Lissandro turned towards him. “Selen, do you feel able to take control of the group?”
“Wait. What?” Selen gaped, disconcerted.
Lissandro bent closer. “Once he knows I’ve failed, Louis…”
“It’s the second time I’ve heard such senseless thoughts,” Selen grunted. “I can conceive it when coming from the monk. But you, his own friend… You disgust me.”
“He is turning insane,” Lissandro insisted. “We have to stop him.”
Offended, Selen didn’t even try to conceive how. “This is why you asked me to stay. Traitor!” He jumped on Lissandro and put his hands around his neck.
“No, Selen…” Lissandro managed to say before Selen squeezed to suffocate the poisonous words. Lissandro struggled and grabbed his wrists.
“You should be ashamed!” Selen cried with anger, pressing tighter on Lissandro’s throat. Lissandro’s panicked eyes bulged out, imploring. “Ashamed!”
He closed his eyes and squeezed. Nails lacerated his hands. One of Lissandro’s hands grabbed the side of his head and pulled at his hair. The pain on his head was stabbing, and Selen screamed.
“Stop that at once!” Kilda shouted.
Arms pulled him away, but he resisted. Askjell grabbed Selen’s hands to free Lissandro. A punch in Selen’s ribs made him cough, and he loosened his grip.
“I’m sorry,” Kilda said. She clenched harder on his arms, pulling him up.
His clothes in disarray, Selen fought back. At his feet, Lissandro had a hand on his throat, trying to suppress a coughing fit. Askjell lifted him up and gave him some of his wine.
Louis approached Lissandro and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re all right?” Lissandro nodded. His respiration still jolted. Louis turned to Selen and watched him with dismay. “You hit your friends now?”
Indignant, Selen opened his mouth to protest, but a move on their side stopped him. From everywhere behind bushes, strange people popped up. Their group was circled by a line of arrows pointed at them.
19
Lissandro looked behind the threatening arrows aimed at his group. The faces of the men encircling them were tanned and large with thin, almond-shaped eyes. Dried branches and delicate metal and stone chains were braided into their raven-black hair. Their beardless cheeks carried red stains resembling rodents’ tracks. They were tall and probably strong under their heavy fur coats. One of them with squirrel paws, a fox tails belt, and flat, copper earrings stepped forward. The archer shouted something Lissandro didn’t understand.
“I think it’s the point in the story where we raise our hands and surrender,” Lissandro said. He raised his hands in the air and was soon imitated by all his companions.
“Yes, it’s exactly what he asked,” Eliot said.
“Do you understand them?” Selen asked the monk.
“It’s the same language as in the book you borrowed from the Abbey,” Eliot said. “These are your Children.”
The squirrel-man, who seemed to be the leader, stared at them. He pointed towards Louis and said a word.
“Your Majesty, I think you should nod,” Eliot said. “He asked if you were our chief.”
Louis approached the Child and raised his head. The two men stared at each other for what seemed an eternity until the Child gave another order. To Lissandro’s relief, the archers lowered their bows and removed the arrows. The leader moved aside and motioned for them to follow him on a path Lissandro hadn’t seen before. Louis glanced back at their group. Lissandro lowered his hands and shrugged. They had nothing to lose. Lissandro and his companions followed the Children deeper into the forest.
The place they reached was greener than it should have been for the season. As it lay in a shallow valley, it was difficult to spot it from afar. At the foot of broad trees, amidst large, aerial roots, trimmed bushes grew in groups around a garden of herbs whose colors had faded. On the shores of a river, the earth had been plowed and overwintered under a layer of dried mulch. Lattices made of woven wood branches protected the cultures from the wild animals. This was the Children’s food supply. However, there were neither cattle nor chicken strolling around. The squirrel-man made a sign towards hidden stairs on the side of a tree. Lissandro raised his head. Among the trees stretched a dense network of rope bridges and luxurious treehouses. He climbed up the stairs, his eyes riveted on the architecture of this magical village.
