The snow piled up higher and higher, almost covering the steep, narrow pathway. Bartram hadn’t expected his first long-distance assignment to be that hard. Growing up in coastal Hillander, he’d never really seen the Wingsong Mountains, especially not from up close. From following a path so narrow that they had to lead their horses on foot, and so steep that one false step meant certain death for him or his horse.
Ty Newland walked ahead in a slow but steady pace. Every now and then, when the narrow path allowed it, he stopped and turned to see how Bartram was doing. How he found the energy, Bartram didn’t know. He himself needed all his attention to avoid this one fatal false step. He never stopped watching his own feet as he sat one before the other, because otherwise he wouldn’t have known where they were, exactly. He had a mind of his own, yes, but his body was something else. He hadn’t minded the feeling of disconnect from his body until now. It kept him from noticing more of the things that were just wrong about it. You couldn’t feel something was wrong if you didn’t feel anything at all.
Only now it worked to his utmost disadvantage. Once again he almost stumbled, and paused to catch his breath, to concentrate again. Ty was the one to carry the message, alright, but Bartram’s horse, Robbie, carried a considerable part of their food. He couldn’t fail now. He had to make it one more step, and a second one, and so on. He caught Ty’s look and made the OK-sign before he slowly started again his way up. It looked like they would arrive at the pass soon, but what did he know, after all.
The message was of the utmost urgency, Bartram knew. It had taken him quite some time to discourage his own curiosity. He was a messenger now, and unless he was told to do so, reading the message’s content was strictly off limits. He didn’t know why they had to hasten across the mountains to Coutre instead of taking the long and less deadly road through D’Yer and Bairdley. There was exactly one path though the mountains wide enough for horses. Ty had spend a considerable part of their travel preparations – which weren’t long to begin with, considering the urgency of the message – studying an old map and copying it into his own journal. There wasn’t anything Ty wasn’t good at, so Bartram trusted him to get them trough the mountains in one piece. But still, it was hard.
He looked up just to see Crane disappear behind a boulder. The path, which stretched out parallelly to the ridge so far, made a sharp turn towards what Bartram recognised now as a mountain saddle. The dangerous climb had nearly found its end. Carefully, Bartram watched his feet as he followed in Ty’s footsteps. The snow was knee-deep by now. If only he could feel his body like a normal person did. Riding would be easier, for example. Or sword fighting. Or climbing up those last few steps, with the steep slope on his side.
He made it. Bartram reached the boulder that marked the passage between the exposed mountainside and the somewhat sheltered mountain saddle. To his left and right, rocky ground went up and up to the nearest summits.
“Are you alright?” Ty asked.
Bartram nodded and pat his Robbie’s bay neck. “We’re alright,” he said. “Aren’t we, friend?”
“Come on then. It is still a while until we can rest.” Ty glanced up to the sky where thick snowflakes kept falling.
It wasn’t as cold as it probably could be, what with the calm air. But Bartram could see the sky getting darker, not from storm, but simply because it was close to dusk.
The path itself was still narrow, but as they were surrounded by solid rock on either side, Ty decided it was safe to ride. They checked their horses’ hooves for stones or cuts, and when they didn’t find any, they mounted.
Bartram trusted Robbie to step right. Sure, he was a former light cavalry horse and as a courser neither trained for nor accustomed to long distance rides through the most difficult terrain. He wasn’t a Green Rider horse, the ones Bartram had heard so much about. Legends of horses outrunning an arrow, of growing wings and raising up to the sky. But he’d carried Bartram from Sacor City to here, and he’d never made a wrong step. So he loosened the reins and let Robbie find his way through the snow-covered coarse gravel that made up the path.
“I’m sorry I’m putting such a strain on you,” he murmured. “It can’t be easy carrying a rider like me who’s got no feeling for how he sits.” It was a constant topic with Riggs. He should just feel the way the horse moved, go with the movement. Yes, Bartram did feel his horse’s movements. But how he was positioned in relation to that, he could never say. As if he were a puppet that was controlled by his mind. As long as he paid attention to it, he was fine.
