FicWad

The riders came into the village, it was mid-evening. It was the time that men brought their tools into the buildings and the women locked up the house for safe keeping. This was a land of dark tales and a land trying to establish it’s right to keep an identity following the ravages of wars from the Romans, The Goths, The Turks, The Slav’s, The Russians… in fact for a land that would become historically known as Wallachia and breed a new kind of Prince in Vlad Tepes in later centuries, life was a cheap commodity that could be used in the form of farming or militia.

The riders themselves came from a castle built in the mountains where a nobleman resided far away from the common man, the peasant and the uneducated bulk of society. He lived in finery with rich hunting, game and women he picked from the town for his pleasure. It was to a man with a daughter a frightening thing to see the riders. Would he be coming to claim his daughter this time?

The men came as the rain began. It was a long and arduous journey at the best of times but these beasts of men cared little about the weather when the lord told them to ride, when he gave them the orders of what he desired from the place. They came in thick darkly-dyed furs, of bears or wolves and they rode on feisty mountain horses that were eager to travel the lands.

Costi watched them ride in from the market square as he pushed the boars to the back of the house where the animals they bred for food would sleep. He had no daughter to concern himself with such a matter. He had only a worthless son whose muscles proved weaker than his mind, which in turn did little for a farming man to endear them to one another.

“You… farm man.” A gravelling dark voice came from behind one man’s cloak. “We are looking for a boy to take to the castle. He must be no older than twelve and no younger than nine. The father will be handsomely paid.”

“Mine is eleven. He is however weak of body and will not serve for war or labour.” Costi knew better than to lie. The last man that lied was found nailed with spikes to his own front door. His wife had hanged herself the following summer.

“Bring him out.” The man slid from the horse and crossed the leather straps over the rudimentary saddle. The horse remained where it was left, snickering softly in the night air. “I will see him myself.”

The man was tall; broad shouldered and carried a sword to his side. He knew how to use it. Costi was assured of that from the position and the knocks to the blade from use. Costi did not wish it used on himself and headed in where his wife was already laying the meagre meal down on to the table.

“Get the boy up and outside.” Costi told her and rapidly explained. The boy would be their ticket out of this land, into the main city perhaps they could even sell their building and head to a place where they could begin again.

“Costi!” His wife looked at him amazed. “He is our son.”

“He is not going to prove to be of any worth and you are feeding him with no input into the family. Perhaps if they wish to pay such a good amount for him he will have a life there more suited?”

“No one comes back once they have been taken.” His wife looked at him amazed. To sell their son? He had been born of her what madness could make him think of such a thing? “I would never see my baby again.”

“He is eleven. He is practically a man and yet we will find no wife for him as he is not strong to tend a field and he will become a drain to us as we grow older.” Costi pulled the child from the bed.

The young man slid to his feet without protest and looked at his father. So this was the price he would pay for being unable to push oxen around or move sacks of corn like they were nothing but air in his arms? He stumbled out in the flaxen trousers without even looking to the person he called mother. The father was right, in these dark times he was a burden. Had he been born with an obvious weakness he could have been put to the woods as a newborn to be ravaged by the predators. In all honesty the young man could understand the full worth of the venture and the benefit to both of them. Perhaps that is why he contented to keep his silence.

“Is this him?” The large man walked around the young boy. He pushed his hand under his chin and up, inspecting his eyes, his teeth and then hair for lice.

The young teen had messy black hair and rogue sea blue eyes; they did not fit the look of either parent. He was finely made with porcelain skin belying the farming heritage. His eyes sparkled with interest as the soldier moved him about, checked in his ears and ran his hands over the young skin feeling for obvious signs of broken bones or defects.

“He seems healthy.” The man told his father. “I will pay for him then.” He threw a purse-bag over to Costi. “He will be well catered for, our lord would not allow harm to him. He is to be a scribe.”

“What is that?” His mother asked from the doorway.

“He will write for a living.” He said gruffly and lifted him onto the horse. “The money shall get you a home in a town or buy you more land. I care not what you do with it.” He pulled a layer of the furs from his own shoulders and wrapped them around the child’s shoulders before jumping on his horse behind him.

With the acquisition of a new body made the riders headed back towards the forest and up towards the mountain pass. The new scribe remained silent though he shivered when the wind kicked up. His feet were cold but he didn’t complain. There was a bigger worry for him ahead, they were going to enter the forest and he knew from the tales that creatures of dark design were supposed to be there.

Bears and wolves hunted in the wooden maze and people who went in without the others to support them would one day be found by a scouting party. Their rib cages or shreds of their clothing would be found but never a whole man. People in the village said that far worse things than the animals lived in there… demons. Creatures that stole away grown men to eat or women to breed more of their kind with were stories he had filled in his head that surfaced as they got closer.

“Are you cold boy?” The man looked down at him. “Do you want something for your feet?” He watched the teen slowly nod.

With a raised hand he brought the party of five to a halt near the opening to the woods. One of them rode closer and he leant into the roughly made sack resting on the horses rumps. He found him another blanket and covered his feet and hands before tying it loosely around them for good measure. They moved closer then and again the boy shuddered.

“I will tell you of these woods.” The man said walking in, the heavy footed horses snapping twigs and brushing against the ferns on the base of the trees. “First I will tell you my name and then you will tell me yours.” He rested the reins on the horses’ neck as it picked its way through the ground towards home. “My name is Sergian.”

“Sergian.” The boy finally spoke. He had a gentle and soft voice that was almost song-like against the silence of the dark copse of trees they were walking through. “I like that name, it is strong and worthy of an experienced fighter.”

“It is not your name, what name do you have?” He prompted as he pushed his cloaks hood back.

“I have not been given one sir.” He looked at Sergian.

