The Man Who Vanishes

by J M Gonzalez Riley

  ‘They call me Titch,’ he said, grinning a black-toothed grin. ‘Because I’m slight.’

  Kayn looked all about him worriedly, his eyes adjusting to the gloom.

  ‘Nobody else is here,’ Titch told him, reading his fear. ‘This is where I live: the old stables. And this is where I dragged you last night, for a safe stay, away from the rain and folk who might do you more harm than good.’

  Kayn cleared his throat, as if to say something.

  ‘You best come with me,’ Titch told him, dragging himself across the dust toward the stable door. ‘And stay close, if you want to keep trouble out.’

  Kayn got up to his feet warily and headed for the door after Titch.

  Outside, he was momentarily blinded by the splendid morning sun as he emerged from the clammy darkness of the stable. His senses reeled at the lively sounds and sight of people everywhere. An array of huts made of mud and stone stretched all around him. Leather sheets and tin utensils that caught the sunlight hung from sticks and ropes outside entrances where children played, running and screaming.

  A river flowed on the other side of the huts, its shore lined with washers laden with mounds of clothing, piled high on the river bank. Children laughed and splashed each other on the banks.

  Kayn’s eye followed the river to its source: the rising hill in the near distance, where the river flowed out of the tree line high up on the hill’s curved top.

  When he looked back, Titch was already knuckling his way into the crowd and Kayn had to move quickly to keep him in sight.

  The sun had dried the ground into a plateau of baked mud and only a few dirty puddles remained as remnants of last night’s downpour. The people, Kayn noted, were dressed in simple rags and skins. Some of them looked filthy and smelt only slightly better than the stable he had just left. Lively arguments broke out all around him, and laughter, amongst the excited chattering.

  Kayn was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his eye on Titch, who kept disappearing underneath people’s legs, sometimes causing them to trip and swear after him.

  He spotted the looming doors up ahead and realised that was where everybody was headed. The doors were being pushed out and the crowd was walking through them into the enclosure.

  Kayn felt sudden apprehension, remembering the guards last night, and looked back to gauge his options. A wall of people moved behind him, pushing in the direction of the doors, and so he had no choice but to follow Titch and the crowd beyond the entrance.

  Within the structure were huts boasting small, wooden-fenced pens where animals were kept tied up to wooden beams. Chickens ran amok within the crowd, leaping out of the stream of walkers, chased by wild children. Dogs, unfed and unkempt, rummaged amongst the litter for scraps of food.

  Kayn saw the merchants’ stalls, covered with robes, fruits and dead foul fresh from the hunt. The babble of people reached fever pitch as the crowd began to break up into small groups, converging around the stalls.

  Behind the stalls lay a small mansion of thick concrete, standing six men high, with narrow turrets at either side. At its end stood the chapel, which he now recognised as the place where he had been carried to the previous night, before being thrown out beyond the doors.

  Kayn caught a glimpse of Titch breaking away from the throng and heading for a more secluded area in the periphery of the wall. He followed him, relieved to get away from the hubbub. When he reached him, he sat down on a patch of green grass next to him, leaning against a withered tree. The smell from the nearby pen was bad, but he found himself growing accustomed to it.

  ‘This is the town square, and the market,’ Titch explained. ‘Folk come here trading goods every day, on their way across the land.’

  Kayn gazed back at the stalls, at the crowd bargaining with the merchants over the goods on the slabs. He noticed that some were better dressed than others. These few strolled with a casual gait, not the urgency of the crowd.

  ‘They live inside the wall,’ Titch explained, noticing his interest. ‘They work for the lord, who keeps them and feeds them.’ He pointed toward the mansion.

  Kayn looked over at Titch, studying his marked face.

  ‘Where am I?’ he asked him.

  The little man looked at him in surprise, then threw his head back, laughing aloud.

  ‘If I said Hell, would you believe me?’

  Kayn stared at him.

  ‘Lord! You are lost!’ exclaimed the other, raising his bushy eyebrows. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘I was sent by Dayna,’ he answered.

