Prologue

 My name is Olivia and this is my story, set down in words by my own hand. I am unusual, an anomaly in that I am an intelligent, educated woman in a time of great brutality and barbarism. A time in which women were regarded as little more than "bitches in heat" whose primary function is to service their men and bear them children.

But I, because of my noble blood, had privilege and was educated by the priests of the "One God" along with my older brother Mathias. At the court of our uncle, King Frederick, we learned the letters of the ancients, and we learned to speak the language of the dead people. We learned their stories of far away places; their myths and their legends. The priests taught us what they called "science", which was their explanation of how things in the world work, though in the end, the "One God" was always given credit for everything so their "science" seemed pointless to me.

The greatest gift the priests gave to me was the gift of philosophy.  The art of thinking. It is this essential skill that has set me apart from others of my time. It gave me the ability to challenge the accepted truths and to decide for myself what to believe and what not to. It allowed me to think things and go places that others dared not attempt. It gave me a kind of power that others of my people could never possess. For this gift, I have to thank the kindly Brother Martin, the only one of the Priests I could stand, the others being little more than leering, lecherous, sots.

The Priests balked at the notion of affording me the same education as my brother. The Bishop Reginald, a tall tonsured-headed pious man who always seemed to be looking down his nose at others, claimed it was blasphemy for a young lady to be given the kind of knowledge the priests were imparting upon me. He claimed that women were inherently evil and that too much knowledge made them dangerous. Better he said, that young ladies be taught how to sew and how to deal with squalling whelps.

But my father, Randolf, the younger brother of Frederick the King insisted. In truth, Randolf cared little for the Bishop. He objected to his presence at court and the influence he held on the King. He understood well Reginald's self-serving and manipulative intentions. My father possessed a keen sense as to the motivations of men. But as long as he had Fredrick's protection, there was little Randolf could do about the Bishops schemes and manipulations.

So Randolf  had to stop short of cutting the Bishops throat as he would have liked, but he used his tall intimidating presence and the skilled use of his menacing voice - father had the ability to roar like a bear when the occasion called for it -  to keep Reginald in line. It brought my father great joy that I was able to be educated, but so much more so as it was in defiance of the Bishop's wishes. 
 

My people, the Franguish, came to these shores countless generations ago. We are not people of the "One God" as Bishop Reginald would like. It would give him great joy to have complete control over the immortal souls of all the Franguish people. This would make him greater and more powerful, then any King could ever be.

But the Franguish embrace the old ways that were brought by our ancestors who first set foot on these shores. They believe in many gods and to me, though I take the old ways and gods to be little more then tales told to children, they seem to hold a certain attraction and they come closer to credibility in their explanation of the world then the thing the priests called "Science".

We have no priests, we Franguish folk. We've no real need for them. The old ways, the appreciation of the gods is simple and in it's own way, it makes sense so there was no need for anyone to explain their meaning to us, no one to try and use our beliefs to elevate themselves above the rest of us.

We have four main gods, one for each season of the year. Winter and summer, the more severe seasons of the year are males, Raul and Seth while autumn and spring are goddesses, Myla and Ferra. Each year, Myla, autumn, gives birth to winter, Raul. She makes sure that the trees and the animals are ready for the harshness of the snows. She makes the days cooler and shorter. In essence, she readies the world for the coming of her son.

Raul torments the world for the entire Winter but in the end, it is the melting of his vast quantities of snow that prepare the world for the coming of Ferra, Spring. And Ferra makes the plants and animals return to the world after the long hard Winter. The run off from the snow makes the ground fertile and all the world is blessed with new life. And Ferra makes the world ready for her son, Seth, Summer. The new life flourishes and the plants and animals grow bigger and stronger. The world then is a glorious place, full of hope and good cheer. But alas, Summer must come to an end and the plants and animals made strong by Seth are ready for the coming of Myla and the whole cycle begins anew.

There is a sense of order and logic to the Franguish system of beliefs.  The cycle of the seasons is continual, each season relies on the one before it to ready the world for it's arrival. And this whole cycle is seen as a kind of metaphor for Human life. A mother gives birth to her son who grows up, becomes strong, marries. And then the wife gives birth to a new son and the entire life-cycle begins anew.

This cycle of nature is of course, overseen by the King of Gods, Mar, the Sun. The seasons may come and go, but Mar is forever with us, helping the season Gods to perform their tasks and always watching over mankind. But just as light creates shadows, good has it's opposite, evil. In this case, Mar's half brother Lorn, the Moon and God of the night.

Lorn is forever jealous of Mar because he can never shine as brightly or warm the world as much as the King of Gods. But Lorn takes his mastery of the night very seriously. It is his time on the world, he is the king of darkness. And Lorn populates the night world with vile creatures, the souls of the damned and the soulless, "night-walkers" who stalk the earth in search of souls to steal so that they themselves may go to their eternal rest, leaving their hapless prey to roam the night world in their stead.

