Albion chapter 4
For some initiates, the most difficult thing about joining the Sisterhood can be finding a balance - a balance between one's individuality and the Sisterhood as a whole. A balance between the needs of one's Self and the needs of the collective group one has joined. Obviously, we Sisters have all taken a vow to serve the will of God - and God has called upon us to act as a group, to act as one body, with one will and one purpose (especially now, in these troubled times). Therefore, the needs of the group are more important, for us. However, the needs of one's Self must not be neglected, or cast aside. The individual must not be subsumed within (or consumed by) the group. Why? Each of us in the Sisterhood has her own unique strengths, talents, and abilities. Each of us, in other words, has something to contribute. The goal, therefore, is to use our individual contributions in a way that serves the group - and thus serves the will of God. When we find ourselves struggling to balance Self and Group, we must remember that both have a place, and both must remain strong - but one of those two things is meant to serve the other.
-- From the private journals of Elenna of the Sisterhood.
++
Half awake, and with one eye just half open, Riley watched the others wake and rise. Trajan, the Wolf, was already up - he was, it seemed, making the morning meal. Riley watched as Sierra, the Lioness, rose and stretched. Riley still felt shy around her, but that wasn't a surprise. The two of them hadn't talked, not yet, not really - just a few words of introduction so far.
Riley, a Fox with fur a shade of orange rather than red, fully opened both eyes and stared up at the beautiful morning sky. Had he ever slept outdoors before? He didn't think so. There were just a few clouds up there, in that blue morning sky. One looked like a dragon.
Everything that had happened still felt a bit surreal - but did that make sense? If you looked at the few Big events that'd happened in the last few days . . . sure, they seemed like part of a story, or a Tale - something fictional. But, they did happen, and Riley told himself that if he examined them in order, and accepted that they, in fact, did happen, then surely the feeling of surrealness would pass. The Earl's makeshift army camp, where Riley was an apprentice soldier, was infiltrated by rebels pretending to be soldiers and servants. One night, the camp was attacked - the rebels inside the walls opened the gates for the rebels outside. Near the end of the battle, Riley and his good friend Rutger teamed up with Trajan and Sierra, and Sierra had . . . incredibly . . . drawn the sword of King Alaric from the stone which had held it for more than a century. No one had ever been able to do that . . . until . . .
Riley had to admit, to himself, that that part still seemed surreal.
And so, the Earl had sent a messenger to the King, with word that the sword had been drawn. It would be weeks before the messenger returned. Next, the Earl had sent them off on a mission. It had all happened so fast - _too _fast. The four of them had ridden north for a day, then they made camp. After dinner, they'd sat around the campfire, talking. Well, Trajan and Rutger had done most of the talking. Sierra had talked about the training she'd had, and the battles she'd been in, but she hadn't been willing to discuss anything personal.
Now, as morning dawned, Riley thought about their mission. It seemed simple - too simple, really. They were riding up to a Chapterhouse of the Sisterhood, partly because the Abbess was a friend of the Earl's, and partly because she'd written to him that they'd been plagued by rebels. According to the Earl, this particular Chapterhouse was more like a fortress - there was no way the rebels could breach its walls, and thus the danger didn't seem too serious. Riley wondered why the four of them were being sent. Why them? Why not - well - anyone else? Not that he should question it, he knew - he was a soldier, new to the life, sure, but a soldier nonetheless, and soldiers didn't question orders. But, he couldn't help himself. He was, he knew, curious - about everything, pretty much. It was part of who he was.
The early morning air was warm, and it felt good on the young Fox's fur as he rose from his blankets. He thought about the day ahead, and he wondered if it would bring anything other than more travel.
++
Sierra woke up wondering if she'd done the right thing. Standing, stretching, then rolling her blanket into a tight roll, she knew she had to shake off such wonderings - as well as . . . a feeling of agitation. Yes, she felt agitated, she realized - she didn't normally second-guess herself. This was new territory for her, and she didn't like it.
Well - w_hat's done is done,_ she told herself with a shake of her head. What's past is past. Yesterday, she'd had . . . concerns, but she hadn't voiced them to the Earl. Whether or not her concerns had been (or still were) valid, she hadn't voiced them, and so, now - why worry? Why dwell?
