A few years back, I was rocking to sleep my nearly one year old son and going through a reading list of the best science fiction and fantasy, as determined buy the readers of NPR (a list which I have long since abandoned.) I was reading a book I will leave unnamed, one you would certainly recognize, a classic sword and sandal adventure. I finished the book thinking I wish I could have my son have the fun of reading such an imaginative tale, minus the absolutely abhorrent racism and sexism that was so ingrained in every story.
It was only days later that I wrote the first few paragraphs of the tale of Éo of Andevale, often called Éo Ironblood, the divine hero of many a childhood story and venerated by millions across the world. Those paragraphs survive, more or less, in the chapter below.
It took me a few years, but I finished the rough draft of the book earlier this year, right before the birth of my second child, and polished it up over the spring and summer. I can’t wait until I’m able to have my children read the book I’ve written for them (it’s a bit old for them now, as it’s written for an adult audience.) In the meantime, I’ll see who else would like a story of survival, struggle, justice served, fights picked both wise and unwise, tygers and pirates, a mysterious illness that turns folks to iron, those who fight for the weak and those who would exploit them.
Book One, Chapter One: The Theagenesis
“Tell me a story Baba.”
“What do you want to hear tonight little one?”
“One about the Old Times, before the City.”
“Would you like to hear about Thog the Wise? He once saved a whole town just by a few words to the right ears.”
A little head shook no.
“Or perhaps the Brothers Three? The Amber Witch...?”
This was all part of the nightly ritual. He strung out the silence for a few more seconds.
“Or Éo?”
“Yes yes yes.” Her hands clutched a well loved cloth patchwork doll with green button eyes and one grey arm.
“I think I’ve told you every Éo story there ever was.”
“I wanna hear Éo.”
He smiled and sighed. He was not going to win this battle. “Do you want to hear about when she fought the trees of Mystboria while on a quest to save her dearest friend from the iron poison?”
Her head shook no again.
“How about when she found the Library of Onrei and read the ancient knowledge to end the Famine of Ten Years?”
“I wanna hear the first story. Of when she was little like me.”
“Hmmm… I don’t know the first story my little one. But I can tell you of when Éo first left her village, in a land far in the bitter south, even before she named herself Banished and left to seek adventure, to help where she could, to champion right, to bring heart and joy.”
The girl nodded, and laid her head gently on her father’s chest. He started speaking in a voice not quite song, but not quite conversation.
“Éo Ironbood, before she became the Traveler, before she sought and defeated the Visions, before she became friends with the Lia or even the Brothers Three, before she vanquished her first beast, before she killed her first rogue, before she stole the hearts of gods and humanity, was a simple woman with a terrible fate, and one day she woke up and decided to do something about it.”
The winds from the south purred like a tyger not yet activated to attack, chilled with promise of ice and darkness. Great darkened stones, rectangular and sharp, forged in fires that turned to ash millennia ago littered a valley covered only in heather and pebbles, with not a tree in sight to cast shade or serve as a landmark. Along the bottom of the valley was a dirt path, to call it a road would be generous to those who yearly clear the debris and fill the worst of the holes, and along this path, traveling north, was a woman of about seventeen, a fur cloak covering a pack of goods slung over her back. If she was afraid or apprehensive, you could not tell by her gait— she marched with purpose, green eyes scanning the horizon, her right hand gripped a walking stick, which she used not for finding purchase amount the gravely path, but twirled at her side.
In her left hand, she held a stone she picked up earlier, round and smooth. Her gloved hand caressed the rock, the glove being an unusual addition to her outfit for in these far south lands, the locals are accustomed to regular below-freezing days, and despite the cold winds from the coming storm, the first ice of the winter had not yet formed. She tossed the rock up and down, catching it in total silence, eyes alert to a movement behind one of the great stones that had been ripped from the ancient crumbling buildings towering far up on the mountains, buildings long ago abandoned and avoided by the locals as forbidden and cursed. Her ears pricked at a slight rustle, and with a fluid motion, like a swooping bird, her hand let loose the stone. She heard a wet thud and silence.
She walked, not changing her rhythm, until she saw the rabbit, dead, its head half flattened. She pulled a slim blackweave knife out of her boot and started preparing her lunch. This was a lucky kill. Only the right hind leg was marred by the iron, and she cut away as much flesh she could, her knife squealing as it cut along side the blackweave tendons. She had just finished as she saw travelers in the distance, approaching from the north.
