He was laid out on the cold room floor beneath a hanging deer carcass, wrapped in hessian and ready for his Pyre. Not a single spot of blood marred either cloth or the stone around him. Snowy wondered if it was because he was empty, all his blood in a bucket mixed with sawn wood and floor sweepings. He had been set to watch over the body, just in case it moved. Sometimes the Anima only left the body for a short while, driven out by intense pain or grief. Then it would seek to return. Of course it would need a body to return to. If the body wasn’t there the Anima would wander in search of it and never rejoin the Essence. Snowy was sure no Anima would ever return to this body, unless someone found a way to put all the blood back in.

Marsa appeared suddenly and ushered him out of the store. He was about to ask if they were going to burn the bucket as well, but Marsa didn’t look in the mood for questions, so he kept quiet. Four servants entered the cold store and picked up the body.

All the servants had been allowed one half of the day to Pyre Vikta and send his Anima into the wind. They trooped quietly behind the bearers, out of the servants entrance and down to the patch of boggy ground where the servants were Pyred when they died in service. It was a cool spring day, with a light wind and a weak sun in a washed out blue sky. In the shadow of the castle a hole had been dug and filled with roughly chopped wood. The smell of pitch wafted on the breeze. The wood needed some help to burn in this wet ground.

The four bearers hoisted Vikta on to the top of the pile and stood back. Snowy was a little taken aback by the way they had thrown the body onto the wood. Indeed, the bearers seemed openly relieved to be free of their burden. Quickly they rejoined the group and all stood still as Parn the Chore Boss threw a glowing ember on the Pyre.

As the flames took, some of those gathered shed a tear and wished Vikta into the wind. A large proportion were already leaving, heading back to the kitchens for the promised cider and meats.

Snowy stood with Marsa and Parn and a few others and watched until the roaring fire scoured away Vikta’s flesh and freed his Anima. Into the wind or the streams if he had been good, where it would flow into the Essence and be reborn. If he’d been bad it would go instead into a tree or boulder. There it would stay until the tree died or the boulder was shattered, only then would it pass into the Essence and, eventually, be reborn. What you returned as decided by how you had spent your previous life.

“Let’s hope he comes back soon, into a more pleasant life.” Marsa whispered.

“May the wind carry him home.” Parn replied, with some feeling.

The fire burned down low, carrying what remained of Vikta into the hole. It smoked and steamed for a while and finally went out. The small party approached the pit and each took up a handful of soil, dropping it onto the ashes with a few private words. Snowy didn’t really know what to say, so he just copied Marsa. “I hope your new life is as happy as this one was sad.”

When they had all passed, Parn took up a spade and filled in the hole with the soil they had dug out earlier, finally replacing the marsh grass turf that had been set to one side. The Underlord had ordered that as little trace of the Pyre as possible remain.

Snowy turned and followed as his seniors returned to the castle. Looking back at the small mound, he thought how little it was to show for a person’s life. And even that would fade, as all the other servants’ Pyres had done, sinking back into the damp loam. When Underlord Guamon died, he would leave behind this towering block of stones, so much more than the pathetic lump that used to be Vikta. And his Pyreing would be so much more grand, definitely something to see. He vowed there and then to die like a Guamon, not a Vikta. Whatever it took.

Inside the kitchens, the atmosphere was one of subdued cheerfulness, with plenty of drink already consumed. There wouldn’t be much work done this day. Snowy followed Marsa until she reached the large kitchen table. It had been pushed against one wall and spread with left over roasts and cheeses from the Underlord’s banquet the night before and a few loafs of fresh baked bread. He grabbed a lump of cheese and a roast pigeon and ducked under the table, placing his back against the wall, his skinny legs sticking out in front. A few other of the servants’ children, all younger than him, dashed under the table and around the table legs. He ignored them, he was nearly a man after all, and above such games.

Freed from his chores and the fuss of the Pyre, his mind began to work as it always did. He had so many questions now, but he wouldn’t get Marsa’s attention, not today. Later, he decided, tomorrow, I will ask her then, when we are alone.

