The Sunblade Chronicles Ch. 00-01

"You told her we were going to be in the woods today?" Jered queried incredulously as pulled on his own cloak and clipped it at his neck.

"No," Aran replied absently. "But she knew anyway."

Jered shook his head. "You need to get better at covering your tracks, Sunblade."

Aran snorted. "This from the fellow who stole a pie and left a trail of crumbs to the barn?" It was a good retort, but Aran's heart was only half in it. His mind was spinning with questions about the note. Who wrote it? Was it genuine or someone playing a trick? He would almost suspect Brago Doonan of orchestrating this just to get him alone in the woods, but Brago wasn't clever enough for that.

"Come on," Aran said, pulling his cloak around him. The breeze had picked up, and the afternoon sun was getting low. "It's a three-hour walk back. We don't want to miss anything."

"Aye!" Jered agreed with a grin. "Time for an ale and a leg of mutton!"

"You mean a mug of milk and a leg of mutton," Aran smirked as they started east through the trees.

"Bet I can sneak more ales than you can drink openly!" Jered boasted, putting a hand out. Aran shook it.

"Deal, though when you make yourself sick, don't do it on me. Do it on Brago or something."

Jered slapped his thigh. "Wouldn't that be a thing! Though he'd probably pummel me to a paste afterwards." He stroked his narrow chin as if considering it. "Might be worth it, though."

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CHAPTER 1.4 -- Love Before Hate

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They arrived back at the village just after dusk to hear celebrations already underway in the square. Mayor Arnon was giving his customary speech from the steps at the front of the inn; a conveniently upraised position which overlooked the square.

Aran slipped home to change into his best clothes; a good white linen shirt and the brown breeches he only ever wore on special occasions. They were a little snug; he must have grown some since last time, but they were suitable.

"Midnight," he murmured to himself as he sat on his bed and pulled on his good boots. They needed a bit of blacking, but were otherwise serviceable. "That gives me about three hours before I have to leave again." Standing, he stamped his feet a couple of times to settle them into the boots before heading back out to join the festivities.

The square was buzzing with activity. The long tables were set up in three parallel rows on the inn's side of the square, and they were crammed with food and small barrels of ale and wine, and the benches were packed with villagers eating and drinking and making merry. In the centre of the square, back behind the tables, a massive bonfire roared, the flames almost as high as the roof of the inn!

Rory Gillam, the thatcher, had produced his lute and was playing a merry jig for the several couples dancing nearby, his own foot tapping in time to the beat. Aran grinned at the lively scene, returning a few friendly nods as he entered the square and looked for a spare seat at the table. He was hungry, and the wide platters of meats and vegetables on the tables looked scrumptious.

"Aran! Over here!"

Aran's grin slipped when he saw Jillia waving to him, beckoning him to sit beside her. Next to her was Jered, who looked less than delighted at Jillia's enthusiastic waving. A few seats down sat Brago Doonan, who's thunderous face made Jered's look cheerful. Perhaps Aran would find somewhere else to sit.

Feeling a little bit lost, Aran cast around for an empty seat, smiling gratefully when he saw his mother waving from the front table. He smiled at her gratefully and made his way down the long corridor between benches, being careful not to bump anyone's back.

"Here!" Mari said when he reached her. She patted the bench next to her and slid along a bit to make room for him.

"Thanks, Ma," Aran murmured appreciatively. It bothered him that he couldn't sit with his friends, all because of this curse he seemed doomed to bear. His stomach rumbled eagerly this close to the food, and he automatically began to fill a plate, despite his somber mood.

"Everything alright, son?" Mari asked him jovially, her cheeks a little rosy from the wine.

Aran tried to make his reassuring smile convincing. "Yes, Ma. Just hungry is all."

"Well, eat up, my boy!" She said, rubbing his shoulder encouragingly. "A man must eat!"

"They rarely do anything else!" Brina Doonan -- Brago's mother -- added from across the table with a wink. She was a pretty, slender woman, quite the opposite to her brute of a son. Her husband Hagar Doonan, whom was sitting next to Brina, was where Brago got his size and looks; the blacksmith was even bigger than Brago!

Hagar grinned toothily at his wife. "Aye, my love. Perhaps if you didn't cook so well, I would not eat so much, ey?" To punctuate, he bit off a big chunk of meat from the turkey haunch he was holding in his fist.

