by Colin Taber
Sef and Marco hesitated with embarrassment.
I laughed. “I think we're beyond polite niceties, please, there’s nowhere else for us to speak.” The two men looked to each other before finally sitting down. In the meantime I pulled across a stool for Baruna. She gestured for me to take it, but I waved her offer away. I felt the need to pace.
Sef said, “So where do we begin?”
I looked from him to Baruna and Marco. “Well, we've all met this day, but neither Sef nor I know much about yourselves. Why don’t you share with us how you came to be here?”
Shyly, Baruna looked to each of us, her nerves showing.
Marco offered, “I’ll go first if you’d like?”
Baruna shook her head. “Please, I need to tell my story, and now that I’m given the chance I feel I have to grab it.”
Marco nodded.
She took a deep breath. “My life started simply enough. I was raised by my family, large and loving, deep in the valleys where we lived in a poor farming hamlet.” And her eyes softened along with her nerves. “You know the sort, it struggling on amidst the ruins of an old and abandoned mining town. There wasn't a lot of good land up that way, just slivers alongside the river, but it was enough. Besides, those abandoned towns might have run out of silver and been poor in farmland, but they’re still rich in one thing; well-crafted buildings. Mining towns grow quickly and die faster, but while they live their hearts know how to beat. Those old stone halls, taverns, and merchant houses just sit there waiting for families to come and warm them.
“When my family arrived there a few generations back they managed to settle into one of the larger buildings that needed some work. It was a great home, solid against the valley winters, and one envied by many of our neighbours after we’d re-roofed and mended it.
“It’s much the same across the Northcountry; hundreds of poor farming villages, some born-again mining settlements, and a few small towns – all there to serve this city’s hungry markets.”
She smiled with her memories. “Growing up in such a place, in our big stone hall, surrounded by terraced fields while tending our goats was a blessing.”
She paused to look at each of us, her eyes now sharp; she was going to share her pain. “But, it ended.
“One summer, my grandmother took sick with a fever, it wasted her body and filled her lungs. She died after a long season of agony, one where the sickness seemed to peak and then fade, only to come back stronger before finally dragging her away. Yet the fever hadn’t finished with us. My twin brothers and mother also fell ill. They tried to fight it off, but also failed. It left my father, a brother, and myself to bury them.
“We couldn't handle our land, not when we were down four sets of hands. It became a struggle, one that drained us. All the while our neighbours, who might have otherwise helped, had begun to shy away; the local priest had spread rumours about us.”
I asked, “What did he say?”
“He said my grandmother dabbled in the old ways, in green witchery. He even suggested that she’d ruled over our household and conducted rituals to win our family favour.”
Sef cursed; as Flets in Ossard we'd all seen the hard face of the Church.
Baruna said, “Some of our friends told us of his words – and others.”
“What others?” I asked.
“Our home had an unused wing that we’d walled off inside its wide and high roofed frame. It was huge, almost like a small noble's house, and the most impressive building in the village. Some said the priest wanted it to use as a new home, and the vacant wing as a church.”
Marco said, “There was a time when I'd thought the men of Krienta were noble and just...”
Baruna snapped, but not at Marco, “Noble and just? Our priest stood as a dishonourable man. He managed to have three sons despite his vow of celibacy, all to a Flet woman who lived not as his wife, but as his slave. He offered us no help or comfort, just threats of damnation!” She stopped to calm herself.
“We relinquished some of our fields and sold some of our goats, yet we still struggled from chill dawn to cold mountain dusk.” She shook her head, her eyes glinting. Tears built there, getting ready to run.
Taking a deep breath, she continued, “A season later, when we’d settled into a new routine, my younger brother also came down sick.”
Marco sighed, but he wasn’t alone.
I asked, “The same fever?”
“Yes.”
Sef shook his head.
“It got worse. My brother died not long after, leaving my father and myself behind. The morning after we buried him, my father awoke with a chill, and by sunset was burdened by the same fever.
“The priest offered no comfort, only more whispered words of dark curses and that he'd long suspected my grandmother of heresy.
“My father’s sickness progressed quickly. He was dying, taxed by trying to manage our farm and broken by grief. A few days before the end, the priest came into our home saying it was important for my father’s salvation that he be close.
“While he waited for my father to die, he counted our goats and checked over our fields. He made me cook for him, only to berate what I served and anything else I did. Finally, as my father lost his mind to the fever over one long, last night, the priest dared sit between him and me and slide his hand into my blouse. He told me he'd need to check me for corruption.” She looked to me, fierce in her anger. “I hated him!
“Father died to leave me in a home I couldn't hope to hold. The priest never left, and his sons settled themselves in before my father was even buried. I awoke the next night to find his eldest on top of me, trying to get me with child. Through my struggles I landed a knee to his manhood, giving me a chance to flee, so I fetched my family's hidden savings and took to the road.
“I had enough coin to get to the city and try and make my way, but it wasn’t easy. Once here, people saw me as young, unmarried, and without family, thinking me a thief, whore, or runaway. They never understood or believed what had happened, and never showed any interest in wanting to. So many years have passed since then that I’ve now spent as much time in Ossard as in the valleys, yet I’m still mostly alone.
