by R D Blake
But there was no true means of escape; Marta knew it: now and for eternity. When she had come to this small room to pray — it had not been for forgiveness. No — only for God’s Judgement upon her. Not for His Mercy or Kindness. But she also had prayed for some means to give comfort to her parents: to act as a balm for their pain, for Marta understood their seeing her would only bring back their memories of Ilena.
Still, there came a moment as she prayed that Marta froze with a new series of worrisome and tortuous thoughts. What if, what if the purpose of their coming was they had some word of Ilena? How could she ever bear that? That her sister lived — still enduring that curse? Falling to the floor, fully prostrate before the altar of the Lord and contrary to her condemnation of herself, Marta begged for the strength to endure.
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The rat dangled in his hand and a rock was in his other. One quick blow and despite how unsavoury the little creature looked, Erick would have something to fill the terrible agony within his shrunken stomach. Rats and lizards: they were the only creatures alive in this forsaken land other than himself and his fellow prisoners and the trolls. Yet as he regarded the squeaking, protesting, almost begging creature, Erick found he could not kill it. Thoughts of those magical animals living with No One filled his mind, for there were rats and mice that scampered throughout those ruins. Despite everything that told him he would soon perish without the flesh of this rat, Erick could not bring himself to do it. He released the rodent to run off to join the others of its kind.
Outside of his fellow slaves, Erick felt he belonged to another race entirely: hair all askew reaching now below his shoulders, his body unwashed, smelling worse than any pig sty, and a scraggly beard that ran down below his neck — and a body that showed every bone and bearing long scars tattooed all over it. He was no longer human. Just — just like No One. If — if he could ever rejoin her, Erick thought he might have to cover himself just as she did. His broken lips curled up in a semblance of a bitter smile at that thought. Erick had believed when he had first seen her face he had known all of the terrible truth about her. But that had been false. Now he understood. Not all, but more of what being moved behind those clothes and mask. Oh, how he wished he could tell her of all his insights this dark, cold night. Looking up into the blackness above him, he prayed: prayed that she might yet have peace. And that love would find her in some way, in some fashion before she passed out of this world.
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He hardly felt the bonds tied now to his neck, his ankles and his wrists after he had collapsed into the dirt. Even though hours had passed, his body still writhed in torment. This had been the worst of all the days since he had been captured. Erick had been whipped and beaten mercilessly, for he could no longer do the work the trolls demanded of him. Tomorrow; tomorrow he was certain would be his last. Time and again he had seen what had happened to other of the prisoners when they had finally been brought to the last of their stamina, as he was now.
In the growing dusk, Erick tried to prepare his soul to meet his Lord; but thoughts of failing No One replaced all his prayers for himself. Instead he beseeched God to extend His Mercy to her. But as the darkness deepened about him, his contemplations were interrupted by a soft flutter of wings. Some bird had landed near him. Likely this creature sensed he would not last the cold night and was preparing to have first rights to what little meat was left on his dying carcass. Erick sensed rather than heard the raptor step closer to him. It made some slight chirping near his ear. Oddly, in their terse cadence, they sounded like commands. There was other movement in the gathering dark and he suddenly felt his bonds being touched. A few strokes of sinewy bare tails told him all. The rats! They were gathering about him even now. These creatures were not going to wait for him to die. They were going to eat him alive!
Even in his weakened state, Erick struggled to swat them away. The bird called out once sharply and rats moved back away. Then in the darkness, this avian moved right to beside Erick’s head and brushed his forehead with the tip of one of his wings and clucked softly.
And though Erick understood none of his words, realization came to him that this was one of No One’s. Cautiously, the rats approached once again and Erick no longer fought against them as they began feverishly gnawing at his bonds.
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Connor stared into the fire and then threw his tankard of ale into its flames. Bah! She had stymied him at every turn. Woman! Who did she think she was to thwart him? — an earl’s son! And soon if plans went aright he would be more than that! It was insufferable! There was scarce a woman who would not want him — who would not desire to be his wife. By what right did she have to deny him herself? Was she not a citizen of this city? Pledged as all the others to serve his father and by extension himself despite her nonsensical vows to God? A woman as beautiful as she, had no purpose under heaven other than to please a man. And that man was Connor of Westhaven!
He paced the room, his heeled boots ringing out a hard tempo until he came to a decision. Connor came to a full stop. Yes, there was a way. One his father had used. And why not in this case? Connor poured himself another drink and settled himself before the fireplace again. Tomorrow — tomorrow he would put things aright and soon Marta the Good would fall willingly into his arms.
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The hawk gripped his shoulder more tightly with its one set of talons indicating that he was to turn, but Erick could hardly see his hands in front of him. All he knew was that he was being led down through some deep ravine and it was not easy to avoid stumbling. Already, far too many times, he had stubbed his toes, barked his shins and bruised his arms and face. The rats were all about him, running ahead, running behind, to the sides, obeying the short, clipped commands of this hawk. Erick understood little other than he was being rescued. Had word reached No One and she had sent this bird to aid him? That thought warmed Erick like no other under these cold skies — that she might still care for him despite the harsh words that still echoed in his mind after so many months had passed. It gave him the strength to keep moving, for he was encompassed about by weakness and exhaustion, and soon he knew the first glints of the new day would be upon them all. And then pursuit, if it had not already begun, would surely commence.