  At once, the little man stopped laughing.

  ‘By who?’

  ‘Dayna. She is a woman.’

  Titch scowled, the lines in his face deepening. Then, suddenly, his bushy eyebrows arched high above his eyes and his mouth fell agape. Before Kayn could ask him what the matter was, he had begun to back away from him, eyeing him fearfully.

  Kayn caught him by the shoulder.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked him, confused.

  Titch tried to shake him off.

  ‘Who are you?’ the small man seemed suddenly terrified of him. Kayn looked around anxiously, wondering if they might be drawing attention to themselves, but the crowd was absorbed in the day’s trading, the children too busy running after each other to notice them.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Kayn answered.

  Titch beat at Kayn’s hands to be free of his grip and Kayn let go immediately, wincing at the sharp pain from the strikes. The small man’s hands were hard as rocks.

  When he was certain that Kayn would not make a grab for him again, Titch ceased his retreat and eyed him from a distance.

  ‘Tell me of Dayna,’ he said sharply.

  ‘I don’t remember anything,’ Kayn told him truthfully. ‘Only that I was sent by her.’

  ‘Sent for what purpose?’ asked Titch.

  Kayn shrugged miserably.

  ‘I told you, I don’t remember anything.’

  The little man fell silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on Kayn, pensive.

  ‘You don’t know where you are, or who you are?’ he repeated, incredulous.

  Kayn shook his head in affirmation.

  ‘My memory,’ he said, pointing to his head, ‘is very hazy.’

  Tentatively, Titch inched closer, until he was upon him and looking straight into his eyes as if he might discern Kayn’s identity lurking in their depths.

  ‘That’s why they threw you out last night!’ Titch exclaimed, nodding to himself knowingly.

  Kayn offered him a puzzled look.

  ‘You’re no good to anybody,’ Titch told him. ‘That’s why you belong on my side of the wall,’ he pointed beyond the open entrance. ‘With the unwanted.’

  The noise of the crowd grew louder.

  ‘Well, I suppose you’re no harm to any folk as long as you can’t remember about Dayna,’ Titch mused, eyeing him suspiciously.

  The sudden sound of feet patting close by made both men turn their heads sharply. One of the children playing in the square was running toward them. She was a slight girl of about twelve years of age, with scraggly hair and bright eyes. She threw herself at Titch and he held her, laughing delightedly.

  Kayn watched them silently, deducing quickly which side of the wall she belonged in from her ragged clothes. The girl stood back and stared at him.

  ‘This is Kayn,’ Titch introduced him. ‘And this is Eva,’ he said to Kayn. ‘A good friend of mine.’

  Kayn smiled at the girl, but she continued to stare at him, saying nothing. Then she turned and ran away to join the other children in the square.

  ‘Eva is a diamond,’ Titch told him, laughing to himself as he watched her go. ‘Poor girl. But look now!’ he shouted suddenly, pointing at the crowd.

  ‘There!’

  Kayn followed his finger to the mansion, where the door was being lowered and a gang of well-dressed men spilled forth on horseback. Leading the horsemen was a slim, haggard looking man with long
, braided red hair.

  ‘That is the lord of the land,’ Titch whispered behind him.

  The lord eyed the peasants with distaste, directing his mount straight into them. Bringing up the rear was another man, who Kayn recognised immediately as the man with the crackly voice from last night.

  ‘And who is that?’ he asked, pointing.

  ‘That is the sire,’ said Titch.

  ‘What’s a sire?’ he asked, looking back at the little man.

  ‘The man of God,’ answered Titch in awe of Kayn’s ignorance. ‘He has more doings than the lord himself, he does.’

  Kayn looked back at the horsemen. The sire looked hard-faced, dangerous, unforgiving.

  ‘Why did he ask me if I was the General?’

  Titch fell back in shock, as if he had blasphemed.

  ‘Hush!’ he cried. ‘Don’t talk about such things here, in the open!’

  Kayn flinched away from him.

