan.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, dearest daughter,¡± Valens teased. ¡°It¡¯s only the first day. Tomorrow will be worse!¡±

    ¡°... I hate you.¡±

    Valens chuckled with (to my mind) sadistic glee. ¡°Hurry up and eat your lunch, Artesia. We have statecraft lessons this afternoon.¡±

    I groaned once more.

    <hr>

    <blockquote>

    From the Private Journal of Lady Artesia Salvorin, Countess of Balreeve

    Scribe¡¯s Note: This journal is, as of yet, untranslated and untranslatable. Whatever tongue or code Lady Salvorin used to write her private thoughts is unknown to us. The sole exception to this rule is the date at the beginning of each entry. Contrary to the body of text, these dates are in Pommeran.

    While the Lady Knight did, indeed, keep a public journal, written in Pommeran, it is believed that her private thoughts were recorded here. This second journal of hers, despite the unfamiliar script and tongue, has been faithfully transcribed over the years in the hopes that someday, some individual may find some way to decode this work. May Selatura¡¯s light shine on us all.

    17th day of Thashasel, 1021 A.C.

    I suppose I should begin keeping a journal.

    Not out of some idle fantasy that, someday, it will be read and referenced by later generations, such as Julius Caesar''s ¡®Commentaries on the Gallic War¡¯, though I have to admit the thought did cross my mind.

    No, I¡¯m writing this because I don¡¯t have anyone to talk to. Not about this, at least.

    My name, or I suppose I should say my original name was Levi Shriver. After a fatal car accident, I was approached by a literal goddess who offered me a second chance.

    That¡¯s how I came to be in the body of Artesia Salvorin. A young noble lady.

    I¡¯m sure I would be either laughed at or thrown into a madhouse if I told anyone. Or worse, if I explain that Selatura, the Goddess of the Moon, reincarnated me, I might be¡­ I dunno, lifted into some kind of religious role. I really, really don¡¯t want that. Knowing my luck, I might accidentally set off a Crusade or something.

    The deal I made with that Goddess meant that I got to keep Artesia¡¯s memories. I asked for that for three main reasons. First, so that I would know the language. If I only kept my own memories, how could I expect to communicate with the local people? Especially if I was going to a new world and not just some alternate timeline or something. I mean, it had to have been an entirely different world than my own; we didn¡¯t have gods or goddesses or magic or anything. Or at least, it seemed like we didn¡¯t. Some of the things she said¡­

    I digress.

    The second reason was so that I would understand the local culture. Placenames, gods and goddesses, references to tradition or religious texts, and so much more can be so difficult to pick up if you weren¡¯t raised in a particular culture. Standing out by not understanding these references wasn¡¯t something I was looking forward to.

    Finally, I needed to know the people I would be surrounded with. Family, friends, ect. While I suppose I could have claimed amnesia, I didn¡¯t want to have to keep track of lie after lie.

    I suppose I should be lucky that the Goddess could actually make it happen.

    This new world is so strikingly similar to the medieval period of my own history, and yet much of it is so different. Aside from things that should be obvious, such as language and culture, there are other differences that prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is not Earth.

    The most obvious example? The calendar year.

    As far as I can tell, a day here is about the same length of time as a day back home, give or take an hour. If there is any difference at all, it¡¯s small enough that it¡¯s completely unnoticeable during day-to-day life. So, I¡¯m working under the assumption that it¡¯s the same.

    The most interesting thing about this world¡¯s calendar is that, unlike back home, it¡¯s both a lunar and a solar calendar! Or rather, the lunar year and the solar year line up nearly perfectly. Back home, lunar calendars need to insert an extra month every few years to bring everything back into alignment with the seasons. That¡¯s not the case here. There are twelve lunar cycles (new moon to full moon and back) corresponding to the twelve months of the calendar year. Each cycle is divided into five ¡®weeks¡¯, made up of six days, for a total of 360 days in the year.

    It¡¯s eerily similar to our own world, but everything has been synchronized. A 30 day lunar cycle, rather than a 28-29 day cycle back home. 360 days rather than 365 ?. The new moon always falls on the solstices and equinoxes. Like clockwork.

    I suppose it should be expected from a world where a Sun God and Moon Goddess are very real beings, though. What better way to prove their existence than to adjust the workings of the solar system to align so perfectly?

    Speaking of gods, the months of the year are named after the twelve most prominent gods in the Pantheon. Thashasel corresponds to the month of April, and is named after Thasha, Goddess of Fertility and Springtime. Velierissel corresponds to June, and is named after Velieris, God of the Sun. December is called Selaturasel, named after my own patron goddess Selatura. And so on, and so forth.

    An interesting sidenote, here, is that the suffix added to each deity¡¯s name on each month, -sel, literally means ¡®moon¡¯. ¡®A Tura¡¯ means ¡®beloved of¡¯. My patron goddess¡¯ name literally translates to ¡®Beloved of the moon¡¯. Isn¡¯t that interesting?

    I¡¯m getting tired, and I¡¯m starting to show my inner geek. Time for bed.

    </blockquote>

    <hr>

 Chapter 5

    Chapter 5

    ¡°What¡¯s your hurry?¡± Valens asked his daughter. She was scarfing down her breakfast like a starving wolf. Artesia finished chewing her mouthful of food and washed it down with a sip of buttermilk before speaking.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be late for my lessons today,¡± she rushed to say before diving back into her food.

    ¡°Today is Godsday,¡± Valens pointed out. When his daughter shot him a confused look, he elaborated, saying, ¡°Temple services may have been cancelled, what with the plague and all, but today is still a day of rest.¡±

    Artesia¡¯s chewing slowed to a stop and she stared at the wall for a long moment. When realization hit her, she sighed through her nose.

    ¡°Do I have any duties today?¡± she asked, once she had swallowed her mouthful.

    ¡°It¡¯s a day of rest,¡± he emphasized. ¡°Even I don¡¯t have any official duties.¡±

    ¡°Official duties?¡±

    ¡°I still need to be available during emergencies,¡± he explained.

    ¡°I see.¡±

    Artesia used her fork to push around the hash on her plate. The dish wasn¡¯t typically served to the nobility or wealthy merchants; the sliced ham chunks and polenta cubes were often fried in tallow until slightly crispy, and was more common among the peasantry. In truth, it was unusual for the nobility to eat a morning meal at all. Valens, though, had grown used to eating in the mornings while on campaign, and had maintained the habit in the years since.

    That was also where he had picked up his taste for this particular dish. Salted and cured ham and other meats was a staple during winter months or while on campaign because they rarely putrefied, and as such they made great provisions for a force on the move. The polenta was made from a coarse barley flour; dried barley corns were easily transportable and could double as animal feed if needed. It wasn¡¯t very difficult to crush the corns in a mortar, and they could be used as a base for soups and stews, to make gruel or porridge, or baked into blocks of polenta overnight.

    ¡°Could I go explore the city today?¡± Artesia asked, turning hopeful eyes to Valens.

    ¡°No. It¡¯s too dangerous,¡± he told her while shaking his head. ¡°I don¡¯t want anything to happen to you.¡±

    ¡°I could take some of the guards,¡± Artesia bargained with a gesture. ¡°They could keep me safe.¡±

    ¡°No. I don¡¯t want you catching the plague. Again.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that?¡± she said, sounding genuinely surprised. Dismissively, she waved her hand as if she could wave his worries away. ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry about that; I won¡¯t catch it again.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t be certain of that,¡± he countered. ¡°Who knows what noxious fumes or foul humors are causing it?¡±

    ¡°Noxious¡­?¡± she muttered, her voice low. ¡°Father, this illness isn¡¯t being caused by noxious fumes or whatever.¡±

    ¡°Oh? That¡¯s what the healers say is causing it.¡±

    ¡°The healers are wrong,¡± she replied, crossing her arms and stubbornly setting her jaw.

    Valens scowled. With a challenging tone, he asked, ¡°Well, then, if you know so much more than our illustrious healers, what do you think is causing it?¡±

    ¡°Lice.¡±

    ¡°... lice?¡± Valens asked, skeptically. ¡°Elaborate.¡±

    ¡°Lice bite the skin to drink our blood, and lay eggs in our hair,¡± she explained in a lecturing tone. ¡°When lice bite someone who is ill, they can carry that illness with them. If a louse carrying that illness bites someone who is not sick, they will become ill.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Spread through blood, you say?¡± Valens asked, and his daughter nodded in confirmation. ¡°Blood is one of the body¡¯s humors. If the lice are spreading fouled blood, they are spreading fouled humors, and therefore the healers are correct.¡±

    ¡°... that may be true,¡± she admitted, but she still lifted a finger and pointed it at the Count. ¡°But, they don¡¯t know that the lice are spreading the disease. If people get rid of the lice and don¡¯t touch the blood or phlegm of an ill person, they won¡¯t catch the disease.¡±

    ¡°And how do you know this?¡±

    ¡°...¡± Artesia opened her mouth to reply, but closed it before any words could escape. She looked away at nothing in particular for a long moment. ¡°I just know."