The huts were made of wood and tiles. The largest seemed to have been built in wattle and daub. Paintings and carvings of wildlife adorned the round doorways. Furs instead of glass covered the windows. Intrigued Children gawked at them with curiosity. As if they could not detect danger in them, no one tried to hide. Yet they didn’t smile either.
When they arrived in front of a wide hut, the leader turned to them. He observed them for a moment and gave an order. Two of his warriors approached Kilda and tugged at her belt. As she struggled, Eliot put one hand on her arm.
“They only want our weapons. All of them,” Eliot said.
Lissandro unfastened his belt, took out his dagger, and handed them to one of the warriors. In front of him, Louis put his hand on his sword, but the Child stopped him.
“Not you, Your Majesty,” Eliot said.
Lissandro considered it was probably a mark of respect for Louis’s status. Without a weapon, he felt naked and at the mercy of their captors. The Child opened the door. The room was crowded and stifling hot. It smelled of smoke, from fire as well as from weed. Everyone who sat inside, men and women, was bare chested, keeping only pants and fur boots on. Everyone’s eyes were riveted on them and waited until they stepped in the middle of the room. The Children who had been with them until now left, except for the squirrel-man. Lissandro gazed at the heteroclite crowd. They all looked healthy and kind, and displayed elaborate, tribal tattoos, from talons to the distinctive tracks of carnivores. Some smiled at him. He wondered if the Children saw them as intruders, travelers, or as a threat. There was no throne or higher seat, yet some of the men wore hoof tattoos on their cheeks and headdresses made of deer antlers. Lissandro guessed that the number of points must represent a kind of hierarchy. The man sitting straight in front of them had around twenty-four, making his headdress as large as reindeer antlers.
“Eliot, can you translate what I say?” Louis asked.
“I speak your language,” the man with the huge headdress said. “My name is Moakki. Not many of your people wander in these woods. Even fewer find our garden. Who are you?”
“I am Louis, King of Trevalden, and these are my companions, Lady Langdon, the monk Eliot, Askjell and Lissandro from the Frozen Mountains,” Louis said, nodding towards him, “and my queen, Selen.”
The last words were received with a wave of whispers and giggles from the crowd. A young bear-man and an old goose-woman shared some words out loud.
“What did they say?” Louis asked, offended by their laughter.
“Not many babies,” Eliot whispered, ill at ease.
The young man who had spoken stepped forward. Lissandro was struck by his beauty. He was tall and muscular with a smooth face. A line of ivory pearls was tied in his long, black hair. He took a young, graceful bird-woman by the arm and raised her up. Her bare, round breasts dangled provocatively with each of her giggles. As the man spoke towards Louis, the crowd laughed.
Eliot turned red with uneasiness. “He says that the queen is handsome and that he gives you one of his wives against yours. That she is fecund.”
I can see the diplomatic incident coming, Lissandro thought. The man had suffered enough in his pride to add such an insult. This idiot was just poking a wounded wolf. Lissandro glanced around him and saw the anxiety in his companions’ eyes. He noticed by his clenched fist that Louis contained his hate. Moakki turned towards his warrior and snapped a few words before facing Louis again.
“Forgive my warriors. They have no knowledge of your…customs. Why did you come here in our forest?”
“My people are sick. Nysa Serin has been s
truck by a terrible disease. We have reasons to believe that it is an ancient plague your people may know about. The symptoms are buboes, fever, and green bile. We came here to search for help. My people will die if I do not find a cure.”
“We have lived in peace away from the world. What will happen if we can’t help you?”
“I did not come here to reveal your location. As well as I didn’t come here to bring death and destruction on your people. Nothing will happen to you if you can’t help. I only hope you have more sense than the people who reduced you to this condition, and that you can find enough compassion to save us.”
Moakki turned to the other elders wearing the antlers. For a while, they discussed in their own tongue. Lissandro felt an opposition from some towards Moakki’s propositions. A stocky old man shook his head and spat. Yet, they seemed to reach an agreement. Moakki looked at their group.
“We will deliberate on your situation and will come with an answer tomorrow morning. Until then, feel free to walk around our village. A hut will be put at your disposition, and you will dine with us tonight.”
