Year of the Gods – Spring 824

The stillness of the lake sent shivers up her spine while her heart felt like it was finally calm. She floated in the water like a mermaid, gazing at the stars above. Her dark brown hair splayed out around her in the water. The midnight moon sparkled down at her, winking greetings as it poked out from around the gathering clouds. Azlyn smiled.

She rolled over in the water, gazing around her for any person or predator sneaking up on her private moment. Azlyn treaded water, her blue eyes peering into the darkness of the forest and the tall protective trees. Branches reaching toward the heavens swayed in the gentle breeze. Several hoots of owls called into the night.

Azlyn watched the woods a moment longer. No one was there. She rolled over in the water, kicking her feet. Azlyn moved her arms over her head, hearing the chilled liquid rush over her body.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, knowing she would have to return home, to the castle soon. The lashings she’d received across her back was a reminder from her husband not to interfere in his business. But she had to. An innocent child was counting on her to protect him from the likes of her husband. And by Soren’s Sword, she would protect the little boy.

Azlyn breathed out, swimming closer to shore. She waded over to the shallows, getting out. With a sigh, she sat on a rock, watching everything all around her. She draped a towel carefully over her shoulders, wincing at the soreness of her body and the lash marks on her back that were scabbing over. The moon hung high in the midnight sky. The cool air wafted around her with a hint of blooming spring flowers tingling her pert nose.

Azlyn needed to get back soon, but she didn’t want to leave. The water made her back feel less tight. However, someone was counting on her to come back. She had no idea where the little boy came from, or his name. He hadn’t spoken more than asking to go outside to the privy. What she had ascertained from his accent was the child was from Aranore.

She moved her shoulders and winced. She’d overheard the guards talking that the lad came from MacKinnon lands. It confused her since there was a peace treaty and violating such would cause a war. No matter how it came to be, Azlyn had to protect this child from her husband, who no doubt, had him kidnapped for money. And since no one came forth and claimed the boy, there was no telling what her husband would do to the child to get what he wanted.

Slowly, Azlyn shrugged her clothes back on, mindful of her wound. Her heart roared. A shiver ran down her spine, but it wasn’t from being wet and cold. Standing, she stared across the water, and wondered what was on the other side. Not that it mattered. She would never leave because there was nowhere to go. Her parents died long ago. There was nowhere for her to run or anyone to turn to.

Azlyn ran a hand over her face, crossing her arms over herself. Carefully, she trudged back to the castle. The mighty fortress rose high as the trees surrounding it. The dark gray spires of Grella reached for the lively heavens. Black iron gates greeted her leery eyes. Azlyn moved around the side. Even though this place was her cage, it was still a beautiful spectacle to behold. Quietly, Azlyn crept through the side door of the servant’s quarters. She wanted to avoid anyone at all costs, knowing they would report her in the morning to Gunther, her dreadful husband. Her foot reached the hallway. She was almost in her room.

“Azlyn, where have you been?” Gunther seethed, grabbing her arm. “You were supposed to be outside cleaning the privy!”

The roof of her mouth thickened like wool. She darted her eyes, looking for a means to escape. Gunther held her tighter. Azlyn gasped at the force.

Gunther’s face twisted. “I demand an answer from you!”

“I was out swimming,” she mumbled.

“Swimming?”

She nodded. Azlyn cringed inwardly, anticipating the blow that was supposed to be coming. Azlyn closed her eyes tight. Her shoulders rose. The blow didn’t come. Carefully, she opened an eye then the other. Slowly, she raised her head to look her husband full in the face, watching a sneer form.

Her father picked Gunther out a year ago. He was so enamoring, so attentive in the beginning, she fell for his charm. She married Gunther on her seventeenth birthday. She remembered being so excited to walk down the aisle to him. Now she dreaded the sight of him. Such was the folly of her young, naïve mind to believe she would be loved.

“I have something important to discuss with you,” Gunther said firmly.