In Hillander, Bartram had started as a stable boy, but his lack of bodily self-awareness was what kept him in this position. No learning how to ride, no breaking in horses for someone who couldn’t be trusted with his limbs. And Bartram had tried so hard. But any time he stopped paying attention, his mind somehow … just forgot that his mass centre was different, that his hips were wider, his body shorter than what he looked like in his own imagination. And then he couldn’t keep his balance, bumped his hips everywhere, and, most importantly, always misjudged heights and distances.
It was nothing he could change, so once he was in Sacor City and it was clear he was going to be a Green Rider, he’d worked even harder to overcome these difficulties. Still, it was exhausting. If only his body could really look like what his mind told him it looked.
“We’ll soon be there.”
Ty’s words startled Bartram. He looked up and noticed that the path was wide and clear enough for two horses, and that Ty was at his side. “Sorry,” he said and then noticed he didn’t really have anything to be sorry for. Getting lost in thoughts was to expected on a long ride, wasn’t it? “Where?” he asked.
“The Brantfell hause waystation should be not far from here. Look out for a path to our left.”
Bartram looked around in astonishment. A path to a waystation, here in the mountains! Although, the rocks either of his sides weren’t as high as before, nor the path as visible. One couldn’t exactly call it level or flat, but they were riding over rocky terrain now more than following a defined path. But still. “I didn’t think the way through the mountains was popular enough to warrant a waystation.”
“You are right,” Ty said, “I don’t know of any Rider taking this path in all my time as a Green Rider. There were times, though, when the route network was much more extensive than it is today. The waystations are a relict of those times. We may not use this route regularly nowadays, but there might still be people living in the mountains. The reports were unclear on that account.” Ty looked a little uncomfortable, as if the thought of people living here without the king’s knowledge didn’t sit right with him.
They rode in silence for a while. As time went on, it got harder to notice the details of their environment. Bartram alternated between keeping his eyes wide open to watch out for the path, and squinting when the snow got in his eyes. He kept his attention on the left side, scanned the environment for changes and kept Robbie’s reins loose.
Then he saw the path. It was barely noticeable, and even more so with the snow, but it stood out all the same. A small break in the otherwise uniform structure of rocks. “There!” Bartram called out in surprise. He heard his voice echo from the surroundings and hated himself for calling out loud. Usually, when he kept his voice to a murmur and talked in low, hushed tones, he could almost forget how high it sounded. How high it would always sound. But as soon as he raised his voice, there was no denying that he … sounded like a girl.
“Well done.” Ty guided Crane to the path Bartram had shown and up they went. It wasn’t nearly as steep as the climb they had done to get here, but it was clear they were slowly leaving the mountain saddle towards the northern parts of the mountain.
“You’re the best,” Bartram said to Robbie and let him follow Crane. He needed all of his concentration to keep his balance.
Then Crane stopped and Bartram nearly fell when Robbie came to a halt.
“What’s the mat–“ he called forward, but Ty’s raised hand stopped him and he fell silent. He couldn’t see past Crane, so he settled down and waited.
“We don’t want to fight,” he heard Ty’s raised voice.
It wasn’t directed at him. There was someone else. And they wanted to fight.
Bartram felt his breath speed up.
He’d never been in a fight. Training sessions, yes, of course. They wouldn’t have let him on a mission if he couldn’t hold himself in a fight, right? He’d only fought from the flat ground so far, not on a horse and not in the mountains. He’d have to move differently, but how?
Ty’s voice rang through to him. “Pray tell me what you need.”
A muffled, deep voice answered something Bartram didn’t understand.
He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t think he could fight. Not in this approaching darkness, not in the snow, not on a horse, not in the mountains. Not with this body.
“Bartram,” Ty called without turning around. “You do have the bread and dried meat in your saddlebag, haven’t you?”
Bartram didn’t know how Ty could sound so calm and collected, when there were opponents ahead who where probably armed and ready to fight. He checked the bag in front of his knee. “Yes,” he called ahead.
“Good. Take it out and close the bag.”
