Folklore

By Dave McCran

Lyca is born into a world of peace and harmony. Soon, her life is shattered when she finds out that she isn't who she thought she was. Forced into exile from her village, the youngster meets a powerful entity who helps her on a journey of descovery to find her true self. While the truth unfolds, Lyca is forced to ask difficult questions about her past and is thrust into a dangerous conflict with possibly the most powerful entity the world has ever known.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dave McCran
• Release date: Dec 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781909833388

Book preview

~ CHAPTER ONE ~

AN UPSETTING PROPOSAL

The peacefulness of the silence was broken by an unusual and disturbing sound. It wasn't an unpleasant sound, but it stirred Lyca to waking as she lay wrapped in a large, animal fur on her bed. She couldn't identify the oddly soothing whisper, but it seemed to surround her. She opened her eyes. The hut was in darkness, even the fire in the brazier had been extinguished. Lyca thought that that was unusual. Every night since she could remember, her father had always kept the brazier lit. Throughout the winter months it fought off the chill, keeping their modest home comfortable, and for the rest of the year, offered Lyca a sense of love and peacefulness.

Lyca’s mother had died during her birth, leaving her father to raise her as his only child. Her father was her world. He had told her that the warming glow of the fire’s light was a reminder of her mother's kind and gentle spirit, and that as long as the fire burned, her mother would always be with them both. But tonight, the fire was gone.

Lyca's heart began to race as she peered through the blackness in search of the curious noise. She had always been able to see with exceptional clarity in the dark, yet as she scanned the vicinity, she was unable to identify the source of the disturbance.

She left the warmth of her bed; a soft and downy, feather pillow and a sizable, wolf’s-fur blanket. She suddenly felt the chill of the night, as the noise increased in magnitude. She examined the hut with an ordinance of scrutiny, noticing something dripping through the bottom of the window hatch beside her bed. It was sand! She scoured the other window openings to find that all of them were permeating with cascades of fine, white sand.

Lyca was afraid and very confused. She hurried over to where her father was sleeping and attempted to wake him from his snoring slumber, but it was no use. Helgar refused to wake up, despite her violent pushing and screaming at him.

The sand poured in faster, burying the thick, hessian mat that covered the floor of their hut. Lyca watched; eyes wide with fright. The sand seemed to have a life of its own as it spread its way across the floor towards her. The shutters on the windows broke open with loud snaps, sending torrents of the stuff gushing into her home. Lyca ran over to the window by her bed, placing her body against the opening in the hope of stemming the flow. Her body was small - as she was only a child - and the force of the sand threw her across her bed.

She glanced back over to her father and watched the sand devour him. It poured unceremoniously over his bulk until it covered his entire body. She watched in terror until finally, the sand submerged his face, silencing his snores.

Panicked, she waded through the ever-rising sand to try and free him, but she became trapped between her bed and his. She screamed for help, yet nobody came, and as the sand rose around her midriff, a figure began to form in front of her.

At first a torso… then arms which reached out towards her, as if it desired an embrace. Next, a head grew from shoulders, then a face, a nose and… a mouth. Lyca could do nothing but watch in horror as the sand creature opened its lips and spoke with a hiss.

Who am I?

~

Lyca snapped awake. Her body covered in sweat and her heart pounding against her chest. She checked for her mother’s light - the brazier was lit. She looked at the window beside her bed. There was no sand pouring through. Then, with a fearful dread, she looked over to her father. He snorted and rolled over under his fur blanket, his mouth drooling onto his large, grey beard.

Lyca held her breath, waiting for the sound of hissing…

There was nothing.

Her relief was absolute.

She mopped her brow vigorously and paced about the hut. Everything was as it should be, with no drowning sand pouring through the windows. What she had seen had been so real; the sounds, the senses… the fear.

Lyca placed her hand on her chest and felt her heart pounding through her cotton nightshirt. Her fingers fumbled across her chest… It was there! Her amulet. It was still hanging around her neck. She wore it always, never taking it off. It was a crude metal disc, uneven and rough, about the size of a small plum, and at its middle was housed a small, white gemstone. She clasped her fist around it and held her breath. Her father had given it to his new-born daughter on her birthing day. The amulet held much love for Lyca and her father, as her mother had passed just before he gave it to her.

She took herself over to the basin by her mother’s brazier, lifted up her nightshirt and washed the sticky sweat from her body. As she rubbed the water over her arms and torso, she felt grit on her hands. It was sand… and it was stuck to the sweat on her skin. The chills began again.

