by J. M. Topp
Ayda stared at the blood on the floor for a moment and then whispered something into the chimney.
Phuff
This time Bendrick paid attention to her starting the fire. She didn’t even use tinder.
‘What was that?’
‘That is a trick the old elf taught me,’ said Ayda, beaming. Then her expression changed to curiosity. ‘He might have been my father, now that I think about it. He was a nice one. Sometimes. He also told me stories of horror in places like this. Those were my favourite stories, but they did scare me.’
‘You shouldn’t feel fear, Ayda. I am here with you.’
The blue serpent seeped from her chest and rested on her shoulders.
‘You know, the way you say that is a little creepy.’
The serpent looked almost hurt, its eyes looking deep into Ayda’s. Finally, it bowed its head. ‘Sorry.’
Bendrick noticed that the serpent really stressed the S’s when it spoke.
Of course it would.
‘It’s ok.’ Ayda patted its head. ‘What’s your name?’
‘I haven’t been named yet. Do you want to name me?’
Bendrick shook his head and continued rummaging through the house. Maybe there was some clue as to what happened. Beneath the broken bed, Bendrick spotted a small book. It was slightly torn and had ash over it. He picked it up and began to rummage through the pages. It was a journal, written in the common tongue, belonging to a Jolien Harwig. Eloquent ink markings covered the page. As the light from the chimney began to permeate the room, Bendrick was able to read the words on the pages.
14IX1231
I thank the gods every day for the wonderful blessing that is my husband, Rowan. Today he plowed the fields from dusk till dawn as I watched the children. He still comes into the house with enough energy to love me. How did I, little old Jolien, get so lucky?
Bendrick shook his head and flipped to the next page. Some things were better left in the mind of the writer.
‘What’s that?’
Bendrick looked at Ayda, who was curled on the floor as close to the fire as possible. She had taken her cloak off and set it on the table to dry. The snake was nowhere to be seen and had probably gone to sleep inside Ayda’s chest. Bendrick showed her the cover of the book.
‘A journal of sorts.’
‘Maybe it says where the owner of the house went?’ Ayda twisted herself to rest on her elbows. Her feet wavered close to the flames. Bendrick flipped to the end of the journal and squinted as he read the pages.
7IV1232
Something is wrong. Rowan has been standing in the field for over an hour without moving. It’s been raining, and I think I will go and see what’s wrong.
He’s just staring at me. I don’t know what to do. Should I go for the healer? It will take days to get one from Flodden. Rowan can’t travel, but I don’t think he would like me to go to Flodden by myself.
What do I do?
9IV1232
Jenny, Brandon, and Koren are both scared for their father. Rowan has been asleep, only waking up to vomit blood. He’s lost so much weight, and his skin has lost its colour. I am going to Flodden in the morning. I told my children to watch Rowan while I’m away.
May Oredmere watch over my family.
Bendrick turned the page, but there was nothing else written after that. Bendrick closed the ragged book and set it on the table.
‘Well, does it say what happened, Bendrick?’ Ayda looked up at him curiously.
Bendrick glanced at the blood marks in the room. Thanks to the light of the small furnace, he could see small handprints on the walls. Beneath the broken bed, he noticed that what he had thought was splintered wood wasn’t splintered wood at all. The cold, dead eyes of a little boy peered from beneath the broken cot. They stared at Bendrick without hatred and without concern. Bendrick couldn't take his eyes away from the dead body. The smell seemed to jump from the body just as he saw it. Ayda looked to where Bendrick was staring and sucked in a breath. She stood, and immediately the serpent burst from her chest. It hissed, looking for an attacker. When it realized that they were still alone, it looked at Ayda.
‘What is wrong, Ayda?’
‘There.’ She pointed at the body beneath the bed. ‘There is something underneath.’
Bendrick lifted the bed as Ayda squeaked in horror. The girl was there, as well, hidden behind the boy. He must have been trying to protect her. They both had purple and red marks around their necks. Their faces were pale blue in the firelight.
‘We have to go,’ Ayda said hurriedly. ‘We can’t stay here. This place is cursed.’
