Ketha's Daughter

Chapter one-2

“Oh, Papa, it is a most magnificent sword! Did you truly make it just for me?”

Jacq smiled happily and nodded — pleased he had shocked his daughter back into calling him by his title again. She held it before her and executed some rapid slashes. The perfectly balanced weapon performed just like a living extension of her arm.

Gwenn gave a whoop of sheer delight. “Come on, let’s go and practice, right now! You had better watch out. Now you have given me this, I think I might be able to vanquish you at last, my Papa.”

He handed her a matching scabbard and baldric, crafted with equally loving attention, and said, “First we must consecrate your new blade and give it a name. It might take you some time to think of the right one, and you should not use it until then. Today you should use your old sword.”

She shook her head decisively. “I already know what name I want. My sword shall be called keth’fell.”

“Keth’fell? Are you sure?” Jacq thought the name, which meant “death crow” in the old tongue, seemed a strange one for her to choose.

“I am sure. What do I have to do to consecrate my sword?” She waited impatiently as Jacq explained she must draw her own blood with the sword and smear it onto the blade.

“Then you must repeat the name of the sword three times and call upon the Goddess to protect you from harm. Will you do the bloodletting yourself, or do you want me to do it for you?”

Gwenn seemed unsure, so he took her hand in his huge rough one. “Ready?” he asked, and gave her a worried look.

She nodded confidently and said, “Do it, Papa.” He drew the edge of the blade across her palm, making a shallow cut that bled freely. Gwenn blinked once or twice but did not make a sound. Jacq looked on proudly as she dabbed the puddle of blood in her left hand with her fingertips and anointed the blade.

“Now say keth’fell three times and call on Lalluna,” he instructed her.

Gwenn did as he said, but instead of petitioning her mother’s Goddess, the peaceful Lalluna, for protection, she silently prayed to Keth Dirane. Ketha’s voice came to her in her mind, saying, “Of course I will always protect you Gwenn.”

Once they finished the ceremony, Gwenn followed Jacq out of the smithy into the bright spring sunshine. She chattered exuberantly about her new sword as they made their way across the parade field towards the special fighting apparatus Jacq had built for them. It consisted of many individual platforms on several levels, with connecting stairs, ramps, and swinging bridges. Jacq spent a few moments rearranging the platforms into an unfamiliar configuration as Gwenn happily did back flips, cartwheels and somersaults on the grass. Her bright blond hair flashed in the sun.

Jacq placed his own sword with the blade pointing diagonally towards the ground. Gwenn joined him on the platform and crossed his sword with her own. She felt a shiver of pure delight when she saw that keth’fell was the equal of her father’s mighty weapon, d’angwir. He locked eyes with her, grey into blue, and forgot he looked upon his daughter. Now she was only his opponent, and he focused completely on her. He held up his hand, and barked, “En garde!” Gwenn nodded and the fight began.

Their lessons almost always drew a crowd. Passing Guardsmen stopped to watch the Dinrhydan’s magnificent skill with d’angwir, as he fought off charge after tireless charge from Gwenn. Though Jacq had seen his fortieth birthday this year, he still moved with the easy grace of a dancer as he ran backwards up a flight of steps and then jumped down to the lower platform. Gwenn executed a front somersault and landed before him. She swung in a vicious arc and Jacq ducked quickly to avoid losing his head. He thrust forward and she did a one handed back flip, the landing perfectly balanced. The crowd before them cheered, but neither heard the cries. Only the flashing of swords and the movement of the opponent’s body occupied the fighter’s attention. Neither gave or asked the other for quarter.

The contest continued for thirty minutes, until Jacq’s face dripped with sweat and his breathing became ragged. Gwenn watched him carefully, waiting for the moment when he would tire and drop his guard for a split second. Never had she felt so invincible. Keth’fell made her into the warrior she had always dreamt she would be. Whirling sideways, she sent Jacq staggering with a swift kick, and watched triumphantly as he fell backwards. In a split second, she had hooked his wrist guard with the point of keth’fell and disarmed him. He gazed up at her in surprise. Her eyes hardened, and she touched the wickedly sharp tip of her sword to the hollow of his throat below the Adam’s apple. Seeing the pulse beating in his neck gave her a curious thrill of power. The crowd below her murmured in consternation. Jacq lay very still, resting on his elbows, and his heart hammered as he waited for Gwenn to release him.