Food. They were after food. Not surprising, considering the sudden snowfall. He balanced the bread and meat on the pommel of his saddle and nestled the bag close. “Got it,” he shouted.
“Now,” Ty said, and it was again directed towards the adversary, “I want you two to step around my horse and take the food my fellow Rider gives you.”
Bartram gulped. If now those guys let Ty go and went on to attack him …
A figure appeared beside Robbie, and then a second. They were clad in heavy woolen garments and their full beards made it impossible to discern their faces. They wore small recurve bows on their backs, spears in their hands. Bartram stared at them.
The first man grunted. “Now, lass, just give it to us,” he said.
Lass. Bartram pressed his teeth together. They must have heard him talk. Oh, how he hated his voice and everything that went with it!
The second man stretched his hand out. “Don’t make me take it, Miss Bartram.”
Ty turned around to look at them. Bartram caught Ty’s eye and saw him twitch, but Ty’s voice remained calm and steady when he said “go ahead, Rider.”
Like in a trance, Bartram reached out and handed over the food. He still felt Ty’s eyes on him and looked back at him.
Ty’s expression seemed to darken. “Now come,” he said and despite the difficult terrain and the impending darkness he urged Crane into a trot, in which Robbie followed suit.
Lass. The heartbeat thudded in Bartram’s chest. Miss He felt something on his chest shaking up and down from Robbie’s steady trot. He’d almost managed to forget them today. But now they were back in the presence of his mind. He felt them. Oh, how he hated them, how he hated to feel them, and the rest of his body with them. Because now the dam was breached and all those sensations reached his mind. There was no ignoring his body now, not anymore.
Robbie trotted along behind Crane. Were the guys following them? Readying their bows? Bartram didn’t know, and right now, he didn’t care. They’d called him a girl. That stung, more than he had imagined before. He’d gotten used to being called by his right name. Without a hitch, the other Riders had accepted him as Bartram Wynter instead of his given name. He felt welcome there, as if when they talked to him, they really meant him, not like the stable master at the Hillander stables who had allowed him to work as a stable boy, but had still insisted on calling him by his much-hated given name.
Bartram didn’t take notice where the horses took them. He didn’t care. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the ups and downs of Robbie’s trot. He just had to ignore those guys. They weren’t important. They didn’t know him. They knew nothing about him. They had heard his voice and drawn their conclusions, and maybe they had seen those traitorous shapes that Bartram could never fully hide, as much as he tried, and not even with the thick uniform and the greatcoat the Riders wore in winter. That was all. It was his fellow Riders who counted, and they did it right, always.
But it wasn’t that easy. Bartram could try all he want, the strangers’ assumption still hurt. And it wasn’t as if in his life as a Rider he’d only be in contact with other Green Riders. Every time he delivered a message, the recipient would have a look at him and draw their conclusions. The hurt was unavoidable. He wanted it to stop.
He didn’t know how far they had still gone, but when they arrived at Brantfell hause waystation, the sky was dark.
The waystation was dark shape against the snow. Only when they came closer Bartram recognised it as a log cabin. The first thing Ty did after dismounting was grabbing the lantern that hung from a hook beside the door. He lightened it and closed the shades in a way which made lantern spend light without blinding. Then he led Crane to the back of the cabin.
Bartram dismounted and followed suit. At the back of the cabin, there was a small stable with three tie stalls and place for tack storage. It wasn’t how Bartram preferred to keep any horse, but it was dry and sheltered and would do for the night. “’M gonna get you dry, my friend” he murmured, and set out to take care of his horse.
It calmed him down, rubbing Robbie dry and braiding his hands through the mane. The lantern flickered and cast heavy shadows across the stalls, so Bartram more felt than saw that Robbie’s hooves were clear.
“Are you ready, Bartram?” Ty’s voice sounded casual.
Bartram closed his eyes. No. He wasn’t ready. He was never going to be ready to hear the things those guys had said, even if Ty didn’t say these things. Even if Ty used his real name. “Go ahead,” he said, “I’m coming.” He heard Ty leave the stable and leaned his head against Robbie’s neck.