Gunther’s grip latched tighter as he dragged her down the stairs into his study. He slammed the door shut, and bolted it. Azlyn shrank back, swallowing as she waited for something to strike her. She turned her face to the side that was already sporting a bruise along her jaw.

Azlyn opened her eyes, watching him. She clung to the wall nearest the door, not wanting to escape the safety of what it offered; not that it was much. Gunther put his hands behind his back, pacing the room in front of her. He paused momentarily, lighting the candles on the desk. Gunther fumbled through his stack of papers. Azlyn caught a glimpse of a grin on his face as he held up a piece of parchment.

“I had our marriage annulled since you broke your marriage vows,” he finally yelled, his voice dark and menacing. “You stupid bitch… Could you really not bear me a child?!”

Azlyn let out the breath she was holding. She wanted to smile at the annulment, but held it back. He had bedded her once stating it was sufficient. Praise the Gods his seed didn’t sprout. Her body trembled with relief that her nightmare was finally over. She was free. She put a hand to her head, attempting to still herself. His constant threats, abuse, and cruelty were now done.

“There is one other thing,” he boomed. “The child who arrived at our door five days ago, he’s yours now. His father never came to claim him. I never received my money and I’m tired of feeding you maggots,” he said, twiddling his thumbs. “Killing him would cause a war, I do not wish to take part in.”

Azlyn shook her head, astounded. “Then why have him?”

Gunther rounded on her as if she were an imbecile. “Money, you stupid chit!”

“Yes, my King.”

“You and the brat need to leave. NOW!”

Azlyn jumped. “Yes, my King.”

“If you ever come back to Perolas, I will kill you.”

Azlyn squared her shoulders. This man had tortured her heart more than she ever dared to admit. Gunther took her romantic, callow soul, and twisted it, darkening it. She once believed love was for everyone. Now, she wasn’t so certain. Leofric, the most meddling God of Zerelon, brought people together, binding their hearts and souls in love. And if this God was so enamored with love, then why overlook her? Azlyn pushed the question from her mind. God of love or not, Gunther taught her life wasn’t happy nor loving. Life was cruel, and lonely.

“If I may ask one thing of you, my King?” she slightly demanded.

Gunther rolled his eyes. “I’ll permit it.”

“Why did you marry me if you loathe me so greatly?”

He came striding toward her. Azlyn backed up further against the door, wishing she could melt into it. Gunther grabbed her chin fiercely. Azlyn flinched, causing Gunther to sneer. He held her chin wrathfully, taking his free hand to grab her hair and yank her down so she was below him. Azlyn kept her gaze steady on her former husband.

His hand wrapped itself in her hair. “I wanted your money,” he said, throwing her to the floor. “And with your money, came power, more land and gold.”

Azlyn caught herself. Her muscles ached. She wobbled, getting herself to stand upright. Gunther walked to his desk, sitting in the large cushioned chair. He picked up the pipe to his left. Lighting it, he inhaled deeply as if now completely satisfied with what he’d done.

Azlyn turned to the door, her hand stilled on the knob. What was she going to do with a small child? Where were they going to go? She had no money, and Gunther was not going to give her a horse, or anything else for leaving Perolas. I’ll steal it, she thought, peering over her shoulder and glaring at the man.

Turning the knob, she exited the room hastily with her former husband inside. Azlyn crept up to the second floor, and entered her room. A soft whimper came from under the light blue ratted quilt. A sniffle sounded as the fire crackled in the corner, giving off a small glow. Turning, she closed the door, and bolted it closed.

She recalled leaving him tucked inside the secret trap door under her bed. Many times, she had hidden there to get away from Gunther. She could only imagine this poor little dear being afraid to come out regardless of what might happen. Her heart squelched at leaving him alone for nigh on an hour.

“Darling, do not be afraid. It’s me, Azlyn,” she gently said to the huddled bundle.

