A March of Woe

by Aaron Bunce

  “So you don’t think we are in any danger, he is just here to scare folk? Come in, flash a little steel, tell a scary story, and when you see those people next they’ll happily tell you whatever you want to know?” Dylan reasoned.

  Dugan responded, supporting his son’s idea, but everything tumbling around in Aida’s head told her otherwise. Brother Dalman fled something terrifying in the capitol and now it was stalking them south. She moved to get up and leave, but froze halfway up, plopping back down on the bed.

  “What’s the matter?” Dylan asked, tipping sideways as a result.

  “I think…” Aida froze, struggling to put it into words. Brother Dalman had only told her a little of what happened in Ban Turin, insisting he was protecting her, but now she wished that he’d told her more. Whatever danger she had pulled the monk out of, threatened Dylan and his father now. She had to tell them. “Piss. It’s more than that. Pardon my filthiness, but something filthy an’ bad happened in the capitol. I helped a man, a monk, get clear of it all, but I think it followed us here. You’re in danger now. We need get clear of this place and not look back!”

  Dugan didn’t respond, his eyes steady and unblinking.

  Aida pulled her hands apart, gladdened to find that they had stopped shaking, and rubbed her arms. The two men sat in silence, the air seemingly colder after her lengthy ramble.

  “I think maybe it is time for the young lady to return to her room,” Dugan said, finally.

  “What? Didn’t you hear what she just said?” Dylan gasped, his cloudy eyes searching the darkness for his father.

  “I did,” Dugan said, simply.

  “Well, we cannot…”

  “Are we taking her in to our room for the night, a young woman, to share an old hunter and his blind son’s bed? Then what?” Dugan asked, his legs visibly shaking.

  Dylan kneaded the blanket with his hands, his sightless eyes moving, as if he searched the darkness for an answer. “I told the man that we were promised to one another, and would be wed at a meeting of our kin in the southlands…” he said, breaking the silence. “If they are bent on violence, then let us not give them reason to doubt our honesty. We make good on our story, wait out the night, and leave together when the weather allows.”

  Dugan exhaled, his breath whistling through clenched teeth. Aida flinched and hugged her knees, recognizing the signs. When Yan breathed like that, he was mad, and a beating was never far behind. The older man reached out suddenly, his palms coming together with a muffled clap.

  “Throttle the fish!” Aida cursed, and recoiled, but Dugan did not swing at her. Instead, he reached up and rubbed a hand through his white hair.

  “Easy, girl, I’m not for striking strangers. But my son here should know better than to mix us up with another’s affairs. I mean no offense, but it sounds like you’re in the pot,” the older man said, fishing a pair of trousers off the bed and pulling them on.

  Aida shook her head, but quickly nodded instead. Yes, they were. Had Balin already found Hobart, or was the monk still out there somewhere, working to book them passage? Or did he know someone was looking for them? Was he hiding?

  “I’m not for being a nuisance, really. The Brother is probably waiting in our room as we speak. I’m sure he’s there, in fact. I should be out of your hair,” Aida said, but desperately wanted to stay.

  “I don’t think that is a good idea–” Dylan interjected, but his father cleared his throat, cutting him off.

  “Dylan. The young lady is weary, cold, and afraid. I’ll see her up to her room, where she will be safe until morning. Then we can talk this over like rational people, when I am not in my nightdress, freezing from this blasted cold draft. I suffer to say, you’ll find me a more reasonable and receptive person then,” Dugan offered, firmly.

  Aida nodded resolutely and pushed off the bed. He was right. Their best chance was to continue on as normal folk, and when the weather allowed, slip out of town. Dylan’s hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist. His cloudy eyes searched the space around her, his mouth pulled into a tight, anxious line.

  “It’s alright. I’ll be alright!’ she said, squeezing his hand reassuringly, before pulling away.

  Aida followed Dugan out of the room, turning to find Dylan still seated on the bed, his ruined eyes searching for her in the darkness. She wondered what she looked like in his mind. Was she the pure, innocent girl he longed to take to festival and kiss under the ceremonial boughs? Or was she the circumstantial orphan flesh mongers peddled to horny, dirty men on the street? She wished with all of her being to be the former, and not the latter.