~

The morning was bright, with the sun beating down upon the Eastern Plains. The savannah was covered with long grass that swayed in the gentle breeze, looking like an undulating sea, rising and falling with a gentle tranquillity. Lyca opened the door of the hut. She gazed up at the sun, it’s radiance was warm and soothing, yet it caused no harm or pain to her eyes. Lyca had never thought about it before, but now she wondered why no one else could look up at the sun as she could, without averting their gaze. Perhaps she was different from the rest of the villagers; something special. Lyca would always chuckle when she thought about herself as being ‘something special.’

Yet there she stood; eyes wide open, the warmth of the sun driving away the memory of her nightmare. In truth, it wasn't the first time that Lyca had had this dream, and nor would it be the last. It had haunted her ever since she was very small; when she could first remember her dreams. But every time she suffered this incubus, certain aspects of it differed. Last night was the first time she had seen a ‘sand creature’ emerge from the flood of sand.

The young girl’s memory was incredible. She could remember being a small tot, crawling round the hessian-matted floor of their hut, the conversations that she wasn’t supposed to hear between her father and the other Elders, but the most poignant and vivid recollection was the way her father would hang his head in deep contemplation; his head placed heavy in his hands and with a furrowed brow. He had always held a sadness that would often materialise when he was alone, away from the village folk and his duties as Grand Elder. The horrific loss of his wife, through the difficult birth of his daughter, had left a massive scar upon Helgar’s heart.

As Lyca grew, she became agile of mind and body, she was unusually strong for a young girl. When she roamed about the village, she carried herself with an incredible air of self-worth. No boy of her age could match her for intelligence, strength or purpose. Regularly, the boys would tease her, calling her vile names, trying to make her life as miserable as possible. They always failed. Their jealousy of her attributes only shamed the boys, and no matter what they tried, nothing could deaden the deep joy within her spirit. Nothing seemed to phase her, especially when she could outrun, out fight and outwit all of her male peers.

One thing was true, she certainly didn’t look like a boy. Her long, flowing hair was silvery white, unlike the rest of the population of the village, who were mainly dark of hair. Her eyes were dark brown and alluring, and they glowed with an amazing clarity, as if she could steal into a person’s soul and calm them to stillness. Her complexion complemented her silky hair; it was pale, yet her skin glowed with a delicate vibrance. Lyca’s physique was equally captivating. She had long, lean limbs; strong and defined. Her body was that of someone beyond her years; tall and athletic, and when she walked, she exuded pride and serenity. With age, she grew stronger and smarter, and her mind sharpened. Lyca was able to outsmart many of the village folk - both child and adult. Her intellect was second to none.

So, Lyca stood catching the rays and happy with the proposition of how the day would turn out for her. No girl had ever been allowed to go hunting before, and Helgar had suggested that she may be able to go on the next hunt, under the keen eye of Grinan, the mightiest of hunters. And today, was the day of the next hunt!

Helgar had made the proposal to the council of Elders, that his daughter should be allowed to run with the hunt. His request was met with hostility. The belief that each person had their role to play in maintaining the peaceful harmony of Me-Ampth had been set many hundreds of years before, and never had anyone upset the tranquil order of village society. But Helgar was the Grand Elder, and he felt that changes needed to reflect a more modern time.

However, it would be up to the Elders of the village to contemplate the happening and reason a solution. Ultimately, it was down to the Garra to evoke a satisfactory conclusion, if, for any reason, a quarrel or dispute occurred. For the people of Me-Ampth, disputes were a rare occurrence, and for the vast majority of the time, the village was at peace.

Lyca’s father, was the Grand Elder, or Garra, of Me-Ampth. The peacefulness that had been woven into the fabric of the ethos of the community had never been questioned before. Helgar was a free thinker, but he recognised how to preserve the balance. Everyone worked with and for each other. The hunters would gather, the farmers would tend the land and the large livestock; the sheep, hogs and the bovines, the builders maintained the surroundings and buildings to perfection, and the women would tend to the smaller of the livestock; the goats and chickens. They also prepared and cooked the hunter’s quarry, and with the children assisting, they kept to order the general running of the homes.

At the heart of the village was the Grand Hall, Geldran. All decisions were made here. The Elders of Me-Ampth had the responsibility of maintaining the balance of life; the order of society. They would consider, during great and lengthy councils, many proposals which would allow Me-Ampth to thrive, and their deliberations would take many nights of closed conversation and deep thought, plus the comforts of a good mead. Eventually, a harmonious declaration would be agreed upon and life would continue for the better.

