Anita

By Alan R Wilson

Horse, sword and bow are the power of the land and a number of lordlings hold sway, continually bickering and jostling for position. They are loosely held together by the dominant religion, the Servants of The Bear, which arose out of the times of Contagion, Blight and Chaos when humanity nearly wiped itself out fifteen hundred years ago. Mankind was altered in the process and The ‘Servants’ believe they were the savior of mankind when they strove to eradicate the worst expressions of ‘the taint’ which permeated the population. The Servants of The Bear’s biggest fear is of na-men: highly tainted, amoral killers but none have been reported for centuries. They are now dogma driven in their zeal to purify the population and vigorously pursue those they consider carry ‘the taint’ from the times of Chaos.
We join Anita, a young woman whose past is clouded and future uncertain. For many years she has lived a simple, solitary, unthinking life with her horse her closest companion and has actively avoided other people. Her peaceful life is shattered when she encounters three men intent on her death. Her hunting and innate skills rise but after dispatching the three assassins, an event which rapidly fades from her slippery memory, she develops a visceral feeling that people are a danger to her. She decides it cannot be avoided and the best way to understand the threat is to understand people.
Anita casts off her solitary life to mingle with people and takes on the persona of an arms-man because skill at fighting is what she does best. Her first encounters with people are not encouraging and she determines she must indeed pretend to be a man. She quickly discovers further differences between her and the people around her but still takes employment as a guard with the local lord of Caforde after a carnival of sideshows and tests of martial prowess held at the castle. She is unfortunate here too because in the process two of the castle arms-men become her deadly enemies.
Life in the castle is not all bad. Anita learns about people’s habits and many come to like her however her early realization that it was essential for her to blend in is reinforced. During some patrolling expeditions and duty away from the castle she learns more about her nature and background. Unfortunately she also ends up on the wrong side of an ex-Servant of The Bear employed by the Lord of Caforde and determines that the Servants are her greatest threat: if they were aware of the extent of her differences they would persecute and burn her for one of their na-men.
Her closest companions are her horse and later, an eagle. Both are much more than their outer forms suggest, both have their own impulses and priorities which are not always in tune with Anita’s, and both are much older and deeper than they appear. Most people, and animals, come to like Anita when they become better acquainted and she gradually develops a small group of close human friends. These are not slow to realize Anita is far from a normal person and some fear she may be one of the Servant’s of The Bear’s na-men. However, with longer acquaintance they appreciate her inner nature and while none understand her they know that she does not have the attitude of the amoral na-man.
Anita and her friends must avoid the clutches of the Servants of The Bear, negotiate the dangers and promises of the amazingly durable old technologies, and fight for her position in the land for her to begin to realise the full potential of both her old bloodline and her altered self. Most importantly, Anita must learn about herself because she carries a dark potential within her which at times can express itself exactly like the na-men the Servants’ fear.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan R Wilson
• Release date: Aug 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9780648599906

Alan R Wilson

As an undergraduate in the 1970s I was a member of the Melbourne University Science Fiction Club, contributing to and editing the magazine, Yggdrasil, which was largely devoted to fiction. We also held writers workshops and since then I have continued to ‘scribble away’ at various things with the seed of the ‘Anita’ novels sprouting in the late 80s.Personally, I found it impossible to write seriously while working full-time. (I have a Ph D in Physics and worked in research and have published numerous scientific articles). Always wanting to be a novelist, I took time off a few years ago to see if I had it in me to produce a novel. It worked for me and I retired properly and have dedicated myself to writing ever since.Writing is great fun, I love it. Whenever asked I say it is ‘better than reading’ because I am continually surprised as the plot develops. I am definitely not an author who has a novel plotted out from start to finish. As Ray Bradbury said, ‘It would be boring if you knew where it was going’. Indeed, the main protagonist in ‘Anita’ suddenly appeared a third of the way into the novel.There are 4 more books on the way in the Anita Histories and I am also dabbling in some contemporary novels too. Keep tuned, because the next 3 Anita novels may come out quite quickly.

Book preview

Daylight was dappling the clouds when Anita stirred restlessly on her bed of soft bracken. F’lar, her horse and companion for many years, snorted to himself, alerted by her movement. He watched her writhe again, muttering under her breath. He shook his head and lowered it to gaze at her fondly: her sleep had been agitated ever since the incident with the men. Anita’s eyes were darting around under her eyelids. In her dream …

F’lar was trotting calmly along the overgrown path leading to one of their favourite hunting grounds when two mounted men appeared, blocking the way. One of the men signalled for them to stop. F’lar pulled up abruptly on the edge of the small clearing separating them. Their weapons were not at hand, but Anita had a strong feeling of wrongness. Her subliminal senses warned her of danger. Jerking her head around to look to the right, she saw a third man, partly concealed, with an arrow nocked and drawn. He was waiting for her to move forward for a clearer shot, but loosed his arrow when he saw her looking in his direction. It leapt from his bow on a true course. Anita reacted faster and bent low over Flar’s neck, simultaneously releasing her staff from its shoulder sling. F’lar, in turn, accelerated forward in response to the danger he sensed from her. The arrow skimmed along her right shoulder to flick up harmlessly into the trees. F’lar charged towards the two on the path. Time accelerated and the men’s movements appeared oddly languid.

She dispatched the nearest when the hidden blade in her staff sprang out, extending her reach to surprise him and stab him hard in the chest. Wheeling rapidly she engaged the other horseman, striking his drawn sword away and carrying through with the butt of her staff to catch him under the chin. He tumbled backwards off his mount and landed heavily on the ground. While her eyes scanned around for the archer she automatically reversed her staff and stabbed him where he lay. The third bandit waited and shot when she cleared the other two horses. This time he aimed at F’lar to bring him down. The bulky horse had no time to dodge. Her staff moved, seemingly of its own volition, to catch the arrow on the breadth of its blade. It struck hard, forcing the staff back onto F’lar, then slid off with most of its force spent. F’lar stretched out, unperturbed, digging his back hooves into the ground to accelerate up the slight incline straight at the archer. This unfortunate fumbled for another arrow before dropping his bow to run. He quickly realised it was hopeless with no chance of him gaining any cover before being run down. Drawing his sword, he turned to face them. F’lar propped, and Anita’s staff, now effectively a spear, struck him in the left eye.

