wasteawar

  It all started with a scream.

  Autumn awoke with a gasp at the sound. Instantly, blinding pain assaulted her mind. She let out a whimper as a rhythm of torment rang through her mind like hellish church bells. Down her back, a river of hot sweat ran, soaking the thin nightgown she wore. As the pain continued, she curled up on herself beneath a thin bnket. Rough straw poked at her skin from the mattress she y upon.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  Couldn’t speak.

  Unbearable heat suffused her prison of cloth.

  Unable to deal with it any longer, Autumn filed her limbs about herself, tossing the bnket off of herself. Freed from her confines, she desperately gulped down lungful after lungful of stale air.

  For who-knows-how-long, she y in her soaked nightclothes, shaking, gasping, and crying.

  It was only when both her heart and mind had finally calmed did she uncurl herself. Sitting up upon her bed of straw, she looked about to see where exactly it was that she’d awoken.

  Familiar unfamiliar stone walls greeted her, cast in soft candlelight and unadorned bar a solid wooden door to one end of the musty chamber. Beds of straw lined the walls like her own, only they were much tidier and more importantly empty. Beside each made bed rested a small pile of items; daily things of life like combs, spare clothes and shoes, cheap perfumes, and other such small trinkets.

  Looking beside her own bed, Autumn found odds and ends of her own that were confusingly familiar despite never having id eyes on them before. Reaching out, she picked up an odd comb with a few teeth missing. It rested in her hand like an old friend.

  Suddenly, the heavy wooden door smmed open at the far end of the chamber.

  Autumn started at the noise. Frightened, she looked hurriedly towards the opened door and took in the figure standing within its frame. Soft ntern light spilled about a youthful female figure roughly Autumn’s age. Her brown hair was up in a rough bun. A clean dress fit for a medieval maid cd her skinny frame.

  With her hands resting on her hips, she gred down at Autumn still in her bed and nightclothes.

  “Matilda! Why are you still in bed?! We need to be in the kitchen before Ol’ Nancy gets there or there’ll be hell to pay! Again! You know I can’t cover for you anymore! She’ll toss you out on your ear the first chance she gets!”

  Autumn blinked up in confusion at the yelling girl. Her name wasn’t Matilda. It was… it was… what was her name?

  Walking into the room, the other girl took in Autumn’s disheveled state and lost expression. “Gods, Matilda! You look awful! Have you been into the wine again? Or did you finally get lucky st night? Was it Sir Liam? Are you pregnant? You know he’s only a third son, right? His family won’t let him marry you. You’d be lucky to keep his bastard, if he got you pregnant.”

  The other girl’s nattering washed over her mind like a wave as she desperately tried to recall her name.

  Her name was Autumn.

  Autum-

  Aut-

  A-

  Her name was Matilda.

  Shaking her head, Matilda looked up groggily towards her friend Hetty. “What was that?”

  Hetty sighed. “I was asking if you got your fool self pregnant.”

  “I’m not pregnant!” Matilda said. “I just didn’t sleep right. I had some weird dreams, is all.”

  “Oh? Like what?”

  “...I don’t remember.”

  Hetty gave her friend a look of annoyance before huffing. “Fine! What do I care?! Just get up and in the kitchen before the old crone or else! And for god’s sake, eat some mint or something! Your breath stinks! No wine my butt!”

  Turning, she stormed back out of the bedroom leaving Matilda alone once more to get ready.

  Pain nced through Matilda’s mind. Groaning, she staggered to her feet, grabbing her spare underthings and her work dress. A wince escaped her as her soaked nightgown clung to her skin unpleasantly. Making her way over to the communal bucket of cold water meant to clean the night’s sweat from their bodies, Matilda disrobed before soaking a rag in the icy water to clean herself. The familiar bite shocked her awake.

  Now awake and clean, she dressed herself hurriedly in her underclothes and servant’s attire, including her soft cloth shoes, before making her way out the bedroom door in pursuit of her friend and fellow maid.

  As she was fixing her hair into a rough bun, Matilda thought about her job and home.

