City of Silveryloop; the year of disgrace 1352

The door slammed behind her with a loud bang. Hilda pressed her back against it as if she wanted to hold it against invisible pursuers who could smash it down at every second. She could not catch her breath, trembling like an aspen leaf. Her fingers convulsively clutched the pouch of peas, pressing it against her bosom like a defenceless baby. Sweating buckets, her eyes roved around the darkened room, and she pricked her ears to hear the shouts and clumping of the city watch.

They must have seen me! They’re coming for me! The voice of a frightened little girl screamed in Hilda’s head—her own voice.

A dog barked somewhere nearby, and an angry male voice shouted at it to be quiet. Then, there was a silence.

Hilda released the loot, dropping into a squat, the bag falling onto her soiled skirt. Tears streamed down her cheeks, burning from exertion and shame. She buried her face in her hands and started sobbing.

“What did I do? How could I have sunk so low?” she berated herself. Images of dirty beggars and thieves with missing hands appearing behind her closed lids. You probably didn’t notice it, but I’m here to earn a crust almost every day, Zuzana’s reproachful voice echoed in her head. Hilda shuddered under the onslaught of remorse and anxiety from the consequences of her actions.

The coolness of the stone floor bit into her flesh through her clothing, making her shiver even more. Hilda raised her head and swallowed a sob. Her father had not yet returned home, and only the distant glow of a lantern from a neighbour’s house found its way to the kitchen.

The faint light in the deepening darkness reminded Hilda of her own fading faith in a brighter future. She bit her bottom lip as the surrounding shadows began taking the form of horned daemons, headless bogeymen, and monsters with long limbs and glowing eyes. The fear that had dwelt in Hilda’s heart spread its wings and swooped down on her like a bird of prey on a small hare.

She sprang to her feet at once. The sack of peas slipped noiselessly from her skirt to the floor, unnoticed by Hilda, as she ran for dear life to the fireplace, desperately searching for the flint and steel that might save her.

From the staircase leading to the wooden superstructure came a screeching sound akin to fingernails sliding on a blackboard. Hilda uttered a muffled yelp and tripped over a stool that an invisible hand seemed to have pushed into her path.

Mischievous laughter—so similar to the taunts she used to endure from children for her horsey face and poorly mended garments—began resounding through the house.

“Stop it!” she cried out in despair, gripping her head. “Leave me alone!”

She fell to her knees, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. The light from outside rippled like the surface of a pond, illuminating the flint and steel resting near Hilda’s right side. She grasped it without hesitation and reached blindly with her other hand into the place where they stored the tinder. Her fingers touched something bristly. The image of a monster’s maw full of small, sharp teeth flashed through her mind. She recoiled in fright, hearing the jaws snap shut like the lid of a heavy chest.

The light died, and Hilda froze in horror. A furry little arm brushed against her uncovered calf, and three calloused fingers gripped her ankle. Hilda shrieked and kicked, her shoe flying into the corner of the room.

She jumped to her feet and ran to the back door. The icy hands of the headless wraiths stretched towards her face, while horned daemons pulled at her wavy hair and long skirt. Frightened out of her wits, she reached the door by slamming into it, managed opening it on the third attempt. Hilda darted out of the house and into the small backyard. Looking over her shoulder, she hit a chopping block and fell to the ground. She rolled onto her back and gazed at the night skies, shining with the first stars.

“Thanks to Spring,” muttered Hilda, still in a cold sweat.

Her bruised knee began aching—a dull pain mirroring the one in her chest. The night breeze caressed her cheek, where the trails of her sorrow had already dried. Hilda sat up slowly, wheezing. The shadow of fear had lifted, but her insides twisted like a tangle of snakes.

That was when Hilda discovered she was clutching something in her hand. She opened her palm and saw a flint and steel. Her gaze travelled to the log she had hit in her flight.

Within less than half of a year, we will need to make a stockpile of firewood for wintry nights, she realised the unpleasant reality and shivered at the thought.

Hilda placed her empty hand on her forehead and exhaled.

“I can’t take this anymore,” the silent words come from her lips.

She sat in silence in the backyard for a long time. Then she got up and headed limply back to the house, knowing that no one would help her and she had no choice but to go.

She halted in the doorway, staring into the darkness with a lump in her throat.

“Please, leave me alone. I have nothing to offer you,” Hilda begged the mischievous creatures of the night that dwelled in their house.

