Requiem for Eden

By Leigh Barker

Requiem for Eden - Series Volume #3
Lucid returns...with help

The old stork was tired and there was a storm coming. Nobody could blame her for placing her little bundles of joy with loving parents, even if not the intended loving parents.

Nobody knew, though it comes as a bit of a surprise for the wife of the Guardians Deputy Chief Commander who'd seen it all. Except the sudden arrival of twins. He had no idea how it happened - so he's spending way too much time at work.

The old witch in the ramshackle forest shack can't understand why the gods sent her a boy, when everybody knows a witch is a girl. She’d have to make do.

Nearer Trinity, the wizard just takes the arrival of the baby in his stride. He’d cast a spell for help, and here he was. A bit small, but they grow, or at least that’s what he understood. He couldn’t ask anyone, because he didn’t have a wife.

The stork’s little presents all come together at the guardian knight’s tournament, for beginners. And everything changes.

The Archangel Michael know Lucid had has an army and is coming to free his father from the pit, and there's nothing Michael can do to stop him. Until he sees Anella and Woe produce magic that is impossible, even in heaven.
There is a chance, but that leaves the fate of the triple cities in hands of these two young knights.

Lucid is coming. But so is Hardass, marching south with his Norsemen to claim his child stolen at birth by the Edenese. Well probably, or so the spy in the black cape had told him.

So now Anella and Woe have to save the royal baby from the Norsemen, as well as defeat Lucid’s army, and learn how to be knights. Plenty of time though. Maybe a couple of weeks.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leigh Barker
• Release date: Jan 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463214404

Leigh Barker

Leigh was born in Dudley in the middle of England. He has been a merchant seaman, a (useless) electronics salesman, a programmer, and a business analyst. And now he is a full-time writer, but that doesn't make him a bad person.He is presently writing 4 series:Clan, following the adventures of Calum Maclean as he tries to avoid the Bonnie Prince but still protect his beloved Highlands.The Hellfire Legacy Series follows US Marine Master Sergeant Ethan Gill and his team as they take on the jobs too hot for other special forces. They go where they're sent; South America, Middle East, Korea, but their most dangerous missions are on US soil.Volume #1: A Whisper of ArmageddonVolume #2: The Hellfire LegacyVolume #3: The Orpheus DirectiveEden, a three-volume series -Trinity is at war with Lucid, the son of Lucifer, and he will do whatever it takes to win. The Archangel Gabriel has an army but he needs more. He needs heroes, but they are few and far between. Which is why he gets Dylan and co. Not too much luck in Heaven then.Volume #1: Eden's Last HeroVolume #2: WinterwoodVolume #3: Requiem for Eden.Soldiers is set in 1914 and follows John Regret and his 12-man squad on their suicidal mission to find and destroy the German howitzer nicknamed Big Bertha. Find it before it drops it's thousand-pound shells on the allied army retreating across France. A seemingly hopeless mission that just cannot fail.Other occasional series include:Anarchy, the 'completely true' stories of men doing what men do when there's nobody to keep them in check. Create mayhem and behave like monkeys on speed.Coffee Break Reads - each issue has 5 stories short enough to read while taking a break from life. A mix of adventure, love, disaster, and fun. All with one thing in common; for a moment they transport the reader to another world.Episode 1 of each Season is free and can be picked up with other free books at:https://leighwbarker.com/my-library/Just copy the link above and paste it into your browser and you're there...

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Eden

(Season 3)

Copyright 2018 Leigh Barker

Published by Leigh Barker at Smashwords

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ISBN: 9780463214404

Requiem for Eden

 (Eden Series Volume #3)

Leigh Barker

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Requiem for Eden

No Good Deed

Invasion

Send in the Clouds

Enter the Dragon

Taken

The Daywalker

The Ambush

False Prophet

The Norsemen

War in Eden

Bonus: Checking In

About the Author

More Books

Requiem for Eden

No Good Deed

…Sometimes Life Can Get Weary

Gabriel stood in the palace garden and watched the tree of life, as if he expected it to do something other than be happy for its existence, even if that existence was… well, a bit boring.

He’d spent many hours in this garden since the Sodom and Gomorrah incident. Generally folks say happy hours, but what the weeding had done to his back was nobody’s business—suffice it to say it had given him some serious jip. But now Michael had forgiven his little, err, S&G indiscretion, shall we say. Overzealous smiting could happen to anyone.

