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There were only a few places in Araluen that were said to better stay away from as far as possible. One was, for obvious reasons, the ruins of the once mighty Castle Gorlan. There were rumours which mentioned that the ruins were haunted by the angry spirits of the killed Kalkaras. Several people had mentioned that they had seen them, although there had been no official claim it was true.
Another was Grimsdell Forest, where anyone who dared to enter the woods were met with the gigantic dark knight lord, a servant of the evil wizard Malkallam. It wasn’t until the Ranger Will Treaty had gone there that the true nature of that story had been revealed. However, as promised, Will nor any of the Rangers would tell that.
The third place that was often dismissed was the forest named Western Woods, that covered the southern fiefs of Martinsyde as well as Weslon. It was dense and the trees grew fairly close to each other. Aside from a few paths that were close to the main road, there were no indications on how to get through it. One could easily get lost and it wouldn’t be the first time that someone had gone missing there, some of them to never return.
If that wasn’t enough to keep people away, then the locals would add that the forest was haunted by the ghost of a young woman who had lost her life when a greedy squire longed for her hand, betraying his master and the fiancé of the woman. On certain nights, strange and ominous sounds could be heard from the darkness of the forest.
Villagers, as simple as they were, believed each of those stories, exaggerating them with every generation. And when something unexplainable happened, they would say it was due to the whatever ghost or deity was living in the place. Which made that over time a few places were barely visited or inhabited. Sometimes groups of bandits would use that as a cover for their own plans – only to be dealt with by a Ranger who didn’t believe in any of the so called stories. Thinking logically, he often had figured out that a human being was behind some of the mysterious events in a place.
In the case of the Western Woods, it provided the perfect cover for a group of people. Not that they weren’t able to hide themselves, but the ghost story and the dense nature of the forest were enough to keep curious eyes away. And in the rare occasion that someone did enter the forest, they always had the feeling someone was watching them. It then wouldn’t take long for them to leave the forest in a hurry.
As dense and close knitted the trees were for most of the forest, so open it was at a few spots. One larger clearing was used as central area, with the other, smaller clearings functioning as training areas. Among Rangers, it was known to be the Gathering Grounds.
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The midday sun was casting already long shadows over the grass as it was slowly making her way behind the tree tops. The rays of sunlight that weren’t blocked by clouds passing by, shone in the face of one Ranger as he was sitting outside.
He was seated on a log in front of the big, white pavilion that acted as the Commandant’s tent. A breeze was playing with a few strands of hair that were hanging free in his face. His red hair, grown long over the years, had been braided in on the sides and upper part, leaving the lower part free. He always had to make sure it was tied up in some way during the yearly Gatherings since he participated in the activities.
Crowley took a sip of coffee, his eyes closed. A poor attempt to get rid of the tiredness that was already seeping into his brain.
That morning, he and a couple of Senior Rangers, had a meeting to discuss the programme of the Gathering. It started with Crowley telling them that there were three new apprentices joining them this year. Their mentors had chosen them after the previous Gathering had ended, which meant that no one had met them so far. The prospect of new recruits was met with curiosity as well as enthusiasm. The Ranger Corps didn’t have place for apprentices the same way the other Craftmasters had, meaning that only ever so often a handful, or in rare cases, two handful, of apprentices were present. It was more common to have huge gaps in between, like had been the case with Gilan and Will. It had taken seven years before a new apprentice had been taken to the Gathering, then cut short because of the threat of the Kalkaras.
Crowley sighed heavily, stretching his tired muscles after he had gotten up. The meeting had been paused to eat lunch and then continued until the afternoon. They had talked about the exercises the apprentices would have to do, as well as when each exam would take place and also which Rangers were scheduled to examinate the apprentices.
And while the Senior Rangers could leave in freedom once they were done, Crowley still had to do a couple of tasks before he could rest.
That was, hadn’t he taken his assistant with him.
The Ranger Commandant opened his eyes, took a deep breath and then turned around to his pavilion. The canvas front was rolled up, making room for a breeze to go through the pavilion. There had been a tiring scent hanging in the air the longer the meeting lasted. Only when the most important points were discussed, did Crowley roll up the canvas.