Brina rolled her eyes and then shook her head as she looked back at Mari, but Aran could tell from her smile she appreciated the compliment. Despite having a bully for a son, Brina and Hagar were decent, friendly people, which always made Aran wonder where Brago got his mean streak.

Once Aran's plate was loaded, he politely excused himself under the guise of going to eat with his friends, but in truth he wanted to be alone. Keeping a low profile, he slipped out from the rows of benches and headed away from the bonfire, hoping to remain unnoticed. Knowing that the big yard behind the inn would be vacant, he made for it once he was happy that no one had followed him.

The sounds of laughter and clapping and mugs colliding in toasts dwindled as he rounded the rear corner of the inn and crossed the lush grass that carpeted the ground. Taking a seat beneath the massive oak that he'd climbed a hundred times as a child, he eagerly began to dig into his meal. Roasted pork, turnips and beets and carrots smothered in thick gravy.

Meal devoured, Aran let out a satisfied sigh. he put his plate down on the ground beside him and leaned back into the tree, lacing his fingers over his full belly and staring up at the moon through the branches above. It was quite peaceful, here, even with the distant hum of the celebration in the nearby square.

Unconsciously he touched the letter in his breast pocket. He'd tucked it there when he'd changed, for some reason wanting to keep it close. Who could have written it? Maybe someone who lives in the forest? If that were true, then whomever it was either knew him or had been watching him somehow. Could his mother have anything to do with it? Aran knew she had secrets, but he'd always respected her right to keep them to herself. Besides, it's not like Mari Sunblade could have ever done anything terrible, so whatever it was, Aran was confident it wasn't bad.

It was definitely a woman's handwriting, though. Aran's imagination started running away with him as thoughts of the fabled 'Witch of the Emerin' sprung up in his mind.

"Maybe it's a curse," he muttered to himself. "And only a witch can cure me."

"Cure you of what?"

Aran sat up to see Jillia standing there. He hadn't seen her coming. There was enough moonlight for him to see how gorgeous she looked, dressed in a long-sleeved, bright blue gown sewn with mock-pearls across the bodice -- they wouldn't be real pearls; no one in Korrin had that kind of money! Her shoulders were bare, as well as a hint of generous bosom. Her dark hair was loose, the long tresses tumbling down around her face.

The dreaded warm hum began in his gut, a pulsing sweet honey and liquid fire as he drank in the sight of her. This time, he decided to sit with it, to feel it, instead of flee. He was tired of running.

He wanted to welcome Jillia's interest, despite his current mysterious problem, but Jered also liked her. If Aran went with Jillia, his best friend would hate him, but if he didn't, he believed he may regret it for a long time. What would it be like, turning her down and watching her find another? Watch her one day marry someone else and have a family?

He'd grown up with Jillia and Jered as his closest friends, and they'd done everything together, at least until Aran had recently begun having these strange episodes whenever she was around. Aran sometimes missed the days when they'd just been children having fun, before he and Jered had begun to see Jillia as a pretty young woman, as well as their friend.

He stood, deciding it was finally time to be honest with her. He owed her that much. "Jillia," he said gently. "I know I've been acting strange lately, and I wanted to tell you -" he paused for a second, unsure what he was going to say. "I'm not well," he said finally.

Concern painted Jillia's face as she approached him. "What is it, Aran? Is everything alright?" She reached up to touch his face, but he gently caught her wrists, stopping her. He thought he could feel her skin even beneath the soft linen of her sleeves. He wasn't sure what would happen to him if she touched him right now, but he suspected it would overwhelm him.

Her big dark eyes were soft and vulnerable as she looked up at him. He smiled suddenly, changing what he'd been going to say. "Remember when we snuck into Master Weston's barn and tried to filch some eggs?" He kept his gentle grip on her wrists, and Jillia seemed inclined to let him.

She smiled back, then, and giggled. "I remember. We almost got away with it, too, until Jered decided to knock that rake over and send the whole coop into a frenzy!"

Aran nodded. "Which woke the dogs, and then Mistress Weston, and ultimately Master Weston." He shook his head wryly. "Jered and I got such a flogging from his father for that. I swear I can still feel the welts."

