Four

Gale Ashfain

It was a wonderful spring morning, the heat of the sun had not yet broken through the thin dawn mist. The cool stream lapped around Gratia’s thighs, providing a refreshing change from the sweltering blaze she knew would come as the day progressed.

She bent her knees, bobbing down into the water so that it engulfed her shoulders. The gentle current lapped playfully at her neck. Turning into the flow, so that her hair streamed out behind under the surface, she cupped her hands and began splashing the crystal-clear water over her face, quickly ridding herself of any tenacious thoughts of sleep that were still clinging to her mind like the last leaves on a tree in late autumn.

She gently tilted her head backwards into the water, running her fingers through her hair to help wash away the dust. Standing again, she turned to face the opposite bank and let out a piercing scream.

With lightning speed, her arms crossed her body to cover her chest and she bobbed back down into the water, eyes already fiery with rage.

The rugged young man threw back his head and let out a deep, throaty laugh. Looking down from the rock on the side of the bank, his crystal-grey eyes were lit with a sparkle of humour that only served to enrage her further.

“Who are you!” she spat, with tones of venom so poisonous they made the grass adder seek protection behind a rock.

To her complete hatred the man let out another chuckle and replied, “You are a very beautiful woman, my dear.”

Stunned by the invasion of her privacy, and unsure what to say next, she froze in the water. Her mouth hung open slightly, unable to hide her surprise and indignation. 

“How dare you! How dare you spy on me while I bathe! Have you no sense of honour?”

“How dare you bathe in my brook, dear lady?” 

The whole presence of the man irritated her: the way his lips curled in that leering smile, his eyes lit with nothing but glee at the sight of her naked body submerged in the water, his shameless stance as he draped himself across the rock, imitating a tomcat knowing he has his prey cornered and is waiting to see what it shall do next.

Her blood was running to boiling point in her veins. Every inch of her body was on fire with anger and embarrassment at being watched in such a state of undress.

“Have you no shame? You disgust me. Have you nothing better to do than spy on a women bathing? Get out of my sight!”

“Actually, now you come to mention it, you are right. I have nothing better to do. Or, at least, nothing that would please me as much as watching such a beautiful creature as yourself bathe. But, my dear, I see how it distresses you, so I shall graciously remove myself from your presence, much as it pains me.” The man let out another deep chuckle. “You are quite the fiery one.” And with that he stood and walked off over the bank.

The second he had gone, she darted to the side and snatched up her dress. Pulling it over her soaked body, the silk quickly absorbed the moisture, becoming dark and clingy so that it hid her naked flesh little better then the stream itself.

The heat still flowed through her blood. Now he had gone, she needed to find something else to take her anger out on. Picking up a dead branch she drew it back in both hands and brought it down hard against the trunk of an elm. Again and again she lashed at the tree before her arms began to ache and she dropped it to the ground, stamping on it with her bare feet, allowing a low growl of rage to escape her lips. When she was finally exhausted, she dropped down, resting her back against the tree. There, now she felt much better. She took a deep breath of misty air and let out a sigh.

Who was that? Why had he been watching her bathe with so little shame? How could anyone be so out-rightly rude?

After a while she stood and brushed the dirt from her soaked dress. There was only one way to find out who he was and, most importantly, where he had come from, although she feared her murderous rage would soon return if she caught sight of him again. 

Wading back across the river to the other side, she began to ascend the steep bank. At the top, she found herself confronted with a large expanse of grass, another plain, though it was quite small, about the size of her home valley. It was skirted with a few small hills, but there was no sign of the man.

As she began to step through the grass, she was surprised to find that it was much taller then it had looked from the top of the riverbank. The long blades reached up to her waist, making it hard to walk. It was unlike any grass she had seen before. At the top of each blade there were large green pods. Plucking one off, she slit it open with a nail. Prising it apart, she was surprised to find a large, black, flesh-like stem. 

“Hungry?” Came a voice from behind her, then a laugh as she jumped with surprise.

Pivoting on her toes, Gratia’s face was a mask of pure venom. If looks could kill, there would have been casualties for miles. One thin, black brow was arched like a feline’s back and her lips set in a gnarled grimace. Her eyes radiated hatred, her cheekbones clearly visible, adding to the sharp impact intended. 

To her surprise, the man’s face was already void of the leering grin and humorous glint. Instead he stood there, tall and sullen, only a rue smile crossing his lips. The sudden change in his features caused Gratia’s harsh glare to soften slightly.

“You really don’t care for me much, do you?”

“Can you blame me, sir? I am not accustomed to being a public spectacle.”