When the noise had subsided and only kitchen staff remained, Snowy emerged and joined Marsa at the sinks. She was talking quietly to another servant, small talk mostly, nothing of consequence. One or two others came and went, delivering vegetables from the castle’s farm, and freshly killed ducks and swans for the night feast. Snowy lifted the wing of a swan and spread out the feathers. They were so light, yet so strong. He plucked a couple of the bigger ones and began to examine them closely.

“If you are going to mope about you can go outside. Take care. And stay out of the sun.” Marsa said over her shoulder. A couple of the younger servants exchanged a look. If they’d been found idle they’d now be scrubbing the black grease from the pans or gutting the birds.

Snowy made the most of this suggestion and dashed towards the doorway, feathers tightly clutched, but her warning completely forgotten. He turned out of the door and headed for one of his favourite places. Behind the castle was a stand of oak trees the woodsmen were forbidden to cut. They said they were war tithe trees, left to stand in case ships or catapults were needed. Snowy didn’t believe them, even he knew it wasn’t that easy. The trees were all ancient, tall and broad, but more interestingly to a youngster, they were easy to climb. Snowy intended to climb the highest and drop the feathers from the top, just to see what would happen. The Pyre, and Vikta, were forgotten for the moment as he scaled the trunk, working fearlessly ever higher.

In the shade of a large apple tree in the kitchen garden, Snowy and Marsa sat peeling vegetables. It was a warm summer’s day, so they had decided to work outdoors for a change. They were seated on low stools, each with a peeling blade and a pile of mixed roots. Before them sat a large wooden tub half filled with water. Frequently, a vegetable would splash into the water from Marsa’s hand. Occasionally, the same would happen from Snowy’s

They sat chatting whilst they worked. About nothing really. Marsa would explain some fact about cooking vegetables to Snowy, he would tell her how he had climbed a tall fir tree, and how all the younger children had said how brave he was.

More than a month had passed since the Pyreing, and Snowy still hadn’t managed to ask the questions he needed answering. Taking a breath, Snowy asked, “Did you know my parents. Did they live in the castle?”

Marsa dropped both the root she had been peeling and the peeling blade, they splashed into the tub sending droplets of water over her white leggings.

Marsa looked at Snowy, then sighed. “Well, I think you’re old enough to know. I didn’t ever meet your father, but I think you get your colouring from him. Your mother was a local, with the usual dark hair and mud brown eyes. She brought you here when you were a newborn. She said she couldn’t look after you, she didn’t say why. She was heartbroken, Tyron, I could see that. She loved you like any mother loves their child. But sometimes, things happen that we can’t control, and we just have to make the best of it. And some good came out of it. I’d never have met you otherwise.” She smiled broadly, patting his arm. She retrieved the peeling blade and continued her work, although slower now.

“The Underlord, he took you in, called you Tyron, gave you into the care of the kitchens. Several of the servants looked after you then, passing you around as they worked. After a few years, less and less of them were willing to take a turn until it seemed only I was left. I didn’t mind, never at all.” She took a deep breath and sighed.

Snowy thought she had finished, and was going to chance his luck and ask another question. He opened his mouth to speak, but she suddenly spoke again, her voice tight in her throat.

“And that’s how it’s been these last fifteen years. Fifteen years! Time surely steams away like a boiling pot. I‘ve tried to bring you up well, like your mother would have expected. Of course you should be a Worker by now, these past two years, named your chosen skill. But I suppose being around in the kitchens you’ve learned a lot anyway.” Marsa took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in her throat. “What…” She tried again. “What is you’d like to do anyway?”

Snowy was silent a moment. Marsa had said more in the last few moments about his origins than at any time in the last fifteen years. And now she was asking him what Skill he wanted to choose. “I hadn’t really thought about it yet. I don’t know. I’d like to have a castle one day, but I don’t know where I’d start to get one.”

Marsa laughed. “A castle ay? Nothing like having big dreams. Don’t get me wrong.” She hastened at the site of Snowy’s scowling face. “There’s nothing wrong with that. After all, we are told, even the lowest slave can build an empire, if only they have the talent and the will to work hard enough. But it would be better to start smaller. After all, a banquet is eaten one mouthful at a time.”

Snowy smiled again, then his face dropped. “I don’t know, I can’t think of anything I want to do.”

