The flames chewed at the wood, hungry in the evil way which gluttony always shows itself to be. Such was the force of its hunger that there could be no stone, no sliver of bark and no corner no matter how remote it was left unturned. The brightness of those flames could have blotted out the suns, Kenna thought with horrid fascination. Kenna stared in utter revulsion, unable to believe that something so horrible, so evil, so gluttonous could possibly have stemmed from man's own hands, her own plight momentarily forgotten. The brightness was a marked contrast to the darkness of twilight and of the darkened wood of Fufluns' holy shrine.
It was as she gaped up struck dumb with shock that Kenna, felt the sudden desire to run shrieking from there, to tear away the straps of her pack, and to run shrieking for someone to come save them all. Such was the wickedness of the midsdeed committed by Badrách upon his subjects. It had once been said by Corin, and it was a sentiment echoed by Waltigon once upon a time; 'that the man who strikes down his own subjects without just cause, is no longer a laird but a devil.'
Heart trembling with this fact, Kenna shook and could hardly force her legs to move. They were unlikely to ever obey her again, she thought morosely unable to believe what was happening though, there could be no denial of reality even were she to close her eyes.
It was then that the sounds of the screams of those trapped within the temple made its way to her ears and she felt herself moving without thought. Those dreadful screams for mercy, pleas to the good laird of the harvest and to the laird of Thernkirk pierced her soul as surely, as they did all those of her friends and neighbours.
Rounding upon Freygil who was but a short distance from her, she shouted at him as one possessed as he continued to gape himself up at the flames. His face likely resembled that of Kenna's own from moments before.
"Freygil! Your hatchet!" She shrieked at him, aware that every fisherman carried an axe for chopping down local trees, it was a possession that none of them could ever do without. No matter if they were to flee their homes as fugitives, if they wished for any chance to earn a living elsewhere, they would have need of such a tool, so as to fish out at sea again. "Give it to me!"
Freygil did not move at once, whereupon she struck him. This caused him to go from gasping in horror at the temple, to staring at her without recognition. A hint of pain and anger lay behind his eyes, not that Kenna cared much for his reaction to her blow. Repeating her demand, he threw his pack from his shoulders to the ground, drew from deep inside of it after fumbling for almost half a minute, and extended the haft to her.
The hatchet was still sheathed in leather straps, which Kenna wasted no time in the removal of. As she did so, Ida's voice was heard from just a little behind the fisherman, "Kenna what do you have in mind?"
"Run to the forest," Kenna ordered sharply, only to add in defiance before she charged back into the domicile, "I shan't leave those people to burn to death!"
"Wait, Kenna!"
Paying no further mind to her friend, as she traversed the kitchen stopping only once she stood before the door to the right of the kitchen, which barred the kitchen from the main temple hall. The door was taller than Kenna herself was, though this was no difficult accomplishment given how short she herself was. It had been locked and barred from the other side by the faithful followers of Elspet.
The axe that Freygil had lifted easily with one hand necessitated Kenna to heft it with both of her own, with the axe not the largest she had seen. It was however sharpened and better maintained than some of Badrách's own swords might have been.
The first blow tore but a small sliver from the door. The second blow caught the hatchet with Kenna forced to pull upon it with all her might, to at last tear it free. Continuing to hew the door at the same spot, until at last a single hole in the shape of a small vertical line near to the right hand side of the door took shape, Kenna reached out to the other side of the door to lift the bar of wood that had served to lock it. Ignoring the slivers she gained along her arm, this done she threw the door open and raced down the hallway that separated domicile and temple.
There was smoke there, worried over the thought of it being too late she hoped the fire had been contained in the right-hand corner of the temple and had only begun to spread to the main hall. There were several rooms in the right-most part where she had seen Badrách and his guards starting the fire.
The next door was made of the same alder-wood as the previous one, refusing to hesitate for a single second Kenna struck the door. Her blood was aflame, so that she hewed and when the axe was stuck, pulled at it until it was freed before hewing at the door once more.
Her heart in her throat, gagging as much on her own breath as some of the smoke that had begun to leak through the crack in the bottom of the door she found this time that when she opened up a vertical line in the door over the course of several minutes that the cacophony in the next room near overwhelmed her. The shrieks, pleas for mercy and prayers thundered throughout the whole of the temple with such passion that it could have wrenched tears from even the most hard-hearted.