    Valens leaned back in his chair and frowned. His first reaction was to dismiss her assertion out of hand; after all, it ran contrary to everything he knew about sickness and disease. In addition to that, Artesia was a few months shy of her tenth birthday. How could a child be expected to know something that learned scholars and expert healers did not? And yet¡­

    ¡®And yet, this person is not the same person that my daughter was,¡¯ he admitted to himself. It was part of his daily struggle, to realize that his daughter was no longer his daughter. ¡®I wonder¡­¡¯

    ¡°Tell me how you know,¡± he said, keeping his voice soft. ¡°Please.¡±

    Artesia ducked her head and pushed her food around on her plate. For several long moments, the only sound was the pewter fork scraping against earthenware. Finally, she looked up, peeking at him from between hanging strands of hair, and in a quiet voice said, ¡°... you won¡¯t believe me.¡±

    ¡°That remains to be seen,¡± he said, giving her an encouraging smile. ¡°If you do tell me, I promise I won¡¯t tease you.¡±

    ¡°... ok.¡± she sighed gustily. With pursed lips, she seemed to steel herself. Suitably prepared, she turned her eyes on Valens and let her gaze bore into him. Her icy blue eyes flickered in the light, as if lit from within by a cold flame. ¡°I saw it in a dream. While I was ill.¡±

    ¡°A dream¡­?¡± he asked, his voice suddenly thick. ¡°... I see.¡±

    ¡°... you don¡¯t believe me, do you?¡± she asked, tilting her head to the side. Valen¡¯s eyes tracked the way her hair fell over one shoulder before flicking back to her piercing gaze. There was something¡­ unsettling about it. Too intense, too discerning for a child her age.

    ¡°... let''s say I do,¡± Valens said, looking away from her. ¡°Selatura is the Goddess of Dreams; in the past, she has often communicated through them. Still, how could your knowledge end the plague? Lice are a constant problem; sometimes not so bad, and others, well¡­¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Order everyone to rid themselves of lice. Comb them out and wash the nits away with vinegar. Soak one¡¯s head with warm tallow or oil each night to suffocate the pests. Boil the clothing and bedding to kill them there,¡± she said, never once looking away from him.

    ¡°And how do you know that?¡±

    ¡°Healer Woad told me right after I woke up.¡±

    ¡°And¡­ you¡¯re sure it''s effective?¡± Valens asked.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure. Look,¡± she replied. Artesia leaned her head forward and parted her hair. There wasn¡¯t a tangle or nit to be seen in her black locks. ¡°I¡¯ve been washing and combing my hair each day, right after training with Sir Brant, and Encina has started boiling all the clothing and linens while washing them.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Let me check.¡± Leaning over the table would still leave Valens too far away to examine her scalp, so he took it upon himself to stand up and walk around the table. His daughter obediently tilted her head towards him and held the majority of her hair to the side. Using his fingers as a rough comb, Valens parted her hair in several spots, searching for the normally ever-present pests that would flee from open sunlight. And yet, there was none. Not even a scab or a red swollen spot indicative of their presence.

    ¡°I can¡¯t find a single louse,¡± he admitted after several moments of fruitless searching. ¡°And you¡¯re sure the lice are spreading the disease?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll swear on it, if you¡¯d like.¡±

    ¡°No, that won¡¯t be necessary.¡± Shaking his head, he thought deeply. His patron goddess, Selatura, was also the Goddess of Dreams. ¡®Perhaps Selatura gifted her with this knowledge? She is a kind goddess¡­ what if she intended to have Artesia cure the plague all along?¡¯

    ¡°... very well. I will allow you to venture into the city-¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± she exclaimed.

    ¡°But!¡± Valens interrupted her celebration, wagging a finger at her. ¡°You must visit the temple and tell the healers there about this cure. Make sure you mention that you saw it in a dream, so that they know it is from Selatura.¡±

    ¡°Yes sir!¡±

    ¡°Finish your breakfast first,¡± Valens pointed at her half-eaten plate of hash. ¡°I¡¯ll go find a couple of escorts for you.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, father!¡±

    As he walked out of the room in search of Lupis, the Captain of the Guard, Valens smiled. ¡®This person¡­ even if she is not my daughter in spirit, whoever this is, she seems to be an honorable person. Perhaps¡­ perhaps I can grow to trust her as I would my real daughter¡­¡¯

    <hr>

    When I was given permission to explore the city with a couple of guards to keep me safe, I was under the impression that we¡¯d either walk or ride horses. Not¡­ this. The carriage that had been waiting for me by the stables was rather rough in pretty much all facets. It had none of the finely turned spokes or sweeping curved designs of a Victorian era carriage; rather, it looked more like something out of the Wild West. More like a stagecoach than something a Disney princess would ride in.

    ¡°Oof!¡± I complained as the carriage ran over yet another rut in the dirt road. As far as I could tell, the damn thing didn¡¯t have any kind of spring or shock absorbers between the carriage and the axle. As such, every single bump, jolt, and jostle travelled through my body. To make matters worse, there was no padding on the bench either; no pillow, no cushion, not even a cloth covering.

    So, by the time the driver pulled to a stop in front of the main temple in Balfors Town proper, I was feeling it. I was still entirely too scrawny; I¡¯d only been training for a few days, after all, and Artesia had been rail-thin before that.

    ¡°Not the most comfortable ride, innit?¡± one of my two guards chortled as I gingerly stepped down.

    ¡°Not. At. All,¡± I said through clenched teeth, carefully flexing my abused muscles as I made my way toward the temple entrance.

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t speak to Lady Artesia that way, Garrett,¡± the other guard said, smacking his companion on the shoulder, which was about as far as the shorter man could reach. ¡°Show some respect.¡±

    Garrett and Alvis couldn¡¯t be more different if they tried. Alvis was shorter than the average man, but made up for it in girth. Not because he was fat, though he did carry around a few extra pounds here and there, but because he was wide in both the shoulders and the hips. Garrett on the other hand was head and shoulders taller than most men, but was rail-thin. And yet, his abnormally long reach was surely an advantage in battle.

    I¡¯d seen them both at practice either in the salle or in the yard, training with Sir Brant. With a sword and buckler or sword and shield, Alvis could fight Sir Brant to a standstill. Garrett, with his favored longsword in hand, could strike like a cobra, and his thrust was downright fearsome.

    ¡°Aww, come off it, Al,¡± Garrett wheedled, his peasant¡¯s accent thick as a bowl of porridge. ¡°She don¡¯t mind. Do ya, milady?¡±

    ¡°Do you want to be put in the stocks?¡± Alvis asked him with his lilting, off-rhythm Kymringr accent. ¡°Because that¡¯s how you get put in the stocks.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t do much good in the stocks,¡± he replied, looking confused. ¡°How¡¯m I supposed to guard her if I¡¯m stuck there?¡±

    Both Alvis and I stopped in our tracks and stared at him.

    ¡°You¡­ wouldn¡¯t,¡± I explained, as if explaining to a child. ¡°Father would assign me a different guard.¡±

    ¡°... oh. Yeah, that makes sense, I suppose,¡± he said, scratching at his chin. ¡°Begging your pardon, milady.¡±

    ¡°... don¡¯t worry about it,¡± I said, waving his concerns away. ¡°Let¡¯s get going; I want to see more than just the temple today.¡±

    ¡°Aye, milady,¡± Alvis said, straightening up and standing as tall as his short stature would allow him to.

    My two guards followed me as we approached the temple. The building was one of the tallest in the city, and that was before taking the tall bell tower into account. Design wise, it seemed to be a bizarre blend between the classical Greek or Roman styles and medieval Gothic. The stones were whitewashed, causing the entire building to gleam in the sun, accenting the inlaid gold filigree. The huge iron bound wooden doors were propped open, allowing people to enter or leave on a whim.

    The antechamber had several wrought iron benches lining the walls. Mosaics and reliefs decorated the walls, depicting the various gods and goddesses in action. Just past the antechamber was the main hall. Like a cathedral, the center ceiling was held aloft by carved stone buttresses nearly thirty feet above the floor.

    The majesty of the building was overshadowed, though, by row after row of sleeping pallets. Moaning and begging patients filled each and every one of them. Most of them had blankets or sheets bunched up around their waists, allowing the air to caress their bare chests and necks. Each and every one of the patients had a large rash made up of smaller spots spreading across their skin.

    Harried and tired healers flitted from patient to patient, dipping rags in buckets of water and laying them across the patients¡¯ fevered foreheads. On occasion, a healer would lay their hands on a plague-ridden person, causing the rash to recede and the person breathe a sigh of relief. And yet, it seemed as if there were far too many patients for the overburdened healers to keep up with.

    ¡°Don¡¯t much like the look of this,¡± Garrett muttered just loud enough for me to hear over the background noise. The three of us had to step aside to allow a pair of orderlies leave the main hall, carrying a sheet-wrapped bundle that likely held another dead body. ¡°Like a funeral waiting to happen.¡±

    ¡°More like an army camp after a battle,¡± Alvis murmured back. ¡°Wounded men just waiting to die.¡±

    I did my best to ignore their comments. Instead, I looked around for Healer Woad. Since she was the only healer I really knew, I felt that it would be best to speak to her. With a little luck, she might actually believe me about the lice, and we could put an end to this plague.

    After a moment, I finally spotted her about halfway across the room. She was kneeling next to a patient there, likely casting a healing spell on him to try to defeat the illness like she had done for me.

    ¡°Come on,¡± I murmured to my two guards as I started off towards her. I had to wind my way between the rows of bedrolls and scurrying healers and orderlies to get to my target. Such was the halfway organized chaos of the place.

    ¡°Healer Woad,¡± I greeted in a low voice as I drew near to her.

