“Oh, sorry. I’ve scared you,” the young man said, and lowered his arms to his sides.
Catelyn was unsure what the man was playing at, but she wasn’t going to give him anything to work with.
“You wear that blindfold. Are you really blind?” he asked.
Still, Catelyn said nothing, but stalled to buy herself time determining the best route to get away.
“Oh Divines, how rude of me. Where’s my civility? Let’s try this again, shall we? My name is Duncan. What’s yours?”
At this change in direction, something about the young man shifted, and Catelyn focused her bubble on him now, and she could sense his genuine embarrassment and his utter lack of deception. Catelyn relaxed slightly, but not completely. She decided to offer him something, but not what he wanted.
“I’m fine. You did scare me, but I’m feeling better now.”
“Oh.” She could hear his disappointment when she hadn’t offered her name, but he continued. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”
Again, Catelyn remained silent, as she still wasn’t sure how to play this situation. Duncan continued on, as though nothing at all were unusual about this situation and they were just two people getting acquainted. Maybe he genuinely felt that way.
“I heard the commotion, so I came over to see what was happening. But you look fine now, I guess. And I can take the hint. You’d rather be alone. Sorry for...disturbing you. ” Duncan took a couple of steps back, but she could smell and hear his
disappointment as he turned away from her.
Against her own judgment, she did something that she wouldn’t have done before meeting Silena earlier this sojourn. She reached out a hand, and said “Duncan, wait. I’m sorry. I’m the one who’s been rude. Thank you for...for checking on me.”
As she spoke, she could hear his heart beat increase, his smell changed to one of excitement and he replied with genuine feeling, turning back toward her.
“I’m glad you’re alright. As you might imagine, I don’t get many...visitors. No one comes this far south,” and as he said these last words, she could hear the loneliness in his voice.
Catelyn had questions of her own, but started with the basics.
“Do you live here, Duncan?”
When Catelyn said his name, she sensed something from him, something she’d never sensed before in someone, and it was confusing. A combination of satisfaction and...pleasure?
“I do. Lived here for twelve sojourns, since, well, since my Uncle left for the Seat.”
Catelyn heard an almost imperceptible catch in his voice at the mention of his uncle, but he expertly hid it. Catelyn could imagine what “left for the Seat” really meant.
“I see. I...I used to live in the Seat.” Catelyn surprised herself with the admission, but something about Duncan was inspiring her to trust this young man, at least a little.
This time it was Duncan who was silent, and Catelyn crossed her arms, unsure what to say next and debating how much to let him know. Finally she settled on the answer and her reply was borne out of the feeling of comfort and ease that Duncan exuded.
“My name is Catelyn,” she said simply.
Catelyn pressed herself against the wall when she felt him start walking back in her direction, and she could sense his right arm raise, his hand extended. He stopped within a pace of where she stood, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him.
“Catelyn, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I have my hand out. My uncle told me it’s one of the old ways people used to greet each other. If you wanted to, you know. To shake it.” Now there was a sense of nervousness in his manner, but it was of a kind she hadn’t experienced before. The kind way he spoke and the direct way he’d tried to help her by telling her about the hand he had extended, even though she hadn’t needed the help. Of course, he couldn’t have known that.
She considered a moment, then reached out with her own right hand, slowly extending it in front of her. He helped her out, and met her hand with his own, though Catelyn wasn’t sure she trusted him enough yet to tell him she didn’t need that kind of help. His hand was warm to the touch, and although his palm was soft, unlike hers, his grip was strong.
She could feel the rest of him through that hand, could feel his pulse racing and his breathing, so closely timed to her own. She could feel her own face flush, and Catelyn felt embarrassment suddenly and withdrew her hand.
Duncan again radiated disappointment, but he quickly covered over it.
“I like your hair,” he said bluntly.
Catelyn felt a moment of panic, and checked to see if her head scarf was still in place. Duncan chuckled and told her “Don’t worry, it’s just a strand hanging down.” He reached out his hand again, and she stiffened.
He stopped then, and simply asked “May I?”
Catelyn had never expected such a question. In her world up to this point, the men she had met would have never considered something so...polite. That Duncan would ask permission, even for something so inconsequential, was refreshing. Catelyn nodded.
She felt his hand and arm coming near to her face, and time seemed to slow to a crawl as she took in this new experience. This close to her, she could smell him, the real smell that she knew was different about everyone, and it was not unpleasant. Unlike most everyone else she had ever met in the Seat, especially other men, Duncan did not smell awful and she wondered how he managed such a feat.
She almost thought to ask him, but then realized how rude that question might sound, and then he had tucked her hair up into her scarf and took a step back. She found herself irrationally wishing he had lingered, and immediately chided herself.
Fool, you know nothing about this man! she thought harshly.
“So, Catelyn,” Duncan said, her senses detecting the return of his nervousness. “Do you mind if I ask you what you were doing here? Why you were pounding on the Wall and screaming like that?”
Catelyn did panic, now.
How can I tell him even a shred of the truth, without revealing everything about me?
