The rope tautened. He didn’t plummet down. He looked up. Selen had climbed down next to Kilda and helped her hold the rope. It didn’t take long for the combined forces of his companions to haul Louis and Folc onto the wall again. Louis found solid grips to hold on to.
“Are you all right?” Louis asked Folc.
“My leg hurts. I don’t think I can use it,” Folc groaned.
“Use your arms. The worst will soon be behind us.”
Louis was right. A few yards over the ledge, the couloir was a bit less steep. He could crawl his way up. When he felt the rope pull him up, he knew his companions had reached the top. Wasted, he grabbed the edge with his trembling hands. His arms were liquefied, and his heart was pumping wildly. Selen’s hands took hold of his arms and dragged him up.
“I got you,” Selen whispered, holding him tight. “You frightened me.”
“How did you get down?” Louis asked as Selen untied him.
Selen smiled. “I cut my rope.”
Still surprised at the lengths his friend would go for him, Louis kissed and embraced him. “You’re always there for me,” he whispered, rubbing his forehead against Selen’s.
“Always, but I wasn’t alone,” Selen whispered in his ear.
Louis realized. He turned around, got up, and moved towards Kilda. She was hesitant and on the defensive. He grabbed her in his arms.
“Thank you,” Louis exclaimed, sincere.
“You’re welcome,” Kilda chuckled, surprised.
“No. I owe you my life…and, to be honest, I didn’t think you would do it for me.”
“I may not like you every day, but it doesn’t mean I don’t like you at all, even less that I want you dead,” Kilda said sternly.
“Are you all right?” Selen asked behind him. Folc had reached the edge, and Selen helped him to his side.
“I think I broke my leg,” Folc said.
Louis stepped near them and crouched beside the boy. “Is it open?”
“No. I don’t think so,” Folc moaned. “But it hurts. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was an accident.”
Louis looked around. They stood on an esplanade, at the same level than the pass. The peak stretched to the south and rose higher. Above their head was a rocky needle. The wind had carved it until it took the aspect of lace. Yet, it was solid stone, and they could use the recess as a shelter. There was no way they would make it to the other side today. He turned to Selen. “Help me carry him.”
They picked up Folc and gently moved him against the wall where their companions bustled, installing a camp. The place was too windy and void of kindling for a fire. They would have to stay close and use their blankets again. Folc groaned with pain as they put him down. Selen unfastened the boy’s belt and went to open his pants when Folc stopped him with a hand on Selen’s wrist.
“I need to see your wound,” Selen said. “If I remove your boot first, I may injure you more.”
Folc lowered his head. “Please, don’t touch me,” he murmured. “I peed myself.”
“I think anyone would have done it in your position,” Louis said to comfort him. “You don’t need to be ashamed.”
Folc removed his hands. Gently, Selen pulled down both his pants. Fortunately, the right upper leg wasn’t injured. Right after the knee, the lower leg showed signs of discoloration and swelling.
“Is it bad?” Folc asked.
“It can be. If I cut the boot to check, it will hurt a lot, and we may lose a good support. However, if the blood is compressed, you may lose your leg.” Selen stared at Louis, waiting for his opinion.
“We don’t take that risk. Cut the boot,” Louis said.
Selen took out his knife and severed the fur and leather. Though Selen’s hand was steady, Folc yelled. Louis weighed over Folc’s torso to prevent any self-protective move that may worsen the injury. Once the boot was removed, Selen lowered the pants further down. There was no blood, but the lower leg was bloated and had purple marks. Louis was relieved to see they had made the best choice. He looked at Folc. “At least it won’t be hard to find you ice,” he said. Folc gave a sour smile.
The ice reduced the swelling. Selen was able to fix the splints made from one of their staffs he had chopped into two parts. Once the leg was tightly clutched, they wrapped it with furs and wool to protect it from the cold and raised it up with a bag as a support.
“I fear the journey ends here for you, Folc,” Louis said.
“What will you do with me?” Folc asked.