  The door closed and Aida turned down the hall, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She wanted to dive into the darkness and retreat to her cozy little cabin, with its heavy door and warm fire, but she hadn’t been safe there, not from Balin. He’d found her, and sullied her safe place.

  They passed the common area, the seats before the fire still filled with people trying to stay warm. Dugan marched up onto the steps and she followed, but scanned the seats quickly. Balin wasn’t in any of them. She watched the shadowy corners, wondering if the rogue lurked within the darkness, and almost tripped on the stairs.

  Aida reached the landing and turned, almost running into Dugan. He watched her closely, his eyes darting down as she shoved her shaking hands into her sleeves.

  The older man’s face softened, and he smiled warmly. “I come off harsh. I’m sorry for that. You see, Dylan and I have been through some tough days. I love that boy more than anything, and I almost lost him. It’s made me wary. Loads of folks out there see a blind young man and will try and take advantage of him. Women, men, children…to them, Dylan is a weakness to exploit or a purse to lift. I am just an old man trying to keep his son safe…” he said, clamping a surprisingly large and strong hand over her sleeved hands, “for as long as I can. This past thaw has aged me more than you can know. Hopefully, one day, he can be healed, or, Mani willing, he will find someone to take my place when my body fails me.”

  She searched his eyes, and could tell that he was telling the truth. Dugan wasn’t like most men she knew. Part of her wanted him to be her father, too. If she’d had a parent like him, maybe her life would have taken a far different path. Maybe…

  Downstairs the door opened and someone trumped inside, breaking Aida out of her spiraling fantasies.

  “I understand,” she said, nodding. Dugan squeezed her shaking hands and turned. She followed him down the hall, pointed to the room the innkeeper had prepared, and walked inside when he opened the door.

  The room was larger than she expected, the thatched roof and wide, knotty beams giving it a warm, practical, if not sparse, feel. One bed sat to her right, the blankets and down pillow fluffed and crisply folded. The other bed sat to her left and against the wall, the blanket covered in a puddle of partially frozen ice. On the far wall sat a small fireplace, a fire crackling happily. Two rather worn high-backed chairs sat before the hearth, their fabric frayed in several spots. The room was empty, and she wasn’t sure if that bolstered her nerve, or damaged it even more.

  “Thank you, Dugan,” she said, turning and taking a deep, cleansing breath. “Please thank Dylan for me. I know that what I told you sounds crazy, that you don’t know me. But I ain’t a bad person. I…” she started to say, but changed directions, not wanting Dylan’s image of her to be soiled, “I ain’t made it a habit of lying to good folk, and I don’t want anyone to get hurt cause I weren’t strong enough to be truthful. There’s enough evil out there without good folk refusing to help one another.”

  Dugan smiled and said, “Thank you, Aida. I am glad that my son met you.” And then he ducked out the door, closing it behind him.

  Aida turned and pulled off her scarf and heavy cloak, laying them on the bed. Dugan’s words struck her. He was glad that she met his son. No one told her that before, well, save for the men moaning and gasping proclamations of love into her ear as their pleasure reached its peak. Unlike those
men, Dugan and Dylan wouldn’t toss a few coins onto the floor while cursing her a whore at the same time. Those men that just moments ago gasped their love, mid-passion.

  She untied her dress, preparing to pull it off, but paused. There was no water drawn for a bath, and she didn’t know when Brother Dalman would return. Her nakedness wouldn’t bother her, but she could just imagine how the prudish monk would respond. Well, truthfully, she already knew.

  She jumped as the door clicked and creaked open behind her. She threw her body against the wall, behind the door and glanced around. But she didn’t have a weapon, and with her stick-thin arms, who would she intimidate? A heartbeat later Brother Dalman appeared, pushing the door closed quietly.

  “Throttle the fish, Brother. I thought you lost, or worse, they’d grabbed you,” Aida cursed, coming forward and shaking her fists in the air.

