Okay. I've been battling with myself for months about whether to post this here. But I'm stuck after the 6th chapter - I have it all planned out, but I have writer's block. Maybe feedback - any feedback - will get me kick started once again.
Now, I've edited this a few times over the years. This first chapter I initially wrote in my first year at university. So...2002. It's been edited a few times since then, but it probably needs to be edited again. Oh well.
It's fantasy in genre - faeries and such as well as humans.
Rating? PG. Just for possible scariness later on.
Anyway, I also need a title. Please let me know what you think of it.
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“Finn! Finn? Where are you, you lily-livered scamp?” The groomsman placed his hands upon his hips and glanced down the length of the stable. His eyes, which remained keen despite the onset of old age, flashed as he surveyed his domain and saw not one sign of the orphaned adolescent he had been calling for the past five minutes. “Finn! Come out here and give this horse a rubdown! His majesty has a visitor, and his steed must be tended to before he returns. The man is on an urgent errand and he must not be kept waiting! FINN!”
A lanky youth, his skin dusted with soil and his clothing tattered and worn, crept slowly from within the shadow of a pony he had been tending to, and marched up to answer his superior’s summons.
“I’m here, Calbhach. You bellowed?” A slow smirk turned the corners of his mouth up.
“I’ll teach you to be insolent, boy!” the older man roared, drawing near to the end of his tether. “Now, go attend to the messenger’s horse and be quick about it! He’ll be returning any minute now, and I don’t want him to see how you think my stables should be run. Now be off with you!” And with these words he gave the boy a box about the ears and sent him on his way, directing him towards a tall and magnificent mare stabled in the farthest box. Finn wandered towards the horse, watching as it snorted and stamped its feet nervously.
“Whoa… Calm down, beautiful. Not too fond of being in a strange stable, hmm?” He smiled a little. “I know how you feel. Oddly enough, everything about this place has seemed strange to me for years.” A pause. “Well, everything except Aeife.” Finn drew gradually nearer to the steed and finally laid his hand upon her heaving flank. “There now, that wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be.” He grinned, tugging the brush from his pocket. “I’m just going to brush lightly; to get you cleaned up a little.” His hand swept the brush along the mare’s back. She flinched a little, but stayed still as Finn continued his work. At long last he set the brush down atop a little stool. “There we go, all done. You’re as beautiful now as I am sure you were before you set out.” He patted the horse, watching as it nuzzled its nose into his other hand in thanks. Then Finn re-saddled her, strapping the bridle to the bit and tying the reins to the hook upon the wall nearby.
“Finished, Finn?” asked Calbhach with a sneer as he passed by the box. When the young man bobbed his head in response, Calbhach gave him a curt nod to show he’d seen. “And only just in time. Here comes the king’s visitor now.”
Finn looked up to see a tall, yet nondescript middle-aged man striding down the length of the stable. His head was bowed so low it was almost touching his chest, and the shaggy black hair he sported brushing the top of his collar. He didn’t look so important.
“She’s ready?” he addressed Calbhach in a hoarse voice, swiping the dust from his skin as he still tramped towards his horse, finally stopping before the box. “I’ve not got time to waste.”
“She’s all ready and waiting for you, Sir,” Calbhach gushed, bowing low in the man’s presence. “I trust that everything is well with the king?”
“Well with the king,” the man nodded as Calbhach straightened himself. “But well with his kingdom? Sadly, the current circumstances seem to be unavoidable.”
“Current circumstances?” Finn couldn’t help but pipe up. “What’re the current circumstances within the kingdom?”
Calbhach reached over to box him around the ears all over again. “How dare you speak to the captain of the king’s guard that way? And bow, boy! Bow before your superior!”
“Hush, Calbhach. The boy’s curiosity serves him well,” said the captain. He turned and spoke to Finn as he mounted his horse, his expression grave and his words brutally honest. “The fair folk are declaring war on this kingdom. We don’t know why, and at present they won’t tell us. The king is gathering an army tonight that leaves tomorrow for the supposed battle.”
“An army? Battle?” Finn gaped as the captain galloped off into the growing darkness. His wide eyes turned to regard the older, bald man who stood beside him. “Calbhach?”
“That’s right, lad. An army. Battle.” Calbhach’s eyes glittered as the semblance of a wicked smile swept across his wrinkled countenance. “Oh, how I wish I could fight once more! Perhaps this time we’ll crush those faeries like they deserve to be crushed. Rotten, no good slimy characters that they are! We’ve been having trouble from them for years…”
Finn grew quiet then, saying no more as Calbhach went on and on about his dislike and distrust of the fair folk and how, as far as he was concerned, the world would be better off if not a single fairy remained living. As the bitter old fellow continued to chatter on, Finn took the opportunity to slip out of the stables and into the chilly night air. He then glanced from side to side, taking in the familiar slant of the kitchen’s roof on his left and the plume of smoke rising slowly from its tall chimney signalling that the nightly feast was still underway. As he took several small steps forward the rest of the castle’s vast silhouette came into view, turrets and towers leaping from those deep recesses of the palace into which he had never ventured, terrified of what punishment would await him should he be caught looking around.
