The Amber-eyed Horseman

‘There weren’t always dragons in the valley’, Alby scoffed, whilst eating a dry & flaky bread roll.

I pondered on the statement, ‘dragons?’, I asked. My heart rate, slightly elevated, fluttered on the thought.

‘WAG-ONS!’ He corrected her, hastily.

‘Maybe if you stopped stuffing your face full of that ghastly dried mush, I might be able to hear you speak!’ I paused briefly to centre myself.

‘Wagons? The carts we use to shift the hay?’ I asked.

Alby nodded, while taking one last, very large, bite.

‘Aye Ida - but you only hear what you want ta…’

‘Dragons…’ He muttered incredulously.

‘I see you’ve been talking ta that one-eyed, crooked toothed Freya. When will you learn! Everything that comes out of that witch's mouth is a load of cow’s shite. If you weren't my sister, I’d give you a punt up the arse’. He added.

‘The WAGONs…’ he said in a loud and sarcastic tone, ‘were only used in the North…’

Alby’s undefined chatter drowned slowly in my thoughts, like I was falling asleep. He was soaking up my last sip of energy and my thought’s were clearly elsewhere. We'd been slumped in a damp hill, on the edge of the village for hours, waiting for Father to return. He’d been in the north collecting signatures for the valley vote this coming Saturday and the trip took longer than expected. We knew the horses would be slower, it is the middle of the Scottish winter after all, though the cold doesn’t bother me much.

‘Ida!?’

Albert’s husky, breathy tone slapped me across the ears like a fog horn.

‘Where is your head?!..

‘Aye, let us go, we've wasted enough time waiting here, gather ye things.’ He added.

My brother Albert had a tongue as sharp as a knight’s sword, but sometimes his stare spoke on his behalf. He looked at me with deep frustration, scoffed and stood up from the spot we’d been glued to for hours. We argue at the best of times and often don’t see eye to eye. He’s the eldest, father’s favourite, “his heir” and certainly the most obnoxious of the three of us. Him and father are like two peas in a pod. Our little sister, Elsie, is still a wee girl but I secretly hope she grows up to be like Mother and I.

We wandered away from our spot as the sun started to set. The deep warm rays glided over my face, I took a moment to relish in it. Most days we can’t see the sun at all, the thick low cloud covers the valley like smoke. The days are short in the winter, the sun starts to drop mid-afternoon, and quickly. We paced in silence back to the village, the only noise to be heard is the squelching of our boots in the muddy grass, made worse by the wagons going in and out of the town square. We live in the small village of Rawson, just outside the Mackintosh border and our supplies come in daily from the north.

We stopped near the tavern where we could see Mother & Elsie collecting signatures from the townsfolk. I guess the men were easier to sway once they’d had a jag. The more signatures Father had before the vote, the better chance he had of becoming Laird.

‘Mother… Elsie!’ Alby and I called out, in unison.

The roar of the townsmen rang loud over her response, so she waved us over.

She was talking to the Tavern owner, Alastair, who also worked as the server. He’s a close friend of ours - "like family", Father would say.

‘Busy afternoon, Ali’ Alby asked.

‘Too right’ he replied.

‘These hooligans are celebrating…’ he leaned in to whisper...

‘Apparently, an ally from the north who disappeared after the war, thought dead… has been found by ye Father. He’s bringing him here!’ His glossy eyes lit up.

‘It was like he reappeared out of nowhere’. He added with an upturned grin and a toothy giggle.

‘Who?’ Alby asked.

‘Aye, I can’t member his name, ye meet him soon enough.’ Alistair replied.

Alby and I looked at each other, puzzled. My mind was doing flips. Who is this man, and why are they so excited for his return?

A pint jug slammed heavily on the table behind us, which snapped me back to the present.

‘Now you two are here, would you mind taking Elsie home and putting supper on? I’ll stick around here to give Ali a hand - looks like he needs it." Mother asked, politely.

‘Of course’ I replied.

I took Elsie’s hand and we walked toward home. She’s too young to speak more than two words, so I pointed bees and moths to keep her smiling. We live not far from the tavern, a short stroll up the hill, on the outskirts of the town square. We were fortunate to have a home as comfortable as ours. We owned a large plot of land, "a home to the horses", Mother would say. When we were younger Alby and I even helped build the stables. The house is quaint and humble, with smoke forever pumping out of the chimney. Mother liked to always have the fire going. The house looked warm & inviting, but I had a different plan for the evening.

As soon as we arrived in the Kitchen. Alby took charge.

‘I will chop the onions and you can peel the potatoes - soup is on the menu.’ He began.

‘I think you’ll manage, there is only one good sharp knife after all.’ I snarled back.

‘I’ll head out back and see if there are any fresh herbs that the frost hasn’t killed yet’ I added.

