Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls

by Chris Ward

  ‘Who wishes this?’ Sylvion replied only half aware.

  ‘It is no one we know,’ said Clarynda. He is a passing monk or some such, but he is insistent that he be allowed to enter. He seems harmless enough; I thought you would permit it.’

  Sylvion nodded but did not look around.

  ‘I have no objections Clarynda if he is quick, for I cannot now bear to enter into idle conversation with one I do not know.’

  Clarynda left and Sylvion sat and waited for some time before thinking that the visitor should have entered.

  The monk had arrived without a sound for his footsteps left no print in the dirt. He stood by Rema’s body on the opposite side to Sylvion who suddenly became aware of his presence and jumped.

  ‘How did you get so close without me knowing?’ She demanded more in shock than anger. ‘I did not hear you enter?’

  The cowled man did not speak but looked at her with such friendly warm eyes that Sylvion felt a wonderful peace surround her fractured heart.

  ‘You have been preoccupied perhaps,’ he said. ‘You have not noticed that this man is sleeping. He is not dead.’

  Sylvion shook her head. ‘No my friend he is dead. He died many spans ago, in the late noon, and now it must be the new day. You are mistaken.’ She was a little irritated now for she had no energy left to dispute what was obvious to all.

  Could he not just pay his respects and leave them alone?

  The man ignored her and lent over Rema and spoke clearly as if to him.

  ‘And now let us see about this arrow.’

  Sylvion was suddenly transfixed. Her heart was immediately pounding against her chest and intuitively she knew that what seemed clear before her was about to change, and despite her exhaustion and distracted thoughts she held her breath and watched the man without further protestation.

  He took the arrow in his left hand and without a sound or any show of force pulled it straight out of Rema’s body in one easy motion. Sylvion gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

  He bent low over Rema’s face and spoke in a strange tongue which had no harsh sounds or strange inflections. The words seemed to flow like a stream of crystal clear water without any break and yet each word was placed perfectly by those that came before or followed.

  Sylvion froze, for Rema’s eyes opened and his chest shook slightly as if his heart was once more beating in his breast. She could not move, for to look upon such an impossible thing had paralysed her completely. Her mind could not accept that the dead could be restored, and yet Rema was breathing and looking up into the eyes of the monk-like man who smiled and chuckled loudly.

  ‘You see my dear he was sleeping, as I said?’

  But she knew he had been lost to the world of men and only returned by some power which was beyond any understanding.

  A wave of revelation swept upon Sylvion and she spoke as though prompted by a deeper wisdom.

  ‘You are Mentor, the one of whom Rema spoke.’ It was a statement whispered in deepest awe, which needed no confirmation and the cowled man turned back to Rema, and placed his right hand over his heart.

  ‘You are healing now Rema Bowman, the wound is lessening and you will have but a small scar to remind you of this, the last arrow to fall. He placed the shaft by Rema’s side. ‘You hear me but speech and movement will take a little time. Lie peacefully now and rejoice that life is yours once more. Do not neglect to settle the matter of which we spoke, for there is one who hurts much and needs your love. Well done. All Revelyn owes you a great debt.’

  He stood purposefully and walked around the recovering Rema. He stopped before Sylvion who could not yet speak. She gazed upon him enthralled as he spoke directly to her in a voice which might command the largest army or comfort a tiny child.

  ‘You also have done well Sylvion Greyfeld. Revelyn needs you now. Do not turn from what your heart tells you for thus far it has spoken truly. Do not let Zelfos live. You have the right to take his life, indeed if he lives all still might be lost.’ These words bored into Sylvion’s mind and so possessed her for a time that it was near a span before she realised that the tent was empty once more save for her and Rema who now moved a little and turned his head toward her.

  Their eyes met and this was enough for a very long time.

  Finally Sylvion came and stood beside Rema and with her help he was able to sit up and found his strength returned.

  ‘You have been on a journey Rema, ‘Sylvion whispered and held his hands in hers.

  He smiled and nodded his head. ‘Indeed, and almost I did not return.’

