.I.

The wind moved through the grass, disturbing the insects that roamed it and, to them, bending the blades like a bitter storm. With it, it carried the leaves from the biggest tree nearby and heralded the autumn in a way that only the wind could; it looked like a work of magic but, then again, nature often did. It brushed against itself, again and again; singing to the meadow and dancing upon it with such life that one might believe that spirits guided it. This was the time she liked the most, the quiet, natural moments of beauty that presented themselves to her only when she was alone. The shows she could watch from a middling branch in that very tree that played out act by act before her eyes. When she was younger she had thought that it was some kind of tribute, that she was special and the world knew it; she had grown up since but the enchantment of the moment still flitted about in the air and she almost, almost allowed herself to dream.

With one last flurry, it was over. The moment had passed and there was nothing left to do but go home, she'd had her time. Pushing herself from the branch Inkah fell from the tree and, rather than the graceful crouched landing that she had imagined, landed in a small tangled heap, which groaned softly to no one in particular.

A soft thumping reached her ears and she replied to it woefully with her face still pressed against the ground, "Yes, it's all very funny I'm sure. Next time we'll get you into the tree then on to the ground not knowing where any of your body parts are and see how you like it."

Another stomp.

"Alright, alright just give it a moment. You could help, you know."

The meadow lay silent for a moment but it was not long before she heard a deep intake of breath and felt a snuffling by her cheek. She sucked in a strong gasp, taking in a mouthful of grass and soil, leapt up and coughed as she glared forwards acting like a wounded victim, "That wasn't funny, Hren."

The horse nickered and shook his mane, beating a hoof twice.

"You're right. We should go. They'll be waiting for us."

***

Llonrhar was heaving, its streets were filled with vendors and their stalls, most probably selling tat rather than big-city wares - the kind that people would sell almost anything to get hold of - but people still bought, traded and stole. There was little else they could do, nothing happened on market day, nothing bar the market; shops remained closed, bitter with the knowledge that they would make no money.

It was a small town, sleepy for the most part, where nothing really happened so it was not surprise that when the foreign traders came with their vast variety of useless artefacts every townsperson flocked to the scene to investigate. It was an easy way to get trampled and sometimes people did. Even the simple task of walking was made difficult; harder still was the task of leading a horse through the mass of crazed townsfolk and their small carts.

"'Inkah, remember, go round rather than trying to go through. It's market day after all.' 'Of course, father.' Of course. Stupid, stupid..." Her mutterings were almost drowned beneath the yells and shouts of those around her and she clenched her fist as she realised her mistake; angry at herself for not listening and angry at her father from choosing to live on the far side of the town, the complete opposite direction to her meadow.

"Get outta my way!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Postlethaan. I didn't mea–"

"I said get out of my way!"

"I'm try–"

"OUT!"

Try as she might, there was no way anything was moving, especially not a horse. She looked around helplessly as the woman launched a barrage of obscenities in her direction, Mrs. Postlethaan was irritable on the best of days but today she was ruthless; she had her eye on something and nothing, not even Inkah and her horse, was going to get in her way. It was at that moment she decided that her best route would be over Hren, even if she was in her best boots and her newest coat. She ambled to his side and slipped a heeled boot into the stirrup and pulled on his mane to lever herself over his back.

"Mrs. Postlethaan! No! Stop! You can't–"

The horse snorted, let out a high-pitched neigh and in terror reared up, leaving the woman clinging on to his saddle in fright. He kicked out, trying desperately to get her off and causing the crowd to scatter and cry out in outrage.

"Hren!"

Inkah grabbed the reins and tried to calm the frenzied beast but his attention was still on the parasite that clung to his back and refused to let go lest she crinkle her gown, "Mrs. Postlethaan, get off! You're hurting him!"

When the woman made no attempt to move Inkah found herself stomping round to Hren's side, fearing no harm from his erratic hoof beats, and pushed her off with no thought to how or where she would land.

As soon as Mrs. Postlethaan had finished her writhing, muling and groaning Inkah spoke, "Don't you ever touch my horse again. Ever. Otherwise a crumpled bonnet and a little bit of dirt on your clothes will be the least of your worries, madam."

Once the words had slipped between her lips she grabbed the reins and lead Hren through the shocked crowd or she would have if not for–

"Well, what's happened here then?"

She looked to the sky and a pitiable sound escaped her mouth.

"Oh, Inkah, what have you done?"

"Nothing you wouldn't, dear brothers."