She opted to lie and only provide him with a vague answer, but immediately felt a sense of shame and guilt at the offense, necessary as it was.
“I was just angry, that’s all. I’m hungry, I just arrived from the Seat and I’m tired from the journey.”
Duncan listened, and she could smell his distrust at the lie. He didn’t fully believe her, clearly, but he sighed and chose not to say anything, playing along.
“Yeah, I guess I can see that. It’s not an easy trip…”
Duncan let the rest of this sentence die on his lips, and Catelyn felt her heart pounding in awkward silence.
She felt like she needed to escape this situation, before she got pulled in any further than was comfortable.
“Duncan, thank you for your concern. Really. But I’ve got to get back to where I’m...staying before it gets dark.”
Duncan sighed. More disappointment. This time, Catelyn felt badly that she was forced to be the source of that feeling in him.
“I understand. I...it was nice meeting you, Catelyn.” Catelyn could hear so much more unspoken in that simple pause, and something inside of her wanted to badly to fill it. But she knew it would never be possible.
“Thank you,” was all she said, and then she heard him back away, and walk slowly towards the alleys and buildings. And then he was gone, and she was alone, and although being alone was not a new feeling for her, she felt that absence and emptiness within her in a way that she had never felt before.
Chapter 14
Catelyn traversed up the Brunley Channel throughout the night, all of her possessions slung into the pack on her back, the exotic curved weapon in the center of it all, securely and safely stored in its slim case. She had returned from scouting the southern Wall and her encounter with Duncan by evening, and with a small sense of heartache, she packed all of her belongings and began the journey north towards the Seat. Despite the majority of her experiences in
Brunley turning out horribly, Catelyn found herself looking back to the south as she stood on the threshold of the city and the channel which led back to the Seat.
She wondered about Duncan, still marveling at his kindness and his warmth, and his clean smell. And she thought about his life there, alone. How had he managed to survive all this time? How had he held onto his kindness, clearly demonstrated to her with his words, his actions, and the subtle qualities she sensed about him through her bubble.
Catelyn wished that her circumstances had been different, and that she had been able to trust Duncan, had been able to get to know him better. For the first time in her life, Catelyn found herself fantasizing about being closer to another person in the way that adults did; about being closer to Duncan. Feeling his warm skin with her hands, and in turn feeling his strong hands on her body. She felt her body respond to those thoughts, but she fought them away, unwilling to allow them to distract her from what she needed to do and where she needed to place her focus.
And so she was racing towards the Seat, leaping over chimneys and balancing her feet along pipes and beams, looking ahead instead of behind. She was hoping to get back to the Seat before the sun rose, so that she could find a place to hide out and sleep the day away before she headed out to Belkyn on the following day.
She had to leave the Empire. Her experiences in Brunley had only reinforced the direness of her situation, and she knew that Duncan and whatever she thought of him could only ever be a fantasy. And a distracting fantasy at that.
Despite telling herself this, her heart ached the further she got from Brunley, and she fought off the urge to turn around, even if only just to hear his voice once more.
Despite everything that had happened there, all the horror and the hopelessness, leaving Brunley was harder than she could have ever imagined.
Ortis stood concealed in the shadow of an abandoned building, pacing and biting the skin from his fingertips. Whenever his nerves got the better of him, which usually only occurred in the middle of that quiet tension right before a big battle, he would begin picking at the skin on his fingers, until he had peeled off enough to take small chunks of his own flesh to chew while he worked on solving his problem. Something about the metallic tang of blood and the chewing of flesh helped him to focus and soothe his frayed nerves.
The source of his tension this time wasn’t combat. It was simply that, for the first time in his adult life, Ortis had no clear idea of what in the Void he was doing. He wasn’t even sure who he was anymore. He didn’t know why, but during the last span, from the moment he had first glimpsed the mysterious thief with the red hair and blindfold, his entire world had come apart at the seams.
That experience, for reasons he could not understand, had jarred something inside of him, and he felt as though he were simultaneously stinking drunk and completely sober. Drunk because he felt as though the mere sight of that frail girl in the alley had placed him under some sort of spell and his own mind was not his own. And sober because whatever it was about her that had so affected him, he knew clearly that she was important to him in a way that he had never experienced before.
He knew only one thing clearly; he needed to find the girl. To help her. He honestly had no idea why he felt this way, and frustratingly, how he was going to accomplish this. Only that he must.
Nothing in his life had ever made more sense than this realization.
He fully acknowledged that it was quite likely that he had finally gone insane.
Do insane men know they’re insane? he wondered.
Insanity would explain much, but something inside of him told him that this was not true. It stared him squarely in the face. Ortis had never believed in the Divines, had never thought much of things like fate, destiny or a higher purpose. Oh, he had played at such games for much of his life, particularly to placate Uriel, who was a strong believer in those things. But he had done so explicitly so that he could share in the grand visions of his former lover.
In his heart, Ortis had never seen any kind of grand purpose or design.
