by R D Blake
Erick thought for another few moments and decided to accept what on the surface was being allowed to him. If there was a deeper subterfuge — well, he would take it fully and accept another defeat at her hands. He would rather be at her mercy than see her hurt again. And as he lifted his head from the board he was surprised that she was there on the other side already. He was frozen by how close she was. Not since she had fed and nursed him had she allowed herself to be so near. And there was that soft drumming of her covered fingers again. So human, so — so — so — Erick knew not what. She was so mysterious, yet in this moment, so familiar.
When she had decided, she moved deftly, with a surety, certain of whatever strategy she had in mind. And she did not leave the table. Just waited. Erick felt another nip and took his eyes off her and back to the board. She had closed off the one opportunity she had given him and taken one of his pieces but left two of her own in jeopardy. Should he take them? Where would that leave things between them on the board? Erick took what she offered deciding again to accept what the consequences would be — though he left her with one twist in the movement of his pieces granting himself a slight opportunity two moves from now if she would allow it.
This time, the woman sat down, and rested her chin in her hand and started again that now familiar drumming. She moved several pieces taking one more of his own and left herself positioned to end the game soon, but she had left him with a new opportunity to capture one of her major pieces. Erick felt her peer up at him, awaiting his reaction. He sat down, keeping his eyes on the board; for he could sense that her hidden eyes had not left him.
What did this game mean to her and what of her moves? He felt that the real game was now open before him. Something was being offered but what? Only on her terms? — as it had been since the beginning? But was there something more? She could have easily turned the tables on him and used the opportunity he had created for herself. But how to respond? This next move would be his last Erick could see. Was he to take the opportunity or say by leaving it that he would grant her the right to win the game and set the rules for the games that followed — both here at this table and between themselves?
Erick believed himself an educated and intelligent man, but in this present situation he felt like he knew nothing. Well, Erick thought to himself, what did he want from this enigmatic being across from him? The answer came to him in that moment and he moved his pieces accordingly and sat back keeping his eyes upon only the board. Now it was his time to wait.
But her hand only moved one piece and her coarse voice startled him. “You understand?” Seeing what she had done, Erick could only reply with a silent nod. And this time it was he who needed to leave the room to think further upon what had been communicated between them in that kitchen chamber.
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He journeyed out beyond the fortress, having battled his way through the deepening snow drifts; for a storm had arrived beating itself down from its southern strongholds, sweeping over the vale. Snow had blown inside his cloak and his feet were soaked and becoming frozen from bulling a path through the snow piled up against the outer walls. So that is what she demanded if there was to be anything between them. She intended to leave herself inside a prison of her own making: boxed in — as she had left her own pieces on the board. And he must accept that and not attempt to broach it unless — unless she decided otherwise.
Erick felt as much as in a cage and a prisoner as she was making herself out to be. So this place, this home of hers was only a jail and herself both jailor and prisoner. And it always came back to: Why? Why? Why!
Why was she here? Why her behaviour? What had happened that she covered herself? Barring him or anyone from nearing her in any human way?
The wind had picked up and the snow fell heavier than ever. It finally came to Erick that he might not find his way back. For it was whiteness all about him now with no features discernible and the wind blew from one side then another. Any choice of direction, even if he could stay true, would more than likely lead him away rather than back to the ruins. But to stay out here was to choose death.
Gathering his cloak about him, Erick waded through the first drift and then the next trying to keep a straight line. “Even the forest would give me more protection than being out in these open fields,” he thought to himself.
He carried on struggling through the deepening snow until he was suddenly swatted to his knees. A black mass shoved him down once more and then stood by his side. The great bear had found him! Erick pulled himself to his feet and grabbed onto the fur of the beast as it turned and led him away in an entirely different direction.
On and on they trudged together. Just how far amiss had he travelled? But in between the blasts of sleet and icy particles, a dark entranceway finally loomed in front of them. Erick stumbled into it and followed the bear onwards. Up ahead was light — heat — safety. He collapsed into a heap once he was back again in the kitchen. Still frozen, unable to speak, soaked and chilled, he was no longer able to hold back the spastic shivering that soon took over all of his being. As his numb grip on the bear loosened, he fell prostrate to the floor. The dogs and wolves drew near and dragged him in his ice-shrouded clothes closer to the fire while the bear removed himself from the chamber, but Erick heard a great shaking from out in the hallway and some low voiced huffing. The bear was peeved at him and Erick foresaw more pummelling though he was so frozen he thought he would feel none of it.
The heat of the fire only worked to free the pain to course through his body. His garments became drenched as the snow and ice melted and he began to shiver intensely. But sooner than he wished, the great bear approached him and there was no mistaking the wrath in his eyes. The black beast cuffed him once and that blow almost sent him into the fire itself. Then all the wolves and dogs retreated in full knowledge of what was about to happen.
Erick could do nothing. His cold-numbed body was not his to command. Besides, did he not deserve such punishment for his stupidity? But just as the creature raised his great paw to swipe at him again, the woman entered the room and shouted out in her husky cracked voice. “Leave him! Has he not already paid in full for his foolishness? Am I not to blame in part for it?”