    ¡°Oh!¡± With that cry of startlement, the healer whirled around. When she recognized me, she gave me an exhausted smile. ¡°Lady Artesia. What are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°Father sent me to speak to you.¡±

    ¡°To me? Why?¡± she asked, looking entirely confused. ¡°Is something wrong?¡±

    ¡°No, nothing like that,¡± I rushed to reassure her. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ well, can we speak in private for a moment?¡±

    Healer Woad looked around, her eyes flicking from patient to patient, with a frown on her face. Shaking her head, she said, ¡°I really don¡¯t have the time¡­¡±

    ¡°Please, it¡¯ll only take a minute,¡± I said, leaning close to her and keeping my voice low. ¡°Besides, I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s something you¡¯re going to want to hear.¡±

    ¡°... very well. Come with me.¡±

    Healer Woad led the three of us through the hall, directing us through the throng of rushing healers and sleeping pallets, until we reached a door. Hurriedly opening it, she waved us in before closing it behind us.

    ¡°Alright, we¡¯re alone,¡± Healer Woad sighed, her face looking drawn and pale in the flickering candlelight of the otherwise dark room. ¡°What did you want to tell me?¡±

    ¡°I know how to stop the spread of this plague,¡± I stated with all the certainty I could muster.

    If I wavered a bit under the gaze of three grown adults, don¡¯t judge me too harshly; this body was still that of a child.

    ¡°Well¡­¡± Visha floundered, looking equally gobsmacked and disbelieving. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d care to enlighten me?¡±

    When Alvis pointedly cleared his throat, Visha hastily added ¡°My Lady.¡±

    ¡°The plague is being spread by lice,¡± I explained, launching into a lecture as I was wont to do. ¡°They bite our skin to drink our blood, you see. If they bite someone who is ill, they can carry that illness with them. If that louse gets onto another person, well¡­¡±

    ¡°Then the other person will catch the plague. Is that right?¡± Visha asked, looking reticent.

    ¡°That¡¯s right. If you get rid of the lice, you get rid of the plague.¡±

    ¡°Not to be disrespectful, milady,¡± Healer Woad said with a surreptitious glance at Alvis. ¡°But, how do you know this?¡±

    ¡°... I saw it in a dream,¡± I lied, just like I had with Valens earlier today. ¡°I told my father about it, and he believes that Selatura sent me that dream to help us end the plague.¡±

    ¡°... I see. So, getting rid of the lice will let us cure people?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t entirely know,¡± I admitted. ¡°Do your healing spells usually heal sickness?¡±

    ¡°Most of the time, yes,¡± she nodded. ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem to be the case with this plague, though.¡±

    ¡°Well, if people are getting it from the lice, maybe your spells are curing them,¡± I told her, tapping a finger against my chin in thought. ¡°But, each time they¡¯re bitten by another louse, they catch the plague once more? That would make it seem like the spells aren¡¯t working¡­¡±

    ¡°Hmm¡­ I never thought about it like that,¡± Healer Woad admitted. ¡°I can¡¯t be sure that¡¯s what is happening, though. It may not work to cure those already ill.¡±

    ¡°Even if it doesn¡¯t, if you tell people to get rid of the lice, people should stop getting sick,¡± I pointed out. ¡°That way, at least you¡¯ll have fewer patients to treat.¡±

    ¡°.. very well. I¡±ll speak to the Pontifex about this,¡± Visha said with a wry smile. ¡°I pray to Tycorin you are correct.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s all pray that this plague will soon be over,¡± I agreed.

    ¡°Not to be rude, milady, but was there anything else?¡± she asked. When I shook my head, she said, ¡°Then, begging your pardon, milady, I have patients to treat.¡±

    ¡°Good luck, Healer Woad,¡± I called out to her as she left the room. As the door closed behind her, I muttered, ¡°We¡¯re all going to need a little luck.¡±

    ¡°Too right,¡± Garrett agreed.

    <hr>

 Chapter 6

    Chapter 6

    ''Maybe I miscalculated just a bit¡­''

    Looking around the main market square, I was starkly reminded that Balfors Town was currently suffering from a plague. There wasn¡¯t a trace of the usual vendors that would line the commons, hawking whatever goods they happened to have on hand to the milling crowds. Even some of the stores in actual buildings seemed to be closed down.

    The wooden platform that normally occupied the center of the square was missing. In its place, there was an abnormally large bonfire in the center of the square blazed away with such intensity that I could feel the heat on my face from where I was standing. Sweating and dirty laborers doused themselves in water before grabbing another cloth-wrapped corpse, trudging as close as they dared to the fire, and hefted it into the flames. Embers, born aloft by the intense flames, spiraled into the air like a horde of demonic fireflies.

    The stench was stomach-churning. Like wood smoke blended with burning pork, with a sickly-sweet undercurrent of rot.

    A small group of sackcloth-wearing people wailed as the corpse caught fire. I could only assume they were that particular deceased individual''s remaining family and friends. A harried looking priest spoke some words to them, indistinct to my ear due to the distance between us, and gently shuffled the mourning group away from the milling crowd.

    "Poor old Hagg," Alvis mumbled, shaking his head.

    "You knew him?" I asked, keeping my voice respectfully low.

    "Aye. Not well, mind you, but we shared an ale on occasion. I''ll miss the old butcher," Alvis sighed. "Made sausages like the ones back home¡­"

    "Andic''s are better," Garrett muttered.

    "Andic wouldn''t know a good sausage if it snuck up on him and bit him in the rear," Alvis scoffed. "Too lean, too small, and too dry. Practically made of jerky, they are."

    "Better than that Kymringr shite you call sausages," Garrett retorted. "I don''t know how you can stand those grease-traps, let alone smothered in pickled cabbage like how you eat them."

    "Because I have good taste," the shorter man retorted, nose lifted into the air. "Unlike some."

    "You¡¯re from the Frozen Coast, aren¡¯t you?" I asked. His accent was just a little bit off; the way he pronounced some vowels was different from either the noble or peasants¡¯ accents, and the cadence with which he spoke each syllable was uttered to a different cadence than I was used to hearing.

    ¡°Aye, milady, I am," he replied, nodding his helmeted head. ¡°I¡¯m from Corsehym, near the Eastern Reaches.¡±

    "How did you come to be in my father''s service, then?" I asked.

    "It was during the last war, milady," he replied, brightening up a bit from his usual serious demeanor. "I was a part of a Kymringr warband Count Valens hired to bolster his army."

    "A mercenary?" I absently asked as I glanced around the square.

    "Aye, and a good one too," he boasted. "Fought in a dozen battles all over Teranthia, from Pommeria to Etrushia, and never lost a single one."

    "If you were a mercenary, how come you are still serving my father?" As I asked this question, I spotted what I was looking for and slowly stood several steps in that general direction. Like the competent guards they were, both Garrett and Alvis moved with me, staying a step behind and to either side as I moved.

    "I was wounded in battle, you see, and laid up here in Balfors Town to recover," he explained, patting a thigh with one hand. "Took the healers nigh a whole moon to fix me up."

    "That long?" Garrett asked, sounding surprised. "They couldn''t just¡­ fix it?"

    "Even the best healers can''t fix everything," he chided his fellow guard. "Else Old Bark would still have his hand."

    "Oh. Right, that makes sense," Garrett nodded.

    "Still, that doesn''t explain why you decided to stay, " I pointed out.

    "Aye, milady, it doesn''t," Alvis agreed.

    "So, what changed?"

    "I met my wife, Helke" he said, his voice growing gentle. "She was the most beautiful woman I''d ever seen. Fair-haired and rosy-cheeked, she was everything I could ever want."

    "Sounds romantic," I told him, an involuntary smile stretching across my face. "So you decided to stay? To be with her?"

    "Aye, I did. Your father was kind enough to hire me on as a man-at-arms. I''ve been his loyal retainer ever since."

    "I''m glad to have you," I told him with genuine sincerity.

    "Thank you, milady."

    ¡°Do either of you know this place?¡± I asked, gesturing at the sign hanging over the door up ahead. It depicted a sword crossing a shield, set inside the hollow of a laurel wreath.

    ¡°What, d¡¯you mean the swordsmith?¡± Garrett asked, sounding gobsmacked. ¡°Everyone knows this place.¡±

    ¡°What can you tell me about it?¡±

    ¡°Vigo¡¯s a dab hand at smithing, he is,¡± Garrett replied, nodding his head as if he was spouting wisdom from on high. ¡°Everyone knows about him. Merchants, knights, and nobles from all over the County come here to buy his swords and armor.¡±

    ¡°Not just people in the County either, milady.¡± Alvis cut in. ¡°Wealthy merchants from as far away as Reeveport come here to buy his goods.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s quite a trip,¡± I noted. Reeveport was almost two week¡¯s travel away from Balfors, following the Bal river road. That was roughly 150 miles, give or take a bit. ¡°His reputation must be impeccable.¡±

    ¡°Some say there¡¯s no better smith in all of Scael,¡± Garrett said, still nodding. ¡°His work is a bit pricey, though. Not something an average guard or townsman could ever hope to buy.¡±

    ¡°Are you looking to commission something, milady?¡± Alvis asked.

    ¡°No. At least, not without Father¡¯s permission first,¡± I replied, shaking my head. ¡°I want to ask him some questions.¡±

    ¡°About what?¡± Garrett asked, looking befuddled.

    ¡°Smithing.¡±

    ¡°Well, yeah,¡± he replied, as if it was obvious. ¡°What about it, though?¡±

    ¡°I want to know how it works,¡± I replied.