He should join Ty in the cabin. He should try and help him prepare whatever sparse meal was left over from their little adventure. He should go and talk with him and maybe plan the next day. But even the thought of facing Ty made Bartram want to puke. Ty was great, that much was certain, and even now, his head in Robbie’s mane and tears in his eyes, Bartram never doubted that. It had nothing to do with Ty, who had been everything Bartram could ask for in a mentor. The problem was with Bartram, and with those guys who once again reminded him of everything that was wrong with him. Ty had just been a witness to that, and that was why Bartram just couldn’t imagine to look him in the eyes ever again.
No. He just couldn’t. When he had done all he could for Robbie, he held his hands on his horse’s nostrils. “Sleep well, friend,” he said, even though he knew that a horse’s sleep didn’t work like that. Bartram opened the stable door. A freezing breeze made him shiver, but for the first time in a while, it felt like he could breathe freely again. He stepped outside, not even bothering to close his greatcoat, and smiled as the wind tugged at him. Robbie, he thought, and closed the stable door. Robbie didn’t deserve to be cold, and neither did Crane.
The wind bit his eyes and just like that, Bartram was crying.
It wasn’t just the wind. It was the words that had stung and that couldn’t leave him. It was the painful knowledge that some things were never going to change. He would always have to endure wrong names, wrong titles, wrong conceptions. The wrong body.
He was crying, and suddenly he was sitting against the stable door with his arms and head on his knees, loud sobs building up in his throat.
He had to be strong, he knew that. He had to be even stronger than the usual Green Rider. He mustn’t cry, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from being so weak. He didn’t deserve to be a Green Rider. Green Riders were brave, brave like Rider G’ladheon or upright like Ty, while he was just a weak, whiny child, and one day Ty and Captain Mapstone and all the others were going to find out that he really wasn’t worthy of them.
He was just playing pretend, and the stable master had been right. He could never be a real boy, let alone a real man. Oh, how Bartram hated his … shapes. His hips. The things on his chest, because they existed, and because they were too big to be hidden by clothes. Back at the stables in Hillander, there had been a girl so lanky and thin that only her long hair had made people recognise her as a girl. Bartram had been so jealous.
If the gods had wanted him to be a boy, why didn’t they made him one? At least, they could’ve made him like this girl back in Hillander, a girl who was so easily mistaken for a boy. When Bartram introduced himself by his name, he always knew people would laugh at him, behind his back at least, if not right then and there. It simply wasn’t possible that people took him seriously, not when he was at least a head shorter than most of the real male Riders, and still shorter than most of the women. Nobody could take him seriously when he introduced himself as Bartram Wynter with this little girl’s voice. When he had those two big things on his chest that he more often than not wished to simply cut off. He had a sabre now. It was sharp, he kept it like that, even if he hadn’t been able to really feel his movements until just today. Feeling his body didn’t make it better, didn’t make him a better fighter or Rider. It made it worse, because now he couldn’t concentrate on anything else beside how wrong it all was.
He was an abnormality, and the world would be better of without him. He might as well die. In fact, he'd better.
Bartram started shaking. Or maybe he had started shaking a long while ago. He felt his body, but he didn’t feel the time. He hated his body, and he hated time. Why did he hate time? Body, sure. Wrong one. No. Not the whole body. He hated his body because it made him look like a girl, not because it was his body. He liked … his hands, for example. Or his eyes. Could do with a bit more hair on them. Hands, not eyes. Eyes with hair, funny that. Eyelids, they had it. They had hair. What were they eye hairs called? Something funny. Whips … no, lash. Lashes. He could do with less of that. Made him look all girly. Hated that.
Oh, funny feeling. Prickly eye hair. Why’d it prickle? And hand hair, too. Prickle-prickle-prickle. Not only hands. Arms too. And feet. And legs. And stomach. And face. Prickles everywhere.
