by Aaron Bunce
“Damn, Frenin, damn your obsessive nature,” he cursed, catching himself straightening out the wrinkles in the sheets before he realized what he was doing.
Frenin blew out several of the candles on his way out. He glanced back at the darkened room and the bed, which he hoped would fool someone just long enough.
He made his way down the hallway, sliding his hand along the wall for support. He ambled down the stairs and into the boisterous crowd of the tavern. One man lay snoring between tables while the vast majority of people milled about or danced and sang.
Despite the roaring fires in both fireplaces and a large number of people, the tavern developed a chill, and Frenin longed for the fur of his cloak. At his age, it didn’t take long to take a chill, and he found that it took even longer to warm up again.
Frenin reached for the handle when the door flew open unexpectedly. Cold wind and snow wailed through the doorway, pelting him and tousling what little white hair remained on his head.
Captain Teague tromped in, his cheeks red and his beard plastered with snow. He wore heavy furs and rubbed his large hands together.
“Frenin, I was told you already retired for the night. We already sent your woman, what’s her name?” Teague asked, looking around for help.
“Lucilla?” Frenin asked.
Teague nodded, “we met her outside and sent her on her way. You have shown us much hospitality, but I can’t rationalize spending any more resources on a murderer. If my men had their way, they’d remove his head here and now. We’d be well on our way back to our beds by now at least,” Teague said, the door slamming shut behind him.
Frenin moved aside so his men could file around him and warm by the fire.
“Any news of your missing men?” Frenin asked, eagerly changing the subject.
“They’re lost…couldn’t even find their bodies,” Teague said, shaking his head.
Frenin nodded resolutely, his gaze sliding eagerly towards the door. Teague looked distracted. He glanced over Frenin’s shoulder and all around the room as if looking for someone.
“Not to be rude, but I have business to attend to right now,” he said a moment later and pushed his way off through the crowd.
Frenin didn’t waste a moment, and as soon as Teague was out of sight, he pushed through the door and out into the cold night.
Chapter 40
Never to lose again
His shirt tore, exposing the blood-soaked bandage.
“What have we here?” Banus said, flicking the blade in a single, swift motion, cutting through the rest of Roman’s shirt.
Roman felt Banus tear at the bandage, followed by the bite of cold air. Blood trickled down his side, tickling him where Lucilla had carefully sewn his skin back together.
The tip of the dagger slid along the tender skin beneath his ribs. Banus’ face contorted into a horrible mask of joy, and he eased the blade into the wound, parting the thread and tearing the skin and muscle in an explosion of pain that left Roman gasping for breath. His hot, sour breath fell upon Roman’s face as he slowly and lovingly eased the dagger tip deeper and deeper into his side.
Roman shook and gasped, the pain overriding every other thought in his mind. It crawled through him, seeping into every crack and crevice, permeating every fiber of his body. He couldn’t block it out, no matter how hard he tried.
The pain peaked and Roman’s gut twitched, winding on itself like a taut bowstring. He heard a faint sound, but it was almost lost amidst the chaos of his drubbing heart and wheezing breath. It was barely audible, like a distant whisper.
The whisper grew louder and louder until it was the only thing he could hear. The dagger reached its hand guard, and for good measure Banus gave the blade a twist. He stared affectionately into Roman’s eyes, their faces so close their cheeks almost touched.
“You see now, boy, d'you understand? She didn’t show me respect, just like all the others. After you’re gone, I’m gonna use her, make her moan my name and love her for hours. And you know what? She’ll love me before I’m done. She won’t think on you either, not once, cause I’m not gonna let her. And then, when I’ve had my fill, and she can’t please my fellows and me anymore…well, you see, then I’m gonna add to my collection here,” Banus said, his voice barely audible over the raging storm in his ears.
He pulled the lock of hair out from his shirt with his mangled hand and brushed the collection of hair against Roman’s face mockingly. Roman couldn’t speak, nor could he breathe. The pain was everything.