It was four days since the ambush and Anita no longer retained a conscious memory of it, only an uneasy feeling of insecurity which was feeding into her recent dissatisfaction with … what? She was unable to articulate it. All she had was a feeling she should be doing something more, but more what? Unknown to her, the memory of the ambush was still there, accessible when she slept. For the last four nights it had come back to haunt her. During the fourth night something shifted within her in response to her disquiet and moved its priorities away from simple survival.

Anita rolled onto her back. Her eyes flew open and she suddenly sat up. The first thing she saw was F’lar’s muzzle a mere handspan from her face. He shuffled backwards, surprised, and snorted at her. She struggled to remember what disturbed her: while the details of the dream were fading it left her with a strong feeling of unease. It reminded her of when forest-cats tried to track them. This time, though, it brought up images of men bearing swords and shooting at her with arrows. A strong premonition of danger came over her and she made a decision which had been circulating, unknown, at the back of her mind: they had to leave. However, unlike previous times when she and F’lar had moved on, the idea of retreating into the wilds felt like she was avoiding a problem, a problem she did not understand but needed to address.

F’lar, she said aloud. We must find out more about … people. There is a danger in them which we need to understand. So-o, we have to go among them.

With her destination determined, Anita felt lighter in her heart and the uncertainty of the last few days left her. She considered what she knew about villagers’ habits from observing them from afar. Memories from a younger, earlier time, quietly rose to help her.

F’lar, I’m, err, sorry, but you’ll need reins, a bridle and, oh yes, a seat for me called a, um …, a saddle, that’s it, she said when F’lar moved closer. Now where will I find them? she wondered.

-why?- she felt the query from him.

-to look the same-to fit in-they all use them- she replied, using the mind feeling-talk she used with him when they were close.

-really?-

-yes-

But we don’t have any, she muttered.

F’lar pricked up his ears and snorted. He ambled off a short way and bent down to grasp a battered leather bag in his teeth and drag it out of the bushes.

What’s this? she questioned when he sauntered back to dump it in front of her.

She squatted down and opened the bag to find a jumble of horse gear.

Where did you find this? Hey, where are you off to now? she called after him when he ambled off again.

She jumped up and walked briskly after him to discover a well-used, but well cared-for, saddle, complete with large travelling bags and a bow case: all dumped in a tangle amongst bushes and long grass.

What … ha! Where in the Ring did this lot come from?

She looked at F’lar.

-F’lar-where did this come from?-

-bad men- he replied.

-what bad men?- she prompted.

But while the link with F’lar was good at conveying feelings and immediate actions and reactions, it was poor at more abstract concepts. F’lar lived in the present moment and was not adept at introspection or analysis. Anita knew this from experience. After some fruitless probing she abandoned hope of obtaining anything more useful from him. She resolved to accept the windfall and, gathering up saddle and bags, walked back to their camp. F’lar followed close behind. She sorted through the gear and eventually pulled out a bridle and bit with reins attached.

-not in my mouth!- F’lar sent to her when she tried placing the bit between his teeth. He shook his head and pulled back, keeping his teeth firmly clamped shut.

-right- she replied and continued, talking to herself. Let’s remove this.

She cut the leather strips holding the bit and flung it on the ground. Certainly looks uncomfortable to me. F’lar’s right. Need to fix this to hold it in place and make it look like I’m using the reins. She cut a couple of leather strips and tied them in position. Not very neat but it will do for now. I’ll fix it better later.

-here-how’s this?- she asked, showing F’lar the altered bridle. -let me slip it on-loose-

F’lar tolerated the bridle being placed slackly over his muzzle. She hefted the heavy saddle onto his back on top of the saddle cloth she found with the other gear and tightened the girth strap.

Heavy, but you’re strong. Tell me if it rubs or chafes. I’ll fix it. Let’s try it out.

She gathered herself to jump onto his back and stopped, remembering people used stirrups to mount a horse. After fiddling around with them she finally mounted but one was twisted and she had to play around with it some more. I’ll have to practice this. F’lar looked around at her with amusement and also a questioning look.

-no contact- he stated.

-yes-this won’t do!-I’ll be sliding all over the place and you’re dim-this stuff’s garbage-how will we work together?-

F’lar snorted at her the way he always did when she sent more complex thoughts. But there was a problem. She normally rode bareback with a light girth strap to hold her quiver and bow case, relying on a natural ‘stickiness’ between her and F’lar to keep her in position. She felt none of this with the saddle and only a little where her legs touched him. The saddle was also interfering with the more intimate blending of their thoughts and movements which occurred when she was astride. It enabled them to act as one with F’lar anticipating her desires and warning her of any sudden movements on his part. This had helped them out of many a difficult situation, particularly with the intelligent forest-cats indigenous to the region which often hunted in pairs and occasionally in threes and fours. But now, sitting in the saddle, all of the normal feelings of attachment and easy communication with F’lar were absent.

-how do people ride like this?- she thought more to herself than F’lar.

-no contact- she received back.

-what?-this is normal?-

-yes-

-are you sure?-

Anita was not ready to believe him - how was it possible to ride without a connection with your horse? She naturally assumed everyone had the same rapport she had with F’lar. But F’lar thinks not. How does he know? She was about to query him but stopped. He somehow knew, and any questions were likely to lead to confusion.

-remove cloth!- F’lar suggested forcefully.

-right- she responded and dismounted to loosen the girth strap and pull the cloth away.

-will it rub?-

-no-will be better-leave like this-

F’lar turned his head to look at the saddle and gave his body an odd wiggle. He looked at Anita.

-why people?- she felt from him again.

-I, we need to know them-I feel they are a danger-worse than cats-need to understand them-to be safe-to seek answers-, she replied, although she was not sure what the questions were.

-is that all?-

She paused to consider F’lar’s last question. Looking within herself she realised she was excited by the idea and was anticipating moving among people. Something was in the back of her mind, something she nearly grasped, but it slipped away. Whatever it was, part of her was looking forward to mixing with people, but it was tempered with caution. She was unsure how to react around others after being alone for … her thoughts trailed off into vagueness. F’lar pulled her back to the present by bumping her chest with his head.