A small breeze came up at that moment, tousling his short hair with its cold and nimble fingers before darting off and vanishing into the shadows. Then, a chill unlike that of the breeze stroked the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. He was being watched.
“C-come out! Come out whoever you are!” he shouted boldly, reaching to the ground and picking up a long stick that lay there. He brandished this weapon before himself. “I’m armed…” For all Finn knew, there could be a rogue elf lying in wait for him within the shadowy confines of the castle overhang.
“Calm down, Finn,” said a familiar voice as its source wandered out from behind the castle’s corner. “It’s only me.”
“Aeife,” Finn exhaled at full volume, lowering the stick. “Don’t do that! You scared me half to death.”
The young woman snorted, an act that was particularly unladylike for a female of such breeding. Then she tossed her long blonde hair over one shoulder, blowing through her mouth as she attempted to dislodge an unruly strand falling into her cerulean eyes.
She was tall, as princesses go, yet the top of her head still only just brushed Finn’s chin. They had grown up together, and for as long as each could remember he had been the taller. Lankiness seemed to run in Aeife’s family though, because she was currently a gangly sixteen-year-old, one year Finn’s junior. She had yet to fill out in the way most young princesses were supposed to, and at times despised her older sisters, who enjoyed flaunting their buxomness anytime she was near.
“Scared? You?” Aeife laughed, staring at Finn as he gazed back, one eyebrow raised, giving him an inquiring air. “Why, what a concept.”
“It’s really not necessary for you to be so sarcastic, Aeife,” Finn said, a wounded expression flickering over his features.
“I’m sorry, Finn,” said the youngest princess, huffing as the wild thread once more slid from her otherwise perfectly coiffed hair. “I’m afraid,” Here she paused, grabbing the irritating hair and yanking it from her head. “I’m afraid that my cynicism sometimes gets the better of me. Father dislikes it and is constantly telling me how my first and only suitor thus far, Prince Dario, was deterred because of my derisive attitude.”
“He’s right,” laughed Finn. “That fellow raced out of here as fast as his poor horse’s legs would carry him!”
“Well, can I help it if I’m slightly less than welcoming to men whose sole purpose in life it seems is to kiss my hand and call me ‘precious’?” Aeife shook her head with a growl. “I’m not a tiny kitten, therefore I’m not precious.”
“Anything but, my friend,” grinned Finn. “Perhaps he should have tried your sister, Lynet instead. You know how she adores being fawned over.”
“Oh yes,” sighed Aeife. “Poor Lynet. I doubt she’ll ever find a husband who’s suited to her. He would have to care about her needs and wants more than he did anything else; especially war and fighting. And you know how men love that.”
“No… I don’t know,” Finn answered, and Aeife suddenly remembered whom she was talking to. Her friend had an almost unnatural aversion to war, but she privately felt that if faced with the option of life, or death, Finn would chose to fight.
“Oh dear! I’m so sorry, Finn. My mouth ran away with me again. Well, how most men love fighting. Is that better?”
Finn sighed and shrugged a little. “It doesn’t matter.” At times Aeife could be a little scatter-brained, and when she treated him as if he were just one of her feminine friends, as she did with all her ladies-in-waiting, it tore at his soul. Primarily because for so long he had wished that she would see him as anything but just a simple friend. He yearned for her to notice him as the man he was quickly becoming. To think of him as...well, as a lover. Finn could not help but shake his head. It was hopeless either way he looked at it. Even if Aeife did open her eyes and look at him in the way that he hoped, he would still have her father, King Ardal, to reckon with. There was no way that a powerful ruler such as he would ever allow his youngest daughter to marry a stable boy; an orphan; a pauper.
“Finn, why are y-” Aeife began to speak, but was cut off mid-sentence by a shout from a nearby window.
“Miss Aeife! Miss Aeife!” Both Finn and Aeife’s gazes shot to the opening where a greying head poked out.
“Yes Nurse?” Aeife said; dark lashes fluttering innocently as she looked at the plump, middle-aged woman leaning out of the second story window. “Is there something the matter?”
“Why, it’s the dead of night!” the princess’ old nurse cried. “And the middle of winter! You’ll catch your death, Miss!”
Finn could not help but smile as he listened to the woman fret over his friend’s health and well-being. “She’s being well taken care of, Ma’am.” He slung his slightly frayed cloak around Aeife’s shoulders then to prove his point. “You see? I’d never let anything happen to Aeife.”
