England; 16 years later

THE FLINT scrapped against the rock, causing sparks to fly and the fire to finally burn. It had taken nearly fifteen tries, but I did it.

After making sure the gentle wind would not kill the growing sparks of the fire, I turned and began to slide the fish I had caught earlier onto the spit.

Sir Grummore- my guardian- was bone tired from drinking and gallivanting around the camp all day, and so it fell onto me, a lowly squire, to cook the meal.

He wasn't a bad person, really. He had told me of when he had spirited me away from the streets I had called home in my youth to his home, where he acted as a father figure.

When the red flames of the fire finally licked the dried leaves, the fire exploded with orange sparks and burning heat. I smiled softly at my victory before placing the spit over the fire and moving back a ways. I didn't want to risk being burnt.

I returned to the whetstone near my tiny tent, watching the fish out of the corner of my eye. Lord have mercy on my soul if I let our dinner burn.

I began to sharpen Sir Grummore's sword, running the blade along the sharpening stone. From the moment he had rescued me, Grummore had trained me to be his squire, because he did not want nor feel the need to train another boy squire just for the squire in question to run to Sir Ector.

And so Grummore's solution to his conundrum was to pick a tiny girl off of the corner of Winchester and disguise her as a boy so that there was no risk of another escaped squire.

That was me. A girl who acted as a boy.

Grummore must've heard me begin to sharpen his sword, because he emerged from his much larger tent and staggered to the whetstone.

"Lyra, are you positive the fish are not burning? And are you almost done with the blade? I need to eat soon." Grummore was clearly drunk, and I was almost surprised to hear my real name. My guardian rarely called me anything but 'boy' in public.

"You will get your food in due time, Sir. But the sword will need more than a mere three minutes of sharpening. Perhaps you should lie down, and I will bring your food to you."

"Aye, boy, that'll do. Make sure you knock before you open the door!" Grummore let out a childish giggle, one that looked awkward for a man of his great size, before turning back to his tent and ducking inside.

I sighed, but unfortunately I had to do this often. Grummore loved his beer a little too much, and he had plenty of access to the funds for his excursions.

I returned to the fire, abandoning the sword for now, and gently removed the spit onto a cooling rack of wood and leaves. I would wait for the fish to completely cool before giving any to Grummore in his current state.

I doubted he would have been drinking tonight if he wasn't worried about his turn to try and pull the famous sword from the stone tomorrow.

The sword was why I had been dragged halfway across the country. All the knights, noblemen, and peasant men were here to try their hand at relieving the sword from its stony confines in the churchyard across the street from the campgrounds.

The reason for this hurry to possess the sword was simple: the day of the king's death, the sword had appeared- buried to the hilt in a block of marble- with the inscription:

Who so pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil is the rightwise born king of England.

Clearly, everyone who attended the Stone Tournament thought they were the born king of England. I, personally, believed that the king should be strong and wise, not weak and greedy, as many of the men who had flocked to the sword like geese to a breadcrumb.

I thought that the next king should be able to stop the Saxons from invading our lands any further.

Finally, I noticed that the fish were cooled, and I set about cutting them up and placing them on the chipped traveling china. I placed a pronged fork on the plate and set it just inside Grummore's tent flap.

His snoring was louder than the crackling of the fire as it ate away at the fuel I had given it.

Now that the knight had been served, I placed the leftover fish onto the spare plate, grabbed a fork, and sat next to the fire.

The flames flickered and climbed, as if following a dancing routine. Every time the reddish-orange flames climbed, they were met with a yellow spark, continuing the enrapturing show.

I took off the hat covering my golden curls, and felt myself relax as I pulled the pins that kept my hair up one by one. I had no idea how the noblewomen did it. I had only worn pins for two hours- because I needed to be around more knights than just Grummore- and my scalp was throbbing from the unnatural way at which my roots were forced to turn.

I placed a gentle pressure on the crown of my head, wincing at the feel of my hand against my skull. If I had to guess, I would assume that I would not get very much sleep tonight.

Nevertheless, it felt good to finally let my hair down again. The curls bounced past my shoulders and I finally felt like me for the first time today.

The fish was a little under-cooked, but at this point I didn't mind. Fish would again become a rare delicacy at Sir Grummore's home after the tournament, because of his fear of water. Grummore wouldn't touch sand, let alone get onto a fishing raft.

When my meal was complete, I kicked dirt in the fire and decided to take a walk. Tomorrow, Grummore would try his hand at the sword, and he would fail. It was a predictable pattern, now, anyways.

No matter the knight's rank or the nobility's status, no one could pull the sword. Not one person had even loosened the blade from the stone yet, and that was saying something. These were the strongest men in the country. How on Earth was the sword still stuck in the stone?

My head was still throbbing, so I continued, not bothering to take in all of the lavish tents across the campground. There was no need, as I had seen them all before, and most of the time, I was green with envy.

I didn't understand how people could be born into nothing, and be good people, and then people born into something weren't. There must've been some sort of goodness repellent in the money they earned without working.

The only time they lifted a finger was to raise the taxes.

I knew I didn't have it as bad as I used to, ever since Grummore had graciously accepted me, but the poverty was still there.

I walked out of the campground, away from the churchyard where the sword sat. I had already admired its otherworldly beauty, so I saw no reason to see it again tonight. It wasn't like the sword effected me in any way. Girls couldn't be kings.

I continued in the direction of the woods; the only safe place away from the men who thought they were the One True King.

