I'd never defiled myself with a girl. I still hadn't—lines were not crossed.

"You Caleb?"

I ended my prayer and turned to the visitor. It was a man of state. He stood beneath the wooden door frame dressed in mail armor with a red sash over one shoulder bearing the gold-woven lettering that identified him as a servant of the Count. He stood, holding out a small, folded piece of paper.

“I am he.”

“You’re called to arms. Take your sword, your bow, and set out for Carthia at once."

I took the paper and opened it. "I have neither sword nor bow, and where is Carthia?"

The man took a deep breath and groaned. "I’m the messenger."

With that, he turned and clomped his heavy boots across the wood floor of the church on his way out. Then, as quick as he could pass, a face peeked out from the last doorway. She darted out and flitted over to me; her simple white robe bounced spritely as she came. "What was that about?"

"I've been called to arms."

"No!" Sarina's black eyes locked onto mine and her face sank. "You mustn't!"

"I have a duty…"

"No! You can't go! We… we’ll run away together…"

The thought of it made me smile, to run away with Sarina, dance together on a rainbow bridge across the sky, sleep atop a castle suite overlooking the sea where the sound of rumbling waves massage your ears into a dreamy sleep. Together we would dine on the finest riches, drink wine together on the rooftop, and live out our lives away from it all.

She threw her arms about me, I rested my chin atop her head, and so we embraced. I turned my head to take in the tiny curls of her hair in my cheek as she pulled me in close to her body and squeezed.

We stayed there a good while until the old friar came out shuffling along on his cane.

"Ahh," his voice creaked as if it were one with the floor. "Sarina, is the dough being proofed for this evening?"

She pulled away from me. "Not yet, Father."

"The poor come for alms. Will there be no bread to give them?"

"I'm sorry, Father. Caleb has been called to arms."

He stared at me a moment and nodded his withered chin slowly before speaking again. "I knew this day would come."

"He can't go!" Sarina protested.

The old man took her hand in his. "I know, child, but Caleb is a grown man now. T'is a sacred duty. He must serve…"

"NO!!!" She threw his hand aside and stormed off, away from the kitchen and out of the church entirely.

"Sarina!" I tried calling after her.

"Let her be; she needs time with this." He shook his head with a smile and added, "that girl adores you.”

I tried to laugh that off. “We’re just friends.”

The old man raised one eyebrow high above the other and stared at me a moment before shaking his head. “Come. I have something for you.”

The old friar’s private study was a world cast in yellow through amber windows set in a hashed frame. Rows and rows of books and curiosities filled the shelves opposite his desk, a simple wooden plank set atop four legs that wobbled in one corner no matter how much paper you tried to set under them. Beneath that, Father hammered at a loose floorboard until it gave, and he lifted it up. From there, he reached down into the darkness to pull out a long mass of gray, withered cloth beset with faded red ribbon spiraled about the length of it, and at one end it gave the shape of a cross beneath.

“This belonged to Sir Haltha.” He undid the ribbon at one end, slowly unwrapping it as he spoke. “That’s his tomb in the garden, the same one you and Sarina used to play hide-and-seek around. When I was a young man he gave everything to the orphanage.”

When the cloth was finally unwrapped, a dull-gray instrument appeared with a worn leather handle at one end beset with a tarnished cross guard.

“Take it,” he said.

I did. The thing was heavy. Not that I was a weakling, for I’d grown accustomed to carrying my weight and then some throughout my chores, but I wasn’t accustomed to wielding such things. I pulled the handle from its wooden scabbard, and a plain, unpretentious blade emerged, as sharp as it was heavy, with nicks and scratches from years of untold battles. In the stories, a sword was always magical, a shimmering, bejeweled icon of purity that glowed when it met its rightful wielder. This, however, was crass and brutal, devoid of so much as an etching on the blade and given wholly to its true purpose: murder.

“This should suffice for a sword," Father said. “I suggest you begin practice with it immediately. Hone your skills now while you have time, lest you need them and have no time.”

That made me smile. “You’ve told me that a thousand times, Father.”

He smiled. “It bears repeating! Now, for a bow. You may take mine—you always do anyway."

Holding the sword in my hand, examining the scratches on the blade, the worn leatherwork about the handle, the weight of what I'd been asked to do fell upon me like an avalanche of emotion.