“I want to go home,” he cried.

“I know, sweetie. We’re leaving now.”

He popped his head out from under the covers, and looked warily at her. His hair was a mess. Mats of frizzy, red hair he refused to brush poked carelessly out of his head. His gray eyes stared at her with hope, and a bit of caution.

“Will you please tell me your name?” Azlyn asked.

“Cayden MacKinnon.”

Azlyn stilled her rapidly beating heart, replacing her emotions with a warm smile. He was a king’s son. Why this child and Aranore of all places, Gunther chose to kidnap from, she didn’t know. The people of Aranore weren’t known for being wealthy. The country with the most wealth in Zerelon was Hoklen.

“Where are you from?” she prodded.

“Northern part of Aranore Castle MacKinnon,” he softly said to her. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Perolas.”

“Why?”

Azlyn blinked. Why indeed? Why did Gunther want this child and MacKinnon money? Many more questions flooded her mind like an overflowing riverbank. She drummed her fingers on the doorknob. Gunther loves money and chaos. But I need to fix this.

She moved closer to the boy, sitting on the end of the bed. Cayden smiled wanly at her, fidgeting with his hands. Azlyn returned his lopsided grin. He was a handsome boy, stocky with wide shoulders, and a dimpled chin to match the dimples in his cheeks. He could not have been no more than six years of age. Cayden sat up, staring at her with his unsettling gray eyes. Azlyn reached out, taking his hand, and giving it a squeeze that offered some assurance. Cayden squeezed back, a few tears trickled down his small face.

“I will take you home,” Azlyn said, changing the subject. “I promise.”

“Are we truly leaving?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Then I can go home to my da!”

“Who is your father?”

“Theron MacKinnon, Laird of Castle MacKinnon. I dinna know how I got here… D’ye?” Cayden persisted

She caressed his small cheek and smiled. “It doesn't matter anymore how you got here. The most important thing now is to get you home.”

Azlyn sucked in her lips. She knew exactly how he got here. Now, she had to return him to his family and hopefully not incriminate herself. Wherever his father happened to be, she would return him. Hopefully, Theron MacKinnon wouldn’t mistake her as the kidnapper and kill her. However, it was a risk she would gladly take.

Azlyn smiled at the boy. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

She held out her hand, beckoning Cayden to her. The small boy gave her a beaming smile. She let out a deep sigh. She was getting them free of this dreadful place.

Relentless pounding at her chamber door, made her heart stop. “Azlyn!” Gunther yelled, rattling the door knob, “Why aren’t you out of my castle yet? Get out!” Gunther’s loud voice boomed behind it.

“I’m going!” Azlyn shouted back, beckoning Cayden to come to her quickly.

The boy scrambled out of the bed, kicking the blankets as he went. His bright gray eyes held a significant amount of fear as he hurried to pull on his shoes. Azlyn grabbed his hand. She would never allow Gunther to strike him.

“Get out!” he growled as the door bashed inward.

Gunther made straight for her, grabbing her by the hair, and forcing her to her knees. Azlyn gasped at the pain it caused. Gunther threw her forward. Azlyn caught herself. Gunther kicked the back of her knees, toppling her back to the ground. Azlyn crawled toward the door. She rose, using the bed frame as support.

“Get out you filthy, disgusting bitch! You’ve been a thorn in my side for far too long!” he roared, pivoting to kick her.

Azlyn dodged it. Gunther’s eyes darkened further, pissed she maneuvered away. Keeping both eyes focused on Gunther, Azlyn reached out, beckoning Cayden to her.

Cayden was to her in moments. He went protectively in front of her, but Azlyn pulled him behind her. She glared at her former husband, moving warily to the door with Cayden behind her. Azlyn grabbed his hand as she turned around, forcing him in front of her as they left. If Gunther were to strike again, Azlyn wanted him to strike her.

