by Aaron Bunce
Dennah cleared her throat, tearing her eyes away from the swirling depths of her wine. “Your father sounds like he was a very wise man…and brave,” she said.
Roman nodded, bolstered by the memory of his father, and his ability to speak openly about him with someone. They both sat there in silence for a short while, neither willing to break free from the moment.
“I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind. I didn’t mean to drag you down; we were having such a nice time,” Dennah apologized, sitting up straighter in her chair.
“It’s all right, I don’t mind,” Roman said. In truth, he just enjoyed her company.
They eased back into conversation and talked well into the late hours, sharing more like old friends than recent acquaintances. Roman felt a kinship with Dennah the longer they talked.
Finally, when the wind started to howl outside, Roman leaned back in his chair and yawned deeply. They took a plate of food out to Tusk and stood on the porch for a moment, listening to the night.
The wind had grown cold and whistled through the trees. Roman started into the full moon as Dennah walked back inside. An owl hooted somewhere in the night as he followed her inside, stopping to run his fingers over the fractured doorframe.
Roman fetched pillows and blankets, fully intending to spend the night before the fire, but Dennah refused to take his bed.
Dennah took the bedding and cheerily made up a bed on the floor. She sat down and started poking at the fire. Roman bid her a good night and flopped heavily onto his bed.
He left the candle burning, its gentle glow dancing merrily upon the walls and ceiling. Roman closed his eyes, and with the reassuring knowledge that he was not alone, slipped quickly into a deep sleep.
* * * *
Dennah sat up for a long while, stirring the fire, re-stoking it with wood, and simply enjoying the comfort of solid walls and a roof over her head. She hadn’t realized how much she was in need of a home cooked meal and some friendly conversation.
She liked Roman, perhaps because he was nothing like the men she was used to. He was quiet, introspective, and thoughtful. Whereas most of the men she knew were impulsive, hot-headed, and rowdy.
She had befriended Tadd, but he was like the grandfather she never had, and Folkvar was quiet and reclusive, choosing to spend most of his time with the animals. Roman, however, was her age, and someone she could relate with.
She could tell early on that he struggled talking about some things, his family most of all. After a couple of hours, a belly full of lamb and potatoes, and a glass or two of wine, she got him to open up a bit.
Dennah stared into the fire and let her mind drift. She wasn’t thinking about home for a change, but instead she considered Roman’s situation. He knew nothing of his mother, and it clearly pained him that she died right after he was born. She wondered if he blamed himself for her death. And then his father passed away, leaving him to a life of questions. Dennah couldn’t imagine what she would do if she were in the same position.
She knew her strength came from her family, and to see someone like Roman, full of determination and hope, without that same foundation, gave her hope. After digesting it all and her meal, Dennah unstrapped her leather cuirass and piled it with her other gear at the foot of her bedroll. She eased her head down onto the blanket and let one of her hands rest comfortably on her stomach.
With the gentle popping of the fire and the creaking of the house around her, she closed her eyes and welcomed what she hoped would be pleasant dreams.
She felt like she had barely closed her eyes when she jolted awake. Her thoughts were thick and cumbersome with sleep. The fire had burned down to a bed of glowing coals.
Dennah stoked the fire with fresh wood, then fluffed the bedroll and tried to get comfortable again. Sleep in their camp was hardly what she would call ideal. If it wasn’t the noise of the wilderness, then it was her camp mates, especially the ones that preferred to drink and carry on all night.
Even if there were no disturbances to speak of, Dennah found she flitted in and out of her dreams with frustrating regularity. This was different, though. She had a roof over her head, a hot fire, and peace for once.
Dennah had barely closed her eyes again when she heard him. Roman was talking. She held her breath and listened for a moment. His voice was barely audible over the wind, but she could tell something was wrong. He sounded strange, like he was choking.
She jumped up and grabbed her sword from the pile of gear and nearly ran over a small table in her haste. The house was dark, so she felt her way along the short hallway, fumbling her way towards the sound of a struggle. Dennah’s fear bubbled up, and her mind raced through the possibilities.
Had someone snuck into the house? Perhaps through a window or a door?
Roman shouted, his voice echoing eerily out of the darkness. She couldn’t understand what he was saying, however, as if he was speaking a different tongue.
A single stubby candle set in a sconce faintly lit Roman’s room. She froze for a moment on the threshold of the room, relief flooding through her as she realized that Roman was alone in the room. She stepped forward as he cried out, his voice matching the tortured flailing of his arms and legs.
Dennah knew a nightmare when she saw one. When the red fever fell upon her town, almost every household was stricken. Dennah watched her mother and brothers fall ill. The plague caused vivid and gut-wrenching nightmares. She remembered the nights spent tending to her mother and brothers while they struggled through the horrible visions.
She barely knew Roman, and although they had bonded during the waning hours, he was still practically a stranger to her. Dennah took another step closer and hovered over Roman.
“Roman wake up, you’re having a bad dream,” she whispered. When he did not immediately wake, she reached in to shake him instead.
“Roman wake up…you’re having a,” she said and shook him, but Roman abruptly stopped screaming and sat straight up in bed.
