The Sword

by Bryan M. Litfin

  “Thanks. I needed to hear that right now. Ow!” Soap stung Teo’s eyes. “Do you have a towel?”

  Sucula stepped into the main room and returned with a towel and another kettle. She came around the screen and handed Teo the towel. Dipping her finger into the tub, she said, “Let me warm that up for you. Sit back.” Teo complied, and she trickled hot water into the bath.

  “It’s a good thing I’m not easily embarrassed,” he said.

  “Believe me, you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.” Sucula returned to her seat on the bed.

  Teo soaked in the tub for a long time, growing warm and sleepy as he chatted with Sucula. Finally he gathered the will to stand up and get dressed. He had pulled on his breeches and was reaching for his linen shirt when Sucula appeared again. She slipped her arms around Teo’s body.

  “Stay the night,” she said.

  The game was over. It was real life now.

  Competing thoughts swirled through Teo’s mind. You know you want to, so why not? For a moment he returned Sucula’s embrace and pulled her close. Then another thought flashed into his brain: No! Don’t do this to Ana!

  Teo swallowed. “I can’t,” he said, pushing the dark-haired woman away. “I won’t.”

  Sucula dragged Teo to the bed. “Just rest here then! I’ve washed the sheets—can you smell the roses? I know you’re tired. Nothing has to happen. I just don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  Teo allowed himself to be pulled onto the feather mattress. The weight of fatigue was heavy upon him. There’s nothing wrong with taking a little nap, he told himself. Sucula lay beside Teo, tracing her fingernail up and down his forearm. Sleep took him.

  All the lamps were out when Teo awoke. The night had the feel of a very late hour. Through the window, moonlight filled the room with a pale glow. Sucula breathed quietly at Teo’s side. He sat up in bed, causing her to stir and roll over. “Are you awake?” she asked sleepily.

  “I should go now,” he said. But he didn’t move.

  “Don’t go. I want you.”

  Desire rose within Teo, but a voice began to shout inside his head, forcing him to consider the ramifications of what was about to happen. What about all those quiet nights with Ana in the Beyond? All those dangers you faced together? All those experiences only the two of you can understand? Will you throw it all away for a night with a sad and lonely woman with whom you’ve shared nothing?

  Teo stood up and grabbed his shirt, buttoning it on. “I’m leaving, Sucula.”

  The bedroom door flew open, slamming into the wall with a bang as the shape of a large man filled the doorway. “Surprised to see me?” Valent snarled. His massive knife glinted in the moonlight.

  “Wait! I can explain!” Sucula leaped from the bed and moved toward Valent. The look in his eyes was demonic.

  “No!” Teo pulled Sucula’s arm, trying to keep her away from her enraged husband. The movement threw her off balance. At the same moment, Valent lunged and shoved her hard. Sucula careened across the room and smashed her head against a wooden chest with a sickening thud.

  Teeth bared, knife held low, Valent charged. Teo deflected Valent’s wrist with his forearm, then wrapped his arm under Valent’s elbow to hyperextend the joint. A firm slap against the flat of the blade sent the knife clattering across the floor. Valent threw his knee into Teo’s stomach, knocking the wind from him, then followed with a fist to the jaw. Teo’s head spun as he stumbled into the dressing screen, toppling it with a crash. Before he could rise, Valent dived on top of him, pinning him to the floor. Hard blows rained down as Teo tried to ward them off with his arms. Valent’s face bore an inhuman expression of murderous rage.

  Teo felt strong fingers curl around his throat. He clawed at the hands as they sought to throttle the life from him, but he couldn’t break free. The room began to spin, and he gasped for breath. Though he struggled against the deadly grip, his punches to Valent’s ribs grew weaker. Darkness clouded his vision. He turned his head to the side, his lungs crying for air.

  Sucula sat by the chest in a daze. Blood glistened on the side of her face. She held Valent’s knife in her hand. Deliberately, she set it down and slid it across the floor.

  Teo’s hand curled around the hilt. With all his remaining strength, he thrust it deep into Valent’s chest. The man roared and released his choking grip. Teo shoved him off, retaining his hold on the knife as Valent tumbled away. Blood cascaded from the wound, coating the floor in a glossy black sheen. Valent lay still.