At her remonstrance, the bear stopped his motion, dropping his hairy limb back down to the floor. He grumbled in his throat at her. But something was communicated in the stance of the woman and the bear ceased his protests. As he swung his great head away and retreated from the room, the bear caught Erick’s eyes with his own and Erick would swear later that the great beast had winked at him.
But in the present moment, he could give no thought to it; for he was shivering uncontrollably. The chill had seeped into his very bones and the precious fire only served to char the outside of him leaving his interior still as cold as the ice coating the outside the fortress. Meanwhile, the woman busied herself and some moments later brought him a bowl of soup; but once Erick showed himself incapable of holding the spoon or sitting up she did it herself, first by her swift motions commanding the dogs to draw him up into a position against the wall nearest the fire. As she began to spoon the hot food into his mouth, she issued other orders to the wolf pack for dry clothing and blankets to be brought to her. “Be certain to keep them out of the snow or else there will be no purpose in it.”
Then she concentrated on him, funnelling that precious warm fuel into his insides. Slowly, Erick felt its effects and heat began to build up again within him. She took his clothes off other than his inner middle garment, giving him one remaining dignity in all of this mishap, though Erick was aware she must have seen all of him during the time he had been nursed back to health in that long ago springtime. After more of that precious soup and the dry clothes and another hour spent in front of the fire, he felt the chill finally leave him and his tremors eased. All the while, the woman sat upon the bench regarding him. Erick did not know if he should speak or not, so instead he simply bowed his head to her to acknowledge her kindness a
nd service yet again. She seemed to accept that with a slight movement of her own covered features.
There was slight amusement in her voice as she offered him some few words. “Have you learned naught yet, foolish one?”
This was an offer to reply. Part of the game Erick was finally coming to understand. “Your black furred guardian thinks that is beyond me,” he replied with a sigh. There! He had answered without looking at her or referring to her directly. He hoped — he hoped so fervently that he had responded aright.
There was something like a chuckle from her. Could it truly be? She returned his answer with more words of her own. “At times, he too is a mystery to me.” Oh! How much Erick wanted to reply in full agreement with her, but there was no offer to take such a liberty in those words — only an admission. Instead, Erick opened his blankets slightly, letting the built-up heat waft away from his body. It felt so good after being so frozen.
“Come. I have been patient. I wish you to teach me.” Erick looked questioningly toward her. But she simply stood and beckoned him to follow her to the other end of the table. After she brought him a steaming mug of tea, she motioned him to sit across with her with the playing cards between them. Erick kept his eyes upon the cards afraid to lift his eyes to her. When he had sat as if still in the thrall of his previously chilled state, uncertain of what she wanted, the lady herself exhaled a heavy sigh. “Explain. One that we can both play.”
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Chapter Eight
The days that followed until the first glimmers of spring were felt in the melting icicles and the odd waft of less frigid air that blew in over the vale continued in a new fashion, though the rules of this fortress, of this prison never changed. Words were few, but in some odd ways and unexpected ones, Erick began to feel he was beginning to know something of this being who was both mistress, jailor and yes, in a strange fashion, a friend. It was almost as if he was in court again and once Erick grasped that concept he saw all that went on in that light. There were traditions, rules, protocols to follow no matter how (and Erick only thought it to himself, never in anyway tried to show it) inane, silly and ridiculous. But the ruler set the rules and he was determined to abide by them to win her favour — so much like home in so many ways except that there it was he who, from time to time, established them.
Gradually like the snow about the fortress their friendship warmed and the iciness held less firmly, melting somewhat. This woman loved games as much as she loved flowers and she hated to lose and there were some games they played where Erick proved himself difficult to defeat and it seemed to him that she rued that and tried all that much harder to devise schemes and ruses to win out over him.
As the days freshened further and the first clods of earth and the hidden grasses of the fields showed themselves anew, she allowed Erick to ask a few questions of herself. For her moods had lightened of late and she had even agreed to grant him a short presentation of a dance the day before while he and the birds played and sang in front of her. Yes, flowers, games, dance, and these creatures: she loved them all.
So, Erick, when faced with what to ask her, felt anew the fear of going astray and showing himself impertinent and causing her to retreat inside herself once more.
He pondered long, for as she waited for him he saw this as another test. Erick swallowed once, deeply and then hesitantly asked: “What is the name of this place?”
“I know not.”
“But how then did you come to be here?”
“They brought me.”
“These creatures?” Erick asked without thought.
“Yes.”
“Oh, lady, I fear being impertinent but why? Forgive me and answer me not if it offends you in any way.”
She considered for nigh on a minute before she answered. “You must know or surmise it. A disease struck me and — and changed me — so that I could no longer remain where once I was. And these — they found me and brought me here.”
Erick knew to speak close to what her garments hid from his eyes was a great admission. So near to the sorrow that he knew in his heart she carried so tightly bound within her own prison. He would not ask her any other question in that regard, for she had granted him more than he deserved. But the greatest question remained yet.
