by L. M. Roth
Marcus lifted his arms above his head and softly sang a song of praise.
“The Lord is my rock and my redeemer,” Marcus breathed, “in Him I put my trust. For He pulled me out of mighty waters, out of the pit where I had fallen, with none to help me. He has shown me His love and steadfast kindness, and all my ways are known to Him.”
For several minutes he lost awareness of everything except the warmth and softness of the presence of Dominio, who seemed to have enveloped Marcus in a soothing embrace. Marcus stood still and let the waves of love roll down over him, washing away care and sorrow.
Then, feeling the sense of helplessness he did as a small boy after attempting something too big for him, Marcus inquired of Dominio.
“Where to now, Lord?” he asked. “Where is the end of my quest? Is it here? Or elsewhere? Where may I find the secret of life?”
It occurred to him that perhaps Logos might tell him the answer. With that thought in mind, Marcus ambled over to one of the large boulders that were strewn about the rugged shore, and slipping behind it, carefully drew the Sword from the scabbard hidden beneath his robe.
He ran his hands lovingly over the hilt, admiring the beauty of its silver sheen. Then he spoke.
“Logos,” he whispered, “where is it? What is the secret of life?”
But Logos lay quietly in his hand and was still.
Chapter XXIV
Tidings From A Distant Land
Marcus started to walk back to the inn, his head down and his heart suddenly heavy, his earlier joy forgotten in his sense of frustration. Would it always be like this, he wondered? Ever wandering, ever seeking, with no place to call home, no one to wait for him upon his return?
So rapt in his thoughts was he that he was unaware that his solitude had been invaded. An exclamation tore him out of his reverie, and he started at the sight of his intruder.
It was Governor Urbanus.
The older man stopped abruptly at the sight of Marcus. Clearly, he also was surprised at the unexpected encounter. Then his face split into the broad and radiant grin that Marcus remembered so well.
“Ho, my young friend!” Urbanus cried as he clapped a hand on Marcus’ shoulder.
It was the closest that the men of the Valeriun Empire came to an embrace, and Marcus recognized it as a sign of affection, which pleased and gratified him. He was just as delighted to see the older man, and remembered his warm hospitality in Gaudereaux. He asked after Renata, the Governor’s gracious and elegant wife.
“She is well, very well,” Urbanus nodded. “She is with me here on a brief respite from the heat of Gaudereaux. Indeed, we begin our journey back tomorrow. She is still abed, but I desired one last morning stroll along the beach, so you see me here.”
Urbanus laughed for no apparent reason that Marcus could see, but recalled the Governor’s free and easy manner, so full of joy and life, and smiled in return. They talked of events in Gaudereaux, and Urbanus related that Fanchon had wed the son of her father’s oldest friend. It was a match much talked of for some years until the maiden met Dag, and the previous match was spurned by the flighty young lady. Yet she did not seem happy, even shirking the company of others on occasion to seek solitude, and was given to blue moods at times, unlike the Fanchon of old, always so full of merriment and ready to dance.
Marcus privately wondered whether Fanchon regretted breaking the betrothal to Dag, or if she felt remorse for renouncing Dominio to revert to her former way of life. Either way, he reflected, she made a terrible mistake, and chose what had no lasting value.
He decided to keep the news of Fanchon to himself, rather than to remind Dag of his faithless intended.
Urbanus in return asked Marcus how he came to be in Albinium.
“And what of your friends, hey?” he inquired. “Those two rough Northerners, and Master Felix? Did he perchance attach himself to the young lady from Solone who accompanied you?”
Marcus had forgotten that Urbanus was a bit of a gossip, but forgave him knowing that it stemmed from a genuine love of people and the desire to see their affairs happily settled.
“I see you are still a matchmaker, Governor Urbanus,” Marcus chuckled. “No, Felix and Kyrene are merely good friends.”
He resisted the temptation to remark that he himself wondered why the two did not become more than friends, but decided Felix would not like him gossiping about his affairs with anyone, let alone a mere acquaintance such as Urbanus. Once Marcus would have thought the daughter of a merchant beneath the station of someone from the house of Lucius; but he had changed in the year just past, and found himself astonished and dismayed at what a snob he once was.
Urbanus shook his head.
“Well, I suppose they must decide,” he commented, “though I must say they seem to be more than good friends. Perhaps one of them is reluctant to take that irrevocable step, eh?”
Marcus felt annoyed by the Governor’s persistence. Really, there were some matters that should be deemed private and left alone!
But Urbanus seemed oblivious to irritation. Indeed, he seemed merely inspired to continue his observation on personal affairs. Marcus found himself searching for a polite excuse to detach himself from the Governor’s company, when his next remark riveted Marcus to the spot where he stood.
“Oh, but I almost forgot to tell you!” Urbanus exclaimed. “I have news of a friend of yours. At least, I assume she is a friend of yours,” his eyes twinkled with mischief.
Marcus stiffened as he waited for Urbanus to impart his information.
“Yes,” he said politely, one eyebrow raised to signify his waning patience.
But the gesture did not deter Urbanus.
“Why, the daughter of Tullios Octavius!” he said.