  He turned, his face red and windblown. The anger melted away almost immediately, and she helped him stiff-legged over to the bed.

  “I’ve been all over town. The first two carriage companies flat out refused, said it would be a fortnight before they could get us a carriage. I told them we could walk there in less time…which isn’t rightfully true. They laughed, and invited me to start this very night. I found luck with the last, although it took almost every coin left in my purse. They will have a carriage available for us day after morrow, at dawn. We will have to find our own way from Silma to Castle Astralen. The road to Lord Thatcher’s seat is not terribly long, but it is narrow, and bound to be thick with this cursed snow,” Brother Dalman said, shaking as he pulled his cap off and started to undo the fur vest.

  “We’ll make do,” Aida said, helping the monk over towards the fire.

  “Yes, yes. Maybe there will be someone charitable enough to lend us horses, although, the lake folk are not known for their charity. It is likely that we walk.”

  “Better faster than slower, but also better to get there than not at all. Lord Thatcher is an important man?” Aida asked.

  Brother Dalman nodded, “Yes, like I told you, he is the earl of the lakes, the ruling lord of all the Karnell Flats. I have always found him to be a prudent, anchored, and wholly reasonable man. Which is more than I can say about his father, Mani embrace his soul.”

  “Good. Then he’ll know what to do. What will you do after you pass on the news about what you saw in Ban Turin?” Aida asked.

  “I will reunite with my understudy, Kida. My course up until now has been driven by the actions and words of others, so I haven’t put much thought beyond that,” Brother Dalman said, laying his fur vest onto the good bed and pulling a blanket over his shoulders. “But first, I intend to warm myself by this fire and remember what it is like to feel my fingers. Then, we’ll worry about traveling south.”

  Aida nodded, patting the monk on the arm as she turned to help him over to one of the chairs before the fire. Brother Dalman stiffened next to her, and she turned when he didn’t follow.

  “A selfish fool. What of you, child? With your freedom in hand, what will you do?” the monk asked, tucking his hands into his armpits to warm them.

  Aida shook her head. She didn’t know how to answer that question. She’d never had to worry about anything so grand or open before – it had always been, please the next man or avoid the next beating.

  “Piss, Brother. Right now, I’ll take getting somewhere not here,” she said, finally.

  “You’re a clever girl,” Brother Dalman said, moving towards the chairs again. Then she remembered, and fumbled to get it all out.

  “Downstairs. A man…looking for you…for us,” she said in a jumble. The monk turned on a heel, his wind-reddened cheeks almost instantly draining of color.

  “What? Calm…take a deep breath, and tell me everything.”

  Aida sucked down a breath and told the monk everything that had happened, in as much detail as possible. He scrambled over to the window when she was done and pulled the heavy curtain aside just enough to peer outside.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, the older man glancing over, before resuming his watch.

  “I should have,” he said, quietly, “I thought that I was protecting you…that if someone found us, the less you knew the better.”

  Aida’s fear and anger tightened in her chest, but she forced it away. He’d done it to protect her. She couldn’t fault him for that. But the last thing she wanted now was to be trapped, like a rat in a cage.

  She tiptoed to the door, her hands fumbling with the latch before it popped free. The door creaked open a crack and she peered out into the hallway. The door pulled open a little further, the cold air of the hallway whispering over her face. The hallway was dark and empty, the fire and candlelight flickering off the paneled walls. A floorboard creaked, the stooped innkeeper appearing before the hall entrance, her face an expressionless shadow.

  Aida pushed the door shut, turned, and leaned against the wood. Was the woman watching them? Why wasn’t she downstairs? Could they trust her or anyone else in the inn? She suddenly didn’t want to leave the room ever again. Her fear now realized, Aida turned and strode back towards the bed.

  Brother Dalman padded quietly towards her, his silver hair unruly from the fur-lined hat. He looked so much older, so much frailer than when she’d first seen him on Braggarts Way.

  “He’ll kill us, won’t he? If he sees you…Balin, he’ll kill us?” she asked, her voice a broken whisper.