“I beg your forgiveness, my lady. Do not answer if it in anyway presumes too much. But — but what is your name?” Immediately, Erick saw he had overstepped himself, for she had stood and that old rigidity had returned to her stance. She turned from him, but by the door to the hallway that led to her quarters she stopped herself and gave him an answer he did not expect. “Who — what I was, is lost. Call me — call me ‘No One’ or nothing at all.”
But something in their conversation brought her back to the kitchen later in the day. And when the sun had yet another half an hour before it set, she beckoned him to stand with her up upon on the ramparts. “It seems only proper for me to ask you questions of my own.” Erick was amazed. Never once had she posed one. What mood possessed her now? Was this another test?
“How came you to be floating as one dead and wounded upon the river?”
Erick shrugged. “I cannot recall. Earlier on I remember being with — with others. We were hunting. I imagine on the other side of those mountains. ” He nodded toward the south.
“And what were you to those you will return to once the snows are gone?” There was a quite not hidden wistfulness in those hoarse words. In his deepest heart, Erick did not wish to hear again her command, her insistence, her resolution that he must leave her; but he would not allow himself to protest against them.
Instead, he answered her otherwise. “Forgive me, my lady, but if I spoke of it I fear you would treat me differently and I would not wish that.”
“I know you are of at least the gentry by your manners and speech. That much you have not hid. Is it something that would cause me to fear you?”
“Perhaps a type of fear.” It was all Erick was willing to admit to. “But I believe that great bear of yours knows who I am and he would not allow me near you if it was a fear of some dangerous action that might be committed by me against you. Please trust me in this, if nothing else, my lady.”
“True.” She became silent beside him and they bided time together watching until the sun touched the western horizon.
“I know that I have not — cannot speak of what I was once called. But what of you? What is your name?” Erick could not believe she would ask this of him. For the sharing of names assumed much between them. It would free her in a way from her own self-made imprisonment despite her intentions to send him away from her. But he could not satisfy her request.
“I must ask you to forgive me twice this evening and I rue it, my lady. But I fear to say the name which I was given at birth. It would tell you all and — and — and I do not mean to jest but call me — ‘Nobody’ for if in all the wide world I could be granted one wish that is what I have always wanted and desired. Not what birth and fate gave to me.”
The woman said nothing at his reply though Erick feared she would leave him and wrongly perceive that despite his words, he was mocking her. Eventually, as the sun set and darkness rushed over the vale she turned from him simply saying: “Come, Nobody, and follow No One. Somehow in the middle of this No Where that seems fitting.”
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Blossoms adorned the trees everywhere and the early flowers had grown and opened to reveal their inner beauty. Marta could sense the matching, almost palatable renewal in those who lived within the church. All were rejoicing in the new year that God had granted them in His Mercy and the promise of a new season of planting and of warmth. But the blooms and new growth only reminded Marta of Ilena and her love of flowers. During much of this winter, Marta had been haunted by dreams of her sister: visions of Ilena running through the fields of flowers down by the river by their small town, her hair and neck ringed in circlets of fresh flowers, with birds and small animals trailing behind her. But withi
n moments of such visions, her dreams would turn to nightmares and fresh images of Ilena being transformed into a horrid creature would seize Marta’s mind, coupling with sights of her sister crying, wailing and then most wrenching of all, turning to point her finger at Marta blaming her — cursing her for the curse she had laid upon her.
Marta would wake, shivering, hearing her own voice ringing within the walls of her small bare cell: shouts of denial, pleas for mercy. Thereafter, she would spend the remainder of those nights, sleepless, restless, in pain of spirit and soul, praying for God to give her strength, or if He would be merciful, end her life and cast her into the purgatory ready for such as herself.
Yet Marta endured, giving kindness as she could, bearing others up, finding some encouragement for those who had none, giving out food, even of her own, going hungry so others would not: seeing her pain as justice, not as a penance, for she deserved nothing from God. Yet her personal deprivations seemed not to affect her appearance. Marta had bathed some days ago, and though she seldom looked in a mirror, she found herself fairer in appearance with each passing year. Fair to men that is.
However, she wanted none of their attentions any more than God’s Forgiveness. Her beauty was a much a curse as what she had done to Ilena. Now, Marta understood with a deep bitterness that this is what that witch had also chosen for her: to be the opposite of what she had cruelly chosen for her sister — to twist the knife and make the pain more unbearable with every passing year. Yet, Marta thanked God that her sister was dead and that she had been spared whatever the ultimate purpose of that curse. For that alone Marta was grateful.
But she was not thankful for the attentions of the son of the Earl of Westhaven. He had taken to trailing her again outside the church as she made her rounds to the needy within and without the town and had once almost waylaid her. Only sending a crowd of orphans running in his direction under the pretence of a game had allowed her to escape back into the church. Now, she never went out of its sanctuary, remaining closeted deep within its confines, a refuge, and seemingly, now also a prison.