-no dreaming!-

-what!-oh-good-need to organise ourselves-leave tomorrow-

***

Her smaller possessions were stuffed into the saddle bags. The more bulky items, including a large number of extra arrows, were rolled up in oiled skins and tied across F’lar’s back. She mounted, remembering to turn the stirrup so it was not twisted, and looked around at the chamber surrounded by the vine and bush-covered tumbles of stone which were once protective castle walls. To her it felt like a good place to be, like home. A sudden reluctance to leave came over her. F’lar interrupted her with a forceful thought.

-get going-

He moved forward, walking through a broken stone arch into an area of light scrub before passing between the remains of an outer gate. A feeling of loss and separation came over her again, but it was soon followed by one of excitement and expectation, tinged with caution.

-saddle better- was the next thought from F’lar.

Anita realised this was indeed the case. It was like she was riding bare-back and she had not noticed until he pointed it out.

-how?- she asked.

Of course, F’lar was not able to tell her. The feelings she received carried the impression the saddle was now part of him, which seemed rather odd.

F’lar shifted to a canter when they reached the disused pathway north of the destroyed castle. In under half an hour they passed through a small clearing but Anita showed no signs of recalling the events from several days ago, or any awareness of the three bodies placed in a neat row a short distance off the path. F’lar fell into a steady pace which brought them to the nearest farming village in three days.

First Contact

The sun was two hands above the horizon and Anita and F’lar were trotting along a rude cart track they had come across not long before. The path took them between recently harvested fields, dipping up and down so the thatched roofs and upper walls of the neat-looking village it was leading them to went in and out of view. The buildings were currently completely hidden by the hedgerow on the crest they were approaching. Anita heard excited shouts from behind the hedge and, walking over the rise, they stumbled on a gaggle of lads with sticks, hunting for mice and rats in the stubble of a recently harvested field. She stopped to hail them but as one they scampered off in the direction of the village, their voices calling earnestly, ‘armed stranger’, ‘mercenary,’ and ‘bandits’, when they crested the next rise. She was tempted to give chase. Instead, F’lar only quickened his pace slightly. When they reached the top of the rise the lads were disappearing over the next one. F’lar picked up the pace some more. The boys’ cries had stopped by the time he reached the bottom of the dip and was starting up the next incline.

Moving up and over the rise they discovered a rough dozen men facing them, all defensively holding scythes, long-tined forks or rakes. The boys were at first nowhere to be seen, but Anita soon spotted their faces peeping out from the protection of a group of carts heaped high with sheaves of wheat. F’lar continued down to halt ten paces off from the men.

Anita presented an intimidating sight; cased bow and quiver bristling with arrows slung to the right of her saddle, sword and heavy daggers on left and right hips and the top of a black quarter staff visible over her right shoulder. Not visible were the multitude of other knives secreted around her body. But, she was obviously a woman in fighting man’s garb, and young too. It was a problem.

Many of the men openly stared at her while others whispered together, casting hostile glances in her direction. Her intention was to ask for food and lodging for the night, as her first experience amongst people. Noticing the odd glances and whispers directed her way, and what looked like reticence to approach her, she surmised that she appeared too threatening, perched above them on F’lar, and dismounted. This proved to be a mistake. Five men separated from the group and approached her. The more solidly built one in the centre glanced around at his companions for support before stepping forward.

Who are you? What do you want? Woman! he challenged her.

They had all become alarmed at the prospects of bandits when the boys arrived over the hill, screaming warnings. But now they saw the fighter was a woman (whoever had heard of a woman fighter), and she was alone. This, and her appearance, should have made them more cautious. But their adrenalin was up and they had to react.

Dressed like fighting man and on fancy horse. You need to know your place. It’s not proper! he continued belligerently. The ones behind him growled in agreement and spread out to block her way.

-not friendly- she thought to F’lar. -get ready to leave-

She backed up to F’lar’s flank and readied her staff.

Oh, she has little stick, the belligerent one said with a derisive laugh. ’ow’s it going to work against all of us! Horse’s mine and you can share rest! he cried, raising his pitchfork.

Anita deftly sidestepped and deflected his lunge, following up with a hard thrust catching him in the chest to fling him into the man beside him, knocking them both to the ground. Her next problem was the two men on her right, also with pitchforks. She slipped inside their attack and immediately disabled one with a blow to the groin: he collapsed with a strangled groan to the ground. The other managed to retreat: after seeing three of his buddies quickly dealt with he was now less sure of himself. Anita pursued him and struck his hand hard. He screamed in pain and the pitchfork fell to the ground. Meanwhile, F’lar was prancing around, lashing out with his hooves at those on her left trying to close in. Anita grabbed his saddle and swung up while he rode over the man in front of him. She was angry and urged him to slow down.

-quick walk-show the bastards what we think of them-ha-turn and face them-then leave-

F’lar stopped and turned. Three of the men were on the ground. The leader was staggering to his feet, gasping for breath. Anita’s blood was up and she was not able to resist her urge to harangue them.

I’ll remember you bastards! she yelled back at them, levelling her staff to point at the leftmost man to sweep it slowly to the right. Lucky for you I’m not the vindictive sort or guts and blood would be watering the ground! If you don’t change your ways you better watch out. I’ll be back! I’m warning you! No second chances!

-come-let’s go-camp out-

After giving them such a sound drubbing Anita was not expecting any more trouble, but men were not like the animals she was used to dealing with. At a sign from the leader, who was still clutching his chest, two of the more sprightly ones watched her go. When she was on the verge of disappearing, they quietly hurried after her, taking care to remain unobserved.

Anita and F’lar cantered along the cart way unaware of the eyes following behind them. The path was heading straight for the village but when she saw the first cottages more clearly she cut to the left. Closer up, the stone and timber cottages looked well maintained and cared for, some even sported decorative flower beds. Look well off, why do they resort to brigandry? she thought bitterly while they continued at a slower pace on another rough path leading away from the village.