"Unbar the door!" She sought to scream at them, only to choke and cough upon those words, as more smoke leapt at her. The flames begun by Badrách she could see had reached the very top of the main hall, seeing this when she paused briefly to cry out to her neighbours.
She repeated this cry once more, before she returned to her strikes against the door, with Freygil's axe. The blows rained down upon the door, though her arm had begun to ache by this time, her muscles screaming at the exertion.
Why did they refuse to listen? There were so many of them huddled around the altar and statue, having pulled away from the entrance of the hall, for fear of the flames. They had not long to live if the flames continued at the pace, at which they were devouring all before them.
Praying to Scota, and Ziu to shield them all and to guide her arms, Kenna struck with all she had one final time. As though in defiance of her wishes the hatchet caught itself upon the thick wood of the bar that locked the door from her side so that she could no more extract the axe than she could fly. Pulling on it with all her might, Kenna shrieked and cursed, coughed and prayed all over again, her efforts proved themselves to be futile though. The axe as she discovered was well and truly caught.
She could not believe her ill-fortune, or that of those inside of the main hall. A part of her heart shrivelled up at the thought that she might be made to watch those inside of the temple burn to death. The thought caused her to renew her efforts to pull the axe free, shrieking in a manner that might well have struck any who heard it as similar to the cry of a banshee.
It was as she worked, slashed and cursed that a cry arose within the principal hall itself. Though she was not to know it, at that moment her efforts were to make her something of a legend amongst those who were to escape, the temple thanks to her efforts. The legend began thence; with one of the children who had been near to the door reported what it was that she was in the midst of doing to his parents.
From there the reminder of the existence of the domicile was recalled, by those who were trapped within the temple hall. The moment of realisation struck each of those within, with the force of a club or falling stone upon one's head.
Once they realized this, those who were trapped inside of the hall threw themselves towards the door with such force that Kenna, who was unaware that they had become aware in turn of the door. So focused was she upon drawing away the trapped axe, from the alder-wood before her. No matter how much she pulled at it, she could not dislodge the sharp tool from where it had caught itself upon the wood.
"Out of the way," Someone shouted distracting her momentarily from her task, as she prepared herself for one final effort.
The first hint that the situation had changed, occurred when the men trapped within lifted up the bar. Or at least sought to do so, with the bar trapping itself partway up the door, due to the hatchet that had carved a vertical hole in this second door.
Stunned by this development, Kenna gaped as the bar lifted itself up part of the way up from the door. It was then with one of their numbers to hold it up that they pulled the door free, though it was no smooth gesture but rather required the pulling, tugging and straining of more than one pair of arms. Tearing away at it, they broke the bar with only the supreme-most effort with the snap of wood made a sound that was drowned out by the lapping flames that surrounded all.
Once the door was thrown open, Kenna gasped in surprise at the sight of those gathered, for they bore not the appearance of men. What had become of them was that they had transfigured themselves into beasts, near trampled her as she was thrown against the wall by those very people she had rescued, so hungry were they to escape the burning ruin.
In their fear they did not see her, nor did they pay heed to her presence. They cared only for their own survival, as she was thrust aside and crushed beneath the weight of their sides, arms and elbows the wind knocked out of her a half dozen times.
Just as her sides began to bruise, she pushed herself as best she could, her mind having long since felt as though it had been crushed by their feet Kenna was terrified when she was carried along by the crowd.
The crush of people dragged her as far as the domicile where she was thrown against the wall of the kitchen. Striking it and one of the chests that lay to the left of the other door, the table having long since been thrown against the wall near where she landed, Kenna felt a tongue of pain sear through her from her left shoulder.
Gasping from the pain, she was grateful that most did not run anywhere near where she lay stunned. Head spinning, Kenna watched as dozens of people hurried out thither through the door she had entered the building through, feeling as though the whole of her body had been beaten down and stomped by the lot of them.
"Kenna!" Someone cried, making her jump as Ida called out from some point outside.
The sound of her voice incentivised Kenna, filled her with the same desire to live that had filled those pouring outside. The crash of fire and wood past them all, along with screams from farther within the temple her head spinning all the more, Kenna her bruised shoulder pounding alongside her head almost crawled out of the kitchen.
Pushed, jostled and thrown out from before the doorway against the chest to the left of it, thrice she was pushed to regain her feet and seek out the doorway, and thrice was she pushed away. By the fourth time, she limped there feeling as though she might shatter into a thousand pieces, the mob of people pushing her along once more.
