A House in Amber

39th Day of Harvest

766 Karloman’s Peace

The journey out of the Lenzen Hills had not been easy.

Ekkehard and his party were hunted by vengeful wild people for a full cycle, forcing them to hide and rest during the day and travel at night. On more than one occasion, they had no choice but to raid smaller camps of the hill people to steal food.

‘Something must have been watching out for us,’ Ekkehard thought to himself, as after twenty-eight nights of travel, they finally escaped the hill range along its northern border.

Once they were far enough, and finally free of their pursuers, they made their way to the nearest imperial highway, and travelled openly again.

Half a day's walk from the hill range, the Reubke party came across a small farming village.

They were able to make it out long before they came across any of its inhabitants. A spattering of farmhouses littered an expanse of fields that encircled a small cluster of dwellings and other small structures.

Most of the village homes were the typical design of the Karloman Empire, single-storied rectangular buildings sporting hipped roofs that ran parallel to their width. Each roof had protruding eaves on both the front and rear, which were upturned at the corners.

Only a few of the buildings broke from this pattern, the most notable of which was the Elder's home, which dominated the village centre.

The Elder's home was the largest building in the village, also rectangular in shape but boasting a second storey and adorned with a double-eave hipped roof. Both the upper and lower eaves were supported by a series of posts, creating a balcony under the upper eave and a porch below the lower.

The walls of the other residences in the village were the unpainted grey-white of the local stone, and the clay tiles of their roofs were inconsistent shades of brown. The Elder's house, however, had been pridefully decorated.

Its walls were painted amber, while the glazed tiles of its roof were a deep sea of sage, broken by horizontal bands of maple that finished its edges. A short wall, only three feet in height, formed a perimeter around the house, segregating a private garden from the rest of the village.

Resting upon the edges of each of the house's eight upturned corners was a carving. Each carving was different from the others, although all were depictions of sparrows. In one, the sparrow's wings were spread as if soaring through the sky, while in another, the bird was perched, ever watchful of the house's surroundings. In the centre of the roof's ridge was a modest adornment, an abstract of a curved spine held horizontally aloft by two vertical posts.

It was said that the denizens of heaven looked down upon the mortal realm, and thus, such roof adornments had become a primary display of wealth in the empire.

A second building that stood out was a wide, square-shaped, tall building with a double-eave pyramid roof. This building appeared like a girthy tower. It too was painted and adorned similarly to that of the Elder's home. Etched into the walls of the building were images of nature; rabbits frolicking beneath trees as sparrows circled above. Atop the peak of its pyramidal roof was a carving of a beautiful and bountiful woman.

This was the village temple, dedicated to both the gods of Spring and Harvest, as was common for farming villages.

The last building of note was also square, although far wider than the temple. It also sported a second floor, but its roof was unadorned and its walls unpainted. This was the village's inn and tavern, not important enough for decoration but given a size and grandeur to meet its function.

As the Reubke party reached the borders of the village, workers in the fields spotted them. They turned to run at the mere sight of them.

Shortly after, a man flanked by a pair of armed guards, whom Ekkehard presumed must be the village's elder, marched from the village to meet the Reubkes. A small crowd followed a little behind them. Villagers all, armed with tools and farming equipment brandished as weapons.

Ekkehard felt his throat go dry and a chill in his chest as they saw the approaching men.

‘Maybe we should give this village a miss,’ Ekkehard suggested to his fellows.

‘Why?’ Florentin replied, ‘looks peaceful enough to me.’

‘Yes,’ Ekkehard agreed, ‘but who knows how far news of us has spread. Maybe Hanib’s men have already been here, and these villagers are on the lookout for traveling heretics.’

‘You just thinking of that now?’ Audomar asked gruffly. He shot Ekkehard a disdainful look. Ekkehard shook his head but did not take it personally.

His brother was tired.

So was he.

‘Too late to do anything about it now, I guess,’ Ekkehard stated and squared his back, walking ahead of his brothers to greet the villagers.

As the crowd neared, Ekkehard could hear their jeers and discontent mutterings. His brothers heard it to, and gripped the hilts of their weapons, ready for a fight.