“That's the way things have gone, with me doing odd jobs to earn coin and get by. Until I saw you.” She looked to me. “Straight away I felt some kind of kinship, like you were alone too.” She fell into an embarrassed silence.
I stepped across to be beside her, putting a hand to her shoulder to offer what comfort I could. As my hand touched her, power began to flow. It passed from my soul, through my body, and into her own. The feeling made me giddy.
She smiled. A look of contentment came across her face, as if she'd slid into a warm and perfumed bath on the coldest of winter days.
I patted her shoulder again in wonder at what had just happened.
From Baruna came a feeling of thanks and trust. She had faith in me, in my care and compassion.
Marco and Sef both whispered their own thanks for sharing her tale.
She smiled anew, it something shy at first, but blooming with her natural beauty. I could also feel her spirit lighten, it euphoric with relief. Most of all she revelled in the knowledge that such lonely days were over.
I said, “Thanks, Baruna, the more we understand each other the better we can work together.” I turned to Marco. “And you, Marco, tell us how you came to be here?”
He looked about the room, his shoulders tensing as he gathered his thoughts. He began quietly, “I've lived all my life in Ossard, but also travelled much of the Northcountry as a child. My father was a merchant dealing in silks, cloth, and leathers, which he sold from the back of his cart. While he had some coin it was never enough to stop the valley rounds. He worked hard, but was always too ready to help a friend or do a special deal on a bolt for a needy widow or new bride. In the end, he was a generous man, but no Merchant Prince.” Marco looked to Baruna. “We went everywhere, so I imagine we passed through your valley and perhap
s your village.”
Her eyes showed shadow as she remembered her home. “Minehead it is. A place that births such memories is never known by a good name.”
Sef laughed, a hard and rough sound. “You’re so right! Have you ever heard of ill tidings from Paradise? It’s always the gloom of fever in Minehead, the failing of the Second Dominion of Kalraith centred in Quersic Quor, or the fall of the city-state of Ossard – also known as the Whore.”
I gave a grim smile. “It’s true, isn’t it, there’s strength in names.”
Baruna added, “And power.”
I nodded. “Yes, but let’s get back to Marco, for we can’t let Baruna's woe hang idle.“
He smiled, but it was weak.
“I'm sorry, I‘m not jesting at your expense, but so all of us can share our burdens.” I leaned forward to put a hand to his shoulder, and something passed from me to him. It was like when I’d touched Baruna.
What was happening here?
His smile filled out; he’d also felt it.
He looked up and nodded, yet waiting tears made his eyes sparkle. “Let me finish, for my story also holds something of use.”
We all nodded.
“We often travelled the length of the deep valleys, and as a young boy I used to love playing in the abandoned mining towns. I’ve seen many such places, most of them far inland and closer to the heart of the mountains. Those are of no help to us...”
I wondered at what he was saying, but then remembered Felmaradis' suggestion.
“...they’re all too cold in winter and far away. Without good preparation such a trek would be the death of us, still not all of the ruins are found in the interior’s high valleys. I can remember the roads we took and that some abandoned towns lay in the lowlands. There are four such ruins in the valleys to the north; three nestled amongst rolling hills, and the last a strange place half drowned on the coast.”
Sef asked, “Strange in what way?”
“The buildings, or what’s left of them; they’re solid and huge, and have room to shelter hundreds upon hundreds. The local shepherds keep clear of them because they believe that they’re haunted. My father wasn’t so cowed, instead he was fascinated – as were my brother and I.
“We’d camp there whenever our rounds took us near. Father thought that the ruin was old and crafted well before the silver rush and even the birth of this city. He was certain that it wasn’t worked by Heletian hands.”
Sef raised an eyebrow. “Then who?”
“My father thought that they were Lae Velsanan ruins, perhaps a fort from one of their fallen dominions. You see, the steps, windows, and doorways were all usable, but oversized for people like you and me.”
The story was intriguing. I was also certain that he was talking about the same site Felmaradis had suggested.
Marco continued, “Only a few shepherds live on those wind-blasted hills with little protection from the squalls that blow in from the sea. Anyway, we can talk more of it later.”
And we would; it sounded interesting.
Marco went on, “I had a good childhood. I helped my father on his rounds and was happy. Eventually I left his business to him and my older brother, knowing that my sibling planned to fill it with his own children.
“I went on to work as a tailor, and sometimes even as a merchant myself. I made some coin, never much, but enough, and then I met someone and fell in love.” And a tear slipped from his eye.
“That was Atalia, a lovely woman, and one who tried so hard to keep me happy.” He shook his head. “Well, we married and built our lives together, and then waited for the coming of children to complete our family.
“That wait went on, stretching through the seasons and into the years. It left us with nothing to show for it despite all our love and efforts. Our local priest offered to pray with us and happily took our coin in return for blessings, but in the end, after spending a small fortune, we still had nothing but our unfulfilled dreams.
“We resigned ourselves to our fate, but then she...” and his voice broke, only to return hoarse a moment later, “...but then she told me that she was expecting.” His hands trembled in his lap.