"Kenna this way," This time it was Freygil who spoke, pulling her to safety from where he stood to one side of the door having been assisting in directing those fleeing the temple to the cemetery. "Are you alright, Kenna?"
"I am," She whispered allowing him and Ida to guide her away.
The seamstress glanced behind her, to see if Badrách had taken notice of their escape from the temple, only to blink in surprise to find that his men were no longer by the doors. The question of where the laird and his men had gone remained a short-lived mystery. For it was in the next glance, just before Kenna was aided over the fence to the rear of the cemetery she took one last look in the direction of the village. The sight that greeted her, and that bade her farewell was that of the homes of the village smoking, with those within sight of the temple already aflame.
Our homes! She might well have moaned in despair, unable to believe that the only true home she had ever known was in the midst of being burnt down.
"Hurry Kenna," Salmon pressed her appearing a short distance from the other side of the fence, pulling her down from the top of the fence only to thrust her pack into her arms along with her walking-stick, "To the forest."
"But our homes! They are gone!"
"They were but sticks and thatch," Salmon growled dismissively pulling her along behind him, with Freygil but a short distance behind them.
The sight of the houses and temple in flames would remain forevermore with Kenna who the more she looked back the more she felt the sight carved into her soul.
*****
They spent the night in the woods they knew as the 'north-woods'. It was deep in that forest that they at last found solace, the surviving children weeping into the arms of their parents or those kinsmen who had survived who could provide comfort. The elderly wept no less than they, with the young passing along what little food they had throughout the eighty or so survivors of the village. With almost twenty villagers having perished in the flames, they had reason to take heart in how many survived. But hope and joy were in sparse supply in the small camp.
There were no guards posted, for none of them were warriors or had any thoughts about possible bandits within the woods, in place of this action they preferred to simply drift asleep. Only a small handful stayed awake through to the dawn, shaking from fright at the thought of those they had observed crushed to death by the fallen beams of the temple or burnt to death.
The next day they were confronted by the sorrows of life, ranging from the difficulty of finding food, and what they should do next.
The village council had never been a particularly regular group to assemble in the history of Glasvhail, due in no small part to the lax nature of the locality. In most cases the villagers had left one another alone, save for when they had need of the services of a fellow villager. Such as in the case when Kenna had need of mutton, she went to Ida, who in turn when desirous of a red dress visited her back in turn. The seamstress would in return, work to dye the dress in question which might be made from the wool sheared from one of Ida's sheep.
The area they had fallen asleep in, was to the west of the main-road which crossed through Thernhallow, was littered with fallen trees each of which were grey, red and green. There were a greater number of still healthy trees whose roots extended far beneath the soil beneath the feet of those who had fled into the forest. The alder, birch and cedar trees served as a buckler from the sight, of any wayfarers and were regarded with a mixture of gratitude and relief to find them looming high with their branches thrown protectively all about them. It was to their minds, as though the trees sought to hide the fugitives from the sight of all who traveled, past that part of the world.
Some of the trees had the thick trunks that came with centuries of age, likely some had seen the crossing of Achaius' armies as they journeyed south to meet the invading force of Gorthrax. One of the dark-magii officers of the Dark Elves, who had sought to establish dominion over the whole of Bretwealda, back during the age of the Second Wars of Darkness. Such had been the violence that a thousand sorrowful songs were sung of that age, all throughout the whole of the lands of North-Agenor and her attendant isles. These trees had in some cases seen those armies of Duibh march south, to war. Others had borne witness to when the Thistle-King Siomon had marched south on his first military campaign as High-King against Brittia.
Other trees were so young that they were almost thin as some of the villagers felt then, with the tree-branches gesticulating protectively with the warm spring breeze. Barely able to recall past the dawn of Mael-Martin II's coronation, so young were a great many of these trees.
Seated upon a green log, opposite Ida and Freygil, with Salmon, Mairead and Ainsley to either side of her, Kenna observed as they seated themselves upon either logs or tree stumps, as they began what could have passed for the village-council. In effect it was, she supposed with little good humour, annoyed with how bruised her body felt and how soon the twin-suns had arisen overhead.
"What is it you wished to speak of so early, Salmon?" Kenna asked of the man who had gathered them, a short distance from the encampment which had hardly begun to stir a short time ago. The old fisherman having shaken the majority of them awake (the seamstress included), in order to convene the meeting.