  For the better part of five years, ever since she’d turned thirteen, she’d been working in the castle, helping to maintain it and feed its inhabitants. Not that she was all that good at cooking. Hetty called her a disaster and the head cook, Ol’ Nancy, called her… well, she called her a lot of things, none for polite company. Still, she was good at what she did, even if that was mostly cleaning and carrying random bits around the castle for no desirable reason.

  Her appointment to the castle had been her mother’s idea. To make her more ‘marketable’ when it came to marrying her off. That, and to fulfill her vilge’s obligations to provide workforce for the castle.

  Man, the lord must’ve felt ripped off with her.

  Annoyingly, her mother had been on her case about marrying ever since she turned eighteen summers. So what if she was losing her ‘best’ marriageable years! Most of the matches for her station were either too old for her or just pin awful. For example, the test match her father had found for her was the bailiff’s son.

  The bailiff’s son!

  He was an absolute pig! Constantly fighting! Constantly whoring! Rumor has it he already has more than one bastard to his name.

  Imagine the shame of it!

  That wasn’t even mentioning his looks, either. God seemed to have accidentally made an actual pig stand up right! Talk about the soul matching appearances!

  Ugh, Matilda gagged.

  She’d marry when she was good and ready, dammit! Maybe to Sir Liam.

  Matilda sighed. If only. Talk about handsome. Golden hair. Blue eyes. Muscles like a statue. Smile like the sun. If she could nd a catch like him, she’d be happy. Who cares what Hetty says about him only being a third son or whatever. She’d take that over a pig like the bailiff's son.

  …whatever his name was.

  Matilda shook off her wayward thoughts as she bustled into the kitchen. Thankfully, she arrived before the head cook. Hetty threw her a look as the old crone thundered into the kitchen. Upon noticing her, the older woman scowled, having not forgiven her of the many, many times she’d been te in her tenure within the castle walls. Or for almost burning down the kitchen in her ill-fated attempts at cooking even the simplest of meals.

  Some things were just beyond her, it seemed.

  Glowering still, Ol’ Nancy turned away from Matilda and barked orders to the other maids to prepare what was needed for the various breakfasts around the castle. Matilda, notably, was told to just keep out of the way and help the more component Hetty.

  Matilda rolled her eyes.

  Aside from Hetty, the only other person within the kitchen that she interacted with was the apprentice cook, Cynthia. A girl of near fourteen summers smiled shyly at Matilda as she helped the head cook.

  Surprisingly for someone who was one day destined to take over the running of the kitchens, Cynthia was no better at cooking than Matilda was. Even having only been here a year, she’d almost burned down the castle and accidently poisoned the lord and dy of the castle. Thankfully, as they were required to test anything that left the kitchen, the only one that got poisoned was one of the maids.

  She was alright in the end…

  Well, she survived, at least.

  Matilda held back a snicker as her friend, Hetty, had to hurriedly prevent the younger girl from setting something alight that shouldn’t be once more. The other girl gave her a baleful gre as Cythina blushed in embarrassment.

  Clearly, she had to be a bastard daughter or something to keep her position in the castle. Matilda could think of no other reason why such incompetence would be tolerated.

  The irony of that statement was willfully lost on her.

  When the morning meal was finally prepared, the old cook barked for her and Hetty to take a heavy pot of porridge up to the guards out in the inner courtyard.

  “Girl!” Nancy barked. “Get your zy ass moving already! The men need to be fed!”

  Matilda rolled her eyes at the familiar annoying address. “I have a name, you know. Matilda. Ma-Til-Da. I’ve been working here for five years! Surely you’ve learnt it by now?”

  The older woman sneered. “Why would I bother learning the name of a yabout! All you’ve given me is five years of headaches!”

  “You!”

  Hetty nudged Matilda before she could say anything more. “Come on, leave it,” she said, moving over to the pot of porridge resting on the stovetop. Wrapping an old towel around the handles, she hefted it up and began moving to the stairs leading up to the inner courtyard. “Grab those bowls and spoons, would you? The sooner we get this up, the sooner you can ogle your Sir Liam and I can fleece the others for their coin with a few games of dice. Mama needs a new pair of shoes.”