His reckoning was not far off, for it was only some minutes later that the wedge of sky above him began to lighten. When he finally came out of the defile, the hawk took wing and led him away. Thereafter the rats ceased to follow him. When he looked back, they were busily scurrying about erasing the last traces of his passage. And as he turned to follow the hawk once more, he discovered he had by some means left the mountains behind him and now a green plain lay ahead. Far off in the distance waters could be seen and they called to him both in his thirst and in his renewed desire to bring a means of recovery to No One.
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Ilena stood upon the brink of the crumbling parapet. A slight movement forward and it would all end. The loose stones tottered beneath her hard horny scaled toes. It would be so easy and over so quickly. The jagged hard rocks below her called to her: as did her own pain and sorrow. The summer had gone by in a miasma of sorrow and regret. Now the autumn too was at its end. Ilena had carried on with the façade of planning for the winter, doing the final gathering from the gardens, plucking the last apples from the orchard and bringing in the final bales of flowers to brighten the rooms over the winter. She had even begun to learn to play Nobody’s flute though her stubby bent fingers would never match even his limited dexterity. During her practices her mind would turn into a dreamy trance imagining him returning and listening to her own made-up tunes. But he had not!
He had not come back. Just as the cold hard logic of her mind had told her it would be. Nobody had no intention of ever returning. Either he had been so appalled at the true state of her being or it was as she had first accused him: he had wished only to mock her, seeing her as a horror, something to laugh at and to scorn, as some
thing!
Countless times, Ilena had stood by this wall as the summer neared its end and the fall had now come and gone, searching the distance for some black speck that might betray his return. But there had been no such thing. And now Ilena could find no strength in herself to face another winter alone. Why wait and endure? This is what God had intended for her. Did He expect her to live like this for who knew how many more years? And what if others came who might not be as kind as Nobody? — though Ilena wondered how she could consider him as such after what he had done to her. Oh! She was so confused about him. About everything!
As she stood in a freshening breeze, she considered what her next step should be: forward or backward?
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Chapter Eleven
This was the strangest place that Connor had ever encountered, but he gathered his courage as the crone approached him. “Why have you come?” she crooned in guttural tones. Connor suspected this woman knew somewhat of his purpose in travelling into this desolate swamp: full of mist, pungent with the smell of rotting things, the air fraught with the threat of death.
He had intended to show no obeisance to this hag no matter who she might be but against his will, his knees had almost buckled and unconsciously he had bowed his head to her as if he was one unworthy to be in her presence. A knowing smile had come to crease the old woman’s face. “Speak! My time is precious.”
If he did not require her services, Connor would have struck this hag down for her impertinence and kicked her until she was dead. No one spoke to him in this manner!
“Come now, stop those black thoughts, I merely play a game with you.” The witch took another liberty and drew right up beside him, placing her icy, damp hand upon his bare arm. “You wish the woman to be yours.” It was not even a question. A tremor ran up his spine. How did she know? But she carried on as if blind to her effect upon him. “She is mine, already.” What did this old woman mean by that? “But she is within the church now and has by her vows bound herself to a power greater than any I have indentured myself to in like manner. There is no appeal I can make to sway those whom I serve to risk any attempt to touch her. Else the One I will not name will act and my masters will be cast out from their abode within this world. She is beyond both me and them.”
This was not what Connor wished to hear and the bonds that held back his year old frustration loosened. “What are you? I thought you a witch, a sorceress. Are you so weak that you cannot even cast a simple enchantment on this woman and make her mine?” By his words, Connor meant to threaten this old woman and force her to bend to his will.
She did something with her hands, and a moment later, Connor found himself on the ground, deep in the mud, his clothing soiled. “You forget where you are, earl’s son. He knew better to hold his tongue before me. Do you wish me to teach you a deeper lesson?”
Suddenly, the crone loomed up above him as something dark, sinister, evil, seemingly grown in size and surrounded in a black nimbus but more than anything else, full of power. Now, Connor understood that he had overstepped himself and that wherever he was, he had followed a trail to outside of his own kingdom. This was another world and place altogether. He had no authority or rights here. And despite his will and the power of his body, he could not find the strength to return to his feet.
“Know this, child,” the hag uttered. How her insult almost made Connor wish to spit the foulest things he could imagine back at her. “She, who has beguiled you by her beauty and yes, her grace, came to me as you have. And I gave her what she wished.”
“She — she asked for beauty?” Connors sputtered out, now afraid that Marta had worked some magic on him.
“No, not that!” the old crone cackled. “But something that one like you would understand — or your father. For he too, as you know, years ago requested my services.”
This witch was confounding and confusing him more with every word. “What? What did she ask of you?”
“Ah, but to name it weakens the curse. I cannot tell you other than it required great power and pleased my masters greatly when that evil came to become a reality.”
Connor did not understand this old woman at all. “Evil? Curse? What nonsense is this? Marta is considered righteous: a model for all who seek to please God.”