Seated on the ground itself, with his back against a nearby fallen log, the bearded old man stared from a point high overhead, for some time ere he turned his gaze to stare at those around him. "We must determine where we must go, and what to do with ourselves, for we shan't go back."
"But maybe, once Badrách leaves, we could return to the village to rebuild the buildings, I am sure that he has expended the great majority of his wroth," Ainsley proposed, desperate to cling to what she knew, this they could see in her every movement and blink of her eyes.
They all stared at her, doubt in the air alongside the warm wind that traveled through every corner of the forest, raising every small bush, passing through the tall grass and past every resting soul. The branches agitated all about them, as though seeking to take them all up and offer some sort of comfort to the weary souls present therewith them. Passing through their hair, against their skin and clothing, the wind served to remind each of those who composed the small village 'council' just how close they were, and how much they had need of one another. They were the sole hope Glasvhail had to survive, especially if Elspet was to attempt another mad plan such as that she had convinced the majority of the village to partake in.
Seeing the judgement, the harshness in each of their gazes Conn's wife pressed her hand to her eyes, thereupon the tree-stump she had taken for a seat, she shed a torrent of tears. Her grief not only for the loss of Conn, but the only home she had known for the majority of her life, made each of their hearts ache with sympathy.
"Stifle your tears, Ainsley we have nary the time for tears or weakness, not when all around us rely upon each one of us at this moment for courage and wisdom." Kenna scolded her friend sternly, her seemingly cruel words drawing a frown from some such as Ida and Freygil, wherefore Mairead nodded her head in reluctant approval. Seeing this show of approbation on their parts, she forced herself to repeat the suggestion she had made the night prior to Salmon. "I think we should seek out the King."
This idea was one that surprised the vast majority of those around her. From where he sat upon a log, Freygil gaped at her openly, his wife gasped seated atop the same fallen long-oak. Mairead for her own part grimaced a little, her arm around the shoulders of Ainsley who sought to wipe away the whole of the tears that had trod down the length of her face.
"What? Why?" Freygil asked when next he could speak his mind blank as the cloudless heavens above them.
"Because, he is the only one who could force MacDuibh to punish Badrách for his crimes against us," Salmon explained quietly, adding rather more confidently warming up to the subject as he spoke. "He alone can we trust to take us in, given how many of the other lairds near here I suspect possesses some sort of connection to Badrách."
"But that would necessitate us to seek out the King, and pay for a court-hearing, such things are not cheap," Ida reminded them all in a sceptical tone.
She was right, the price of a King's justice was one that few peasants could properly afford, and thus it was typically reserved only for those of the clerical or lordly castes. There were some merchants who have at times been able to afford such a luxury, but they were notably scarce in poor little Thernkirk. The principal local that had had the wealth to do so, was the wildly successful blacksmith Corin, who had churned out weapons of such quantity and quality that he was sought out throughout all the lands of the Caleds.
Another, who had become recently wealthy enough to afford the king's justice, was Kenna herself, though it might she suspected cost her all that she had left in the world. The silver thistle-pennies in her satchel were all she had left along with a few silk garments that could likely sell for another small fortune. The trouble lay in that, Badrách could likely stretch the court-case out for so long that they may never see justice done and during this time the peasant-fugitives might well starve.
Swallowing audibly, Kenna spoke out about one small sliver of hope, "I may have the answer to your concerns regarding how to pay for the High-King's justice." Reaching down into her small pack, which she opened up and rummaged through over the course of several minutes, searching for only to when she found it, pulling out her satchel full to the brim with silver-pennies that she shook so that it jingled as it also did every time she walked. "I have herein this satchel near to a hundred silver-thistles."
As one, they all gasped and stared with round eyes at the small fortune that she had gathered together during her sojourn in Sgain. The fact that her dresses and robes had sold so well, had not been a fact that many were aware of. This was not due to them being ignorant, but rather how secretive Kenna was by nature, regarding how well she did as an artisan.
This mistrust on her part had not been a trait her Master Eachann had possessed himself. Though a gruff man, he was however prone to immense acts of largesse and generosity when he was successful. This had won him the love, of all those who lived within Glasvhail so that when hard times came there was more than one person who came to share what extra they had of their farms or mutton or fish. This the village had done for gratitude to him for his generosity when famines, little coin and plague had struck others around hm.