Ouch. Pain on his chest. Pressure? Breathing, breathing was good. Painful. But good. Why this? No shaking, but pain, and a scream, but no voice, only coughing. It hurt. Everywhere. Pain on his chest no pressure. Tearing. Prickling too. And coughing, so much, no breathing, only coughing. Throat in pain. Pain in throat. No screams. Shaking. Much shaking. Much coughing. Pickled Bartram. No. Prickle prickle prickle the words. Everything. And pain. Whole body pain. Why no scream. Oh, cough, no scream. That.
Moving. Why moving? Hands on his forearm. Forearm in front of his body. Someone behind him. Tearing. No pain anymore. No coughing. No prickling. But shaking. Movement stopping. Suddenly light. Moving again. Such heat. Lying on wood. Flour. No. Floor. Warm. Good.
“Bartram.”
Yep. Me. No more coughing. Or prickling. Yes prickling, but different. In Fingers, not on skin. Light too bright, eyes closed. Shadow over eyes, orange to violet.
“Bartram?! Is that you? Oh, nevermind, we’ll get to that later. Bartram, can you hear me?”
Yep. “Aaaaargh.” Huh. Not the right word. But. But. But! His voice. No. His voice. Sounded like. Like … like in his head. But real.
“Very good, Bartram. Can you open your eyes?”
He tried. Too bright. He pressed them shut. Shook his head.
“That’s okay. Keep them closed. Listen, Bartram. You greatcoat is soaked. You have to get out of it. Can you do that?”
Moving? Getting up? Bartram shook his head.
“I need to get you out of that. I’ll give you mine instead. Is it okay if I do that?”
Bartram hated the thought. Didn’t want anybody to see him. “Wait,” he managed to say, and coughed. Different coughing though. His voice! It was real. It was deep. It was right. Suddenly, Bartram wanted one thing: To live. “Drink,” he rasped.
“Wow, Bartram!” A pause. Steps. Arms helping Bartram up. “Here, drink this.”
A warm feeling in his mouth, and throat. Warm, not hot. Good. And in his heart. His voice was good! How was this possible. But the change was real. Not just raspiness. This was different.
“Better?”
Bartram nodded. Still, he shivered. “Coat?”
“Do you want me to take off yours?”
He shook his head.
“Do you want to have mine?”
“Please.” All day. That’s how long he wanted to hear his new voice. All day.
The sound of steps. It went and came. “Now, please, Bartram. You need a change of clothes. I promise you, I won’t look at you. I’ll only hold you upright so that you can change.”
Bartram nodded. He had to change. He knew that. Maybe … but he didn’t dare to hope. He now had the choice: Refuse to change, or be brave.
He wanted to be a Green Rider. He wanted to live.
He didn’t have a choice – he had to be brave.
“Okay.” He looked down. And did a double take. They were gone. Simply gone. He lifted his hands to touch his chest. It was flat. They were really, truly gone.
And his hands. They were different, too. They had hair on them.
Bartram turned to look at the other person. Ty, right. Ty it was. “I’m …” A smile spread across his face.
Even as Ty steadied Bartram so he could stay upright in a sitting position, his head was turned away. Just as he’d promised.
“Look at me,” Bartram said.
Ty looked and smiled. “You’ve got a beard.”
“And my voice.”
“Finally puberty kicked in, right?” Ty grinned. “And a fast one at that.”
“Ty, I’m a guy now!” Bartram grinned, even though his lips were dry and cracked, even though he had to lean on Ty to stay in the sitting position. Even though he was still shivering.
Ty shook his head and he looked Bartram in the eyes until he stilled. “Bartram,” he said, “you have always been a guy.”
Bartram stared at him. Oh. Ty was serious.
“Yeah” Ty said and then chuckled, “and now, please get into dry clothes.”
With Ty’s help and a strength Bartram hadn’t know he possessed, he changed into dry clothes. Ty put the bedroll and all blankets he could find down in front of the hearth, and Bartram bundled up inside.
He could finally feel his body warming up again.
“Drink your tea,” Ty said calmly and held out his hand with the mug. He sat cross-legged on the floor at Bartram’s other side, the one that wasn’t the fireplace.