Marcus felt his heart skip a beat at the mention of Tullia. Did even the thought of her still have an effect on him? Yes, it did…
He steeled himself to answer Urbanus calmly.
“Tullia?” he queried, struggling with the effort to appear indifferent and unconcerned. “You have news of Tullia?”
“Yes, in a manner of speaking. I do. And I do not,” Urbanus answered, somewhat enigmatically.
What mystery was this, Marcus wondered. Did the older man merely desire to tantalize him in order to make his gossip more palatable?
Marcus flung off his annoyance and shrugged his shoulders. How he loathed it when people attempted to drag out their news merely to build suspense, instead of getting to the heart of the matter!
“Be plain, man,” he snapped with some impatience. “Tell me what you mean!”
He glanced at Urbanus, expecting to see the familiar sparkle in his eye. He was surprised to see the older man gazing off into the horizon, a frown of puzzlement creasing his brow.
Marcus suddenly felt an ominous sense of foreboding, increased by the momentary darkening of the sun as a cloud obscured it from view. A wave rolled in and slapped at his ankles. He did not even feel the cold wetness as he hung on the words of the Governor.
Urbanus at last turned from the horizon and his quiet contemplation of it and looked directly at Marcus. He cleared his throat, and then proceeded to relate his tale.
“Last summer, as you may recall,” he began, “I told you of a possible betrothal between Tullia Octavius and Decimus Hadrianus. They were constantly in one another’s company, and everyone in Lycenium expected an announcement to be made of their forthcoming marriage.”
Urbanus paused, much to the frustration of Marcus. Why must Urbanus ramble on about matters that made Marcus cringe to listen to, yet hold back on matters of vital importance to him!
“Go on,” Marcus urged. “Did they make the betrothal? Why do you hesitate?”
“I hesitate,” Urbanus continued, “because I am uncertain how to proceed. No one knows what happened. As I said, an announcement was expected, old Drusilla Octavius was already purchasing the bridal finery, and Gerontius Hadrianus was said to be haggling with his old friend Tullios about the terms of
the dowry.”
A gull shrieked overhead, causing Marcus to start so violently that he bit his tongue. Tears of pain smarted in his eyes, and the tang of salt on the sea breeze intensified them.
He brushed it off, and his eyes pleaded mutely with Urbanus to continue.
The Governor resumed his discourse, although he now appeared to fumble for his words. Finally, he sighed and spoke in a voice hardly louder than a whisper.
“And then one day about a month ago a mystery occurred. Tullios returned to Valerium on an urgent matter of business, leaving Drusilla in Lycenium with their daughter, nor was there any move on her part to prepare to leave for Valerium anytime soon. It was assumed by her delay in departure that she remained to chaperone the young couple in the custom of our people.
“But on a perfect summer day, when their friends waited for the betrothal to be announced, and a date for the wedding set, young Tullia went for an afternoon stroll in the woods without the accompaniment of her maids.”
Urbanus paused and breathed deeply.
“And she has not been seen since.”
Chapter XXV
An Unexpected Return
Marcus gazed on the land just ahead of him on this early September morning. Glimpsed through the haze of the sea mist it appeared to be a country out of a fable, one told by parents to their children and handed down from one generation to the next. The hills of emerald green seemed encased in a sheen of silver, like some rare jewel placed in a flawless setting designed to display its incomparable beauty.
Despite the loveliness before him, a dread gripped the heart of Marcus: Eirinia. Zoe had led them to Eirinia.
It was a far cry from what Marcus had expected when he sought an answer from Logos for the fulfillment of his quest. He had not seriously considered Albinium as a place that concealed the final object that he sought; but Eirinia had never occurred to him either.
He cast his mind back to the morning when Urbanus had related the shocking news of Tullia’s disappearance. As he stood on that shore with the waves lapping at the beach he had one mad thought of abandoning his quest and returning with all speed to Lycenium to search for his love. When he sought Dominio in prayer about it, however, his guidance was negative.
Finish the quest, a voice spoke into his spirit. The counsel surprised him, until on sober contemplation he realized he must: the lives of his parents hung on the success of his task. Marcus chided himself for even the momentary consideration of abandoning his parents to find a maiden who had already refused his love and apparently given her heart to another.
Unbidden came the vision he had of Tullia while in the cave they had sheltered in after the great storm; calling for help while sinking slowly in some sort of mire. What did it mean? he wondered. And could there be a connection with her disappearance?
He turned resolutely from such thoughts. He had enough trials ahead of him without torturing himself over the possible fate of Tullia. Still, he found himself plagued by doubt. The temptation to rescue her from possible danger persisted, yet he must obey Dominio.
One thing he decided and kept with firm resolution, however; he would say nothing to Felix of the disturbing tidings he had received from Urbanus.
Now they drew nearer, ever nearer to the shores of Eirinia. A magical place she appeared, where legendary heroes or mythical beasts might emerge from the mist, ready to fight one more battle or slay one more maiden. And, if the tales were true, where the guardians of old walked at night, to seek dominion over the lands they once had ruled…
“Oh, how lovely!” Kyrene breathed in awe as the others joined Marcus. “I do not think I have ever seen such green before, not even in Gaudereaux. Truly, this must be a place of enchantment, of bliss lying in wait for those fortunate to find it! Surely the inhabitants are a people of rare courtesy and gentleness in keeping with their exquisite land!”