Dusk was settling when they stopped a little under an hours walk from the village. The cart path had recently disappeared and now they were travelling along the edge of an open forest. While she was divesting F’lar of his riding tack Anita considered the confrontation at the village and concluded that part of the problem was she was a woman bearing arms. However, she thought a lone man may not have fared any better, suspecting they might receive him civilly to wait until later when he was asleep. Then they would have fallen on him, disposed of the body and taken what profit they could from his horse and kit. Like a pack of wild dogs, attacking anything weaker not of their group. This train of thought led her to two decisions. First, she decided to disguise her appearance and pretend to be a man . Second, it was not safe to approach small groups of people. A larger village or town, a place common for strangers to be passing through, was more likely to accept her, as a him. She resolved to ignore the smaller farming hamlets. With this sorted out in her mind she organised her camp for the night, never considering the possibility of any further danger from the villagers and certainly not from any night predators. She and F’lar both had excellent hearing and were attuned to their surroundings even when asleep. Any animal or person expecting to creep up on them was in for a rude surprise.

An hour before midnight Anita was woken by the soft scuff of animals approaching, which she soon identified as two men attempting to sneak up on her. She quietly plumped up her skins and rolled sideways to crouch some paces away with her bow ready. Drifting clouds and a thin crescent moon impeded the men’s progress, but they managed to slowly creep up on the apparently asleep and helpless body. Without any warning, they slipped long knives out of their belts to plunge them into the skins. They collapsed under their onslaught. Realising their error, they froze and looked around warily.

The craven act rekindled Anita’s previous anger. It rose to engulf her. -The bastards are killing me-, flitted forcefully through her mind. Anita’s instincts took over. The first arrow took the nearest thug in the throat, flinging him backwards. He thudded to the ground, gargling. She lost sight of the second man when the moon disappeared behind a thick cloud. However, Anita’s arrow was ready and she concentrated on the scuffing of the other man’s feet when he turned to run for his life. She aimed above it and the shaft struck him forcefully in his back, pitching him forward. Crying out, he struggled to rise but his legs failed to obey him. Anita moved swiftly to where he lay thrashing and killed him with a quick strike to the side of his neck, severing the artery. She grabbed the arrow shaft and pulled it through him. Don’t want to leave this here, she thought, and frisked his body to discover a few coins, which she kept. Returning to the other man she confirmed he was also dead, retrieved her arrow and removed the few coins he was carrying. She then rolled up her bedding, collected her other possessions and looked up to spot F’lar calmly walking towards her. He also had heard their approach but saw her move and knew she was dealing with the situation.

-better leave-

She flung the saddle bags on him and fixed them in place.

-no need to fix the rest-no one will see us-let’s put some hours between us and this accursed place-

Township

More than a week went by before it became obvious they were approaching a larger habitation. The town served the surrounding farms and villages and was located on the crossing of two major roads, and numerous minor paths. Anita checked the padding sewn into her clothes to disguise her sex but, in truth, her internal, innate systems were modifying her body according to her desires, with her chest flattening accompanied by a corresponding thickening of her waist. With her fighting man attire, and the expectations this aroused, the padding would soon be superfluous. After ensuring everything was in place she skirted around the town to ride in along the largest of the roads.

The first dwellings she encountered were rather mean affairs, cobbled together from whatever materials the inhabitants managed to lay their hands on. A gateway separated these from more substantial whitewashed stone and timber buildings, many two stories high. Their roofs where predominantly wooden shingles which gave way to flat clay tiles the further in she went. The richer-looking buildings even included coloured tiles with ornamental decorations on the ridges. The tone of the houses lowered before she came to a market set off the main thoroughfare.

It was well after midday and the market was winding down for the day. Anita noticed no one was on horseback and dismounted to move around the edges, taking the opportunity to observe while loosely holding F’lar’s reins. She was particularly keen to see how coins were used in practice since, while she knew the purpose of coins, her understanding of the value people placed on them was poor. After watching a few haggling matches she noticed a pattern in the hagglers’ behaviour. When the purchaser reached what they thought was a good price their posture relaxed subtly and they became less aggressive. The stallholders were better at hiding it than the purchasers and were more likely to exhibit small signs of happiness after closing a purchase. Anita recognised that it occurred when the stallholder obtained a better price than expected. She also noticed the scowls and looks of disapproval cast at F’lar and herself if she wandered too close to a stall. Of course. Stupid me. No horses in the marketplace. Too big. Anita moved out of the market to search for a place for F’lar and selected the first inn she found with a couple of horses already in its stable.

-time for you to mix in with the horses too- she sent with a laugh to F’lar.

He snorted in return. She rode him in, dismounted and removed the saddle and other kit before handing him over to the ostler with orders to give him a good rub down and some grain in his feed.

Two nights feed and stabling, she said, opening her money pouch and carefully watching his reaction while she shook some copper coins into her hand. One, two, three. Ah yes, feels right. Maybe one for the future.

This one, she said, holding the fourth coin low in her hand and dropping her voice. It’s for later. Treat him well and it’s for you alone.

The ostler glanced around to see if any from the tavern were present, and nodded his head.

Good, got it right, Anita thought. Rubbing F’lar’s neck she sent to him,

-don’t cause any trouble-this guy-, indicating the ostler, -looks worried-

Mind, I’ll know if he’s not treated well. Don’t go trying to tie him up. Won’t work. I’ll be back for the rest, she said, indicating the saddle and other gear before heading to the tavern.

Room for two nights and I have already arranged for my horse, she said to the clean but plainly dressed man behind the bench.

The tavern owner looked her up and down, noting the full quiver in one hand and the weapons hanging off her waist.

Don’t get many of your sort here, he said. I’m not complaining, but don’t want trouble. Would think you be in hurry to go to festival.

Anita was on the verge of asking about the festival but stopped, not wanting to display her ignorance.

No, have business here. Need two nights then I’ll be off, she replied.

Right, one Runt for two nights, he said.

This put her in a quandary. In the market she learnt that the copper coins were known as Pens while the small silver coins, known as Runts, were worth more but she was unsure how much more. However, the owner seemed too eager. The one Runt he was asking was probably too much, but what was a decent counter offer? She considered it: three Pens for F’lar for two nights, a little more for her plus food or maybe a little extra.

Four Pens for the room plus seven for breakfast and two nights dinner and drink, she murmured to herself. Eleven Pens. I’ll look after my own mid-meal, she countered.

The tavern owner’s face fell. He was hoping for an easy mark. Seventeen’s best I can do.

Fifteen.