He now strolled to the field desk that was standing on the right side from the entrance. Behind it, a small figure was bent over it, eyes focused on the papers in front of them. A quill was in their left hand, a frown on their face as they wrote down the words that they had to.
“Melany, did you finish copying the paper?” Crowley asked when he saw that his assistant was ready and placed the quill in the inkwell.
If her hand hadn’t been hovering above the quill, Crowley was sure the quill would have ended up on the paper, taking the inkwell with it.
“Mallacht Dé ort!”
The words, spoken by a young girl, flew out of her mouth the same moment she saw the Ranger appearing on her left side. She hadn’t even noticed him, let alone when he entered the pavilion and headed her way.
She turned her head quickly, an angry glare on her face. Her eyebrows were furrowed together, her lips pursed and in her eyes a gleaming glow. She immediately regretted the movement, placing her left hand on her temple. A nasty pounding slowly spread through her head.
“Quite the language, if you ask me,” Crowley said as he moved some papers aside to lean against the desk. “Need a reminder of our previous conversation about it?”
It wasn’t even that long ago that he had told her to watch her tongue, especially when it came to cursing.
“No, sir, I won’t be in need of that at all, at all,” Melany answered through gritted teeth. Taking deep breaths, she slowly raised her head. Her right hand went to the pile of papers she had been writing for the past hour, ever since the meeting had ended.
“I’m only after writing it,” she said as she handed them to Crowley.
The man took them and quickly went over them. There were five copies, two for the third year apprentices and three for the new recruits. He himself had the original ones laying on his desk.
Crowley hummed softly.
“The space between the sentences could have been less,” he concluded. From the corner of his eye, he saw how she already prepared herself to protest. “I could have you redo them,” he warned her, then, as she picked up the subtle warning, continued in a mild tone. “But it’s readable like this as well. You can put them in the folders for the mentors.”
He handed them back to the girl and, while she wrote down the names of the apprentices and put the papers in the folders of the corresponding mentors, Crowley kept a close eye on her.
It wasn’t even a full day since the incident that had happened. After arriving the previous day, Crowley had been occupied with some task of his own. He had lost track of the girl, who then ended up in a situation he still didn’t know the full details of.
When she still hadn’t returned for dinner, Crowley started to get worried. Just as he was saddling Cropper to search for her, the girl was brought to him by Leander who had left before he could even ask anything.
“Sir?” the girl asked, apparently not for the first time. She was standing in front of him, her hands resting on the back of the chair.
Crowley shook his head, clearing his mind of the thoughts.
“No, that will be all. Take the folders with you and then follow me. Going by the smell and the rumour, I think it’s about time we start with the Gathering.”
Melany would have never guessed that Rangers could be so… normal. After she and Crowley had left the pavilion, the Ranger Commandant prepared the final things before he stepped on the little podium. In short, he welcomed everyone, taking a moment to address the new recruits and wishing them well. Once the more formal part was over, the men and boys waited for the moment he declared the Gathering for started. There was a feast meal, with different poultry, meat, fish, vegetables and even desserts, as Melany saw. It wasn’t as big as she had seen a few times at the castle, which had been for over five hundred guests. For just over fifty people, this was more than enough, she thought as she looked at her own plate. Crowley had given her a portion of food, making sure she got all the nutrition she needed.
She was sitting a few seats away from Crowley, at the end of the table. She had chosen the spot since it wasn’t angled in a way that would have her end up in a conversation. Although it was more that like this, no one could really see her. While the men and boys were enjoying the feast, she herself was more than aware that that calmness could easily, and quickly, be swapped for a serious behaviour.
As the evening continued, the feast was slowly coming to an end. The plates were switched for cups of coffee, each man eagerly waiting for his. Melany counted at least fifteen brewing pots standing near the fire.
At some point, a man stood up from another table and walked – no, slightly limped – until he was standing in the middle. All eyes were on him and the instrument he was holding in his hands. A few Rangers were friendly encouraging him to hurry up and entertain them with his songs, but the man took his time, stemming the snares of his gitarra before he plucked them gently.