Then she crossed the threshold and walked carefully to get a tinder to kindle the fire.

She struck the flint, and the room blazed with orange-gold light, chasing the spirits to the dark corners. Hilda drew closer to the flames and stretched out her trembling hands. Her restless stomach churned and rumbled. Hilda’s face twisted, and she pressed her hand to her stomach.

I should have eaten something, but—Oh! The peas, she recalled the stolen sack and looked back to the door.

Hilda frowned, seeing the small bag lying there, its contents partially spilt on the stone floor.

“I hate this house,” she grumbled, going to pick up the small dried beads.

Out of a sudden, someone hammered on the front door.

Hilda stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening in fear.

“Open up!” called the rough voice she did not recognise.

“W-who’s there?” squeaked Hilda, the stolen pouch lying in front of her as tangible evidence of her crime.

“Reeve.”

Hilda’s knees buckled as the man introduced himself in an official capacity, her stomach immediately tying itself in knots.

They’ve come for me. I’ll be arrested and then— Overwhelmed by helplessness, she could not finish her thought.

The gravity of the situation hit Hilda like a millstone around her neck, rendering her immobile and unable to consider escape.

“Open up! Right now!” the command thundered with an uncompromising force from a different voice.

Resigned, Hilda complied with the order.

The lantern’s light illuminated her pale face as she beheld three men standing before their house.

The first figure was the reeve, Dominik Lauer, a man of medium height with short, grey-streaked hair and a thick moustache. He wore a slate blue tunic cinched with a belt, and dark trousers tucked into half boots. Perched atop his head was a black felt hat with a narrow brim, beneath which a white linen coif peeked. Hilda recognised him immediately—not just from the golden chain bearing Silveryloop’s coat of arms around his neck, but because this wasn’t their first encounter.

The second man matched the reeve in height and age, but his corpulence and elegant attire overshadowed Dominik’s authority. He was garbed in a dark brown brocade doublet—a close-fitting, waisted and padded jacket—adorned with golden flower embroidery and shank buttons. His trousers were of striped velvet, slightly baggy and reaching three-quarters length, complemented by an auburn-hued hose. His burnished leather shoes, with golden buckets, gleamed in unison with the sheen on his sweaty face. He had a suede floppy muffin hat with a black feather and a fancy mantle clipped with a brooch.

Who’s that? This wealthy man can’t be Zuzana’s father, nor is he Vlado’s. Could he be the burgrave?! Hilda twitched at the thought. No chance! What am I, silly, thinking? The burgrave would never visit us at our house. Besides, he is a man in the prime of his life, ready to draw his weapon and fight for Silveryloop. But troubadours often embellish reality, much like my father constantly promises something. However, the burgrave’s chamberlain is supposed to be beer-bellied and pompous— The sumptuous man’s coughing interrupted Hilda’s flow of thought.

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She averted her eyes in fear, worried she might have spoken aloud, and turned her gaze to the third man. He was considerably smaller than the other two, reaching just above the reeve’s waist, and his features did not belong to a human.

His slight body and limbs, along with pointy ears, gave the impression of an elf, but the thick facial hair told another story. His clothes consisted of a short kirtle in colour similar to Hilda’s madder red skirt, mouse grey trousers, and laced low boots. He wore no headwear or jewellery, only a leather shoulder bag and a dagger sheathed at his belt, much like the reeve and the wealthy man.

A gnome? Hilda’s pupils widened.

Non-humans have lived alongside humans in Silveryloop for donkey’s years, and their numbers have risen with each decade, now accounting for almost a third of the city’s population. The kingdom’s laws did not persecute them, yet many folks still bore grudges against non-humans, whether openly or secretly, for their mere difference. Therefore, many elves, dwarves, halflings, gnomes, and other humanoids lived in seclusion or engaged in crafts that ordinary people like Hilda rarely encountered.

The opulent man coughed again and stepped forward. Hilda gripped the door handle, fighting the urge to shut the door in their faces.

“W-What bring you here t-tonight?” she stammered, turning her gaze to the reeve.

Dominik Lauer responded with a sigh. “A rather unpleasant duty. I am accompanying the honourable merchant Joachim Bürgermeister on a matter concerning your father, Matej,” he said, and beckoned to the obese man.

“My father isn’t here,” Hilda replied, her chest squeezing.

“Then we shall go inside,” said the merchant, and pushed the door.