Franguish people fear the night for this very reason. Even the most fearsome warrior is reluctant to go out after dark. If he does, he does not go alone and he carries a torch in one hand and a sword in the other. But most people stay put where they are once darkness arrives, and each house hold leaves a plate of food outside as an offering to Lorn so that he spares the souls of the people in that home.  Even the royal court of King Frederick leaves plates of food out every night so that the night-walkers will pass by the kings great hall and spare the souls inside.

But my uncle the king doesn't believe in the Night-walkers. The creatures of the night are just animals he told me. And it is simply man's imagination that makes them into soul-sucking demons. One night he had me sit up with him, and together we watched as Lorn's offering was consumed by raccoons. Rapacious and well fed raccoons. From that moment on, I stopped being afraid of the night and I would venture forth into the darkness with out a second thought while others cowered in fear in their huts and halls.

I came by my questioning and inquisitive nature from Randolf, my father and his older brother, my Uncle Frederick,  the King. Uncle Frederick was never blessed with children of his own so he often treated me as though I were his own daughter. I stayed often at his great hall as this is where Mathias and I received our lessons. He would talk to me endlessly. He was an intelligent, inquisitive man in his own right. We would often discuss the teachings of the priests, Brother Martin in particular, and contrast them with the traditional beliefs of the Franguish people. And we would talk about what we thought was real and what was myth. And then we would talk about the myths of the dead people which we both found fascinating. Uncle Frederick was as responsible for my questioning nature as my philosophy lessons with Brother Martin.

My people traveled over countless miles of sea and rivers and through dense and hostile forests to arrive at this place. They wandered for unknown numbers of seasons it is said, stopping only long enough for Raul to have his way with the world and only venturing forth once again with the coming of Ferra. Some say they were brave and resourceful immigrants, forced out of the homeland by overpopulation and lack of land. Others say they were the followers of the Chieftain, Edward, who was banished for unknown misdeeds. There has never been contact with the homeland. It is so far away that according to the story tellers, it's sea has a salty taste and if one were to drink from it, they would go mad and die. For my people, this is an unknown thing. Our seas are as clear and fresh as a forest brook. None of our fishermen or merchants have ever ventured so far as to discover water that couldn’t be drunk freely. So because of this great distance, the reason our ancestors set forth on their great journey into the wilderness remains unknown.

Why Edward and his followers chose this place to settle is also a mystery. Some tales say that it was Edward who decided that our land, Franguesh, named for the people who settle it, was a lush and fruitful land, teaming with dear and fish and decided it was the perfect place to settle. Others say it was because the people stopped here during the time of Myla in anticipation of Raul's savage reign. And that they were so weary of the hardships of travel, they chose to stay with the coming of Ferra instead of packing up and venturing on once again. What ever the reason, the land has been good to my people and we Franguish settled well and flourished. But mine were not the first people to settle this paradise on the shores of the sea.

When settlement first began, there was no sign that another soul had ever inhabited this place. During the first reign of Ferra, the settlers cut trees and cleared land for habitation, content that the Franguish were the only people for hundreds, of miles or more in any direction. But then the work parties who ventured into the forests to cut trees, started to talk upon their return to the settlement, of an ominous feeling of being watched as they went about their business. Then one day, one of the work parties came flying back into the ever growing village, blathering about having seen what seemed like strange wretched looking people in the forest.

When Edward questioned the men of the work party, they said that the strangers were near naked, their modesty protected only by sparse layers of animal skins and that they were covered in mud from head to foot. They claimed some had dear antlers sprouting from their heads while others were feathered like birds. But the men claimed there was no actual contact with these demonic looking creatures. About a dozen of them had just appeared as from out of nowhere about a hundred paces from where they were working. The strangers presented no hostile gestures but the workers quickly grabbed their axes and hurried back to the village.

Edward decided that the intentions of these “wretched ones” had to be determined. He had to know if they were people at all or some of Lorn's Night-walkers, gruesome soulless demons who had hidden themselves from Mar in the dense forests of the new land. So Edward quickly gathered and led a well armed party of some twenty of his best warriors into the forest in search of these "wretched ones". They returned to the site of the wood cutting but could see no sign of another living thing. But all remained ominously silent. The men of the war-band stayed close together near the centre of the clearing, shields raised and spears at the ready, not knowing what they might encounter. But they heard not a sound, not a bird in the sky nor the rippling of leaves in the wind. The only sound was that of their own breathing. And they waited.

