by R D Blake
“What do those words mean?” he asked once she was sufficiently recovered.
The dark haired woman shook her head. “It is true as you have said. These emblems speak of a powerful curse: one almost beyond me. And one supported by dark beings I cannot overcome.”
Erick felt struck to the core. “Then — then there is nothing you can do?”
“Alas, that is true. I know; I understand this is not what you have come to me to hear. But the words revealed to us show that there is a way. But hear me clearly, Erick — only a possible way. There is another. Only he can grant you this boon.”
“Name it! Tell me! Whatever it is.”
Murana took his hands in her own. “Hear me then. You must seek out the Pure One.”
“But — but he is only a name out of stories. He doesn’t exist!”
“Ah, no. He exists, Erick. It’s just that everyone who has ever sought him out has never returned.”
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Chapter Ten
The witch of the marshes outside the small town of Torburg felt it. Some power had touched the curse brought down upon that young girl so many years ago. Already she could hear the voices of the dark beings whom she served rising up in her mind demanding that she discover what had happened. Seldom were they opposed in this manner, and the crone knew upon whom their wrath might be poured out if they remained dissatisfied, and she wanted none of that for herself.
She called the black raven to herself, and when he arrived in a flurry of wings and raucous plaints, she sent him off to find the girl. For the old woman knew she still lived though not where, for the child’s presence had become shrouded from her in some manner. That had never troubled the hag much as long as the malevolent essences that the curse was founded upon were not attacked, but the crone knew it would only be by luck that the bird would find the girl any time soon. It might take weeks, months perhaps, but she knew eventually her feathered servant would find that cursed one and then she would comprehend sufficiently enough to call upon the greater powers again.
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“Just tell me where you think he can be found,” Erick grumbled. He had come here hoping that Murana would be able to counter the curse herself. Now that expectation was dashed and it would take even more time than he had ever imagined to return to No One.
“Far to the south. Beyond the mountains of the Alyth. So I have heard. But my knowledge is scant when it comes to the Pure One.”
“Then I must start now,” Erick said, rising to his feet, for those lands were near the southern reaches of the continent upon which he and Murana now stood. A long journey stood before him.
The seeress joined him, taking his arm. “Wait the remainder of this night. I would go with you, for the dangers will be great, and perhaps I can give you sufficient aid where others have failed.”
Erick considered her offer but in the end decided against it. “No. Many would question your departure, and perhaps I was noticed at your door. None must know of me. None! I must trust you with this, Murana.”
“But stay nonetheless until the morn. I can give you the means to travel quickly and by that means reach that southern fastness sooner than most men. And Erick, I must tell you of matters of the realm.”
“No!” he replied sharply. “I care nothing for the kingdom, Murana. I have left it and do not wish to claim my part in it again. I am dead to it, and unless God chooses otherwise for me I wish to serve another.”
“She who carries this curse within her?” the seeress asked, for perhaps she had surmised, either by her powers or simply by her natural womanly wiles, what moved Erick’s heart. “Then send me to her that I might find a means to at least lessen this curse.”
Erick knew Murana had the capacity to learn much from little, but he denied her this too. “No; as I say, you should remain here. If there are matters of the realm that cause you concern, give aid to those who need your help here. And even in these words, you draw me into matters I cannot and do not wish to be embroiled within. If you have perceived my heart at all, now or in earlier years, you know how I have rued much my fate here.”
Murana bowed at his command, and then left him to ready what she could before the dawn broke once more upon the kingdom that Erick was determined to play no role within.
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Teton watched the eyes of his father as the two of them sat with their master at arms and their spymaster. He could scarce believe what they were being told! The news out of the eastern frontier lands had been difficult enough to grapple with over the last week. Now this! Betrayal! Or so it would seem, for how else could the Telusians have wrested from the realm the naturally bastioned gateways into the frontier so easily?
So said their arms master who had spoken to the few of their own knights who had survived this defeat. Many had been killed; many more captured. Yet the king had said and done nothing to deal with this reversal of fortune. To his dismay, Teton had become aware that there were growing subtle whispered words going about that the king was no longer capable of leading them — that a change was needed, indeed was necessary. This now was the purpose of their meeting. What was to be done?
But betrayal? That would speak of a greater danger to the kingdom than a mere defeat, as difficult as that was to accept.
“Edar, you know what must be done,” Teton’s father said. “Send those you trust into the Telus garrisons. Find out how many from the various dukedoms, earldoms and counties survived, and how many will be offered to be exchanged at some future time. That will lead us to the answer, if nothing else.”
The spy master inclined his head in a quick bow. “As you command, sire. I will gather that information as speedily as I can. True, if we have been betrayed, the betrayer will have ensured the cost to him has been little or none. He will have plans to use the remaining men at arms for a larger purpose.” Understanding that no further words were necessary, the spymaster left them to carry out his orders.