“Hey! I was only teasing. Besides, what possible cause could you have for being modest?”

Gratia’s features hardened once more, but this time it was to conceal the slight blush that had arisen from the complement.

“Who are you anyway? And why do you bother me so?”

“I, m’lady, am Gale Ashfain. And to whom do I have the pleasure?”

“I am the gypsy Cilarie, sir.”

The man let out another rough laugh. “Oh! The gypsy Cilarie. As opposed to the other one?” 

The man was tall. His thick, sandy blond hair was raggedly cut, framing his face like a mane. His jawline was prominent, adding a handsome charm to his flint-grey eyes, which were set deep and cast with the shadow of his thick brow.

“Not content with spying on me, you are now to insult me to my face?”

Again, the man smiled. “I do nothing of the sort. I do not intentionally try to offend you. I was as surprised as you were when I found such beauty bathing in my brook. I truly believe you choose to misunderstand me.” The man shrugged. “Well, are you hungry?”

As Gratia digested his words, a glimmer of curiosity began to fade into existence. Nodding somewhat reluctantly, she looked back at him and her features softened.

“This is your land?”

The man nodded. “Yes, all the way from the brook to the hills. My family farms this crop.”

“What is it?” she asked, looking to the strange, thick stem in her hand.

“You have never seen calamint before? It is a main food for my town. Try some.”

“I can eat it?”

“Sure, just strip the pod away and bite into the stem.”

With some reluctance, Gratia pulled away the remains of the green pod and bit deep into the fleshy stem. A wonderful flavour filled her mouth as the juices bled from the calamint onto her tongue. The flesh was like lychee and the taste was so luscious and sweet that she took another bite, and another.

“Hey, go steady there. You haven’t eaten much, have you?”

Gratia shook her head for it was true, there had been very little to eat so far from the forest. Her stomach had been scolding her for days.

“Say, come on, let’s get you some proper food, eh.”

Dropping the remains of the stem, Gratia began to follow the man across the field. They started to ascend the hills. 

Frozen by what she saw, Gratia gazed down from the peak. There, sprawled out in front of her, was a huge mass of houses and twisting streets, temples and shops, barns, fountains, markets and the occasional patch of green field ensnared in the branches of paths and roads that swept forth from the centre of the town.

Gratia’s breath caught in her throat, her gut twisted with awe standing mesmerised by the sight, the likes of which she had never seen before in her life.

So this was a city. This was what she had heard of in the fairytales and the folk stories. This was the beehive of races and cultures she had only ever dreamed of, and it was so much more fantastic then she could ever have imagined! And now she was going to go down the hillside and become a part of that wondrous sight before her. It was a magic all of  its own.

Gale suddenly realised that he was walking alone. One minute the gypsy girl had been not more then two steps behind him and now he got the distinct feeling she was not.

Stopping, Gale turned to see where she might have gone to. Only a few feet further up the hill, at the peak, she stood like a statue gazing out across his town. What on earth could be wrong with her? Maybe she had been here before, maybe the town held bad memories for her, maybe it was some gypsy curse. Who knew, who cared?

He began to stride back up towards her. As he got closer, he realised that the expression on her face was one of sheer amazement.  

So that was it – she had never seen a town before.

Yet he thought all gypsies had been to towns before. Wasn’t that how they lived? Setting up home outside towns and stealing food from the markets? In fact, only two years back the Grand Excellence of Lariaan had sent the strong men of the town to chase a camp of gypsies from the northern borders. 

But this gypsy was different in many ways. For one, her dress was odd, she seemed to take great personal pride in the way she looked. What other gypsy would have saved up for an expensive dress of pure crimson silk? And her manner was very bold for one who came from a line of people detested by humanity. She had actually told him to get out of her sight! Him, a townsman, told to leave a gypsy woman be. It was fascinating. He had always thought gypsy women made their money from their bodies, yet this one couldn’t seem less interested in that. And she had claimed outright to be a gypsy, that was also odd. Normally a gypsy wanting to enter a town would claim to be anything other then what they were.

But she was also beautiful. He had known some beautiful women in his lifetime, and considered himself a worthy judge of such assets, but this woman was unusually eye-catching with her long, luxurious hair and dark-green eyes. Her features could be as icy as the Norse wind itself, yet on the few occasions they had softened, they became wondrously pretty. Her eyes seemed to radiate with a mischievous air. Whether that was what she intended, he did not know, but they also seemed to look at everything with a hint of curiosity. For the first time, he could see a smile cross her fine, ribbon-bow lips, and he couldn’t turn his head away.