A crude arrow struck the first man in the throat. He gagged and rasped, clutching desperately at the shaft of wood that stuck in his neck. His lifes-blood gushed out on to his leather cuirass, coating it in a bright red sheen. He sank to his knees and collapsed. “Shield wall” Edward hollered and the warriors quickly gathered in a line, elbow to elbow with their shields raised and overlapping each other, their spears protruding forward menacingly between the shields, forming a densely packed wall, bristling with death for any who dared assault the fierce war band. 

A second man was killed instantly when an arrow struck him in the eye as he peered over top of his shield. He toppled over backwards. The other warriors, hardened by the harsh lessons of war, paid their fallen comrade no heed but quickly regrouped the fill the gap in the shield wall created by his death. Their very lives depended upon them doing so as quickly as possible.

And then there was another long silence before a third arrow struck Edwards shield with a sickening "thunk" just below his eyes. He looked over top of his shield at the still trembling arrow and in disdain, brushed it away using the shaft of his spear, leaving a splintered stump still protruding. And suddenly Edward laughed and bellowed:

"Is that the best you can do you heathen scum. You cowardly vermin? Come you vile wretches, let us see your pretty faces so that we may embrace at the point of my spear"!

And Edward laughed again. His bravado gave heart to the other warriors in the shield wall. He knew it would.  As always, Edward took his place in the centre of the formation. He was a monster of a man, fully a head taller than the next tallest warrior. He had a huge barrel chest and it is said that Edward never simply spoke. It was not in his disposition. When he chose to be heard, Edward roared like a bear.

Though he was a chieftain and fully possessed the means of owning such accoutrements, Edward spurned the use of a helmet or chain-mail coif. He wanted the other men in the shield wall to be able to see their leader in battle, his thick, bristly black beard and bushy mane of long black hair  made him easily recognizable in the chaos of combat. His great height, strength and marshal prowess assured that the contrivances of lesser men, such as helmets were unnecessary  for a  warrior such as Edward.  And he needed no flimsy banner of cloth or goat skin for his men to rally around amid the clamorous confusion of battle. His men simply looked for the hulking, bellowing Edward in order to get their bearings during the fray. 

And then a dozen or so of the most demonic looking men imaginable appeared as from no where, knelt and loosed a volley of arrows at the Franguishmen. Most of them hit harmlessly into the shields of the war-band, but the man on the far right of the line took an arrow in his exposed spear arm, causing him to leave the formation to tend to his wound.

And no sooner had the volley of arrows hit home when  a hoard of unearthly looking wretches materialized from behind the archers and dashed, hooting and yelling in a blood curdling fashion at the waiting warriors. Some of the screaming heathens brandished vicious looking war clubs with  heads of stone while others carried short stabbing spears with fire-hardened points. The archers dropped their bows and picked up what ever rocks or fallen tree limbs they could lay their hands on with the intent of bludgeoning the Franguishmen to death with them.

The warriors in the shield wall however, experienced in the ways of war, remained firm and took the shock of the howling mob of demons on their spear points or rammed the iron rims of their heavy wooden shields into the faces of their enemy, breaking teeth, noses and bone. It was like a wave of sea water bursting upon an unmovable rock. And it was all over quickly as the wretched ones, reeling from the shock of the bloody impact,  turned tail and ran off as quickly as they appeared, leaving a good half dozen of their number dead or dying in agony on the ground in front of the warriors.

The shield wall remained firm and held it's place for a good few moments after the skirmish, unsure if the wretched ones would regroup and attack again. When it became clear that no further attack would occur, Edward broke rank, stepped forward, drawing his sword and began systematically finishing off the dying wretches.

"You see"? Edward bellowed. "They aren't demons or Night-Walkers at all. See how they bleed and die like whimpering children? They are just men, vile, wretched, cowardly men".

And Edward dispatched all but one of the enemy. The one remaining man had a horrific wound in  his  left arm which was ripped open by the metal point of a Franguish spear.  Edward grabbed the mud-covered screaming man by the hair and dragged him back into the ranks of his warriors.

It's not certain what Edward hoped to achieve by torturing the poor wretch to death. He screamed and babbled in a tongue that no one could understand so no important knowledge was gained by the gruesome ordeal. It was widely held that Edward simply wanted to demonstrate the fragile mortality of this new enemy so that his warriors would not fear them. It must have worked as from then on, Franguishmen have had nothing but disdain for these wretched creatures.


Once his bloody work was done, Edward gathered his men, collected his dead and returned triumphant form the "Battle in the Woods". This story is well known to my people. It has been told countless times by story tellers in countless halls down through the generations. It was the beginning of the "Myth" of Edward The Great. It is a hallmark of our history that sets us apart from all other people of this land and above the folk who became known to my ancestors as the "Screes", the Franguish word for "wretched ones".