His movement took her off guard, and as her hand landed on his clothes, she felt it fall into something incredibly cold. She pulled back, stumbling away from the bed and holding her hand close to her body.
Her mind swam, and she instinctively looked up to the ceiling, expecting to see a hole or leak that would otherwise explain what had happened, but she saw nothing in the darkness.
Dennah looked back down to his face. She could see the reflection of the flickering candle in his eyes. He was starting right at her. Dennah rubbed her hand and wrist. The skin felt impossibly cold, like it had been frost bitten by a winter’s chill.
“Roman…are you awake?” she asked, her voice shaking.
Roman did not answer, his body trembling visibly. His expression changed as he began to babble incoherently.
“Roman, wake up!” Dennah shouted. Roman went silent for a moment but then spoke.
“They’re coming…might snow soon, better go, go…go. What do you want from me?” he said loudly, his words perfectly articulated.
“Roman, you’re dreaming,” Dennah said, but as she reached out to him, he pulled away, a wild, terrified look in his eye. She batted his hands away as he tried to push her away, and pulled him in close and held him tight.
Dennah did what her father had done when her brothers were incoherent and violent with fever. She held him, and talked reassuringly, hoping to break him from the terror. Sure enough, he stopped fighting, and his breathing slowed.
She didn’t know why, but she started humming quietly under her breath, and before she knew it, she was singing. It was a tune her mother sang to her as a child. It was a melody of the old world, about the wind, taking mortal form and falling in love with a mortal man.
She hadn’t thought of the song for a long time. Not since childhood, but something triggered the memory, and she felt compelled to sing it. After all, it had always chased away her bad dreams.
The words of the song came back to her easily, and with them a profound sense of peace an
d well-being. She was overcome by a sudden desire to protect Roman, to watch over him and keep him safe, like he was her own flesh and blood. She hadn’t felt that way before and wasn’t entirely sure why.
As she laid Roman back down, she tried to make sense of it all. She smoothed out his blankets and stood there for a great while, standing over his bed as a mother would a fitful child. It was an odd sensation, feeling so compelled to look after someone she hardly knew.
A short while later she sat before the crackling fire, resolved that she would find no more sleep. She held her hands before the fire, trying to massage away the strange chill that still lingered on her skin. She remembered the painful bite of cold on her skin, as if she had plunged it deep into a bucket of iced water.
Did I imagine it? Wrenched from sleep, disoriented and alarmed by Roman’s terrified shouts, she did not doubt that her mind could play tricks on her. But as the hours passed, and the dawn crept closer, a strange chill remained, no matter how long she held it before the fire.
Chapter 19
All I have
Roman awoke thoroughly exhausted. His dreams haunted him even after waking, not unlike his headache, which made him regret indulging in so much wine the night before.
If haunting dreams and a throbbing head weren’t enough, his stomach ached as well. It wasn’t his usual pain however, but something deeper and more troubling. Roman tried to massage the pain away while he sorted through the tangled visions, which clung like a dense fog in his mind.
Roman sat on the edge of his bed, and tried to force the haunting presence of his dream out of his mind, but it clung like mud. In his dream he was in his house. In the very same room he now sat, but it felt different to him somehow. Every corner seemed darker, the shadows deeper.
He remembered that he could hear Tusk barking outside, but he couldn’t open the door to let him in. When he went to the window to look outside, all he could see was darkness.
The fireplace was dark and cold. Soot and dust rained down from the chimney, falling like snow. He remembered wandering through his house, avoiding the dark corners and feeling trapped, like a bird caught in a cage.
In his bedroom, a single candle burned. Its flickering flame surged brighter, and then faded to a barely noticeable glow as it struggled to stay lit against the weight of the darkness.
Roman was unable to break free of the dream. He could hear a dog barking in the distance, and all around him the house creaked and groaned, as if it was under the forces of a summer gale. Yet no wind blew, or rain fell.
He retreated to his bed as the candles dimmed yet again. The shadows, as if made of liquid darkness flowed in all around him. Its outline split and spread apart, moving like clutching, searching hands.
Roman shouted at the darkness, threatened it, and cursed it, but it continued to churn ever closer. And then a figure stepped out of the darkness. It was indistinguishable from the shadow itself, made of the same putrid darkness. Roman could see things moving within its form, churning endlessly.
The shadow figure approached. Roman pulled away, his mind reeling. Escape, he thought, but something held him to his bed.
A strange, clicking noise filled the air, rippling out of the shadow figure as it loomed over him. Roman’s stomach pulled. Every muscle fiber and ounce of sinew twisted around in a painful knot, until he was certain his body would pull itself apart.
Roman tried to scream at the figure, only his mouth refused to move. The shadow crept slowly closer, like a shadow chased by the setting sun. The pain him grew more intense, it roiled and bubbled until he was sure his insides boiled like hot water.
The figure erupted into the air and dove, washing down over him. Fingers of fluttering cold shadow danced over his flesh, stealing the breath from his lungs and seizing his muscles.