The twins looked her up and down before surveying the scene. They were not identical in looks but their attitudes were perfectly matched and neither went anywhere without the other. Klornic and Daanan had always fancied themselves as the talent of the family, the blessed sons as they would call themselves if no one was listening, and they always turned up at exactly the wrong moment. They were only twenty-six, two years older than her, but they always managed to make her feel like a child.

"Mrs. Postlethaan, what has our savage sister done to you?"

"We'll see that father hears about this, it isn't the first time you know. We've had to save people from her plenty of times. Haven't we, Nic?"

The other twin cast Daanan an appreciative glance, congratulating him mutely on his brilliant idea without needing to say a word, "Yes. She's awful, really. We've tried to persuade father to keep her under lock and key and that horse..."

"I'm sure you can understand, what with what's just happened. Let me help you up ma'am," he grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet, patting her on the shoulder in sympathy, "such a shame to see you down there in the dirt and just look at what she's done to your clothing."

"We'll be sure to extract the money for its repair from her directly."

Inkah's jaw dropped and she stared at her brothers with fury in her eyes. She knew what they were like, she knew their scheming ways and she knew that they had little respect for her but this – she should have expected it.

Daanan continued their story with all the flurry and fluster of a trained actor, "There was one woman, I forget her name, she never goes out now... not after..."

"It's so hard for us to talk about, it's terrible really..."

Mrs. Postlethaan brought a hand up to her mouth, listening to them talk with rapt attention, "What happened? What? What?"

She couldn't listen anymore; Inkah tore her gaze away and leapt on Hren, taking a boot to the heads of her brothers before speeding towards their home. The crowd parted in front of her, afraid of what would befall them if they didn't.

***

The stables were the perfect place to get away from the noise on market day; Inkah Stretkensen was not a fan of town-wide activity - in which the Stretkensen men, particularly those of her own generation, would spend their time boasting of their not-so existent triumphs in the hope that someone important would see them. They never did but still her brothers kept trying. It was not surprising that she would run after what had just happened.

Hren whinnied almost sympathetically as she brushed his mane, taking her time to de-tangle the dark hair. She smiled and patted his muzzle; there was never a time when Hren wasn't in tune with how she was feeling. He was like an extension of herself.

"I know, boy. They're idiots and I shouldn't waste my time thinking about them."

The horse seemed to nod in reply.

"'Tis a mighty fine beast you have there, lass."

.II.

14 Years Earlier

It was morning, there could be no doubt about it, and she hadn't slept a bit. She couldn't, wouldn't, not until later. She didn't know why but she knew she had to; there was no way she could have slept. The child was wilful, even after her mother and father had tucked her in and told her the story of her great-great grandfather as they always did she had not fallen asleep; she had a feeling in her tummy and she couldn't ignore it. Even by her tenth birthday Inkah had learnt that even if the grownups tell you something is okay; if your tummy is jumping then it's definitely not. It wasn't lying, she told herself, they just didn't know how to explain it and there's no sense in explaining something if you can't say for sure what it is.

It was with this thought in mind that she watched the sun begin its daily climb to the highest point in the sky. She had always wondered who was at the other end of the rope and what tree was tall enough to lever it upwards; after all such a big round sun couldn't just rise on its own, it had neither arms nor legs to work with. It was a simple thing, sunrise, it always happened and it always would happen but Inkah watched it all the same with eyes filled with fascination and awe.

Her enjoyment was scuppered by the moths flittering about in her stomach, as the sun rose she couldn't concentrate on the way it painted the sky or the way the birds seemed to pay homage to its light. Instead her attention was caught by something closer, something so close that she had to go and look. She padded softly down the wooden stairs, her movements going unnoticed by the people below, and crept towards the door. She couldn't see very much of what was happening in the next room but the voices of her parents were unmistakeable.

"Tell the children, tell them I love them and tell them goodbye."

"Why don't you? You could wait and you could explain and you..." Her father's voice was hoarse, if she weren't his daughter, if she hadn't lived every day of her young life with him she might not have known who the voice belonged to. A frown crossed her features and she clung tighter to the wooden door.

"You know I can't. Now, I have to go... I love you, Skandar. I will always love you." She brushed a hand against his cheek and pressed her lips on his. There was a soft knock at the door and her breath caught, "I have to go."

Her father reached for her mother's hand as she turned away, she looked back once and offered a sad smile. Skandar didn't move as the door opened and she slipped away from him; he simply stood and watched as if in a haze.