Marsa patted his leg, leaving a wet hand print on his leggings. She smiled, “No rush, young man, no rush at all.

“Now, let’s get a move on with these, there’s a lot more to do for the Birth Day feast tomorrow.”

“How old will you be tomorrow Marsa?”

“That’s Skillworker Arish to you, boy.” She replied sternly.

Snowy looked at her a moment until he saw the corners of her mouth turn up in a grin.

But, he noticed, she still didn’t answer the question.

Later that day, Snowy was sent out of the kitchens to play. He had been peering into the steaming pots of vegetables and prodding at the roasting meats to see if they were ready. Parn had looked at Marsa and gestured with his eyes. He was a kindly man, but suffered no one to interfere with the art of roasting, as he referred to it. So it was either join the other boys turning the spits or get out of the kitchen.

This time of the year, with the long summer nights, the children were allowed to wander the lands around the castle, provided they went no further than the outer wall that marked the castle boundary. Here, to the west of the castle, not much of it remained, it being barely as high as he was, and disappearing altogether further north. Of course the front section was kept in good order, and much of the east side too, except where it sunk into the marshy ground. Beyond, farmland stretched as far as Snowy could see whilst standing on the wall. This rich, crop covered land also belonged to the Underlord Guamon, but he rarely went there.

Snowy headed for the small wood in which the children of the castle played. The wall ran through the middle of the wood, and just beyond a small stream sprang up in a shallow gully. The stream, someone told him, ran all the way down to the river on the edge of the Underlord’s lands. Beyond that, the land belonged to someone else.

Of course, the children played in the small stream, after all it was in the wood, and the wood, well half of it, was on the inside of the boundary. It therefore followed that they were allowed to play there. And if any adults actually knew this place existed, the children were sure it would be alright.

As Snowy expected, several children where already here, but to his surprise, two other children were here as well. Dexel Guamon sat astride a small pony. She was dressed in a yellow garment that reminded Snowy of a tent. How she managed to ride in such an unpractical thing, he didn’t know. Perhaps she was a skilled rider. The garment also did nothing for her looks. In Snowy’s limited experience of girls his age, she was a pretty girl, with long red hair and eyes as green as grass. She had a fair complexion and an easy smile. When she laughed, which wasn’t often, her face lit up. He didn’t really know what she was like from the neck down as she was always wearing baggy clothes. He tried to imagine her dressed as he was in tight leggings and a sleeveless vest, but then found himself blushing. In her hand she held the reins to her brother’s pony.

Dered Guamon was standing at the bottom of a tall tree, looking up and pointing into the branches. They were physically very similar, although Dexel was two years older. Snowy was convinced Dered had got the worst of the deal. Where Dexel’s hair was red like the sunset, Dered’s was red like a sore patch. Where Dexel’s eyes were green as grass, Dered’s were green like pond water. And so on, down to the twist in his smile and his braying laugh. Personality wise they were both the same; children of the Underlord and everyone knew it.

Snowy joined the children and asked what they were playing.

“Playing? We aren’t playing anything. I’m about to show this lot that I’m the bravest person in the castle.” Dered answered importantly.

“After Father of course.” Dexel corrected.

“And how are you going to do that?” Snowy asked.

“I’m going to climb all the way to the top of this high tree and claim the prize for my fair sister.”

“Prize, at the top of a tree?”

But Dered had already started climbing, pulling himself up the first few branches with some effort.

Another boy, Torm, son to one of the beast handlers, pointed back the way Snowy had just walked. “If you stand over there when the sun comes round, there’s something glinting in the top of the tree. It’s been there a few days. I reckon it’s a sword or a magic dagger.”

“Don’t be stupid, it’s too small for that.” Dexel said. “It’s only this big.” She made a circle with both fingers and thumbs together.

“Yes, but that’s just the end of it.” Torm insisted.

Ubli, child to one of the ladies maids, spoke quietly but firmly. “I think it is the lost treasure of a handsome prince, stolen away by one of those birds, the black and white ones, which gather precious gems to teach their young how to steal.”

Everyone laughed, but Ubli stood proudly and refused to be shamed.

By now Dered was a good six man heights above the ground. The children staring up thought him very brave to be so high, and thought him to be almost there. Snowy’s practised eye told him the boy had twice as much left to go as he had just climbed, at least.

