|[ THE FAERI'S KEEPER ]|

Chapter 1: Armour - Part I

I really, desperately needed armour.

The thought pounded through my mind to the same beat that my feet hit the ground. Again and again, stuck in a dark cycle.  I ran, sweat trickling down my forehead, hand clutched to my arm. A deep cut had been carved through the flesh from my collar-bone to halfway down my bicep. My blood was sticky, covering my fingers and staining my shirt. The material was plastered to me like a second skin.

I silently cursed the farmer and his scythe. Stupid old fool, he was! I had been stealing some food from the barn when he had surprised me and sliced into my arm with the farming tool. I had quickly knocked the weapon out of his hand and hurtled past him out of the barn. The pain was bright in my mind, flashing every few seconds but I squashed it down, blacking it out. I had suffered worse pain than this. I just needed to get back. I needed armour.

My current attire was a plain blouse and pants, with a belt across my torso, holding my quiver to my back. I had a thin leather jacket, but that was back at home. It was a few sizes too small and restricted my movement when I wore it. Most of my clothes I just stole from the washing baskets of those who lived beside the forest. Normally I would try to leave something to make up for it, but I had very few possessions, other than those I needed for survival. The only two possessions I would never give up willingly were my bow and quiver. They symbolised something to me – they symbolised the day I decided to become a rebel against the Empire. The day when I had to part with them would be a very sad day indeed.

I slowed down as I reached the base of a large tree and I glanced up. The branches were thick and covered with bright green leaves just like every other tree in the forest. It was the height of spring – everything bloomed. It was just another soldier standing in an army of a thousand. The only distinguishing feature it had was a small gash made halfway up the trunk. I sighed in relief and moved around the side of it until I found a small knob in the wood. It looked like a natural disfigurement but as I pushed it a set of winding stairs emerged from the trunk giving me a path that led up into the branches. They were roughly cut, but worn smooth by the boots of hundreds of climbers.

Don’t ask me how this was created or if I had made it myself, but I found it while searching the forest for a place to hide. I had tripped beside the tree and pressed my palm against the trunk as I eased myself back up and had unwittingly opened the stairs. From what I have seen I think it is an ancient look-out the elves used back when the war was still raging. Or it could’ve been a hideout for bandits. It could’ve belonged to anyone. But it didn’t matter – it was my home now.

I climbed the tree and pressed my toe against the second button at the top of the stairs, closing them once more. The trunk became as smooth and unremarkable as those around it  and I was able to breathe normally. As my heart continued to flutter like a caged bird in my chest I slumped against the wall. I was safe.

My ‘home’, as I called it – for it was more of a cupboard - was a small circular room made from wooden planks and panels. The roof was cone shaped and made of more wood. On the far side of the room from the entrance was a mattress with a few blankets thrown across it. Beside it was a woven basket filled with clean clothes. I never kept dirty clothes – I had no way of washing them. Generally I left them near the houses and homes of extremely poor families, as a way of giving them something. I had no gold to offer them, nothing they could use, other than clothes to warm them, or to put to other use. I dropped my bow and quiver next to the mattress, leaning them up against the wall and searched through the basket for some clean cloth and a shirt. I used a small knife to cut the sleeve of my blouse away and used a clean cloth bandage to bind my wound and stem the bleeding. As I waited for it to stop I stripped off the rest of my bloody blouse and grabbed the clean one I had found. Finally feeling slightly cleaner I walked over to the large bucket of water I had collected from the river earlier. I washed the blood from my hands and rinsed my arm after taking the cloth off it. In the water I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Dark brown hair, green-gold eyes. Pale skin with charcoal circles under my eyes, emphasizing my utter lack of sleep, and a small scar on my forehead. That was me, Irene. I paused for a moment, looking at myself. I didn’t care for charming looks – I had no need of them – but I could appreciate the small nose and angular features and the elegant curve of my chin. And my hair was long – it wasn’t like I could cut it regularly – hanging down to my hips when it wasn’t braided back. I sighed, averting my eyes.  I rinsed the bandage and wrapped it tightly around my arm before lying down on the mattress and sighing.