Focusing her eye was still not intuitive, so she covered her right eye as she whispered the mantra Suda taught her “Aumen, aumen, aumen”, meaningless syllables to her, but effective. Her vision sharpened in the left and the figures in the distance came into focus. Peddlers. A man and a woman, and a cart pulled by a donkey. Probably a donkey. Not much of the original flesh and blood remained. She found a largish rock nearby with a flat top and built a small fire with some dried tinder and flamecatcher she kept in her pack. She all but finished cooking and eating, saving a few good chunks, by the time the peddlers arrived.
“May Tsaa lighten your loads, and turn your footfalls to flight,” she cried when the peddlers reached earshot.
“May the Terrors flee before you and yours,” came the response from the man in the lead. A few seconds later, he drew close enough to recognize her. “ Éo! I thought that was your voice. What are you doing two days journey from Andevale? Your Papa must be worried.”
She flipped him a chuck of roasted rabbit with her blackweave knife, which he caught with ease. “Papa has dwelled in the home of our ancestors now for nearly six months.”
The man bowed his head in respect. “I am sorry to hear that. He will be remembered as a friend to the Fedar. But still, what brings you so far into the wild? And alone.”
Éo, for that was the name of the young woman seated on the rock, flipped another chunk of rabbit to the speaker’s companion. She then bounded off the rock and approached, her arms open, and embraced both of the peddlers. “It is good to see friendly faces,” she said after the hug. “I expected to only meet strangers on my journey. But to meet Cade and Brunda of the Fedar… it is a good omen.” She waved her hand down the past to the north. “If we were journeying the same way, I would tell you the whole story. But we both have many hours of travel before rest, and if you can wait for two days, I know Angma will give you an earful. Do me a favor when you arrive, and tell Myteo at the gates that you met me. He owes me money now.”
And off she went, without a farewell, the same determined march, eyes on the horizon, not looking back. Puzzled, Cade and Brunda looked at each other, then Brunda shrugged, pulled out a small tube, and called out to Éo before she walked a stone’s throw: “Éo, a gift for you.” Éo turned around slightly and Brunda tossed her the tube. “They are cheaply made, but the map is accurate, at least within a ten day’s journey of here.” Éo caught the map, smiled, nodded her thanks, and continued on her way. It was customary for the Fedar to never receive a gift of any kind without giving something in return, even a token such as this.
“You think she’s safe out here?” asked Cade, as he picked up his wife’s pack and helped her strap it back onto her back.
“She’s got sharp eyes, a wicked good aim. And you remember about her…condition...” she trailed off. Some things were not polite to mention, even in private to your spouse.
“Right!” Cade interjected. “Right.” he said again, with touch of pity in his voice. “Well, I guess we have something to talk about with the Elder.”
“I don’t think finding something to talk about has ever troubled that old coot.”
The next two days passed uneventful for both parties traveling their separate ways. It so happened that about an hour before Éo was to find raiders of the snowrat clan, Cade and Brunda reached the gates of Andevale. Blue and grey ribbons hung from the wooden watch towers that flank the double doors, which stood open to welcome the peddlers. They waved at a young guard as they approached. “You Myteo?” Cade asked.
“Yessir,” replied the guard, a confused smile on his face.
“Éo sends her greetings. We met her on the road about two days ago.”
His smile turned to a smirk. “Well, she can collect her winnings when she returns. Or should I say, if she returns. I doubt I’ll ever have to payout that wager.”
He opened the gates, letting Brunda and Cade through, Cade beginning to ask a question and Brunda shaking her head for him to hold his tongue. For as they passed through, they could see Angma the Elder, gripping her two canes, informed of their arrival no doubt by some youngster hoping to earn a sweet treat or small coin.
Angma was not one for much formality. “Tsaa must have lightened your loads quite a bit, or perhaps the raiders we have heard so much about helped you,” said Angma, as she shuffled one foot at a time towards the peddlers. “You’re a nineday early by my counting.”
“We met with good fortune and bad,” started Brunda, who was the usual spokesperson to this village elder. Salesmanship sometimes requires some personal chemistry, and Brunda has always found conversation easy with Angma, while Cade’s down-to-business manner tended to come off as brusk. “The rats gave us no particular problem, but villagers, like those in Copi who just lost several hundred head of livestock to the brutes, are less inclined to make frivolous purchases, though they were interested in a new device the wizards of Tiago have crafted for detecting ironblood before the first signs show, and placed several orders.” Brunda reached into her bag and pulled out a small metal cylinder, no longer than a hand, no wider than a finger.