He wanted to deny every foul word slipping from Banus’ mouth, to open his eyes and see Tusk alive and wagging his tail. To see that silly look where his jowl caught on his teeth, giving him a goofy sneer. He wanted Dennah, his first real friend to be safe and whole. He wanted them both to be okay, even if he wouldn’t be. None of it would come out, though. It just festered deep inside, a noxious mixture of corrosive resentment and anger.
The noise of the room washed over him. He heard Dennah yelling and pleading with Banus to stop. Roman heard her voice choked out as Tarkus fell over her, stuffing the sodden gag back into her mouth.
Banus gave the dagger one final twist as Dennah cried out, fighting against Tarkus with her old weapon, her voice. The wretched knot in Roman’s gut that had forever plagued him, finally started to tear, and as it did something changed.
For a moment, Roman hung there, connected to Banus through the pulsing dagger embedded in his side, but also through Blain, whose arms wrapped around him in a suffocating tangle of muscular arms.
Roman started to shake, quaking within Blain’s overwhelming embrace as an intense sensation trickled into his body. It was neither hot nor cold, yet seemed to burn like both at the same time. It broke within him like a confusing swell of emotions. He sensed anger, fear, pain, and joy all filtering into him, filling every fiber of him with an intoxicating and volatile charge.
He felt Banus’ face before him, yet he couldn’t manage to open his eyes. He knew the man was saying something. He could hear his words. They had no meaning anymore however, no significance. No remorse or penance could have satiated the hatred permeating Roman’s body. It washed everything else away, and when Roman’s eyes snapped open, Banus went suddenly and completely quiet.
“You will not touch her ever again…you will never open your foul mouth, or taint her name with your wretched tongue,” Roman hissed, his words bubbling from his mouth like blistering acid.
Banus stood transfixed, unable to look away from Roman’s eyes. There was something within that gaze that cut through all of his bluster, something that scared the little man.
The anger cut through Roman’s pain, and Roman found that he couldn’t deny it. No, he realized, he didn’t want to deny it. It made him feel powerful and strong. Banus’ face screwed up in an ugly frown, and he staggered back a step, pulling the dagger free.
“Me…you,” Banus stammered, visibly disturbed by the fire glowing in Roman’s eyes.
The small man seemed lost, his lip quivering as a glob of drool slipped in a sticky wad onto his chin. Strangled noises erupted behind him. Banus spun drunkenly, responding to the sound of fighting and cursing.
“Keep her still! Shut her up!” he yelled at Tarkus, the bite returning to his voice.
He ambled forward, lifting his belt over his shoulder. The leather cracked in the air, striking both Dennah and Tarkus’ flesh. Banus didn’t seem concerned with whom he hurt. Only that he inflicted pain.
“Ow! He’s getting hot Banus, burning my skin, my arms. It hurts!” Blain cried suddenly behind him.
Roman felt the heat rolling off of his skin. He could see it too, rippling waves spilling into the cold, distorting the air like a roadway on a hot summer day. The anger festering in his gut pushed its way out. It was the same sickened feeling Roman endured since the orchard. He felt ill, fevered skin that grew hotter and hotter while everything inside started to turn cold.
Blain squirmed, loosening his grip and shifting, tr
ying to protect himself from the searing touch. Something was happening to him, something that felt both terrifying and electric. The belt cracked once again, slapping against air and flesh
Roman felt Blain’s pain. It communicated to him from every droplet of sweat, muscle twinge, and labored breath. He pulled on the hot spot in his belly, willing his body hotter and hotter, drawing on the intoxicating stream of rage. He pushed out with his arms and felt the bigger man’s hold give. Blain’s strength was failing.
“You’re cracked, what are you about…why are you burning me? Oh, it’s so hot,” Blain cried from over his shoulder. His arms were slick with sweat, allowing Roman to slide free.
“No…get away from me!” Blain cried as Roman spun on him. The large man stumbled back, his hands held out before him, a pained, horrified look on his face.
The flesh of his arms and hands were bright red and marred by large, angry looking blisters. Roman swung Frenin’s cane, connecting with a resounding crack of wood against skull, dropping Blain instantly to the straw-covered ground.