  ‘You died for me,’ Sylvion said quietly. ‘Rema I thank you for this. I cannot repay such a debt.’

  ‘And I expect no repayment,’ Rema replied gently, and then, surrounded by the fading candlelight, and overcome with emotions beyond any mortal understanding, they embraced in tears and let that moment be sufficient for all that remained unsaid.

  And yet even in that most tender of moments when such a wondrous deed had been performed, Sylvion felt the coldness in her heart, lying there in wait to spring upon her and destroy other things beside all that had been lost thus far.

  *

  The return to Ramos, capital of Revelyn was a magnificent spectacle, but one full of great apprehension and no little fear for all the people of that ancient city. Commander Leander had been allowed freedom to arrange matters under the ever watchful eye of Reigin. To prepare the city officials he had dispatched three riders with specific orders and had sent off several carriaves from the small store of the specially trained bird which always travelled with the king and his army. This was all done the morning after Rema’s miraculous revival which had been celebrated by all within the small army who had stood against the king. Though none understood what had come to pass, they could not deny their eyes, and the rumour spread that Rema had not died but fallen into a deep unconsciousness such that his body did not cool, but no pulse or breath could be felt. In short, they wrongly believed Rema had never truly died.

  Sylvion did not expend great energy trying to convince people to the contrary, for she knew that in such matters they would believe what they would. She knew the truth, and a few others as well, such as Elder Anderlorn of the Edenwhood, and those who had survived the battle of the Vaudim. Her tale of the mysterious monk called Mentor, or El-Arathor to some, rang true to their ears, and great were their celebrations.

  The journey back to Ramos had taken many days for they travelled slowly. Sylvion wished to allow the King’s army time to return to their barracks, and the people of the capital time to prepare for what she knew must be a great challenge between two forces who claimed rightful access to the throne, and one upon which their future rested. Lord Petros had remained a prisoner, under close guard by Scion and Ofeigr. He had been allowed a small tent and his steward. His hands were bound each day as they rode, but at night he was allowed more freedom. He did not speak much and as each day passed he slipped more deeply into a dark mood from which he rarely roused.

  His first meeting with Rema, his true brother was witnessed by none, and Rema said nothing of it to any other beside Sylvion. It seemed that the fallen Lord Petros could not yet face the terrible deed which he had committed in slaying the one for whom he had once yearned to find. That Rema had not died in the end had not greatly soothed his soul, but Sylvion thought perhaps it allowed him some excuse to think on other things such as how he might retain his throne, for his mind turned to this again and again as if to prevent any deeper thought, or remorse.

  Zelfos was chained at all times and watched closely by the Highlanders. He did not speak and none inquired of his welfare, so it was unknown to all that as the days passed his voice slowly returned and by the time the party reached Ramos he knew that in some manner he could make himself understood. This alone had been his comfort on that long and lonely trip south; but he was a creature who had no need of others and his evil thoughts and schemes wrapped him in a blanket of empty self belief. All he now desired
was for the final confrontation with the Royal Sceptre. This he knew would force his enemies to defeat, and allow his damaged plan to be once more put back on course.

  Rema had searched desperately but in vain for Serenna’s body amongst the fallen on the battlefield. He questioned all he could find of those who were present when the Highlanders had swept from the forest and destroyed the king’s food supplies and water. Not a few remembered her, for at his offer she had worn Rema’s wonderful cloak and its magic had saved her more than once from a savage blow to the back. Rema witnessed the burn wounds which her attackers suffered because of it; but none could say they saw her fall, and it was by then too late to search further, for many new graves had been dug and filled with no clear memory of who laid where.

  He had stood where so many had been buried, friend and foe alike and wept for his dear friend and felt the loss all the more keenly, for he sensed that Sylvion too was in some way lost to him.

  ‘I will miss you Serenna,’ he had whispered to the cold evening air that last night of their encampment, as a fell mist from the forest drifted all about, ‘I learnt too late of your love, and who I am and where I came from. Lie still now where the mighty Equin have fallen, and all those who have died with valour upon these fields, and I will remember you all my days.’