Angma interjected. “Brunda, you know our village gives little truck to those professors of wizardry. Whatever those fools don’t break, they burn, and their ‘devices’ as they call them seem ill-suited for the harsher lifestyle of the mountains.” That being said, Angma still held out her hand to take the black wand from Brunda for inspection. Distrustful as she was of magic, she could not allow a rival village to get too far ahead of something useful.
“We met Éo on the road, two days ago,” said Cade as an aside, earning an elbow in the ribs from his wife. Brunda searched Angma’s face for any sign of disapproval, aware of the perceived insensitivity, and to her luck found nothing. Angma handed the wand back with a sigh.
“It will have to be tested in the fields, and I will argue at the next meeting is is a waste of our hard earned coin, but I know that the herdsman will want your little toy, for all the good it will do. Come to my home. You saw Éo? She’ll make it further than two or three days before she runs into something she cannot handle, and at that distance there is little help we can provide. She has made her decision.”
Angma turned back to her home, her canes making pock marks in the dirt. Brunda whispered furiously into Cade’s ear as they followed, reminding him to keep his mouth shut around Angma, reminding him that him and the Elder had no chemistry whatsoever, and reminding him how cold the ground is going to be tonight when he has to sleep on it. Cade, face red, handed the lead to their donkey to a local boy, and told him once the animal has been fed and stabled, to return for payment. This was not his practice in all villages, but the children of Andevale were exceptionally well behaved, with few exceptions, under the strict discipline of Angma. (To be more precise, under the strict discipline of their parents, who knew the price for having an unruly child resulted in a visit from the village elder that was pleasant for no one.)
Angma prodded open the door with a cane and motioned them both inside, where they sat on chairs covered in woolen weaved blankets, dyed the town colors of blue and grey. Angma started talking as soon as the door closed. “I don’t want to talk openly about this in the village, and I trust you will use discretion during your visit. The only reason I’m telling you both this now is so you won’t go asking questions and opening wounds that have only just began healing. Ėodor was a respected pillar, and is remembered for his generosity and strength of character. Loosing him this spring…and so unexpectedly… it hurt. It should be no surprise that it hurt his daughter the most of all.”
Angma sat on the largest chair in the room and started packing a pipe full of dried herbs that she pulled from a terracotta jar on a nearby table to the side. “I won’t go so far to say Éodar kept Éo tamed, that suggestion would be insulting to both, but he did help her focus on the obtainable. With someone with her...condition…” Just as Brunda before, her words trailed off. She looked around the table searching for something. Cade, trying to be helpful, pulled a firecatcher from his pack, but Angma waved him off, and fished in the pocket of her robe. Grinning, she pulled out a single worn match, which she lit by striking the rough wood under the table.
She puffed a bit before continuing. “It is understandable the villagefolk would be cautious. Our village has been lucky. We have only seen a few cases of ironblood in people. I remember when I was a child, a baby caught it. Went straight to the brain. All of us kids were convinced we had it next. With every headache, we cried to our parents that we were dying. They would try to calm us, tell us we couldn’t have caught it, but looking back, I know how scared they really were. After the child died, the parents demanded the shepherds to present their flocks for inspection. The whole village got caught up in the blaming, and by the end of the ruckus, half the flocks were slaughtered. If even one animal had a slight trace of ironblood, they killed every other sheep in the flock.”
She had filled the room with a spicy smoke, a heady substance that made the eyes water and the mind race. Angma laughed. “A few years after that, some folks were traveling from the cities. Probably some of your bunch, peddling wares and trinkets. Told us that the city smart guys proved humans can’t catch ironblood from neither beast nor man. Of course, at first no one believed them. Took years for the idea to catch on. I remember three more flock purges before the shepherds got enough coin together and sent for someone from the city, who came and gave talks on how no one knows where ironblood comes from, but it’s not contagious. He had a child that followed him, probably some street urchin he found, and him and the child would touch all the ironblood people and animals to show he was not afraid. Not the greatest proof, but people here trust actions over words. They resolved to not kill any more flocks.”
She shook her head clear of old memories. “Anyways, people were always cautious around the girl. I think if Éodar were a lesser man, the villagers would have driven her away. He did his best. He always made her keep that arm wrapped up tight. He made sure everyone knew the chances of catching ironblood from surface contact is extremely rare, but people around here are not the risk taking type. Usually.”
Brunda decided to try a question. “But what of her long journey away? Surely the villagers didn’t change their minds just because of Éodar’s passing?”