Nor did Teton need any further explanation. Even with his alleged slow moving mind, the young man understood that whoever had done this was plotting to replace the king.
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Finally, desperate hunger drove Ilena from her rooms. Shuffling on weak legs, she returned to the kitchen, but once there the sight of that game and those cards threw her into another frenzy of rage. All were tossed onto the cold hearth and once she had lit it anew, she watched them burn until all that remained was white ash. Hot tears flowed down her pimpled, despoiled rough face both in anger and a renewed surge of despair. Despite the biting demand of her stomach, she collapsed, falling to lie curled upon the cobbles before the fire, for the moment dead to herself, to her crushed, ill-nourished hopes, to all of her world.
Some hours later, the bear nudged her with his snout. When awareness reached her fully, Ilena pushed roughly back at the black beast. She wanted none of him or his false words! His presence only reminded her of all of their betrayal. But Ilena had not the strength to move him. Deterred from her wish, she punched at him. Then again and again, venting more of the rage that still seethed inside her. The creature remained where he was, allowing her to pummel him until she could do no more but gasp, her lungs heaving like bellows. Then she cried anew and clung onto the animal, her bent limbs about his great neck, and in his fashion he hugged her back enclosing her tightly into his body, his own huge hairy paws wrapped about her. And if a bear could weep, he did.
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The desert swept out in front of him in undulating waves finally lost in the distant dusty haze. Erick wiped the sweat from his brow and tightened his robes about him. The object of his travels was supposedly on the other side of the dry rocky crags that he could only begin to glimpse at the edge of the horizon. He hoped and prayed that it was true. Months had passed while he had journeyed southwards. The kingdom of his birth was vast uncounted leagues behind him. First, he had travelled by horseback on a true steed given him by Murana, with sufficient gold and sil
ver sovereigns to buy what he needed; for she had warned him that the journey would be both long and arduous. Much to his regret, all she had said had been proved true, as well as the dangers and troubles along the way. But here he was now, finally almost within sight of where the Pure One’s home was reputed to be.
At the last inn he’d had the pleasure to sleep in, Erick had sold off his horse — for a mere fraction of its true worth, but that had been days ago. That wind scoured, dust laden, sun-baked building had been a final way station seemingly lost out in the middle of a barren land, but in truth, it had stood only on the edge of this wasteland. Now he was beyond its middle. Around the single table that served the patrons of that public house, the few old codgers who scratched out some sort of living thereabouts had given him their advice — most likely with the sole purpose of getting their grubby, soiled hands on his steed. Erick imagined it had been sold more times than the days that had passed since he had sadly left the noble beast with its new owner. He pictured it already on a return journey north bearing trade goods, reduced to being a pack horse rather than the finely trained mount it had been reared to be. But if such was the cost of aiding No One, Erick did not let his regret about the stallion lessen his purpose.
The old men had given Erick counsel that no horse would survive the journey across this desert, and even if the animal withstood the heat and the lack of water, why only lead him into the hands of the trolls who roamed and worked the mountains to the south? Those monsters would make short work of his mount and he would be served up as their next meal. So Erick had accepted their advice, though he had been sceptical of the truth of their words — but in this part they had been faithful. This desert was no place for a horse, let alone a man.
Erick pulled his hood more fully over his head and shifted his pack on his back and began to plod through the sands again, his shadow his only company, though if he had looked upwards with as sharp eyes as those that looked down upon him, he would have realized he was not alone.
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Unlike almost all other things within the fortress, Ilena had put off this task. Months had gone by and she had found excuses, other duties (if she call anything she did such a thing) to avoid it, though often she found her feet moving in that direction as if they had a will and mind of their own. In a way she knew she was foolish — that not having been done with it only made the pain live that much longer within herself. That the peace she had lost would never come again if she did not face it and remove the last signs of him: of Nobody.
So finally after months of avoiding his chambers, Ilena drew what courage she had and walled off her fears and pain and shame and took those final steps into the rooms he had dwelt within.
She hadn’t really known what to expect: how she would feel exactly. The room was much as she imagined, yet it was not. It was a mess: both from his hurried departure (and all sorts of emotions flitted near the surface of Ilena’s mind at the reminders of that night and early morning) and the absence of the daily cleaning required to fight back against the accumulation of dirt and grime. Items were knocked over, the sheets and blankets all in a heap, personal articles that he had gathered over his stay here abandoned in his haste. And the lute, that precious lute that had brought her happiness, though at most times Nobody had played poorly — whatever he truly was, he was no minstrel — it lay upon the floor, not of sufficient importance to him to take on his journey away from her.
None of the animals had accompanied her into Nobody’s chambers, though the puppies and wolf cubs had pressed all around her feet as she had journeyed from the kitchen to the battlements. But they and the birds flitting about her head had stopped at the entranceway of the corridor to this room. They knew; they knew that this was to be a private moment for her.