"Mummy!" The child sped across the room and out the door, ignoring her father's cries for her to stop, "Mummy, wait!"

"Inkah! What're you doing awake? Go back inside it's cold out here." Her mother stroked her hair and pulled her bedclothes tighter around her body. The little girl stepped backwards.

"Where're you going? Why're you leaving us?"

"I have to, my love. I have to. I'll write to you every day and it'll be like I was really there."

"Where're you going? Why can't you really, really be here?"

She brushed another hand through Inkah's hair, "Bysaelruma needs me. You may not understand now but one day, one day you–"

"We need you! Daan and Nic and Daddy and me!"

"In, please..." She looked at her daughter's eyes, watched her face go from sad to angry and wished that she could replace it all with a smile. The door opened behind them and Skandar watched through his tears. The little girl had done everything he should have done, she begged and she cried but still he could see no change in his wife's mind; she was leaving and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

"No! I hate you, I hate you forever!" Inkah pulled herself away from her mother's hands and ran back to the house as tears flowed down her cheeks.

"Inkah!"

The morning stilled for a moment, neither mother nor father moved. They stared at each other and it seemed like forever before she moved towards him, pulling a locket from her neck and a small knife from her pocket. With quick movements she sliced a lock of hair free of the rest and placed it inside, "Give this to her, tell her I'm sorry and not to forget me... and... tell her happy birthday..."

Skandar squeezed his eyes shut as he took the locket from her shaking hands, "She'd never forget you."

He felt her hand slip from his but he couldn't watch her go, he couldn't watch her walk away from him, from their family and he couldn't go inside and see his daughters face.

Instead he walked with no idea where he was going.

***

The day passed in a slow crawl and her father had not returned by the time her brothers ambled down the stairs, pushing past her and complaining about the noise and shouting from the hours before. They had heard and understood it all and Inkah had expected them to cry or shout, to feel anger or pain but instead they had done what they did best.

"It's your fault she's gone, you know." Daan crossed his arms and glared towards his sister with contempt only a twelve year old could muster.

"No it's not! I didn't do anything!"

Nic prodded her arm with a pointed finger, "Exactly. You didn't do anything. She left because of you. It's all your fault."

"No it's not! You didn't even try, you didn't even get up and now she's gone! If you helped she would be here!"

Daan inhaled and turned his nose to the ceiling, "Wouldn't help."

"Didn't you notice she left on your tenth birthday?" Nic added with a sneer, "That proves it."

"Yes. It takes ten years for mothers to decide whether they can live with their children. We're twelve so it definitely wasn't our fault."

"No it doesn't, you're lying! Stop it!" Inkah leapt from the step and walked past them, or would if they hadn't grabbed her arms and pushed her back onto the stairs.

"She left because she couldn't live with you! It's your fault!"

"We have no mother because of you!"

"Stop it!" She dived forwards once more, hitting out with her fists and scratching at them with her nails and when Nic attempted to land a hit on her face she clamped her teeth round his arm, growling angrily as she bit down.

"ENOUGH! We didn't raise you to be wolves! To your rooms now!" Skandar watched as his children, wild and raging as if they each were their own sea. They untangled themselves from each other and stomped up the stairs leaving him to rake a hand through his bedraggled hair. He thought perhaps it might be a shade greyer than it had been the day before. He couldn't blame them for how they acted; he couldn't even get angry at them. All he could do was slide down the wall, sit on the hard floor and sob.

The sound reverberated woefully throughout the house, creeping up the stairs and through Inkah's closed door until it looped round each awning and filled every corner. She stared at the floor as if hoping she would be able to see through it if she looked hard enough. She couldn't move to her feet, she couldn't run down the stairs to her father; there was something pulling down at her, something fixing her in place and it wouldn't let go. It wasn't a real something, she knew that, but she didn't want it to let go of her as much as she didn't want to let go of it. Staying still was safe, in her room amongst all of her toys and all of her precious things nothing bad could happen.

So she sat, near motionless, and listened. The words of her brothers slithered back to her, grasping at her with their long shadow-like fingers and pulled at her hair and bit at her skin with their sharp, sharp teeth; She left because of you. It's all your fault. She hit out at them and clasped her head in her hands, trying her hardest not to listen to them. It takes ten years for mothers to decide whether they can live with their children, they hissed, and she was ten. It was her birthday and her mother had left. Her tenth birthday. She looked up and the words seemed to nod at her, solemn in their movements but their faces held sick smiles and they looked just like her brothers; she wished they were.