“We send you back,” Selen said. “Someone will accompany you to Earthfell.”
“Who?” Folc asked.
Louis turned around and looked at the rest of their party. His companions avoided his gaze and glanced at each other. Surprisingly, none of them wanted to pick the short straw, let alone volunteer.
“Ahanu,” Louis said. “Tomorrow, you will accompany Folc back to the city.”
“You’re sending our guide away?” Kilda exclaimed.
Eliot snorted. “It seems we will never reach that place, after all.”
“Can you describe me the way?” Louis asked, still staring at Ahanu.
“I can.” The Child rose and knelt beside him.
“It is not only the way,” Selen said low to Louis. “Ahanu is the only one to know enough of the elements and nature to survive in this wasteland.”
“This is why I send him with Folc. To make sure the boy can make it back,” Louis replied.
“What comes next on our way, Ahanu?” Selen asked.
“The tears of the goddess. You need to cross them until you reach the sunbeam.”
Louis pondered on the meaning of the words. “Could the tears be another lake?”
“It is not how you will reach your destination,” Ahanu said to him with disapproval. “You need to believe in the legend, to feel it.”
“I see it more like the shiny band of stars in the sky which is a spray of milk of Rhea’s breasts,” Selen whispered. Louis looked at Selen with affection. Selen blushed. “I’m sorry. Please, Ahanu, tell us.”
“Is this Rhea a divinity of yours?” Ahanu asked, curious.
“She is the Mother of All,” Selen answered. “She lives in the highest peak of the island’s mountains, and once you die, she welcomes you back into her arms.” The melancholy in Selen’s voice gave a tug at Louis’s heartstrings. Your heart is full of grief, and it’s all my fault. If he hadn’t been on the wrong side of Folc, he would have held Selen’s hand.
“We too have a Great Mother,” Ahanu said. “She is in us and among us in all that breathe and evolve. The Great Mother has many children. One of them is the White Rider. It is said that his hair is long and white, as is his horse. Every year, he covers the earth in snow. Once, the White Rider succumbed to the charms of the Daughter of the Roses and carried her on his horse to these mountains. But no rose would grow in this everlasting cold. The Daughter begged the White Rider to let her go, but instead, he shaped these peaks as impassable teeth. Unable to return, she wept long until the Grandfather took pity on her and sent her one of his beams. Her children followed the light. They found a place of birdsongs and honey and planted her roses. If we too follow the light, we will find the Nuharinni.”
While Selen and Folc were lost in reverie, Louis pondered on how this charming tale would bring them to their destination. He imagined himself on a sea of snow searching for a sunbeam. It had already taken an eternity to come here. One month had been enough for Marseille to lose half of its population, he thought. And all died while the king searched for a sunbeam…and is still searching. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
“We should rest and wait for dawn,” Selen said.
Louis nodded. It was night now. The stars scintillated in millions of sparkles. The moon shone so brightly on the snow that he could see the immensity of clouds under them. They hid his kingdom from his sight. Louis gazed west and wondered what chaos lay beneath. He should have made the people swear an oath pu
blicly. He had but little hope they had respected the new laws. Louis got up and took his place near his friends with the conviction that he had failed.
The first beams of dawn warmed his face. Louis twitched his numb limbs. He could still feel his hands and both his feet. The air smelled of moist sweat. He stared at his companions in front of him. Folc lay in his arms and snored. Kilda slept on the other side. They all had crept around and over the boy to keep him warm. Eliot lay over Folc, as a human sheet. They were a heap of woolen blankets, furs, and frozen faces, except perhaps for Ahanu whose brown face had turned yellowish and greasy under the layers of butter. Everyone seemed to have made it through the night. Selen? Louis turned around with a start, tumbling over his friend who rolled onto the stony ground.
“Aw. My head,” Selen moaned. His eyes opened. “Good morning.” Selen seemed lost in reflection for a few seconds and moved his legs. “I think I can still feel all my body parts.”
Next to them, their companions stirred and came to the same conclusion.
