The Man Who Vanishes

by J M Gonzalez Riley

  ‘Go! Now! Bring him back to me!’

  The man with the hooked nose gave Titch a hard look, then turned and ran out through the broken door. His men ran after him.

  The sire looked down at Titch, walking slowly toward him, enjoying his terrified expression.

  ‘I’ll deal with you later, scum,’ he said, and spat down on his face.

  Then he turned and walked back outside, leaving Titch pale-faced and trembling in his own waste.

  Outside, the sire’s men searched for the stranger between the peasant huts, raising their voices high above the rain to awaken the sleeping folk.

  ‘Murderer!’ they shouted. ‘The murderer is amongst us! Come out and help seize him!’

  Before long, men began emerging from the huts and joining the sire’s men in the search. A flash of lightning lit up the night, illuminating all below.

  ‘There!’ somebody shouted. ‘He goes there!’

  Kayn was running, under the dying glow in the sky, toward the foot of the hill. At once, every man set off after him. The sire stood and watched under the rain, a thin smile playing on his lips.

  Kayn fell in the thick mud, giving his pursuers precious seconds to gain on him. He stood up uncertainly and again lost his footing, falling this time on his back. When finally he managed to stand up, he looked behind him and saw that a few men were already closing in on him. Knowing he had no chance of outrunning them from a standing start, he was forced to pirouette in the mud, sidestepping his pursuers and sending them in the wrong direction before breaking into a run up the steeper side of the hill.

  Another flash of lightning lit up the entire hillside and the sire could see Kayn half way up the steep, with half a dozen men running up behind him.

  Thunder rumbled above their heads.

  The sire raged when some of the men slipped and slid down the hill, cursing their stupidity and clumsiness. But he was pleased about the rain, because it made the terrain so much more treacherous, which meant that Kayn needed to slip only once and he would be in the grip of his pursuers.

  Another mighty flash sparked in the sky and a thunderbolt ripped down the heavens toward the hill. The sire watched it branching out wildly to the left, as if drawn there by some object. And then, to his horror, he watched the bolt strike Kayn full on.

  In an instant, the hill plunged into darkness and the sire heard the first of the men screaming. There followed a small flash, but it was enough for the sire to see all the men running down the hill, falling over each other in their haste and tumbling down like loose stones.

  ‘He’s vanished!’ he heard the men screaming as they ran.

  The sire felt a mixture or awe and fear. He remembered Fürgos’ words that night, when they had first brought the stranger to him: “He came from thunder”.

  ‘He came from thunder,’ he said aloud, looking up at the heavens. ‘He came from thunder!’

  And he was reminded of an enemy of old.

  22

  Middle Ages

  Kayn felt a cold, grey wetness enveloping him, seeping into him. When he opened his eyes, he found himself sprawled on a patch of wet grass, under a canopy of huge yellow-green leaves, with the rushing river at his side and the cold rain on his face. His eyes caught the last of a shower of sparks left behind by a thunderbolt, consumed by the night. And then a huge tree branch came crashing down amidst the shrubbery, missing him by inches.

  He lay there awhile, unwilling to move, waiting for the ache in his body to pass. When he finally stood up, he did so wearily.

  The loud sound of the incessant rain echoed all around him, like a great waterfall, but little of it reached him, and he was glad of the thick leaves above him.

  The river rushed on beside him, agitated, on a tight winding journey of its own, carrying twigs and leaves and anything else that fell from its banks to its swirling waters.

  He was back in the forest of Bluebell. He was not sure how he had come to be here, but he was. His heart was beating steadily now, but his mind was ablaze with memories of the sire’s men chasing him, and of the lightning strikes on the hill.

  He recalled that he had been heading for the glade, climbing the steepest side of the hill, running away from the men. But he didn’t recall anything else beyond that point. Perhaps he had reached the forest and had ran desperately through it, until he had collapsed from exhaustion or knocked himself unconscious on a thick tree branch.