Sergian had long wavy brown hair and brown eyes that seemed to penetrate even the dark woods. The head of the castles militia gave away a faint sigh after a lengthy silence, further into the woods they travelled. Sergian mused over a man that eleven years into his life had never been granted a name.

“What is the reason for this boy?”

“I have not earned a place in the society of my village to hold one.” He looked around a little more interested. Sergian noted his vocabulary was far more advanced than he had expected.

“You are not a stupid boy so I see no reason for you to be in this situation. Pray tell child where have you learnt such words as society?”

“I listen to your men when they come to buy supplies, when they take a woman for the castle.” He said softly and his filthy fingers ran over the leather strap of a rein. He seemed very interested in learning and Sergian smiled, the lord should be pleased with the picking. “My father states that I should have been left without an arm or leg at birth so that way he could have put me to the rocks. What is a scribe?”

“It means you will write as the master of the castle wishes you to. He will give you passages of writing to copy or ask you write down his words. He keeps a vast room of tablets and papers with written words. He is very fond of the idea of knowing many subjects of the world.”

“I cannot write.” He told him in earnest.

“Young sir that is why I have picked you from the village, because none can write and it will keep the master busy teaching you. He has grown bored of late and has no son. You are to take train with his castles organiser, they call him a seneschal. You shall be his eyes and ears and you shall take the man’s place should anything happen to him.”

“I see.” Though in reality Sergian felt that the boy did not truly understand the concept at all and he knew that there was more to their story still, but it would not be for the boy to know unless the master told him so. “Will this earn me a name?”

“I should think he will give you one quite quickly. It is hard to address someone correctly without it.” Sergian said and the boy detected a hint of mirth in his words. “We turn here.” He directed the men to a path that led away from any further villages or towns. The boy looked down and concentrated on the new feeling of warmth now surrounding his flesh.

It took a few hours to get to the mountainside and then they digressed into a tunnel that had been lit by sconces along the walls. The sconces flickered casting long shadows along the rock walls and the boy watched them hoping none of them turned into demons that he had heard of. Sergian led the horses into a large area where straw was laid and there was a soft smell of fresh hay.

“Feed them and then retire men.” He ordered before he pulled the boy from his own steed and headed to a set of tunnels at the back. “You may speak freely until we reach the master you know?”

“I have very little to say.” He responded. “I have little interest in farming and I know nothing of warfare save that it seems more complicated than simple butchery of the opposing side.”

“So very true.” He took the teens hand and led him up stone stairs.

The blanket had to be discarded to enable the boy to walk and his cold feet padded up the steps slowly. He counted them on the way up but soon lost that count of them as time wore on. The boy was not used to the lengthy work and his breath cut short soon with the long ride already stiffening his muscles. Sergian eventually took pity on him and carried him up the final couple of hundred stairs before setting him down at a large oak door.

“You shall be given a bath and a place to stay for the night. I cannot have any further dealings with you once I have handed you to the maids to clean up.” He opened the door and a warm breeze flowed around them as they stepped into a corridor that had panelled wooden walls. “I will however wake you up tomorrow evening as you will learn to work at night. This is because during the day the men will practise their arms or be working to build the castle to its fullest glory. Do you understand?”

“Yes I do Sergian.” He nodded the blue eyes soaking in the new surroundings and looking to the stern faced giant before him. “Thank you for all you have done for me.”

“I have done nothing.” He told him gruffly and knocked on a door. “Woman the child is here!”

“I have a name!” She said opening the door and looking at him. “He’s filthy. Could you not have picked something more desirable on the eyes?”

“I picked what the Lord wanted.” He replied. “Clean him up and have him measured for clothes. He has no name. Boy will have to suffice for now. Oh and he probably needs a meal. I have to go Ani. Will you ensure he is ready by tomorrow evening for me?”

“Of course General.” She nodded and took his hand. “Come on young sir let’s see what’s under that filth.”

The boy was led off towards another area which within a few turns had him completely lost in the castle. He had been used to a house with one room and everything happening in it. Ani was a portly woman in her mid-forties and he liked her even though she just poured hot water into a bath and then stripped his pants off and dumped him into a big clay baked pond of some kind. She put something against his skin that hurt and made his skin pink pulling off mud and what felt like the first later of his flesh coming up with it. He pulled a number of faces but said nothing about it. Ani made him stand up and she unceremoniously cleaned his groin and legs up before dunking his head into the water and washing his hair with the same strange thing she called soap. It didn't smell good but then again to the young man not a lot but fresh bread had taken to his favour anyway.

"Right let's find you a room." Ani pulled him out of the bath and wrapped him in a cloth. "Ready?" She took the lack of protest as a yes and took him to a room where a bed with a pot of water was placed on the plain wooden table. "In the morning you are going to be dressed and handed back to the General. Do you have anything you want to ask before we get you food, boy?"

"Nothing." He told her, standing shivering slightly in the towel. "Well... Would I have to ride the horse again only my backside is already sore?"

Ani smiled and shook her head no, that was not likely needed for him at that point. He sat on the bed and brought his knees up and rested his head on them, this was not his world but now he was a part of it so he would try to adapt. He was not going to have to work on the farm but he wasn't going to see his mother again. His father he held little regard for but she had birthed him, had given him these last eleven years of dedication. The sea blues eyes watered, tears slowly falling down his cheeks before he closed them and fought them back. It was the last time he would ever think of shedding tears for them and he allowed that weakness because he felt tired. Ani gave him food and water before she tucked him into the heavy linen sheet and set his cup on the side.

"If you need anything at all you pull that red chord in the corner. Never venture out at night alone until you have been told you can by the master of the castle." She blew the candle out and closed the door. The boy spent his first night alone for the entire of his life to date. He spent it watching the dark walls and wondering what this new world of his was going to bring.