EXILED: Lord of Cragsclaw

by Bill Fawcett

  “I have promised to talk of revenge,” she said. Morian did not answer.

  “You have been through more than anyone should,” Sruss struggled. “But your pain need not go unpunished. If you help us, we can find the mrem who abused you. When we do, we will exact justice.”

  For a long time Morian sat silent. Her eyes stared relentlessly at the whitefur, and her face betrayed no emotion whatever. When at last she spoke, her voice was cold, tinged with the disgust of a victim to one who cannot possibly understand.

  “Justice?” she said. “What does that mean?”

  Sruss nodded. “I am the Dancer, and I can perform the Dance of Truth. When I do that, the gods will tell us what the proper justice must be.”

  Morian’s voice grew colder. “You will dance for my justice?” she intoned. “Shall I sing to help you? Or can you summon the gods by yourself?”

  Sruss easily caught the mockery. “I can’t promise for the gods, Morian. But I can promise justice. All we have to do is find the mrem who raped you.”

  “More than one raped me, Dancer,” came the toneless reply. “Would you have us fight all of them?”

  Sruss flinched. This wasn’t working. Morian was in deep pain, and she didn’t need vague promises of justice. What she wanted was revenge, if she wanted anything at all. Maybe all she really wanted was to die.

  “All right,” she blurted out. “We will kill them when we find them. That is the revenge we will give you.”

  Again Morian stared. “They did not kill me,” she said. “Why would you show them mercy?”

  “Would we be right to torture them?” Sruss held up extended claws and twisted her hand in a killing stroke.

  “Were they right to torture me?”

  “That’s not the point.” Sruss’s voice was angry, but even that didn’t spur Morian into showing emotion.

  “They are males, Dancer,” she said. “They cannot know the pain they have given me. They cannot know what it means to be terrified, and hated, and spat on, and penetrated over and over and over again. They cannot know of their power to tear love from a soul forever. Nothing you can do to them will make them feel what it is to lose forever the trust you have known since birth. Can you teach them that, Dancer? Can your Dance of Justice make them understand?”

  No tears ran from her eyes.

  “No,” was all Sruss could say.

  “Then what will be my revenge?”

  “We will kill them,” muttered the Dancer. “It is not enough, but it is all we can do.”

  Morian nodded. “Do what you must,” she said. “To me they mean nothing, dead or alive. Do not feel your revenge is meant for me.” She paused. “Leave me, Dancer. I have heard what you have come to say.”

  Sruss said nothing. She simply stood up and left.

  “I WILL TALK to her,” Talwe declared as he paced the width of Orrintar’s hut. “We were mated for over a year. She will listen to me.”

  “No,” Sruss returned. “She will not speak, Talwe. Don’t try it.”

  The hunter glared at her. “We can’t simply leave her,” he said. “Who knows what she’ll do?”

  Orrintar cut in softly. “What would you have her do, Talwe?” he asked. “Should she travel with you and the Dancer, wherever the two of you decide to go? Whatever has passed, you cannot remain here.” He paused. “Have you even thought about where you will go next?”

  Talwe looked at Sruss. “I wanted to come here,” he muttered to Orrintar, “From here we were going east. Through the mountains.”

  “To Cragsclaw,” Sruss announced.

  Orrintar started. “Cragsclaw?” he asked. “Before I heard little of that castle, even though its lord oversees these lands. But I heard the raiders mention it more than once.”

  “The raiders?” Sruss interrupted. “What did they say?”

  “I caught less than I wanted,” replied the other. “But I heard the dark-cloak say they could move on Cragsclaw only when winter was in the mountains. They said that winter would allow them to lay siege.”

  Talwe stepped to the door of the hut. Drawing back the hide that covered the opening, he breathed in deeply. The night air was clear and fresh, but it was also cold. Not the bitter cold of winter yet, but cooler than he liked. In the mountains the air would be colder still. The Harvest had been early. So, it seemed, would the snow. Within a month the passes would be closed and the way to Cragsclaw blocked.