This mighty hall was not only used for the purpose of keeping the balance of life, it was the place where the birth of a new child was celebrated, and the passing of a soul would be remembered and cherished before it was released from its earthly body to become part of the ‘Further World,’ along with the flora, fauna and all spirits alike.

Geldran would be employed for the celebrations of The Mother; the Goddess of all life, and for the joining of man and woman in the sacred bond of togetherness, under the eyes of The Mother. These celebrations were lavish, and there was always great feasting, drinking and much merriment. By the end of the celebration, with many of these lasting for several days, sore heads and fat bellies would leave Geldran, quietly contented, and go to rest.

At nearly fifty yards long, it sat as the centre piece of the village, a pinnacle of balance and unity; a symbol of hope to all who lived in the huts surrounding it. The structure stood proudly, towering eighteen and a half yards above its entrance from the ground. Its two, great doors were heavy and strong, made from the densest of oak. Both were decorated with beautiful and intricate carvings of the many different trees that filled the forest realm, along with reliefs of the many creatures that inhabited the woodland and when they closed together, they met under a carved crest of a crown and a wolf astride the Tree of Life - the three symbols of man and beast and flora - that showed the symbiont accord that had existed for centuries before.

Me-Ampth was home to eighty families and the settlement sat on the skirts of the north-western boundary of the Eastern Plains. To the people, Me-Ampth meant ‘Balance and Unity!’ This place, where their ancestors had first gathered and settled, was sacred to them, for it was believed that The Mother had guided them here. The surrounding countryside was full of life and vitality; a fruitful larder from which was offered the best source for farming and hunting, and all were thankful.

Me-Ampth was special. It was a community which harboured no ill-will, and with the land and the river Fluvius (which ran along the village edge and flowed fast, teeming with fish), its people thrived in a state of bliss.

On the western side of Me-Ampth, stood the Great Forest. The woodland was home to many different types of tree and plant life as well as many species of beast. It was a perfect place to hunt, with fertile land and plentiful food sources and medicinal herbs and roots on hand. The Great Forest was vast and dense. No man had ever been able to map the entire woodland, or indeed had ever found its far western boundary due to its enormous expanse.

It was suggested that these wonderful and magnificent landscapes which gave offerings, had all been provided by The Mother, and that perhaps, the Me-Ampthians were a chosen people. They worshiped her and honoured the sacred balance of life she had provided.

The hunters would hunt for the importance of sustenance and a prayer would be spoken to ensure a glorious bounty, then once found, prayers would be spoken over the dying beast in thanks to The Mother and all that she provides. It was the embedded unity of The Mother and the Me-Ampthians to preserve this balance between nature and man, which they did with such gravitas.

~

The night before Lyca’s dream, some of the Elders had met in Geldran, at Helgar’s request. It was unclear whether every Elder had been invited to the meeting or not, as all had not attended, but suspicions were then aroused when the subject for discussion was proposed.

This said proposal by Helgar, was to allow Lyca to run with the next hunt. Understandably, this had caused some tension and confusion amongst the meeting council. To call such a council without all of the Elders present was not normal practice, and very unusual for Helgar, who was forever resolute in following the concept of fairness and democracy. A mighty disturbance rocked the Elders at Helgar’s unusual behaviour on that night.

During the meeting, Helgar had attempted to sway the council by explaining that Lyca was unlike any other person in Me-Ampth. He insisted that she would be an asset to the hunting party because of her wit and physical attributes, even so, the men of the council resented the proposition, because Lyca was a female. A ruling that females should not run with the hunt had been set hundreds of years before. Ultimately, however, it was the Garra’s decision.

Helgar was a fine and well respected Garra. His wisdom was indisputable. There had only been a few occasions when the Garra had overruled his council, yet, under these circumstances, logic and sensibility drew upon a successful outcome, and the harmony was preserved. But the suggestion of Lyca going on a hunt, went against the grain of the village’s heritage and traditions. By allowing her to run would almost certainly upset the balance of village life.

For his daughter, Helgar needed the proposal to be accepted. He knew that she was different from both the men and the women folk, and that she was destined for greater things. The point was muted by Trombor - a well-respected Elder - suggesting that every father wishes this of their first child, and he must not allow his better judgement to become clouded by his personal desires or feelings towards his daughter.