Moonlight filtered through the skeletal tree branches, casting ribbons of light onto the dirt path. Tiny ferns and weeds grew around the path, but never in it. Like the dirt had some sort of magic.

Thorn bushes dotted the edges of the trail, making me stick to the middle, lest I get pricked by one of the reaching thorns. I walked in silence, admiring the surroundings. It was remarkable how the trees could look dead in the beginning, but if you looked closer they were very much alive.

They were alive in the way their trunks bent towards the sun, creating morbidly beautiful shapes. The knots in the wood were pronounced, and the bark ran deep with scars. Each tree had a story behind its shape, its scars, its knots.

It was the most beautiful place I had ever used to think.

I continued down the twisting path, careful to stay on the flattened dirt. While the forest was beautiful, I did not wish to find out why everything outside the path was twisted.

Finally, after walking a ways, I stopped in the center of a large circle of dirt. This particular part of the woods most resembled a clearing, and so I laid down in the middle and looked up at the sky.

It was as if an artist had made the sky his canvas. The stars were painted with angelic grace; pinpoints of white and yellow paint. The moon was full, a milky expanse of light that mirrored the sun. And the sky was black, the perfect canvas for the display of ethereal perfection.

The shapely tree branches curved sharply over the scene, and if I were an artist, I would paint the sky and the branches and the moon and the stars. But I would have to settle for the memory of such a lovely night, because I was hopeless when it came to painting.

There was too much potential in a blank canvas.

I stayed there, counting the stars, and committing the enchanting scene to memory. I wouldn't be able to have nights like this in the coming weeks, especially if the king was found this weekend. If a king was crowned, the whole kingdom would need to support the new monarch, and help him defeat the Saxons before they conquered all of our homeland. Without a monarch, it was too easy for the Saxon's army to invade, which is why there was widespread confusion over why they had stopped advancing.

The last time a messenger came about the battle, he said they hadn't moved an inch in three weeks.

I was more than a little suspicious of the activity, but I said nothing. In the eyes of all but Sir Grummore, I was a lowly squire, at the tournament only to help my master.

I looked back up at the stars, feeling a wave of dread roll through my stomach. I didn't want to know what it was like to be the subject of a warrior tribe from northern Germany.

My eyelids grew heavy, as if the weight of my thoughts had transferred into my eyelashes, tempting me to close my eyes and sleep.

And so I did.

THERE WERE birds chirping. Sunlight kissed my face in a warm caress, causing a slow smile to grace my lips. Had I left the tent flap open?

Wait. I sat bolt upright and took in my surroundings quickly. No one was around to be a threat, I was still on the path, and the birds were in the trees.

My lungs cried out in pain, and I released the breath I didn't realize I was holding. I allowed my respiratory system the oxygen it required to function, and I felt myself calm down.

But only a little.

I stood up slowly, trying to avoid the usual head rush I experienced when I sat up too quickly after sleeping. There was an awful crick in my neck from sleeping on the ground, and my lower back cried out in pain.

It was going to be a long day.

My eyes widened when I remembered that today, Grummore would attempt to pull the sword... and his squire was expected to be there, very much awake and very much a boy.

I had left my hat at the camp, along with the pins that kept my hair looking short.

"I swear on God's bones," I said, standing up and dusting my chausses off. I needed to get back to the tents quickly, and if the sun's position in the sky was any indication, I would have to run.

I tucked my hair into the back of my tunic, hoping no one would look too closely at my ringlets, and began to run back to camp, my feet falling into a fast-paced rhythm, like one a performer would play on a lute when he was trying to get the crowd to dance.

My heart beat with both the exercise and the adrenaline running through my veins. While I was panicked over arriving at an appropriate time, I had never felt this strong before. As if I could lift the whole world onto my shoulders and feel no extra burden.

Finally, the edge of the forest came into view, and I wove between the tents with no regard as to what I ran into.

"Oi! Watch where you're running, boy!" called an angry voice behind me, but I was too busy jumping over a cart of apples to care.

I almost collapsed with relief to see Grummore walking around our camp with a look of deep concentration clouding his face.

"Are you ready, Sir?" I asked, needing to bend over so that I could catch my breath.

My legs were wobbly, and I hoped I didn't seem too much the drunk.

"Where is your hat? And your pins? You know the only reason I allowed you to keep your hair long was because you promised to always have your hair tucked and pinned under that hat."

"I'm sorry, Sir, I got carried away in the woods. Do you have your sword?" I explained, cursing myself when I remembered that I hadn't completely finished sharpening the blade.

"I have my sword, yes. A little on the blunt side, but it'll have to do. Get your hair hidden, so we won't be late."

I nodded, moving to my tent. I was relieved to find that my hat and pins were on the blankets, and I quickly put my hair up and placed the hat on my head.

I walked out of the tent, found Sir Grummore, and set off to the churchyard where the sword was entombed in the stone.

Word Count: 2343

Total Word Count: 2745

First milestone! I'm pretty happy with how I've been pacing the release of chapters this year, because last year it was either a chapter dump or a dry spot.

So what did you think of the chapter? Do you like Lyra so far? Grummore? They had to start off really simple because I needed room for them to, like, grow up to the sky. Please let me know if you saw something that should be fixed! (in a nice way plleeaassseee)

How is your ONC story going, if you're in the running? Good luck! (I believe in you!)

Have a WONDERFUL day/night/afternoon,

CJ