Once sure that the conclusion was settled, roaming deep into her mind and beginning to nest, the words disappeared. They had done their job and Inkah had her own words to taunt her now, she needed no others. They started out as small buds, tiny little growing things, then a canker took over them and they began to rot and spread their disease further in the little girl's mind.

In that moment a door had opened, a door that could not be closed, a memory and a curse. She didn't leave her room, she didn't want sunlight to touch her, she didn't want her father's eyes to watch her in full knowledge of her guilt. She wanted to face the taunting, tormenting, torturing of her brothers but she didn't want to seek them out. She wanted the door to burst open and their faces to sneer at her and their hands to hit – but she couldn't leave her room.

When her father came to her door, free of his sobs and now placed firmly in a mask of strength for his children, cooing for her to come out and talk to him she didn't answer and, fixed in the knowledge that her brothers wouldn't come to lay upon her the punishment she desired, had pushed a crate of toys in front of the door. It had taken her a long time and if she were allowing herself to feel any positive emotion she would have been proud that her father could not open the door.

"Come on, In. It's your birthday. Open the door." His voice pleaded.

"No! Go away!"

"Inkah, please let me in."

"No!" The child crossed her arms and pushed herself back further against the wall she was leaning on.

"But you've not had your birthday present. Don't you want to come out and open it?"

"No! I never want it! I never want another birthday ever again!"

"Inkah..."

"Go away!"

Something hit the back of the door and Skandar sighed. Part of him wanted to smile at her wilful spirit and her feistiness but the gesture couldn't reach his lips, he needed to talk to her, to know what she was thinking. He needed to show her that she was loved and that it wasn't her fault that her mother left. Every ounce of his being knew that the little girl on the other side of the door, his little girl, was in pain. He had been helpless enough when her mother had left, he would not, could not be helpless again; he had to be able to help her.

"Inkah, I know you're upset, I am too, but you might not feel the same way forever and–"

"Yes, I will! Go away!"

Another thump against the door and another sigh.

"Fine but I'll be back to check on you later. You have to come out sometime." He pressed his ear to the door quick enough to hear a muffled 'no I don't' filled with as much quiet attitude as the ten year old could muster. He shook his head and moved from the door, he had once thought he wouldn't have any problems with her until she had reach her teens and even then it would only have been about the boy she wanted to stay out late with. All of those imaginings seemed like a far off dream now, his wife had featured so completely in all of them that it was hard to imagine even the next hour without her. He brushed his hand through his hair, walked downstairs into the kitchen and pulled out a small cup; his hand hesitated next to the bottle but only for a moment.

***

There was nothing but quiet; the house seemed to cease living and simply existed there until the sun had swung back down from its perch. The twins had stayed in their room; though they wanted to torment their sister or to run out into the town and tell everyone what she had done they knew that they had to do. Stay put.

But in those hours, in that day, they were left to think deeper and harder than they ever had and as they looked at each other, with a sense of camaraderie that could only be held by twins, a resolution was born. A hate greater than any hate they could think of before swelled inside of them, an identical feeling, a bond and the breaking of a bond. They didn't blame their mother for abandoning them or their father for not trying harder to make her stay. No, they blamed the little girl that lay in the room next door, curled amongst her bed sheets going over every word that had ever come out of her mouth. The more they thought about it, the more their words – the words that had haunted Inkah to her own dark conclusion – the more they seemed to be true. It must have been her fault.

"We were right, you know. Not about the ten years but we were right." Daanan looked out of the window glaring at the sky, which seem to edit its appearance to match the mood of the house. The dark clouds rolled and rain pattered monotonously against the window but in that monotony there was something threatening.

"I know. She did something. She did something that made her leave." Klornic fiddled with a piece of fraying string, taking each end and pulling until it was free from the rest and sat in a pile. It was a calculated process; he had put a lot of thought into it despite its pointlessness. Of the two of them he thought of their more cunning schemes. Daanan was the improviser, fed with a situation he could turn it any way he wanted to but it was Klornic who could plot for hours, days, weeks on end until he had the perfect plan.

Though many children seemed fickle, loving one thing for one moment and another the next, the same could not be said for the twelve year old Stretkensen twins; they could harbour their feelings for such a long time that those feelings would latch onto them and claim them as their own.

In those hours the twins had come to one conclusion, Inkah could never be forgiven and they could never forget.

---

Inkah Stretkensen | The Crusaders Ballad