  And with that he had departed the sad plains below the Vaudim Mountain and travelled sorrowfully with others of a heavy heart back toward Ramos and the final settling of the future of Revelyn.

  *

  As the group rode slowly south and west toward the capital, there were many opportunities for reflection and conversation on recent amazing events and the battles and their aftermath. It was during such a time that Ofeigr told his story.

  The Edenwhood rode majestically as a flanking guard, their foot soldiers effortlessly able to maintain pace throughout each long day. At the centre rode Sylvion and Rema and others who had made a name for themselves by surviving the battle of Vaudim. These highlanders escorted Zelfos, whilst Scion and Ofeigr in turns led the horse of the captured king Lord Petros, Rema’s brother. Reigin watched over Leander whose wounds were healing slowly although his leg was black and inflamed where Rema’s arrow had sliced it to the bone. He seemed unconcerned and in fact both Sylvion and Rema detected in the huge man a relief that he no longer answered to Petros and the sorcerer Zelfos.

  This day Ofeigr was beside Rema and Sylvion, and without notice, as though compelled by some deeper force he began to speak.

  ‘Refr was well named,’ he started quietly, ‘for he is a fox at heart; cunning and always a league ahead of others. At least he seemed that way to me. He is two summers older, and that meant much when we were young and I was tormented by ones who lived for the joy of such things. Refr kept me safe and I loved him for it then.’ Ofeigr spoke with a sadness in his voice which disappeared the longer he talked. Sylvion, and Rema in particular were captivated by his tone and a tale which seemed such a missing piece to the bigger puzzle which had engulfed them all.

  ‘I had seen twelve summers when the raiders came and slew your parents Rema. They took you alive, and something in Refr died then. Inside his cunning turned hard and cold like ice; where once he was noble, now his hurtful plans seemed over-vengeful and many suffered at his hand. I alone stood by him for I owed him much.

  Ofeigr paused and looked across at the fallen king who rode in a private world, oblivious to the tale which was told of him, and as if some small madness had possessed him his lips never ceased to softly whisper incoherent words of far off thoughts.

  ‘I had a sister.’ Ofeigr continued. ‘Santira was her name. Whilst we youths were measured in summers, she was one of the few in whom others saw only autumns, as if she were a fallen leaf, a victim of her own making from birth. She was eight autumns old when Refr died inside; six summers short of his cunning ways. She was so very beautiful, and as I grew she became my closest friend for Refr could not offer the warmth of true caring. He was a fighter. She, Santira was soft and tender, both innocent and wise beyond her years. Much later Rema, when you had long passed into a fog in my memory, for you were but two summers at your capture... much later, Santira looked upon Refr and was entranced at his manliness. I feared for her but she could see no wrong in him and if she did, believed that she could change it for the better.’

  Rema saw Ofeigr’s jaw work hard to keep his feelings in check, and the tale was halted for a time as they rode on in silent contemplation.

  ‘For many summers Refr saw her only as a child, but then Santira became a woman, and all agreed, the most beautiful in the islands. Many came to see if she might smile upon them but she had eyes only for Refr, and he knew it, and slowly gained a control over her which I hated more than the love with which I had loved him, for all he had done for me in seasons past. Santira spoke of gaining his love as though it were a precious dream. Refr only talked to me of the weakness of women, and feelings which allowed them to be conquered with hardly a regret.’

  Ofeigr took a deep breath before continuing his increasingly tortured tale.

  ‘I have since cursed myself for not slaying Refr then, in secret. So many nights I have lain awake and planned what I should have done, but of course I was a coward then and the name I now bear had not been given.’

  Rema thought he saw a tear upon Ofeigr’s face but with a quick movement of a hand it was gone.

  ‘She was in her seventeenth autumn when he took her. He gave her lust, she hoped for love. And when it was done the passion of his desire was only outweighed by his loathing of her, such that he would not speak to her or answer when she sort him out in tears. I saw it all and did nothing. Santira wept in my arms at his cruelty. I had no answer except that my heart finally grew cold toward Refr.’

