Chapter 1: A Sense of Urgency
“ALARA!”
The pale young woman awoke with a start, sitting straight up on her hay-stuffed mattress with a gasp. The loud voice of her father and his insistent pounding on her bedroom door told her everything in a mere moment - she had overslept, and was in deep trouble.
“Alara, we’re going to be late to the market thanks to your lazing about - get out here NOW.” His tone was harsh, and final. She had messed up royally.
“Coming, Father,” she yelled back, hurriedly shaking awake the thin farmhand who had shared her bed the previous night. “You have to go, now,” she hissed, throwing his clothes at him from the floor.
In a hungover haze, he stumbled upwards and pulled on his trousers, nearly falling over in the process. He pulled his shirt over his head and had one arm through a sleeve as he reached toward her bedroom door, but Alara, half-dressed herself, pushed him out of the way.
“Not that way you idiot! Out the window. Do you want him to beat you half to death?” Her voice was a furious whisper as she pushed him toward her small bedroom window, lifted the sash, and pushed him outside. Quickly, she tucked the half-empty bottle of gin into his boots and tossed them outside after him, closing the window behind with a firm “thud”.
Quickly she ran a comb through her long red curls, and pulled on her apron and boots. They were dingy, and looked odd against the pretty green fabric of the dress she had chosen to travel to town in. A moment later she opened her bedroom door and slipped out into the main room of their meager home.
“About time, sleeping beauty,” Darrien snarled when he laid eyes on her. “Feeling well-rested?”
“I slept fine, Father, and you?” She replied cooly, striding toward the cabinets that housed their food supply for the journey.
“There’s no need to be smart, Alara,” he growled, a dangerous edge to his voice. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who had been drinking last night. “We have a three day ride ahead of us - best not to start it off on a sour note.”
Alara nodded, placing their food supply into a large basket. Bread, hard cheeses, some dried meat from the previous winter, and a good bunch of grapes she had picked the previous day. He would not need to repeat himself to her - his tone was threatening enough.
“Put this in there, too,” he said, handing her a large bottle of wine. She placed it in the basket carefully and closed the lid, ready to add it to the already-loaded cart. He nodded, gruffly, and led the way out into the morning air.
The sun had risen roughly half an hour before she woke, and the bright sunshine illuminated the expanse of fields and cottages that made up their little “town”. Autumn would be setting in soon, and this coming market would count the end of their selling season until next Spring.
The three young farmhands that Darrien had employed that season were standing next to the cart, ready to hit the road. Bran and Cecil, his “trustworthy” friends looked about as gruff as he did; however Vance, the young newcomer to the group, stood leaning on the cart, looking as though he’d been hit by a truck.
“Vance, you’re late,” Darrien barked, startling the young man. “You look like hell, were you drinking last night?”
“In a word -” Vance started, but he caught the wide-eyed panic from Alara and the imperceptible turn of her head. “Er - yes, sir. Just so excited for my first market.”
Darrien gave him a long, concerned look before turning away. “Yes, well, get your boots on the right feet before we head out.”
Vance dropped to one knee to fix his mistake, giving Alara a clumsy wink on the way to the ground. She gave him a sly smile in return, but once he looked down to switch his boots she rolled her eyes. He was certainly no prize, but in this little slice of hell he was the best she could do at the moment.
She heaved a heavy sigh as she placed the basket on the back of the cart, making sure it was secure among their wares and tools. The journey to Faefall was going to be long, and almost certainly boring. What with her having to entertain her father’s rage, his friends’ idiotic conversation, and the tonedeaf flirtation of their newest recruit, she would almost certainly have preferred throwing herself into the nearest river to drown, but alas - Darrien would never allow her to get that far out of his sight.
“Alright, we’re set,” Darrien announced, pulling around four horses from the stable. Bran and Cecil mounted theirs easily, and Vance reached out for the reins of the fourth when Darrien caught him with a stern glare.
“What do you think you’re doing, boy?” He snapped, incredulous. “This horse is for Alara. You ride on the cart, and steer the donkey.” Vance looked utterly defeated, and Alara let out a hearty laugh as she came forward to take the reins.
“Maybe next year, tough guy,” she said, patting his arm in fake sympathy. Vance gave her a sarcastic grin and climbed up to his post on the cart, his face crestfallen. Soon, everyone had taken their place and they set off down the long dirt road that would lead them, eventually, to Faefall.
As the sun rose higher in the sky and the late summer heat began to set into their bones, Alara let her thoughts wander to the market - the sounds, the colors, the men. ‘This will be the year,’ she thought, staring at the clouds in the distance, ‘I’m leaving this life far behind me.’