Moakki added a few words towards the Child who had brought them here. The squirrel-man showed their group the way out. He led them across several rope bridges to a hut on the side of the village.
“Here,” the Child said. He lowered his head on his hands as if to sleep. “Horses,” he added and pointed down to the ground. After a short salute, he left them alone.
“We’re alive,” Askjell said. “It didn’t turn that bad.”
“The only thing that matters is their answer tomorrow,” Louis said gloomily.
“Until then, we can stroll around and discover the place. You always wanted to see the Children’s way of life,” Selen said to Louis, trying a faint smile. Louis ignored him bluntly. Thus Selen shrunk into himself again.
I shouldn’t have talked to you as I did, Lissandro thought with a twinge of guilt while staring at his friend who looked as forlorn as a dog in a kennel. When Selen saw his eyes on him, his features tightened with distrust.
“Askjell, should we go for a walk?” Lissandro proposed.
“With pleasure,” the boy answered, happy to escape the heavy atmosphere.
They tramped on the rope bridge and returned to the center of the village. The place was now full of life, everyone busy with their occupation. Lissandro guessed that the poor luminosity in the houses forced the Children to work outside despite the brisk wind. Sitting in front of their huts, women sewed while others tied fish onto a rack to dry. They passed in front of ovens where spicy pancakes were glazed. Surprisingly, there was no hut resembling a tavern. Groups of men gathered in front of houses, a clay mug in hand. Some played a kind of levelled board game with marble figures. Lissandro and Askjell stopped in front of a workshop where a man carved jewelry out of animal bones.
“It’s beautiful,” Lissandro said to the man. “Do you sell them?”
The craftsman answered him with a smile but did not seem to understand his language. Besides, it was not even sure Lissandro had the right currency to pay him. It was highly probable that their system was based on barter. He regretted he hadn’t asked Eliot to accompany them. They heard children’s laughter further away. Curious, they drew closer. Selen sat in a circle of tattooless children and women. They had untied his ribbon and played with his hair with fascination. One of the women—he would have called her a swan—held Selen’s face and traced over his tattoos with her fingers while joking with her friends. Kilda stood on the side, amused.
“They seem to have fun,” Lissandro said, leaning next to her against the balustrade.
“They probably have never seen hair that long and lilac. I hope they won’t want to keep him as a pet,” Kilda said. “Though I have to say that he would mingle quite harmoniously in such a place. I noticed a few with the same tattoos.”
It was not only the tattoos. Though he wasn’t of the same blood, their friend shared the same high cheekbones and a similitude in his features. “This place looks like paradise. Yet, I wonder how they survived so long by themselves without inbreeding,” Lissandro said.
“They may not be the only village around,” Askjell said. “The forest stretches on hundreds of miles. I hope no one will ever come and destroy their world. In a way, we should not have come here. Now, all they will remember of the outside world is people like us. Think if they wander out of the forest with the idea that our people are nice and gentle like him.” Askjell cocked his head towards Selen. “It would be—”
A high-pitched scream interrupted Askjell. Lissandro searched for the origin of the noise. One of the elder women slipped away from the group. Selen rose and, despite the protestations of the Children, followed her. Lissandro was falling into step behind him when a hand grabbed his arm.
“This is not our business,” Kilda whispered. “We will get in trouble.”
Lissandro cocked his head towards Selen. “It’s not his either.” He shook off her hand.
They tagged behind the elderly woman to a hut. Still at her tail, Selen stepped inside. Lissandro glanced behind him. Retreated to a bridge nearby, Askjell and Kilda shook their heads in warning. Thought it was inappropriate to go farther, curious, Lissandro made it to the doorway. The yells of pain intensified. Women of different ages clustered inside in a loud, strident brouhaha. The narrow place was filled with aromatized smoke and resounded of a low chanting and frenetic drums. The aged woman opened a way through the crowd to a mat where a sweat-covered young partridge-girl lay moaning in agony. While two women held her legs apart and encouraged her in her labor, coot-crones standing behind her wove stems of partridgeberry over her head. The mat was soiled with excrements but as well with what resembled blood. Lissandro didn’t need to understand their tongue to grasp that each one in the room went with her own counsel and made the atmosphere even more electric. Lissandro realized that Selen had crouched in front of the girl, and no one seemed to care about him. Yet. From a shallow cup, he covered his hands in honey. Lissandro’s stomach turned. Oh my God, no.
