Where the Path Leads-Chapter 1

Have you ever wondered what it would be like if you could travel back in time just as you are now, with all your 21st-century ideas and values still intact? How would people from the past react towards you? What would they think of your lifestyle? Your values? Your way of thinking?

These questions prompted me to write my first novel, Where the Path Leads which is about a thirteen-year old girl named Emily who goes to a Renaissance Faire. Everyone at the faire is pretending they’re back in the Middle Ages, but Emily actually ends up there when she goes into a labyrinth and walks out into another time. Unfortunately, instead of going back as a noble lady, she finds herself one of the laborers. And those who work do not have a good standard of living nor do they have the freedom to change their lot in life. But Emily has grown up with the idea that life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are basic human rights. When she starts expressing these ideas, she immediately gets herself and others in trouble.  The authorities come after her. 

Combine this with a power-hungry nobleman, forbidden love, magic tokens, and all manner of supernatural creatures, and you have some idea of what Emily’s up against.

This is a story about friendship, first love, and survival, in other worlds as well as in this one. I hope you enjoy this first chapter and subsequent chapters which will appear monthly in the online edition of the Owl Light News. If you want to find out more about the book, go to marydrake.online, or you can purchase the ebook on Amazon (Where the Path Leads by Mary Drake).

Mary Drake

Chapter 1: Do You Know Who I Am?

It was mid-afternoon and Emily’s gaze drifted outside, towards the woods. She was dream-ing of an excuse to quit weaving. The sun overhead had made the cottage stuffy, and her palms were damp, perspiration beaded on her upper lip, sweat trickled down her spine. Why had she wanted to learn to weave? It was so boring that even carrying water seemed appealing. She wouldn’t have to do this if she were a noble woman.

Hearing a faint sound coming closer, she rose quickly from the loom and went to the doorway. Maybe it was Will, the boy she’d met from the village. That thought made her smile slightly as she recalled the afternoon they’d spent together searching the woods for mushrooms. He’d taken her to see the castle and they had shared confidences; he, his desire to travel; she, the strange way she’d come to be here. She hadn’t told him everything, of course. He would have thought her crazy. Maybe she was, but this was really happening. And her encounter with the Bail-iff had really happened, an unpleasant meeting which Will seemed to think was a big deal. 

Then she realized what she was hearing was hoofbeats. It wouldn’t be Will. Her breath caught with apprehension.

Sophia, who was working in the garden using branches to stake up the peas, also heard the sound and stood up, brushing dirt from her dress and hands. A moment later, the man Emily had encountered in the cornfield galloped out of the trees on his enormous black horse, barely slowing down until he was upon them, sending the chickens squawking in every direction. 

Emily caught her breath, going reluctantly out into the dooryard. “Ah, so you weren’t lying about staying with the weaver,” he said, looking down at her.

“Why would I lie?” she shot back, before catching sight of Sophia’s expression, which seemed to say, Don’t anger him. Let me handle it.

“May I be of service, sir?” Sophia said.“Yes, Mistress Weaver, as a matter of fact, you may. Tell me how long this stranger has been with you?” He stared at Emily, who stared back. “She’s my niece, sir, and has only been here a short while.””Niece, is she? She forgot to mention that the other day when we met.” Sophia glanced at her, surprised. Three days ago, when Emily had been collecting firewood, she had heard Blossom’s bell tinkling. Since evening was approaching, she followed the sound in order to fetch the cow back for milking and found Blossom contentedly munching young cornstalks in a field. Later she’d find out it belonged to the Baron. 

That was when a young man whose blond hair and burgundy cloak billowed be-hind him had galloped up on a huge black horse. His fine features were contorted with anger.  “Get over here, girl!  Get this cow out of the Baron’s field, immediately!”The peremptory rudeness of his command had the opposite effect on her. She stood rooted in place, stunned. How was she supposed to accomplish that? It wasn’t as if the cow listened to her commands. Scanning the scene, for the first time Emily’s gaze was drawn farther away to a distant castle which raised crenellated walls and turrets high into the air. A long, serpentine path led up to it, and it reigned queen-like on a hill, the farm fields on all sides like the voluminous folds of a gown.“Do you hear me, dolt?” the man yelled. “Get this cow now, or I’ll take the whip to it. Who the devil are you anyway? I know all the laborers on this demesne.”Flustered, she stammered, “Oh… I’m … uh, visiting, staying with Sophia, the weaver,” then she stepped into the field, calling Blossom, desperately wishing that just this once the cow would respond to her. But Blossom was spooked. She had stopped grazing and was looking at them, her eyes wide and the whites showing.

The man continued heckling her. “Where do you hail from?”