  “We will go to Cragsclaw,” he said as he turned. “There we will help with the siege. Even if we die, we will die for Morian’s pain.”

  Sruss looked at the floor. “What good will that do her?” she questioned. “She does not love you, Talwe, because she does not love at all. But you owe it to her to stay alive. She may not heal, but if she does, you must be alive for her.” Her voice was calm, but Talwe heard its demanding tone.

  “I owe her the death of those who raped her,” he spat and extended his claws. “That is all I owe, but it is everything I promise. If those godforsaken highlanders go to Cragsclaw, I wish to be there when they arrive.”

  Orrintar put a hand on his shoulder. “You are only one, Talwe,” he said. “Against a band that large you can do nothing. Nor do you know anything about fighting a siege. You are not needed in Cragsclaw.”

  “I don’t care!” he shouted. “I will go where I want.”

  “Then you go without me,” Sruss responded calmly. “I no longer wish to go to Cragsclaw.”

  Talwe quieted. “Where will you go?” he asked.

  “To Ar,” she said. “Perhaps to Surisa and Eiritu. I, too, will seek Morian’s vengeance, but I can’t do anything without help. I will try to persuade the king of Ar to send an army to Cragsclaw.”

  Sighing, Talwe sat down. She was right, of course. With the help of an army, they could do much more than could one hunter by himself. They could help defend against the siege, or if they arrived late perhaps they could break the siege. Calmly, he muttered, “Yes. That is wiser.”

  Sruss laughed softly. “We don’t know that yet,” she said. “The king might do nothing. But it is the only chance I see.”

  Orrintar cut in. “There are others,” he suggested. “Mrem in the highlands, mrem in the other villages. Pass by as many dwellings as you can, Talwe, on your way to the southwest and to Ar. Tell them your story, and tell them of Morian. You might find help where you do not expect it.”

  “That’s true,” Sruss nodded. “And we might find another Morian. The raiders have done harm to villages besides this one.”

  Convinced, Talwe stood and asked, “Do you know a name I might give?” he asked. “Who were these raiders?”

  “I heard many names,” Orrintar replied. “But I remember only a few.” He was silent for a moment, lost in thought. Then he looked at the Dancer and said, “The magician was called Cwinyd,” he said. “And often the names of Arklier and the ClanMrem were spoken.”

  “Who was the leader?” Sruss asked. “Who took Morian for his own?”

  Orrintar’s eyes filled with tears. “He should have no name,” the elder stumbled. “But his mrem called him Crethok.”

  Cwynid, Arklier and Crethok, Talwe thought. I will not forget.

  •

  That night, Talwe did not sleep. A few times he dozed, but whenever he did his dreams terrified him. They were of Crethok, whose face he saw as the face of a liskash, and of a young, sand-furred magician who stood at the highlander’s side.

  On the floor, in front of them both, Morian kept screaming and waving her arms. Her fur was covered with blood and her tail torn. Crethok’s liskash snout tore into one of her ears. Talwe tried to stop him, but found he had no legs and could not move.

  Long before the dawn, the hunter stood up and walked to the door of the hut. Orrintar slept in the opposite corner; Sruss lay on heavy furs in the middle. To reach the door he had to ste
p over the Dancer, but he was careful and did not wake her.

  The night was cold. A swift wind sang through the tall grasses. Talwe breathed deeply to wake himself up, then spat on the ground and turned toward the far end of the village. He wondered if Morian was awake.

  “I must see her,” he muttered to himself. “I can’t leave without trying.” With long, silent strides, quieter by far than the sound of the wind, he strode toward the hut that had once been his home.

  Within, a candle glowed softly. Its light was faint, but in the darkness of the cold autumn night it seemed to the hunter a guide, a beacon, a star in the sky. It led him, he knew, to a place he must go, but he knew just as well that the flame, or place, held no warmth.