'Cool yourselves,' Ekkehard instructed. 'These are simple village folk. We can solve this with words.’

His brothers released their weapons, but Ekkehard saw the reluctant expressions on their faces as they did. He hoped he could prevent this from turning into another blood bath. He had seen one too many in recent days as it was.

'Get off with yous,' the village elder shouted at the Reubkes the moment they were within earshot. The crowd at his back jeered in support of the elder.

'I'm sorry?' Ekkehard questioned, holding his hands up peacefully as the villagers approached.

'You heard me!' the elder shouted again. 'Get gone, yous dirty beggars, before we have to drive yous off. We don't want your kind here.'

'Our kind?' hissed Audomar. He gripped the haft of his war spear tightly, knuckles turning white.

'You heard him,' one of the farmers called from behind the elder. 'Now fuck off, you filthy savage!'

'They think we are with the hill people,' Gisla whispered.

Ekkehard looked back at his little sister and then to the rest of his family. He chuckled to himself. For the first time in a long while, he saw what he and his family looked like.

They were all filthy, having had neither the time nor the opportunity to bathe since the day the manor was attacked. Their clothes were ragged, torn, and soiled, not just with sweat and dirt, but with blood and viscera too.

Each bore wounds of some kind; their bodies littered with bruises and cuts. He placed a hand on his cheek and could tell the gash on his face had turned ugly, leaving behind a raised, jagged red scar haloed by puckered, angry pink skin.

They were skinny as well, their visages gaunt and skin bleached from by the sun.

‘Is something funny you filthy dog?’ One of the elder’s guards barked.

‘My apologies,’ Ekkehard said as he turned back to them, ‘nothing is funny. I just realised what we must look like to you. But please, my friends, you must hear us out.’

‘Ain’t nothin we must do,’ the guard snapped, ‘its you who must be fucking off, right now.’

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‘We are no wild men,’ Ekkehard continued, ‘we are traders. We foolishly sheltered in the hills and were attacked over a cycle ago. We have been chased and hunted ever since. We are not here to threaten you. We only seek shelter, perhaps food and drink, and a good bath. We still have some coin to spare, and we will see you compensated for your generosity.'

'Crock of shit,' the other guard spat, ‘what type of idiot seeks shelter in those hills? No merchant on these roads would risk it.'

The guards may have been sceptical, but Ekkehard saw that the elder was mulling his words. He eyed the Reubkes suspiciously, but with a measure of tolerance not present in the rest of the villagers.

'Please,' Ekkehard continued, 'you must believe us. We are good, law-abiding citizens of the Empire.'

'Aye,' the Elder responded, 'I can see that. I believe yous, don't worry.'

'Elder Priam, you can't be serious,' one villager exclaimed.

'Course I'm serious,' the elder replied calmly, 'I don't know about yous all, but I've never met any hill fucker with the smarts to pretend otherwise. Besides, I've spent enough time around pomp and arrogance to know a noble when I hear one.’

‘Nobles,’ Ekkehard heard the waiting crowd mumble in response to the elder.

‘You are nobles are you not?’ the elder Priam asked.

‘Yes,’ Ekkehard confirmed. ‘We are the Rethel family, from Ulm,’ Ekkehard lied.

Priam looked Ekkehard up and down before nodding to himself. ‘Come on yous,' he said, 'let's get ya inside and cleaned up.’

‘Really?’ Ekkehard heard Gerwald exclaim.

Ekkehard looked back at his little brother and shot him a look that said ‘shut up.’

‘Yes, young master, really,’ the elder said, ‘You'll stay at my house; we've got food, water, and a bath, not a hot one mind you, but a bath anyhows. I'll put out the word for some fresh clothes.'

Ekkehard almost collapsed as the weight upon his shoulders suddenly lifted and his knees went weak. The sense of relief was almost overwhelming.

‘Thank you,’ Ekkehard said to the old man, ‘really, thank you.’

The Reubkes let the elder lead them into the village.

Every village elder's house had rooms dedicated to hosting and housing visiting nobles, should they ever be visited by their liege lord. There would be a bedroom for the lord themselves and rooms for their entourage.