“She seemed so well as she carried through that first season. She’d had some sickness, but she took herbs for it and used balms on her spreading skin...” he stopped again as his words trailed off. After a deep breath he said, “I'd never known such happiness, yet my feelings were eclipsed the day she took my hand and put it to her belly so I could feel our babe kick.” He shook his head in wonder.
“Our neighbours, a young couple, also came to be expecting. So, as is the way of things, her husband and I talked of raising sons while the women talked of daughters. Amidst the chat of babies and such my wife shared some of her balms and a brew for morning sickness, something she’d bought in the port from an Evoran herbalist.
“Alas, for their household, it wasn't to be. After only a season the babe slipped from our neighbour's womb. It made things awkward between us.
“For Atalia and I, all seemed well until five days ago. My wife had begun to have dreams, strange dreams, dreams that showed her a sanctuary that was unknown to her. She told me of it even though we both thought it just some sort of fancy. She described it as a gorge with its sides greened by ledges that stepped down into the soil’s depths. More greenery could be found about a beautiful pool at the bottom, something bubbling with mist and heat.” He looked at us as he shook his head. “I'm not doing it justice, she made it sound wonderful.”
I stared at him, all the while trying to soften my gaze.
How’d his wife shared my dream, for I needed to hear no more to know that she’d seen the same fern-forested place?
Sef asked, “And then the city began to give into chaos?”
He nodded. “Our home and our lives seemed peaceful enough despite the changes swirling about. Whispers of the new saints came, of course, then the extra kidnappings, and then the arrival of the Inquisition. Through it all our home remained a place of calm.” He looked to me and said, “We were in the square when your husband and daughter were taken. We saw it, all of it, and cried out and mourned with the crowd.”
I nodded, but kept quiet, not wanting my own misfortune to distract from his recount.
“That night we went home as the criers declared the Inquisitor our saviour, yet sleep came hard, but not just because of the chaos: It was Atalia, she was restless and close to birthing. Still, eventually, we both drifted off.
“I awoke not long before dawn to find the city quiet and Atalia dozing, but later she began to stir. She seemed upset, telling me of another dream she’d just had, insisting we needed to leave Ossard and that the only safe road would be through Newbank. She said that it had something to do with that poor lady, the Flet on the balcony who’d lost her family.
“I began to wonder if she was unwell as she just wasn’t making any sense. And that's when it happened...” Tears began to run down his cheeks.
We waited.
“The front door smashed open, it startling us against the silence of the night. I jumped out of bed to find the front room filling with men, too many to stop. Three of them grabbed me and pinned me against the wall. I called out a warning to Atalia, but I was too late; they’d already found her.
“The men who had me stared with blank faces, but I could see hate in their eyes. I asked what they wanted, but they wouldn't answer me.
“A man yelled at my beloved, so I began to struggle, causing them to beat me until I blacked out. I roused on the floor to the sounds of the same man, his voice hard as he spat his venomous charge; witch!”
Marco took a deep breath as he wiped at his tears. “I could hear Atalia cry out for me, and I answered that I was there, yet the man’s charge kept ringing in my ears.”
Witch!
“With the Inquisition in the city, we both knew what that would mean.
“I began to beg, calling out that she was innocent and heavy with child. Finally, one of t
he men watching over me hissed of witnesses. I turned to see our childless neighbours standing outside in the street, lit like shades in the dim grey before dawn.
“Atalia screamed afresh, making me struggle anew. I watched a man stride out of our room, past me, and into the street. He opened a leather pouch and showed it to our neighbours; on seeing it they nodded. He turned back to the house and called; we have it! It was Atalia’s balms and herbs.
“Atalia was led out and past me, towards the door. Grazes marked her body and tears her face, but they were nothing compared to the fear in her eyes. They had a gag about her mouth, and behind it a clove of garlic.”
Garlic; many believed it could break a witch’s spells.
“I cried out that she was innocent and had done nothing wrong, yet all they did was beat me again until I blacked out.”
He sat there and looked to each of us. “That was the last time I saw her alive.”
Sef said, “Maybe she’s alright. She could be locked up somewhere, perhaps in the Turo?”
Marco shook his head. “No, I found her later that morning. She was tied to a stake in Market Square, burning along with half a dozen others. She was already dead.”
The three of us sat in appalled silence.
His seemed accepting, but he’d barely had time to come to terms with Atalia's death. He added, “It’s a sad story, and only finished by me telling you that I returned home to find it looted and burning. My neighbours chased me away, cursing me and the bad luck I’d brought them.”
“Bad luck?” I asked.
He nodded. “At first I thought they spoke of their own lost babe, but there was more to their taunts.”
“What?”
“Something about a sickness.”
I looked to Sef. “Kurgar spoke of a rising sickness?”
Sef nodded.
Marco added, “They claimed it was from the new saints, and that only the Loyalists were falling ill with it.”
Poor Marco, I felt for him. I’d suffered and still went on suffering, but Marco’s wife and dreams of family were well and truly dead.
I stepped close to him and put my hand on his shoulder. Again something flowed between us, a kind of transfer of power. I could feel it, it running from me to him, yet it also left me sated.