  “Teofil! Help me!” Sucula sprawled on the floor, pressing her hand to her temple. Blood dripped from the corner of the wooden chest behind her. Teo crawled to her side.

  “It hurts. It’s pounding. Ohh . . .” She began to cry softly. Teo tried to comfort her, but her headache intensified as time went on. She moaned and writhed and mumbled as the pain increased. Twice she vomited with violent retching.

  As the sun began to rise, Sucula grew sleepy. She motioned for Teo to come close. He leaned over her, and she put her hand on his shoulder.

  “Shaphan,” she whispered.

  “It’s Teofil. I’m here with you, Sucula.”

  “Shaphan,” she repeated. Her limp finger pointed over her shoulder. “He brought it. To Valent. In the chest—”

  Sucula’s eyes lost focus and fixed into a blank stare. Her respiration became shallow and irregular. For a long time, she lay perfectly still, unconscious and gasping. Then, as Teo stroked her cheek, her breathing ceased.

  Teo stood up and staggered backward, smearing bloody footprints across the floor. He was numb. Nothing seemed real. Valent’s corpse lay in one corner of the room and Sucula’s in another, her lifeless finger still pointing over her shoulder at the bloodstained chest.

  Why had she spoken about the chest? Teo knelt and lifted the lid. As he looked inside, he inhaled sharply, and his eyes widened. There, wrapped in cloth and bound with string, lay the Sacred Writing of Deu. Teo snatched the book and ran like a madman from the house of death.

  CHAPTER

  12

  At dawn Ana arose, washed her face, and tied back her hair with a ribbon. She put on her gown as well as some makeup as an extra touch. She didn’t intend to go around moping but would hold her head high and conduct herself with dignity. She had a job to do.

  At Teo’s teaching theater, she entered the cottage and pulled a blank parchment from a drawer. Dipping a quill into the inkwell, she began to write:

  Dear Teo,

  She wrinkled the parchment and threw it in a corner. Taking another sheet, she began again:

  Teofil, your late-night adventures have come to my ears. You are free to pursue the lifestyle you please, but as for me, I no longer wish

  Ana lifted her quill and stared at the page, stunned by all it implied. I no longer wish what? Whatever she wrote, it wouldn’t be true. Despite everything that had happened, she still wished. A tear ran down her cheek and fell to the parchment, making the black ink run.

  The sound of a horse outside interrupted Ana’s thoughts. Who could be coming here so early? Peeking out the window, she felt a rush of relief. It was Maurice.

  Ana met him at the doorway. “Good morning, Master Maurice. You’re up early.”

  “As are you, dear one,” he replied, smiling down from the back of his horse. “But I have the excuse of being an old man. What’s yours?”

  When Ana didn’t answer right away, Maurice took a second look at her. He dismounted and approached with a look of concern. “I know you’ve been through a lot of distress lately, Anastasia. It’s natural to be upset. I do believe your parents are safe for the time being.”

  “It’s not that. It’s—oh, I just don’t know what to do.” She held her head in her hands.

  “Would you like to tell me about it?”

  Ana nodded, so Maurice led her to one of the risers in the theater. He listened quietly as she recounted the story of the loss of the Sacred Writing, her argument with Teo, and his subsequent actions. Thou
gh she had vowed not to cry today, the tears came anyway.

  “I woke up this morning intending to leave a farewell note,” Ana concluded, wiping her eyes. “But I couldn’t go through with it.”

  “Of course you couldn’t. You’re bound to him.”

  Ana looked at Maurice with a quizzical expression. “I am?”

  “The final outcome is unclear, but yes, you’re bound by the experiences you’ve shared. And that isn’t a bond easily broken—by either of you. So don’t fail to hope, dear one.”

  “What should I do?”

  Maurice reached into his voluminous sleeve and withdrew a scroll. “I came here today to add this to the collection of scriptures. It’s fresh from Shaphan’s quill.” Ana felt the thrill she always experienced when she received new words from Deu.

  “I’ve been keeping the scrolls with me,” she said, “because when I tried to hide them here, Valent discovered me. Perhaps I could give them to you for safekeeping?”