    That wasn¡¯t exactly true; as something of a history buff, I knew how smithing worked in loose terms. But, as a fan of Renaissance fairs and medieval arms and armor, I was looking forward to being able to see the forging process first hand.

    ¡°He might not let you, milady,¡± Alvis warned me. ¡°Can¡¯t be giving away trade secrets and the like. And that¡¯s if he¡¯s even open, what with the plague and all.¡±

    ¡°... you may be right,¡± I admitted, my enthusiasm dampened at the thought. ¡°Still, no harm in asking.¡±

    ¡°Aye, no harm in that,¡± he agreed. ¡°Just remember that even a lord cannot order a craftsman to share his skills.¡±

    ¡°As it should be,¡± I nodded. ¡°Now, let¡¯s see if he¡¯s even open.¡±

    I reached out and grasped the wrought iron handle. The little thumb lever on the top wouldn¡¯t budge, though, no matter how hard I tried.

    ¡°Well,¡± I huffed. ¡°Looks like it¡¯s closed.¡±

    ¡°Aye, it seems so, milady.¡±

    I was¡­ disappointed. My inner geek was really looking forward to seeing authentic forging by hand.

    ¡°Perhaps I could return some other day, when the plague isn¡¯t such a problem.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps, milady, but it¡¯s also Godsday,¡± Alvis pointed out. ¡°He might be closed on account of the day, not just because of the plague.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ hadn¡¯t considered that,¡± I admitted, shrugging my shoulders. ¡°Well, in either case, I won¡¯t be visiting today, then.¡±

    Looking around the square, most of the people seemed to be either laborers working with the recently dead, priests conducting ad-hoc funeral services, and mourners. This particular square was in the wealthier district, and merchants likely paid a premium to set up shop here. Still, with the mass cremation going on, it didn¡¯t appear that any of them were open.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose there are any other markets in town, are there?¡± I asked. ¡°One that might actually be open?¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    ¡°Riverside square is open,¡± Garrett chimed in. ¡°They¡¯re always open, even on Godsday.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not the kind of place for a young noble lady,¡± Alvis chided his companion. ¡°It¡¯s full of ruffians, thieves and¡­ uhh¡­¡±

    ¡°And what?¡± I asked. I had an idea of what he was going to say, but I did my best to keep my twitching lips from breaking into a grin.

    ¡°Uh¡­ women of ill repute,¡± he finished lamely.

    ¡°You mean whores?¡± Garrett asked gormlessly.

    ¡°What¡¯s a whore?¡± I asked, injecting as much innocence as I could into my voice.

    ¡°Never you mind that, milady,¡± Alvis said, turning red in the face. Turning to his companion, he slammed his fist into Garrett¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare be speaking like that in front of a young lady, you twit!¡±

    ¡°Ow! Hey, stop that!¡±

    ¡°I ought to make you run laps of the courtyard for that,¡± Alvis continued chiding the taller man. ¡°Lady Artesia is a noblewoman, not some yokel peasant girl. Some things aren¡¯t fit for a noble¡¯s ears!¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright, I¡¯m sorry!¡± Garrett protested, waving his arms around to fend off Alvis¡¯ blows.

    ¡°And don¡¯t you forget it!¡± Alvis finished, stamping a foot for good measure.

    I looked back and forth between the two for several moments. Unlike the knights in the County Guard, these men-at-arms weren¡¯t issued brigandine armor. Both were dressed in a jack-of-plate, a sort of linen gambeson with large rectangular plates sewn between the layers of cloth. It was better than just chainmail (though each wore a three-quarter sleeve hauberk underneath) but not nearly as protective as a breastplate or a brigandine cuirass.

    Despite the chainmail and jack-of-plate, Garrett rubbed at his shoulder, muttering what was likely curses under his breath.

    ¡°So¡­ can we go to Riverside Square now?¡± I asked after several moments of awkward silence.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a good idea,¡± Alvis sternly told me. ¡°It¡¯s not safe.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯ll be going alone,¡± I pointed out. ¡°I¡¯ll have you two to protect me.¡±

    ¡°What if we get separated?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll stay nearby, I promise.¡±

    ¡°... I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a good idea,¡± Alvis stubbornly repeated, crossing his arms over his chest.

    ¡°Oh, come off it, Alvis,¡± Garrett protested. ¡°It¡¯s not all bad. The people like Count Valens; they wouldn¡¯t do anything to Lady Artesia.¡±

    ¡°Please?¡± I begged, lacing my fingers together and holding them under my chin. Just like with Valens, I poured on the cuteness and gave Alvis the best puppy dog eyes I could muster. ¡°I promise I¡¯ll be good¡­¡±

    ¡°... fine, we can go,¡± Alvis relented, his face softening. ¡°BUT! Only if you promise to follow my orders, understand?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± I quickly agreed, nodding my head rapidly. ¡°I promise!¡±

    ¡°Very well. Let¡¯s get going.¡±

    <hr>

    Balfors Town had, over the course of many years, gradually expanded out from Balfors Castle. Before the Cataclysm, The Teranthians had used a small promontory as a fort to secure a stretch of the Imperial Road that ran through the Balreeve Pass up to the Pommerian coast. ¡®Balfors¡¯, in this case, refers to a ford on the Bal river, whose name was given to many prominent features in this valley.

    The old Imperial Road was in poor repair; most of it was little more than a dirt track these days. Still, it was an important trading route between the Pommerlands and the Electorate to the south. Balfors Castle had been established by my ancestors to help secure this trade route, allowing patrols to drive off or eliminate bandits and brigands that often preyed on unsuspecting merchant caravans.

    The Bal river originated higher in the pass, and several smaller rivers and streams gradually flowed into it as it made its way north to the sea. A high ridge, spanning the mouth of the valley, caused the waters of the Bal river to pool into Lake Ansim, draining through Balreeve falls, where the Bal river continued it¡¯s trek to the sea. The river was navigable from the sea to the falls, and for a small stretch near Lake Ansim. This far up the valley, though, and there were too many stretches of rapids and shallows to allow anything more than small rowboats to navigate it.

    Still, the people in Balfors Town set fishing traps or rowed very small boats on the river to catch what fish they could. There were enough fishermen to justify the creation of the Riverside Square and a few small piers for the fishermen to use to sell their daily haul. Other vendors set up shop nearby, and as the city expanded, houses sprung up around the area, fully bringing it into the city limits.

    The old Imperial Road also ran through Riverside Square. The eponymous Bal river ford was just a few miles upstream, where the Imperial Road crossed from the far side of the river to this side. Several coaching inns lined the road on either side of the square, each with stables large enough to house more than a dozen horses or mules. Most were empty, now; word of the plague had spread, and travelling merchants were avoiding the town.

    Still, just like Garrett had said, the square was busy. People milled about, visiting stall after stall, bartering and bargaining for whatever foodstuffs and little trinkets they needed. Troubadours sat or stood in whatever space they could find, playing music and singing songs for the crowd, no doubt hoping to draw donations from appreciative listeners. One was playing something that sounded an awful lot like a bagpipe; unfortunately, there was no snare drum to accompany it. Most, however, were playing some variant of a lute.

    In many respects, it was like seeing the largest Renaissance fair in the world, only one where there wasn¡¯t a hint of modern clothing or devices in sight and everyone was in appropriate period dress.

    ¡°Alright, milady, stay close to me now,¡± Alvis said as I finally stepped down from the carriage. ¡°We¡¯ll take you ¡®round from stall to stall.¡±

    ¡°Alright.¡±

    Alvis strode forward into the crowd, shouting at anyone too slow to get out of his way. I quickly stepped into his wake, and Garrett brought up the rear. Once people began noticing my guards and I, they started making way for us. A few people in the crowd, usually those dressed with slightly finer clothing than the others, gave perfunctory bows or shouted greetings. I did my best to wave and acknowledge them, but Alvis was moving too quickly to allow me to do much more than that.

    ¡°Alright, clear out now!¡± Alvis shouted as we approached the first stall. A middle aged woman, who had been bartering with the vendor, turned and was about to start shouting back, but stopped when she saw who was shouting at her.

    ¡°Alvis!¡± I shouted, catching the man¡¯s attention. When he looked over his shoulder at me, I told him, ¡°Let the poor lady finish her purchase; there¡¯s no point in being rude about it.¡±

    ¡°... aye, milady,¡± he replied, frowning, but he did as I asked. ¡°Apologies, ma¡¯am. Finish your bartering, if you please.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, milady,¡± the woman said, dipping into a crude curtsy. She pointedly turned her nose up at Alvis before turning back to the vendor.

    I watched and listened to the two haggle for a moment. The vendor would try to play up the quality of the pile of assorted vegetables the woman was trying to buy, while she was point out little flaws here and there to try to talk him down. After several minutes, the woman and the vendor finally agreed to a price. She placed half a dozen copper coins on the stall¡¯s countertop, stuffed the food into a burlap sack, and walked off.

    ¡°That was right mighty kind of you, milady,¡± the vendor said, his accent somehow thicker than even Garrett¡¯s. ¡°Letting me finish bargaining like that.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s no problem at all,¡± I said with a quick smile and a nod.

    ¡°Is there something this humble merchant can interest you in, milady?¡±

    I let my eyes roam over the displayed goods as I tapped at the small coin purse Valens had handed to me just before we left the castle. There were only a trio of silver griffons and a handful of copper crests, but that was more than enough to buy nearly anything I could want on this shopping trip.