Fortunately for her, Cayden did not hesitate nor cry. Together, with him in front, they ran down the stairs leading to the kitchen. They raced outside, going quickly to the stables in the brisk night air.

Damn the man for causing strife in her life. She was no match for him physically, but she knew how to hit him where it hurt. Azlyn saddled Gunther’s favorite mount for Cayden to ride, knowing he would tire quickly if they were walking. Hurriedly, she saddled the horse and helped Cayden to mount. Finding a satchel, she stole it too, filling it with apples.

“Here,” a serving woman said as they went to leave.

Azlyn looked at the woman's hands: her fiddle. The instrument was all she had of her family. She left it behind, knowing it wasn’t as important as this child in her care. Now that she had her beloved instrument, she was forever grateful. She gave the woman a quick embrace, taking her fiddle. Azlyn tucked it into the satchel.

With her head held high, she left everything else behind her as she strode out of the barn. Every memory, every pain, every joy would die right here; old wounds did not need to accompany her on this new journey. If she were to entertain the thought of finding love, the man would have to love her for all that she was. She wasn’t about to make the same mistake as Gunther again.

Cayden was quiet as they passed under the iron gates. His stillness was fine with her. She needed to think of a plan of where to go from here. Azlyn hadn’t ever traveled; there was no need to, given her father was sentinel over a village. She couldn’t remember where the main road south was. Cayden had to get back to his father in Aranore. Wherever his father lived, Azlyn was going to find him.

Azlyn whipped the drying stands of her hair up out of her face, tying it together in a messy way. The horse whinnied beside her. She knew she was north of the Aranoren border, so she needed to head south. Azlyn peeked behind her, seeing the castle slowly fade from view in the light of the waning moon. She was tired. Her back, and shoulder killed her, but she would not tell Cayden or show any weakness. Cayden needed to see her being strong, not breaking down in a blithering mess. Although, sobbing for a while sounded good to her, but for the boy, she would put on a smile until she was alone.

“Cayden, where’s your father’s castle?” she asked after a bit.

“Castle MacKinnon,” he replied with a hint of confusion.

“Is that all you know?”

“I know it’s in Aranore at the top of our country.”

Azlyn sighed. At least they were already heading south, where they needed to go. But what she needed to know was if they needed to go more east or west. Azlyn came to the lake, and stopped to water the horse as she tried to decide whether to go southeast or southwest.

Azlyn got a stick and drew in the soft dirt, marking what she knew. On the wall behind Gunther’s desk was a map of Zerelon. A giant red circle marked Grella Castle, where she happened to be. Closing her eyes, she drew what she could recall from memory.

“Can I play in the water?” Cayden eagerly asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

“No, we need to get going. I’m sorry.”

Cayden shrugged. “It’s okay.”

She did not know of Cayden’s father other than he was a laird, the Aranoren version of a king. She could only hope he would be lenient on her and not mistake her for what Gunther had done. Maybe he would even take her with him. Surely there was something she could do that would be useful and beneficial.

“Dinna worry you none. I will take care of us, Azlyn,” he said, making a small bow from atop the horse.

Azlyn smiled. He was a charming young man. His father would be proud of him for being brave during this horrible ordeal. She led the way around the lake going east. Since Cayden did not know which direction Clan MacKinnon was in, she figured if she kept going southeast, she would come across someone at some point.

The gentle breeze blowing earlier turned bitter as the moon played games with the clouds. Cayden pulled his arms inside his sleeves. She felt guilty seeing him shivering cold, but she didn’t have anything on her person to give him.

The rolling hills seemed never ending. Azlyn spotted a wide dirt road heading south and made her way toward it. Wherever they were, a road was a welcomed sight. Glancing at the moon, Azlyn estimated they had been walking for some time as the moon had waned to the west significantly. The light of dawn had yet to make a full impact with color.

Cayden raced up the hill ahead of her, shouting. Azlyn ran as fast as she could and grabbed hold of the startled horse’s halter. Riders were heading straight for them. Protectively, she got in front of Cayden as men skidded to a stop.