Kenna in turn was a miser by nature, one who was generous, but had always counted her pennies to the last one and been prone to hiding every thistle for fear that she may one day be left with naught. The lesson of miserliness had struck her as it often did many people in the world, in her childhood by observing the poverty that had struck her father at times before he had abandoned her in Glasvhail. Barely able to feed them, both after peace had come to Caledonia, and after he had quarrelled with his employer in the north near the Norwend Marches in the Highlands, her father had counted every single coin that passed through his hands. With his spending every single one with a caution that made her own appear mindless in comparison; teaching her to be miserly he had slapped her whenever she had wasted a single piece of their small fortune.
He had had the habit of telling her, 'There is but a little coin in this world therefore each coin that passes through our hands, is crucial and ought to be defended with your life.'
"Brilliant! Why did you not say that you had met with such success in Sgain?" Ida asked of her, her face brightening at once, as did the rest of the faces around them.
Awed they all took immediate heart and nodded their heads, in agreement with the shepherdess. Kenna could feel her insides warm up with not only hope, but with pleasure at the joy she had brought them, a smile spreading to her own face.
This moment of enthusiasm on the parts of the council, was however stomped down by the mighty bear-skin boot of the Salmon. "Aye this is all well and good, but it is a long way from here to the city of Sgain. If this satchel of coins is supposed to be our war-chest against Badrách once we have reached the city, how are we to fund our journey there? We have near to a hundred people with us, and they all must eat."
"Why bring this up now, Salmon?" Ainsley demanded a little sourly, "We had hope for a moment, and you have already dashed it."
"If by hope you mean, a moment of denial of the present reality of our situation," Salmon rectified with a small snarl, his face reddening a little with anger. He sucked in a breath so that when he next spoke, it was in a slightly calmer tone, "Know that even if you forgot how desperate our situation the world will not."
Kenna felt her own head dip a little, saddened by his words though she knew that there was wisdom behind his words. Chewing on her lower lip, the seamstress wrestled with this fact for several minutes. "What do you suggest we do? How are we to pay for the journey north?"
"I do not know," Salmon replied earnestly deflating with a long sigh that aged him by several decades it seemed to her gaze.
It was Freygil who in the past had made one foolish suggestion after another, in prior days, came to the rescue. "We have a great deal of personal items, we have herds that we have left behind and can return to Glasvhail to reclaim and bring with us. Between the mutton, the wool we shear and sell, along with the coin gained by selling said personal items could pay the way from here to Sgain."
This was how they came to the decision to send a group of men back to Glasvhail, to reclaim their herds who had been left behind and scattered about the ruins of the village.
*****
It was a decision that proved popular amongst the villagers only once Freygil had accomplished the deed itself. Not that it was carried out at once, with nary any doubt or naysayers speaking out against him. A number of men volunteered to return only after they had been assured that Badrách must have already returned to the castle. The herds had to their shock, as they later reported to those who remained in the forest were found to still be in the fenced fields of the village. Half of which had been burnt down, with some homes such as those of Salmon and Kenna the principal targets of the local laird. This demonstrated that wealth was not his goal, with the razing of the village having been performed in the view of Freygil rather clumsily.
The sheep were escorted back, with a few of the local dogs who slept in the fields with them, used to guide the herds along on the road with the villagers unaware of the intentions of the council only then informed of their intention to head north.
It was Freygil who once more announced for all of them, from where he stood on the road as the rest of the villagers sat or stood by the side of the road. "We intend to head north, to find safety therein Sgain!"
"Why Sgain?" Shouted Elspet, the widow bewildered by the decision to leave for the coronation-city of Caledonia.
"It is there that we shall find succour with the King, who is the only one who may bring Badrách to justice," Kenna shouted back at her climbing up the small ravine to stand by the side of Freygil with Ida just a little ahead of her.
"But with who's coin?" This question came from another fisherman, Drogo a young man approximately Indulf's age.
"Mine," Kenna volunteered to the amazement of all present, "I have the resources from my time in Sgain, therefore if you wish to live and see Badrách laid low you may travel with us."
Not a single soul spoke out against them now. Swept up by the anger that their losses within the temple and at the attempt to burn them all to death, there was not a soul present, not even amongst the children who did not wish to see Badrách punished.
Muttering amongst themselves, about the sort of fate they hoped to inflict upon their brute of a laird. Some even proposed attempting to break into the castle-keep of Thernkirk to bring the man to justice themselves. The trouble, lay in that they had neither the arms nor the means by which to accomplish this incredible feat, as Ida was swift to remind them.