The Reubkes had been granted use of an entourage room. A modest-sized room with two dozen single beds, enough to house the personal guard of any travelling noble. The elder and his family provided them with bread and water and gave them privacy while they bathed.

Enough clothes were donated by the villagers that every member of the party was able to change into something clean, or at the very least, something cleaner.

Later, in the evening, the Reubke family was invited to sup with the elder, his family, and a few select villagers. They gathered in the receiving room, where a low, horseshoe-shaped table surrounded a fire pit that was sunken into the floor. Cushions were placed around the table's edge, and everyone took their seats.

On the table were simple offerings: sticks of bread, a hot mutton and lentil stew and warm cups of red wine. The food was neither lavish nor expertly prepared, but for Ekkehard, it was something much more than humble.

In the soft light of the fire's glow, the cushions seemed forgivingly softer than they were, as they gently embraced his bruised and battered body. The stew, though basic, carried a flavour of comfort in its warmth. The wine was honest in its unremarkable taste, like a promise of mundanity. This wasn’t a feast of celebration; it was the welcome cradle of sanctuary.

As they ate, the Reubkes told the tale of how they had come to the village.

Not the true version of events, of course; they had left out details of Hanib’s accusations and maintained the pretence of being the Rethel family. When questioned on why they were travelling so far from home, Florentin quickly asserted that the family was travelling for a wedding, a wedding that had since been missed. The villagers accepted the explanation without issue, far more intrigued about the Reubkes' experiences with the wild peoples of the Lenzen Hills.

'You are lucky, my dear,' the elder said to Gisla as the story reached its finale. 'There are some real crazies up on them hills. To be at their mercy for days and come out unscarred. That’s a right blessing that is.'

Gisla shifted on her cushion, and an expression of anguish crossed her face as she replied, 'I wouldn’t say unscarred.'

The very air in the room turned bitter at Gisla’s words, and all at the table went quiet.

'Yes, of course,' Elder Priam began to apologise, 'I am sorry. That was a very insensitive thing for me to say. Yous have been through quite the ordeal, and I cannot imagine the pain yous endured.' The man bowed his head, a tinge of shame in his expression.

He was not the oldest of men, Ekkehard realised, perhaps only fifty. In the absence of his guards, he had a gentle appearance, with a soft, rounded face accompanying his shiny bald head.

When the elder looked up again his face scanned all of the Reubkes, and he said, 'I hope you can find some solace, some measure of comfort, in the knowledge that it is all over now. By the grace of Spring, you will live a life anew.'

Ekkehard thanked him for his kind words.

For the rest of the evening, no one brought up the subject of the Reubkes' journey again, and the conversations concerned crops, farming and local gossip, with some complaints about rising local taxes. When dinner had ended, the Reubke women retired to the bed chamber, as Priam’s wife and daughters took care of clearing away their meal.

Priam asked of the Reubkes, 'come morning, what are your plans?'

'We hadn’t thought that far ahead,' admitted Audomar.

'The wedding has been missed so there is no reason to continue on our current course,' Florentin said, maintaining his previous lie.

'Headed home then?' Priam half asked and half stated.

'Home,' Ekkehard thought privately to himself, 'wherever that is now.'

As Ekkehard and his brothers began to retire for the night, Ekkehard found himself waiting on the far side of the bed chamber door. Within, he heard the quiet sobbing of his wife and sister.

The air in Ekkehard’s lungs turned thick as he listened; his stomach knotted and churned, and heat climbed up the back of his neck.

‘I keep dreaming of her,’ Ekkehard heard Gisla whisper to Auriana through her tears, ‘she comes for me in my dreams.’

‘What does she want?’ Auriana asked.

‘To take me away again,’ Gisla explained, ‘her daughter had died. She claimed I was her. She would brush my hair, make me lay with her, and call her name. When I told her that I was Gisla, she would beat me. She said I was her daughter, and she was never letting me go again.’

‘A mad woman,’ Auriana replied, ‘Think not of her. You are safe now, and you have Audomar, Florentin, Gerwald, Dreux, and Ekkehard to keep you that way.’