Bartram drank the tea and avoided Ty’s eyes. He had a new voice. His voice sounded like he’d always thought it should. His breasts were gone, and – he touched his face – he had a beard. A proper beard! A stubble, anyway, which would grow into a beard. He didn’t know how this was possible. But still, all these wonderful changes aside: “Ty, I’m sorry.” This was a training ride for him, but also a kind of test, and if anything, he had only shown that he was prone to endangering the errant.
“What happened?” Ty’s voice sounded calm, collected. Bartram made himself look at him and found curiosity, but also concern.
“I don’t know.” Again, Bartram wondered at his voice and the feeling of rightness that came with it. “There was a lot of pain and some really quite confusing sensations and I couldn’t think straight for a while. Not until a while after I came to myself again, here.”
Ty shook his head. “Before that – after I left the stable and before I found you halfway on freezing to death.”
“Oh, Ty! I’m sorry. I am truly sorry.” Guilt washed over Bartram and again, he found it tremendously difficult to keep his eyes on Ty. He bit his lip. “I didn’t think – the message – your responsibility – I’m sorry –“
“It’s okay, Bartram. Please, tell me what happened?”
“I wanted to die.”
At first, Ty didn’t react. His gaze and breath stayed the same, then he nodded, and asked: “And now?”
Bartram couldn’t shake his head more vehemently and sure if he tried. “Have you looked at me”, he exclaimed. “Have you heard me! How could I want to die, if this is really happening? If this is really me now?”
“I’m glad, and I’m happy for you.” Ty smiled. “It is always hard to constantly feel like others don’t see you for the person you are, and I think there’s no mistaking you for somebody else, now.”
A warm feeling spread inside Bartram, the glow of being understood, and the euphoria of overcoming a big hurdle. He laughed with joy. “Yes! You get it.” For a brief moment, he wondered if Ty also was seen as someone he didn’t feel he was. “But how did it work? Have I now hit puberty and that’s it? Or will it reverse?”
“I don’t know.” Ty didn’t seem to like having to admit that. “We, as in the Green Riders, have forgotten much about our abilities. I haven’t heard about anything like it before. My best guess is that you can willingly, or maybe subconsciously, alter your appearance. You yourself will have to tests your ability’s limitations.”
“You are saying that I am a shape shifter.” Bartram put his empty mug on the floor. “Isn’t there some price to pay, usually?” He thought of Rider Brennyn and her fevers.
Ty nodded. “Usually, yes, but not always. You mentioned strange sensations and pain. Do you feel any of that now?”
Bartram considered that, then he shook his head. “Nothing,” he said.
“Then maybe that was the extend of it. Growing a beard in a few minutes must have itched, I cannot even begin to imagine it.” He stroked his clean-shaven chin. “Not to mention the rest. Anyway, if you don’t feel any strain now, I guess the changes don’t need any magic to sustain themselves. Meaning, not your appearance is changed, but your body.”
“That means,” Bartram began, then stared at Ty. “That means should my brooch abandon me, they will stay.”
“Exactly.”
Almost freezing to death had put a strain on Bartram’s strength and energy, but if he could, he’d jump and dance around the room. He closed his eyes and touched his beard again. It was a stubble, but one that would grow into a full beard, without blank spots, and probably without looking thin like the beards of young men often did.
“I can teach you how to properly shave.”
Bartram opened his eyes in shock. “Whyever would I want to do this!”
“Alright, alright.” Ty chuckled, then he changed the topic. “Are you warm again?” There was still concern leaking from his voice, but not as much as before.
“Don’t worry.” Bartram smiled. And really, he felt much better. Then he sobered up and looked at Ty. “I’m aware that not everything will be alright in an instant, on either account, and there is still much to think about, much to adjust to. But I am really feeling well now. I am really sorry I gave you this fright. You know, I am really happy to be alive. Thank you for saving my life.”
“Anytime, Bartram. It would have pained me to see you lose this battle.” He leaned forward and put a hand on Bartrams shoulder. “Because things always get better. I’m glad that you are better now. However long it takes, you will be alright, and there is much to hope for in the future.”
Bartram nodded, smiling. “You know what? I believe you.”