Dered had stopped now, and was clinging to a branch with both hands. He shouted down. “That’s it, I can’t get any higher, no one can, I’m coming down.”

Far slower than he had ascended, Dered eased himself down the trunk until he again stood on the solid ground. ”There are no more hand holds,” He explained, “it’s easy that far, then there’s nothing to hold on to. No one can climb that tree, not without a rope. We ought to get one, and come back later.”

Dexel pouted, “But what about my prize? How will I ever get it now?” She looked pleadingly at her brother.

“We can come back tomorrow. We can bring rope, and a hammer, and some nails and make some footholds. You can get it tomorrow.” Dered patted her hand.

“I want it today, what ever will I do all night without it, and then tomorrow we come back and it’s gone, taken away by the stealing bird.” A tear formed in the corner of her eye.

Dered looked panic stricken, as though he’d be punished if his sister was unhappy. He looked around, as if to check for adults. His eyes lit on Snowy. “You, you can climb up there Snowy, go on, I’ve heard you climbed the fir tree near the stable yard.”

Snowy was about to refuse when suddenly Dexel smiled widely, the tears vanishing like magic. “Oh, yes, please Snowy, you can get it. You’re far braver than Dered.” She looked her brother up and down, an ugly sneer on her lip.

“I’ll have a try.” Snowy shrugged his shoulders and moved over to the gnarled trunk.

Dered, realising he had been out-manoeuvred, changed his tactics and began to try talking Snowy out of trying.

“You can’t get up there, you’ll get as far as I did and then there are no hand holds. Besides, the bark’s wet and you’ll probably slip. It’s a long way to fall. A long way. You could die, or worse not die, but be all twisted and praralived like old Jakub.”

Ignoring Dered, and with a last glance at Dexel’s smile, Snowy began to climb. Although not much taller or stronger than Dered, Snowy had a few advantages over the lord’s boy. Firstly he was slightly bigger which gave him a better reach, but more importantly, he had no fear of heights. As long as he could remember this had been so, and many a guardian had been scared witless to find him standing on the edge of one parapet or another.

He moved quickly up the first section and soon got to the point where Dered had stopped. The boy was still shouting, something about having to be spoon fed, but Snowy wasn’t really listening. Now he was up here he could see that a branch had broken off long ago, probably in a storm, and had left a gap. But moving further around the tree, and leaning right out, he managed to snag another branch and pull himself over.

Up he went then, further and further, the muffled cheers below giving him new impetus. Finally he was nearing the top. The branches were very thin here, almost at the limit of what would hold his weight. And just above, just out of reach, there was a glint of silver.

An old nest, bigger than Snowy’s head, was coming apart in the wind blown crown of the tree. He steadied himself on two of the thickest branches and stood up, holding another branch and reaching out for the small piece of metal he could now see clearly. It was a coin, a small silver one with a hole drilled through it. A piece of old grass woven into the nest suspended it, making it swing in the breeze.

He reached out and grasped the coin, feeling the cold metal against his palm. His heart pounding in triumph, he looked down, smiling broadly to let them know he had got the treasure. But the leaves and branches obscured his view, and all he could see was a few glimpses of cloth and pink that could only be children.

With his body wedged against the trunk, Snowy took a few moments to look at the coin more closely. It was a little larger than his thumb nail, almost circular and of a thin metal he guessed was silver. It was old and worn, and not like any coin he’d ever seen, not that that was very many. It was fairly clean, certainly enough to make out the design on either side. On the first side, four parallel bars with their ends overlapping formed a box , in the centre of which was the face of an animal of some kind. On the other was a man, obviously a soldier. In one hand he held a short sword, but his other hand was held out, as though the man was doing magic. Snowy didn’t know much about magic, but he did know soldiers couldn’t do it, not and be soldiers as well. He had learned from the travelling mages that visited the castle sometimes that metal made the power die inside. Well, he shrugged, it was only a coin. Perhaps there was a way to do both.

With nowhere safe to put the coin, and unable to climb down with one hand, he placed the treasure in his teeth and closed his lips around it. The coin tasted of bitter metal and soil, but it was worth it for the glory he would amass.