As Angma took a deep thoughtful breath to answer her, Éo was holding her own breath, several day’s journey away, keeping as quiet and still as possible, and listening for any unusual sounds. The bandits of the snowrat clan were quiet, too quiet for most people to notice when they were preparing for an attack. Folks like Éo are rare, and in her particular case, so rare as to be legends. Perhaps if they had been a bit smarter, they would have realized how unusual it was for a woman traveling alone to stand still as a rock right outside the circle of raiders waiting to ambush her on the road. Perhaps they would have waited into she was in a better position before attacking. Maybe they would have called for more warriors. Perhaps they would have never attacked at all.
Two of the raiders, seeing only a slight young woman, tired of waiting in the cold, stood up from behind the rocks behind which they were crouched, and started running towards this seemingly easy target. Though running silent, footfalls padded by the fur covering on their feet, they were in full sight of her vision, yet she did not move. They did not have any weapons drawn. Live prisoners were worth much more, as ransom or slaves.
The man in front put his right shoulder down for a tackle. His partner ran close behind him, ready to pin Éo’s legs as soon as she was down. The second raider was shocked to see a hand emerge from the back of his partner’s neck, and a spurt of blood, crimson against the overcast sky, as Éo tore out his throat.
He was running too fast to stop his charge before the body fell.
In front of him stood a woman enraged, bloody and wild, her left arm wrapped in some sort of cloth, now stained red, and with glints of metal peeking through the wrappings, her glove bloody and shredded. He put up his arms as protection, a move of panicked instinct, and one that offered no protection when Éo pushed low, her extended fingers sliding like knives into this intestines. She closed her hand around vital organs, and pulled.
He passed out from the pain.
Éo stood up, and resumed her same pose as before, listening, waiting.
Three other raiders hid in the field of boulders. Éo knew this. The raiders obviously knew this. Two just fell with minimal effort, but they were surprised. Nothing happened for some time as everyone ran through the various possibilities.
Finally Éo called out. “There are three of you in the rocks. One to my right, two to my left. There is no use hiding: you breathe as loud as sick swine.”
No one moved.
She reached down to the man at her feet, his breath shallow but fading. In his boot was a short dirk and at his waist was typed a scabbard with a knotted and battered sword. She pulled both out and tested the dirk’s sharpness by running it across the raider’s throat, his blood soaking in the dark gravel beneath. The shallow breathing stopped.
“Show yourselves, or I’ll hunt you one at a time. I’ll start with you on the right.”
The raider on the right stood, longsword drawn, eyes narrowed in puzzlement. He whistled, and on the left hand side of the path arose a second raider, wielding a bow, one of the blackweave composites from the far north, undoubtedly stolen from some traveler. The raider on the left took aim at Éo.
“Nope,” she said, and threw the dirk with an unnatural force and speed. It buried itself in the bow woman’s chest. She fell with a cry.
Éo expected some anger, but not the inhuman shriek of rage from the raider on the right. He griped his sword and ran screaming towards Éo. He was smarter than the first two at least, leading with the point of his sword. Éo held out her stolen short sword in her right hand, but the raider twirled his blade to come in for a crippling blow on the left side of Éo’s gut.
However, he wasn’t used to people willing to catch a blade on their arm. Éo let her left arm dangle and caught the blade, forcing it down. Sparks flew as the blade slid towards the ground. With her own sword, Éo reached down and sliced the raider’s left hamstring. His kneed bucked and he fell, balancing himself with his blade, now stuck in the ground.
Éo punched him full in the face with the hilt of the sword, and he fell back to the ground. She didn’t wait to see if he as still conscious, instead twirling to the left to catch the last raider, creeping towards her, sword and dirk both in hand. She shook her head no. The raider froze.
“You have an important decision to make now. Do you want to go home in disgrace, maybe face some real bad stuff from your clan, or do you want to die right now?” She backed up two steps and plunged her short sword into the chest of the raider laying prone. He gurgled, and the lone standing raider’s face blanched.
“Look, I’m reasonable. She let the sword go, and it stayed upright, stuck clean through the raider and into the ground. Holding up her arms, walked toward the raider empty-handed. “I just need some directions, and you happen to be the person I need. Help me out and we don’t have to fight. Just lower your sword and your little knife, and we can talk.”
He gave a quick nod and dropped the hands to his hips, not letting go of the weapons.
“Well, out with it. Where is your camp?”