The reason for his interest in the life tree would have been a mystery to anyone passing by. After all, it wasn’t anything special, and there were far more interesting and flowery woody perennials dotted around the garden, but to another archangel it would have been obvious. The hint is in its name. Point being, it wasn’t—living, that is. Well, okay, it was a bit, but straggly and decidedly pathetic, and it was supposed to be the most important plant in the extensive garden. Gabriel was not a happy bunny.

He crossed the neatly trimmed lawn and poked the tree with his broadsword—as if threatening it with a good stabbing would perk it up. When no sudden revival ensued, he turned on his heel and strode along the gravel path towards the arched doorway, his black robe billowing and looking suitably dramatic.

The life tree watched the archangel go with relief and sore ribs. What kind of gardener pokes you with a sharp metal thing? And when you’re feeling like… well, a bit lifeless, actually. Not an easy task, you know, being a life tree. Big responsibility, especially since he was the only one, which in itself was a bit sad. Nobody to talk to, nobody with anything worthwhile to say, that is. The life tree sighed through its dried leaves. Well, there’s that tall, bushy thing over there, but she’s totally up herself, and boring, oh, boring. Who cares about squirrels?

The life tree’s branches sagged a little more. And Eden took another tiny step towards oblivion.

Good Intentions Pave the Road to Hell

The old stork was tired, and frankly she was a bit fed up, what with all this flying about for no good reason. And the name the others had given her and her clan really got up her nose: The idiots who carry those screaming, smelly bundles. Of course, the others said it in Storkish, so this has to be a rough translation, though it’s near enough.

Truth be told, today the two bundles she was carrying were extra smelly and noisy, and the constant screaming and gurgling was so irritating. The sooner she dropped them off, the better. Then home for a nice fish and frog supper. Yeah right, fat chance, with Him At Home doing the hunting. He’d be off with his layabout friends sunning themselves on the lakeshore. Typical.

The storm was getting worse, if that was possible. The wind howled around her, and the rain was turning to hailstones the size of… ah, hailstones. Which also showed that all the noise and being thrown about was affecting her ability to… that thing that you do in your head… think? Yes, think.

A vicious gust of wind caught her and flipped her onto her back. Not pleasant. She righted herself and squinted into the freezing rain streaming out of the black sky. The bundles dangling from her long beak were still protected by the weather screen, but maintaining the safety bubble in these conditions was exhausting, and she was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate. Lightning bolts passed by on their way to the ground, causing her feathers to rise, releasing their trapped warmth and chilling her even more. She checked her internal satnav. At least three thousand breaths. She would not survive that long, and worse still, the bundles would have ceased well before then, which, although a blessing for the quiet, wouldn’t go down well in her annual review. She made her decision, dipped her wing and turned, letting the howling wind carry her back the way she’d come.

Almost at once, the hail turned back to rain, as if the storm god approved of her action. The wind lifted her and she spread her wings fully, surfing the storm to safety.

The bundle in the blue blanket was addressed to a nest where the ground becomes white and the air is very cold. Well, it had already done that, and still the journey would have continued. And the one in pink was addressed to a nest even farther north than that, where there is year-round snow and ice. A lovely place to live. It was not to be, not this day. But no one would notice a slight delay. Unexpected bundle deliveries were exactly that; unexpected. It would be sunny another day and she would drop the bundles into their new homes. And then there would be the usual, Oh, I had no idea I was pregnant, and a lot of rushing around. True, she had no idea what the tall beings said, or who they rushed off to fetch, but she’d hung around a few times, back in the early days, and seen all the fuss. Struck her then, as it struck her now, as a lot of nonsense about nothing. Noisy, smelly beings, welcoming more noisy, smelly beings. If she had her way, she—

An arrow zipped past her ear with barely a feather-width to spare. She swore a long storkish curse, snapped her big wings and climbed high and right. She didn’t know what an arrow was, but she did know that sharp, fast-moving things had adverse effects on her flying efficiency if they coincided with her. Flying straight and level and daydreaming weren’t great tactics for avoiding sharp flying things, so she slipped right and dropped fast, weaving among the treetops, a trick that worked well enough against eagles, hawks, and other annoying creatures.

Today had started out crappy and it just got worse and worse as it wore on. But now she was left with a dilemma. The two noisy beings were getting even noisier now she’d had to take rapid evasive action. And the screaming was going right through her.