    The vendor mostly had spring vegetables, though a couple of more durable root crops were for sale as well. They were likely leftovers from the previous year¡¯s harvest; the things that looked a lot like potatoes looked rather worse for wear, and several onion bulbs appeared to be trying to sprout, but for the most part they still looked edible.

    ¡°Could I see those beets, please?¡± I asked. The merchant placed a couple of decent sized ones near enough that I, with my rather short stature, could actually reach them. They were decently sized, still somewhat tender, and still had their greens attached. ¡°I¡¯ll take three of these, please, and that bundle of asparagus.¡±

    ¡°This one here?¡± he said, fingering a bundle that was looking decidedly dry.

    ¡°No, the next one over,¡± I said, pointing to one with finer stalks that was likely less woody.

    ¡°Right you are, milady,¡± he said, placing the much better bundle next to the beets.

    ¡°Also, a nice head of lettuce, if you please.¡±

    ¡°Right away, milady.¡±

    ¡°Also, do you happen to have a spare burlap sack I could buy?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯d rather not have to carry these by hand, you see.¡±

    ¡°Of course, milady.¡± He placed the sack next to the vegetables I¡¯d selected. ¡°Anything else for you?¡±

    ¡°No, I think this will suffice.¡±

    ¡°As milady wishes. Everything together will be one silver piece,¡± he said, his eyes glinting with greed.

    ¡°A-¡± I cut off the instinctive invective I was about to blurt out. ¡°My apologies, sir; I thought you were a merchant, not a highway robber.¡±

    ¡°A robber! I never!¡± he protested. ¡°A silver is more than fair.¡±

    ¡°For beets like these? I think not, good sir,¡± I shook my head. ¡°They¡¯re too tender yet, and will need a week before they¡¯re ready to eat. I think four coppers is fair enough.¡±

    ¡°Four?! Now who''s robbing who?¡± he replied. ¡°You have a good eye, I admit, because you chose the best asparagus I have on hand. No less than nine coppers will do.¡±

    ¡°Yes, it is quite nice asparagus; you should compliment whomever supplied them to you,¡± I nodded. ¡°But that lettuce is looking a bit wilted. Five coppers.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s getting late in the season for fresh lettuce,¡± he agreed. ¡°Seven.¡±

    ¡°Lets split the difference at six,¡± I said, ¡°And I¡¯ll come back next time I visit the square.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± he said, a big smile breaking out on his face. ¡°You¡¯re quite the little haggler, milady.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, kind sir.¡±

    Once the coins were exchanged and the various vegetables were sequestered in the sack, our little procession moved on to the next stall. I perused the wares from many different vendors, not buying much of anything. The sun was getting high in the sky, and my stomach was beginning to rumble, so I tugged at Alvis¡¯ hand to catch his attention.

    ¡°Yes, milady?¡±

    ¡°One more stall, then let¡¯s find somewhere to eat, ok?¡±

    ¡°Aye, milady. Which one do you want to want to see?¡±

    ¡°Um¡­ how about that one, there?¡± I said, pointing towards a shabby-looking stall tucked away in a corner of the square. It was near a building that looked rather like a tavern; my thought was I¡¯d take a quick peek, then drag my guards into the tavern for some food and maybe an ale (for them) or something else (for me).

    ¡°Of course, milady.¡±

    The crowd had grown somewhat used to our presence; Alvis didn¡¯t have to elbow anyone out of the way anymore, but neither were they making way as if their lives depended on it.

    It was rather interesting; most of these people were lowborn and hadn¡¯t interacted with the nobility much at all. I caught half-intelligible snippets of mumbled conversations where one person would comment about how unusual it was to see a noble ¡®rubbing elbows¡¯, so to speak, with the common folk. I was a bit self-conscious about it, but I did my best to act as normally as possible. It helped my own state of mind, if nothing else.

    The stall I had pointed out was being run by an ancient-looking old woman. Her face was weathered and wrinkled, and her thinning hair had long since turned white. Still, her blue eyes were sharp; she looked me up and down at sat up straighter on her stool as I approached.

    ¡°Anything I can interest you in, milady?¡± she asked, her voice thready and wavering.

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± I told her as I looked at her wares. Some of it seemed to be handcrafted jewelry, mostly made of wood, leather, or inexpensive stones polished to a brilliant shine. Nothing truly valuable, mind you, and not a hint of gold or silver in them. Still, I could tell that a lot of work had been put into them. Aside from the jewelry, the old woman had a couple of quilts stitched together from various fabric pieces, and a small selection of knitted scarves or embroidered shawls.

    ¡°You have a lovely selection,¡± I told her, not quite lying. They weren¡¯t my taste, mind you, but I could see the appeal in some of them at least. ¡°Do you make them yourself?¡±

    ¡°Some of them, aye,¡± she nodded. ¡°The children make the rest.¡±

    ¡°Children?¡± I asked. ¡°Your¡­ grandchildren?¡±

    ¡°No, milady,¡± she said, shaking her head. ¡°Thasha never saw fit to bless me with children of my own. No, the poor orphans I take care of help me make these.¡±

    ¡°... I see,¡± I said. Either this woman was telling the truth, or she was a fantastic liar; I couldn¡¯t detect a hint of deception in her expression. ¡°Do you take care of many of them?¡±

    ¡°As many as I can.¡±

    ¡°That is very kind of you,¡± I said, feeling a bit of a tug on my heartstrings. I knew I¡¯d feel terrible if I walked away without buying anything, though, so I took a look around to see if anything caught my eye. ¡°Can I see that one?¡±

    ¡°Of course, milady,¡± the old woman said, smiling a nearly-toothless smile at me. ¡°Here you are.¡±

    The necklace she handed me was a black stone polished nearly to a mirror finish. A small hole had been drilled through its center, allowing it to be strung on a simple leather thong. It was perhaps the most basic handicraft one could possibly make, but it was quite nice in a rustic sort of way.

    ¡°What¡¯s it made out of?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Jetstone, milady,¡± she told me. ¡°Little Simic found it last moon and polished it right up.¡±

    ¡°Jetstone?¡± I murmured. The Pommeran name for it was a little strange, but the closest translation I could make into English was ¡®jet¡¯, which referred to a form of coal that was also prized as a semi precious gemstone. ¡°Did he find it nearby?¡±

    ¡°Simic likes to wander in the hills, whenever he can get away with it, the little rascal,¡± the old woman said with fondness. ¡°He says he found it there and brought it home.¡±

    ¡°Did he bring any more of it?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Some,¡± she said, suddenly sounding a bit cagey. ¡°A bit of amber, too.¡±

    ¡®Sounds an awful lot like a coal deposit coming to the surface,¡¯ I thought to myself. Some varieties of coal were known to hold bits of amber or oceanic fossils. It really depended on how they were deposited; if they were created by deposition of dead ocean algae, they often held shells and other oceanic fossils. If they were formed by compressed plant matter, oftentimes that included the very trees that produced amber deposits, which were made out of crystallized sap. ¡®That might be useful in the future.¡¯

    ¡°Well, if he does start finding more, I¡¯d very much like to speak with him,¡± I told her. ¡°Father might be interested in a source for jetstone and amber.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s all the Count¡¯s lands,¡± she said, shaking her head. ¡°Your father wouldn¡¯t be able to do much with it without his permission. Even a good lord like Count Salvorin is going to ask for his cut.¡±

    Alvis opened his mouth, but I quickly elbowed him in the side. Garrett too, for good measure. When they looked at me, I shook my head; if the poor old woman didn¡¯t recognize me, I wasn¡¯t going to go about correcting her.

    ¡°My father has some sway with Count Salvorin,¡± I told the woman, trying my best to keep a grin off my face. Both Alvis and Garrett¡¯s eyes were wide as they stared at me, but I paid them no mind. ¡°I¡¯m sure Simic will be rewarded if he can show us where he found this.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps so, milady,¡± she said with a shrug. ¡°If your father happens to come by with the Count¡¯s permission, I might be able to talk the little one into showing you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll hold you to it,¡± I told her. Taking the little amulet in hand, I deposited one of my last silver coins in its place. ¡°Will this be enough?¡±

    ¡°Very generous of you, milady,¡± the old woman said, smiling a near toothless smile at me. ¡°Thank you kindly.¡±

    ¡°Have a good day!¡± I called.

    She wished me the same as my two guards and I turned and made our way to the nearby tavern.

    ¡°What was that all about?¡± Garrett asked once we were out of earshot.

    ¡°She didn¡¯t know that the Count is my father,¡± I explained. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to up and tell her.¡±

    ¡°Why is that, milady?¡± Alvis asked. ¡°Are you ashamed of your father?¡±

    ¡°Not at all!¡± I exclaimed. ¡°I just think it¡¯ll be funny to bring Father by her stall some day. Imagine her surprise!¡±

    ¡°She might be cross with you,¡± Alvis warned. ¡°Count Valens might be cross with you, too.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just a bit of harmless fun,¡± I scoffed.

    ¡°If you¡¯re sure, milady¡­¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s a problem for another time,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°Shall we get something to eat and drink?¡±

    ¡°I thought you¡¯d never ask,¡± Garrett sighed with relief. ¡°I was getting quite hungry.¡±

    With a roll of my eyes, I followed Garrett into the tavern.