  Blushing, Matilda grabbed the stack of wooden bowls and spoons before rushing after her departing friend.

  “He’s not my Sir Liam,” she protested. “Why? Did he say something?”

  Hetty rolled her eyes. “No, but anyone can tell by the way you pant after him like a dog in heat.”

  “I do not!”

  Reaching the top of the stairs, Hetty paused before the heavy wooden door that bared their path to the other world. She looked over to the spluttering Matilda and gestured towards it with her head. “Could you get that? My hands are kinda full.”

  Matilda huffed in annoyance, but did so, carefully maneuvering past her friend to open the door.

  Morning sunlight streamed into the stairwell, causing the pair to squint briefly as they made their way out into the dawn.

  The inner courtyard of the castle was fairly expansive for a fortress of its size. Nestled between the rge keep to the north and the inner gatehouse to the south, it’d been designed to host a rather rge garrison in the event of a siege. As such, it boasted enough room for a variety of important buildings to huddle in the protective shadow of the walls, even a rather robust tourney ground.

  Golden light shone upon the wooden hoardings of the covered walls where the st of the nightwatchmen patrolled. Sharp eyes watched all going on beyond the walls, even if their minds would rather be thinking of rest or mead.

  The ring of metal on metal caught Matilda’s attention. Gncing over at the source, she saw the surprising sight of the castle’s bcksmith up before the dawn. Usually the surly old man was half-dead to the world after being well into his cups the night before.

  Jacob was his name.

  As he was in charge of keeping the metals of the castle in good order, he was rather important and boy did he know it. Getting him to do anything he didn’t want to do was an effort of frustration and futility. Not unless you knew his vices and how to quench them like she did. For you see, Ol’ Jacob was a drunk and Matilda knew where the keys to the wine celr were.

  They got along fine.

  Another sound caught her attention. That of wood on wood. Looking to the west, she spied the fighting arena of the guards. It wasn’t much, just a square of wooden posts and banners along with a few training dummies, but it was well-used. Every morning, the guards on the day shift would gather to train and spar.

  When her eyes nded upon the pair currently sparring, Matilda perked up. It was Sir Liam! Oh, and the guard captain, Rownd, she guessed. He was there too. Beating up on her poor Sir Liam!

  For shame!

  Sir Liam was one of the new guards, having only arrived recently in the st few weeks. He added much needed entertainment around the pce. Handsome-faced. Blond haired and blue eyed. Muscles that strained his too-tight gambeson. Skilled in the art of swordpy. Intelligent. Noble. He was the complete package.

  Did she mention he was handsome!

  And unwed!

  Being the third son of a local lord, he’d been sent here to fulfill his father’s obligations to the ruler of the castle, much like she’d been. She imagined the lord was more pleased with him than her.

  Matilda gulped as a heavy drop of sweat ran down the side of Sir Liam’s face from beneath his helm, highlighting the intensity of his focus as he swung his wooden sword to meet Rownd’s own. The cck of wood rang through the clearing much like Jacob’s hammer did upon his anvil.

  “Yes, yes, he’s handsome and you’d like his babies,” Hetty snarked as she stood behind Matilda. “But could you do whatever it is that you’re doing when I’m not carrying a heavy pot of food?”

  “I wasn’t ogling him!” Matilda cried.

  Hetty smirked. “I never said you were. Now get your bony butt moving before my arms give way.”

  “My butt isn’t bony, Hetty! You take that back! What if Sir Liam heard you!”

  Matilda’s cries caught the attention of the guard captain, Rownd. Looking over at the girl he saw as a daughter, even if not by blood, he let out a heavy sigh and signaled the others to stop. That girl would be the death of him. Around him, the other guards let out tired sighs of relief at the cessation of their training. As they were packing away their wooden swords and sweat-soaked gambesons, the pair of girls arrived at a heavy oaken table beside the training grounds set up for that exact reason and set the pot of hot porridge down upon it.