“All is not always as it seems. Now enough; I cannot do what you ask. But I see also another request that you harbour within you. What of that? Is that not worth a price also?”
It was plain to Connor what this withered old crone was implying. Suddenly, he found himself able to rise to his feet. Once upright, she stared up at him with her black, hungry eyes, and though Connor was bewildered by her words about Marta and still felt the burn of his frustrated hopes of possessing her, he pondered if another dream might yet be accomplished this dark night.
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The hawk had not led him astray and had floated on the upper airs ahead of him until he had come to this place. Now, Erick hid in the shadow of the stream bank. After having drunk his fill until his stomach felt as tight as a drum and he had recovered somewhat, he had cleaned his filthy body and the scant rag that covered his middle. His ravenous hunger had returned, but when had he not been such for untold months? Rest was what Erick had deemed he needed more than anything else. After he had settled himself deeper into the long grasses, he had slept through the last remnants of the day and the full of the night that followed.
But to his alarm, Erick found himself not alone when he woke the next morning. Not the hawk and better not, the trolls, but a man much like himself — or perhaps more properly described as how Erick had once looked, standing not far from him, garbed in fine clothes, with a black beard trimmed into short and sharp lines. His face spoke curiously of both youth and age old wisdom. They regarded each other in silence for some minutes. Sensing no threat in the man, still Erick was uncertain if he should speak first or not. This was not his land or his home.
Finally, with a gesture, the man instructed Erick to stand and join him. Erick could only imagine the sight the two of them made. One, a filthy and emaciated, almost naked savage, and the other dressed and outfitted as one who would have been deemed worthy in any court within the kingdom of his homeland.
“You may call me, Shadow. Now, there is no need to tell me your name, for you are known to me as my master has seen you from afar. He welcomes you to his home and beckons you to join him, if you would but accompany me.”
“And your master, what is his name?” Erick asked, finding his voice amidst a hope that both rose and fell at the same time.
“It is as you have desired. In your land he is called the Pure One. But he is known by many names about this world and beyond.”
Erick fell to his knees. It was still possible! The man gripped his thin arm and assisted him to stand again. “Yes, much is possible with my master, but much always remains in doubt no matter the reasons or hope that moves any to search for him. Much depends on… But let us leave that for the moment. Let me guide you to him. On our short journey, I would ask that you tell me how you came to be here and what your purpose is in seeking out the Pure One. For what I hear, my master hears also.”
So as they travelled, Erick related the entire story of himself from the time he was found in the river, of the animals and of the lady within the vale who had rescued him and brought him back to health — and of all that had transpired since that time over more than the past year. Lastly, Erick told of his purpose in lifting this curse from the woman self-named No One.
This man listened gravely and carefully, asking no questions of Erick until he was done. “There is yet more to tell me. What of yourself? Who are you? And hear me, young one, only the truth or else my master will deem you false.”
This, Erick found harder than he thought possible; for he had kept hidden the truth of himself for so long — had denied it from No One just as much, but perhaps, really more so from himself. But to admit to it now felt as if the gate of his prison was swinging
closed again and would grant fate the right to draw him back to what Erick wished with all his heart never to bear again. Yet he could not deny this servant of the Pure One.
“A story full of meaning,” the man accompanying him concluded. “And what boon do you seek from my master? For that, you also have not yet named.”
Erick closed his eyes; for suddenly it seemed the weakness of his body, which had not hindered his steps thus far, filled him and he felt unworthy to name it before even this servant. “Please, sir. Let me rest to gather myself.” They stopped and the man assisted him to sit down. To Erick’s amazement he found that they had somehow reached the first steps of a high pillared building, stoned in white marble, bright and shining in the light of the mid-day sun. How had they come to be here already?
“Be not troubled by what has transpired. But know my master becomes impatient for you to enter his abode. Name the gift you seek.” The words were spoken gently, but there was no denying the urgency and power in his voice.
“I — forgive me for what may be deemed impertinence. For what may seem greed. But my need is so great. I have told you of the lady of the fortress and her plight.” Still Erick hesitated. Yet he must say it. “I — I have been told this curse can only be lifted through — through the ring.”
A frown crossed the face of the man and Erick felt the hope of his quest fall to ashes. “You speak the truth. You ask for far more than you know. Impertinence does not begin to describe what your words imply.” Saying no more, the servant lifted Erick to his feet. “But it is my master’s will that only matters.” And with what seemed no effort at all the man led a stumbling, staggering Erick up the steps and into the throne room of the Pure One.
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Connor stood by the window looking out over the gardens of his winter palace. He cared nothing for beauty: certainly not these last blooms of flowers and the changing leaves of the trees. Power was what he desired — other than Marta, and his possession of her would come to be simply as another form of that ascendency to the uppermost reaches of the realm. With that witch’s help he would have it sooner than he and his father had planned. But that old crone had demanded a payment. Connor had almost drawn his sword then and there and run it through her, but those black, cruel eyes of hers had almost begged him to make the attempt. Now thinking back, Connor wondered if she would have let him survive — for she had a power herself. One he now knew and respected.