Theron reined his horse, making the beast come to a skidding halt. He took a long look at this woman who dared to have his boy. He had been out hunting cattle thieves when we got word about his son being missing. It felt like a knife to the gut. He stopped his search immediately to go after his son. Theron had ridden like a demon out of Hela’s Hell to find Cayden’s trail and it led him here. He dismounted trying to get around her, but this little woman fiercely blocked his every advance. She kept defensively in front of Cayden, wielding her fiddle like a club.

He took a step back and took the sight of her in. The lass’s dress was some shade of green, or perhaps at one point was green, and tattered. Her small hands had scratches over her knuckles and the left side of her jaw sported a colorful bruise. Her dark brown hair was bunched up messily on top of her head and appeared to not have been brushed in some time. Her eyes, bright blue and sparkling, stared feistily into his own. Theron drew his sword.

“I will harm you if you touch him!” she shouted without hesitation.

“Get away from him,” he seethed back, looking at his son who had his eyes covered.

“You first,” the woman challenged, pointing her fiddle-club at him then each of his men. “Be gone! Leave us alone!”

Theron scoffed. “Ye plan on killin’ me with that fiddle?”

The woman gripped the fiddle tighter. “If I must.”

Theron couldn’t help the sharp laugh that escaped. She was a feisty one. A deep scowl creased her pretty face. She held her fiddle up a little further and glared malevolently at him, holding her defensive stance and not moving a muscle. He moved but a twitch and she raised her fiddle ready to strike him down.

“DA!” his son shouted.

Cayden dismounted, running to him. Theron stabbed his sword into the fresh soil. He lifted his son to his chest, embracing the tiny lad. He ran his hands through his thick, red hair that was like his mothers, kissing his cheek. The woman lowered her fiddle. However, the look of distrust was still upon her otherwise pretty face.

“Why d’ye have my son?” he growled at her, holding his son close.

“He just showed up five days ago at Grella Castle. How do I know you did not abandon him?”

Theron raised his brows, a small chuckle escaped. She had a lot of pluck questioning him. Abandon him, he snorted, like bloody hell I ever would. He shook his head, the wench! Cayden wrapped his arms around his neck, squeezing as much as his tiny arms would allow. Theron held him tightly with one hand. With the other, he grabbed his sword free of the soil and held it up to her throat. The woman did not flinch, simply scowled and perked a brow.

“Abandon him?” he questioned.

“Aye,” she replied, bringing her fiddle back up with one hand and with the other, swatting his sword away. “If you’re going to point that at my throat, I suggest you use it.”

Theron smirked. She was a daring little woman. He liked her honesty and the fire swirling in the pools of her blue eyes. Peering at her left hand, seeing her finger ringless, gave him pause for a moment. Her tattered clothes and tired eyes gave way to a troubled life wherever she came from. Depending on her next few answers, he might consider allowing her residence in his clan.

“Why would I give my flesh, and blood, to yer laird?”

The woman shrugged. “I do not know why a father would leave his son with a man like Gunther.”

“I would ne’er do such a thing.”

“How do I know you will not harm him? How do I know you’re truly his father?”

“Because lass, I’m not chokin’ ye right now!” he roared. “Yer not dead!”

She lowered her fiddle, turning around to stuff it back in the small satchel she had. She grabbed the reins of the horse, muttering softly under her breath. She was a mystery to him. He wanted to know who she was and how she ended up with his son. But she did give him information he knew in his gut was true: Gunther did have his son.

Theron sheathed his sword, watching her intently. The lass approached him and Cayden. He scowled at her as she reached for his son. Locking eyes, the woman proceeded to softly rub Cayden’s back. His son released his death grip on him, leaning toward her with arms outstretched. Theron held onto him as his son wrapped his arms around the woman. She gave his son a kiss on the cheek before turning away.