  ‘It’s just that they seemed to be expecting the Witchfinder General…’

  Titch slapped a big hand around Kayn’s mouth.

  ‘I said: do not speak like that here, fool!’

  The horsemen weaved their way expertly through the stalls, the crowd parting as they came, then falling back together as soon as they passed, like the river beyond the doors. Kayn watched the riders go, then scanned back across the crowd. His gaze came to rest on the door of the mansion, where he saw the lone rider on the white horse.

  His breath caught.

  Titch was watching her too.

  ‘That,’ he said, his voice soft now, almost dreamy, ‘is Tiffany. The prettiest maiden in the whole place. The whole land, I say.’

  She wore a long white dress that glinted in the sunlight. Her long auburn ringlets bounced upon her shoulders as she rode her mount past the stalls, catching every man’s eye.

  ‘Who is she?’ Kayn asked curiously.

  The little man eyed him with suspicion. After a pause, he said: ‘she’s the sire’s daughter.’ And then, proudly, he said: ‘We’re good friends, me and Tiffany.’

  Kayn nodded, watching her as she brought her mount close by. She turned and looked in their direction. Startled, he realised that she was looking straight at him.

  He almost cried out in surprise when Titch burst into action next to him, waving his hands in the air at her, almost frantically. The maiden smiled, coyly, and waved back at him before galloping away in the wake of the other riders.

  The little man flashed Kayn a black-toothed smile, then pushed himself forward and knuckled his way back toward the gates.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Kayn called after him.

  ‘Back to the stable,’ he answered, without looking back.

  Kayn got to his feet and ran after him.

  When they reached the stable, Kayn saw that somebody had left a piece of black bread at the door. Titch snatched it up immediately, away from Kayn, and knuckled his way inside, looking all around him as if people were shouting his name. Once they were both inside and the door was closed and locked, Titch worked at the bread, keeping his back to Kayn.

  Finally he turned around and said: ‘here,’ and threw a little piece in his direction.

  Kayn watched him eat, and then, tentatively, began munching on the piece of bread. It was stale, dry and hard to swallow, but it was better than nothing.

  ‘You’ll have to go out and fetch some berries,’ Titch told him between mouthfuls.

  Kayn looked down at him. The little man looked deadly serious.

  ‘If you want to sleep here another night, that is,’ he added, smiling his black-toothed smile.

  Kayn sighed, nodded, slowly. What other choice did he have?

  16

  Middle ages

  A little way beyond the mud huts, the land rose steeply up into the hill, protecting the hamlet for the harshness of the wind. Half way up the hill was a wide plateau, where the land levelled for a good three hundred meters. Up in that glade, the hamlet folk had once taken their celebrations on the eve of the Epiphany and on the summer Solstice, when the lord of the land had laid out great feasts, where meat, ale and music had been plentiful, and wrestling and other games had taken place, amongst the laughter and the cheers and the songs that went on until dawn the following day.

  But that had been a long time ago, before the terrible events, as early as a generation ago, when the last of the Witches of the North had been burned there after the swift trials.

  A little further up from the plateau, where the land rose again steeper than before, the hill found its top. And there, the thick tree line that led into the deeps of the forest of Bluebell sprang up like wild grass.

  Titch had told Kayn in detail where to find the best berries, in the deeps of the forest where, as he put it, folk seldom wandered. ‘Just follow the river,’ he had told him. ‘This will take you straight to the heart. Quick now, for if you leave now you’ll be back before nightfall.’

  With that, Titch had bid him farewell and Kayn had left the stable, setting off for the hill. Now, standing atop the hill, faced with the uninviting tree line, Kayn looked down on the hamlet down below and longed to be there again.

  Something didn’t feel right up here. There should have been birdsong, amongst the treetops. Instead, a deep silence shrouded the hill top, as if the witch burnings that had once taken place in the glade down below had tainted the atmosphere of the hill for evermore.