Roman turned for Banus, his side twinging painfully and doubling him over. Banus danced before him mockingly as Roman wavered, flicking blood onto him from his dagger, a horrible toothy smile plastered on his face.
“Oh, look at him, he can barely stand. Kill her. I want him to watch before he dies,” Banus cackled over his shoulder.
A strange pain shot down Roman’s legs, and he fell to his knees. He pulled his hands away from the wound in his side, unable to fully comprehend what was happening to him, or why. His palms went up before his face, and it took him a moment to understand why they were wet.
The blood looked impossibly dark and felt hot against his skin. It smelled strange as well. It wasn’t the usual harsh, coppery scent, but something odd…almost burnt.
Another pain rippled through Roman as the knot in his gut tore a little wider. He looked up and through his tears saw Tarkus standing over Dennah, his sword held out before him, the tip of the blade poised between his friend’s shoulder blades.
The sight stirred something deep within him. In fact, it was oddly familiar. It was like the tickle of a long lost memory, or the familiarity of a tool from a skill remembered.
Roman felt the heat and cold in his belly churning, twisting, and surging. A tingle flooded through his muscles, and his body jerked as he almost toppled over. His mind swirled around and around, and everything in the room exploded in a shower of contrast and clarity like he had never known. The smallest pinpricks of light looked like raging fires, while the dark shadows appeared as puddles of the deepest ink.
Particles of dust hung in the air all around him, previously too minute for his eyes to register. Through it all, Roman could feel the knot in his belly pulsing and flexing, threatening to tear wider still, but something held it back. As it did Roman felt a strange pressure build inside, and for a horrible moment he thought that he might be sick.
The silver of Tarkus’ blade caught the light, the metal glinting in the darkened barn, but it burned like a raging beacon in Roman’s eyes. In that moment before the finality of Dennah’s death Roman’s body realized a strange new purpose and potential.
His mind reeled, and his anger, which had been festering and feeding him strength, took on a life of its own. It coiled and flexed, moving within him like a serpent of pure heat and angst. It broiled forward, pushing through his chest and out into his arms. He could smell the caustic odor again and knew that his blood was flowing. He could feel it like boiling pitch on his skin.
The sword was coming down, yet time distorted, like they were trapped in a bubble of sticky sap, and everything froze. The distance between Roman and Tarkus hung like an impenetrable void, one that every ounce of experience and logic told him was insurmountable. Yet somewhere deep inside he knew that it was not.
He felt a natural impulse, a reflexive snap of energy that bound through the tips of his fingers before erupting into the air with a searing flash. The bolt of fire struck Tarkus like a flaming javelin, knocking the large man off of his feet and throwing him back into a pile of stacked bales. His blade fell, piercing the straw next to Dennah’s head and nearly parting the delicate skin of her neck.
Roman could feel the flames piercing Tarkus’ flesh. He could feel them as vividly as if they were his own fingers, digging, and clawing, tearing ravenously at clothing and skin. They burned away vitality, leaving only charred flakes of ash in its place.
Tarkus was dead, the fire consuming his life in a matter of only a few heartbeats, his body now a macabre bonfire of soot-blackened bones belching sour smoke.
With an angry howl, the fire flared up, spreading to the straw scattered on the ground. Despite the bright flames, Roman’s sight dimmed. The intense clarity he had enjoyed just moments ago was now gone. The waves of rage that had bolstered him were gone as well. His heart fluttered, and his body grew incredibly heavy.
Roman instinctively reached deep down inside for that stream of energy, desperate to be filled by its potent strength once again, but his weariness felt like a bottomless pit.
He coughed once and then twice, the acrid smoke biting at his mouth and throat. With every convulsion of his stomach, the pain split deeper and deeper inside, like a hot knife slowly cutting him in half. He so badly wanted to lie down and rest, to forget the pain and drift off, but Dennah still needed him. He couldn’t let weakness stop him.
Roman coughed again, and in a fit he slumped down to his knees. He wiped at his eyes, reluctantly pulling his hand away from his throbbing side, but the tears and smoke blinded him.
