The Prophecy of Era

Chapter 1

It was a fine summer morning when a young girl, no older than 13, entered the weapon smith of Raven. Her once white tunic, now damp with sweat was covered in dirt, yet her round face, not yet marked by years of hardship, showed naught but joy.

"You look like a mountain boar shat on you, sister. Go clean up before mother sees you've been out fighting again. You know how she hates the thought of you brawling with the neighbour kids, 'tis unwomanly." A dark haired boy, not much older than the girl herself, looked up from his work. He had been forging what was soon to be scythe or a sickle, but currently rather resembled an unidentifiable metal rod of pain. He too was sweaty, whether it was the effort of hammering the metal rod of pain into shape, or that he was performing this task in a boiling room could not be said.

"Oh hush, Maxwell," the girl's dark eyes skim her gown before indifferently attempting to wipe away some of the grime left from the day "you are always so worried about what mother thinks. What I chose to do in my free time is none of your concern."

The boy rolled his eyes, but refrained from pursuing the matter any further. His sister could be stubborn, and should mother decide to chastisize her, he would be right there by her side; not to support her of course, but as a silent reminder that he had told her so. A sly grin keeps onto his lips. It wasn't that he enjoyed seeing his younger sibling punished, but part of him relished the moments in which his arrogant, little child of a sister was put into her place.

"Did you hear, we will be visiting the market next week? Father has been working on tools to sell all morning!" Max lowered his hammer and pointed towards a small table covered in hoes and pickaxes; necessities for commoners such as themselves. Especially in the Kingdom of North Casand, which consisted mostly of miners and farmers, one could only hope they would make a fair penny.

The girl picked up one of the sickles and admired her fathers work. As far as she knew, only very few blacksmiths were able to forge blades with such finesse. It was thin enough to cut even the most stubborn of blades, yet sturdy enough to last a life time; at worst a short one. Her father was truly a master.

"Alexandra? Maxwell, has your sister returned home yet?" The siblings share a glance, one wide eyed, and considerably more worried than she had let on only a moment earlier, the other once again grinning devilishly. "Yes, Mother, she's returned!" the evil glimmer in his eyes displayed just how content he was that his sister would be caught after all.

The girl grimaced and lunged across the room, towards the leather apron she used when working in her father's forgery. She tied the leather bands around her curveless body, and not a moment later, their smiling mother entered the boiling smithery. "There you are, dear, would you like some dinner? I've made bread!"

The girl, exhaled with relief "Yes, mother, that would be lovely, let me freshen up and I will be right up.", she said, as she turned and gave her brother a sly wink.

"Very well, don't be too long, the bread is still warm and it would be a shame to see it grow cold. Maxwell, would you care to join us as well?" She turns towards the youngest of her four sons, who was no longer grinning, and gave him a questioning glance. "Yes mother" the boy pressed between his teeth "I will be right there"

"Very well!" she said, turning to walk out the door. And as she closed the door with the words "Don't be long!", both children were quite aware, that this was more of a warning than it was a plea.

"Yes, mother!" The boy screamed after her. Alexandra glanced at her older brother with barely concealed disgust. "Yes, mother" she repeated, laughing mockingly as he threw the unfinished metal rod of pain at her head, missing her by an arms' length.

The week passed as the family prepared for the market. Finished tools were beginning to stack up on the table and on the walls, and Alex found herself rubbing the sore muscles of her arms and shoulders more than usual. She was broad for a girl, having forged and fought with weapons for as long as she could think, but tiredlessly hammering metal into shape takes a toll on even the strongest of bodies. The other girls in the village used to make fun of her size, because not only was her body strong and not at all womanly, she had chopped off her hair years ago, after she tired of persistently having to push it out of her eyes.

At first the little girls' comments bothered her. She would hear them snicker behind her back, and would cry to her mother and ask what was wrong with her. But as she grew older, and her arms grew thicker, the little girls' whispers grew hushed, until they one day, they ceased. "Wise choice", Alexandra thought to herself, remembering the day she realized the taunting had finally stopped "it would be no more effort to break their little bodies in half, than it would be to break my mothers' bread." (Which, for your information, is a task of mediocre hardness. Bread was not as soft then as it is today.)

"Alex" her father's voice boomed from inside the house, ripping her from her thoughts "have you prepared the wagon? We must leave now if we wish to sell our tools." An enormous man enters the pathway infront of their lovely two story house. It was still dark out as the girl was lifting tools of all sizes and shapes onto a wooden wagon, and securing them with long, leather straps.

Many people in this time were poor, too poor even to feed their families. But this family was lucky. Every farmer needed tools, and nails, and arrow heads and harnessess. And Howard was a good man. A man who understood his profession and treated people fairly, and so he made many a customer, even from outside their small village.

In return for his work people would of course pay, with money, or, if this was not possible, with whatever they had left of their harvest. And with the help of his children, three of which had already moved on to their own lives and married wonderful women, he had built the house and smithery in which his family now lived. Their lives were hard but better than most, and he would always make sure to remind Alexandra and her siblings that what they had should never be taken for granted.

"I am securing the load father, and Max should be about ready with the horses. We will be able to leave in a moments time." The brown eyed girl grins at her giant of a father. One could clearly see the resemblence between the two; because although her arms were by not as thick as his and her hair not as dark, there was a strength and confidence to their movements not many people possessed, and the very same joyous glimmer in their eyes.

"Very well. Helen, my love, we shall see you once we return." Howard embraced his wife for a short while and gazed at her lovingly. Alex always envied the love her parents had for eachother, even after five children and many years of marriage. Once they'd parted, he walked to the wagon and veryfied the tools and horses were sufficiently secured as both chidren gave their mother a kiss in farewell.

If all went well, the family would arrive in the town centre of North Casand by mid morning, and with even more luck, they would have sold most of their items by night break. With hopeful hearts, and the packed lunches Helen had prepared last night resting comfortably by their sides, the group of three set off.

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Hello there, Thank you for giving this book a shot!

If you have any tips on how to improve my writing, or see anything that you feel should be edited/ added/ taken out, please comment or pm me, I would love to hear what you think!
Please let me know if you'd want me to continue writing this story.

Any guesses on where this story is heading? :D

Love,

Lou