  The sire’s men where nowhere to be seen or heard, and he was encouraged by that. However, he was certain that he could not have travelled very far into the woods, and yet he did not recognise his surroundings. Perhaps the gloom tricked his eyes.

  He decided to head deeper into the forest, keeping the river on his left.The narrow path twisted with the river, but sometimes it veered away from it. Whenever it did, Kayn abandoned the path and walked on tangled weeds and shrubbery in order to keep the river in sight, close to him, afraid that he would stray in the darkness otherwise. At some junction, the path would wind back in, rejoining the river’s side, and then he would gladly step back onto it.

  Eventually, the steady downpour became a trickle, and then ceased altogether. He had been walking in the darkness for a great length of time, his limbs aching and his bones weary. He decided to leave the path and find somewhere he could bed down until dawn, which could not be far away now. In the light of day, he would feel more comfortable with his surroundings.

  Not far from the path, a great oak tree lay on the ground. Its trunk was great and easy to climb. Kayn could see that where the tree had once held on to the earth, there was now a small ravine, the roots that once must have covered it long gone. He walked carefully along the trunk until he reached the base, then jumped off and peered into the ravine’s deep hollow. Tentatively, he stepped into the hollow and made sure that there were no jagged stones on the ground. He stretched his arms and felt the hollow’s wall, about a metre in. It was big enough for him to lay in and rest, and it was a safe enough place, away from the path and hidden from view.

  He stepped out of the hollow and began collecting as many soft branches and thick leaves as he could carry, dumping them back into the hollow where he made a rough bed to sleep on. He lay still, his back on the soft branches, listening to the distant swirl of the river, soothed by the strong scent of the grass as he descended into a deep sleep.

  In his dream, Kayn sat facing the old gypsy king, who told him that the Incantatrix Serapia was looking for him. Kayn feigned surprise, but the gypsy saw through him at once.

  ‘You were not sent to the hamlet to befriend Serapia’s enemies,’ the old king chided him, ‘but to wreck havoc amongst them.’

  ‘And I have,’ said Kayn. ‘I have killed innocents and caused pain to many.’

  The king eyed him coldly.

  ‘So why do you not return to Serapia then, if your task is done?’

  Kayn looked down.

  ‘There is a woman,’ he said, sullenly. ‘And so, I have forgotten Serapia.’

  The gypsy king was silent for a long time.

  ‘I fear that your task is far from done,’ he said at last, ‘and I hope that this love of which you speak of is nothing but a passing fancy, like the obsession of the hunter with his pray before the imminent kill, for you are Serapia’s chosen one, her messenger of death, and she will not take lightly to something like this.’

  Kayn shook his head.

  ‘I have lost my way,’ he said. ‘The love I have for the sire’s daughter is greater than Serapia’s power over me, and I feel no desire to return to her.’

  The old king shook his head.

  ‘It is the sire’s daughter you must kill then, if she is the one who might break the spell. But remember that the sire knows about you and he has sent his men to seek you out, so that you cannot return to the hamlet safely. You must return to the Incantatrix first. She will advise you of what must be done next.’

  Kayn fell silent. He knew the old king was right about the sire and about
him not being able to return to the hamlet. But he yearned to be reunited with Tiffany.

  When he looked up, the old gypsy had vanished and a bright light came to him then, piercing his eyes. Startled, he let out a cry and sat up, and found himself in the hollow, with the sun shining down brightly.

  Kayn clambered out of the hollow and surveyed his surroundings. In the daylight, he saw that the ravine was far shallower than he had first thought. He climbed the thick oak tree trunk and walked with ease along the top. When he reached the other end, he took but a minute to find the way in which he had come and scrambled over the thickets and shrubbery until he reached the narrow path.

  He could hear the river close by, beyond the thick vegetation. To his delight, he saw all manner of fruits hanging from the trees around him and began climbing one of the smaller trees, up to where its branches grew thin, shaking them until some of its crop came lose and fell to the ground. When he had collected a small pile, he sat down and feasted upon the fruits, enjoying the juicy meat within.