Momentarily, she considered saying it was none of his business, but she remembered Sophia telling her that people in this place all knew one another’s business. 

“From the North,” she said on a whim, making it up as she crept toward the cow. Maybe she could grab Blossom’s rope collar and lead her out.“The North!” the man on horseback choked out. “Our land has been ravaged and our people killed by Northmen. Some say the devil himself comes from the North.” 

Blossom eyed them both warily, as if she didn’t know which way to go and didn’t trust either of them.

“Do you hear your betters when they speak to you girl, or are you dim-witted?”

That was too much and she stopped, turning to glare at him. Her face burned with anger. “How could I help but hear you when you’re yelling. Can’t you see I’m trying to do what you asked? You needn’t insult me.”

Her response was moderate enough. After all, she hadn’t traded insult for insult, but his reaction was alarming. Immediately, his expression hardened and he sat tall astride his huge horse, an imposing figure, especially seen from the ground. As the horse threw its head, he yanked hard on the reins.  

“Wherever you come from, you haven’t learned your place. It’s time someone taught you, impudent wench!” and he raised his whip to strike her, except that Blossom chose that exact moment to make her escape, lunging past them both, charging headlong through rows of tender corn back to the safety of the forest.

The unexpected movement frightened the man’s spirited horse and it snorted loudly, reared, then whipped around and began galloping towards the castle. She could hear its rider yelling, “Whoa!  Whoa!” for a long way, but the horse wasn’t stopping.

Now he enjoyed their discomfiture. “Has she not told you of our meeting?”

Emily hadn’t told Sophia because she was afraid she hadn’t handled it well.

“Perhaps she didn’t want to mention the circumstances. Seems your cow wandered into the Baron’s cornfield and was grazing on the crop.” 

Sophia paled. “I’m terribly sorry, sir.  It won’t happen again.”

Emily clenched her hands into fists and bit her lower lip.

“I summoned her to get it out, but not only was she unhelpful, she was downright disrespectful.”

The powerful black horse pawed the ground and tried to turn around, but the blonde man just yanked the reins to turn it back. The horse tossed its head and gave a sharp swish of its tail.

“I’m afraid she’s a bit backward with strangers, sir, and the cow doesn’t mind her. She meant no harm.”

Emily couldn’t believe her ears. Had Sophia just called her backward? 

The older woman’s servile attitude with this arrogant man outraged her, but Sophia maintained her placid expression.

“Well, your cow certainly meant harm to the Baron’s corn. As for the backward niece. . . ,” he turned pale blue eyes full of mockery upon her, “we have laws here about occupancy tithes that every subject must pay who lives in Baron Longsword’s demesne. Do you understand that, wench?”

Emily bristled, sure that her loathing for him was written all over her face. What did she care about him and his tithes? It wasn’t like she was planning to stay here long. Why didn’t he just leave them alone?

Sophia piped up, “Sir, the cow is my responsibility. Hold me at fault and fine me if you must, but don’t blame the girl.”

“I do blame her for her lack of respect, like the way she stands here right now staring into my face as though we’re equals. Do the laborers in the North not learn respect for their overlords?”

Emily exhaled hard and looked away to keep from uttering the angry words ready to pour out.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the occupancy tithes, Mistress Weaver, or had you conveniently forgotten them?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Sir, she’s only been here a short time,” Sophia repeated, opening her hands in a gesture of excuse. “I hadn’t yet considered it.”

“Well consider it now!” he snapped, suddenly jumping down from his horse to stand in front of them. 

Underneath his cloak, Emily saw that he wore a soft-looking grey tunic, secured in the middle with a belt made of fine silver mesh. She wondered arbitrarily why she couldn’t weave cloth like that, anything but the coarse homespun she was making. What she had really wanted to weave was the lovely green satin Sophia had made for the Baroness, but the older woman said they were not allowed to wear such fine fabric, that only the noble folk had such luxuries. This had galled her. The man before her certainly didn’t act noble.

His barked question startled her from her thoughts. 
“Do you know who I am?”   

He was a head taller than she was and probably twice her age. Still, his build was slender, his features, fine. Only his billowing cloak gave him the illusion of size. He would be handsome if he weren’t so arrogant.  

She shook her head, looking away, only glancing at him now and then, enough to see that hewas smiling with perverse satisfaction.

“I am Sir Simon Poyntz, Right Honorable Bailiff to the most noble and courageous Richard the Longsword, Baron of the distant reaches of Outlandia. I oversee planting and harvesting of the Baron’s crops and I manage all his lands and collect all the taxes, fees, commissions, and services owed to the Baron by villagers and laborers residing within his demesne, under his protection. That,” he concluded with a toss of his long hair, “is how I know that you have not paid your annual protection and residency tithe, yet here you stand before me on the Baron’s land under his auspices.”

