By the time I arrived at town, the sun had nearly dipped below the trees. It cast the wooden palisade in gold and burnished copper, making it seem far more majestic than it truly was.

I grimaced.

Our defenses were in a sorry state.

The walls had never been that high to begin with, barely half again as tall as a man, and now they sagged pitifully. Stakes rotted and drooped in many places, the border itself seeming a sight more suggestion than reality, and I shuddered to imagine what ruin might be visited upon us, should a monster attack.

Thankfully, there was no Maw anywhere near here.

Approaching the gate at last, I called out for the guard.

“Ah, young…young Taiven, is that you?”

The doddering watchman Oswell, ancient in all but name, peeked his head over the battlements, allowing me a glimpse of wispy, grey hair.

“Just a moment, just a moment now, let’s see…” His words dissolved into muffled grunts and good-natured gripes as I heard the telltale squeaking and creaking of the wooden bar being lifted.

Creakingly, the left-hand gate was scraped open.

The right-hand one didn’t work anymore.

“…there we are! Oh, young Taiven. Back so late! Why, the sun’s nearly set! You know, it can be dangerous out there, in the woods, at night!” The old man scolded, wagging his thin finger back and forth at me.

Like it’s any safer in here, I thought, but didn’t say anything, smiling instead and offering token condolences. Truth be told, there was little danger in these parts, being so far from…well, anything, really. But I liked the watchman well enough, and when I helped him move the dilapidated gate back into place, he offered me a broad, gap-toothed grin.

Oswell patted me on the back, thanked me, and sent me on my way. Just as I was leaving, he called out once more.

“Oh, before I forget!” He pointed his wrinkly, tremulous hand southwards, in the direction of the village center. “You’ll want to speak with Aldwyn. His party got back barely hours ago.”

He smiled slyly.

“You’ll be eager for their news, I reckon,” he chuckled.

I frowned.

I hadn’t heard tell of any such party, but then, I’d left near enough first light. What news could I possibly be eager for? Nothing exciting ever happened, not around here.

I ruminated in silence, interest spiking considerably as I strode the village proper. People darted every this way and that in a flurry of movement and commotion our town rarely saw.

Burrick was situated just north of the border between Nycta and Uther, on the Uther side. We found ourselves nestled somewhere amidst the vast forests that blanketed the western part of the Cell’s demesne, near the base of the small mountain range that split it in two. There was no one near us for miles.

Ours was a small village. Less than fifty souls made this place their home, though one found accommodations for far more than just that. The year’s better part saw Burrick abandoned en masse, as our working-age men left far afields. The bright sought the Rockfort in the north, to try their hand at manufacturing, whilst those strong of arm but possessed of a somewhat lamer intellect voyaged west instead; to Pennfeld, and the agri-industry.

The really lucky ones though–they went east. To the City of Shields and Spires. To Talos, the heart of Cell Uther.

Or they would have, in theory.

There hadn’t been any lucky ones yet, not from our village. Regardless, this lack of young manpower meant that, as many other such hamlets, Burrick was left most empty most often, filling only for the holidays. Priest's Day, Gold Morning, and the New Year. My fellow villagers were, of a type, the very young, the very old, and the women.

That’s precisely what made this commotion so unusual.

New Year had came and went ages ago, and Gold Morning was many months hence. The men wouldn’t be returning for a while. It had to be something else.

I barely stopped by the cottage and hung my kills up to dry before racing for the village center. A small square, really, a simple one. Populated by a modest swarm of anxious townsfolk, and a spattering of token monuments.

A pint-sized market occupied the east, with stands for meat, furs, and relatively luxuriant supplies bought and brought from larger towns. A message board that leaned slightly to one side stood to the south, displaying missives sent by family members and notices from the Headsman. It was accompanied by a rusted well that served as the village’s sole supply of drink, save for a river that ran nearby. A run-down church squat miserably on the western edge, abandoned long ago by pastor, if not by congregation.

Our country’s dwindling Faith still found its home in some.