  He shivered with the thought.

  Stepping to the bunda hide that covered the door to the hut, he reached out and prepared to draw it back. But suddenly he heard a noise from inside the hut, and he drew back his arm and stood perfectly still. From within he heard Morian, her voice a combination of whispers and soft moans.

  He pulled the hide back just enough to see. Peering through the tiny opening, he saw Morian lying naked on her bed. She seemed asleep, but her mouth moved in whispers and from her throat issued the moans he had heard from outside. With her hands she began to explore her own body, softly at first, then firmly, then roughly, until at last her fists hammered down on her thighs and her breasts. And then tears flowed freely from her eyes.

  “No,” she said aloud, but still her fists beat down.

  “You have no choice,” a male voice said. Talwe started. Morian was alone.

  She began to sob. “But I hurt,” she whimpered. “Please let me stop.” But her fists flailed, battering now every part of her body.

  “There is no stop,” the voice replied. “You must do this for as long as you live.”

  “Why?” her voice wept. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing,” was the only reply.

  Her voice faltered now. “But you saved me from him,” she sputtered. “You had me watch, while you whipped him. You seemed to hate him. Why are you doing this now?”

  “Crethok had you. I stopped him so I might have you. It is as simple as that.”

  Her teeth were clenched now, and Talwe could see the skin beneath her fur growing red. Every part of him screamed to rush in and stop her, but with all of his strength he held himself back. He knew he must hear more of this voice, because he sensed the voice would determine what he was to do. He had heard the name of Crethok from Orrintar. A voice without a body was wizard’s work. This voice belonged to Cwinyd. He needed to know everything he could learn.

  “Why didn’t you take me then?” she demanded. “I was helpless. You could have done what you wanted.”

  The voice laughed. “But I wanted you always,” it said. “Every night of my life. And since I couldn’t take you with me, I knew I would have to leave myself with you.”

  “But you’re not here!” Her voice was frantic now, and Talwe looked around him. Why did no one hear?

  Another laugh. “Physically? Of course not. There is no need.”

  “You are brutal,” she cried. “I will die.”

  “No,” he intoned. “I have considered that. I know how much pain you can stand. You will not die.”

  “I will go away,” she said, “where you cannot find me.”

  This time the laugh was longer. “There is no such place, my beautiful savage,” said the voice. “You are mine, for as long as you live. And I have cast spells to keep you from harm. Now, Morian, I must go.”

  The voice faded, the candle went out, and Morian’s body relaxed as if dead.

  Talwe drew the hide back and entered the hut. He covered her with the blanket, then looked into her tear-streamed face. A sudden tenderness overtook him, and he lifted her shoulders and locked his arms around her.

  Her scream split the silence of the night. Leaping back, he covered his ears and shook his head hard. But they rang until the ringing pierced his brain, and he dropped to his knees and beat with his fists on his skull. Then her fists replaced his, and when he opened his eyes he saw her above him. Flailing wildly, she battered him with more strength than he had ever suspected she could have. Then the bunda covering was ripped from the door. He turned and shouted, “Inla!”

  In a flash Forun’s arms went around his neck. As his head hit the floor, he saw Sruss throw Morian onto the bed. Then, mercifully, his world went dark.

  •

  “I have changed my mind,” Talwe announced. “My direction is east, not south and not west. I will not go with you to Ar.”

  Sruss did not argue. Ever since she and Forun had carried him from Morian’s hut, he was different. He was always stern now, his eyes filled with a fearful combination of cold and hatred. No longer did he start each morning by drinking in the cold grassland air. Nor did he sing, when the time had come for the entire village to do so.

  Instead, during the song, he had simply stared at the ground. Sruss had never seen anyone who had made himself so alone, so apart from all others.

  She had danced at dusk that day, the day that dawned with Morian’s scream. Morian had sat in the center of the village circle, while the Dancer fought the cold and the sadness to perform the Dance of Truth and the Dance of Justice. But each whirl, each spin, each leap, all had been somehow wrong. The dusk was gray, not gold and not red, and to the villagers it seemed that the Goddess had deserted them.