Father must have seen my face change at the thought of it. "Are you frightened?"

My mind was a sea of emotion, swirling and darting in and about tempting me to grasp and yet elusive. But fear… that one was most certainly there. "I am."

He rested his hand on my shoulder. "This is right. It's a frightening thing."

"What if…" I swallowed, struggling to come to the words. "What if I end up killing someone?"

Father relaxed and let out a breath. He then moved his hand to my cheek and smiled. "If that is what you're afraid of, then I am deeply proud of the man you've become. Now go. Enjoy your day and say goodbye to your friends. I shall make arrangements for this evening, and you may set out in the morning.”

Enjoy my day. And do what? Climb over the rocks beside the creek? Hide in the forest? Run along the terraced farmlands that climb up the mountains surrounding the village? Run through the orchard in search of berries that needed picking? Climb the garden wall to the Baron’s manse and light a paper bag filled with dog poo at his door, hoping to run fast enough that his guards won’t recognize me this time? Take a raft down the waterfall only to climb back up and do it again? Or say goodbye to my friends.

The first thing anyone saw upon exiting the main door was the massive, twenty-foot totem beside the hot bath bearing the carvings of ancestral spirits—the serpent, mountain goat, the trout, mountain hare, and perched at the apex with its wings spread was the falcon, all freshly painted and facing the church directly.

I started my way across the bridge and heard above the rumbling water the hooting sounds of children playing at being a monster. That brought a smile to my face, and so I knelt beside the edge and thrust my head underneath to get a good look at my tormentors. Of course I added a growl of my own for good measure and was rewarded with peals of laughter. Teryn from the orphanage, Jule and Xander the tanner’s children looked back at me. “Where are you off to, Caleb? Have you no chores?”

“Been called to arms. And what about your chores, Teryn?”

“Please don’t tell Mother where I’m at?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it! Have you done your lessons?"

“No.”

“You need to do your lessons.”

“They need to do themselves.” I wasn’t sure if I’d heard her correctly; the water rushing over the rocks may have changed her words before they reached me.

“Teryn!”

"I don't want to!"

"We all must do things we don’t want to, Teryn, and you must do your lessons. Why don’t you get started, and I’ll come by later and help you finish up. Fair enough?”

“Fine."

Up ahead was the massive stone foundry with plumes of black smoke reaching into the sky. By the arched stone doorway I saw that man again, the messenger from the Count. He looked up at me, turned, and then walked off. I ran. As I came to the archway, Davod was standing there holding that same piece of paper I’d gotten.

A large, burly man he was, with muscles rippling across his body. His olive-green skin was drenched in sweat that reflected the red glow of hot coals nearby. A blast of heat met me along with the wretched stench of burning coals as soon as I’d entered, and Davod turned his eyes to me while slicking back his long, dark-green hair with his free hand. “What’s it say?”

I didn’t look. I didn’t need to. “We’ve been called to arms. We have to go to Carthia.”

“Where’s that?”

“You know? I bet Dariana would know. Let’s go ask her!”

He shook his head. “I’ve got chores.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow to go die in battle and you’ve got chores?”

He shrugged his giant, meaty shoulders and looked away.

"Please come with me," I said. "I really shouldn't be alone with her."

“I’ve got chores.”

“Fine,” I said. “Suit yourself.”

As I left the smoky stench of the foundry behind, I noticed Talys tending her flowers across the cobbled street and tried to hurry past, hoping she wouldn't see me. A cold gust of air came off the mountains and brought a drizzle with it, and I thought I'd gotten away when I heard her call out in her melodious voice. "Hello there!"

Too late. There was a good chance I'd never see her again, so I might as well.

Talys was short, rather scant among girls years her junior, though her generous curves suggested anything but. She had light olive-green skin with wavy green-black hair and eyes a deep emerald-green.

“Good morning, Talys,” I said. “How goes the store?”

“Quite well,” she turned her shoulders to the side and arched her back while lifting a watering can to a small clay pot with bright blue flowers. Her dress that morning was a sheer white gown that ended just above her knees and hinted at what lay beneath if the sunlight caught it just right. Thankfully the clouds had descended from the mountains and settled on the village with a fine mist.