Anger bubbling amongst them, they soon decreed amongst themselves that they should continue along the northern road, and avoid the village of Thernhallow in its entirety.
There were some, such as Elspet who feared that Badrách might trail after them that very day, but it was Kenna who informed them rather helpfully. "Even Badrách necessitates sleep therefore I highly doubt he or his men shall trail after us immediately if at all. This is why we must hurry whither from here, with all due haste."
*****
The journey northwards was easy to speak of, but far less so to accomplish. The fact that it was on foot more than a week and a half if one pressed forward as swiftly as possible, was to darken the mood of only one or two individuals. Their mood was soured all the more, by the added knowledge that that was for one individual to travel. Groups traveled much slower than singular individuals tended to.
It was for this reason that the villagers, wholly unprepared for the world and with considerable uncertainty abandoned the north-woods, with its dense logs, forests and thickening branches and leaves in favour of the open road. This they followed for but a few hours, the long fields that stretched out to the village of Thernhallow to the east of them, while to the west lay more woods. This route took some bullying on the part of Kenna and the rest of the council, to persuade the fugitives to take this risk.
The risk they knew lay in the exposure of the wide fields and narrow Thistle-Road with the large string of eighty or so individuals trailing after Ainsley, who along with Freygil were fast becoming the council's representatives to the people.
The safety of the trees, of the looming birches that seemed to call out to them, the cedars who had offered such shelter that they was almost home to them. The beauty of the ash and oak-trees which loomed high as high castle walls, serving as a bulwark against the sorrows of the world or so it appeared to the fleeing people of Glasvhail. The fields they discovered around them were to the west covered mostly by wheat. These fields stretched out for whole leagues, with most of the western fields managed by a dozen farmers who owed their fields in their entirety to Badrách, who was their landlord. The fields were almost entirely yellow, with the suns bouncing off of them magnificently. To the east lay the green fields that were more often fed to the sheep, with these fields high and covered by sheep, cows and ponies that chewed, devoured and otherwise chomped upon as much of the grass that divided the first half of the north woods and the second half from one another. Past the fields of cattle, of tall grass lay the village of Glavhail which had more sheep and more fishermen, akin to those who had lived in Thernhallow. The village also had a number of artisans, far more than those who lived in Glasvhail. The village of Thernhallow had what was also a considerably larger population than the village of Glasvhail, so that it was almost double or triple its size.
Little went wrong as they traveled so early in the morn' that they attracted little attention, from those in the fields. Too preoccupied by their wn sheep and other cattle, with their heads bowed in concentration upon the wheat or dragging their cattle from one corner to another of the fields. It was only towards the end of the second hour as they passed along the road that the fugitives were sighted. This Kenna knew, by the manner in which several of the shepherds in the fields to the east of the road, stopped to call out to one another and to point at the passing caravan of people.
Paying little heed to them, the majority of the travelers hurried along to the forest with Kenna, maintaining one eye upon the local folk and the other upon the forest ahead of them all.
As he passed by her, Mairead remarked with a glance east of her own, "It appears that we have been sighted."
"Aye."
"Do you think that they will go to warn, the laird?" the daughter of the Salmon asked worriedly, scratching at the back of her left hand in what was then a nervous gesture.
Humming a little, Kenna shrugged her shoulders helplessly, answering honestly as she did so, "I do not know. We can only hope that no one else with us notices their cries."
"Why is that?" Mairead queried confused.
"Because, the last thing we truly need is Elspet whipping people up into another frenzy, only to convince them to join her in her newest folly."
*****
The northern section of the north-woods they reached lacked a proper name. It was called the north-woods simply for lack of a better term by those who lived to the south of them. To those who lived farther north, it was at times dubbed the 'south-woods'. This fact was known to Kenna, only by virtue of what her father had taught her over the course of the brief time she was with him. The trees herein the forest, were of a slightly smaller stature to those farther south it seemed to her mind. Notably in comparison to the great oaks, ash and alders that populated the Dyrkwoods. These trees were thinner, shorter with a few appearing to be hardly any older than the Salmon himself, with less than a few hundred seeming to her eyes to be older than the wars of the great paragon High-King Causantín II.