Roman clutched his midsection, but the darkness wrapped around his wrists, and with frightening strength pinned them down. The darkness solidified around him, and two hands emerged out of its depths. They clawed at his skin, like dancing spider legs made of ice.
He wanted to cry out as they pulled on his stomach, tugging the skin apart and opening a hole. He felt the cold pour into his body, down through the gap torn wide. Dread filled him as the hole continued to expand, like a swirling, angry storm.
He remembered a light as brilliant as the sun. It broke through his doorway, and the darkness’ hold on him weakened. He freed his hands and swatted in the air, trying to push away the shadows, but his fingers passed clean through.
The brilliant light solidified into a figure. She was whispering something, but he could not hear what she said. She walked over to him, the cascading light of her form washing the darkness back to the darkest corners.
She knelt closer, her light so bright that it stung his eyes. She reached in and touched him. He felt it deep down inside, like she had reached in and touched his soul. He remembered how the warmth spread throughout his body.
Roman could still feel the darkness, its taint lingering deep inside him. He watched for it to return and prepared to fight it off, but the woman pulled him tight to her breast and held him.
He felt warmth radiating from her, soaking into his skin and driving away the chill. He remembered that he wanted to cry, but couldn’t make any noise.
The radiant woman started to sing. The song poured over him like sunshine. Before he knew it, tears were running down his cheeks. Roman remembered her embrace and the warmth that it left on his skin.
He shivered, considering the strange figure of light. A single, galvanizing thought coursed through him. He believed the glowing woman was his mother. She entered the darkest part of his dream when he needed her most, chasing away the fear and pain. He knew that it was her. It had to be.
It was thoughts of his mother and the monstrous shadows that lingered with Roman. He stood and walked groggily to the fireplace. Dennah had already left. Her bedding was folded neatly on the rocking chair.
Roman lollygagged around for a while before finally dressing. He opened the front door to find Tusk sprawled on the porch, his tail thumping lazily. The large, shaggy brown dog looked even more pathetic in the early morning sunlight.
Tusk sat up with a groan before scratching his ears, sending dried mud in every direction. His musk was overpowering, forcing Roman to clutch a shirtsleeve over his mouth and nose. His stomach was unsettled enough on its own.
Roman led Tusk through the woods behind his cabin and across the meadow to the river. He jumped down into the river valley as a gust of wind cut through and sent a shower of orange and red leaves raining down.
The Amelda River was neither deep nor terribly wide, but its current was swift and turned the mill’s water wheel easily. Roman picked up a stick and held it out for Tusk. The dog grabbed at it eagerly and dropped into a playful pose, his hindquarters wiggling as he wagged his tail excitedly.
Roman heaved the stick into the river. Tusk bounded happily after it, landing with a crash and spray of the river’s chocolate colored water. Roman threw the stick for Tusk several times until a piece of driftwood claimed the makeshift toy and carried it away.
Tusk plopped on the river back, panting and thoroughly soaked. Roman picked the burrs and twigs out of his fur. Then he used the tonic he bought from Lucilla and gave the dog a good scrubbing. Tusk went for a swim to rinse the tonic from his fur, and when he was done he looked cleaner and smelled better than he had in thaws. Roman considered the coin well spent.
After Tusk’s bath, Roman changed his clothes and grabbed a small bite to eat. He ate more out of habit than hunger. His stomach was still off. It was a twisting, unsettled feeling.
Tusk followed him through the house as he gathered his coin purse and his jacket. Then they propped the door closed and headed to the General’s pen. The large horse grazed on the far side of the pen. His ears twitched from side to side, and he swished his tail affectionately as Roman approached.
It was painful work, but Roman managed to saddle General, and t
hen after second thought tied his remaining pelts to the saddle. The impending tax was one reason for his sour stomach. He couldn’t help but second guess every decision related to money recently.
His father always paid the tax and never spoken of it much afterward. Now that Roman was of age, he had to pay his way. In the Council’s eyes, he was a man, although he wasn’t sure if he felt like one quite yet.
Roman gingerly climbed the fence and mounted General. After spending several moments trying to get comfortable, he headed into town. The sky looked dismal, and in no time it turned ominous. The horizon darkened, filling with thick churning clouds. The wind grew colder and swirled around him, carrying with it the damp promise of rain.
Tusk trotted along obediently next to General. His mood was somewhat subdued, perhaps picking up on Roman’s apprehension. The streets were full of people, bustling about to finish errands before the rain started to fall. Roman meandered about for a short while, trying to calm his nerves. When it became obvious he was stalling, he hitched General to a small crabapple tree and slowly unpacked his things.
The town’s oldest inn had been dark ever since its elderly owner, Dahria, passed away the winter thaw past. But with the caravan in town, the White Crowe spurred back to life.
It’s good to see it filled with people once again, Roman thought as he stood before the old building.
A line of people stretched out the front door, backing all the way into the lane. More people joined the line as Roman stepped forward. He knew most of them, but only a few by name. He listened to them talk, taking some comfort in knowing they were all as anxious as he was.
Roman stood behind a woman in a heavy dress, a baby clutched tightly in either arm. Three smaller children played at her feet. He didn’t know her name but returned her smile.