“Just the same, I’d feel a tad better if the little miss would come on up to her bedchamber,” the aged nanny called anxiously. “And what’s more, the castle grounds at night are no place for a young lady. Especially one of such regal distinction.”
“Just a moment, Nurse,” Aeife sighed, turning to look at Finn. He stood still, shivering a little without the warmth his woollen wrap had provided, despite its tattered appearance. “We’ll meet tomorrow morning, correct?”
“That’s right,” Finn said in response. “Tomorrow morning, in the stables, as usual.”
“Bright and early,” Aeife added with a smile. She glanced down at the cloak covering her shoulders and blushed, handing it back to Finn. “Um… You might ne-”
“Aeife!”
The youngest princess groaned and hung her head. “She always interrupts just as I’m trying to say something.”
“It must be a curse,” Finn chuckled, rolling the woollen fabric between his fingers. “Now hurry; don’t be late for bed...your highness.” He bowed slightly then, trembling as a fresh chill stole over his thin body.
“Oh Finn!” Aeife moaned her eyes fastened to the starry sky. “I do wish that you wouldn’t call me that.”
“Call you what, ‘your highness’?” said the boy with a mischievous grin. “I’m only bestowing the appropriate title upon you, am I not?”
“Well, I suppose so…” Aeife sighed. “But I still wish you wouldn’t.”
“Miss Aeife! I must insist upon you coming upstairs at once!”
Aeife’s blue eyes closed for a moment as she inhaled sharply. “Coming, Nurse!” She opened her eyes and looked to Finn. “Till tomorrow then.”
“Tomorrow,” Finn agreed, nodding. He then watched as his best, and only friend scurried off up the narrow stairway to her bedchamber.
Once her figure was out of sight, Finn slowly made his way inside by the backdoor. The passage this door opened on to led into the kitchens, and as various different smells assailed his nose all at once, his stomach growled and he realised just how hungry he really was. He hoped that the feasters had not been particularly starving themselves, and that they might have left him some food on which to gnaw. And sure enough, when he peeked underneath one of the covered dishes, he spied full legs of mutton awaiting the sting of his watering mouth.
“I’ll have none of that now, young Finn!” exclaimed a familiar voice, smacking his hand away from the plate. “You’ll take what you are given, not what you take!”
Finn glanced up to see the head cook, Ernin, glaring down at him with a wooden stirring spoon clutched in one hand and an ancient-looking sieve in the other. Her expression told him that she would take no nonsense – as if she ever did – and that she was tired from cooking all evening.
“There, there,” cooed Finn, knowing just how to cosset her to get what he wanted. “Why not sit down while I go fetch you a mug of that elderberry wine you like so much, hmm?”
As he spoke these words, Ernin’s face instantly took on a very pleased look and she did as Finn suggested, resting her rather large posterior upon a creaking chair.
“O-oh yes,” she murmured, blushing a little as Finn paid her every attention and even got a cushion for her back from the scullery maid’s quarters. As he plumped it up and set it behind her, she smiled. “You’re a good boy, Finn.”
Finn simply smiled, finally bringing a sizeable mug of elderberry wine for the middle-aged woman. Her fleshy cheeks burnt red as she gulped down a mouthful of the potent liquid.
“That’s just what an aging body needs before bedtime,” she announced once a substantial amount of the liquor in the cup had been downed. “For...for medicinal reasons only, of course.”
“Of course,” Finn smiled, patting her rotund shoulders. “Of course.”
*****
“Nurse, must I really brush my hair so many times before I go to sleep?” Aeife questioned, irritably flinging the brush to the floor. “It’s just going to get untidy again once I place my head upon that pillow.”
“Well, yes...I know that, Miss Aeife,” said her nurse, continuing to stitch at the needlework she held. “But your dear mother always insisted on it before her untimely passing. I think that we should honour her wishes.”
“My mother died when I was born,” Aeife sighed. “She insisted upon it for herself and for my older sisters who care about dull things like that. Besides, Nurse, there’s a war going on out there. I shouldn’t have to worry about my hair.” Aeife stood and gazed sadly out of the window. “How I wish I was a man.”
“Now, now, Miss Aeife,” said the nurse, shaking her head. “You know you’re made exactly how you were meant to be made. Being a lady is the most wonderful thing in this world!”
“Only if you’re interested in sewing, stitching embroidery and tittering inanely whenever a man comes near,” said Aeife with a groan. “All things which have never, and will never appeal to me.”
Her nurse then made a comical harrumphing noise that reminded her somewhat of laughter. Aeife, hearing this peculiar sound echo around the cavernous room, leapt from her bed and looked the elder woman directly in the eyes.
“Was there something you wished to say, dear Nurse?”
“Oh, no dear,” the round caregiver smiled. “Only that it’s well past your bed time.”
“I’m sixteen years old!” Aeife cried in exasperation, eliciting a ‘tsking’ sound from Nurse. “I have suitors coming to the castle, wanting to marry me, and you’re speaking of a bed time?”