Hilda reluctantly stepped aside and allowed them to enter. She could only watch as they trampled over the scattered peas, she had had no time to gather.

“For Miller’s sake, what a mess,” Joachim muttered, crushing the food into the cracks of the stone floor.

Hilda bit her bottom lip, unable to tear her eyes away from the disaster.

“I had no idea you worship old deities, Joachim,” Dominik remarked, his voice tinged with surprise at the merchant’s curse.

“In my family, we honour traditions passed down through the generations. I was born under the constellation of the divine Miller, who grinds the grains of my fate,” Joachim replied, his tone brimming with pride.

“That’s fascinating. My parent raised me in the faith of the Spring, so I am not well-versed in the pantheon of old gods. I only hear their names occasionally—Siblings, Blacksmith, or Lady of the Light,” said Dominik, his voice deep with genuine interest.

“I would be happy to enlighten you later. For now, I wish to address the matter of Matej,” Joachim grumbled, casting a critical eye around the room.

The small, dimly lit room seemed even more cramped with the presence of the three visitors. The gnome, holding a lantern, carefully placed it on the table and opened its side panels to cast a brighter light across the room.

“What do you want with my father?” Hilda asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“The honourable Joachim Bürgermeister here has presented my office with this document. Please, show her,” the reeve explained in a tired voice, gesturing to the gnome. The latter reached into his leather bag, pulling out a rolled parchment. Then, he unfurled it with practiced precision and placed it on the table before Hilda, allowing the lantern’s light to illuminate the inscribed text.

She leaned closer, looking over the document, but could not understand a word of it; girls from a lower class like her did not learn to read. The only thing that Hilda recognised was the sinuous mark at the end of the message—her father’s signature. She shivered, it betided only an ill omen.

“Forgive me, I can’t—” Hilda started, but the reeve abruptly cut off her.

“I brought a scribe with me so that he could read it to you as an uninvolved person. Please, do it,” Dominik asked the gnome.

The scribe nodded and started reading aloud. “I, the undersigned, Matej Lipchcz, undertake to repay my debt within three months to the honourable merchant Joachim Bürgermeister, who is lending me the amount of three hundred gold pieces in front of two witnesses, undersigned as well. In the case of non-repayment, I agree to assign the ownership of my house, which serves as the liability in this case, to the lender.”

Hilda turned as white as a sheet and had to sit down on the chair.

He borrowed three hundred gold pieces? The hundred?! He couldn’t make that much in— Ten years! she could not believe her ears, wishing to wake up from this never-ending nightmare.

Joachim drew from his bosom a white handkerchief embroidered to match his doublet, and gently dabbed at the sweat trickling down his brow and plump cheeks. He then approached Hilda, seated, and leaned over her. She looked up at him, disbelief written across her face. His heavy fragrance of smoky woods enveloped her, causing Hilda to start coughing as well.

“I demand that you and your father be out of here by noon tomorrow,” Joachim declared in a breathy voice. “You have lost the privilege of owning this house.”

“But—” Hilda could not utter more words, unknowingly tearing at the skin around her nails in her despair.

“Most common folks can only afford to rent a single room. You have lived beyond your means for far too long. You must learn your place now,” said Joachim with a scornful look before straightening up.

“B-but where am I going?” she shrieked out, her eyes wide with fear as she turned to the reeve, who had always seemed like a benevolent uncle.

Dominik drew a deep breath.

“Is this according to the law or not?” Joachim growled, his expression dark with irritation.

“Yes, the law is clear. The property rights are yours, sir Bürgermeister. You have the authority to manage it as you see fit,” Dominik replied with official gravity. “If I may be so bold, I would suggest considering renting it as you have with your other properties,” he added, casting a sympathetic smile at Hilda.

“I shall. However, I always require three months’ rent in advance,” Joachim sneered, then turned back to Hilda. “My people will arrive to take over the house at midday tomorrow. Don’t forget to inform your father so you can pack in time. Do you understand?”

She blinked, then nodded slowly, still disbelieving what she heard.

“Would you like me to make an official record?” asked the scribe, his voice devoid of emotion. To Hilda, his indifferent tone sounded like the tolling of a death knell.

“That won’t be necessary unless you wish otherwise, sir Bürgermeister?” Dominik inquired, clearly prepared to depart.

“No, I am done here,” said the merchant, coughing, and made his way to the door.

The scribe rolled up the document and closed the lantern’s door.