But the main feature, and the one which currently demanded my attention, was to the north. The Headsman’s manor, home to Headsman Aldwyn. Personally, I felt calling it a manor house was a bit of a stretch. It was large enough, though. Wide and long, built from sturdy wood and shingles that seldom leaked, except for in the harshest northern rains. Divided into three sections, the center of which being a great hall, meant for feasts, meetings, and all manner of gatherings.

It was into this section that I tread.

A wall of commotion, of sound and frenzy and frantic excitement, struck me square in the face as I entered. The hall was well-lit and stuffed to the brim with people. Food had clearly been laid out for the returning party, and some remained still, half-eaten, ‘pon the banquet table. The cacophony of voices raised a sizable din within the rather diminutive structure.

I spied serving girls moving to and fro, aging men-at-arms shouting demands and carrying around dented arms and armor, damn near the whole village up and about and involved in this…whatever this was.

And there, at the longtable’s head, surrounded by a group of commensurately-equipped and pitiably-hoary men, I spotted Aldwyn.

I knew the Headsman well.

His auburn hair was more salt-and-pepper now, though his amber eyes retained their luster. A competent fighter, always had been. Not so skilled as Ewan, to be sure, but a far fairer leader of men. Tough when he needed to be, soft when he needed to be, and just throughout. None in the village spoke ill of him, nor should they have.

He’d taken Mom’s passing hard, I think. They’d ever been close. And indeed, perhaps he’d wished them closer still. He’d certainly visited plenty enough. Endlessly accommodating, allowing me to triumph time and again in our games of heroes and villains.

The few times that he died as a result of our battles, I’d be overcome with remorse. I’d fall upon his lifeless corpse and apologize, pleading with him to come back, at which point he’d miraculously resuscitate, amber eyes twinkling and smiling all on their own.

Mom would watch us play while she cooked, a soft smile on her face, but she’d never read him the stories. That was our ritual, our secret. I saw more of Master Ewan nowadays, far more, but…that was appropriate.

Those moments I shared with Aldwyn made up my old life and, as the rest, ended alongside Mom.

I tore my eyes from him, instead flagging down an errant man-at-arms nearby. Or, boy-at-arms, more accurately, as the lad couldn’t have been less than two years my junior. I took in my palms a generous heaping of that thick cloth what made up his gambeson, and yanked him my way with little resistance.

“What’s going on here?” I pressed the boy. “What’s happened?”

I recognized him vaguely, one of the few faces present ephemerally in Ewan’s yards, there and gone more or less whensoever the mood took him. Colin, if memory served me true. Ewan treated such fair-weather soldiers with all the muted disgust in all the world, and so I did, too.

The boy’s sudden scowl at manhandlement upon seeing my face evaporated in favor of a reluctant deference.

“Taiven,” he muttered, with a hint of envy for reasons I knew not. “You’re back, you’re…good. That’s good. I was just–Headman’s sent for you.”

His words were scattered, anxious, eyes darting about as he spoke. I frowned, frustrated, retaining my iron grip on his front.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Yes, I’m back. I’m here. What is going on?” Urgently, I repeated.

Colin just shook his head at me, jerking a thumb over the Headsman’s way.

“See Aldwyn,” he dismissed, brushing off my grasp and darting back into the every-bustling, confounding throng.

My frown deepened, but I did as he bade.

My eyes narrowed as I approached the long table, striving to stave off vexation, to center my thoughts. How many times had Ewan spoke, thusly? The mind was as much weapon as any blade. Aldwyn was deep in discussion still, with his aged entourage, but I didn’t interrupt him. I took seat at the other end of the longtable, whilst men and women raced about me, and considered its contents, instead.

Upon it, splayed wide like a fresh-skinned hare, was displayed a rough map of Burrick, and its surrounding environs. At one point not overfar from our very location, by my mind half a day’s travel at most, a great cross had been drawn in ink as black as midnight.

My eyes widened, breath hitching in the soft innards of my throat.