“How is your leg, Folc?” Kilda asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t feel much,” Folc answered.
Kilda pressed on his toes. “And now?”
Folc groaned. “I feel it.”
“Good,” Louis said. “It’s time for you and Ahanu to leave if you want to make the best of your day.”
“We will go back to the cabins,” Ahanu said. “There, I will build a sledge. It will be easier for me to drag you back to the city.” The Child turned towards Louis. “I need the rope to get him down the mountain.”
“Take it,” Louis said. He fetched the rope from one of their bags and handed it to Ahanu.
“The guide and now the rope,” Eliot mumbled while packing his blanket.
Louis didn’t answer. It was getting clear that his companions thought he didn’t plan their return should they never find the village. They must think he was leading them to their death. If they had been more, he would have been killed by a rebellion.
He picked up biscuits from his bag. While he chewed on his meager breakfast, he thought of the thing that had crept under the rocky outcrop. It seems no one had seen it but him. Louis could not forget its eyes. It had helped them. If this thing was who he thought it was, then the traitor was still among them. The eventuality of an unpredictable threat grew in his mind. Ahanu, who had harnessed Folc with the rope, came towards him. The Child pulled something out of his coat.
“Here. Take it,” Ahanu said, handing him the key. “I don’t know what door it opens, but maybe the symbols will help.”
“Thank you,” Louis said. He put the key in one of his pockets. “Take care of the boy. Make sure he receives the help he needs.”
“I know what to do.” Ahanu laid a hand on his shoulder.
Louis knew he could trust the Child. He embraced Folc before watching the two men climb down the west slope. Selen stood at his side, pinching his lips. Louis took his hand in his. “We did all we could. At least he will live.”
“You’re right. He will.”
They returned to their bags that they swung over their shoulders. The east slope was of hard snow, and the smooth incline wasn’t much of a challenge. Testing the ground with their staffs, they walked down in a line. As they passed through the sea of clouds, Louis’s heart sank. Instead of the valley he had hoped, a desolation of ice needles, frozen lakes, and white nightmare lay ahead. In books he had read, explorers had vanished searching for a way out of such mazes. In their case, they knew the way back and plunged always deeper into this frozen inferno with the only promise of an ice coffin.
Sometime that might have been the afternoon, they reached the bottom of the slope. To add a grey shade to the palette of whites, mist rose from around them. They halted and shared a dry sausage in four parts.
“And now, which way?” Kilda asked. She was exhausted, but there was no aggressiveness in her tone. “If the tears are ice, I see some everywhere.”
“I don’t know,” Louis said, helpless. “I am open to any suggestion.” A bark answered him. “Did that come from out of my mind?”
“No. I heard it too,” Selen said, glancing around.
More barks resounded. A moving shape appeared in the mist. It ran towards them and on top of Selen in bright, orange colors. Selen laughed as the dog licked his face.
“How did it manage to get to this side?” Kilda asked, astounded. “And look! It has a rope bound to its collar.”
Eliot pulled on the rope. A bag appeared on the other end. The monk opened it with haste. “It’s our food,” he uttered. “How?”
Louis knew how. He turned towards the mist and gave a faint smile. Thank you.
36
Columns of smoke rose above the roofs of the neighboring houses. As he looked through the window, Josselin raised the mug of small beer to his lips. Though no one was fool enough to commit arson within the city walls, pyres were no more the privilege of the hospital. Religious ceremonies, private funerals, or malign activities related to the disappearance of bodies had made the practice common.
“Can you tell me their names again?” Josselin asked. He plunged his spoon in his fried apples and eggs and took a mouthful of it.
“The brewers Lief and Jarin, the maid Ariana, and Catrain, your last laundress,” Pierce repeated emotionless.
Josselin chewed his insipid breakfast. His household had wanted justice, thus he had taken Linet’s life. Instead of showing satisfaction, his folk had stared at him with horror. Now, they blamed him for transgressing the law.
“As I see it, we have no brewery anymore,” Josselin said.