‘Aye’ he said arrogantly.

I went to duck away quickly but before I had even made my way out of the kitchen. I heard Alby shouting.

'Yer going to visit Freya, aren't ye?’

‘No’… I said deceptively and kept walking. Sometimes I think Alby can read my mind.

Though, he was right, I was on my way to visit Freya. Before Alby could give me any more grief, I slipped out the back, through the passageway that led to the stables. As I tiptoed through the icy mud past the horses, I noticed father was just outside the front gate. Him & his henchmen must have just arrived home. I slowly slid back and hid behind one of the large wooden beams, peeking through a hole in a knot of wood.

‘Looks like he made it after all’. I said to myself, with a dubious whisper.

Father was gathering his belongings off the carriage, whilst talking to someone, whom I didn’t recognise. A tall bearded man with wispy brown locks down to his shoulders, his skin looked warm and butter-like, very unlike the pale men and women in the village. I felt butterflies in my stomach - he was very handsome indeed. Though, the way he was dressed was very peculiar. He wasn’t wearing anything warm like Father, he had merely a shirt and a pair of riding slacks on.

‘It’s the middle of winter, isn’t he freezing?’ I said to myself.

A little puzzled, I tried to get a closer look. I popped my head out slightly past the pole. The evening light flickered across his face & golden tones bounced off his warm amber eyes. All of a sudden his gaze pierced straight through me. I dipped and swung myself around. Did he see me? I poked my head around the side of the pole once again… both him and father were gone.

‘Odd’ was the only way to describe what I had just seen.

I crept out slowly, picked up a lantern from the stables and made my way out to the town square to visit Freya. She lived & worked in the valley apothecary. She made potions and elixirs to cure anything from gas to gilliworts. Though the townspeople seemed to trust Freya with their health, many of them still think she uses magic to cure their ailments. She’s known as the valley witch - I think she’s just misunderstood. I reached the front door of the apothecary, the door sign flickered in my firelight. "Freya’s Cupping, Teeth drawing & Remedies, EST 1789" it read. The window was full of large glass bottles, collecting dust, each brewing different coloured liquid. I squished my nose against the glass to see inside, I could just make out the back of Freya’s head. Her long, dark, braided hair falling down her back as she sat at the table. I tapped on the glass to get her attention, but all I could see was my reflection staring back at me. My frizzy curls tucked away under my hood. Can she not recognise me? I thought to myself. Then I remembered…

‘Knock 4 times...’

Freya’s voice floated elegantly in my mind.

‘Ahh, yes.’ I recalled aloud.

I lifted my hand, balled a fist and made sure my half gloves covered my knuckle so the knock was soft and muted.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

I heard the chair and the floor meet as Freya stood up. She came to the door quickly.

‘You’re late!’ She greeted me.

‘I’m sorry, Alby… he has me on a tight rope.’ I replied.

‘That boy… he needs to find himself a woman!’ Freya added.

I rolled my eyes and nodded.

‘Come in, I have just put a pot of tea on.’

Freya ushered me inside, she took one last peek down the street then flipped her sign to closed, dropped the blinds and locked the door. I would try to visit Freya every Thursday evening and she would tell me the forbidden stories of the valley. Mother was always looking after Elsie, Father was always busy and I couldn't stand Albert’s presence for longer than ten minutes - Freya was my only real friend.

‘How are the signatures coming along?’ Freya asked.

‘We’ve gone without a Laird for this long, makes me think, do we really need one?’ She added.

I some-what agree with her. I don’t want to be the family with all the attention, but it would give Father more purpose, in turn; gives Alby more purpose, which would keep him off my back.

I sipped back the soothing aromatic tea she handed me and shrugged my shoulders. She could clearly tell I wasn’t in the mood to talk about it.

‘Ye birthday is tomorrow…’ She swiftly changed the subject.

‘Yes, I'll be twenty-five, but with the valley vote the next day I feel overshadowed. I’m delighted you remembered.’ I said, dolefully.

Without warning, my ears started to tingle and the hair on my head stood on end. I remembered something Freya said, once I turn twenty-five she would finally tell me the story of the veil.

Freya looked at me with quiet anticipation.

‘The veil.’ I whispered.

‘Yes!’ Freya nodded, excitably.

I put my tea down, cupped my face in my hands, rested my elbows on the table and got comfortable.

Do ye remember the story of the Dragons I told you last week? She asked me.

I nodded in suspense.

‘Well, I left out a important part of the story...’ Freya began.

“It is said, there is a veil that divides our world with theirs. We can not see it, we can not feel it. Our world is sane, simple & discreet, while theirs is filled with magic, creatures & beasts. Our worlds are the same in sight, but we can not look through the other side. The dragons with eyes of amber, who once were men, change in the night”...

Freya paused.

CHAPTER TWO... coming soon.