Bendrick didn’t answer. Instead he picked them up.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Burying them.’
‘Why? Why do you care what happens to them? Just throw them out.’
‘You’re helping me.’
‘I am not!’ Ayda folded her arms over her chest and turned her head away.
Bendrick picked the dead children up in his arms and grabbed a shovel that was resting by the door. ‘You have met death, Ayda. Now you will learn what it is to care for the dead. You may have to do so with me before too long.’ Bendrick didn’t say another word, and he exited the small house. The rains had completely stopped, and the clouds had vanished into thin air. Stars could be seen even clearer now.
Bendrick laid the bodies on the soft ground carefully and began digging into the dirt. They were too young. The boy looked no older than six, and the girl looked to be around Ayda’s age. They both had the same expression—surprise and sadness both at the same time. Bendrick tried to focus on digging. His shoulders ached, and his hands became raw as he lifted mud from the grave. Sweat collected on his brow, but he wiped it when he thought he had dug deep enough.
Suddenly, a flash of lightning ripped through the skies. Bendrick glanced at the children to see them staring up at him. They had the faces of Sieglinde.
‘Why, Father?’
Bendrick, too shocked to say anything, took a step back and tripped over the shovel, falling into the mud. He quickly sat up and saw that the children were as lifeless and stiff as he remembered them. Bendrick heard footsteps beside him and looked up. Ayda knelt over him and stared at the grave.
‘You give the eulogy, got it, old man? Thank Ayagi. He convinced me to help.’
She named it Ayagi? Where have I heard that name before?
Then, Bendrick remembered. According to the legends of old, Ayagi was the sea serpent that the elves rode upon when they fought back the Fog for the first time. It was said that Ayagi’s head was the size of a barge, and with its jaws could snap stone and steel in two without ever dulling its teeth. It was a monster of legend, hardly befitting a miniature daemon living inside of Ayda.
Bendrick’s eyes widened at the realization. It certainly looked like a daemon. It came from the gift that Irina had given him. Am I fighting fire with fire? The thought troubled him, but Ayagi had saved Ayda’s life—a life that even Irina seemed to brush off with distaste. Bendrick stood and picked the boy up in his arms. He laid him in the soft dirt and then the girl. They rested beside each other, staring up at the skies. Bendrick didn’t feel right throwing dirt on them, so he heaved the dirt over the grave and let it fall as softly as possible. Before too long, the grave was covered. Bendrick turned to see that Ayda had found a sword. It was crudely made and looked as dull as the shovel he had been digging with.
‘The elf that came to Duren would tell me stories of battles he fought in,’ said Ayda as she held the sword over the grave. ‘Soldiers without names who had fallen in battle would be placed in graves. Swords like these would be put into the ground to mark them.’
Bendrick nodded, knowing the long-practiced battlefield tradition. Ayda pushed the sword into the soft dirt before the grave. She then sat there with arms to her sides and stared at the dirt. After a short period of time, she looked up at Bendrick.
‘You were some kind of scholar, right? Don’t
you know a prayer or something?’
Bendrick opened his mouth to defend himself, but he couldn’t. His expertise had never been in the dead, except for making people that way. Ayda finally sighed and cleared her throat. ‘If you laugh, I am going to make sure Ayagi bites your butt.’ Ayda closed her eyes, and for a moment, all was silent. Then she opened her eyes and looked up to the skies. Her voice purveyed the darkness of the night like the crystal-clear waters of the Greenwater River behind them.
You of nature divine
Hath festered within my cries
The waters of strongest tides
Keep warm my love within thine shrine
Hear me, though of withered hair
Dauntless, I only regret to swear
Thine absence
Wrought with such malice
In my mind thou art in place most marvelous
Yet I rest with pig and lie in mud, thy narcissist
Raise me to thee
Sweet lover of ancient plea
Raise me and see
Sweet lover of ancient plea
Ayda closed her eyes on the final note of the chorus and let it slowly dissipate in her throat. She opened her eyes and stared at the grave in silence. Bendrick had heard that song only once before in a theatrical play hosted by the Athenaeum. The song was about a lover singing of her lord, who had abandoned her, leaving a deep wound in her heart. Even though the singer had been highly esteemed in Weserith, Ayda sang it better than she had. She certainly had an untapped talent.