He staggered to his feet and shambled forward, dipping beneath the choking layer of smoke. He peered through the haze, barely able to make out silhouettes and shadows, hoping he was moving in the right direction.
A twinge in his side bent him low and for a moment the knot in his belly seemed to turn over and over, spinning around like a pinwheel. He threw his hand into the dirt just in time as the world seemed to flip end over end around him. He raked his blood covered fingers through the dirt and straw, fighting against the perception as his body felt everything shift.
The strange fluttering noise returned, scattering his thoughts as he spun around and around. He swirled about, his vision clearing and for a moment thought that he was the smoke and the fire. The knot continued to swell, making the noise grow more frantic. The fire was crying out to him.
Roman moved forward, barely under his own power. A blurry shape moved in the opaque haze, and he turned weakly to track it. Roman pawed at the thick smoke, desperately trying to clear it away as the shape appeared again, only a brief glimmer of a silver blade as a warning. A boot slammed into his back, driving him down and into the dirt.
Another boot kicked hard into his stomach, and what little breath he had been able to suck down was smashed from him. Roman knew only pain and confusion. A crushing force settled on his chest.
Banus appeared out of the smoke, the tip of a sword coming to rest painfully in the hollow of Roman’s throat. Banus hovered there for a painful moment, his eyes bloodshot and his face streaked with tears and snot. His visage was a horrible mask, half obscured by the darkness and smoke, leaving his features devilish and distorted.
Roman flicked his hand in a panic, desperate to feel the power swell up inside him and snap to his command. He was vaguely aware of the turbulent, spinning sensation deep inside, but its power felt meager and out of reach. The tip of the sword pressed down, biting into his throat.
Banus pressed down slowly onto the blade, visibly savoring the moment. Roman grabbed the blade and tried to push it away, to relieve the pressure as it bit into his flesh. He felt the dull, nicked edge vividly as it sliced through the meat of his palm and fingers. The pain mixed in an indecipherable swirl, but he couldn’t let go, not even when he tried to.
The turbulent knot in his belly twisted again, buzzing angrily in response to his pain and fear. He could feel it swelling, pulsing and straining. Something was try
ing to force its way through him.
What is holding it back?
Roman tried to reach up and push back with his other hand, but a crushing force pinned it to the ground. Something bounced off of the side of his head, before coming to rest just within sight. It was the carved wolf head of Frenin’s cane.
The blunted tip of the blade pushed its way deeper as his ragged breath caught in his chest. Roman’s heart fluttered as he was filled with fear. It was the same fear he felt when his father died, and it hounded him ever since. It was a companion that he could neither hide from nor deny.
It told him that he was weak, that there was no reason to fight. Roman knew that he had to deny it. He needed strength, like the power he used to stop Tarkus. Power, molded by a single thought. As simple as that…a thought and Tarkus was no more.
Strange visions flashed before his eyes. He saw haunting images of a glittering lake, a tall and glimmering city in the background. A woman, standing at the water’s edge, turned towards him. She lifted her hands to him, but he was already starting to float away. She had long brown hair, and light brown eyes, just like him.
“Roman, take control. Give it flesh,” she said.
Roman tried to lift her arms to reach out to her, desperate to hold onto that moment, but it was already gone. He saw his father, perched before the fireplace in his favorite chair. He could feel the heat from the fire on his face, and smell the smoke from his pipe. Then it was Frenin, his eyes as blue as freshly formed icicles, turning to wave one last time after he dropped him at Garon’s farm. Roman heard his father’s voice. He heard it over the wet rasp and gargle of his dying body.
Strength is not just in a man’s arm or his back. It comes from what he believes in, from his heart and soul. No man can take that strength away from you, Roman. It is yours through and through. You have your mother’s strength in you, my boy. Someday you will see that!
Stars washed everything away, and the darkness closed in all around him. Roman focused on the knot deep inside him, telling himself that he didn’t have to be afraid anymore. As he did, he felt a warm tingle trickle into him.
