The Golden Knot: Book 1 of the Echo Land Chronicles (UPDATED WEEKLY)

Jonas I

"...They who oppress the poor are an insult to the Mothers that made them. To help the poor is to honour the Mothers..."

(Aphorism 14:31, Book of Judgment)

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the forest canopy, casting the leaf-strewn forest glade into a splintered mosaic of light and shadow. Despite being barely past the hour of the Nightingale, it was already growing darker—darker, and unseasonably chilly. Autumn's arrival painted the forest with hues of crimson and gold. Amidst the cedars and pines, the fresh scent of summer yielded to the damper, earthy aroma of decaying foliage. Still, it was a damn sight better than the odorous fishy-salt air by Greywater Bay.

"No." Jonas said indignantly, not bothering to even raise his head. "I'd rather not."

"Stop being an ass!" Eliana replied with a glint of exasperation. "This tree is getting boring; can't you just work with me for just a little while?"

Jonas sighed and glanced up at the hacked-up hawthorn sapling. Blood-fire! That looks worse than the thunder shot tree in old Simmon's Winter Garden. He glanced over at Eliana; her cheeks were red, and her forehead glistened with sweat. He sighed and jammed his dirk into the moss-strewn soil by his feet, then carefully set aside the little willow rod he'd been fastidiously crafting onto a small outgrowth of reeds; careful to ensure that it was angled just right to avoid the large marsh puddle.

"Eli, what's the point? Why do we bother doing this? You challenge, I accept, then I get the shit beaten out of me."

Eliana gleamed back with that same gaudy grin she always had and took a large stride towards the 'whittling-rock.'

"That mean you're going to admit I'm the better fighter then?"

Blood-fire I will. Jonas slid off his perch and rolled his grubby hands down his tunic. "No. You're taller, heavier, and faster, but that doesn't make you better."

Eliana chuckled. "So, apart from the fact I always beat you black and blue - what makes a good fighter?"

Jonas shrugged and waved dismissively. "The smarter one, of course."

"I see." She chewed at her lower lip and stroked the pommel of the dagger at her waist. "So, when the wolves come, is your plan to throw 'Grindalt's guide to the Westerly Villages' at them? Reckon that's the biggest book we got."

I mean...it is a big book... "Well, Garland told me that a sharpened mind can cut deeper than the sharpest of blades." By the Mother's, I sound like a prick!

Eliana pursed her lips and nodded. "You're absolutely right. Who could dare doubt 'Garland the Great.'" She started forward. "The master of the nine forms, the light of the Sire, the man who fought in one border skirmish and was knocked cold by a milkmaid and her pail." She raised a brow with a pointed smirk.

"Well, that doesn't necessarily make him wrong," Jonas said.

"Then prove it." She said, turning and squelching her way back to her tattered old canvas pack by the edge of the tree line. She pulled out a dark and blunted training sword. She offered it to Jonas hilt first. "Let's test this magical sharpened mind of yours against some steel."

Jonas grimaced at the sight of the blade and gestured in protest. Say what you like about Eli. She might not be the best with numbers or words, but give her a blade and there were few quite as sharp.

"Blood-fire, Eli, that's not fair," Jonas said.

"What?" She said, with that false hurt expression she so often liked to conjure. It was endearing when they were younger, funny even; nowadays it was more annoying than anything else.