She checked her delivery manifest. There, this afternoon’s drop-off was for two bundles, both blue, but who would notice? It could work. Why not? One noisy, smelly creature looks very much like another. And one thing was certain—well, two in fact. She wasn’t going back into that storm any time soon. And the other thing? Err… oh yes. She wasn’t going to take the bundles back to the depot and get all those disapproving looks and whispered comments. So…

She levelled off, checked her position by the magnetic north and adjusted her flight path towards the big, sprawling mess off to the left, with its clusters of nests and tall, smoking hollow trees.

From her vantage point high over the triple cities of Trinity, she could see its layout like a Google map. There at the end of the wide glade, by the tall, shiny nests, was the delivery address where this afternoon’s surprise delivery was due. A single drop-off of two bundles. She looked down at the pink- and blue-wrapped beings swinging from her beak. Well, there were two here. And the screaming was giving her a migraine. But since she’d already made her decision, the justification was academic.

She slowed and descended, switched into stealth mode, and glided towards the nests. She cross-checked her internal schedule against the nest configurations and saw the one she needed. A tall nest attached to other tall nests, all having three levels of entry holes at the side, instead of an open top, like normal nests. These beings were truly weird.

She selected the top entry hole, as per the schedule, flared her wings and settled silently onto the wide landing log in front of the opening. The inside was dark, which served them right for building such faulty nests. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she saw a pile of flattened grass in the corner, covering a tall being. She’d seen this before. This was the female, though it was hard to tell for sure, as they all looked alike.

Still in stealth mode, she hopped down into the dark nest and moved silently across the strangely covered floor. A little more hurriedly than the training specified, she lifted the flat grass covering the being, flipped open the pink and blue bundles, and rolled the babies into the darkness. Three steps and she was out of that dark and smelly place, just as she heard the start of the inevitable commotion. Oh, for a little peace and quiet, and a nice herring.

After a quiet and smell-free return trip, she’d rested in her nest back at despatch and caught her breath, but was still tired, and there was still those two bundles for this afternoon’s shift. Snag was, their place in their nest was already occupied by cuckoos. But after a nice fish lunch and a nap, she felt able to make the second flight of the day. Officially, a single drop of two bundles in the big nest cluster. She didn’t mention to the dispatcher that there was going to be a change of delivery address. No point confusing the poor old bird. She took the two blue bundles and headed north, drifting on warm thermals and enjoying the day that was extra bright and clear after the awful storm.

There were no more sharp flying sticks as she circled high above the forest to the east of the big nest cluster and watched the bundles bounce in her beak. What to do with them? She couldn’t just hide them under a bush, they were noisy and smelly, but leaving them for wolf lunch wasn’t really an option. Was it? No, probably not. No, definitely not. Anyway, somebody might find out and she’d be in big trouble. Might even lose her pension, and who can live on donated fish these days? There had to be something. Then she saw the column of smoke drifting up through the trees and knew exactly what it meant. A nest.

She swooped down over the river and followed it around a bend to a clearing in the trees and a small wooden nest. She settled on a high branch and watched the nest for any hidden sharp-stick shooters, but saw only one being covered in a mass of black feathers, with a tall cone on her head. Another female. Probably.

Females liked the bundles best. Decision made. She waited for the being to go into the nest, then drifted down to the entrance and looked inside. It was darker than any nest she’d visited and smelled of vaguely familiar herbs and flowers. There was no way she was going in there, not even in stealth mode.

She looked at the bundles, probably getting ready for more screaming. She laid them down next to the door and started to move away, but stopped. One female being in there. Two bundles. She sighed a stork sigh, picked up one of the bundles and rolled the other into the nest and rose into the blue sky with a single, silent beat of her wings. One… err… delivered. But one left. Wolf lunch?

She drifted over the dark woods and pondered what to do. This whole thing was turning out to be more complicated than she’d expected. The wolf lunch was out of the question, because that would involve landing in the woods, and woods, dark or otherwise, were to be avoided at all costs. Directive One of the Stork Survival Manual.

More smoke rolled heavenwards off to her right. It was bright yellow, but that didn’t strike her as odd. These beings she delivered the bundles to were always doing strange things, and yellow smoke was no stranger than some of the things they did. But just to be sure, she avoided the smoke as she settled in a tree and watched the small nest from across a clearing littered with strange contraptions. She’d seen contraptions before and had no love of them. Mostly they captured, killed, or ate you. None of which she particularly fancied this fine afternoon.

