A Name That Means Traveler

A Name That Means Traveler: Prologue

 The woods seemed to embrace Anwyn as she stood in front of the small rock house. The sun shone through the tree tops, giving the forest a happy appearance, much different than the gloom and darkness that loomed inside the hut ahead. She crouched to get her tall form under the low doorway and kissed her sleeping little girl's forehead, muttering a prayer.

Goose bumps rose on her pale arms as the darkness of the house surrounded them, oily light coming only from small candles and lamps on the walls. Dusty, ancient tomes filled tall bookshelves and a splinter infested table was shoved in a corner. The room had an old mildew smell that made Anwyn crinkle her nose and cough. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she kneeled and called out,

"Emrys, holy seer of names, I--I beg thy presence... Please come forth from the shadows and prophesize." A sunken figure fell from the velvet shadows and stumbled on his crooked legs. He automatically made eye contact, and Anwyn was forced to look into his almost-white irises, so filled with pain and knowing. She swallowed her nausea and forced herself to not look away. Once flaming red hair hung in dirty, snarled knots. His skin was tanned and almost leathery, though it still defied his ancient age. His thin lips stretched themselves into a smile and revealed yellowed teeth. Anwyn felt herself shiver with fear.

Superstitions took over her mind and she repeated prayers over and over in her head, taking pains not mutter them out loud. She remembered the stories her mother would tell her as a child; how Emrys was the favorite man of Cilero, our Heavenly God, and Rosen, his Heavenly wife. She told of mothers that traveled far across the small country so he could read their child's future and name them. This wasn't done anymore, despite the sacredness of names. Northerners just went to priests, or even named their children themselves. To Anwyn, that seemed like blasphemy.

"Pretty Anwyn, I've wondered when you would decide to grace me with your presence. Tell me, how is your sister? Such a pretty baby she was." He murmured in a cracked voice.

She stiffened and looked away. "Alis is married and pregnant with her second child. A lady in the court of North Braanagh." The man laughed and touched the young woman's cheek; she shuddered, but didn't pull away. She had to show respect for the old man no matter how much he repulsed her.

"Her name is 'noble sort', is it not? You should have known she would marry a lord. And what about you? It has been a mere sixteen years since I named you as a newborn, and you are already here with a little girl."

She dipped her head and muttered bitterly, "I had many suitors. My father married me off for a few extra coins in his pocket. Money is hard to come by now."

"I'm not surprised, I named you fair, and I am never wrong." He stared at the girl's grey eyes and pale brown hair. Anwyn clenched her eyes shut for a moment and opened them again; scared Emrys could see the faint sheen of tears on her eyes.

"And who is it to which you've been wed? My memory fails me."

"Fatmir."

"And how long have you been married to Fatmir? I named him...nineteen years ago. A slight age difference in this marriage," Emrys asked as if he hadn't already known.

"Ten months. We've been married for ten months."

The old man laughed a dry, crackling sound. "You became pregnant within one month of marriage?" He paused, considering the blushing girl before him. "Of course, I'm not surprised. With your fair face and long hair, few men would have been able to resist themselves in his situation. He, I see, could not. Does he treat you well?" His frank stare raised more bumps on Anwyn’s arms and she straightened her back.

"Yes, he....He does." Her voice was quiet and she sounded meek even to her own ears. He laughed and walked circles around the girl and her daughter.