She turned her neck to face me and addressed me in quick tones that made full use of the register, lilting up and down across the musical scale as she spoke. “Where are you off to with that manly sword you’ve got?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ve been called to arms.”

Her chin dropped and she quickly floated over to me, wrapped her arm around my waist, and tugged me back over to where she was before. “Come spend time with me. When are you leaving?”

“On the morrow.”

“And where’d you get that sword? Good God, you look handsome.” She lifted her hand and with a finger stroked my hair away from my face. “Are you headed for Kulun?”

“No, some place called Carthia.”

Talys furled her eyebrows. “Where's that?”

“I’ve no idea. I never heard of the place.”

“You should talk to Dariana; she might have heard of it. I know she'd love to see you.” Then she wrapped her arm around me, looked up into my eyes and purred, “of course there is Naveris…"

“I’m chaste, and you know that. Besides, I don’t do pagan traditions.”

“Why not? We could finish what we started.”

I had to pull away. The sensation of her breasts pressed into my body was tempting, but I didn't want to go down that road, not again. "You told me that was to get Geraln to leave you alone; we didn't start anything."

"Aww," she pouted her lips at me. She'd tilted her head back to look up at me and rested her chin in the center of my chest. Her arms had ensnared me in place, and she spoke as in a half-whisper. "Tell me you felt nothing."

"I have to go," I said.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" she sang. Then she smiled and said with a wink, "should I check you for leeches?"

I laughed, then took hold of her arm and gently removed myself from her grasp. "That’s fine; I’m fairly sure there aren’t any."

She giggled and released me. "You sure?"

I couldn't help but smile a little. "How are things?"

"Ehh," she brushed me off and went over to tend a plant she'd kept in a pot. She brought it down and showed it to me. “Sarina found these for me. They’re so beautiful when they bloom. They only grow high up, above the treeline, and I can't get them to bloom here in the valley—they love direct sunlight, but don't tolerate the heat very well."

"They sound finicky."

She pursed her lips at me. "A flower has needs. It's up to me to meet those needs if I want it to bloom; calling it names won't do any good. Now, they seem to like the morning mist so I try to bring them out when it gets like this. You'll help me?"

"Of course."

It wasn't much, about half a dozen pots, each with delicate, light-green leaves poking out of the ground and a few stalks of unopened buds. We brought them out to the street and headed back into her flower shop, out of the rain. I tried not to notice, truly, but as I followed her, my attention was ensnared by the way that white dress hung over her body.

I looked up as she turned back to me and asked, "have you got armor?"

"Of course not."

"You can't go to war without it. What about a bow?"

"Father is giving me his."

"You practice with that sword much?"

"Never."

"Oh, goodness! You can't go off to war like this!"

"I'll practice this evening."

"Caleb!" She swooned.

"I'll be fine!" I assured her.

Talys pursed her plush lips and came up close to me once more, taking hold of both my hands and bringing them to rest on her hips. "And Naveris?"

"I’m fine."

"Well I see you looking over my arse; there must be something you like about it."

With that she brought her hands in and grabbed at me. I pulled back as quick as I could. "I think I should go now."

"You know you’re entitled to it, right?"

"Thank you, Talys." With that, I headed for the street where the haze still hung heavy in the air.

It was a light, mountain drizzle, the kind that misted your hair as you walked, just enough to make the cobbled stones of the main road treacherous as the descent grew steep leading down and towards the outside of town.

There, across from Makon's still was Yenia's bakery where the bouquet of fresh rolled cake called me in… to get out of the rain of course.

I remember as a young boy I once watched her work her magic. She had a large, flat iron pan, and she would pour out some batter and let it cook, then roll it up into a straw. Then once that was cool and hard, she would dip it into cake batter and turn it on a spit over hot coals for about a minute. Then she dipped again and turned it again, dip, then turn, then dip, then turn, until she built up a cake with a good six inches in diameter. Finally, she would take a razor sharp knife and cut it into slices and drizzle the whole thing with honey.

"Skipping your chores are you?" The old woman shot me a sideways grin and winked as I reached into my pocket for some coins. Her hair had turned silver since those years, but her face was still kind as it always had been.

"I'm called to arms. I leave out on the morrow."

Her face sank at the news. "Oh dear, put your money away," she said, and handed me a small paper with two cakes in it. I had to pass it back and forth between my hands lest they burn, though the fumes of fresh honey enticed me to punish my lips at the taste.