This was not to say that the forest lacked for life in any way, to the contrary; they were leagues long and wide in diameter. With hundreds of brigands said to have made their living in this place, during the reign of Donnchad the Foul. What was more was that there more than ten times that number of rodents, boars, wolves and bears who populated the forests. Weasels traversed from one tree to the next or from one bush to another chased in some cases by foxes or otherwise hunting after squirrels and rats. Hares raced away at the sight of the fugitives, in some cases running blindly towards awaiting foxes, wolves, coyotes and in some cases wild dogs or lynxes.
In all, it was a large forest that served almost to cut MacDuibh's lands from those to the north of them. In reality it was a branch of the river Thern that cut the Mormaer's lands from those of the monarchy.
The Thistle-Road cut through the forest, and connected a portion of MacDuibh's lands to those of the High-Kings, with the roads north and south of the river connected thanks to the great stone bridge of Achaius. The Achaian bridge was constructed by the great Pech-King who was an ancestor of the current monarch, by virtue of his mother Doada, who was herself daughter to Mael-Martin II.
The thought of this forest that Corin and her had passed through on their journey to and from Sgain, was one that she did not feel near as nervous about, as she was in regards the thought of what was south of the forest. Badrách could still lurch into action after them, at any given moment she mused, with a slight shiver of mortal terror. There were also the lands of Nordleia that lay to the north of the north-woods. The laird there was one of the border lairds between MacDuibh and the monarch, from an ancient family who had provided a number of stewards for the sons' of Achaius.
It was as she walked at the head of the fugitives, staring at one tree after another that her mind drifted for a time, to the question of what to do in the event of Badrách giving chase after them. This in turn made her think back, on what her father used to tell her about war, the geography of Caledonia and his experiences.
A forty-year old man by the time he had abandoned her, he had travelled all throughout the Lairdly-Isle. Born in the Highlands, the son of a former servant of the house of Noroak turned brigand, he had after a quarrel with his own father been cast out from the circle of bandits the man had united against the house of Noroak. After this, Kenna's father had to her knowledge taken to traveling all throughout the isle in search of work as a mercenary. This he did for more than two decades, ere he met her mother and fell in love at first sight with her. The question of who she was, what her rank was, was a mystery to her daughter. So little did the mercenary speak of the woman he loved that Kenna had long since resigned herself bitterly to the knowledge that she had near to no past.
All she knew was that her mother had loved to sing. She had shared that quality in common with Daegan, and had taught her daughter a handful of songs before she died when Kenna's was hardly older than three years of age.
It was almost half a decade before she was abandoned by her father, who had kept her with him throughout his military campaigns on the northern Marches as long as he could. The reason he claimed for having abandoned her in Glasvhail, was something of a mystery to her.
Quite why the memory of him had begun to pick away at her was a mystery especially when she had not thought of him in nigh on thirty years. It had to be the flight from Glasvhail, which reminded her of when she was five years of age, and fleeing from the burning village of Aon-Adhbeinn. Raiders from Norwend had crossed the Wend river, with her father having broken rank to come to her rescue and to carry her away from the village which had been in the middle of being sacked.
Kenna could still taste the desperation and fear that had gripped her that night, as the all-consuming flames devoured all within sight, as they later did Glasvhail's temple.
A shudder ran through her as she walked through the forest, she prayed that they might reach Nordleia soon. Though it was only a few hours since they had entered the forest, and she knew there still remained almost a whole day of walking involved before they reached it, a part of her felt impatient then. She also felt rather more anxious than she might previously have been, the fact that they had traveled past some of the more faithful tenants of Badrách.
"Kenna?" The voice of Helga shook her from her thoughts and memories.
"Yes, lass?" Kenna asked jumping a little, surprised to see Ainsley's third daughter by her side near the head of the group of fugitives rather than with the other children. Most of whom, were closer to the middle, of their band of travelers. "Is there something that the children might otherwise have had need of?"
"No, there was naught that they had need of, I only wished to speak to you regarding our destination," Helga said with a hint of doubt in her voice.
"What about it, has you curious?"
"Would it not have been wiser to circle about further west, rather than cross directly through the fields where most of the farmers could see us? What is to stop Badrách from following us?" She inquired with a cautious glance over her shoulder, doubtful of the wisdom of the decision taken by those who had command of the village for the moment.