  “Yes, I’ll hold them. From what you’ve told me, they’re all we have of the Sacred Writing for now.” He took the satchel from Ana and stowed it in his rucksack.

  “So you think we can recover the original?”

  “Deu will provide a way to hear from him.”

  “I know.”

  Maurice unrolled the new scroll. “I have an assignment for you, Anastasia. I hold here the story of a young woman—at least, that’s one way to see it. Her name was Ruth, and she lived in the land of Deu called Juda. I want you to read it and tell me what you think.” He rose and left Ana alone with Deu and his words.

  Though the narrative was short, it captivated Ana from the beginning. Ruth was a young widow who faithfully followed her widowed mother-in-law, Naomé, to a country called Juda. There the two women encountered poverty and an uncertain future. At harvesttime, Ruth found herself in the fields of a good man named Bohaz. To protect the vulnerable Ruth from assault by wicked men, Bohaz allowed her to glean in his fields. Impressed by this gesture of goodwill, Naomé devised a plan. She instructed Ruth to approach Bohaz at night on the threshing floor and uncover his feet, then lie down beside him. When Bohaz awoke and discovered a woman next to him, she made a strange request: “Spread your wing over your servant, for you have the right of redemption.” Bohaz didn’t take advantage of Ruth but arranged with the town elders to marry her. Blessed beyond all her expectations, she went on to give birth to a son, which greatly pleased the widowed Naomé. The baby was the great-grandfather of David. I wonder if it’s the same David whose name appears on Deu’s hymns? Ana rolled up the scroll and waved for Maurice to rejoin her.

  “From the smile on your face, I see you enjoyed Ruth’s tale,” he said.

  “It’s lovely, and moving, and very worthy of Deu.”

  “Ruth was a lot like you.”

  “Yes! I felt a connection. She faced danger and hardship, but Deu came to her.”

  Maurice regarded Ana with a twinkle in his eye. “You know, I believe there are many ways to encounter this story. Could you read it again through a different character’s eyes?”

  Ana considered the suggestion. “Naomé?”

  “Perhaps. But I was thinking of another.”

  Ana thought some more. “Well, Bohaz is the other main character.”

  Maurice’s face lit up. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his goatee framed his white teeth as he smiled. “That’s a good idea, Anastasia. Try rereading it through Bohaz’s eyes.” He left her alone again.

  Ana studied the scroll uncertainly. Maurice’s request was somewhat strange. “Deu, show me your thoughts,” she whispered as she began reading. Unlike the first time, Bohaz now leaped off the page, striding into the narrative as a noble protector, an initiative taker, a gentle defender. Surely he was a man of Deu, a man whose life was infused with the grace of the Eternal One. From his intimate knowledge of the one true God, Bohaz displayed loyal love to all under his care. His kindness culminated when he took a widowed foreigner to himself, spreading his wing over her to make her secure. Tears came to Ana’s eyes again, but they were tears of a different sort than the ones she had shed earlier. Her spirit was deeply touched by a feeling she couldn’t explain.

  Maurice sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Did Deu give you wisdom?” he asked gently.

  “Yes, Master Maurice. I see Bohaz was a good man. The kind of man I wish—” Ana faltered, for she knew if she expressed the wish aloud, it would become real.

  “What made Bohaz such a good man?”

  “He was a man of Deu.”

  “And how did Deu call forth his goodness?”

  Ana looked at Maurice’s wise face, the implications of the story becoming clear to her. “Through Ruth,” she answered. “Ruth was righteous and earned Bohaz’s respect. He called her a virtuous woman. He said, ‘All that you’ve done has been reported to me. May the Eternal One reward you for it.’ And then he acted out of his admiration for her.”

  “Do you recall what he said next? How did he describe Deu?”

  Ana found the place in the scroll and read, “Deu of Israël, under whose wing you came to find refuge.”

  “Aha!” Maurice smiled broadly. “Do you see? The wing is an important link! Ruth finds refuge under the wing of Deu by coming under the wing of Bohaz. In this way, Bohaz becomes the means of divine grace for her. At first he wasn’t intending to do it, but Ruth went to him in holiness and demanded it from him. See how Bohaz became more of a man because of Ruth? She called him to his true identity and received his care, and Bohaz rejoiced to be the protector he was meant to be. This is Deu’s way for men and women, I think.”