A being was beating one of the contraptions with a stick, and she supposed it had misbehaved and deserved it. This being had pale blue feathers with moons and stars on them, but she declined to even try to guess what for. It was probably a male. As it was beating something smaller than itself with a stick.

Not an ideal drop-offer for the bundle, but better than wolf lunch, well, at least a lot less risky. For her.

The contraption beater grunted, threw away his stick and stamped into the nest. This was her moment. She switched to stealth mode as a precaution. A being who beats a contraption would have no compunction about beating her. And there was no shortage of sticks in the forest.

She rolled the last bundle into the nest, turned and took off as fast as she could. Away from sticks. And yellow smoke. She glided south in the warm afternoon sunshine, proud of another job well done.

In the executive, detached residence overlooking the Senate gardens, there was much, Oh, I had no idea I was pregnant, and a lot of rushing around, as predicted. But mostly, there was just joy, tinged with the worry of choosing the right school and the right career for the little dears.

In the tiny house by the river and the ramshackle shack in the woods, there was utter bewilderment.

Ramiel was Deputy Supreme Commander to the Archangel Gabriel and had seen it all, done it, got the T-shirt, but the surprise arrival of twins had left him dumbfounded. A rare event. Neither he nor his wife, Angiola, realised she was pregnant. And twins! It was the best day of his life.

The happy parents named their baby girl Anella, meaning Lion of God, and the boy? Let’s not go there. It’s not important, really. Let’s just move on, shall we? Oh, okay. They named him Woe, after an unfortunate mix-up at the christening when the priest almost dropped the baby just as he was in the middle of saying, I name this child—

Whoa, don’t drop the baby, you drunken idiot! Ramiel shouted, and thus the child who was to have been named Englebert became Whoa!

The naming ceremony is a sacred, final, no-money-back act. And so it was in this case. The only compromise allowed was to shorten the boy’s name to Woe—which turned out to be quite apt.

Angiola was not chuffed with her dear husband, and words would be had later, after the drinking, back-slapping, more drinking, well done-ing, more drinking… Many words. Loud. And long. Not the best day of Ramiel’s life, then.

The babies grew into toddlers and then children, which is one of those annoying things babies do. Anella was the Brainy One, while Woe had a tendency to be a bit clumsy and the possessor of more bad luck than he had a rightful claim to.

On his seventh birthday, Woe was enrolled in the Knight Training School, as was required of the son of a Guardian. Anella was enrolled too, at the insistence of her mother, on the basis that what is good for the boy is good for the girl.

Ramiel protested, explained, cited the risks and the hardships, but capitulated when Angiola drew the We’ll have none of that male-chauvinist nonsense here card. Anyway, what could it hurt? She was smart, and quick, and… a girl.

It was going to be a disaster.

School began in September. It was a disaster.

Day one, lesson one: How to hold a sword. Woe poked his sword in Malak’s eye. Luckily it was wooden—the sword, not the poor boy’s eye, although had the jab been a little harder, who knows?

Malak hit Anella with his sword, because he couldn’t catch Woe, who’d legged it for the toilets. Anella hit her assailant on the shins with her sword, causing his friends to rally to his side, so she hit them too. Woe saw them ganging up on his sister and ran back to defend her, and before the aged instructor could blink, there was a full-scale sword battle going on in the yard.

Anella and Woe’s first day had an early finish. Day one, lesson one, in fact.

And so the pattern was set for the next five years. Woe would do something stupid, unlucky, or both, and Anella would charge in to save him, then have to be saved by Woe in turn.

Ramiel often watched his offspring from the parapet, and every time walked slowly away, his head hanging in despair. They weren’t warriors. They would never be Guardians, those elite of Michael’s army who protected Trinity and the Other Places from the omnipresent evils of the universe. They wouldn’t be knights, Michael’s vanguard and first to engage the foe. They would be lucky if they were allowed to follow and pick up the… leavings from the saddled carriers of Michael’s army. It was all very depressing.

Despite the fact that neither child looked like either of their parents, or each other, for that matter, there was never the slightest doubt that they were the children of the Deputy Supreme Commander and his beautiful wife, the daughter of the Speaker of the Senate. But they weren’t; the stork’s bad day had seen to that.

And the other recipients of the stork’s bad day? Mavis Diken lived in a small and ramshackle shack next to the dark woods. She was a witch, and she was a spinster, which caused tongues to tackle faster than a message-clacker when she emerged with a baby boy.