In response, Helgar gave a wry smile and chuckled to himself. He shared with the council that his views recognised that the women were more than just workers in the village. They offered unrealised contributions in many subtle ways. Moreover, in the influencing of their husbands into voicing their opinions during the proceedings of the Elders council; their influence was strong. Helgar continued to suggest that change was inevitable, whether they liked it or not.

~

Helgar came through the door of his dwelling into the bright sunshine of the day and stood behind his daughter.

What a beautiful day, my child, he said, placing both of his hands upon her shoulders.

Yes father, it is truly magnificent. He could sense the tone of hopeful joy in her words.

I would like it very much if you could help Mari today… with the weaving, suggested Helgar, knowing that his words would displease his daughter immensely. He didn’t have to wait long for her response, which came firing back at him.

Father! snapped Lyca, pulling away from him. You promised me that I could run with the hunt. I hate doing weaving, or cooking, or cleaning or anything else that you have lined up for me that undermines my talents!

Now, my child, I didn't promise such a thing. I only said I would think about it, replied Helgar. Lyca snorted, she loved her father and the village very much, but the strict laws about who could do what were considered to be part of the glue that held the people together. These strict laws grated on Lyca’s nerves, and she felt the sting of the injustice.

For something like this to happen, it must be put to the council of Elders, you know that. And let me be honest with you, I may be Garra, but no one in their right mind will agree to let you run with the hunt. Besides, you are too young! exclaimed Helgar.

That’s rubbish, spat the irritated youngster. Me-Tog's son went on his first hunt when he was ten. I am fifteen! And I’m stronger and faster than him. My bowmanship is excellent, and I can skin...

Enough now, I have important work to do. Be off with you to Mari. She will tell you about the nature of women.

Lyca stormed off towards the gathering of women near the river and slumped down beside Mari at a long table covered with different coloured fabrics. Although she felt the burn of being rejected, she wasn’t going to let this set-back halt her ambition. She could see the hunters in preparation to leave by the stables and anger fizzed through her body.

They sat without speaking, while Mari instructed Lyca in the delicate art of weaving. After a few moments, Mari spoke to the reluctant girl.

Your father has asked me to speak with you, she said. Her tone was warm but direct. He has told me of your reluctance to participate in the ways of the women in the village. There was a silence. But you must ask yourself, continued Mari. What is it that you really want?

Lyca shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t want to think about matters that would take her away from her chosen destiny, and she most certainly didn’t want to talk about it!

Mari was of bold character. She was the voice for the women, an unofficial Garra for them, so to speak. If there were any matters that needed addressing, it would first go through the husband Elders, and, if their response fell short, Mari would take it directly to Helgar.

Lyca looked out of the corner of her eye at Mari. Her face was fresh and her skin glowed. Her cheeks depicted the rose-pink skin of the valley apples, and her lips were thin, hard lines; pink and taut, enough to ensnare anyone who may choose to cross her. She didn’t look old at all, thought Lyca, even though she knew Mari was past her fourth decade. She watched Mari’s piercing, blue eyes dart across her weaving and the girl’s eyes trailed down to watch her nimble hands, moving with majesty as she manipulated the weave with deft swiftness. She wore a black, leather, sleeveless tunic over her white, cotton blouse and her breeches were of black sheepskin, open at the ankles, leaving her bootless feet free to feel the cool air circulate around her slender toes.

Have you bled yet? Mari broke the silence, noticing Lyca’s eyes wandering over her. Lyca shot her gaze back to the bundle of rags wrapped within her fingers and did not answer, while she choked on Mari’s forthrightness. Well, have you?

I have cut my hands, and legs and stuff when I’ve been playing, if that’s what you mean? murmured Lyca with fumbling embarrassment, as she stared down at the amulet that hung around her neck.

Mari chuckled, and Lyca burned red. She knew what Mari meant and what the expectations of the Elders were, and it filled her with horror. But at this moment in time, she had not broken into womanhood.

When a young woman reaches a certain age, their bodies change and become ready for bearing offspring. Do you think you have changed, Lyca? asked Mari in a low, respectful voice, It is expected that, when you do, you should take a husband…

You see! This is what I’m on about! snapped the girl. All there is, is what the tradition of men state for us. I don’t want a partner… a… a husband! her words spat from her mouth with vexatious venom. Quite honestly, the whole thing disgusts me!

Ok, I understand, it is of that which I have been asked to speak with you…

By my father, interrupted the girl. Mari nodded in confirmation. Lyca fumbled with the cloth in her hands, wringing her fingers into knots between the soft fibres.