Done, but it’s hard bargain.

An extra Pen if the room is decent and airy, Anita added.

He perked up at this. Probably better to pay a little too much. Keeps him happy and I can hope for better treatment, Anita thought, satisfied with the arrangement.

The room offered to her was at the back of the building on the second storey with a shuttered window opening onto the stable yards. She gave the owner his extra coin, deposited her gear, and went back to collect the rest of her belongings. When these were in place she went down again to check on F’lar prior to heading back to the market.

-good?- she queried.

-good feed-sweet grain-better rub down than you- he quipped.

-I’ll be off-check town-

-soft too-

Anita gave F’lar a rub on his shoulder and, ducking under his neck, walked out of the stables to explore the town in the remaining daylight hours. She made her way back to the market to discover it had finished for the day, but a few of the permanent shops around the square were still open. One of these was a leathersmith. She went in to inquire about a better bridle for F’lar. The apprentice at the table looked at her queerly when she described what she wanted. He disappeared into the back of the shop to shortly returned with the craftsman.

I hear you want a bridle with no bit, the craftsman said.

Correct. I can bring a rough example if you like.

From your attire, this is not for a draught or workhorse, he said haughtily.

Right again. For my horse. He …

How will it work with no bit? It is not usual, the leathersmith interrupted.

It is what I want, she reiterated strongly.

But it won’t work. It’s not the way. A bridle with no bit for a riding horse. I mean to say!

Sir! she said forcefully, annoyed by his arrogant attitude. I’m the one doing the riding. Surely I’m the one in the best position to know what will and will not work! she said and knocked her staff sharply on the floor for emphasis.

Hey, none of that then!

Since you’re too hidebound to entertain thoughts outside the common run I’ll take my custom elsewhere.

I was also considering new boots and some other gear, she flung back to annoy him as she left the shop.

She looked around for another leathersmith, however the town was either not large enough to support more than one, which she thought unlikely, or she was unable to recognise them when closed. Giving up, she continued her inspection of the town. When she entered, she had discovered no town wall as such, but a demarcation between the inner and outer town consisting of house walls connected together or with gates between them. The walls facing the outer buildings, if they could be graced with the name, had no windows. The town also supported a militia with a reasonable sized barracks, stables and other buildings around an exercise yard. Before venturing out of the inner township she returned to her lodgings to exchange her staff for sword and dagger. Anita preferred the staff, but after wandering around she decided a sword was the more usual weapon carried.

Some time later, she was making her way around the outer regions when the air reverberated at the tolling of a bell in the inner town. She looked around alertly but no one appeared to pay it any attention. She waited a little longer, the bell stopped, and still everyone was walking around, doing whatever they were doing beforehand. Maybe it’s something religious. No one seems to have paid it any heed, she thought and continued moving deeper into the outer town.

Anita’s brief exploration did not tell her much. The outer area had its own shops and life, but it all appeared much rougher than the inner town. She found the tanners by their stink and some of the other more odious occupations too, but it was obvious the true craft work was done in the inner regions. The night was closing in properly when she found herself in a very scruffy-looking section of the outer town. Here the dwellings were cobbled together from mismatched materials and the streets were not laid out in any discernable plan. She made her way back into an area with more substantial buildings, but she had attracted unwanted attention.

Time to go back, Anita was thinking when the feeling she was being watched or followed came over her. She stopped. Under the pretext of fixing her boot, she glanced behind her to pick out the two men paying close attention to her but trying to appear otherwise occupied. One disappeared between two of the buildings. Ah… like forest cats. One’s gone around to ambush or distract me. Then the other will come in from behind. She drew her two slim arm daggers, leaving her sword and hip dagger in place, and moved forward. Her senses opened up to detect the slightest sound and movement and her eyes began to ache the way they always did when she was looking for animals in darkness. He was quick, came to her mind when she saw a shimmery blob peeking around the corner of a building two up from her. Knife or club? she considered while continuing to walk casually in the direction of the waiting assailant.

Hands low. Knife, she observed when the would-be thief emerged in front of her. She attacked immediately, the swiftness of her response catching him off guard. Moving straight at him she stabbed his knife hand and pushed him hard to the ground, followed by a sharp forward roll into the gap he came from. She sprang up and turned to face the entrance but he lay stunned and motionless on the ground. The second thief arrived a moment later and ignored his comrade to stare into the dark space. Anita sheathed one dagger and released her sword. Seeing nothing, the second thief bent to examine his compatriot. Anita deliberately scrapped her foot on the ground as she moved forwards. The ghostly apparition gliding towards the thief unnerved him to the point where he sped off, leaving his friend behind. Anita knelt. I’ll return the favour, she thought before emptying the man’s purse into hers. She checked for anything else of interest and dragged him back into the dark passage. Dampness around his hand reminded her of his injury so she cut a strip of cloth from the bottom of his pants to fashion a rough bandage. Leaving him there, she cautiously made her way back to the main road before turning in the direction of the gate between the inner and outer townships. It was not closed, and was now lit by two fire-brands with two militia on duty. Anita tried to walk through the entrance but they pulled her up.

Hey, you. Where do you think you’re going? the closest called out and approached her. The other followed but stopped a few paces away.

To my lodgings, she replied.

Didn’t you hear bell! All in by nightfall. You’ll be staying out here.

Not me! I have a room in a tavern, she retorted.

Then, ah, and he gestured with his left hand low, palm up. What’s the password.

Password. What’s he on about? Looking at his hand she was reminded of the beggars in the outer city. She finally understood. Money. How much? One of these Pens or a quarter Pen. She looked in her purse. What have I here? A few gold ones. Came from the thief? Hmm. Mustn’t let this lot see it. She plucked out a Pen and gave it to the guard. He wiggled his fingers: another Pen. This seemed right but after a slight pause he said,

And me mate.

Two more Pens! she thought, outraged, but passed them over.

He nodded to the other guard.

You have a good night, he said to her back with a chuckle as she stalked into the town.

The attempted theft and the behaviour of the guards put Anita in a bad mood. Arriving back at her tavern she stormed in and pushed her way through to the bench. Partway there she paused, recognising the voice of the leather craftsman from earlier in the day. He was side on to her, had not seen her, and was beginning to regale his drinking buddies with the events of the day.