  For her part, Matilda pced the wooden bowls and spoons next to the pot before hurriedly wiping the sweat from her brow.

  Hetty gred at her with crossed arms. “Look at this girl. Acting like she did all the heavy lifting,” she muttered to herself.

  Matilda ignored her in order to dish up a hearty bowl of porridge for her Sir Liam, despite the fact she’d not done so for any of the others.

  Rownd rolled his eyes as he ate his own porridge. His girl, he thought.

  Sir Liam’s hands brushed against Matilda’s soft fingers as he took the offered bowl from her. She blushed brightly as his smile warmed her heart, framed as it was by golden locks and ocean eyes.

  A million butterflies fpped their chorus in Matilda’s stomach.

  “G-good morning, Sir Liam!” Matilda stuttered out. “How are you this fine morning!”

  Snickers from Hetty were dutifully ignored.

  Sir Liam smiled softly, not minding her strange intensity. “Good morning, Miss Matilda. I am quite well this morning. Thank you for asking. How are you finding the dawn?”

  “I’m good! And yourself?!”

  Matilda wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.

  Thankfully, her rescue was far less geological. Approaching the amused knight from behind, Rownd cpped the other man on the shoulder and subtly steered him away from the socially dying girl. “Best get yourself gone, d. Once I’m done eating, we’re going on patrol, whether you’re finished or not.”

  Sir Liam straightened up. “Yes Sir!” he said, before making his way over to the other guards to eat, sending Matilda one st look before he left.

  “Just kill me,” Matilda moaned. “Finish me off! Put me out of my misery!”

  Rownd chuckled. “And deprive myself of such entertainment? Never!”

  Matilda gred up at the man she saw as a second father. Privately. Without telling him. Ever. “Such an old, cruel, mean, and old man you are!”

  “You didn’t need to say old twice!”

  “Yet it is true!” Matilda said before sighing. “What do I do? Sir Liam probably thinks I’m strange now!”

  “Now?”

  Another gre answered his mockery. The red-haired man held his arms up in surrender. “Eh, don’t let that bother you. Most men know that women are a strange bunch. I'd be more worried about him finding out about your ck of cooking ability. That’ll scare him off more than you stumbling over your words would.”

  Matilda slumped. “So much for love.”

  “Love?” Rownd ughed. “You’ve been listening to too many bard’s tales. Men like him aren’t interested in love. They’ve got other things in mind.”

  “What would you know?”

  “You forget I was young once and handsome.”

  Matilda wrinkled her nose. “You? Handsome?” she said, disbelievingly.

  “Hey!”

  “Maybe if you shaved off that tangled mess of a beard on your face, you might, possibly, be generously called something akin to handsome.”

  Rownd favored her with a deadpan stare. “My, what a compliment you give me, fair maiden.”

  Matilda shivered for reasons unbeknown to her. A nce of pain spiked through her skull. Gasping, she clutched at her head.

  “Are you alright?” Rownd asked, his face etched with concern.

  Waving him off, she spoke through the pain. “I’m fine, it’s just a headache. I think I just woke up wrong this morning.”

  “Are you sure? I can ask the apothecary to make you something for the pain.”

  Matilda shook her head slightly, careful not to aggravate whatever was causing her pain. “No, it’s alright. It’s…”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you ever felt like you’ve forgotten something? Something important, but for the life of you can’t recall what?”

  Rownd pondered what she said a moment, rough fingers drifting through his reddish beard. “I can’t say I have. But then again, how would I know if I had?”

  “Right. Stupid question.”

  Matilda scrunched her eyes up as she stared bnkly out over the walls towards the rising sun. The soft glow steadily lit up more of the wall behind her as it rose. For the life of her, she couldn’t recall what it was that she was forgetting, no matter how much it screamed and cwed at the back of her mind.

  “Oh well, it mustn't have been all that important.”

  Unseen, Autumn leaves drifted by in the cold wind.