I want to hunt! she replied with the sulkiness of teenage angst.

Is that all?

Lyca threw the bundle onto the table and flung her head towards Mari.

Why can’t I do the things that I am good at? she moaned. Why is it that only the men can do as they please; hunt and rule. I know of some women who are far wiser and more capable than the old fuds who make the decisions for us. Lyca blushed and lowered her eyes.

Mari however, in surprise and with widened eyes, pulled her head back away from Lyca’s verbal assault on the Elder’s governance. Mari was in fact, quite impressed with Lyca’s spirit, and chose not to offend the girl’s embarrassment.

Wow! Your father told me that you were becoming headstrong, but I didn’t quite expect that, Mari chuckled.

Well, I don’t think it’s funny, blurted the moody teen.

The sun was burning brightly, and the heat of the day was causing Lyca to sweat. Her rage had already made her hot, so the heat of the morning’s sunshine made Lyca feel even more uncomfortable.

There was a lull in their conversation, and the buzz of village life could be heard below the lyrical tunes of the song thrushes which sat on the apexes of the nearby huts and barns, as Mari continued to pull threads of weave together.

So, you think women should rule? asked Mari.

Not unless the woman who rules is incapable of doing so, said Lyca. Mari nodded at the young girl’s wisdom. I just think that we should all be allowed to do what we want, Lyca continued.

But if that was the case, we could have too many of one thing, and not enough of the other, replied Mari.

Not if we all maintained the way of village life. I don’t mind doing anything, so long as I can hunt!

Perhaps one day, little one, you will become Garra, smiled Mari, as she nudged Lyca’s arm. Lyca’s mouth broadened into a small smirk, as her heart skipped at the idea. She picked up her weaving and fumbled through the threads with cumbersome fingers as Mari continued.

Maybe you are right, little one. Perhaps an insurrection is something that would shake the old fools from their stupor, jested Mari. They both began to laugh, and as they did, Mari noticed Grinan approaching. So too had Lyca. Mari couldn’t hold Lyca’s focus any longer, and the young girl dropped the knot-woven threads onto the table-top. Her eyes skipped from Grinan to Mari. Mari gave her a warm smile.

Grinan stopped by the head of the table and bowed his head.

Yes, Grinan. Can we help you? asked Mari, stifling her giggles.

He stood for a moment, looking very uncomfortable, thinking that it was he that must be the butt of their jesting.

Well? asked Mari.

I have come for the girl. She is to run with the hunt. His tone rang with reluctance, but he had made a promise to his Garra. Lyca’s heart pounded and she thought that her head was about to explode with the sudden excitement.

Really? she jabbered.

Yes, came Grinan’s reply. You must be quick, or we shall leave you behind. He bowed his head once more to Mari, turned and headed back to the stables.

Lyca spun round to Mari, with a huge grin on her face. Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

Go on then, little Garra, teased Mari. Lyca didn’t need telling twice. She pushed her cloth across the table and, flinging her chair backwards onto the floor, she was gone.

*

~ CHAPTER TWO ~

PRESSING FOR CHANGE

The sun continued to climb into the morning sky, while the early veil of mist that covered the lower plains to the east still held on to the long grass with a belligerent persistence. The morning was warm and small swarms of mosquitoes pestered the cattle as they nuzzled at the bottom of the long, stalked grass for softer shoots to make a nourishing breakfast. As they plodded aimlessly over the grassland, their tails swished at the ever growing populous of flies who were determined to score a hearty breakfast for themselves from the blood of their bovine hosts.

Finally, the mist began to burn back; its resistance broken, and the sounds of activity from Me-Ampth stole through the morning chatter of busy birds, flitting amongst the treetops, diving into the plains to score themselves a nutritious feast from the festival of flies circling the cattle, then returning to their nests to feed their young.

The village was now fully alive, and the day’s toils were in full swing: the farmers were out tending to their crops and the hunters were all but complete in their preparations to scour the woodlands for boar, deer and rabbits. The thatchers were out reaping the long, dry reeds and grass from the grasslands, while the builders constructed a new plot of huts for the growing generations requiring their own domiciles. The womenfolk busied themselves with the important chores that ensure the smooth running of the village. It was the female collective that actually kept the village from failing. The young children did their bit too. They ushered themselves off to the Flavius to fetch clean, fresh water in preparation for cooking and the washing of the laundry.