    ¡®Coal deposits, huh?¡¯ I thought to myself. A thousand and one ideas whirled through my head at the prospect of coal. There was a very good reason why coal was so important to the Industrial Revolution, and not in the least because it could be burned for warmth. I wasn¡¯t a chemist, so I didn¡¯t know how to render it into, for example, synthetic dyes, but I did know some useful products that coal could provide.

    Not in the least of which was coal tar, which had one very particular medicinal use; it was an anti-parasitic. Specifically, coal tar could be diluted by alcohol, then mixed with soap. When used, it kills and repels lice, among other surface parasites.

    ¡®If I can make some coal tar soap, I can get rid of the lice. Getting rid of the lice will get rid of the plague. I¡¯ll need to speak to Valens about this¡­¡¯

    <hr>

 Chapter 7

    Chapter 7

    ¡°Did you have fun exploring the city today?¡±

    I had just sat down in the private dining room, back at Balfors Castle, after washing up for dinner. Valens was looking at me inquisitively, head cocked to one side and one eyebrow raised.

    ¡°It was interesting,¡± I said somewhat reservedly. ¡°Not too much to see, though, between the plague and Godsday.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s to be expected,¡± he said with a shrug. ¡°Did you go by the temple like I asked?¡±

    ¡°I did; Healer Woad was quite interested to learn about the lice,¡± I confirmed somewhat defensively. ¡°Though, she said she would need to speak with the Pontifex before they do anything with the information.¡±

    ¡°Disappointing, but not unexpected,¡± he sighed. ¡°I suppose it was too much to ask that they believe you out of hand.¡±

    I wasn¡¯t sure how to respond to that, so I just shrugged my shoulders.

    After a moment of quiet introspection, Valens broke the silence and asked, ¡°What else did you do in the city today?¡±

    ¡°I went to the market on Riverside Square and looked at the wares being offered there. Speaking of which, dinner will be a beet stew tonight; I bought the ingredients myself.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± he asked, looking surprised. ¡°Beet stew? I haven¡¯t had that in years¡­¡±

    ¡°I thought it would be a nice, simple dinner.¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m looking forward to it,¡± he smiled. ¡°Did you find anything else interesting at the market?¡±

    ¡°I found this,¡± I said, untying the leather necklace and holding it out for him.

    Taking the simple pendant in hand, Valens inspected it closely. ¡°Is this onyx?¡±

    ¡°No, the old lady said it was jetstone.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Not the most valuable gemstone,¡± he frowned.

    ¡°She didn¡¯t seem like the sort of merchant who could afford anything better,¡± I defended her. ¡°She only has it because one of the orphans that she takes care of found it.¡±

    ¡°Found it?¡± he asked, dubiously.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I continued, ignoring the implied accusation of thievery in his tone. ¡°And some amber, too.¡±

    ¡°I highly doubt that,¡± he shook his head. ¡°There are no gemstone deposits anywhere in the county, even cheap ones like this.¡±

    ¡°Not yet,¡± I replied somewhat waspishly.

    ¡°If there were,¡± he replied with a roll of his eyes, ¡°someone would have already started a mine.¡±

    ¡°Not if it was on your land,¡± I stubbornly insisted. ¡°Like they claim it is.¡±

    ¡°If it was on my land, I would have been informed of it already,¡± he countered. ¡°No, the most likely case is that the orphan boy pickpocketed someone.¡±

    I opened my mouth to angrily counter him, but snapped my jaw shut before the words could escape. With a deep breath, I pushed down as much of my sudden anger as I could. For several long moments, I took deep breaths and kept my jaw clenched as I stared at the Count. He was intently watching my every move; there was something unsettling about his gaze.

    ¡°Perhaps that is the case,¡± I admitted, keeping my voice low and my tone even. ¡°Still, if there is some truth to the boy¡¯s claim, developing a mine would bring a lot of coin to your coffers. If he is indeed lying, like you believe he is, all you would lose is an afternoon¡¯s ride in the countryside.¡±

    Valens leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully stroked his beard. As I watched him think, I pushed down the rest of my anger and did my best to force myself into a more rational state of mind; I¡¯d need the mental clarity and acuity if I was going to convince him to take action.

    ¡°Opening a mine is an expensive endeavor,¡± Valens sighed after several moments. ¡°Jetstone doesn¡¯t draw the same prices as other, more lustrous gems.¡±

    ¡°What about amber?¡±

    ¡°What about it?¡±

    ¡°The boy mentioned finding amber as well,¡± I reminded him. ¡°Does amber draw a fair price?¡±

    ¡°It does, in the right markets,¡± he nodded. ¡°The best markets for it are in Etrushia or Maldhea, though.¡±

    ¡°Then wouldn¡¯t it bring traders from those areas to the County?¡±

    ¡°I suppose it would, if word was spread.¡±

    ¡°Then, wouldn¡¯t developing a source of jetstone and amber be advantageous?¡±

    ¡°If such a deposit exists, and it is not too expensive to mine it, then yes, it would,¡± he sighed, exasperatedly. ¡°But all of this is irrelevant if the boy is telling tall tales.¡±

    ¡°If he is lying, all we would lose is an afternoon in the countryside,¡± I reiterated. ¡°If he is not, and if the deposit is worth working, then it is an opportunity that is too good to pass up.¡±

    ¡°You are relying on the word of an orphan boy you¡¯ve never met, told to you by an old woman you don¡¯t know, who was likely just trying to sell you a cheap bauble,¡± he angrily insisted with furrowed brows and pursed lips.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    I wanted to yell at the stubborn jackass for being so obstinate, but I bit my tongue. Perhaps he was right, and the old woman was lying to me to make a quick sale. Still, even ignoring the potential profits that a jetstone and amber mine would bring, the potential applications for coal were too useful. Maybe I would be wasting my time, but with any luck, the worst I would lose is a day or two of roaming the countryside.

    ¡°How about a wager?¡± I asked, an idea popping into my mind.

    ¡°On whether or not the boy is lying?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Yes. If he is lying, and he simply stole the gems, then you may punish me however you see fit,¡± I insisted, my face set in a neutral expression. ¡°However, if he can lead us to a deposit, you will place me in charge of developing the mine.¡±

    ¡°Why are you so insistent on this gods damned mine?¡± he groaned with exasperation. ¡°You¡¯re acting as if someone has struck gold!¡±

    I opened my mouth to launch into an angry tirade, but I held my tongue instead. Anger, in this situation, would likely only make things worse than they already are. Racking my brain, I tried to think of some plausible explanation; that the gemstones would increase trade, or that the work would bring more jobs to the area, or any number of other good reasons. The problem was, the gems alone weren¡¯t enough of a lure to get him to agree. I could see that, from his reaction to the idea so far.

    Telling him about coal and coal tar might get him to agree, in addition to the potential for additional jetstone and amber, but that was revealing a lot more knowledge than his daughter should realistically know. Perhaps I could explain it as yet another Selatura-granted dream, but if I kept on using that excuse, I¡¯d end up becoming some kind of religious figure. That path was¡­ fraught with peril.

    Coal was just too useful to give up. No matter what way I looked at it, I couldn¡¯t pass up the opportunity to begin extracting it. The problem was, I couldn¡¯t really think of a good way to explain exactly how I knew these things.

    ¡®I suppose I¡¯ll have to go with the truth¡­¡¯ I realized, an idea starting to take form in my mind. ¡®Or, at least the truth from a certain point of view¡­¡¯

    ¡°... do you know what jetstone is?¡± I belatedly asked after several moments of silence. I held my hand out and gestured towards the necklace Valens still gripped tightly in his hand.

    ¡°A cheap gemstone used for mourning jewelry,¡± he rotely replied, as if reading it from a book. Still, he leaned over the table and offered the necklace to me.

    ¡°Jetstone isn¡¯t a stone at all,¡± I said as I reached for one of the white linen napkins on the table. ¡°No more than amber is, in any case.¡±

    ¡°Not a stone?¡± he skeptically asked, giving me a wry, disbelieving look.

    ¡°That¡¯s right. I¡¯ll show you.¡± Taking the jetstone in hand, I vigorously rubbed it on the white linen cloth. Everywhere it touched, it left a dark brown streak behind, staining the formerly pristine napkin.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°Just watch,¡± I shushed him.

    Once the napkin was sufficiently stained, both front and back, I balled the jetstone up in the stained napkin and placed it on a small earthenware plate. Next, I grabbed one of the lit wax candles from the middle of the table and held the flame to the napkin, which quickly ignited.

    ¡°Artesia!¡± Valens protested. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°Shush! Just watch!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to burn the whole castle down!¡±

    ¡°No, I won¡¯t. My cup of water is right there, and there¡¯s a pitcher over there,¡± I pointed out the items in turn. ¡°If anything happens, we can put it out before it spreads. Please, just... just watch.¡±

    ¡°I hope you know what you¡¯re doing,¡± he grumped, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

    Looking up, I caught his gaze with mine. ¡°Trust me.¡±

    His expression wavered for a moment, and he relaxed. ¡°Fine. Just be careful.¡±

    ¡°Of course. Now, look,¡± I said, pointing at the merrily burning cloth in front of me. ¡°What do you see?¡±

    ¡°A fire,¡± was his laconic reply.

    I rolled my eyes. ¡°Of course it¡¯s a fire. But, what is it burning now?¡±

    ¡°The cloth, obviously.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± I pointed again at the fire. Valens furrowed his brows and looked more closely.