“Neither does my lord have laundresses,” Pierce added. “Alis made it clear that she doesn’t want to hear about the task.”
And with only one wounded maid left, the town house would soon be a shadow of itself. They could as well cover the furniture with sheets and lock half the rooms. “Where did they go?” Josselin asked. These people were part of his household. They had no residence in the city.
“The word has spread of a town house where servants gather and live according to their own will,” Pierce said, not without reproach. “I suppose it’s where they went. For some, at least.”
Josselin remembered the invaded town house he had passed by once. He had a little idea of how those servants could occupy their time. “The king will be pleased to know with which solicitude the servants take the matter of their rights,” he said, sincere.
“It is not a small thing, my lord. Never a situation had been better improved than ours. For many of us, better wages, an education, gave us a glimpse of a future we could never have dreamed of. To abolish the right to life and death dismissed the blurred line between domesticity and slavery,” Pierce said. “Every man can contract his services and his time, but he cannot sell himself nor be sold. The law knows of no such thing as the status of servant. There can exist only a contract for services and compensation between the man who works and the one who employs him,” Pierce recited slowly. “All men are equal by nature and before the law, which is the free and solemn expression of the general will. It is the same for all, whether it protects or punishes. It can command only what is just and useful to society. Every man being presumed innocent until he has been pronounced guilty, if it is thought indispensable to arrest him, all severity that may not be necessary to secure his person ought to be strictly repressed by law. Those who may incite, expedite, subscribe to, execute, or cause to be executed arbitrary legal instruments are guilty and ought to be punished.” Pierce paused. “From the kitchen maids to the stewards, we have all learned it, my lord.”
Josselin mused on the words. Outside, snowflakes fluttered through the air like fallen ashes from the smokes. “Then why are you still here?” Josselin asked. He let his spoon fall on his eggs and pushed them away. “You and Alis. I’m not holding you back.” Considering how her food had turned, the cook could as well poison him for the good it did him. “I’m not throwing you out either,” he added wi
th a sigh.
“As much as I esteem the laws of our king on the servants’ status, I have served enough masters to know when a position is of value,” Pierce answered.
“Oh. So you are here for the prestige of the Khorkina House,” Josselin said, trailing a finger on the moisture of his mug.
“Not at all, my lord. I stay because I am unsure of the choices I would have made in your situation,” Pierce said. “After all, we are still alive.”
Better ones, I’m sure. “My choice was criminal,” Josselin said. He heard the silent bow of his steward before Pierce tiptoed to the door. “Should the king return, I will present myself to the authorities.”
“I wasn’t expecting less from you, my lord.” Pierce closed the door behind him.
The morning mist still hung in the air when Josselin arrived at the hospital by the shortest way. The courtyard was covered with untouched white powder. Only trickles of smoke rose from the combusted piles. The fall of the metallic lock broke the silence when his gloved hand turned the handle of the back door. A whiff of foul air welcomed him. Josselin stepped inside. The hallway was less crowded. The day before had been busy for the laborious grey nurses. It was preferable for everyone to remove the corpses before the farts and burps drove their minds insane. Josselin entered the office, removed his outer clothes, and changed his glove for a waxed one. He took a pitcher of water and headed towards the contingent room.
Wrapped in their brown sheets, the sick rested in their agony. Passing between the beds, Josselin filled their mugs with water. Victims of the night gazed through him with their wide-open orbs. Delicately, Josselin pulled on the blankets to cover their faces. Someone coughed, followed by a few others with the unmistakable noise of thick spits. Josselin sat on one of the beds. The man lying there turned his pustuled face towards him. From under the sheet, he raised his trembling hands towards the mug. On his fingers and palms, old scars were still visible under the brown crust of dirt. The man had come to the hospital wearing the plain tunic and apron of the artisans, sober but neat, complaining of a pernicious headache. It had only taken three days for the disease to turn him into a mucky, ghastly figure. If it weren’t for his strong build, the man would be gone by now. Yet, he fought with every hour against a certain death.
Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter Page 39