Hilda sprang to her feet and staggered.

“Master reeve!” she cried out for help.

“I am sorry, girl. I cannot do anything for you,” Dominik told her with a sad smile and, along with the scribe, left her house.

Hilda collapsed onto the floor, hiding her face in her hands, yet she had no tears left to shed that night.

***

The fireplace bore only glowing cinders when Matej finally arrived home. He trod lightly, making an effort not to be heard, almost like a thief rather than the owner returning to his abode. Fortune turned her back to him that evening, as she had done many times before.

The tide has to turn some day, he reassured himself, for the loss did not hurt him so much. He paused, licking his parched lips, and reached for his flat purse.

“Soon, you’ll be bursting with gold,” he murmured a fervent prayer, clinging to the hope that their days of tightening belts would soon be over.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim glow of the embers, a silhouette emerged, seated at the table. Matej’s heart leapt in his chest. The idea of the devil visiting him in the dead of night with a contract for his soul sprang into his mind. The shadow silently rose, and the flickering burnt wood gave it a woman’s features. Matej’s mouth dropped open. His mind played tricks on him, making him see his wife for a feeling moment before the poor light turned the phantasma into Hilda.

Matej stood frozen, gaping at his daughter, who headed to the dying flames without uttering a word. Hilda stoked the fire with wood, remaining close to the fireplace and watching the reviving blaze. The fire started consuming the fuel, and its golden light revealed Hilda was still missing her shoe. Matej was so consternated that he did not notice it at all.

“You are not sleeping yet?” he asked in confusion.

Hilda turned towards him, her gaze empty and cold. Her face was as pale as death, even in the fire’s glow. Matej stepped back, instinctively raising his hand to ward off evil spirits.

“We had visitors,” she broke the silence with a voice as chill as the grave.

“Visitors?” Matej blinked, bewildered.

“The reeve... and the merchant who lent you money,” Hilda’s words dripped with scorn, her expression twisted in disdain.

Matej’s heart sank, and he frowned back at her, biting his cheeks from the inside. He was not angry, but the weight of humiliation was pressing down on him. His daughter’s glare was a bitter reminder of his failures, mirroring her mother’s judgment about him in times when they were still a family.

“You borrowed three—” Hilda’s voice betrayed her. She had to take a deep breath to avoid the rising hysteria.

Matej opened his mouth, but no words came, for he did not know what to say.

“Three hundred gold coins? Three hundred?! Have you lost your mind?!” she screamed; her eyes were wide with fury.

Matej did not defend himself; his arms hung limply at his sides, and he kept his gaze fixed on the floor. His reaction made him seem even lower in his daughter’s eyes.

“We have to be out of the house by midday tomorrow,” Hilda relayed Joachim’s message, shaking with rage.

Matej remained mute, staring dully at her feet.

“I have no father from now on,” she hurled, turning on her heel to retreat to her bedroom on the upper floor.

Matej was left alone, the crushing weight of his shame his only companion.

***

Hilda collapsed onto her bed, resembling a poor soul casting herself over the cliff. The straw mattress felt hard and cold, like a grave. She lay prone, staring into the swirling darkness, livelier than the void in her heart. The night creatures romped around, encircling and creeping beneath her bed. Hilda did not budge an inch. The blizzard of emptiness buried her last hope, dreams, and fears. She barely heard the daemons’ cackles or felt their hands tugging at her skirt and legs. Weariness consumed her like corrosion, yet she could not fall asleep. Short, calloused fingers coiled around her ankle and tore off the remaining shoe from her foot.

Suit yourself. I don’t care a fig. You’ll disappear with the dawn like always, she spoke to monsters in her thoughts, depressed and cynical like her mother had been ten years ago.

“Mum,” fell from Hilda’s lips.

She scrunched into a ball, clutching her knees, and began shivering like a leaf. The heavy air in the room suffocated her. Gasping for breath, she buried her face in the mended sheet, whiffing the lingering scent. The scent of her body, reminding her of her solitude. Hilda closed her eyes and gnashed her teeth.

The dim shape of her mother departing the city on the waggon of gnome mummers emerged from the depths of her mind. Hilda had not bid her farewell then, being angry she was abandoning Matej. She shrieked, the sheet muffling the sound.

Forgive me, that I didn’t leave with you. I was scared of the outside world. And stupid to love Dad so much. I would give everything to be with you now.

She ran her hands through her hair, tearing at it in despair.