The young Lioness just wasn't sure why the four of them were being sent to the Chapterhouse. Surely, if the Sisters were having trouble with rebels, a squad of soldiers could be dispatched. True, Sierra reminded herself, she _was a soldier. She'd taken on that role willingly - and happily. It was - it felt - fantastic, and liberating, to pretend she wasn't a noble. That she was a commoner who'd joined the Earl's army. It wasn't _all a game of pretend, of course - she really was a soldier. It was, she knew, her calling. Growing up, she'd (secretly) wanted to be a Knight, but, females couldn't be Knights. They could, however, join an Earl's army, they could become soldiers, they could train with sword and shield. They could be sent on missions by the Earl they served - missions much like this one, riding up to a Chapterhouse to protect a group of Sisters.
But why the four of them? Shouldn't the Earl have kept them in the camp? She'd drawn the sword. That didn't make her special - at least, she hoped it didn't. But the sword was special. Folks wanted to see it, naturally. And it should be . . . used, though _used _felt like the wrong word. It wasn't just a weapon, it was also a symbol. It was meant to accomplish great things. At the very least, Sierra could wield it against the rebels.
After all, the group that had attacked the camp were all dead or captured, but their leader was still free, still out there somewhere. The mysterious male who'd collected and organized the rebels - their leader - was still very much a threat. And no one knew how big his forces were. How many of his rebels had he sent against the camp? How many rebels did he have left?
Well. Attempting to shake off her thoughts, attempting to ignore (for now) her questions about the rebels and their mysterious leader, Sierra looked at the legendary sword she'd somehow freed from the rock. Valerian. It felt like the sword had chosen her, though that was silly, wasn't it? It wasn't alive, after all. Of course, it had been placed in the rock with magic, and magic, well, magic had its own way of doing things. She wasn't special, she knew, and she certainly didn't want to be special. And yet, the sword had chosen her - or the magic had, or something had.
The sword felt warm to her touch, as she strapped the belt to her waist. An image came to mind - fire - perhaps a campfire, perhaps a torch, blazing along. Something that not only warmed the night, but illuminated it as well.
++
Rutger went behind a large tree to empty his bladder. After, the big Pit Bull checked the ashes of last night's campfire, making sure they were cold. Satisfied, he looked around. Trajan was putting together a cold breakfast for the four of them - leftover beans and chunks of meat wrapped together in flat bread. A delicious meal, to be sure, but Rutger couldn't help but think about the breakfast the folks back at the army camp would be having - fruit, and toasted bread, and bacon made from feral boars.
Last night, Rutger had been in charge of making the fire, and he'd been more than happy to do so. He _liked _making campfires. The simple act of doing so brought back memories. Mostly, he thought about the years spent wandering Albion, after he'd left home at the age of twelve. Sometimes in a group, but sometimes alone, he had gone north, south, east, west, anywhere and everywhere. Some of those days had ended at an inn, or at a pub with rooms available for the night. Other days had ended with a campfire, with its warm comforts, with sleeping outdoors on a pile of blankets. If he was with others, there'd be the usual and obvious pleasures - stories, songs, companionship. But, if he'd been traveling alone, well, that too had its rewards.
Traveling alone . . . Rutger would end the day with a roaring campfire, and he'd watch the sun set and the moon rise. He'd watch the darkness descend and cover the hills (or the mountains, or the beach, or the tall trees of a forest - depending on what part of Albion he was in at the time). If the sky was clear, he'd gaze up at the stars, that vast canopy which seemed to stretch out forever. And he wouldn't just look up - he'd also look around, at the land. Sometimes, he'd see the lights of other campfires. Sometimes, there'd be a house or a village, off in the distance. But sometimes there'd be nothing - nothing except the land around him. He might be in a forest, or near the mountains, or on a beach, and the land would feel . . . ancient. Yes. That was a good way to describe it. With no other lights in the area - no campfires, no houses, no villages - Rutger could easily believe that this was how Albion - and perhaps the world? - had looked ages and ages ago. Before animal folks had come to be. On such nights, looking around at the land stretching out and out, he felt he was camping somewhere ancient and powerful. Primal. He would touch the ground, and he'd feel an awed amazement that here was something that'd existed for centuries and centuries. Something that'd been created by the gods - or God, depending on which you believed.
Pulling himself back to the present, Rutger noticed that Riley had gone off in search of a tree of his own (there were no nearby bushes or hedges where they'd camped). Rutger was amused to note that the Fox chose a giant tree far from the circle the four of them had made with their bedrolls. He felt - again - gratitude for Riley's friendship. The two of them had formed an instant bond when they'd met, and Rutger was glad the Fox was there with him for this mission.
He liked Trajan, the Wolf, and he felt he'd gotten to know him fairly well when they'd gotten drunk together in the pub. But, he didn't know him _that _well. And Trajan was a Wolf, that was not to be forgotten - he'd grown up in Norseland, a place which was vastly different from Albion.
