Before borders were drawn, before treaties were signed, before wars were waged anew, before the great kingdoms of the Remnant were even born and the world of old was only a hazy slate of memory told in story and legend, a girl and her family fought to survive. And that girl’s name was Morrighan.
She asks for another story, one to pass the time and fill her.
I search for the truth, the details of a world so long past now, I’m not sure it ever was.
Once upon a time, so very long ago,
In an age before monsters and demons roamed the earth,
A time when children ran free in meadows,
And heavy fruit hung from trees,
There were cities, large and beautiful with sparkling towers that touched the sky.
Were they made of magic?
I was only a child myself. I thought they could hold a whole world. To me they were made of—
Yes, they were spun of magic and light and the dreams of gods.
And there was a princess?
I smile.
Yes, my child, a precious princess just like you. She had a garden filled with trees that hung with fruit as big as a man’s fist.
The child looks at me, doubtful.
She has never seen an apple but she has seen the fists of men.
Are there really such gardens, Ama?
Not anymore.
Yes, my child, somewhere. And one day you will find them.
—The Last Testaments of Gaudrel
Chapter One
Morrighan
I was eight years old the first time I saw him. In that terrifying moment, I was certain I was about to die. He was a scavenger, and I had never been that close to one before. Alone. I had nothing to defend myself except for a few stones that lay near my feet, and I was too gripped with fear to stoop and grab them. A handful of stones would have done me little good anyway. I saw the knife sheathed at his side.
He stood on a boulder, looking down curiously, studying me. Bare chested, with wild knotted hair, he was everything savage I had been warned about, even if he was little more than a child himself. His chest was narrow, and his ribs were easily countable.
I heard the distant thunder of hooves, and fear vibrated through me. More were coming, and there was nowhere to run. I was trapped, cowering between two boulders in a dark crevice below him. I didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. I couldn’t even break my gaze from his. I was fully and utterly prey, a silent rabbit effectively hunted and cornered. I was going to die. He eyed the sack of seed that I had spent the morning gathering. In my haste and terror, I had dropped it, and the seed had spilled out between the boulders.
The boy’s gaze shot up, and the clamor of horses and shouts filled my ears.
“Did you get something?” A loud voice. The one Ama hates. The one she and the others whisper about. The one who stole Venda.
“They scattered. I couldn’t catch up,” the boy called.
Another disgusted voice. “And nothing was left behind?”
The boy shook his head.
There were more shouts of discontent and then the rumble of hooves again. Leaving. They were leaving. The boy climbed down from the boulder and left too, without another glance or word to me, his face deliberately turned away, almost as if he were shamed.
* * *
I didn’t see him again for another two years. The close call had instilled a heavy dose of fear in me, and I didn’t wander far from the tribe again. At least not until one warm spring day. The scavengers had seemed to move on. We’d seen no sign of them since the first frost of autumn.
But there he was, a head taller and trying to pull cattails from my favorite pond. His blond hair had only grown wilder, his shoulders slightly wider, his ribs as evident as ever. I watched his frustration grow as the stalks he pulled broke off one after another and he came up with only worthless pieces of stems.
“You’re impatient.”
He spun, drawing his knife.
Even at the tender age of ten, I knew I was taking a risk exposing myself. I wasn’t even sure why I did it, especially once I saw his eyes. Feral and hungry, there was no recognition.
“Take your boots off,” I said. “I’ll show you.”
He stabbed at the air as I took a step closer, but I sat down and removed my own calfskin slippers, never taking my eyes off him, thinking I might need to run after all.
As his fear receded, so did his wild, glassy gaze, and recognition finally spread across his face. I had changed more than he had in two years. He lowered his knife.
“You’re the girl between the boulders.”
I nodded and pointed to his boots. “Take those off. You’ll have to wade in if you want to get some corms.”
He pulled off his boots and followed me out, knee-deep into the pond, the rushes springing up between us. I told him to feel with his toes, to work them into the mud to loosen the fat, fleshy tuber before pulling. Our toes had to do as much of the work as our hands. There were few words between us. What was there for a scavenger and a child of the Remnant to say to each other? All we had in common was hunger. But he seemed to understand I was paying him back for his act of mercy two years ago.
By the time we parted, he had a sack full of the fleshy roots.
“This is my pond now,” he said sharply as he tied the sack to his saddle. “Don’t come here again.” He spat on the ground to emphasize his point.
I knew what he was really saying. The others would come here now, too. It wouldn’t be safe.
“What’s your name?” I asked as he mounted his horse.