Then, with one glance up to the sea of cloaks in front of him, he started a song. The Rangers quickly became silent, tapping their fingers along the song and raising their voices when the man sang the refrain.
Melany heard Crowley’s voice overcome the others when the man started singing the well known Old Joe Smoke. It was a song many people knew, but it had always been Crowley’s favourite.
The third song was mostly sung by the Rangers while the man guided them on his gitarra. It was a ballad about old times, made memories and forged friendships. It wasn’t surprising that only the older men sang it – the younger generations hadn’t grown up with it.
After the song ended, there was a little pause as a new round of coffee was prepared and handed out. Crowley took the moment to raise to his feet.
“I want to remind some among us about the lights-out rule that we have,” he said, looking in the direction of the apprentices. “It will be a long day tomorrow and the travel was long. I propose that you head to bed after the next song.” He stayed silent, his eyes going over the faces in front of him. “That also goes for you two, Berwyn and Merrick. See it as setting an example for the new ones.”
The two third year apprentices, as Melany recalled from the papers she had copied, groaned when they were caught. They had hoped that the lights-out rule wouldn’t apply to them anymore, but it turned out that it would be until the end of their apprenticeship.
As Crowley sat down, Melany expectantly looked at the man who had been singing so far. A bit to her surprise, she saw another man coming forward.
He was carrying an instrument, but she couldn’t see which one from the place she was seated. When he stood in the spot where the other man had stood, she saw that it was made of wood, oval formed with a U-shaped cut out part on the top. About ten strings were attached to it, with the thickest on the far left and the slimmest on the far right. The instrument itself fit in the man’s hand, but did have a decent size; about the height of his chest, measured from his waist up.
“Well then, friends,” the man said, his right hand gently plucking the strings. A higher, yet also soft tone echoed over the area. It had something melodic, Melany thought. She didn’t notice it at first, but she leant in to hear the man better.
“How about I tell you a story before going to sleep?
A ballad, one as good as counting the sheep?”
Here and there, a few men chuckled and grinned, seemingly knowing the man’s way of bringing ballads. Others let themselves be heard, chanting an excited ‘Yes!’.
“Your wish has been heard, a ballad I’ll play.
But which one is preferred, which you want to hear on this day?
There are a lot that I have in my repertoire, about heroism, love and war.
A long forgotten memoir, and so many more.
My friends, tell me, what it is you desire?”
The man looked around the crowd with his dark blue eyes, waiting for an answer. He kept playing the instrument, softly at first, then slowly louder. Until he got a reply.
“One that’s suited when sitting near a bonfire!”
The man’s face split open in a grin. He started to play the same tunes again, while swaying on the music he was making. He then played the chorus one time on the instrument, sending the tones out in the open. The sound was light, carried around by the breeze of the wind. The melody itself was also light as well as quick, although not like the songs they had heard before. It was one that was often used for ballads, to help tell the story in a rhythmic way, without making it boring.
“Then sit back and listen, as the story will unfold.
The changing of a person, a transition, free and uncontrolled.
A person so pure and fair, her entire life she lived near the sea.
Bright and curly was her hair, she cared about nothing and was free.
She wasn’t a human like me and you, nor a goddess if that’s what you thought.
She belonged to the sea’s water blue, a promise that she once forgot.
Because see, she had a gift, one given by her mother long ago.
During a moonless night she could shapeshift, taking off her skin in one go.
There was a high price for her naivety, as she left her skin behind between the rocks.
A fisherman took it shamelessly, as he was making his way from the docks.
Understanding the worth of the pelt in his hands, he waited for her to return.
He tied her to him by a set of wedding bands, although her resistance was stern.
Years passed by, their family had grown.
She had kept her spirits high, but she hadn’t let him known.
Far away from her home, from the place she belonged.
Each moonless night the beach she did roam, looking at the ocean beyond.
A voice in the distance, high above the waves.
Called to keep persistence, led her to the caves.
For years he had visited the humans at night, searching for his mate.
Finally, under the blue moonlight, they did no longer have to wait.
When the first rays of the sun appeared in the sky, the woman was already awake.