‘Well, that’s enough braying from me,’ said the little girl as she clutched at her not-yet-dry cloak. ‘Let’s go inside. The fire is probably dying.’
‘You go. I will stand watch for a while longer.’
Ayda shrugged and entered the small house.
Ayagi, huh?
Lighting danced through the skies, and with its light, Bendrick was able to make out a bridge a little bit farther south from the hut. Rokiev Bridge, most likely. He knew he would need some rest before going along the rest of the trip to the Kingsoul. Bendrick entered the house and picked up the journal. He found the inkwell on the floor, but there was still a little bit of ink left. The quill was stuck in the broken cot, but it still had its point on. Bendrick carefully wrote in the back of the journal, explaining what had happened. It was very likely that Rowan had become possessed and killed his own children. It wasn’t easy for Bendrick to write that part. He took a golden coin and set it on the table.
17X1232
For allowing us to stay in your home for a night. Your children rest outside peacefully.
Bendrick stopped writing and took a deep breath in.
‘Is there a story behind that scar above your eyebrow?’
Bendrick turned to see Ayda with her hands to the fire, rubbing them together.
‘I see you scratching at it from time to time. I doubt you even notice it,’ said Ayda. Bendrick nodded and touched it.
‘It is a stark reminder.’
‘Of what?’
‘A promise—a broken promise,’ said Bendrick, gazing down at the wooden floor of the shack.
‘To who?’ asked Ayda.
‘Whom.’
‘What?’
‘Nevermind,’ said Bendrick, shaking his head. ‘It was a promise I made my father.’
Ayda stopped rubbing her hands and sat down with her back against the fire, facing Bendrick.
‘I only ever told this story to Sieglinde, when she was your age as a matter of fact,’ said Bendrick with a half-smile. ‘My father was a sell-sword. He would travel from the Whitecrown Mountains all the way down to Swordseye Cape. He would kill in battles and murder from the shadows for coin. He knew how to kill expertly.’
Bendrick chewed his lip as he spoke.
‘What happened? To your father I mean,’ asked Ayda
‘He died of pneumonia while clinging to his deathbed. I had just been accepted into the Athenaeum to be an Academy acolyte. He told me, “Ben, listen to my words: no blood, no death. Promise me, promise me,”’ said Bendrick, emphasizing his father’s words as if the man were there. ‘I promised him that day that I would not shed blood nor cause death. A naive promise made to a naive man.’
‘I like it.’
‘What?’ asked Bendrick, turning to the little girl.
‘It’s naive, but also hopeful,’ said Ayda, looking up at Bendrick. ‘Even throughout all he had done, he still held out faith for you.’
‘Misplaced faith.’
‘Maybe placing the faith on you wasn’t the point. The very mention of a peaceful thought is heartwarming,’ said Ayda, rubbing her nose and sniffing.
‘The last day of the Kingsfury War, a man tried to take my head off with a warhammer,’ said Bendrick, scratching the scar above his eye. ‘He was a savage from Uredor, swinging his warhammer with reckless abandon. His army was defeated, and his king beheaded. The poor sod knew nothing more than the bloodshed around him. King Ayland ordered me to kill him and end his insanity. He struck first and fortunately my helm took the brunt of the blow.
‘This scar was the first of many reminders that I am paying for breaking my promise. I have broken it many times before, and I have a feeling it will not be the last time I shed blood,’ whispered Bendrick. Ayda looked down at her bare feet.
Suddenly, the writing on the journal before him tugged at his mind. What of the third child? he thought. Bendrick flipped through the journal. Those two skeletons must have belonged to Jenny and Brandon, judging by their statures. Bendrick glanced around the room for a sign of the third child, but there was nothing worth noting. He did notice, however, a small pair of boots beside a rather large parcel on the floor beside the broken bed. He picked the parcel up and inspected it. A full loaf of bread was neatly wrapped, as well as three slabs of pork. Bendrick’s stomach growled. The food would certainly come in handy. Then he picked the boots up. They were made of boiled leather, and even though they were worn, they could still be useful.