  Ofeigr did not speak for some time. Rema was about to ask him to continue when he did so.

  ‘I found her hanging from a tree in the forest. She had been missing for a day and I knew she might have gone to her favourite place, where an ancient oak stood by a stream and the air was always full of the perfume of wildflowers. I did not know then that this was the place that he took her, the place where he had defiled her. He told me this himself later when in a desperate anger I confronted him, the last time we ever spoke, till recent days in the Vaudim. He laughed about it, and I cursed him.’

  And now there were tears on Ofeigr’s face and his chest heaved mightily with the great emotion which he had bourn there for so long a time.

  ‘So I lost two friends and became friendless to all. I lived with a bitter anger which Refr grew to fear and as the summers passed we kept well apart although in battle several times we found each other killing the Norz invaders. I had at last learnt to fight for I had nothing left to lose and so I was named Ofeigr, for I even out did Refr in my dealing death to those who came to our shores with easy plunder on their minds.’

  At this point Sylvion asked gently. ‘What meaning is there in this name my friend?’ But it was Rema who answered, for he remembered.

  ‘It is a name well given for it means not cowardly, and he has shown this to be true.’

  Ofeigr did not give any indication that he had heard this short interruption to his story, and continued.

  ‘Refr suddenly disappeared one day and much later I heard tales from the mainland that one named Petros had become king in Revelyn. I knew it was Refr for he had long spoken of his desire to be called this, his second name, and be a light to others. He claimed he left to look for you Rema, but that was just an idea long dead, or at least I believed it so. He went looking for power and control and by some fate he found it. I swore that one day I would be avenged for his cruel dealings with Santira, but as the summers past my passion cooled until by another fate you returned to the Island and I saw my chance to finally end this matter which has cursed my life and held me in thrall to such a bitter anger and hatred. I tell you now that I was going to slay him then, in the Vaudim. I had him there as I had long dreamed and planned; helpless at the point of my
arrow.’

  Ofeigr paused and smiled, and with a mighty sigh looked over at where the king Petros, Refr rode in his strange and lonely world. He continued then.

  ‘But I saw that his death at my hand was not the revenge I really wanted, and his life ongoing, living with the knowledge of what he has done and the loss which he must now face, will be all the revenge I need. I can let Santira rest now for she would want this.’

  With a final deep breath Ofeigr seemed to breathe more freely.

  ‘I am now free at last.’ These were his final words, and without as a glance toward Sylvion or Rema, but with sudden spur to his horse he rode off to take the reins of Petros’ horse from Scion, and so he rode on, leading the one for whom he had held such hatred, and once such love, and now such victory and therefore release.

  Rema and Sylvion did not speak but each thought many thoughts, and of the two Rema felt the deepest sadness, for his brother was his enemy and his family lost in death and shame.

  *

  Anderlorn led them all into the city. Sylvion had desired that the Edenwhood would have that honour for they had given much. The Elder rode with his sword Anderwyn drawn and held before him, the mighty blade gleaming powerfully in the morning sun. The huge Scythercat which bore him did so effortlessly, and so the people of Ramos who lined the streets in anxious fear and trepidation were cowed to silence by this show of might and regal power. Many lined the cobbled streets and lanes and watched in wonder as the small army entered by the Royal Gate and made their way slowly up toward the White Palace where Leander, who had arrived with Reigin a day before, had organised for all the city officials to be waiting in the public hall where King Petros once sat and ruled so hatefully.

  Sylvion Greyfeld rode Lightfoot at the rear, her appearance beautiful but a simple humility surrounded her progress, whilst her horse seemed little more than a pony beside the many scythercats which led the way. Before her went the captives Petros and Zelfos and all who looked upon them felt fear, for they had once been so powerful and now another had claimed the throne. Surely they would be far worse, for only a greater evil could have seized these two in battle.