Below the pitch-black cross were writ words, broad and plain and simple.

~

M A W

~

I froze in my seat.

The noise and frenzy ever about me gently drained away, the world’s vivid actuality fading grey, dissolving. My vision tunneled down and down until all I saw were those three letters, over and over and over again.

Maw.

Womb of Knossos.

Portal to the Labyrinth, to the World Titan.

This was going to change everything.

I glanced up again, returning to reality, considering the commotion anew. No, not commotion. This was no commotion. It was preparation. At once, everything slotted into place. They were preparing a delving party. Aldwyn was preparing a delving party. Uther’s law allotted all settlements, large or small, all full sun’s turn before a Maw’s discovery need be reported. Aldwyn sought to delve before that time was up.

This was going to change everything, for me.

This was my chance. My one chance. My only chance. My one, and only, chance to change my fortune, to escape my fate.

My sole hope…of receiving Blessing.

I had to go.

I clenched my jaw and curled my knuckles tight, adrenaline running roughshod through my veins, but spoke not a word.

There could be no folly, now.

Aldwyn was neither blind, nor deaf, nor dumb. He knew I was here. I’d watched his eyes flicker my way once, twice, when first I’d entered. He knew I was here. To interrupt him now would do me naught but disservice; prove me a child, impatient, immature. There could be none of this. Nothing that might foresway the Headsman granting my access to the Maw.

I had to go.

So I sat, and waited. I didn’t fidget. I didn’t stare. Aldwyn wasn’t going anywhere. I had all the time in the world.

I set my palms together, relaxed my stiffened spine, and waited.

As seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes swiftly multiplied, slowly, painfully slowly, people began to filter out of the manor, their tasks either completed or requiring their attention elsewhere. The circle of elderly soldiers surrounding the Headsman appeared to reach some manner of consensus, regarding timing, perhaps, or provisioning, or armaments. Heads were nodded and hands were shaken, and then they left.

And it was just me, and him.

Aldwyn’s mouth pursed grimly, and he met my eyes.

But only once, fleetingly, before fleeing my regard again. He scowled, retrieving a flagon of liquer that had most assuredly seen better days, and was moreover half-drained already. Nevertheless, he took from it a deep draught, sighed in pleasure, and finally returned his gaze to me.

“You know what I want,” I said, simply, forfeiting the battle to speak last.

“Aye lad,” Aldwyn chuffed, closing his eyes and itching the salt-and-pepper bristles sprouting spuriously from his cheeks, and chin. “Aye, I believe I do.”

I swallowed. I was no longer the child he once knew, and it was imperative he realize as such.

“I am,” I began, “the best hand with a sword that you have.”

“That you are,” he acknowledged, thankfully.

“Youngest, too,” he added, mildly, raising a brow in my direction.

“And youth begets endurance,” I countered swiftly, staving off panic. “Experience is meaningless. None among us have delved before. I do not doubt that you have this. But–do they?”

I waved my hands about, gesturing broadly towards nothing in particular, Aldwyn well sharp enough to take my meaning.

“They’ll keel over,” I promised. “One room, maybe two. They won’t last. You know this. You know they will.

“You need someone who can keep pace–,” I argued, my voice as steady as it could possibly have been, Priest-willing displaying none of the desperate, craving need I felt pulsing through my being. “–all the way to the Champion. Someone fresh, ready to fight.”

I paused, for a moment, furrowing my brows, thinking hard.

“Ewan won’t be joining us,” I speculated, my gaze fixed fiercely on the Headsman, searching him for truth.

Finding nothing.

“He’s not coming,” I doubled-down, regardless. “You’ll have him stay. Watch the village. The women, the children. Maybe…maybe a couple of guards with him. That’s all.”

Despite my best efforts, my fist clenched on the longtable before us. I grit my teeth as spoke.

“I’m his best student. I am. The others, they don’t work nearly–I–”

Aldwyn’s face had drawn up, all together, bundled up tight and taut.

I stopped myself short, suddenly.

What was I doing?