  Ana sighed deeply and smoothed her skirt. Anger and hope mingled in her heart, confusing her about the way forward. “I know what you’re telling me, Master Maurice, and I want to believe it’s possible. But nothing that happened yesterday gives me reason to expect it! I asked Teo to lead me to Deu, and instead, he . . . he . . .” Ana stopped, unable to give voice to the hurtful deed. She scrunched her eyes and clenched her fists as she felt the fresh wounds of betrayal torn open again.

  Maurice sat motionless, waiting for her.

  “I can’t do this,” Ana said through gritted teeth.

  “Can’t forgive him?”

  “He doesn’t deserve it! I’m so furious at Teo! When I think of him with that woman—” Ana shrieked in frustration and threw her hands in the air. “I don’t ever want to see him again!”

  She knew it wasn’t true. Oh, Deu, will you help me? I need you!

  Maurice stroked his beard. Ana turned to him, and he met her gaze. The creases around his blue eyes softened as he looked at her with a depth of tenderness she had only experienced from her father. “Tell me what I should do,” she said.

  “I know you’re suffering, dear one. I understand, believe me. But you mustn’t fail to hope. You must walk the path laid before you. Teofil is on the edge of a knife. If you turn against him now, he may turn against himself, to his own destruction. But if you turn toward him—” Maurice hesitated.

  “If I turn toward him . . . what?” Ana wanted to hear what would happen.

  “It’s much to ask, I know. You’re angry. You would rather give up. But if you can turn toward Teofil and put yourself under his wing, then you could be like Ruth, who called forth the spirit of Deu from the man Bohaz. There is no guarantee Teofil will rise to the challenge, and therein lies the risk. Yet he certainly won’t do it unless someone demands it of him. Only you can play this role in Teofil’s life, because it’s you to whom he is bound.”

  Ana’s emotions swirled inside her for a long time. Fear warred against hope, and wrath against grace. Memories of bitter betrayal attacked her soul, while the hot winds assaulted her body, beguiling her, denying a way out. Finally the breeze shifted, and a coolness touched her face. Ana lifted her chin. “I choose to forgive,” she said.

  Maurice regarded her with an appraising eye. “You choose well, Anastasia. It will be a matter
for much thought over the coming days. I’m sure your pain is still fresh. It has only been two nights. Give it some time in prayer.”

  “Actually it hasn’t even been two nights. This all happened last night.”

  Maurice jumped from the stone bench and stared at Ana, his face aghast. “Last night? I thought it was two! Deu be merciful!”

  Ana put her hand to her chest and recoiled, disturbed by Maurice’s sudden reaction. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “I was in the Citadel last night! It was late. I encountered Valent in the street, and . . .” Maurice slapped his forehead and gazed at the sky.

  Ana held her breath. The tension was unbearable.

  Maurice looked into Ana’s eyes. His expression was grim. “Valent concluded his business earlier than expected. He was returning home last night!”

  The fork in the trail didn’t present a difficult choice for Teo. The one path led into Vingin, which meant contact with human beings. The other trail slabbed up the side of a ridge to a remote meadow. The last thing Teo wanted was to encounter anyone else. Besides, the hard uphill hike would feel like penance, and he certainly wanted to punish himself for his crimes.

  Murderer!

  The awful events of the night pressed on Teo like a roof beam strapped to his shoulders. The memory of the knife sliding easily into Valent’s chest troubled him unlike any of his battles with the outsiders. The fight with Valent wasn’t the noble art of war but a dirty struggle for survival. Valent was a Chiveisian . . . a member of the house community . . . a friend! Now he was a corpse, and his death was the direct result of Teo’s choices.

  Though the memories of Valent’s death were horrific, Sucula’s pale face haunted Teo even more. He couldn’t shake the image of her crying as she writhed on the floor. When she had approached Teo at the tavern the previous evening, so flirty and carefree and pretty in her black gown, who could have guessed that before the sun’s next rising she would lie dead in her own bedroom with a crushed skull?

  You did this, Teo! You killed her! Murderer! The voices kept accusing him as he hiked swiftly up the trail.