And then there was Sierra, who was beautiful - more beautiful than anyone Rutger had ever met. He was also grateful that Riley hadn't noticed - or figured out - how Rutger felt about her. After all, Riley was both intelligent and observant. If _he _hadn't noticed anything, well, that meant Rutger had (so far, at least) been successful in hiding his feelings.
++
And what of the fourth member of this pack? Trajan, the Wolf? He had known - sensed, somehow - that the four of them were meant to be together. That was one reason he'd invoked the right of Pack. They weren't quite a team, not yet, of course - such things took time. As Trajan prepared their morning meal, he mused on how they were actually _two _teams, brought together. Riley and Rutger, the curious Fox and the warrior Pit Bull, were obviously close friends. Meanwhile, Trajan and Sierra were friends, and their friendship was easy and natural - and strong, as well.
The two teams - the two pairs of friends - hadn't yet much intermingled, spoken with each other. They'd made a good start the night before, around the campfire, with some small talk and companionship. It was the beginning, and the Wolf was sure their pack would strengthen over time. True as well, Trajan had had a long conversation, once, with Rutger - they had talked in the pub, for a long while, both of them getting more and more intoxicated.
Trajan, thinking these thoughts, nodded and said a "good morning" to Rutger, as he sat down next to him. Trajan wondered, briefly, if Sierra had noticed the way Rutger sometimes looked at her - the Pit Bull was quick to hide such looks, but Trajan had noticed. Would it make Sierra uncomfortable? What would she do when she realized Rutger sometimes looked at her with curiosity, appraisal, and lust mixed together?
Such a thing could be a distraction, or it could make their pack stronger, Trajan knew. After all, he'd seen it happen before.
Drinking water collected from the nearby stream, Trajan said a "good morning" to Sierra, as she joined them. He noted that she'd already strapped her sword and belt around her waist.
++
The next day, after the morning meal, they met a traveling merchant on the road.
The merchant was a Doberman, an older male, with flecks of gray on his muzzle. His clothes were simple, plain - tunic, jacket, pants, well-worn shoes. He had a feral horse tied to an enclosed wagon - whatever sort of goods the merchant had for sale were safely hidden inside, hidden from curious eyes.
"Well met," Trajan greeted the tall Doberman.
"Well met indeed," the merchant replied, with a kind smile.
"Strange days to be traveling alone," Trajan noted. "Are you safe out here? Are you alone?"
"I am indeed," the merchant replied. "Well, I have this horse here for company. Not much of one for small talk, I admit, being a feral and all."
"Have you had any trouble from the rebels?" Rutger asked. "They're unpredictable, you know. Some days, they harass travelers. Other days, they don't."
"You speak true," the Doberman said, nodding. Then, "Oh, manners, manners, where are my manners? I am Hadrien - a merchant, as you can see. I don't have much for sale, at the moment, I'm afraid. I've been to the Chapterhouse, you see, and the dear Sisters there bought so many things from me." He laughed, briefly, at that, as though such a thing were amusing.
The Doberman leaned forward a bit, and Trajan had the odd sensation that Hadrien was expecting him to share that the four of them were traveling to the Chapterhouse. Why would the merchant be curious about that? Then again, it probably made sense. Perhaps Hadrien was simply bored, or eager for small talk. And where else would Trajan and his pack be traveling to?
"We're not in need of any goods, at the moment," Trajan said. "We just wanted to ensure that you were alright, out here."
"So far," Hadrien nodded, "I am indeed alright, as you put it. No danger yet! And I can see that the four of you . . ." He looked at each member of the pack, quickly, "Are in no danger, as well. You look capable of dealing with any rebels that might come your way. Yes indeed. A good thing, too, yes? After all, the Earl's soldiers - who normally keep these roads safe - are nearly all clustered together at that big camp."
"You're well informed," Sierra said, stepping forward.
"Well, one has to be," Hadrien said, his smile fading a bit. "These days. Yes?"
"True," Trajan said, his curiosity growing. 'Information can be like a shield, providing protection."
"Oh indeed," Hadrien said. "And these days . . . these days, there is such turmoil, isn't there? Such uncertainty. One wonders what will happen. Some say change is in the air. Perhaps for the worse. Perhaps for the better. Well, that is what they say. Time will tell, I suppose."
++
As the four of them began riding towards the low, rolling hills where the Chapterhouse sat nestled, Trajan pushed his curiosity about the traveling merchant away, towards the back of his mind. Then again, looking back . . . he noted that Hadrien was watching them, as they rode on.