Did I tell you about the arrogant bastard who was in my shop today? Came in demanding the most ridiculous thing. A riding-horse bridle with no bit. What a stupid …, the words died in his throat when he caught sight of Anita and the fiery look in her narrowed eyes.

She casually twitched her coat back to reveal the sword and daggers on her hips.

And, sir, she said, softly, slowly and dangerously politely. I gather you are an expert on horses and the riding of warhorses in particular! Her eyes narrowed even further, transfixing him with her gaze.

The noise in the tavern subsided when people realised something was up and looked their way. Anita noticed the tavern keeper speak quietly to one of the serving maids before fetching a stout cudgel from under his bench.

You won’t be needing it, she said, turning in his direction and indicating the cudgel he was now holding but not yet in plain view. Don’t need the city militia either. They will cause a lot more trouble and there’s no need for them to suffer or for your room to be beaten up. These … gentlemen here, she said derisively. Need to refrain from babbling about things they are ignorant of. She turned back to the leathersmith. Maybe I’ll give you a second chance, my horse-learned friend. Tomorrow morning hey! I’ll even bring an example. Perhaps I’ll bring my horse. You know, the uncontrolled one!

The utter hush in the room and the leather smith’s pale countenance brought the tavern owner’s words from earlier came back to her. Anita forced herself to move away from the table and turn to him again.

I’ll be eating in my room, she said brusquely before striding up the stairs. No doubt they’ll gossip about me now but this whole town business is turning sour. It’s like a bunch of caged animals, always nipping at each other.

The tavern owner himself arrived soon after with her meal and two tankards of ale.

Like I said afore, I don’t want no trouble, he said.

I’ve had a bugger of a day but at least I’m up here, not down there scaring everyone away, she replied tartly.

Yeah, appreciate it but you started it. Really like for you to shove off fast. May cause problem if you’re still here tomorrow. Here, for your horse too, and an extra tankard of ale, he said, placing eleven Pens on the table.

Anita regarded them for a while before turning her attention to the innkeeper.

Before, when I arrived, you mentioned a festival, she said.

Ah yeah. Special Harvest Festival at Holding Caforde, he replied smartly. Starts two day time. Plenty come through for it. Not many here. Two day travel to castle. Leave early tomorrow you’ll be there night afore selections. Look for sleeping tents, set up for foreigners like you, there to test skills against best of land.

The tavern keeper ran on about the festival, the attractions and amusements, the feats of arms and mock battles: he was keen to give her good reason to leave. Anita let him run on, learning what she might expect there, while she began her meal and sampled the ale. What he told her appeared to offer a good opportunity to mix with a wider group of people and become acquainted with their customs but not stand out because of the large number of other strangers who would be present.

Thank you, she said when he finished and turned to leave. I think your suggestion has merit. Early breakfast tomorrow and I’ll be off.

After he left she examined the tankard of ale more closely. A curious drink, like water mixed with bitter herbs but with other interesting flavours. She tried more and decided she liked the astringency and malty under flavours, not unlike some of the herbs she used with her meals to make them more interesting. She drained the first tankard when she was finishing her meal, and started on the second. Putting her knife down and standing up with the tankard in her hand she felt a slight fuzziness and instability. It quickly passed and she walked to the shuttered windows to open them and gaze out onto the street. Everything was quiet except for the occasional burst of laughter filtering up to her from the tavern below. Anita stood still in the darkness, sipping her ale and musing to herself. What am I getting us into, F’lar? Why do I feel compelled to go among people? My experience so far is not good. Murderers, thieves, graft and now they throw me out! But it feels right. Maybe this festival thing will be better.

Caforde Festival

F’lar was able to sustain a fast pace better than other horses and they were cantering up to the festival grounds in front of Castle Caforde in the early afternoon. Anita’s attempt to identify the tents for the itinerant fighters that the tavern keeper told her about was not immediately successful. Many different tents were set up for the festival. Some were coloured, others were plain. Several were decorated with pennants and a good number sported gaily painted pictures on the sides. The mixed crowd she saw confirmed her decision to come to the festival with ample opportunities to observe the people, study their behaviour, and learn how to interact with them. After half hour she was even more certain of her need to pass herself off as a man. The more she mixed with people the more the lesson she learnt from the villagers was reinforced: she discovered no women arms-men or fighting men.

F’lar continued to amble between the coloured tents, attempting to locate the ones for the itinerant fighters. This way, although the fair proper was not to start until the morrow, they wandered into one of the entertainment areas and discovered numerous entertainments and diversions were already on hand. Staying at the edge of the crowd gave her a good vantage point to view the various jugglers, acrobats and magicians vying for attention. The skill displayed by one troupe of acrobats caught her attention and Anita sat for a time studying them. Some good moves, might come in handy, she thought while her mind automatically analysed and stored their movements for future reference. Enough delaying, let’s check what’s on offer. But how do we locate it? This time her thoughts were almost instantly answered. Several militia men were scattered through the crowds to keep order. One of them was walking in her direction.

Hey you, on the horse, he called, moving closer. No horses here. Go to the horse lines and communal tents. See the big blue one off to the right side.

Anita raised two fingers to her forehead in a casual salute to confirm she heard what he was saying. F’lar backed off before carefully turning to walk in the direction indicated. The militia man opened his mouth to say something but stopped, shook his head and watched her for a short time before returning to his crowd monitoring duties.

Approaching the blue tent, she noticed that it was located on the edge of a cleared area with archery butts at one end. Some distance to the right was a group of colourful tents with drabber looking ones running down the slope from them. They were obviously the accommodation tents, from the fighting men lounging around them. Those near the coloured tents were wearing flamboyant and highly decorative dress in contrast to the practical woodsman gear at the further tents. A mixed collection of horses were tethered in a double picket line in front of the tents.

-don’t like it-no tying- F’lar sent.

-agree-it’s a problem-

Anita rode up to one of the more colourful tents but was accosted before she managed to look inside.

Not here you! Down with the rest of the dirt diggers, a brightly equipped fighter yelled at her. His two equally colourfully attired companions laughed.

Anita gave him a hostile glare. F’lar continued to walk slowly down towards the plain tents. She heard a scuffle and words behind her.