“It’s the very fact that you have suitors which prompts me to hurry you into your bed, Miss Aeife,” explained Nurse. “You must be fresh and agreeable when they come.”
“You mean more are going to try?” Aeife wailed. “But I can’t take anymore of their unabashed boot licking.”
“Only one has arrived thus far, Miss Aeife,” Nurse said, shaking her finger at her charge who was still whining. “You must learn to deal with their affections. You’re a princess of Faithnenai. And with your royal status comes specific obligations.”
“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t been born a royal,” Aeife huffed, sitting back down upon the bedspread. “Sometimes I wish I’d been born a simple stable boy just like Finn.”
“Ahh, you wouldn’t enjoy being like Finn,” her nurse declared shaking her head. “No; he’s an unrefined peasant.”
“Finn isn’t as you say!” Aeife bellowed, instantly coming to the defence of her friend since her youth. “He is refined! He’s a complete and utter gentleman. It’s just that no one ever gives him the chance to prove it.”
“That’s because of his social status,” Nurse explained curtly. Aeife scowled. She knew that her nurse had never been particularly fond of Finn, and somehow felt that she resented his closeness with her: Aeife. This was correct. Nurse had always been there to take care of Aeife, yet her charge usually favoured the stable boy’s company to her own. This simple fact tended to make her angry when she dwelt on it, and so she preferred not to. The elder of the two women had never been able to fathom why it was that the young princess chose to cavort in the fields with that ragamuffin, when she could just as easily stay in the castle stitching at a beautiful new needlepoint project.
“Now off to bed with you, Miss,” decided the nurse briskly, cajoling Aeife beneath the covers and firmly tucking her in. “And not another peep!”
“Alright…” Aeife murmured with a small sigh. “But I’m not a bit sleepy.”
“You will be,” smiled the nurse as she resumed her post upon the chair where her stitching lay. “Don’t worry, you will be.”
*****
Finn gnawed hungrily on a chicken leg, wiping at his mouth with the back of a fist. Finally Ernin had departed for bed, allowing him access to the mountains of fare left from that night’s feast and Finn was not going to allow this chance to be passed up.
“In there! I saw him go into the kitchen,” a loud and gruff voice called all of a sudden, the sound reaching the youth’s ears from the dimly lit corridor that lead to the great hall. Finn, realising that for some odd reason he was in trouble, dropped the leg where he sat and was about to hightail it out of there, when an enormous hand clamped down upon his shoulder.
“You’re not going anywhere, son,” a voice to match the hand said. “We’ve orders to suit you up before we march out at dawn.”
“M-march at dawn?” Finn did not have a good feeling about those words as he turned to face this giant of a man. “W-why? Where’re we marching to?”
“Why, to the battle field,” the red-faced man said in a surprised voice. “Didn’t you hear? Every able-bodied man is to fight for Baileáth – in the name of King Ardal!”
“Oh,” was all Finn could say as the man steered him towards the passage. He allowed himself to be guided into one of the armouries where several other boys of around his own age and some a few years younger were being fitted with mail as well as being given a sword and a shield. Soon enough Finn too found himself dressed in a coat of shining mail over his grimy tunic, and in his hands he held a broad sword and a shield bearing the crest of Baileáth: a golden crown protected by two crossed swords.
“Soon we’ll be riding into battle, carrying Baileáth’s emblem!” yelled one of the youths Finn recognised as a page named Cuimín. He was a few years younger than himself. “Death to the faeries and long live King Ardal!”
This was a cry echoed by many of the other boys and young men standing round about. Finn, who had always wondered if there was more to the fair folk than what the elders had divulged to them, stood apart from the group, unsure if he wanted to fight against such a race; unsure if he wanted to fight at all. The fair folk seemed so peaceful, and he found himself musing about what could possibly have caused the outbreak of war.
But his main concern at this time was really trying to figure out how he could get a message to Aeife telling her of these happenings. About his being carted off to battle, and how he had had nothing to do with it. He knew that she would worry and fret, but wished there was some way to reassure her that he’d be all right. He could take care of himself and knew how to handle a sword well enough, despite his misgivings about the art of war. Calbhach had made sure of that. Things would be fine…
But before he could figure out a way in which to get the message to her, a cry went up, signalling the coming of day. And sure enough, when Finn looked from a nearby window he saw the barest stroke of golden light peering over the horizon, like a small child attempting to see above the tabletop.
“Right!” The large, gruff man who had escorted him into the room spoke. “Follow me men! Quick, march!”
Finn was forced from the room by the tide of eager young soldiers. They marched out of the castle and minutes later through the gates, and as he left the safety of the city’s walls, he wondered when he would again see the sight dwindling to nothing behind them: his home.
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To be continued....