“Why don’t you finish him?” Ketha hissed to her. “Now is your chance to prove you are mightier than the Dinrhydan.”

Gwenn backed away, shaking her head, and dropped her sword. She cried out, “No! Not him. I won’t do it.”

Jacq stared at his daughter. “Who are you talking to?” he asked her.

She hung her head in embarrassment. “No-one, Papa. I just got confused for a moment.” Gwenn held out her hand and helped him to rise.

He picked up keth’fell and handed it to her carefully, saying with a smile, “Well, I guess the time had to come, my daughter. You are the victor today, and I could not be more proud of you. Happy birthday, sweetheart.” He gathered her up into his arms for an embrace, and Gwenn put her head on his broad shoulder, and managed to wipe her eyes surreptitiously on his already soaked shirt. As a true shield maiden, she did not want to be seen crying like a little girl.

After a moment, she said, “If I am a warrior truly worthy of respect, it is because of you, my Papa. Thank you for keth’fell and all your patient lessons. I will never forget this day. I love you, Papa Bear.”

Jacq smiled and unashamedly wiped the tears from his own eyes. She had not called him that since she was a little girl. “I love you, too, Goldilocks.”

The crowd around the platform broke up now that the show had ended. Father and daughter walked back towards the Citadel tower, arm in arm, animatedly discussing the finer points of the battle.

Fourteen-year-old Tristan Dinrhydan Benet watched them approach from his bedroom window. As it always did at these moments, his mind festered with jealousy and rage. His father and Gwenn had something special that Tristan knew in his heart he could never share. He had practiced and practiced with his sword, but it was clear he would never be his sister’s equal in that department. Papa would always love her more. Turning away from the window in disgust, Tristan went to find his mother to tell her Gwenn had been fighting again. If he could get his sister into trouble, it might make him feel a little better.

Gwenn met him coming down the stairs. “Hello, little Shrimp. Where are you going with such a stormy face?” she taunted him.

“None of your business, Longshanks. Get out of my way.” Gwenn towered over Tristan, and could easily best him in any physical contest, from racing to wrestling. He took some comfort in the fact he excelled at school. But though his father pretended to take pride in this, Tristan could tell it did not impress him nearly as much as his sister’s dazzling swordsmanship.

Gwenn stepped aside saying, “Go on, Brat. Run to Mummy and tell her I have been practicing with Jacq.” She smirked at Tristan when she saw by his expression that her guess had hit the mark.

He gave her a black look, and then noticed the sword she wore strapped to her back with the baldric Jacq had made for her. “Holy Goddess! Where did that come from? Did you steal it?”

She gave him a haughty look. “Of course I did not steal keth’fell. Papa made her for me, as a present for my sixteenth birthday.” Gwenn produced the weapon with a ringing flourish and showed it off to her brother.

Though Tristan tried hard not to look impressed, his jealousy showed plainly on his face. He said, “Mother will not be pleased. You know she hates it when you and Father fight. The last time the surgeon had to stitch him up, she shouted at him for ages afterwards. Both of you are going to be in trouble now.”

Gwenn laughed in his face. “I don’t give a damn what she thinks. Soon, I will bring her to her knees and make her beg me for her very life. She will be the one in trouble, not me.”

He looked at his sister with wide, shocked eyes. “You should not talk that way! Our mother is the Queen, remember? Such threats are treason. It is my duty as a citizen of the realm to tell her what you said. They will send the Guard for you.”

“Tell her. I don’t care. No-one can catch me where I am going,” Gwenn said smugly.

“Are you leaving?” This unexpected news made him feel happier than he had for some time.

“Yes I am, and don’t go running to Mummy with that piece of news. If you do, I’ll cut your heart out and feed it to the cat for dinner.” She glared at her brother.

Tristan smiled cunningly at her. “Don’t worry, big sister, your secret is safe with me. Where are you going?”