    While some scraps of the cloth had not yet burned away, the little hunk of jetstone had been ignited. A thin film of white ash partially hid glowing orange coals along much of the stone¡¯s surface, neatly contrasting against the dark matte black of the parts not yet set alight.

    ¡°... how?¡± he asked, as the light from the burning jet danced in his eyes. ¡°How is this possible?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how, exactly,¡± I lied. Truthfully, I could go on about how jetstone was just a specific type of coal formed from trees and plants that had been buried under the earth and transformed through heat and pressure over millions of years, but I didn¡¯t think he was ready for that kind of conversation. Not now, and likely not ever. ¡°But I do know that it can be very useful.¡±

    ¡°Useful? In what way?¡±

    ¡°Well, the most obvious is that it can be burned,¡± I pointed to the still burning lump on the small earthenware plate. ¡°It can be carved and polished into jetstone jewelry, of course, but you know that already. The most important thing, though, is that it can be rendered into a medicine that will kill lice.¡±

    ¡°A medicine?¡± he asked, sounding more than a bit incredulous. ¡°From jetstone?¡±

    ¡°Do you smell that?¡± I asked. ¡°That acrid smoke being given off?¡±

    Valens took a whiff, grimaced, and nodded.

    ¡°There is a sort of tar that is held in the stone,¡± I explained as best as I could. It was difficult, since Pommeran didn¡¯t have a word for coal, but at least they knew what tar was. Or rather, they knew what pitch was, which was similar enough for my purposes. ¡°It burns when the stone is ignited, and will consume the stone as it burns. By extracting this tar, you can mix it into soap, and using the soap will kill and drive away lice.¡±

    Valens shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°Where did you learn all of this?¡±

    This was the question I had been dreading. I¡­ was afraid of how he would react. Still, I could only hope that nothing¡­ untoward came of this.

    ¡°I¡­ you¡¯ll think I¡¯m mad,¡± I shyly deflected. ¡°If I tell you, you¡¯ll¡­ put me in the madhouse or something.¡±

    ¡°No. No, I would never do that,¡± Valens told me quite emphatically. ¡°Trust me. Please.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ fine.¡± Steeling my resolve, I told him the truth. From a certain point of view. ¡°I¡­ when I woke up, I found that I¡­ had memories. A whole lifetime of memories, from some other person.¡±

    ¡°Memories?¡± Valens repeated, looking confused, as if he had been expecting some other explanation.

    ¡°Yes. Just¡­ little bits, here and there,¡± I lied, turning away from him and making myself as small as possible in my chair. ¡°But¡­ with the memories came knowledge. Things like this jetstone, and some medicines, and so much more.¡±

    ¡°Do you¡­¡± he began but hesitated. ¡°Do you know where these memories came from?¡±

    ¡°... no,¡± I lied again. ¡°Only that they were there when I woke up. As if I¡¯d known them all along.¡±

    ¡°... I see.¡± Valens leaned back in his chair. Through my hanging bangs, I could see him carefully studying me. ¡°Is it possible that¡­ Selatura granted you these memories?¡±

    ¡°... maybe. I don¡¯t know for sure,¡± I said with a shake of my head. Looking up at him, I widened my eyes and asked, ¡°Does that¡­ does that mean you believe me?¡±

    ¡°... I don¡¯t know what to believe,¡± he sighed. ¡°We shall see what the future holds.¡±

    ¡°Then¡­ will you come with me, tomorrow?¡±

    He blinked, taken aback. ¡°Come with you? Where are you going?¡±

    ¡°To ask the boy to show us where he found the jetstone,¡± I replied. ¡°To see if we can start a mine.¡±

    Valens sighed and rubbed his beard with one hand. ¡°... I suppose I can put off your lessons for one day.¡±

    I smiled widely at him.

    ¡°Don¡¯t think this means you¡¯re off the hook,¡± he warned me with a wagging finger. ¡°We still have a wager, remember?¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯ll take the bet?¡± I asked, and Valens nodded. ¡°... thank you, father.¡±

    He tilted his head and gave me a look I couldn¡¯t quite interpret. ¡°Of course, daughter.¡±

    ¡°Are we going to go in the morning, or-¡± I began, but was interrupted.

    ¡°Dinner is ready, my lord, my lady,¡± Encina said as she swept into the room, carrying a decently sized pot in one hand and a pair of bowls in the other. A scullery maid scurried in behind her, carrying a pair of pitchers and several cups.

    ¡°I hope you¡­¡± Encina paused and took a deep whiff. ¡°By the gods, what is that horrible smell?!¡±

    I met Valens¡¯ gaze, and I couldn¡¯t quite hold in my laughter. Despite my best attempts at suppressing it, a few giggles slipped out.

    ¡°Is that¡­ is that your napkin?!¡± Encina cried out, seeing the still-glowing coal surrounded by the ashes of the piece of linen. ¡°Lady Artesia! Did you set it on fire?!¡±

    ¡°... yes, ma¡¯am,¡± I admitted between giggles. Even Valens looked like he wanted to laugh, at least until Encina turned her ire on him.

    ¡°Lord Valens, how could you just let your daughter destroy a perfectly good napkin?¡± she harangued him. ¡°That¡¯s certainly not proper behavior for a young lady. Shame on you! Shame on you both!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, ma¡¯am,¡± I told her with genuine regret. ¡°It won¡¯t happen again.¡±

    ¡°I should very well hope not!¡± With deft, if somewhat angry, motions Encina and the attending scullery maid placed the dinner on the table before us. Once finished, she grabbed the offending plate with one hand and pointed a finger at me with the other. ¡°You¡¯d better not spill your soup, young lady, because you¡¯re certainly not getting another one of my napkins this evening!¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am, I¡¯m sorry, ma¡¯am,¡± I told her with all the contrition I could muster, despite my amusement at the situation.

    ¡°Yes, well¡­¡± she cleared her throat and adopted a more formal stance. ¡°Is there anything else my lord and my lady require this evening?¡±

    Valens glanced at me, and the corner of his lips twitched up. Adopting a serious expression, he looked right at Encina and said, ¡°We seem to be short a napkin, my dear. Would you mind fetching me another one?¡±

    Encina¡¯s angry sputtering was quite amusing, and the resulting laughter dispelled the last of the tension the earlier conversation had brought. Despite the indignant lecture on proper behavior both Valens and I received, I would admit that I had a pretty good time.

    <hr>

 Chapter 8 (part 1)

    Chapter 8

    ¡°Here now, milady, it¡¯s not that difficult,¡± Alvis quipped, unsuccessfully attempting to suppress a chuckle. He was holding the reins of the horse I was currently attempting to mount, just outside the stables in the castle¡¯s courtyard. ¡°Just get your foot up into the stirrup and lift your other leg over the saddle.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m too short,¡± I complained. Stretching my knee up as high as it could go, I could just barely slip my shoe into the stirrup, but I had little leverage with which to heave myself up. My still-puny arms, despite about a week¡¯s worth of sword training, were not strong enough to pull me up. ¡°Come on¡­¡±

    Hefting, I got myself about halfway up before my strength fled and I dropped back down to the ground, thankfully landing on one foot and not losing my balance this time. My dress -one of the shabbier ones I owned- was still dusty from my first tumble a few minutes earlier.

    ¡°Up you get, milady,¡± Garrett¡¯s voice said from right behind me, making me startle slightly.

    ¡°What are you- woah!¡± I cried as his large hands grabbed me around the waist and hefted me up onto the saddle.

    ¡°There you are,¡± Garrett chuckled at me, patting me on the shoulder once I was astride the saddle. ¡°Better?¡±

    ¡°Yes, thank you,¡± I said with what little dignity I had left. I must not have been very successful because most of the party expressed varying levels of amusement. Valens was accompanying me, along with his Captain of the Guard, Lupis Condotti. They were being escorted by half a dozen knights. I, of course, would be riding with them, along with the two guards that were quickly becoming my personal guards; Garrett and Alvis.

    Sometimes I forgot I was in the body of a prepubescent girl, and at other times I was starkly reminded of it. Most days I still felt like an adult, so being manually hoisted onto the back of a horse felt¡­ infantilizing, for lack of a better term. And yet, that¡¯s what I was. Well, a child rather than an infant, but I was essentially still someone not yet fully grown, and physically incapable of completing some tasks. Such as mounting a horse.

    It wasn¡¯t like I had much experience with horseback riding, either in this life or the previous one. Even Artesia¡¯s memories held few instances of being on horseback, and in most of those she was riding in Valens¡¯ lap. Most of my experience came from my middle school days. I¡¯d grown up in a small town, with little police presence other than the county sheriff and a couple of deputies. Being a small town, where everyone knew everyone, legal justice was less important than community justice. As such, when dumb kids (such as myself) got ourselves into a spot of legal trouble, most of the time it was resolved without the official participation of the formal legal system.

    In practice, this meant that kids were given unofficial community service and sternly warned not to get in trouble again. Better to do this ¡®off the books¡¯, so to speak, than to give a dumb kid a criminal record that would likely follow them throughout their lives.

    For me, I got in trouble for breaking into an abandoned house on a dare. When I was caught, I was told I would either be officially charged and tried for the crime, or I could work for a summer on a small farm. Obviously, I¡¯d chosen to work. The farm had belonged to Mr. Gunter, a stern older man who was a good friend of the county sheriff. The older man¡¯s children had long since moved to larger cities (as most young people did in these communities) and he was getting too old to work it on his own.