She looked incredulously at Sophia, as if to say Is he really serious? What am I supposed to say? But the older woman seemed to have run out of answers.

“Do you question what I tell you?” He took a step toward her, his fair skin flushed with anger, his icy blue eyes narrowing.

“Sir, what would you have us do?” Sophia finally said, but his eyes never left Emily.

“Answer me,” he snapped.

“I believe you,” she shot back, “but I don’t have any money.”

He cocked his head, considering her. “Of course you don’t.” Then he sauntered over and remounted his horse, gathering in the reins tightly. “You know what the residence and protection fee is per person, Mistress Weaver. I shall return tomorrow to collect payment. The cow will suffice. And a passel of eggs as well,” he added, looking around at the chickens.

Emily caught her breath. Not Blossom. Sophia relied upon her for milk and butter every day, an important part of what the older woman had to eat. Not Blossom, who was soon going to have a calf. Emily stepped towards the Bailiff’s horse, even though she felt Sophia’s hand on her arm.  

“Please don’t take her.” She hated pleading with this man.

“Ah, have you suddenly recalled your humble status?”  

She could have sworn he sat up taller in the saddle.

“My duty is to enforce the laws, and that is what I intend to do. Pay the fee either in goods or . . ,” he paused for effect, enjoying their discomfort  “. . . in services.” A malicious gleam lit his eyes. “We’re draining the water meadow south of Blackwood forest for planting, and we need all the able-bodied laborers we can get. You don’t look much suited to an honest day’s work, but shoveling mud might just teach you your place.”

“Sir,” Sophia was suddenly beside her. “We all take our livestock to the water meadow for grazing. If you drain it, the animals will have no food.”  

Emily remembered Will mentioning the water meadow, what she called a swamp.

Simon Poyntz tossed back his hair, again. “It’s not my concern where your animals graze, as long as it’s not in the Baron’s fields. If that happens again Mistress, I shall most certainly confiscate or kill the cow, whichever proves more convenient. Consider yourself fortunate I don’t fine you.”

Sophia stepped back, looking down.

“Remember, I’ll come to collect the fee tomorrow. The cow or the service. The choice is yours,” and with a sharp jerk on the reins he turned the horse around and gave it a sharp kick.

After he was gone, they both stood silently for a moment while chickens scratched around them, pecking for any crumb or seed. Finally, Sophia spoke quietly.

“Is there anything else you haven’t told me, Emilia?”  

Emily shook her head.

“Why did he get so angry? I mean, it wasn’t like Blossom knew what she was doing.”

Sophia scowled. “The Bailiff is proud of his position. Some would say he abuses his authority.”

“I’m sorry Sophia.”

She was frowning, a crease between her eyebrows, her lips compressed in a straight line.  But when she spoke, her voice sounded weary. “It’s not your fault. He was going to find out sooner or later that you are here.
 I just hoped it would be later.” Going to the bucket, Sophia ladled out some water and drank deeply.

Emily stood there in the bare door yard, mindlessly running her toe through the dirt. She couldn’t imagine sitting down again and patiently weaving. Her stomach still churned from the confrontation, her heart was still pounding. “Why do we have to pay him? We don’t need his protection on your land.”

Sophia dried her mouth on her sleeve and then sighed, gazing at the woods around them. “It feels like my land. My father and mother lived here, and their parents before them, and theirs before them. We made this clearing and live here and tend it. Yet they say it’s not ours anymore. It belongs to Baron Longsword, like all the land in these parts, given him by an invading king from across the sea who conquered the people and divided us up like a scavenging bird tears apart something dead.”

Her intensely blue eyes had clouded over. “My father told me that in earlier times the land was shared by everyone, a gift from the gods to humans who cared for it and lived off it, working together.”  She scowled. “Now the land belongs to a select few and we must pay taxes to live on what used to be ours, and even the forests are closed to us.”

“Couldn’t we could just go to the Baron and explain that I’m not planning to stay, that I . . . ?”  But Emily’s voice trailed off when she saw Sophia’s raised eyebrows and look of skepticism. “But what can we do? We can’t give him Blossom . . . and her calf.”

The older woman shook her head. “We’ll ponder this more, but for now I have chores and you have your weaving.”

Reluctantly, Emily went back inside and once again sat down at the loom. As she passed the shuttle back and forth, pulling the beater bar towards her to press the weft into the warp threads, she realized that she too was being pressed. He was coming back tomorrow. Maybe she should leave now and try to find her way home. She’d already stayed longer than she should have. Or would that just make things worse for Sophia?  

Clearly another change was coming, and Emily was already dreading it.