Nature had been kind to the village with ample harvests year upon year. The wheat grew strong and the potatoes were large and fine. The barley, turnips and hops yielded the perfect crop again and again. The soil was malleable and rich in nutrients; the perfect combination of alkaline and acidity for a variety of strong crops.

The Me-Ampthians were happy and content with their lot. However, they needed certain provisions to help keep their hunted meat fresh and clean from rot. Vital trade relations had been secured during a speculative and exploratory venture northward, many years before, which had established a healthy and trusting bond with the Sea People who lived in the village of Mare’Em, on the shores of the Northern Sea. Fresh salt (to preserve the meat) and large cod were traded for grain and game gathered from the fields and the Great Forest.

The Northern Sea was several days ride from Me-Ampth, and three times a year, a trading party would travel north to exchange their fayre. The two villages had a trusting relationship and considered one another to be kinsmen rather than neighbours.

Village life was simple, and that is how they liked it.

~

As the sun arced further into the sky, the last pockets of mist swirled its way up between the stems of the long grass and wisped passed the snuffling noses of the itinerant cattle, while the first hunters had saddled their mounts and cantered off through the main gates and out towards the southern line of trees beyond the first ridge, which lay behind the perimeter fence outside of the erection of the new huts.

Snorts of discontent sounded from the grazing herd as their foraging was interrupted by the hunters galloping towards them. The closer they got to the herd, the riders startled the cattle into begrudgingly trotting away from out of their path, to dip their noses into another part of the plain. They snorted with disgust once more, and before long, the grazers had forgotten that they had been intruded upon and were content to rummage in the undergrowth in search for further sustenance.

This was the routine of Me-Ampth. Not much had changed for centuries and everyone liked it that way, except for Lyca… until now. At last, her determination had paid off.

As the years had rolled on, Lyca had become evermore persistent with her needling, and her father’s patience was wearing thin. Every moment they had together, she would chirp at him, stating that it was not right for her to stay behind just because she was a girl!

By the time the next hunt had approached, Helgar had conceded to his daughter. He spoke with Grinan, asking for his opinion, which, of course was negative in its response. But finally, the hunter agreed to take her, only because he trusted the Garra’s wisdom. Helgar then had to convince his council - which he hadn’t quite done - instead, he had over-ruled them, and now, there was no other option but to face the fall-out.

~

Five riders galloped at speed and broke through the tree line of the Great Forest. Today was the first hunt for the Garra’s daughter. She was excited and exceptionally determined. This was a new page in the history of Me-Ampth. Never before had a female rider been allowed to participate in a hunt, despite many of the womenfolk of the village being able to ride, and ride well.

Nevertheless, it was the belief that the men should take on the role of the ‘hunter gatherer,’ much to the annoyance of the non-traditionalists, who were few and far between. Yet, it was accepted as such, and like most things in village life, roles were given and that was that! If your father was a hunter, his son would follow suit; there was no discussion. That’s just how things were.

But not for Lyca. Her father was Helgar; the Grand Elder, and he was a hunter! In her mind, there was no other role for her. She would become a hunter; strong and bold, just like her father, and it was her desire one day to lead the village by becoming the first ever, female Garra.

She had been a constant irritation to her father over the past several weeks, and all of her pestering had paid off. Convincing her father to let her take the ride was one task that required disciplined strength of mind. She only hoped that he had had the strength to persuade the Elders, and at not too much bother to himself. But in reality, she knew it would cause her father a considerable headache.

Lyca was undoubtedly an asset to Me-Ampth, of that there was no doubt, as she had demonstrated on so frequent an occasion, when she had bettered her male counterparts. Eventually, something had to give. On these uncomfortable occasions for Helgar, when she was younger, the Garra would rebuke his daughter and she would be often looked upon with scorn, tempered with embarrassment by the boys’ fathers. As a consequence, Lyca would be sent home to do ‘womanly chores.’

As Lyca grew older, stronger and wiser, Helgar’s reasoning faltered against the traditions of Me-Ampth, and unfortunately, for the sake of a peaceful life, he would often concede to his daughter’s whims. This of course - to many others - showed weakness, and a rumble of malcontent began to seep into the minds of some of the menfolk within the village.

Despite this, Lyca was clever, and she had no qualms about confronting the issue head on with the Elders as they would pass through the village. Her sharp wit provided plausible reasoning as to why she should be able to do as the men do. More often than not, if the Elders had not fled the argument in despair, they would cut her off with, ‘you can’t because you are female!’ This made Lyca seethe with