Now he was up here, higher than he had ever been, he took a few moments to look around. He could see for days across the landscape, could see the castle and the hill it sat upon, all the farms and fields, and in the distance the river that could only be the one the small stream ran to. And beyond, land that belonged to someone else.

Impatient voices broke his reverie. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he began to descend nevertheless. He would present his prize and win his fair lady. Snowy blushed at this and missed his footing. He hung from two hands whilst he recovered. Thoughts like this had come to his head with increasing frequency lately. It was a bit worrying. He would have to ask Marsa about it. And the other thing. No, on second thoughts, not the other thing.

The children all cheered when he reappeared, then all rushed to him when he touched the ground. Voices clamoured all around him. “Did you get it?” “You got it didn’t you?”

A wide smile revealed the small coin still clasped between his teeth. He carefully removed it and cleaned it as best he could on his vest. Holding it between finger and thumb he showed it off to the eager children.

“He got it, all the way from up there. You’re great Snowy.”

“That’s a long way up, I’d never have dared.”

“Dered didn’t dare either.”

“ I could have got up there. It just wasn’t worth it for that tiny thing.” Dered insisted.

Dexel began to whine with impatience. “Bring it to me, quickly, oh quickly, my treasure.”

Snowy walked over to where Dexel sat astride her pony. Like a valiant prince presenting priceless treasure to his lady, Snowy held the coin and bowed his head as he lifted it to her hand. Dexel’s warm touch sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine as she took the coin. ”Oh, look, it’s beautiful, a tiny coin, with a hole already for a fine chain. And look at the pictures, so much nicer than our coins.” She smiled radiantly down on Snowy. “I’ll keep it forever.”

Snowy blushed the deepest red he had ever gone. With his pale skin and hair he imagined himself lit up like a Pyre. An argument had broken out behind his back, distracting him from continuing the conversation he was having with Dexel.

Dered and Torm where pushing each other back and fourth. Arguing about Dered’s failure to scale the tree. Torm was bigger than Dered, and so the Underlord’s son was slowly being driven backwards.

“Couldn’t.” Torm would say.

“Could.” Dered replied.

Back and fourth it went, the pushes and the voices getting stronger, until finally Dered stumbled, tripped over a tree root and landed heavily on his back. All the children there burst into laughter. Even Dexel quietly laughed, using her hands as shields.

Dered leapt up, yelling at Torm, “Look what you’ve done, you common imbecile. You’ll pay for these clothes.” He gestured to one or two faint mud stains on the side of his leg. Then he scrambled onto his pony and glared down at Snowy. “This is your fault, maggot, climbing up some stupid tree to get some stupid coin. Everybody says you’re a worthless maggot, good for nothing but getting fat on other peoples’ work. Why don’t you crawl off and die, maggot.

“Dexel! Come on.”

Without another word, but with a deep sigh, Dexel rode off back towards the castle in the hoof prints of her brother.

The children all gathered around Snowy and began asking him question, mainly about what it was like to be so high. He answered them in a distracted fashion. He was still replaying the scene with Dered in his mind. No one had ever been that angry towards him before, and he still couldn’t work out why. It had affected him more deeply even than the touch of Dexel’s fingers in his palm.

The children seemed satisfied eventually, and ran off to play, most of them climbed trees, some just a few branches off the ground, the braver ones higher. Some went to the tops of small trees and shouted down, “Look at me I’m Snowy.”

As the sun began to set, the children set off home, until Snowy was left alone. He sat on the stone wall and watched the yellow sun turning red as it went down. Before it was halfway gone he jumped up and headed back. Marsa would worry about him if he was out after dark.

He emerged from the wood and began to walk along the muddy path that led through a grassy meadow to the shorter grass that surrounded the castle. Walking with his head down, he saw the red rays of the son glint on a silvery object on the ground. Stooping to pick it up he found a small silver coin. For an instant he thought it was his lucky day. To never find any coins in his whole life and now find two on the same day was luck indeed. Then he noticed the hole drilled through it, and the slight damage to one edge.