Why the insolent …, the first fighter exclaimed.

No wait, one of his friends said restraining him by grabbing his arm. Get him in the tourney.

If I can remember his looks. All the sod breakers look the same to me. Why they’re allowed to take part I don’t know?

You know Lord Brooker’s looking to recruit. This is like a selection for him to pick the best.

Humph. He won’t be recruiting him if I meet the bastard first!

Anita continued along the picket line listening closely for any sound of pursuit. Once again I cause a problem. These people react the wrong way. A warning look and he wants to attack me. A forest-cat is more predictable! Should I wear a mask to not provoke them?

They soon arrived at the lower tents. The rolled up wall flaps made it easy to see inside. Several bed rolls, saddles and other kit were spread on the ground. Two men were busy in one of them. Could be another problem, Anita thought when she saw one of them shaving. The other man was sitting on a saddle sharpening a short knife with two more on the ground, waiting their turn. He looked up when he heard F’lar approach.

What’s the deal here? she asked, leaning forward to address him.

Kit here, horse there. Sharing watches. Town’s full of thieves and cutthroats. Leave this lot alone and it’ll be gone afore ye can blink. Already caught one trying to rustle a horse last night.

Thanks, she said and urged F’lar to continue walking past the end of the picket line.

Neither of them thought much of the communal accommodation on offer. Anita decided to look in the city but after more than an hour of searching she discovered all the rooms and stables were in use. With dusk closing in, she decided to spend another night outside. Cat-calls, rude noises and insults from the militia stationed at the city gates followed them as they rode away.

Too tough for you, hey!

Scared you off. Ya chicken.

He’s chicken, we’re foxes. Look at him go.

The insults had an unexpected effect on her. She wanted to turn and confront them but F’lar ignored her and lengthened his stride to make brisk progress along the main road.

After a twenty-minute fast canter, they took a side path into the scrubby forest to make they way into thicker foliage, always moving away from the road but selecting paths heading back towards the city. One of these led to a small clearing near a stream. Anita judged they were around an hour’s jog through the forest back to the city. She decided to camp there and run in each day, reasoning that if she did this while it was still dark, no one was likely to notice. She was not worried about leaving F’lar since he was perfectly able to fend for himself.

-I’ll take the high whistle-call when I come back- she sent to him.

-fun-run-no load-sun basking-I’ll listen near dark- she felt back.

In the remaining light she checked around for places to hide her excess kit.

-F’lar-don’t go too far-guard this if needed-

***

Early the next morning found Anita at breakfast mixing with the other plainly dressed fighters. The food was simple but adequate. Another man joined her on the left when she sat down with her bowl.

Don’t have your billet yet, he commented.

Billet? Ah, what? No, I just arrived, she responded.

Better be sharp. Up to blue tent. Remember nothing’s free for us. Got to pay our way, entertain them all. Unlike the trumped-up fancies in the colourful tents. I’m hoping to rub their noses in the swill. You look sharp. Want to join in with Ken’s mob for the mock battles. By the way, I’m Ken, he said with a grin. This here’s Justin, he continued, elbowing the man beside him. Let’s see if we can knock some fancy heads. Get that inside you quick and sign up before they close the mob lists.

Anita wolfed down the rest of breakfast and hurried up to the blue tent. One person was before her and she waited a short time before being called over.

Name and Holding?

Ah, Jon, she improvised. And, err, been around, guess here is good enough.

Caforde then, but not local. Special events?

What events are there?

Look man, what are you good at? the clerk responded impatiently.

Bow, field or forest.

I’ll put you in for long bow, the clerk said and made an entry on one of his lists.

And I’m with Ken’s mob for the battles, Anita added.

Cane’s mob, let’s see. This’ll be it. Report for blue and red, number seven.

The clerk started to write Jon at the bottom of one of the lists of names. Anita noticed his mistake.

No. Wrong list. This one’s Ken, here, Anita said, pointing. That one’s Cane. I said Ken, kay, ee, en, Ken.

The clerk looked up at her sharply, examining her more closely without saying anything. What have I done now, she thought. The clerk sniffed.

As you say then, Ken. Red number five and do you need a slip? He crossed out the start of his first entry and placed ‘Jon of Caforde’ at the bottom of the list headed by ‘Ken of Quenby’.

Slip?

Yes, slip.You know, to match the colour and number.

No thank you. Best to be polite. He still seems put out for some reason. I can easily remember it.

Anything else? It’s 2 Pens a day unless you have another skill.

Quarterstaff.

The clerk added her name and a number to the end of another list.

Here’s your billet. Keep it with you at all times. Food and lodging down by the fields. See this, it’s your number. Show it to the field clerks at the lists and anyone who asks for it.

Anita looked at the rough leather tag and thong and read the number.

One hundred and seventy-two. Is this how many have signed for the events? she asked, trying some light conversation.

The clerk gave her another of his startled looks. He leant across the bench towards her.

Who exactly are you? he hissed in a low, conspiratorial voice.

Sensing something wrong, Again! Anita backed away while the clerk watched, obviously disconcerted. Tuning to leave, she was relieved to see him shake his head before sitting down and applying himself to his lists. Anita hurried back to the mess tent and spied Ken leaving with a group of other men, all heading in her direction. She waited for him to reach her.

I’m signed up. They tried putting me with Cane but I noticed the mistake and I’m with you.

Where’s your slip? he asked.

What. No need, red five. How does this all work? she asked.

Didn’t the clerk tell you?

All he said was to show my number to the list clerks. When do you know an event’s on and where they are? There are a lot signed up.

There’s an announcement of the rules and stuff at the blue tent right after breakfast. We’re going there now.

Arriving at the blue tent, they waited some minutes before the sires arrived. The herald addressed them, detailed the rules and showed the symbols and signs for the various events. He went over the numbers and how to match them with the numbers on the signs in great detail. Some group events were up first, followed by a few individual events, with more group events afterwards. Being one of the higher numbers, Anita was in the latter groups for the individual events. Ken’s mob was up first for the mock battle.

Ha, exactly what I expected, Ken said while they were making their way to the arena. The fancy shirts are straight through but we have a bunch of elimination rounds. They’ll be fresh when we face them and they get to see how we fight. Talk about stacked against us. I reckon I can take any of them in a real fight one-on-one.