“Azlyn, wait!” Cayden called, wriggling out of his arms.

Theron put him down, watching what his son would do. Azlyn turned around slowly, and faced the little boy. She dropped to a knee, smiling wanly at his son. Theron overlooked the scene from a distance, arms crossed over the other. He glanced at his men who watched their interactions closely. Cayden plowed into her with such force the woman almost toppled over.

“I don’t want ye to go,” he shouted.

“Cayden,” she began sorrowfully, taking both Cayden’s hands in her own while the other cupped his cheek.

Theron scowled, more questions burning in his brain of how this woman came to have his son. He could figure out the answers later. All he wanted was to get his son home.

“Come, Cayden. Leave her be,” Theron called.

“But da,” Cayden said, his gray eyes shining. “Azlyn needs a home.”

Azlyn would not meet his gaze. Pain creased her face whether from the bruise he noted earlier or his son's words, he knew not.

“Come, Cayden,” he said softly.

“Azlyn?” Cayden said, hugging her fiercely.

The woman closed her eyes, hugging his son as tears streaked her cheeks. She buried her face in his son’s neck while she squeezed him tight with one hand.

“Will ye come home with us?” Cayden softly asked.

Azlyn’s full blue eyes peered cautiously into his. Theron’s words caught in his throat. She was waiting for him to tell her she was welcome. From the way she defended his son, no enemy would do that. She was alone, with nothing upon her person. And if she had nowhere to go, how could he tell her no?

Theron shifted his stance. “D’ye no’ have a home, lass?”

Azlyn shook her head. “No,” she paused. “I do not.”

“What’s yer name?”

“Azlyn Jormeale, formerly Overwald.”

Theron nodded, rubbing his stubbled chin. “And I take it, Gunther is yer husband?”

“Aye… He was, but is no longer. Thank the Gods above for that!”

He strode over to her, checking her horse’s satchel. It held nothing but apples and her fiddle inside. He strode over to her, checking her over. Her dress was snug against her arms to hide any weapon.

“Raise yer dress,” he ordered. The appalled look on Azlyn’s face made him grin. “So, I can see if yer hiding weapons upon yer legs or in yer boots.”

She did so, exposing her lithe calves. No weapons were hidden upon her person. It made him wonder what had happened at Grella and why she was simply able to walk away with his son.

“Mount up,” he told her, turning back to his horse. “Come on, Cayden.”

His son rushed to him. Theron easily hoisted him up to sit in front of him. He turned slightly, watching Azlyn try to mount. Leaving his son, he went to her and threw her on the back of the horse. She weighed nothing at all, though she hissed when he touched her.

Theron scowled, lowering his voice. “Did Gunther harm ye? Did he beat ye?””

She nodded, tears edging along her long lashes. “Aye.”

“Never again,” he said, patting her knee and giving it a squeeze. “That I promise ye.”

He strode back to his horse, mounting behind his son. The morning sky became alit with vibrant pinks and oranges. They would arrive at Castle MacKinnon sometime toward the early evening. Clucking his tongue, he moved in the direction of home.

Theron peeked over his shoulder, seeing if she followed. Azlyn did with her head down and shoulders drooped. He motioned to his men to surround her, to keep an eye on her. Not that he didn’t trust her, but if Gunther’s reputation for harming people were true, he didn’t need her falling off a horse and getting more hurt.

Theron held his son close as they trotted over a hill. He sighed in relief at having him back in his arms. He closed his eyes, thanking the Gods for looking after his son and bringing him back. Theron leaned forward, kissing the top of his head. Cayden snuggled his head against his chest.

His son let out a contented sigh. It made him smile. Theron could only imagine the horrors he’d faced while being at Grella. He didn’t want to pry too soon, but he had to know.

“Cayden,” Theron began, “how long have you known Azlyn?”

That was a preview of Aiding Azlyn. To read the rest purchase the book.

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