Aldwyn knew this, already. All of it. He and Ewan, why, they practically ran the village together. They might as well have. Brothers, in all but blood. They spoke as oft as Ewan was willing to, the Headsman knew better of my dedication than any. And he was no fool.

Realization struck me.

My words were meaningless, as was my plea. Aldwyn had sent for me, already. Prior my entry.

He’d already made his decision.

I jerked back, startled.

“Yo–you’re going to let me go?” I blurted, suddenly.

In an equally-startling instant, I watched my old friend’s stern countenance evaporate, morphing pitifully into a solemn melange of guilt and pain.

“Oh, lad.” Aldwyn said, quietly. His eyelids trembled, then, and he took another deep draught of the flagon in his palm.

For the first time, I truly noticed his age.

Aldwyn was no longer the spry, dashing young man who’d bounced me over his knee. And his thick, auburn hair was not the only change wrought in him by time. He seemed smaller, thinner, weary all at once. His hands trembled slightly as he raised his cup to drink. Years of stress from his post had carved deep wrinkles into the corners of his eyes and worries at the edges of his smile.

Though barely fifty, he really did look old.

“Sometimes it startles me, even to this day.” His voice broke me out of contemplation.

“What…does?” I asked, hesitating.

“How much you take after her. Elsa, I mean.” His sad, tired eyes turned to me.

“I am so sorry for what happened to her, you know,” he swore, lightly shaking his head. “I am sorry every day.”

I said nothing.

What was there to say?

“She was so strong,” he reminisced, gaze drifting off. “So much…taken from her. And yet, and yet she never lost her light. Not even…not even at the end.”

My eyes itched terribly, but I didn’t worry at them. I didn’t move at all. Aldwyn gave me a long look, searching for something.

“You have her hair, you know. It’s just the same,” he muttered, distantly. “White as snow. Her face, or…hints of it…” He trailed off, and was quiet for a while.

Then something in his eyes darkened.

“But your father’s there, too,” he said, in a low growl. He jabbed a finger at me, youthful wroth overcoming the face of a man far too old to properly accommodate it.

“Her face wasn’t dangerous like that,” he promised, venomously. “That’s him. Those sea-green eyes. Beautiful, the sea. But dangerous. Treacherous…”

He trailed off once more, murmuring to himself this time.

“Promised her, I did…her passing…keep you safe, keep you safe, always…oh, Elsa…I promised…”

Then his eyes cleared, and he faced me again, visage bent by that unsettling mixture of anger and pain.

“But she knew, well, as I do,” he admitted, “you have much, too much, of your father in you. You’ve the heart of the Blessed.”

Aldwyn closed his eyes one last time, but for a moment, and then he stood tall, clasped both arms behind his back, and the years of hardship disappeared.

The old man vanished.

The Headsman took his place.

I saw in him now the man we all followed, the one we could depend upon.

“Knossos is cruel, lad,” he said, “but, no crueler than life. And though Elsa might well have wished so, this shall not be the last time you face danger. Better, I suppose, that I might see you through the first.”

He approached me, then, and his eyes recouped a hint of old mischief in their depths.

“And though you could, perhaps, demonstrate just a touch more humility,” he chuckled, extending his arm towards me, “I do imagine you have the right of it. Ewan speaks highly of you. We’d be a sorry lot of fools not to have you with us.”

I drew in a deep, full, breath. I could summon up no words. None were sufficient. Surprise, elation, hope–all coursed through me in an awesome wave.

No words were necessary.

My face, I knew, said all.

I rose, clasping wrists with Aldwyn, his grip firm despite his age.

“We’ll have a pyre, tonight, I think,” he told me. “But you be smart, now. Wear yourself out, and I’ll leave you right behind. We set forth tomorrow. First light.”

He released me, retreating towards his quarters.

“Ewan’s down at the smithy. Get your things from him and be ready.”

As I was about to leave, Aldwyn called out to me, one final time.

“Our future awaits us, lad. Let’s not keep her waiting.”