Mavis was not happy. She had cast a spell for help, not a baby. Oh, the boy was cute enough, for a boy, but if the gods were going to send her a baby, then it should have been a girl. How was she supposed to teach him to be a witch? He was a boy; boys couldn’t do witchery, everybody knew that. And worse, he was a fighter. From the very first day at school he’d been in trouble, and had lasted almost a week before being expelled. He had to do something; she couldn’t have him hanging around the house all day, under her feet. She’d enrolled him in Knight School. With the help of a little decision-bending spell. Done. Dusted. On with life.

The other bundle delivered that day had turned up on the doorstep of Zeffsena, the wizard, which was even more of a surprise, as he didn’t have a wife, and as far as he could remember, one of those was required before you got a baby. He’d cast a spell for some help, but he’d expected an apprentice or a dog. Not a baby. But he had a good heart, so he took in the child and raised it, which took pretty much all of his magic skills. Babies are not easy things to raise.

And the boy was a fighter. From the first day at Wizard School, he’d been in trouble, and had lasted almost a week before being expelled. He had to do something, the boy was constantly in the way, and there was no wizarding being done. He enrolled the boy in Knight School, with the help of a little magic spell. Best for the boy. What child wants to be around a grumpy old wizard? Done. Dusted. On with life.

Anella and Woe were hiding behind the big, iron gates barring the way to Knight School when the first boy arrived. Alone and carrying his belongings in a sack slung over his shoulder. They watched him stop and look up at the huge crest above the gates. The poor kid looked terrified.

Anella stepped forward and put on her best smile. Hello, she said; that seemed to be the most appropriate thing to say.

The boy licked his lips and looked from her to her skinny brother. Is this the knight school?

Anella looked up at the gates and the crest proclaiming Knights of Eden: live in honour; die in glory, and frowned. Not a great first impression, but the boy was clearly nervous, so she forgave him, a bit. Yes, she said, still with a smile. We are squires.

The boy frowned. But you’re a girl.

Woe strolled over and made a show of checking out his sister. You are, you know, he said with a shrug. Has anybody told you that?

She glared at her brother. Yes, she said through clenched teeth, he did. She pointed at the boy and was going to say something else, but the words blinked out.

Suddenly there were two of them. Duplicates.

There’s two of them, said Woe helpfully.

The two boys looked at each other, and their jaws dropped open. They were dressed differently, one dressed in a brown, slightly moth-eaten robe, and the other in a black robe with a long hood and a moon on the left shoulder. They were both blond, which, being identical, shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Who are you? they said together.

I asked first, they said together.

Tell you what, said Anella quickly, why don’t you go first? She pointed at the boy who’d noticed she was a girl.

I am FlickertyShadow, said the boy, without a hint of embarrassment.

Anella blinked slowly, but said nothing, demonstrating a level of restraint far more mature than her seven years.

You’re a what? Woe said, with a shake of his head. Demonstrating the true level of restraint for a seven-year-old.

And you? Anella asked the other boy, before things turned ugly.

The boy tore his eyes off his doppelganger. I am Zeffsena, Son of Zeffsena.

That could get a bit confusing, said Anella.

Why? asked the boy.

Are you twins? Woe asked, cutting across an answer that wasn’t coming.

Never seen him before, said the twins together.

I think you have, said Anella with a smile. Every time you look in a mirror. That was supposed to be funny. It wasn’t.

Woe saw an old familiar pattern emerging. Anella would expand on her witty comment and continue to embellish it in an attempt to make it work, only to make it even more offensive, until the recipient took umbrage and the fighting started. He sighed and waited to be pummelled, because looking at the two boys, there was no doubt in his mind that these two would be skilled pummellers.

Ah, new boys, said a senior squire, stepping out through the big gates and saving the day—and the pummelling.

That’s FlickertyShadow, said Anella, pointing him out. And that’s Zeffsena, Son of—

Get to class! If you know what’s good for you, said the senior squire, with a serious frown.

The squire ushered the boys through the gate and pushed it closed with his foot. So now all the parties to the stork’s little sleight of hand were together under one roof. As was always going to be the case, if Fate had anything to do about it. And he hadn’t got much on that week, so it was a racing certainty.

Life for the twins—both the real ones and Anella and Woe—slipped into a sort of relentless routine, as schooling tends to: get up, bash each other with wooden swords, learn about tactics and weapons, reading ’n writing, eat, go to bed, get up.