They joined a slow-moving queue to move into the arena with a militia man painstakingly marking down their numbers before letting them enter the grounds. Ken went through first, followed by Anita.

Where’s your number, the militia man demanded.

One hundred and seventy-two, Anita replied.

Uh … don’t get smart. Show me your billet! he ordered crossly.

Anita slipped it out of her sleeve where it was tied to her wrist.

Hold it still, the militia man demanded while he tediously copied the number onto a thin wooden board. Why do we have to do this? he muttered while carefully comparing the symbols he wrote with those on her billet. Clerks job, not us.

Next, he called, not bothering to look at Anita.

Tucking her billet back into its safe location, Anita walked into the arena. The line shuffled forward behind her and the next number was laboriously transferred to the board. Ken was curious after overhearing the interchange between Anita and the guard and moved back to her.

Where did you learn it? he asked.

Learn what?

Your numbers. Look. Here’s my billet, let’s see yours. What’s my number.

Fifty, but what’s the problem?

Can you add them together?

Course, two hundred and twenty-two, hey neat, two, two, two.

Ken stopped.

Who are you, Jon? he asked quietly but aggressively. A merchant’s son gone to fighting or one of those fancy shirts deciding to slum it with the ‘dirt diggers’!

What in the Ring are you on about! Anita responded.

You know your numbers and – Bear’s guts! – the thing about Ken and Cane! You can read too, can’t you? Who sent you here!

Tangles! Somehow I stepped into it again, she thought.

What in the fiery Rings! Look! No one sent me, she replied hotly. I don’t know what’s bothering you but they’re calling for us. We’re to prepare for this turn. Let’s concentrate on it and deal with what’s bothering you later. You’re the leader of this group. Start leading!

Anita left him standing, staring after her while she went to select a quarterstaff from the collection of wooden and blunted practice weapons available. She unbuckled her sword and dagger and tied her billet with her number on it before giving it to an attendant.

Ken watched, surprised at Jon’s outburst. It made him more uncomfortable. Jon was reacting more like someone used to giving orders rather than receiving them. He shook himself and followed to collect his practice weapons for the bout. When he was ready, he called his men together.

These first ones are between us. None of the sires groups see it fitting to scrum in. All on foot at first but the two groups what make it through will be on horse against the sires. If you have no horse the castle’s providing some for us. Hacks no doubt. The trick to make it through today is to stick together. Don’t go chasing off alone. You’ll get jumped on. Most likely the others will charge us in a rabbles rush. If we jog forward in this sort of formation, Ken said, sketching a jagged double row in the dirt. The second row can deal with any what get through. The dangers are at the edge. I’ll cover the left, Justin here can cover the right. Winding them is fastest.

I see a couple of you have selected staffs, he continued. I advise sword and dagger. This type of melee can be close and difficult to wield a staff.

The two other men with staffs heeded his advice however Anita kept hers. Ken cocked an eyebrow at her quizzically.

Good for me: second row, she replied, thinking, I won’t let it be close.

Remember the rules. If you’re down and hit or get a bad hit you yield. The marshals are watching and may disqualify a mob what cheats bad. But, of course, don’t give it away too easy. Luck all.

A horn squawked.

Quick, into formation.

The groups formed up, facing each other. The flag dropped, starting the turn, and the opposing team let out a blood-curdling yell before rushing towards them in an unruly mob. Ken’s group kept their rough formation and trotted forward, also yelling. The staccato crack of wood on wood rang out when they met. Ken’s front line engaged the first of the mob opposing them. Anita saw his formation was an excellent tactic for the circumstances. She lowered her staff and, using it as a spear, jabbed forward between the front line. The wooden staff felt clumsy compared to her usual one but she still wielded it to good effect. She rapidly cleared a space, winding four of the opposition in quick succession and flinging them back to cause more confusion in their group. The front line moved forward and she managed to dispatch another two in the same fashion. In no time Ken’s group was prevailing. With twelve against four the opposing men flung down their arms and surrendered. Only four ‘killed’ and no serious injuries made it a decisive victory for Ken’s mob. They huddled together, slapping backs and giving out victory yells before the marshals herded them off the arena to make room for the next contest.

Good work there, team, Ken congratulated them after they returned to the edge of the arena to reclaim their weapons.

A lot down to him, Ken, Justin said, indicting Jon. He was on my side. Slick with the staff.

I noticed they collapsed there and we swept them away. How’d it go? he asked, turning to Jon.

Staff as a spear. Jab them between the front line. Faster with more staff men. All the front needs to do is hold and let the spears stab ’em between the gaps. Mind, difficult to tell who’s who. Everyone’s dressed the same. Need a red ribbon or some such to stand out, Anita replied.

I’m not wearing no fancy ribbons, a gruff voice said.

A sash then. Easy to see top and bottom.

Where do we find sashes? Ken asked.

Good idea? If I can rustle something up? Anita queried.

Don’t want to go looking like we’re imitating those fancy shirts, Ken said.

Right. I’ll see what I can do. We’re next on after midday. I better be quick, Anita replied and hurried off in the direction of the fair’s market.

Ken watched Jon go, thinking, is he avoiding me? Comes up with this idea of markers, good idea mind, then rushing off.

Anita soon discovered that the market for the fair was devoted to trinkets and trifles. She needed to find a permanent milliner and moved her search into the city proper. It was substantially larger than the one she had been in before, but the style of the buildings was very similar with stone first floors topped by one, or in some cases two, gaily coloured wood and plaster upper storeys. The populace was friendly and happily gave her directions to the milliner quarter. It was obvious when she arrived from the signs on the buildings, but she noticed that few people were present and all the shops were closed. Off at the fair, she surmised but decided to try their doors anyway. She was waiting after knocking at the third door when the second door she tried opened. A man’s head poked out. He looked around.

Is it you? What do you want? Everyone’s down at the fair, he said when he spied Anita.

Wait, she called when he started to shut his door. I want some cloth, broad ribbon.

Get your fancies at the fair, she heard through the narrow gap.

I want, oh, 20 widths worth.

The door stopped short of shutting. It creaked open.

How much did you say, the milliner asked.

Sashes for sixteen men. Must be close to twenty widths.

Good sir. The