    That summer had been a hard one; twelve or more hours per day working in the hot sun, replacing worn fence posts, digging up musk thistle, cleaning out the stables, and many more manual tasks the old man couldn¡¯t do on his own anymore. On the plus side, I got to learn a number of handy skills, and most of the daily fence inspection tours were done by horseback (which was necessary, since the horses needed to be exercised anyway). Besides, Mr. Gunter had been rather kind, despite his stoic nature; at the end of that summer, he had presented me with my first ever paycheck. It wasn¡¯t much; he couldn¡¯t afford it, really, but it had been appreciated.

    Still, that had been a different world, with a different body. Even if the skills still somehow transferred over -like riding a bike, I suppose- that had been years ago. I was worried I¡¯d do poorly and look like a fool.

    ¡°Well, now that we¡¯re all saddled up,¡± Valens said, glancing at me and flashing me a teasing grin, ¡°we may proceed.¡±

    ¡°Aye, milord,¡± Lupis nodded. He waved his arm forward with a chopping motion, and almost as one, the horses launched into a canter.

    The main gate in the courtyard in Balfors Castle wasn¡¯t very large; it had probably been built that way intentionally. The deep gates held two pairs of thick double doors, each backed by an iron portcullis. The passage through the gatehouse was narrow as well, only barely wide enough for two horses to pass side-by-side. Arrow slits and murder holes lined the arched roof, and I could see faces of some of the wall guards peeking down at us from them.

    ¡®I pity whoever tries to assault these gates,¡¯ I thought to myself.

    Between the steep slopes at the base of each wall, the impressive walls themselves, and the narrow pathway that wound up the slopes of the promontory to the gatehouse itself, any assault against this castle would be terribly difficult. The walls themselves weren¡¯t overly high, merely ten feet or so, but they were lined with crenellations and machicolations that would allow the defenders to fire arrows or bolts from cover, even down to the base of the walls themselves.

    It was honestly very impressive architecture.

    As the group travelled down the single trail from the castle into the city below, I was quiet and contemplative. Everyone else was chatting and joking as we went; even Valens was participating in the telling of dirty jokes amongst his knights. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, like this was some sort of hunting trip. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Gently smiling, I exalted in the warm spring sunlight and the feeling of camaraderie created by the byplay. Yesterday¡¯s irritation seemed to have evaporated like a morning mist, and I was feeling quite content. Even my meagre horseback riding skills were coming back; I only had to grab for the saddle horn three times to keep from falling off.

    The bonfire in the main square was still burning brightly as several laborers attended to it, and I was again reminded that not all was well in this city. ¡®Life can be so fragile¡­¡¯

    Looking around, I took in the relatively primitive conditions I saw all around. Even in the wealthier parts of the city, the roads were rough and rutted. There were no delineated sidewalks, no gutters, no real drainage at all. I could only count my lucky stars that it hadn¡¯t rained recently, otherwise the horses and people would be trodding through a sodden, muddy mess.

    Further down the main thoroughfare, a line of people waited at a well. Mostly women and children, they were taking turns cranking a handle to lift a small bucket of water to where they could get at it, fill their pots, and carry them home. Running water wasn¡¯t nearly universal in this city; hell, even the castle had little more than a well to one side of the courtyard. The servants had to trudge it all the way up the towers for Valens¡¯ and my convenience. It was¡­ primitive.

    ¡®How could I go about fixing that?¡¯ I wondered. Obviously, an aqueduct would resolve most of the issues quite nicely, but those were expensive and took years to build. Even with relatively nearby mountains, lush with streams that could feed a waterworks project, I wasn¡¯t sure the County could afford the expense, nor was I sure I could find people with the necessary skillset to construct one. Stonemasons would probably be able to do it, but if this world was anything like my old world¡¯s history, their services would not be cheap.

    Even if the coalmine panned out the way I thought it would, the revenue from that alone wouldn¡¯t be sufficient to construct one.

    I got lost in a storm of ideas, crafting and discarding them as we rode along.

    ¡°Artesia,¡± Valen¡¯s voice caught my attention and pulled my heads out of the clouds. ¡°Where is this old woman you were telling me about?¡±

    Looking about, I realized that we had made it the entire way through the city and had arrived at Riverside Square. Today was not a religious ¡®day of rest¡¯, so much of the square was packed with stalls and shoppers. At a glance, there seemed to be twice the number of people present as before.

    ¡°Yesterday, she was over there,¡± I replied over the din of the crowd, pointing towards the far corner of the square, near the tavern Alvis, Garrett, and I had visited. ¡°I can¡¯t see through the crowd, though¡­¡±

    ¡°Very well. We¡¯ll make our way there first,¡± Valens reassured me. ¡°Lupis, if you would¡­?¡±

    ¡°Of course, my lord,¡± the captain of the guard replied. With a flick of the reins, he guided his horse to the front of the procession, shouting ¡°Make way! Make way!¡±

    The crowd seemed to melt away from Lupis¡¯ path, and the rest of the group was quick to fill the newly-created space. Some few people, either more conscientious or just more observant than the others, dipped into bows or curtseys as Valens and I passed. In a surprisingly short amount of time, we had managed to cross the crowded square.

    As we neared the tavern, I spotted the old woman¡¯s stall. Catching Valens¡¯ attention, I pointed it out, telling him, ¡°That¡¯s where I bought the necklace.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± he replied noncommittally, barely audible over the crowd. "Doesn''t look like much, does it?"

    "She''s a poor old woman, she likely can''t afford anything better."

    "I suppose you''re right," he shrugged. With practiced ease, Valens dismounted his horse and looped the reins around the saddle horn. "Shall we?"

    "Of course," I replied with a nod. Dismounting was, objectively speaking, much easier for me than mounting a horse. After all, I had gravity working in my favor. Copying Valens, I also looped my reins over the saddle horn. Well, as best as I could; Alvis, who had been riding next to me the whole time, ended up having to lean over and straighten them up.

    We -that is, Valens and I- left the rest of the group there near the tavern and walked the remaining distance to the stall. The crowd, obligingly, parted before us. On one hand, I was feeling particularly gratified by the treatment; it made me feel as if I was someone important in this world. On the other hand, I knew that I was only ''important'' due to an accident of birth. Did these people only behave this way because, as the daughter of their liege lord, they feared the potential consequences of not making way? Or, did they genuinely respect Valens and, by proxy, me?

    ''Now is not the time for waxing philosophical,'' I chided myself, bringing my attention back to the present. The old woman''s stall was just as shabby, and the assorted handicrafts on display were no different from before; made with care, of course, but out of common, low quality materials.

    "Lord Valens!" The old woman exclaimed in surprise the moment she laid eyes on the two of us. She grabbed a polished stick that was leaning against her stall and, using it as a cane, started to stand.

    "No, no, there''s no need to stand on my account," Valens told her, waving her back to her stool. "Please, elder, remain seated."

    The Pommeran word Valens used was ''illya''. It was a common way of addressing older people and had a respectful undertone, depending on the gender of the person you''re addressing. The masculine form of the word was ''illyich'', but calling an old man ''illya'' was an insult. In most contexts, though, it would be translated to ''respected elder''.

    "Ah, thank you, my lord," the woman replied, settling back down onto the stool she had halfway stood from. "These old bones don''t move like they used to."

    "A detriment of growing old," Valens commented with understanding. "Alas, there is a price to be paid for knowledge and experience."

    "Flatterer," she chided him, chuckling at him.

    "Only the truth, elder."

    "I''m sure you didn''t come by just to chat with an old woman," she changed the subject, her blue eyes twinkling at the by play.

    "As pleasant as that would be, you are correct," Valens nodded. "No, I am here concerning another matter."

    "Perhaps something to do with the sale I made to the young lady accompanying you?" she shrewdly asked with a knowing look in her eyes.

    "Yes. My daughter," he said, gesturing in my general direction, "came home yesterday with tales of a gem deposit on my lands."

    "Your daughter?" she asked, caught off guard. "She''s your daughter?"

    "She is. Did she not say so?"

    "She did not," she replied, shooting an irritated glance at me. Valens, too, looked both annoyed and dismayed at the same time.

    "Is that so?" Valens asked, looking straight at me. "Care to explain?"

    "I''m sorry," I murmured. "I thought it would be funny."

    "Funny how?"

    "Seeing her surprise, when she finds out who I am," I explained, hunching my shoulders and looking down at my feet.

    "It was a jest in poor taste," Valens sternly chided me.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    Valens sighed heavily and shook his head at me. ¡°We¡¯ll speak about this later.¡±

    Turning back to the old woman, he continued. ¡°My daughter tells me one of the orphans in your care has found some jetstone and amber. Is this correct?¡±

    ¡°Aye, milord, that''s what he told me,¡± she confirmed with a nod. ¡°He likes to explore out in the foothills, see, and he says he found the stones near a stream up there.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re sure he did not simply pickpocket them?¡± Valens asked, sounding suspicious.

    ¡°Aye, milord, I¡¯m sure,¡± she reassured him. ¡°They were still rough and unpolished when he gave them to me.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± he nodded, conceding the explanation. ¡°I am interested in finding this place for myself. Perhaps you could convince the young lad to show us the way?¡±

    ¡°Aye, milord,¡± the old woman agreed, once more leaning on her cane to heft herself off of her stool. Once standing, she glanced at the sun, now high in the sky, and said, ¡°I suppose it is almost lunch time. Give me a moment to gather my things.¡±

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