She asked her children for help that they couldn’t deny, never realising it would be a mistake.
Afraid that his wife would leave their family, he had hidden the pelt of the seal.
The children’s help turned into a tragedy, when their mother opened the box of steel.
Not wanting to wait any longer, she left the prison she had been in.
Freed from her life as the wife of the fishmonger, she couldn’t help but grin.
Children, born out of his greed, was all that the fisherman had left.
The love between the Selkies had succeed, a triumph, the punishment for the man’s theft.
The Ranger’s ballad slowed down in pace as it neared the end. His voice trailed off, leaving the notes hanging in the air. His hand still played the lyre harp, until that too was silenced.
“The rule about lights-out also applies to you. Go on, off to bed with you.”
Once again, Melany could nearly keep her heart from leaping out of her chest. Crowley was standing behind her, a hand on her shoulder. He had a concerned look in his eyes, but dismissed it when the girl nodded and got up from her place.
Still taken by the ballad, Melany made her way to the Commandant’s pavilion. She had almost reached the tent when a voice called her back.
“I don’t think we’ve met before, did we?”
Turning around, she recognised the voice before the face. It was the Ranger who had sung the ballad.
“We haven’t, sir,” she replied, a bit unsure what would be appropriate to do.
The man smiled, reaching out a hand to her.
“The name’s Séan Ó’Flannagáin, Ranger of Weslon Fief.”
Melany clasped arms with him.
“Pleasure to meet you, Séan. My name’s Melany,” she replied.
Séan tilted his head, the smile still on his face.
“I have never met someone who pronounced my name right in one go. Well, aside from Halt of course. Is it just luck or do we have the pleasure of another Hibernian in our midst?”
It was difficult to hide the warm glow that she was feeling inside her chest. It wasn’t often that people were positive to her background and where her family came from.
“The latter,” she said, now smiling as well. “Although I’ve lived in Castle Araluen for most of me life.”
Séan nodded as he listened to her.
“Tis a bleedin’ gorgeous place, in’t it? Fierce different from the castles in Hibernia, I’m tellin’ ya.”
It was almost the tenth hour when Crowley went to his pavilion. He had spent the last two hours to catch up with some friends, as well as talk with Gilan and Will who had been worried about their former mentor. After giving them the minimal information they would need, they had retreated to their tents to get some sleep.
A yawn escaped his mouth as he thought about it. It had been a long day, for him as well. Although he tried to do some fieldwork, he was mostly working in his office at the castle. It was days like these that made him long to the time where he was the Ranger of Hogarth, or when he was still an apprentice in Mollegor Fief, where Pritchard lived.
Once he reached his pavilion, he quietly moved the canvas aside, then tied it close when he was on the other side. A lantern was burning on his desk; the flame was big enough to see where he was walking, yet small enough to not wake anyone else.
Crowley took it with him as he walked to the place where he and Melany slept. Their sleep space was separated from the rest of the pavilion by a canvas. He moved it aside, peeking inside.
Melany was fast asleep, her breathing deep and peaceful. It was a sign that she felt safe enough, which reassured Crowley. He had been worried she wouldn’t be able to sleep after what happened the day before.
Crowley quickly changed his uniform for his night clothes. Just as he was to blow out the flame, the girl suddenly turned around in her bedroll to face him.
“What’s goin’ on?” she whispered, rubbing her eyes as she sat up.
Crowley moved the lantern, shielding it with his hand.
“Nothing, you can go back to sleep,” he said, beckoning her to lay down again.
The girl nodded once, then curled up underneath the blanket. Her eyes were already closed when she spoke.
“Talked with Séan befo’e bed, ‘bout ‘he ballad. Told him he sang ‘t well.” The words were audible, although mashed together. Her accent, more present when sleepy, made it more difficult to understand her.
He couldn’t help but smile when she told him that. Perhaps, he thought, not all Rangers were against her being present at the Gathering.
“Who knows, maybe the two of you will become friends?” he said while getting under the blankets himself. He waited for a reply, but there was none. As he looked up to see why, he saw that the girl had already fallen asleep again.