“I am not telling you, little boy. But when I come back, you had better watch out. All of you.” She said nothing else, just brushed past him up the stairs. Tristan watched her go, and he could not hide his hopeful expression.

Gwenn went into her bedroom and lay down on the ornately worked metal canopy bed her stepfather had made for her long ago. “A bed fit for a princess,” he had laughingly said to her, on her eighth birthday.

Back then, she had been happy, for she had not known about her mother’s lies. Reaching under her pillow, she removed a pearl-handled dagger and studied it closely. It had once belonged to her real father, Tomas de Vigny. Gwenn had kept at her mother for ages until she gave her the knife, saying it was the only thing of Tomas’ she owned. Besides the hair, of course, but Katkin had refused to give her that. Tomas had been Jacq’s sworn enemy. Gwenn still did not understand how her mother could have done such a terrible thing to her beloved Papa, and she hated her for lying to them both.

Ketha’s voice rang in her head. “The sooner you leave here, the sooner you can make her pay.”

“He is supposed to be coming back here to St. Valery,” Gwenn said earnestly. “I want to see him before we depart. Jessamine told me he sent a letter.”

“We cannot wait forever. He is months late already. We need to go now so we can make our way north in good weather. Perhaps we will meet him on the way.”

“Do you think so? Could you find him, in all this wide Yrth?”

Ketha cackled. “Of course I can find him. Am I not a Goddess? But you must not tell him your real name or your destination. He might try to stop you, or come back here to warn the others.”

“But Ketha, I...”

“No! Heed me, or I will punish you. Do you understand?” Ketha’s voice was harsh, and Gwenn knew this was no idle threat. Her hand instinctively strayed to a long ragged scar on her upper thigh.

“Very well. I will do as you say.” Gwenn heaved a sigh and stood up.

“That is better. Now start packing. We leave tonight, after the moon sets.”

Gwenn moved slowly around her bedroom. Though she had been saying for months she could not wait for the day she could leave home, now the moment was at hand she felt curiously reluctant. She examined her collection of stuffed animals on the shelf, next to the books optimistically given to her by her mother that she had never even opened. There were prizes for tumbling pinned to the walls, and pictures she had painted as a child. Her first little sword, that Jacq had made her all those years ago, had pride of place over the mantle piece. She ran her fingers along the dulled edge regretfully. Her eyes filled with tears as she recalled his proud expression today after she had defeated him.

Ketha said, “What is this? I thought you were a shield maiden. You cannot afford to be sentimental. You want power, do you not? And freedom? Jacq has taught you everything he knows. He can be of no more use to us. Now we must move forward and find a race of warriors for you to command. That has always been your dream, has it not?”

Gwenn wiped her eyes and nodded. Ketha was right, as usual. She began stuffing some old clothes into a leather shoulder bag while looking with distaste at the beautiful dresses her mother had bought for her. She left them untouched on their hangers in the armoire, along with the dainty slippers and luxurious stockings. At least her mother would never force her to wear such things again. She pulled on her over-the-knee leather boots, and placed the dagger into the top of the right one. Suddenly, she remembered she could not slip away until it was dark, and that meant dressing for dinner. Gwenn felt sure another meeting with her stepfather would make her change her mind about leaving all together.

With a look of grim determination, she placed the scabbard and baldric belonging to keth’fell over her head, and shouldered her bag. After creeping along the deserted hallway, she went to her mother’s dressing room, reached into the back of her wardrobe, and pulled out a small wooden coffer. Deftly, she picked the lock with a hairpin and removed the keepsake that had once belonged to her real father. Underneath it, she saw a curious amulet. With a sly smile, she placed it around her neck. She snapped the chest shut again, placed it back in the wardrobe and went back to her own room. After hastily rolling up one of the woolen blankets from her bed, she tied it with some rarely used hair ribbons.

Although her room stood on the third floor of the Citadel tower, Gwenn often exited through the window to avoid whatever tedious duty her mother wanted to impose on her. She scanned the parade field below. The mess hall bell had just rung, and all the Guardsmen were inside having dinner. Gwenn stepped over the sill and found a good handhold on the ivy clinging to the brickwork. After one long last look at her bedroom, she swiftly climbed down the wall and left her old life behind.