Jillia stepped a little closer, and the fire in Aran's veins grew a little hotter. He felt like he should be sweating rivers, but his face was dry. "I remember you told my father that it was all your idea, and I should be spared punishment."

Aran didn't remember it that way. To his recollection, he'd been wailing too hard from the flogging to say anything intelligible at all. "Are you sure about that?" He chuckled. "All I remember is stinging from my knees to my bottom."

Jillia nodded. Her face was getting very close to his. "Jered told me the next day."

Aran breathed in her scent. She smelled of flowers. Was she wearing perfume? She'd never done that before. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, his vision was once again filled with her pretty face, and those eyes like dark pools trying to drown him.

The pulsing heat intensified. He could feel everything around him as if it were part of him. The shifting leaves on the oak branches above, Jillia's breath escaping her lips, her heart as it beat inside her chest. He felt like he was floating on a river of pure life.

Strangely, though, his thoughts were clear, despite the intoxicating presence of Jillia Bendin. "Jered likes you," he told her softly. "Did you know that?"

She nodded slowly. "I think so, and I want to tell him that I don't feel the same way, but I don't want to hurt him."

Aran let go of her wrists. "I like you, Jillia." His heart was racing, now, even more so at the delighted look on her face. "But we need to talk to Jered first, and be honest with him. I would not have our best friend begrudging us over this."

Jillia's beaming smile diminished somewhat. "You're right," she said after a moment. "He deserves that. He's a good person."

"Thanks for understanding." Aran touched her hair with his fingertips. When had he grown so bold? The heat pumping through him lent him strength, confidence. "I want nothing more than to steal a kiss from you right here and now." Jillia appeared more than willing to let him, looking up at him expectantly. He could see her rapid pulse in the soft, creamy skin of her throat. "But I cannot," he finished. "I want to do this right."

They shared a long moment, gazing into each other's eyes. Aran had never felt so connected to another person in his life, his own mother included. He almost thought he could read Jillia's feelings. Anticipation, nervousness, joy, exhilaration, and a touch of fear. Were they his emotions or hers? He was having trouble telling the difference.

A rough voice shattered their moment. "What did I tell you, Sunblade?"

Aran and Jillia looked to see Brago Doonan striding across the lawn, a thick branch in his fist. Hot anger sizzled in Aran's chest. How dare this oaf intrude on a private moment? How dare he dictate whom Jillia chooses to be with?

Before Aran could respond, however, Jillia was crossing the intervening space, her brow drawn down into a frown. She stopped in Brago's path, forcing him to halt or run her down. The brute chose the former, looking down at her.

"Out of my way, Jillia," he warned. "This is between me and Sunblade." His speech was a little slurred, and he swayed slightly as he stood there. Obviously, he'd been into the ale or the brandy.

"It most certainly is not!" Jillia shouted up at him. She only came up to his chest, but she made a dominating figure nonetheless. "You have no business being here, and you know it! I've made it perfectly clear I have no interest in you, and you just won't listen!"

Brago snarled and stepped forward, easily brushing Jillia aside as he came for Aran. The branch in his hand came up threateningly, pointing at Aran's chest. "This is all your fault, Sunblade!" He yelled. "She was meant to be mine and you took her from me!"

"I was not!" Jillia cried from behind him, but Brago took no notice. He raised the branch high, as if he intended to bring it down on Aran's skull with all his strength. Jillia screamed and ran at Brago, but the length of oak was already descending.

Time slowed down, and Aran's muscles tingled with raw power. Without thought, he struck, knocking the branch from Brago's fist with his left hand before punching the drunk lummox flush on the nose with his right.

Stunned, Brago stood for a moment, tottering, as his balance started to fail him. Blood fanned down his face and onto his white Sunday shirt. Brina Doonan would have his hide for that. As Brago started to fall backward, Aran caught him by his lapels, surprised at how easy it was to hold him up. He had to weigh two-hundred and fifty pounds at least!

"This matter is now done, you understand me?" Aran told him levelly, looking into his beady eyes.

Brago nodded hurriedly, and when Aran released him, he staggered to his feet and stumbled off, thankfully not back toward the square.

As soon as Brago was out of sight, Aran's legs collapsed, and he hit the ground hard, landing on his bottom.

Jillia's face was filling his vision half a second later. "Aran! What the bloody Hells just happened? You don't know how to fight!" She sounded angry, but her face was a mask of worry.