Marcus turned a raised eyebrow on her.
“Sheep herders, barbarians, and sorcerers. That is what they are. There is neither courtesy nor gentleness to be found among them.”
Kyrene cast a look of amused disbelief upon him, and opened her lips to disagree.
Marcus silenced her with his next words.
“I spent my captivity here. I know of what I speak.”
Kyrene flinched, and looked at him with soft compassion in her eyes.
Marcus shied away from her pitying glance, and gave one word of warning to the others.
“Be on your guard.”
The afternoon sun blazed through the trees, lighting the leaves with an emerald incandescence, turning the trunks black in stark contrast. The first changing leaves glowed yellow and pale orange against the clear green still touched with summer’s lush richness.
In the distance, they saw a trail wind off the path, beckoning them deeper into the woods. A squirrel gathering its winter nuts scampered into view, then stopped and froze into immobility at their intrusion into its domain. For a brief moment it watched the interlopers, and then scurried up the trunk of the nearest tree.
They proceeded deeper into the heart of the woods, and heard the sound of running water. They quickly discovered the source; a small stream that ran parallel to the path, flowing gently over the polished rocks in its bed, the first falling leaves already drifting into its current.
The air was still with the lazy warmth of September, brushed by the golden patina of autumn, yet still clinging to the memory of summer. The fierce heat of August had now cooled, leaving a mild season yet to be savored before the coming of the colder months.
It was, Marcus mused, like the difference between love and friendship. If June symbolized the freshness and sweetness of young love, and July embodied its ardor and passion, then September evoked the mellowness of fond reminiscences of adventures shared, of trials endured, of battles fought side by side as brothers in arms.
They hurried through the woods, knowing that the air so gently embracing by day would quickly chill with the sinking of the sun from the bright blue sky. The melancholy chirping of crickets made a pleasant accompaniment to the rippling of the stream. Here and there the plaintive call of a bird pierced the air. Few remained, most having already flown south for the winter.
They had stowed their boat in a lonely cave along the coast that looked as though it received no visitors. Marcus knew the land well enough to retrace their steps and recover it when ready to depart.
For they had landed at the same spot where Marcus had arrived more than two years ago as a slave. Ahead of them some two miles away lay the village of Leith, where he had endured his captivity.
For what purpose had Zoe led them here? And what secrets would they uncover during their sojourn in this land, so beautiful to gaze upon, yet so barbarous to dwell in?
Chapter XXVI
The Grove of Oak Trees
They made camp near the stream but off the path in a grove of ancient oak trees. On consultation with Dag, the most skilled woodsman of them, it was decided they should remove themselves from the vicinity of the path, lest any passersby stumble upon their party. Marcus remembered well the hostility shown to strangers, and did not wish to risk a confrontation unless it was unavoidable.
About a half a mile off the path they found a small broad hill at the foot of which grew the oak trees. The bank of the hill broke the wind that kicked up at nightfall, and the thick leaves of the sturdy oaks already kissed with gold, spread a canopy over their heads, screening them from the eyes of the curious. The trees grew so closely together that their nearly interlocking trunks provided further shelter from the chill of night breezes.
Altogether it was a snug and surprisingly warm nest they made for themselves, and after spreading their cloaks and blankets on the ground they were lulled by the rustle of the leaves in the wind and soon fell fast asleep.
All that is, except Marcus. He should have slept soon and soundly for it had been a long day of hard trekking through the woods. But something gnawed at him, a nameless anxiety that disturbe
d his peace, and made slumber impossible. What was it about this place that prickled his skin, and sent his eyes scurrying to every dark corner, as though expecting to see a face hidden there?
He recalled the legends he had heard during the days of his captivity in this country: how strange beings roamed the land at night, striking terror into the hearts of those so unfortunate as to cross their path, and the natives stayed indoors for fear of encountering them. No such fear had deterred his old master, Cadeyrn, who tended his flocks at night when necessary. Marcus joined him in his skepticism, yet remembered the tales and wondered now whether there be any truth in their telling…
An unreasoning fear of the place came on him, and a desire to wake the others and urge them to continue their march to find another spot to shelter. But the others were clearly exhausted, and it would be cruel to wake them merely to humor a senseless whim.
And yet the horror grew on him the longer he laid there. Marcus closed his eyes to sleep, but terrifying visions danced through his weary mind, making sleep impossible. The flash of a knife, and a scream that stopped the beating of his heart sent him springing up from his supine position. He sat with a racing heart and a reeling mind, his breath coming in short hard gasps.
Was it a vision he had received? The knowledge of some violent deed that had been perpetrated in this spot? Or did the legends of Eirinia prey on his mind and produce a mere figment of the imagination?
Suddenly, Kyrene cried out in her sleep, and she also sat up abruptly, one hand clutched to her heart as she sobbed for breath. Seeing Marcus, she sighed deeply and smiled at him. Marcus rose to his feet and helped Kyrene to hers. Noiselessly they drew apart from the others and whispered together.