  The monk looked away, and nodded.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Divided

  Luca hobbled along the path, the matrona’s necklet jingling quietly, the silver metal surprisingly warm against his skin. His legs felt stiff and fought against him, but at least he could move under his own power again. He refused to let anyone carry him.

  Poe, the short, hairy-faced dalan walked next to him. They were, Luca noted, almost the exact same height. As soon as they left the riverbank, Poe had fallen into step with Luca, refusing to leave his side, and even growling and running some off that got too close. Luca instantly liked the short man, who oddly reminded him of a scruffy dog that used to live with the old man next door in Shale. Sometimes Poe even sounded like it, too.

  Emma walked on his other side. She’d been quiet since the river, and Luca wasn’t entirely sure why. He worried that she was still cross with him, and didn’t want to push the issue by asking. She would talk when she was ready, he hoped.

  The matrona led them back up onto the Romigod, where they passed countless groups of on-looking dalan. Luca knew it was rude to stare, but he struggled not to. There were just so many different shapes and colors. Some were impossibly tall, with spindly legs and arms, their bodies swaying like young trees in a breeze, while others were short and stout. One man looked vaguely like an ogre, or at least what he remembered from his sketchy recollections. No two dalan looked the same, while some seemed to change as he watched.

  “Uh…Poe,” Luca said, trying to find the right words to his question. “She said take me to Cassendyra, but we are going to see the Matrons? I don’t understand.”

  Poe cleared his throat loudly, sneezed, and sniffed the air. He turned, giving Luca an appraising look. “Juna is a matrona…an honored one. She used to be Matron and ruled the dalan islands for a man’s life. Once graced as Matron, she become matrona for life. But she does not rule the dalan anymore. Only Matrons can release someone Altair has imprisoned in the sted å glemme. Sted å glemme is dark place, where things best left forgotten to dalan kind are put. But even as honored matrona, Juna must seek the Matron’s wisdom and ask for their judgement.”

  Luca nodded, trying to weave around the dalan man’s broken speech to the truth of his words. He searched his memories for something that would make it all make sense, but the matrona’s necklace didn’t just ease his pain, but the return of his memories as well. He feared that he would have to endure more pain if he ever wanted all of who he was, returned.

  “Altair seems to hate her…Cassida?�
� Luca asked.

  Poe nodded, wiping his nose with a sleeve before looking around. “Cassendyra is oldest of us. She is crafty and wise, like fox. But she left dalan to live amongst your people. She believed that dalan and your people could live together. Be stronger together. Many dalan felt betrayed when she did this. They…” Poe paused, scratching his face as if searching for a word. “You forgive for me. Unlike other dalan, I struggle with common tongue. Something happened to I ages ago,” he said, pointing to the almost fur-like hair on his face, “and ever the since, I am changed.”

  Luca nodded, understanding. He knew what it was like to be different from everyone around him.

  Poe picked up where he left off. “They told her if she left, she would be dalan no longer, and non-dalan folk are not welcome here. Worse, they would see her as blood traitor. This is worse than enemy,” he finished, speaking slowly and quietly.

  Luca faintly remembered a story his gram used to tell him about the boy king and his dalan nursemaid named Cassendyra, but his memories were still too faint, too lost in the fog to recall fully. He wanted to pull the necklace off to see if that memory came rushing back, but he couldn’t bear the pain again.

  “She promised to heal me. I took the Yörspring so she could heal me. But then she told me I had to come here with her, that she could heal me here,” Luca said bitterly. “Now…”

  Poe made a strange growling noise, and Luca wasn’t sure if it meant he was happy or mad. The silence stretched for a short time, the Romigod curving back down through the trees and into a much more heavily populated area. Thick trees jutted into the sky, strange circular stairs sticking out of their bark, leading up to homes built right into the trees.

  “Cassendyra very powerful dalan, but even her magic has limits. There is only one way for dalan to heal such injuries in your kind, and no dalan would think of doing it…nor would boy want it done to him, I think.”