"Thank you," I said, and made for the door.

"Don't thank me. Just keep yourself safe, boy! Guenevieve would die of grief if something should happen to you. And make sure you call upon her before you leave!"

"I'll look for her. Thank you."

Further down was the Flaming Wyvern, an inn two stories high on the outskirts of Gath right next to the totem that introduced visitors coming to our humble village from the south.

Her place was built of old oaken planks long bleached by the weather, yet the sign outside was freshly painted. Inside, darkness was the rule but for a few small windows barely opened so as to allow light without too much rain. Yet in this dimly lit, empty pub I could easily see Dariana overturning chairs to sweep beneath them.

Dariana liked to wear her long, sandy-green hair in a single braid about her crown and let the rest fall loose down her back. She had a face that seemed ever cheerful as if she smiled even when she wasn’t smiling, with delicate, light-green eyes that locked onto you as she listened to you speak.

“Caleb!”

She ran up to me and threw her arms over my shoulders, then lifted herself up on her toes to kiss my cheek. There, she rested those light-green eyes on mine, still grasping at the back of my neck with both hands. I wrapped my hands about her and pulled her in close for a warm embrace.

“What brings you here my darling?”

“Have you ever heard of a place called Carthia?”

At that word she winced. “Don’t go there. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been called to arms.”

She released me and backed away slowly with a look of deep concern. Her eyes fixed off into oblivion. Then with a voice hollowed out and quivering with terror, she spoke. "Why there?"

"Is there something wrong?"

Finally she looked up at me. "They've been calling up men for Carthia a few years now. They never come back."

We stood in silence for a moment. Then she turned and made her way over to the bar where she bent over the counter to take up a glass and pour. I couldn't help but notice the way she looked. Her round, womanly form tantalized my mind into daydreams just as it had the day I returned from Kyoen. Thoughts I needed to put out of my mind.

I had to lower my gaze to the floor until she turned back round, handed me the glass, and bid me sit with her. I tried to smile through my embarrassment, hoping she hadn't noticed. Then I reached for those few coins.

"You owe me nothing. Drink it."

I did. The ale she served was as always, sharp and bitter, with a light tang and very strong. I tried a few sips, tilted it up some to pour through a strong head of bitter foam before the liquid bit down hard on my tongue. I set my cup down.

"Drink it up, darling, you're a man called to arms."

I tried. I really did, but I wasn't quite grown enough for all that at once. "What can you tell me about Carthia?"

Her eyes darted off then came back. With a deep breath she spoke. "It's far south at the end of the world, beyond the Terbulin mountains where the empire's got no business being. It'll take you two days to reach Ulum, then five more to breach the pass. Drink it all, darling. That's it. You go down the mountain and if you survive the road you enter another world entirely."

"You ever been there?"

"Never. Tales I heard are bad enough."

"Tales like what?"

"Let me pour you another."

By this time I was feeling a bit dizzy. She got up and went back to the counter and bent over it the same way as she had before. I had, however, resolved that I would not look at her that way as I didn't need the trouble. No less, I did catch from the side of my eye her peeking back at me to see if I was looking. She sat down and passed me a second cup.

"I don't know if I can handle another…"

"Drink it."

I took a sip. "What sort of tales have you heard about Carthia?"

"Tales of monsters in the woods. Black magic. Men don't come back, Caleb."

"Maybe they don't come back because it's wonderful there and they don't want to leave."

She pursed her lips. "They die. They've been doing this for a while now, call up some men to fight, they get killed, and they call up some more, then they get killed. Drink some more."

I did. "Who are they fighting?"

I started to notice her dress. She had on a simple blue apron with large, bulging front pockets over a light-yellow shirt and dark-blue, knee-length, flared skirt. The top several buttons were undone, as far down as the apron would allow me to see, and the fabric was pulled aside enough for me to take in the crease of her generous bosom. I couldn't recall if her shirt had been so undone when I walked in. "Drink it up, darling."

At last I was able to drain the last few drops of ale from my cup, and set it down. Dariana got up and took my hand, and started to lead me across the bar.

"Where are you taking me?" My head was reeling from the drink already.

She giggled, then spoke with a half smile as she led me towards the stairs off to the side of the bar. “Where do you think, darling?”