‘Ayda, come here.’
Ayda looked up from the fire sleepily, but when she saw what Bendrick was holding, she jumped up to grab the boots from Bendrick’s hands.
‘Are these for me?’ she said excitedly.
‘I will leave a copper behind for them. Should be sufficient payment. Not that the coin will help too much.’
Ayda put them on immediately, tied the strings holding them together, and then stood up. They were comically bigger than her feet, but Ayda didn’t mind. She giggled as she danced on the floor in a dance that Bendrick had never seen before. Ayda stood on her toes and looked up at Bendrick. Tears poured down her cheeks, and she began to sob.
‘Ayda?’ Bendrick knelt beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She jumped onto his neck and hugged it tightly. ‘Do they hurt you, Ayda?’
‘No.’ Ayda sniffled. ‘I’ve just never had my own pair of shoes before.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A Change of Clothes
DOZENS OF BLUE and white canvas tents stood side by side in the refugee encampment. Blue Aivaterran flags waved lazily in the cool breeze. The encampment was located at the base of a broken statue. The cracked and weathered stone stood at four metres in height and twelve metres in width. It almost seemed that the statue that had once stood there had been thrown into the river, leaving its base behind. Some said that it was the lower half of the statue, whose head resided in Flodden’s main square. Elymiah didn’t know what to think, but she sighed with happiness as she saw it. The smile she wore quickly faded as three Aivaterrans approached her, with lances leveled at her.
‘State your business now!’ The men seemed tired and almost corpse-like. They had bags under their eyes, and some were sporting nasty cuts along their arms and legs.
‘I am Knight-Captain Elymiah Artus Farnesse,’ said Elymiah with all the strength she could muster. It must not have been much, because they remained poised to attack.
‘Not fucking likely. It’s a daemon trap more like.�
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Elymiah looked down at the baby in her arms. ‘I have King William and his son with me.’
The men’s eyes opened with surprise. It seemed like a breath of fresh air entered their lungs, and they lowered their weapons. ‘King William is alive?’
Joan walked up with the William on her back. She was panting and not looking at the men. She stared wearily at the dirt road before her. Elymiah knew that what Joan needed the most was a place to rest. ‘Get me a healer. Now,’ Joan gasped as she walked past Elymiah. One of the men nodded and led the way to the healer’s tent. William must have passed out, for he lay on Joan’s back, with eyes closed and motionless. The guard looked beyond Elymiah. ‘Is Queen Gwendylyyn with you as well?’
Elymiah took a deep breath. ‘No. She fell on the road.’ Whatever encouragement the guard had received knowing that William was alive was gone with the knowledge that his beloved queen was no longer. ‘Take courage, soldier. When we return to Aivaterra, we can extract our revenge on those motherless bastards.’
The soldier looked up at Elymiah and smiled wearily. ‘I pray to Oredmere you are right about that, Knight-Captain.’
A man in beaten and ragged purple plate armour emerged from the pavilions atop a horse and urged his mount to the newcomers. He stopped just before Elymiah. Knight-Captain Trystrem jumped off his horse and walked directly at her. He had a bandage wrapped around his neck, and his left eye was swollen and purple—the same colour as his armour.
‘It is good to see you. Oredmere be praised.’
‘Joan went to see that the king’s wounds are treated by a healer.’
‘Is it bad?’
‘I had to cut off both his legs. I think infection still got through. The flesh will have to be cut away,’ said Elymiah. Trystrem eyed the small baby wrapped in bear cloth. Though the voyage had been a nightmare for Elymiah, Joan, and William, the baby didn’t seem to be affected in the least. In fact, it seemed healthier than ever. Sometimes it would laugh or giggle randomly. It gave Elymiah bursts of strength when he did it. Trystrem craned his neck to get a better look.