“You’re bleeding,” Lissandro heard Selen say under the hubbub. Selen stretched his hand along the partridge-girl’s leg. “May the divine midwife Eileithyia be kind with your throes and help you—”
Like a fury, one of the coot-crones jumped on him and chased Selen away under what sounded like a torrent of insults and horrendous barks. The flow of women, now hysterical, turned on them. Dumbstruck, Selen backed away. Lissandro exited the hut as fast as he could. In a trice, Selen stood at his side, staring at the hut in confusion.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Lissandro exclaimed, out of breath.
“She is bleeding,” Selen muttered. “She may die, the child too.”
“As cruel as it sounds, it’s their problem. Not ours,” Lissandro objected. “And I thought you couldn’t stand the sight of a woman.”
“I had ewes before. It’s pretty much the same way of giving birth,” Selen said. He kept on staring, his features twisted with sorrow. The screams hadn’t stopped.
Lissandro reached for his arm. “Come. There’s nothing you can do.” He pulled lightly at his arm.
Askjell and Kilda joined them. “Let’s go,” Kilda said. “It’s better they forget we were here.”
Sharing Selen’s sadness, Lissandro tried to brush away the thought as a fatality of nature. In silence, they went back to their hut.
Nightfall came. They gathered on a broad platform illuminated by small oil lamps floating in large terracotta plates. A group of musicians playing lyres, drums, and flutes sat on the side. Thanks to the microclimate they had in their village, Lissandro had unfastened his cloak and warmed himself only with the layers of furs he sat on. Women came with a giant cauldron and distributed food around. Lissandro received a pancake and a bowl with what looked like reddish stew. Only by smelling it, the spices burned the inside of his nostrils. He dipped his bread in the sauce. Small bones that could have been birds floated above diced vegetables. Wondering
if his bowels would survive it, he put the bowl to his mouth and drank. Though flames didn’t burst out of his mouth, the heat was barely endurable. He looked at his friends. Kilda ate the food with appetite. Eliot chewed on the bread with tears in his eyes, and Askjell guzzled the beer in his mug. Neither Louis nor Selen had touched their food, breaking with the most basic rules of hospitality. They stared at each other, Selen fluttering his eyes away from time to time or brushing back a lock of his lilac hair with obvious discomfort.
Lissandro had not felt less grumpy since they had arrived in the village. He still endured a shooting pain in his teeth and now had a buzzing sound in one of his ears. Yet, he had realized they could live a unique ethnological experience among an archaic tribe. Therefore, it was not the moment to concentrate on his problems.
A little boy crossed the platform and halted next to Selen. As he stretched his hands to grasp at Selen’s hair, Selen held his arms and tried to gently push the boy away. His friend shook his head and insisted with his tired eyes that he wasn’t in the mood anymore. Still, the boy didn’t understand and struggled as if facing a broken toy. Out of the corner of his eye, Lissandro saw the bear-warrior with the ivory pearls step closer. The man shared words with the child, who let go. When Lissandro thought the trouble over, the warrior crouched next to Selen. With one hand, he caressed Selen’s hair as the boy would have done. Selen looked disconcerted and glanced with alarm at the crowd around. Stung by his reaction, the Child scowled. He grabbed Selen by the side of his head and kissed him full on the mouth.
Lissandro was struck with terror. No, imbecile, not in front of… But it was already too late. Louis jumped up and hurled himself at the warrior, unsheathing his dagger at the same time.
“He is mine!”
The Child barely had time to swivel his head before Louis hauled him up and pushed him backwards. In a trice, his friend sliced and stabbed the bear-man with a rage Lissandro could only compare to the worst frenzy he had seen in some creatures of the night in lack of blood. Though the warrior towered over Louis, his sudden loss of blood and the speed of the deadly thrusts paralyzed him.
Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter Page 15