The words tumbled over one another he couldn’t say them fast enough. “Two days to the east, there is a mountain pass between the two tallest mountains, on the North, the main way up is by ladders that are lowered if you are a clan member, but they will shoot you full of arrows before you get within an hour’s walk, if you spare me and take me with you I can get you in.”
“That may be an option,” said Éo. “But how do they know you? Do the guards memorize every face and voice? That seems unlikely.” She started walking to him, slow and deliberate, and he fought the urge to flee.
“There is a…” He paused, weighing his options, realizing his miscalculation. “There is a sign.” And he crossed his arms above his face, hands inward, fists closed.
Éo continued her saunter towards. “You look like a man, but you talk like a coward. Not a brave one are you? More like the sneaking up behind and slitting the throat type, yes? Spilling your secrets, maybe some lies, at the slightest threat. Possibly useful…” She reached the man, looked him in the eyes. Without warning she slashed at his throat with her left hand, ripping out the windpipe. He fell to the ground, eyes open and shocked and blank.
She said nothing as she went through their pockets and packs. Éo was not one to talk to herself to justify her actions. She took what food they had, but left the wineskin. She pocketed a few coins. She looked for any papers or writing that might give her some insight into the goals or plans, but found not a scrap.
She pondered at the longsword for a long while. It was obviously a great treasure, blackweave fiber with an edge of crystal, a skill far beyond what is known in the mountains. She once had seen a small knife with such a blade in her home village, and the owner considered it among her most valued possessions. This dead man was more than a simple raider, perhaps a captain or noble of his clan.
The sword and the compound bow together would net her a large quantity of coin if she were inclined to lug them to a trading post. She was not. She cleaned and sharpened a few daggers and hid them in her boots or under her cloak. She drug the bodies onto the road, lining them up neatly so it was obvious it was intentional, and then methodically broke every other weapon they owned, pounding hard with her left fist over and over, scattering shards of shattered sword and bow around the raiders. The next travelers that walked this road, whether raiders, innocents, or somewhere in between, would have something to talk about.
Setting her back to the west, she began her march to what she hoped with the den of the snowrats. She could have kept the last sniveling raider alive for the rest of the day, to guide her a little better…but no. She would have had to kill him before she went to sleep anyways, and she’ll make better time by herself. When she gets within sight of the mountain pass she’ll have to start traveling in the shadows: better to make good time now.
Back in Andevale, Angma finished her tale, and sat back, puffing the remains of her pipe in silence. Cade obviously wanted to ask something, and was tapping his foot trying to catch Brunda’s eye. When he did, she shook her head no. This was not the time. She let Angma chase her thoughts in silence. Minutes passed, and finally Angma opened one eye.
“Cade, I think if you don’t speak you’re going to burst your liver. What do you want to say?”
Cade looked at Brunda, who shrugged. He spoke up. “This is… this is amazing.” Both women in the room shot him a sharp glance. “I understand this is hard for your village, and this cannot be easy for Éo…what a hard path she has chosen. But I’ve never heard anything like this before. Ironblood is always fatal when caught in childhood. I don’t know of anyone else that’s lived past twenty years old. I knew she had some transformation…I just assumed it was a more recent infection. And the progress has been completely halted? Has someone measured and tracked that?”
“You would have to talk with Suda about that.” Angma’s tone clearly indicating she would disapprove of such meddling, so clear that even Cade could read the subtext. “I’m sure she had the best of intentions working with Éo, a kindness at first. I fear that in saving one she has forsaken her primary duty of protecting this community.”
“How could she have known? I’m sure she just wanted to provide some brightness to a young girl’s life.”
“That was an excuse ten years ago. It is not an excuse for her actions now, at the brink of a perilous winter.”
Brunda, keen always to the moods of clients, waved Cade into silence. “We appreciate your story, and your wisdom. We should discuss security with your guards. We have a new range of trip lights that might help with setting a perimeter. I’m afraid getting a weapons shipment up here might be…”
Here, Angma cut her off. “Andlevale is a community of peace, our recent exception notwithstanding. Our defense is our obscurity. I will not start an arms race with our neighbors, nor do I want to have the few drunken disputes that pop up time to time in our little village settled by steel while right now fists are doing such a good job.”
Brunda nodded in pretend understanding. It was a long shot. Her and Cade were offered twenty-five percent commission on all arms sales, so she had to make the attempt. “I understand,” she lied. “But I see no harm in knowing when your enemy is coming, and maybe having some surprises waiting for them in vulnerable points.”
“Right now, our vulnerable point is wondering around looking for trouble,” said Angma. Even Brunda had no quick reply.