  Morian did not move. She sat, she stared, she opened her mouth as if to speak, but not once did she move. Huddled in a blanket, her face only partly visible, she might as well have been a rock on the ground.

  But it was Talwe who had worried her. He sat at Morian’s back, his eyes focused on her, yet he did not reach out once to touch her. Perhaps he was afraid that she might scream again, but Sruss did not think so. He seemed lost in thought, trying hard to drive away whatever it was he was feeling. In his eyes she saw where she had found the gray of the dusk that had marred her dance.

  When the song began, only three did not sing. As Dancer, Sruss was exempt. As subject, Morian was not allowed. The third was Talwe. His place was to sing.

  After that, she was not surprised to hear he was not going with her. Despite her logic, despite the entreaties of Orrintar, Talwe’s mind was unyielding. He would go by himself, and he would not say where.

  All she knew was that he had seen something that night in Morian’s hut. When he awakened he had wept and asked, “Why didn’t you come when you heard?” and all she could say was, “I did.” But it wasn’t the scream he meant, it was something else. Even now, she was sure he didn’t believe that the village had heard nothing.

  Whatever he had heard, it had come to him alone.

  •

  Talwe stood at the edge of the snow. He had been climbing all day. Below was spread the fertile green of the great plain of Ar. From here he could even have made out the smudge that was the city of Cressle. But he had no desire to look on the rich valley. He stared at the snow, dyed red by a setting sun.

  He didn’t care if it was a sign or not. To himself, before all the gods he knew, he swore an oath.

  “I will go to the grasslands beyond, Inla. I will find mrem who will help me.

  “When I journey to Cragsclaw it will be as a leader of mrem. Mrem enough to defeat Crethok and all who stand with him.

  “I will find Morian’s killer, and I will kill him as well. For she is dead, even though she lives.

  “I will come upon Cwinyd and I will battle him with magic or sword. I do not care which, because I will die. And he will die with me.”

  Then he began to shake, the cold of the snow seeping in to meet the cold that had settled inside Talwe. For minutes the mrem stood, not fighting the despair or the loneliness, but never allowing it to overwhelm him.

  Later, inside a shallow cave, staring into the f
ire, the hunter allowed himself to dwell on the injustice of it all. He raged, then pleaded with his deity, wanting some sign that he would be allowed his revenge.

  “They did not hear, Inla. They did not hear Cwinyd’s voice. They did not hear Morian pleading, and they did not hear the fists smash against her body. All they heard was her scream.

  “The scream, like the voice, was the magic of Cwinyd.

  “But I heard, Inla. I heard because I have magic. I heard because you made part of me like the beasts.

  “I heard and I must know what to fight.

  “My home is destroyed, and again I am exiled. For that, the destroyers must die.

  “I will find Crethok, the destroyer of my village, and I will kill him for what he has done. He has killed Torwen, and he has killed Morian. He has taken Ondra. He has killed my life.

  “But how do I defeat a wizard? All my life I have denied this curse of beast-magic. Now that I need it, it is not ready, not strong enough.

  “I will kill them. Then I will die.

  “I do not want to live.

  “I am already dead. They have taken from me all that I was. But I cannot stop until I do what I must.

  “I pray, Inla, that you do not try to stop me.”

  As he crouched by the fire, Talwe’s whiskers lost their droop. Fur rose on his shoulders and tail, claws extended and slashed at the air. Teeth bared and ears laid back, he stood and faced the largest of the moons as it rose. His muscles were so tight that tiny rivulets of blood flowed from where his still slightly extended claws dug into clenched fists.

  “You will say that what I do is wrong, because the village has taught me the laws of the gods. But those were soft laws for easy times. Do not stop me, Inla, because I will swear against you if you do. I fear your anger, but you must fear my hatred more.