  Feeling refreshed, Kayn stood up and wondered what his course of action should be, although he felt that it had already been set for him. He knew that he could not return to the hamlet, at least not yet. Last night’s dream returned to him then, making him shudder. He refused to believe that he was some kind of messenger of death, that he had killed little Eva. But at the same time, he felt a great despair at his lack of memory. He had to find the witch, at whatever cost, if only to rid himself of the doubt. Besides, he was a hunted man, without a friend or a place to go, and so he had little to lose but his miserable life. And thus, without further ado, Kayn set off along the narrow path in search of the Incantatrix Serapia.

  The trek was hard going and lonely. Trees thick and old layered the way, making it impossible to glimpse too far up ahead. He concentrated on the sounds of the river, wondering not for the first time why there were no birds or creatures in the forest.

  As the day wore on, he grew certain that he would perish deep in the forest, alone and lost, when suddenly he came to a flat expanse. He felt hope, wondering whether he might find the gypsies here, setting up camp, but the clearing was empty.

  He sat in the centre of the glade, a great gloominess descending over him, his hopes of ever finding the Incantatrix fast waning.

  He took in the sounds of the river and breathed in lungfuls of cold air, wondering if he should sleep awhile. However, seeing that the sun had already past the centre of the sky, he knew that he needed to make some headway into his journey, far enough at least to justify bedding down for the night.

  He stood up and stretched, walking to the edge of the glade, stepping onto the path resignedly and, head down, resuming his journey.

  It was not long before the path disappeared beneath him under a thick carpet of grass, and then he was walking blindly across virgin forest. He was regretting his decision to come this far when he suddenly realised the sound of the river was no on both sides.

  Up ahead, the river bent back on itself.

  Haden’t the gypsy king said the river bent back when it reached the heart of the forest?

  And then he saw the shack.

  It was a small, stone building, set in the middle of the forest, amongst the trees. Kayn approached it with caution, studying the structure, using the thick bushes as cover.

  This had to be the Incantatrix’s abode.

  He stepped out of the bushes and, heart thumping, walked toward the shack, slowly, wondering if he would see the witch and whether he would recognise her.

  When he reached the entrance, he peered in and, seeing nobody, he stepped inside. The dwelling was small and immaculate, with a stone floor and delicately carved ornaments affixed to the walls. There was a small round table carved of stone in the centre of the room and a large flat tree stump in a corner, on which some vegetables had been left to dry.

  Kayn walked over to the tree stump and studied the vegetables: mushrooms, a few herbs and some leaves. They looked fresh enough, so that whoever had picked them had done so not too long ago.

  Pensive, he turned and yelped in surprise, falling back against the stump.

  Somebody else was in the shack with him, standing at the entrance, watching him.

  But then he saw that this was not the witch. Instead, it was a young woman. She stood still with the sun behind her, making it hard for him to discern her features properly. But then she stepped forward and Kayn was stunned by her wild beauty and at the same time shocked by the wide, impossible stone-grey eyes that regarded him coldly, unperturbed… for the owner of those eyes was unmistakable crazy.

  23

  Middle Ages

  Kayn wondered if the spellbinding stranger had understood a word he’d said. She continued to stand there, ramrod-straight, watching him with her striking eyes.

  ‘I am looking for the Incantatrix Serapia,’ he repeated.

  Once again, she did not answer. He had hoped to at least find out where he was, but now, what little hope he had harboured was dashed in an instant.

  He could not help wonder about this place, however. The shack was miles away from anywhere, deep in the forest. So what was this stunning creature doing here? Had some distressed father built this lonely temple in which to forsake his demented offspring?

  The woman watched him silently and enigmatically, her long yellow hair thick and heavy over her shoulders, matted together into dreads. Her mouth was thin, her eyes round like dull moons. Kayn’s eyes strayed to the rags that hung in tatters from her, revealing a smooth shoulder on one side, the sensual curve of a breast on the other.