  Kayn knew that he could not return to the hamlet empty handed. That would only irritate the little man, and perhaps – if he kept true to his promise – he would not allow Kayn to bed another night inside the stable. With much apprehension then, he turned and headed for the thick tree line.

  He found himself in the forest, following a trail that cut through the tall grass and weaved in and out of the vegetation, a trail laid perhaps by hundreds of horse hooves and walkers before him. A narrow river raced alongside the trail to his left, just as Titch had described, and he watched the sun glittering on the water’s surface as he walked, tracing the constantly shifting ripples in the water.

  He wondered whether Titch had been describing the forest from memory, or whether he had heard its beauty recited by some traveller, but despite the uplifting scenery, Kayn found he longed for the sounds of birdsong that might have made the trek seem less lonely.

  The sun was now half way across the clear blue sky, burning him through the gaps in the tall tress whenever it found him below the oversized leaves. He had been walking along the winding trail for quite a while when he decided to rest, finding the shade under a tall oak next to the river welcoming. He sat down under its thick branches, relishing the closeness of the water’s edge and the calming effect of its sound upon him.

  Kayn lay back against the oak’s trunk and was reminded of his weariness when a dull pain radiated from his tender bruises. Shifting to his good side, he got comfortable and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun. And then, before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

  He dreamt of Dayna, the unseen presence in his mind. He felt lightless, suspended in the air, as if held by invisible strings. Behind him, a voice spoke to him about the journey that awaited him. Although the voice was clear, it seemed to resonate outside of his thoughts, and although he could not make out the words spoken, he felt he understood their message, instinctively.

  When he strained to hear the words, the sounds became a gush of colours, flowing around him, bright orange and egg white. But despite the warmth of the colours, he did not feel comforted by them, so he chose not to strain his hearing so that the colours would turn back to words of clear yet evasive sounds.

  Kayn concentrated on the message that was woven throughout the dialogue. Dayna’s words painted a journey in which he would embark, a journey of great importance. He would return from this journey, back to her, because she had wished it so.

  Longing to see her, he turned his head in the direction of her voice, but as he faced her, she promptly dissolved into the flowing rus
h of colours so he couldn’t see her features. But he understood that Dayna was important to him, and he to her. Their relationship felt both concrete and necessary. Perhaps they were lovers, or linked to each other in some other way.

  Kayn reached out to touch her then, dipping his hand into the flowing stream of colours. His senses reeled from the coldness inside her, so much so that he was startled awake and found he had rolled over on the grass and plunged his arm into the freezing river, up to his elbow.

  He yanked back his arm and sat up quickly, his senses wide awake. He shook his arm and rubbed it on the dry grass, wondering at his dream. In the afterglow, all that remained in his mind was a fading certainty: he had to return to Dayna – the source - no matter what.

  Kayn sprang up to his feet and looked all around him.

  How long have I been asleep? he wondered, looking for the sun above the tree tops. Already the sky was a dark hue of blue. The sun was well on its way to setting and still he had not reached the berries he had set out to gather.

  The forest seemed sullen all around him, as if resentful of his invasion. He felt claustrophobic in the eerie still, and alarmed, his gut instinct warning him that there was more to the forest than sullenness, that the forest was waiting for the dark to expand and take hold, for some sinister reason.

  Suddenly, he felt the urge to be away from this hateful place. Nightfall would be upon him soon, maybe even before he reached the spot he sought. Pointless then to pursue his goal, for he would surely be hopelessly lost in the gloom, without berries and without a bed for the night.

  At least, even empty handed he might persuade the little man to let him stay the night. He would go back with a solemn promise to set out early the next day and gather the berries under the light of day. Better that than not returning at all. And so, Kayn began retracing his steps hastily as the sky darkened above him, keeping the river on his right side this time.

  He grew anxious when he found he could hardly see in front of him, such was the vegetation, blocking the little light that remained. Before too long, he was walking blindly along the trail, forced to slow his pace by the encroaching darkness and guided solely by the rushing waters of the narrow river beside him, which had cooled the forest and the air inside it to a chill.