The boys became known as the Twins and their natural fighting ability and instinctive grasp of strategy raised them to the top of the class, then of the school. Leaving Woe and Anella safely in their usual place as last and last-but-one. Alternating positions depending on the subject.

Being born on the same day meant Anella and Woe were the same age—less of a surprise than it might have been—but Anella was a girl. In her thirteenth year, things were still the same, until the night her brain fired its first surge of hormones and her life changed forever, in ways no one could have imagined.

The change woke up the magic hiding deep in her mind.

It was a sunny summer morning, and she was feeling really fed up. Tired of having to be nice to people who just ignored her. Sick of having to listen to those really old people telling her what to do, when she obviously knew more about pretty well everything than they did. And being blamed for everything. Like it was her fault. So just for a little peace and time to herself, she ducked out of fencing practice—using real, pointy swords. And how stupid was that?—and left the city by the small pedestrian gate leading down to the woods.

She picked up a thin stick and whipped the heads off the wild flowers as she strolled down the narrow trail, and tried to avoid the dog poop. She was still fed up. Was this it? Was this all there was for her? Playing at soldiers with stupid boys and stupid weapons? She lashed out with her stick and toppled a bunch of tall flowers.

Hey, stop that! said an angry voice.

She spun around, expecting to see some uniformed old person telling her what to do—again. There was no one there. She looked again, searching the shadows under the trees for the speaker. It could be one of those weird people who jump out suddenly and say boo!

It wasn’t. It was the flowers.

She knew it, but refused to accept it. Flowers can’t speak. Get a grip, girl.

I was quite fond of those two, said the voice in her head. And now you’ve chopped their heads off. Thanks a bunch. So now who am I going to talk to? Well, who? Nobody, that’s who. And all because you think it’s funny to hit folks with your stick. You know, it’s people like you who give humans a bad name. Have you seen where humans have stamped through the flowers over there? It makes my blood boil. How hard is it for you stupid—

She chopped off the tall flower’s head with her stick. Good lord, was there no peace anywhere?

That was strange, I mean really strange. She frowned and looked around again slowly. Maybe a weirdo was hiding in the undergrowth after all.

That wasn’t very nice, said another voice in her head, this time in a much deeper tone.

She stepped back in readiness for a speedy exit.

Still, said the voice, she was a terrible nag. All day long, moaning about this, moaning about that.

I did you a service, then, she said slowly.

I suppose so, said the voice. Bit harsh, though.

Just a flower, she said, by way of excuse.

And I suppose you’ll say I’m just a tree?

That threw her. Are you? she asked.

Am I what?

Just a tree.

Don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. The voice was silent for a moment. I’d have to be self-aware to contemplate the nature of my existence.

Anella frowned. You sound quite self-aware to me. But what do I know?

A lot less than you think.

How rude.

How rude, said Anella, and started to retrace her steps away from the talking shrubbery.

Rude or not, it’s the truth, said the tree. Look at this, for example.

She stopped and looked, but could see nothing particularly exceptional. Just trees.

No, said the tree. I mean, look at the fact that you’re having a conversation with a tree. That’s something you didn’t know.

I never really thought about it, so I can’t say if I knew it or not.

Fair point, said the tree. I’ll give you that one.

Big of you, said Anella, then realised the truth of the statement and laughed.

The tree laughed, which is something you don’t hear every day.

I have to go now, she said, turning to walk back up the trail. I have homework. Which, though true, wasn’t the reason for the quick exit. Trees don’t talk, so that meant she was going quietly nuts. She vowed not to mention it to anyone. Can you imagine? Hey, everyone! I’ve been talking to the trees. Well, only one, so far. Seemed like a nice fellow. Yeah, then the banging of the padded cell door.

She returned to school to find no one had missed her, which made her feel loved and truly wanted. Except Woe, and he didn’t count.

He was just coming out of the building, fresh from a lesson on siege tactics that meant nothing to him. Who wants to catapult dead and sick horses into a city? A nutter, that’s who. Knock on the door. Tell them to give up, or else. That’s how to handle a siege. But that would be too easy for the military, who’d done all the training and would damn well want to put it into practice, if only to see if it worked.

Where have you been? he asked, taking her by the arm and leading her to their place in the corner of the entrance gatehouse.

Out. About, she answered, descriptively.