It is simply the world, and I took from it what I wished.
He had always been content to let Uriel dictate their purpose as well, charting their course according to his belief in his own destiny. But now, faced with this new experience, Ortis was beginning to question those views.
He could feel certainty about this new purpose of his deep inside, far down in his bones.
After the fire had guttered out the night of the Purge, he had abandoned his men without a word, going off to think by himself. He had wandered the streets of the Seat, unheeding of the looks from the citizens of the Seat that were thrown his way. He knew those looks well.
Fear. Despair. Horror. Pain. Disgust. Hate.
The hate was the most palpable of all. Abject loathing, buried deeply, but Ortis saw it. Uriel only ever saw the fear. Likely because it aroused and intoxicated him, blinding him from seeing beyond it. But Ortis knew how the citizens of the Seat truly felt, full of hatred so deep down that they might not even know it was there.
The Emperor fed upon fear, but that was an emotion that Ortis no longer experienced. In fact, as he wandered the streets, a sudden wash of another emotion flowed into him and he stumbled. He fell to his knees in the grime and the dirt, weeping and crying out as passers by ran into their homes and shut up their doors and windows, trying to block out this display from a man who most knew on sight, but one who people only saw right before their own painful and imminent deaths.
And just as suddenly as the tears and the wailing had overtaken him, a wave of laughter followed close behind. He laughed out loud, and then laughed even more when he stopped to consider what the people in the homes nearby must be seeing. What must they be thinking, as they peered out from behind their curtains and the cracks of doors.
Here, kneeling in the street, was the Emperor’s most trusted officer. The man with a dozen names, earned in the most violent of ways throughout the sojourns. The Butcher. The Brutal One. The Purger.
The Living Death, kneeling in the muck, weeping and laughing like a small child.
Ortis was sure that word of this episode would reach Uriel before the span was over, but he no longer cared.
He couldn’t begin to understand why exactly he found himself alone in the street, uncontrollably alternating between weeping and laughing like a madman, but he was beginning to understand what to call it: Guilt.
Shame.
In that moment, when he finally named the source of his distemper, he acutely felt the pain of every life he had ever taken. Every life he had ruined. Every life he had devastated. Decades of crimes flooded into him in that instant, each one bubbling up from somewhere in his mind, and he relived them all. Their pain. Their anguish. Their fear. It washed over him like a flood, and it was unbearable.
Ortis had taken his short blade from its sheath then, baring the blade and laying it against his throat. He felt it bite into his skin, and the warmth of his blood beginning to slide over his fingers and down the front of his hardened leather doublet.
He wished to die. He wished to experience the most painful end he could possibly imagine, and he sought it out. He took the blade from his throat and laid it instead against his abdomen. A single thrust would empty his innards upon the dirtcovered street, and he would bleed out in agony, taking several horrible prayers to die.
But he held his hand, and the blade shook as some inner war raged on inside him.
Something inside stopped him. He felt a calling. An urge to do something more with his life before he met his end. It was something to do with the girl. And it was strong. Stronger even than the pull he’d felt from the Emperor those many sojourns ago.
It wasn’t redemption that he sought. As he kneeled with his sword pressed into his belly, he knew that he deserved to die a thousand times for what he had done in his life. But something in him refused to consider his own death, not until after he had done this thing.
He still did
n’t know what that was, but he knew it was critical, and that was when he had begun to believe.
And with that certainty, his pain disappeared and he was able to stand and gather his wits about him. The first thing he had done was to put some distance between himself and the Emperor. Uriel would execute him without hesitation for his betrayal. But Ortis had earned enough loyalty and favors over the sojourns that it would be some time until Uriel realized that he was missing, and before the rest of the Empire would be alerted to his treason. Still, he would need to move fast.
He’d used his connections to go underground, and disappeared into the slums of the Seat, exploiting his knowledge of Imperial strengths and tactics to establish a place to live and gather the resources he would need until he could track down the girl. In truth, he had another, more permanent bolt hole to go to ground in if he ever needed it, but he wanted to save that until he ran out of options. He established a new look for himself, acquiring a set of ragged clothing and a hooded cloak, and taking inspiration from the girl, he bought a scarf to wrap around his nose and mouth. Not even the Emperor would recognize him, enough they were standing close enough to kiss.
But as Ortis settled into his new situation, he grew increasingly frustrated and impatient, and spent many of the following days and nights either walking the streets, looking for any trace of the girl, or pacing back and forth in the abandoned building where he slept, trying to remember the details of that night for any clue as to her location.
It was a chance encounter that sparked him to think about things differently, and that finally led him to following a solid lead. He had been stalking through the streets in his disguise early in the morning, thinking about the girl’s direction as she’d moved away from the Dane’s estate, trying to extrapolate where she might have gone, when suddenly he felt a light brushing against his leg, and caught sight of a young boy scampering away down an alley without looking back. Ortis, wary, felt at his belt and confirmed what he had suspected: his coin purse was gone.
Bloodfire (The Sojourns of Rebirth) Page 26