‘They couldn’t stop her taking me the first time,’ Gisla replied, as her sobbing turned to mournful silence.

A cold chill enveloped Ekkehard.

Hours later, as Ekkehard walked through the night beyond the village’s edge, he was enveloped by darkness.

Iron walls crept slowly skyward, flanking the imperial highway on which he walked. He stopped and watched them reach heights beyond his vision. The claustrophobic thud of his heart thundered within his chest. Two more walls, one ahead, one behind, emerged and encased him. The ceiling slid closed on his prison and he was trapped.

Ekkehard braced himself for what he knew was coming. This was his dark theatre, and he was accustomed to it.

Below, the floor pulsed with an eerie, red luminescence, each beat dripping with sanguine hunger. The air, dense and parched, clawed at his throat, striving to suffocate him. Then a wave of heat surged forward, lusting to sear his flesh.

He shut his eyes, ignored the pain and discomfort, letting his mind seek refuge in acceptance. When he opened them, the cherry blossom tree stood sentinel once more.

The golden light was absent.

Malevolent air clung to him possessively. The tree's branches were barren, devoid of both petals and songbirds. Yet it was haloed in the same infernal scarlet that embraced Ekkehard, its bark whispering crackles in the blistering heat.

Still, it stood before him, he just had to reach for it.

Kneeling by the tree was a robed maiden. Her face was concealed by a hood, but wisps of wavy brown hair escaped its shadows. Suddenly, her robe ignited and she was engulfed in silent flames.

Rising black smoke billowed from her persisting form, gathered and swirled, solidifying into something tangible. From the obsidian cloud emerged a banshee, fashioned of soot and ash, her mane as frenzied as her malevolent gaze. She issued howls and hisses, protesting the existence into which she had been unwillingly wrought. Her talons tore at the fabric of the robed girl, releasing arterial fountains of crimson.

Ekkehard reached for his belt. No weapon hung there.

Gazing at his empty palms, Ekkehard felt his throat seal, strangling the air within him. An unforgiving furnace ignited beneath his eyes, searing his very being. His gut churned in torturous agony, as if threatening to disgorge his innards onto the blood-lit floor.

Then his eyes caught a glimmer. There was a wisp of daylight beneath the foundation of his cage.

Dropping to his knees, he plunged his arm through the floor as if it were mere liquid. His fingers clasped onto something solid, and he drew it out.

He held before him the hilt of a sword, its blade aflame with vengeance.

Ekkehard rose and charged the banshee. With each arc of the blade, he forced the creature to recoil, herding it toward the barren cherry blossom tree. It countered with guttural hisses and piercing screeches, its talons slashing the air in futile strikes.

Cornered against the ancient trunk, Ekkehard drove his sword through the banshee, pinning her to the gnarled wood. As she writhed in a desperate struggle for freedom, vines and roots slithered around her, and the tree’s trunk yawned open to swallow her whole. In a final act of defiance, the smoke woman extended a clawed hand toward Ekkehard, her talons snapping in the air as the bark enveloped her, sealing her essence for eternity.

In that moment, the tree burst into blossom, its pink flowers unfurling as if to nourish themselves upon a new radiance. The infernal hue of the chamber dissolved into tranquil azure. Raindrops materialized as if from nowhere, their cool touch soothing Ekkehard's blistered skin, reviving him.

And just like that, the air lightened.

Turning his back to the tree, Ekkehard beheld the robed girl.

The rain had quenched her flaming garb, leaving her a statue of silent devotion, hands folded in prayer. Yet even this solidity morphed, from stone to clay, then to viscous mud, before melting into the featureless ground beneath her. From the pool of her essence, soil began to fountain and within sprouted the first vestiges of a nascent garden.

Breaking the sanctity, a whimper gave way to chirps. He glanced sideward, spotting a timid rabbit emerging from behind the rejuvenated tree. Cautious at first, the creature's apprehension gave way as it grazed on tufts of newborn grass.

Ekkehard closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, his vision had passed, and he was stood upon the imperial highway once more.

He smiled to himself.

He felt free.

He whispered a prayer to Spring.

‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘I will not waste this gift.’