His feet stopped and his shoulders slumped. She’d thrown it away. He’d risked his life to get it for her, and she’d thrown it into the mud. Ungrateful sow. Or, perhaps he’d done it. Taken it from her and thrown it away to spite. So why wasn’t she here now looking for it? If it meant so much to her she’d have stopped to look for it. Perhaps he’d spoken to her, convinced her to do it. So she was weak willed as well. And he was a spiteful child, and manipliative, or whatever Marsa said about him that meant he used people. Well, he’d just keep out of their way in future, might even leave the castle. Marsa said it was time he chose a Skill. He would choose and leave the castle, tomorrow, and take Marsa with him.

Gripping the coin tightly in his left hand, he marched back to the kitchens to tell Marsa his decision.

* * *

Marsa was arranging fruit in a large bowl to the side of the top table. Although it was only mid summer, most of the fruit was quite large already and would make a good show. Of course, it was a little sour to be eaten yet, but it would at least look nice. She’d always enjoyed Birth Day, it was a chance for all the castle staff and residents to get together. All the farmers and their families came in from the Underlord’s outlying farms, and several of Underlord Guamon’s relatives visited. Then they would all dance and feast and talk until the sun started to set. The children would rush to the windows to look west and see if the sun was setting yet. As the last lip of the sun disappeared, as the last red ray was cut off, the whole castle would cheer, because then everyone was officially a year older.

Marsa Arish would be fifty four this year, and never once had she seen it cloudy on Birth Day, neither did she hope to. It was a glorious day for all. So involved was she in the dream she forgot the apple she was polishing on her apron. It dropped from her hand, hit her shoe and rolled under the table. Cursing herself for a foolish Worker, she dropped to her knees and lifted up the table cloth. If she’d caught any of her staff daydreaming on the job, they would have got a proper broiling, and rightly so. The apple had come to rest against the back wall. It was bruised and leaking juice. No good for display now. She let the cloth back down. Let the rat’s have it, her knees were too old to be crawling under tables.

But as she stood her conscience began to bother her. She wouldn’t have left the apple last year, and had it been anyone else, she would have sent them under in a blink. Marsa looked around the large hall. It was almost ready. The flowers and the rest of the decorations were up, the ceiling high windows dressed in lace and the tables pushed to the walls for the dancing. She would have asked someone, but there was no one else here. She turned towards the kitchens and decided to go and tell one of the other servants to come back up here and retrieve the lost fruit. But she had taken no more than two steps when she stopped. Maybe they’d ask why she dropped it. Maybe they’d think she was going soft like boiled potatoes.

Her mind made up, she strode towards a small cupboard at the end of the hall where the Overlord’s banners were kept. Inside she found what she was looking for, a long pole, usually used to suspend one of the banners from the battlements when the Overlord visited. As she carried the pole out and was closing the door, Marsa heard voices in the main hall. It sounded like the Underlord’s son Dered, he was whining about something like he usually did, which meant he was with his father. His mother, mercifully, had died of some foreign disease before her beloved children had spoiled.

Marsa stood quietly, meaning not to intrude, until she heard the word “maggot.” This was just one of the nicknames given to Tyron by the various staff and household members. Snowy being the least offensive.

Holding the pole carefully off the wooden floor, she crept along the short corridor and stood just outside the hall. She could now hear the rumbling voice of the Underlord.

“Are you sure?” He said in that voice that made people question their own names.

“Oh yes my father. He has grown quite a lot, and filled out too. Everyone says how handsome he is.“ Dered replied, in the familiar angelic voice he affected.

“Well, it’s certainly worth a look. It would be fortunate if the thing we’ve been looking for was right here in the castle all this time. I’ll have him brought before me tomorrow. Have to change his name though, maggot’s not going to impress anyone, neither is Tyron.”

“My father, we could name him Vikta, like the old one.”

The Underlord roared with laughter, “I see you have a fine sense of things my son, a fine sense, just like your father.” Still laughing, they left the hall by the main doors and were soon out of earshot.

Marsa’s old knees buckled. Only the pole in her hand stopped her from falling.

Breathless with shock, she leaned on the pole, willing herself to stay on her feet. They couldn’t, not to her Tyron. But they would force him to do what Vikta did. They owned him they’d say. They bought him with coin, raised him and fed him. He was theirs to command.

Marsa found herself planning something she thought she would never do.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two - Tyron