Her caution and pragmatism, was something that at that moment amazed and impressed Kenna, who felt a spark of fondness for the lass come to life within her. It was the sort of doubt that she herself might otherwise have expressed and if she was honest, had brooded over the past hours about. It was also the kind of sentiment she never imagined, simple and naïve Cormac might have been capable of.
"We are completely and entirely certain that he will not send his men after us quite so soon." Kenna answered confidently, "He will need time to gather his warriors and by then we will be safe and in the laird Áed's lands."
The laird in question was a man renowned for his participation in dozens of battles, fought in the name of Mael-Martin II. Known as the 'Hatchet' for his strong-axe arm, and willingness to comport himself brutally against those he considered his master's enemies. It was unlikely that Badrách might intrude upon the lands of such a formidable man, one who had fought alongside his father several decades prior.
"This laird… is he formidable?" Helga asked likely still worried about the possibility of Badrách sending his men in pursuit of them.
"Aye, very much so," Kenna answered at once.
She was startled though when it was not Helga who piped up to ask more of her, but rather another of the young people, the daughter of Bungo the fisherman. Coming upon them as they walked past a series of birch trees to either sides of the marble-covered road, she asked of the seamstress, "Is this laird Áed young and magnificent?"
The romantic question was overshadowed by an admiration in her eyes, this particular lass was a blonde haired youth with brown eyes and a slight figure. At fourteen she was Helga's junior by two almost three years, and was dressed in a grey linen dress that Kenna knew at once to be her own needlework. It was solid though, no longer up to the quality of work that she liked to work.
The question made her snort derisively, "But of course not, he is old and violent. It is said he has only grown worse, since the death a decade ago of his youngest, favourite son Fingall."
"Who told you this?" This time it was another of the fishermen who asked this question. His name was Greig, and he was a brown haired man, with dark eyes and a friendly air about him though he had chosen to follow Elspet, the day prior. Dressed in green, he blended well with their surroundings and sported a short beard, looking to her from over his shoulder for he walked ahead of her, with an air of hero-worship and gratitude.
"Corin, when we travelled through these lands," Kenna answered avoiding their gazes, uncomfortable with the admiration in their eyes and with the memory of her own desire to stop in the nearby region of Nordleia. She had wished to exchange en route for Sgain, some of her dresses for some coin and food, with Corin unwilling to stop there. He had never stopped there since a decade ago, because of the madness that was said to have gripped Áed the 'Hatchet', after the loss of Fingall. "Áed is said to have buried his son a decade ago, when the youth had volunteered to aid Mael Bethad our current King, reclaim his traditional lands of Noroak far to the north. I am not certain how far the man made it on the quest, only that he perished before its conclusion."
It was a fate she prayed she would not share in common with Áed. The notion of burying her son, Cormac was one that she would sooner perish than suffer through. With that said, she would see Badrách punished for his crimes ere Cormac has returned, with his friends.
"You know so very much," Helga commented with the same admiration, as before back in the village of Glasvhail.
"I have one mouth, and two ears and oftentimes I prefer to use the latter," She replied with a shrug wishing those that had begun to crowd her might go away and leave her be.
Contrary to how much she hinted at them to leave her be, they refused to listen to her. It was the youngest of the three who spoke up next, "Lady Kenna-"
"Kenna," She rectified at once, disliking the title at once, for she was no lady but a seamstress with no true rank to speak of, things may have been different had she achieved her dream of becoming the Queen's seamstress, but alas… Do stop being so maudlin lass! Kenna hissed at herself. Hating herself for feeling such self-pity, especially when there were some all around her who had better reason to feel sorry for themselves.
"Thank you for saving me," The young lass said shyly, with her pale cheeks turning bright red.
For once Kenna had no sharp words to utter, she lost her stern disposition and simply gaped at the lass for some time. Staring from her, to Greig to Helga to many others, all around her it was suddenly dawned upon her just how much they admired her.
Having never before been hero-worshipped save by Olith and later Daegan and Indulf, it was an uncomfortable, shocking sentiment for her to feel. Always, she had been the 'spinster' after Murchadh had been lost at sea, always too stern, too miserly and too strict to truly be admired.
She was appreciated for her contributions and tolerance of certain irresponsible youths. But she was not truly admired or loved, she realized with a start. At least not until that very moment, with the admiration and reverence she was suddenly held in the sort of thing that might have made Daegan's chest puff up, but not her 'aunty'.
"Ah, well, it was nothing," Kenna stuttered gruffly, turning her head away to hide her own scarlet cheeks.