  After a few unsettling moments, Kayn decided he should leave. He stepped carefully around her so as not to cause her alarm. The woman chose that moment to speak, and when she did, her voice and tone were utterly unlike those of somebody in the grip of the madness her eyes revealed.

  She said, ‘I am Serapia.’

  Kayn fell back from her, reeling at the perfect display of sanity, at the obvious lie. Her voice resonated inside him, somehow, alarming him.

  Could this really be the infamous witch? Or was this her daughter or grandchild?

  ‘You doubt me,’ she said flatly, watching him, her voice conveying a deep intelligence belied so severely by her appearance.

  Kayn stared at her, unable to speak. He clenched his teeth together to stop her voice reverberating inside his skull.

  ‘Sit down,’ she ordered, pointing to the flat stone behind him. ‘I have been waiting for you, Kayn.’

  At the mention of his name, he felt his legs almost gave way underneath him.

  She knew him!

  He stepped back unsteadily and sat down heavily on the stone.

  ‘I am Serapia,’ she repeated. So said, all the ornaments came away from the walls and hovered impossibly in the air. Her gaze was fixed intently upon him, as if daring him to contradict her. If the illusion was her doing, then it did not show.

  Kayn watch the air fill with artefacts, transfixed and fearful. Then, the ornaments slammed back against the walls and stayed put, pinned there by an invisible force.

  Serapia smiled thinly. Though her physique was slight, her overall presence was truly overwhelming.

  Fear gripped him, made him heavy as the stone he sat on. All trace of weariness had left him, replaced by a tight winding of the nerves, the pounding of his heart, a numbness in his hands. He sat, pinned to the rock, as if waiting for some command from her.

  She crossed the stone floor, barefoot, and came to a halt before him. She looked down on him with her piercing eyes.

  ‘I – I don’t remember you,’ he stammered, looking up at her, unable to move.

  Serapia watched him with unreadable intent.

  Images of dread filled his mind as he wondered whether his words would unleash her wrath upon him.

  ‘Show me your power,’ she demanded suddenly, watching him expectantly.

  Kayn felt some of the numbness leave him, his body lighter all of a sudden, as if a curse
had been lifted momentarily.

  ‘I... I have no powers,’ he faltered.

  Her eyes shone dangerously. Then, without warning, one of the ornaments detached itself from the wall and hurled itself across the room, smashing to smithereens on the opposite wall.

  ‘I have no powers,’ Kayn croaked, feeling the oppressive weight return, the numbness.

  ‘You are the master of time,’ she hissed, pointing at him as if cursing him with those words.

  The master of time.

  The words ran inside his mind, looking for something to connect with, a thought perhaps, or a memory. But they found nothing.

  He looked at her, confused.

  The Incantatrix circled him like a predator, studying him, her mouth a tight small line in her face. Kayn was paralysed, breathing heavily. And yet, despite his fear, he found himself transfixed by the beauty of the Incantatrix, and by the untold madness that emanated from her every pore. She seemed to sense this and at once her face darkened with evil, her eyes turning shades darker.

  Kayn wondered if he was going to die there and then, but the Incantatrix turned away from him and walked back to the middle of the room, where she sat upon the floor with her legs crossed, facing him, her chin in her hands.

  For the first time, he realised that he could feel his hands again. Heavy beads of perspiration ran down his forehead and dripped like rain on to the floor, but he felt lighter and able to shift his body where he sat. He had no doubt she was somehow manipulating him with her power, and yet he felt in awe of this creature that held him in the extremes of terror and fascination, like a caged animal, trapped and yet, for some unfathomable reason, unwilling to escape.

  ‘Then it’s true what the gypsies tell me,’ she said, finally.

  Kayn stared at her, feeling his hands and legs warming as the blood circulated and his fear subsided.

  ‘You do not have memories,’ she said.

  He nodded, flexing his hands, disturbed by the strange look on her face.