The old wooden floor creaked as we climbed, then creaked even more as we made our way across the dark hallway with doors arranged on both sides. There, she chose one and opened, and daylight flooded the hallway. I made to follow as she led me by my hand into the room but bumped my head hard on the door frame.

That pain shook me from my dizzy spell and she led me in, then guided me to sit down. "I'm so sorry, let me look at you."

And so she straddled me, resting her legs on each side of my hips and pressed her breasts into my cheeks as she took hold of my forehead. There, she examined the spot where I'd bumped myself before kissing me on the lips. It felt nice, and my body grew excited, but I couldn't. I tried to gently push her away.

"Dariana, what are you doing?"

She didn't pause. Rather, she grasped at my belt and pulled my pants loose, tugging at them to bring them down.

And while I sat with my hands on the bed trying to keep my balance and get the room to stop spinning, she’d pulled out my cock and started stroking.

"Dariana, what are you doing?"

"Shhhh," she whispered. "Don't speak."

Don’t speak. I was erect, but I didn’t feel excited. She put her fingers around it and started stroking. I didn’t know what to do. It was that familiar feeling where I knew it was wrong, I knew I shouldn’t have been there, and I should have stopped her, but I couldn’t. I froze. My heart was plodding along and I watched as she knelt before me, stroking vigorously across my skin, locking those light-green eyes onto mine and smiling wide.

I was afraid. I knew exactly what she’d had in mind; she’d been making overtures to me all summer. Now, this would be the last chance for us. For her. I was afraid she’d be disappointed.

And so, I sat there. The window was open. The sunlight had begun to cast swords of light through the clouds and the rain dried up, and she kept at it, pumping away at me like a machine. She whispered, “do you like this?”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” I made to stand up. No sooner than I did, she pressed my hips back down with both hands and resumed her grasp on me. But instead she took hold of it firmly, leaned over, and kissed it, still with her eyes locked onto mine. Still frozen, all I could manage to do was take in a deep breath and let it out. I wanted to go. Why couldn’t I go?

Dariana let out a giggle, then wrapped her lips over the crown of my cock and pressed down. The sensation of her lips on my skin was nice; I felt her tongue glide over me. She then bit down with her lips, firmly into my skin and she brought her whole mouth down some, allowing her tongue to wrap over it and then I felt a squeeze for a brief moment before she whispered, “just relax.”

I tried to. It did feel nice, but I couldn’t escape the knowledge that I shouldn’t have allowed this to happen. Shame crept into the edges of my mind and mingled with the sensation of her toying with me, and I heard my name called out from the pub.

“Again?” Dariana sighed. “Hasn’t she got chores?”

I was in a daze. Somewhere between the dizzying effect of the ale and the sensation of her lips on my cock, I knew not which way to look let alone make cohesive thought enough to speak.

“Caleb!” Sarina’s voice called out once more, and I could hear footfalls on the wooden steps leading up to where we were. I grasped about trying to pull my pants back up.

"Why can't she just let you have a little fun?" Dariana whispered to me.

“She’s protecting me.”

“Protecting you?” Dariana smirked, raising one eyebrow high above the other and pursed her lips. “From me?”

I smiled. The thought of Sarina breaking me out of my paralysis to bring me home safely made me feel warm all over.

“Caleb?” she called out from the hallway.

“We’re in here.” Dariana twisted her jaw and glared at me sideways before standing up and moving over to sit next to me as though she’d been there the whole time.

The door opened, and Sarina’s small stature scarcely filled the frame with as much gusto as her spirit. She reached out her hand for me to take, and I stood to accept it.

“We were just talking,” Dariana said.

“Uh-huh,” Sarina replied, then led me out of the room and back down the stairs.

Behind me I could hear Dariana’s footfalls drumming on the wooden steps as she followed us. “Seriously, Sarina, he came to ask me about Carthia. We were just talking.”

Without missing a step, Sarina said “that’s nice,” and led me back out onto the street where the clouds remained as islands in the sea of blue sky.

"Come see me again as you leave," Dariana called out as we exited the inn.

Sarina used my arm as a leash and led me back towards the entrance to the main road of Gath where the cobbled stones began. “Sarina, I…”

"I’ve already spoken to her; she should know better. Come on.”