You were about to miss bow-shooting, he said, with a slow shake of his head to signify how sad that would be.

Archery, she corrected almost automatically.

Who is?

Not who, what.

What? Woe’s head was starting to spin. A familiar feeling when talking martial things with his sis.

What? Anella frowned deeply. What are you talking about?

He had no idea so went back to the start, as if nothing had happened. You were about to miss bow… archery.

Ah, he’d got it.

And I care why, exactly?

Woe was puzzled. Because you love it. He frowned. What’s the matter with you lately? All moody and don’t-care-about-anythingish.

Nothing.

Okay, don’t care about nothing, Woe said.

No. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with me.

All right then. Let’s go and shoot arrows at idiots.

She nodded, beginning to see the therapeutic benefits of shooting her schoolmates.

They had practiced archery a hundred times, a thousand, but this was different. Anella felt it the instant she picked up the longbow. It was no longer a piece of wood with a string of hemp stretched across it. She felt its texture, its strength. And an echo of its former life. So she dropped it like it was hot.

The archery instructor, Longfella Chip, an impossibly tall old guy whose legs were way too long for his body, loped over to her and looked down at the bow in the dust. Here was a man who lived up to his name. His eyes moved slowly up until they met hers. Chips of flint would have been softer. That, he said quietly, is how you will be slaughtered on the battlefield.

Oh, a nice way to talk to a child. She was going to have nightmares for sure.

Not likely, said Anella. She fixed him with her pale, blue eyes, which meant she had to crane her neck, but it was worth it. He looked away.

And why is that? he asked gruffly. For the edification of the rest of the class, you understand.

Because, she said firmly, none of the enemy soldiers will get close enough to do any slaughtering. And she meant it, which surprised even her.

Chip smiled and looked down at her again. He actually didn’t look too bad, now he was smiling. I’m sure we would all benefit from a demonstration of that singular skill. The smile twitched, but stayed in place.

He ordered the other squires to form a line twenty yards away across the dirt yard and strode over to the racks against the side wall and returned with an armful of arrows. It took him three strides. The arrows were not the pointed things she was used to training with, but had thick, stuffed leather pads secured to the ends.

He pointed at the squires. They will rush you, he said with the same smile, as an enemy would rush you. He raised his voice. Five at a time. He looked back at her. We must be fair, mustn’t we?

She shrugged. Send them all if you like, she said sullenly, seeing her future shrinking.

No, I think five… ten will suffice. He walked off to the side and raised his hand. Are you ready?

She stepped over to stand beside the rail that pretended to be fortifications, a ship’s side or a fort, depending on the training. Without any sign of nerves or hurry, she leaned ten of the padded arrows against the rail and then nocked one of them onto the bowstring. And nodded.

Chip watched her for a moment as she corrected her stance to shift her weight equally over her feet, which were shoulder-width apart and equal distance on either side of an imaginary line leading to the squires. He was impressed, but time would tell. He raised his hand, glanced at her, and dropped it.

Ten squires sprinted onto the twenty yards of dirt and headed for her, intending to flatten her in the dust and knock some of the arrogance out of her.

Anella extended her right arm and drew the string back using her index, second and third fingers. The boys were coming, but it was as if they were in slow motion. She felt the living wood blend with her left hand, and the hemp bowstring between her fingers of her right, and heard its memory of living in its parent stem. And she saw the wind. Not the tatty flags flapping, but the currents of air playing across the yard as flickering silver ribbons. She saw the path the arrow would take as a streak of turbulence in the ribbons, and adjusted her aim a fraction to the left.

She released the arrow and reached for another without looking at its flight. She knew it would be true.

It was. The thick leather pad hit the squire in the middle of his forehead and dropped him like a heavy sack. She raised her bow, fired and picked another arrow. Like a graceful machine. Fire; sweep up another arrow; fire.

The boys were dropping with every thudding shot. The unconscious bodies tripped and tangled the feet of the others as body after body dropped to the dirt. Before the attackers had covered half the twenty yards to their quarry, the yard was littered with both moaning and silent squires, while the four who remained suddenly lost their enthusiasm and looked for somewhere to hide. They didn’t find it before they went to sudden and painful sleep.

Anella dropped the last squire as he legged it for the safety of the school house, then she picked up an arrow with a hammered tin point, nocked it onto the string, turned and fired in a single, fluid move.

Longfella Chip’s mouth was open and he was staring at the squires groaning and coming to, but it