"It's what I was trying to say before," Aran told her wearily. "Something is wrong with me. When I'm around you, or some of the other girls, I start to feel hot inside, like I'm burning up or something." He stopped when he saw Jillia's face turning red, and instantly tried to fix what he'd said. "No! Not like that!"

Now she looked hurt! He tried again. "I mean, yes, like that! I like you, Jillia! You're beautiful, and you know me so well, but it's different somehow, like not just in the way a man likes a woman, but I feel like there's heat and light flowing through me. And then there's the thing with Brago! Hells, it's like you said! I don't know how to fight! Where is all this coming from?" He knew he sounded like a madman, but he'd finally gotten it out.

Jillia had sat while he was babbling, facing him with her legs crossed. She studied him for a moment, her gaze unreadable. Aran half expected her to get up and walk away for good, but she didn't. "I think there's something special about you, Aran," she said slowly. "I should be mad about this, even though we're not promised or anything, but half the girls in the village talk about you, and there's a dozen rumours a day about who you've been seeing lately, and it's always a different girl." She looked down at where her hands were nervously smoothing her skirts over her legs. "You haven't, um, you know... With anyone else, have you?"

Aran laughed, surprising them both. "Are you kidding? All I've been able to manage is to run the other way when a girl gets too close. I die of embarrassment every time, but at least it gets me away." He felt ten times better just talking about it, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The desire to sit here with Jillia all night was strong, but he suppressed it regretfully. "Come on," he sighed, getting to his feet slowly. His legs felt better now, less rubbery.

He offered a hand to Jillia, and she took it, letting him help her stand. "Let's go back to the feast," he said gently. "We'll enjoy tonight, and talk to Jered tomorrow."

"Alright," Jillia agreed, giving him another one of those ravishing smiles. Her cheeks dimpled when she did that, and Aran loved it. "Escort me back to my seat, kind sir, if you please." Her mock polished accent made Aran chuckle, and he offered her an arm before they walked back to the square together. The plate he left where it was; someone would see it in the morning and return it.

Aran and Jillia reluctantly disengaged from one another before they came back into view of the square, though they remained close. Aran was surprised to see his mother hurrying up from the direction of their house as he and Jillia stepped onto the hard-packed western road. She was breathing hard, as if she'd been running.

Despite her rush, Mari smiled broadly as she took in the two of them together. "Out for a moonlight stroll, I see?"

Jillia cleared her throat and blushed, looking down at her feet. Aran gave his mother an exasperated look. "Just stretching our legs, Ma," he told her, hoping he sounded convincing. "Walking off our dinner."

Mari chuckled. "Relax, sweetheart," she told Jillia. "I most definitely approve, you know."

The darkness of night kept the shade of crimson hidden on Jillia's cheeks, but Aran knew she was blushing. "That's very kind of you, Mistress Sunblade," she said softly, finally looking up to meet Mari's smiling gaze.

The two women shared a smile, then. "If you don't mind, Jillia," Aran's mother asked quickly but politely. "Might I have a word with Aran in private?"

Aran's curiosity piqued. What could she want? Jillia acquiesced and immediately headed back toward the square, but not before shooting Aran a longing look that pulled at him. Why was it so hard to watch her leave of a sudden?

"Son," Mari said seriously, stepping closer to him. Her dark eyes were grave, and maybe a little sad. The top of her graying head only just came up to his chin, but he always felt like she was the taller one. "I know you're leaving tonight."

Before he could open his mouth to speak, she continued. "I know you have to go, and though it pains my heart, I know I must let you."

Aran's thoughts arranged themselves quickly. "You know what's wrong with me, don't you?" It wasn't a question.

His mother's fingers briefly brushed his cheek, and her eyes misted, catching the moonlight. "There's nothing wrong with you, my boy. That, I promise."

"Then what is it?" Aran asked insistently. "And if you know, then why didn't you tell me?" He tried to keep the rough edge out of his voice, but it had been a trying few months.

"To protect you," she whispered. "As I have done since the day you were born."

The sounds of merriment floating down the road suddenly ceased as if cut with a knife, and a haughty voice began reciting something loud enough for the whole village to hear. There were Heralds here after dark? They never came this late on Sunday.