Slowly, Ilena stepped through the clutter, bending to pick up the lute and to carefully place it upon the bed. His bed. Memories floated back of those first days of caring for him, unsure of what she was doing, taking the advice of the animals on how to bring healing to a man — a human being whom she had feared so much. His fevers, the words spoken, the mutterings, the tossing and turning, and the pain she could see he carried within his body — now that was all in the past. A chapter in her life had closed just like all the others.
There had been times, when Ilena had thought, had hoped that Nobody had been sent by God, to in some fashion, heal her — that her silent, unspoken prayers had been heard. But no, if there were other powers in this world, they had sent him to raise up within her a false optimism and a budding hope, so that when she was betrayed she could be brought down into a greater ruin.
Yet, here she was and the room was both alive and dead. Alive because there still remained signs of Nobody, and yet his absence made all of it so pointless, so grey and full of death. Ilena began to pull the blankets and sheets from the bed, intent to leave it as a bare pallet; but as she gathered them she brought them to her nose and a faint scent of him filled her senses, and suddenly, for a moment, she was caught in a revelry and those buried emotions broke through. Bitterly, she wiped harshly at her mottled witch-like face. Foolish girl! How could she entertain such thoughts? Busying herself to dam such spurious whims away, she began to sweep and clean and tidy, putting all of Nobody’s abandoned belongings into a chest except for the lute — that she took with her as she left.
Ilena turned to look back into the chamber one last time, intent on not returning here for many weeks or months. But from somewhere inside her an errant notion arose that when he returned he would find things as they should be. Once she realized what she was contemplating, Ilena fled from the room, for such thoughts were madness. He was never coming back!
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Erick struggled to pick up the oversized sledge hammer; the muscles of his back protesting at the effort it cost him in this unending work. The scabbed over slices about his shoulders and torso broke open once more. All the care and caution he had taken had proved pointless. As he had entered the low foothills of these mountains, Erick had detected signs of occupation and not a few large footprints. Trolls! From that time on, he had made every effort to avoid any path that showed evidence of these creatures. And he had removed any mark or sign of his own travels: sleeping within deep crevices, scurrying from rock to rock, remaining in the shadows, bent over to avoid any detection.
Finally, he had come to travel down the southern side of these low bare mountains, believing he was out of the region so occupied by the trolls. Perhaps it was due that misconception or thoughts of No One that had made him careless at the end. Near the height of the land he had been descending from, Erick had glimpsed a great sea far to the south of him, possibly an inlet of the great ocean or an uncharted body of water. Murana had told him that the Pure One lived near such a place and thoughts of finding a balm for No One had filled Erick’s mind. But now none of that mattered; for he had been captured at the last, stripped of most of his clothing, and brought here to this open pit mine to extract ore along with the few other men who were as he was: all slaves.
Erick knew not how many days, weeks, and months ago that had been. This was the only life he had now: unending toil, pain, whippings, and jailors who cared nothing if you lived or died at their hands. Ore! — ore, that was what they only craved for. These trolls were more than twice the size of any man. Even Teton would hardly come up to the middle of their hairy chests. And the heat of the sun and the aridness of this place troubled them not.
The foulness of the food (and that used the word in a manner much broader than any human would deem it) hardly gave them any nourishment. Erick felt he had become half the man he had used to be when he took the time to survey his thin and bony body. Though there were other men who worked near him, each of them was an island onto themselves in their suffering. No conversations were allowed and each was staked out at night apart from the others, so that their masters thought themselves free from any concern of some sort of jointly planned escape. When he could, Erick laughe
d at such an absurd notion; for how could a few scant emaciated men flee successfully from creatures hale and hearty and twice their size?
Despite the bitterness of his situation, Erick now possessed a deeply personal knowledge of how No One must have felt during all those months he had shared with her. He was trapped, in a prison — just as she was. At times, in the middle of the cold and bleakness of the desert night, Erick wept — but never for himself but only for her. In such moments, when the moon and the stars would shine down on him, seemingly indifferent to his misery, Erick prayed for No One — that God would find someone else to release her from the curse.
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Marta had prayed before the emblems of God until she had no more words, only odd premonitions, fears and guilt. It was not often that she felt a release from her evil choices after she had prayed, and this was another one where her burdens remained heavy upon her.
Word had come that her parents were travelling to see her. Only one other time had they undertook to visit her and that had been years earlier. Marta feared for what their presence would draw up from the dark recesses of her being. Though her sin and evil deed were not ever far from her thoughts, she had found a way to live in some sort of comfort with them. But her parents — it would all become so real, so fresh and immediate again. Had not Marta fled from them and the image of Ilena and her suffering?
