LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  ‘What can you see?’

  Wanting to give him an answer other than ‘yellow,’ I tried to reopen them, but without using my fingers. I pushed through the overwhelming light and blinked several times to sharpen my focus, but the lantern in the room put everything into shadow.

  ‘The lamp,’ I said. ‘It’s too bright.’

  ‘Really? But it’s so dark in here. My eyes are struggling to make you out.’ He chuckled.

  I tried opening one eye at a time, beginning with my right. At first, all I could see was the yellow blur, and then my left eye opened, and the bright light increased. The lamp was the problem.

  ‘Can you blow it out?’

  ‘The lamp? Of course.’

  When the light disappeared, a blotch remained in my vision. Strangely, when I closed my eyes, the blotch stayed, though it had begun to shrink. When I opened my eyes again, the room was still grey, but blurry grey, and black shapes emerged from the thick. Varago moved to my right, and I looked at him. I could make out his head and shoulders; I could see that his hair was curly and his ears were quite large. Light from underneath my bedroom door cast his torso into silhouette.

  ‘I can see you, a little,’ I said.

  ‘Excellent. Would you like me to relight the lamp?’

  ‘Yes. Wait. No, maybe open the door.’

  ‘I will be right back. Your mother and Jemely are waiting anxiously downstairs. Should I send them up?’

  ‘Not yet. Is that all right?’

  ‘Certainly.’ He got to his feet, and he seemed tall. But having not seen a person for many years, I wasn’t sure how tall he was compared to the average man. He walked towards my bedroom door. ‘You might want to shut your eyes. This will let in a lot of light.’

  I didn’t listen to him, and as he opened my bedroom door, the light did strain my eyes, but not enough to make me shut them. It illuminated the brown of my floor, the grey of the walls, and other objects in my room.

  ‘I’ll be right back.’

  He closed the door a little when he moved away. I had to make myself breathe. My heart was pounding. A smile stretched across my lips, and I shivered.

  Moments later, Varago returned, leaving the door open. Deep lines and sagging skin framed eyes that balanced above prominent cheekbones. His hair was receding, and his shirt hung from a trim upper body. He placed the lamp beside my bed and stared at me. I wasn’t sure what I should do or say.

  ‘Hello, Adenine,’ Creases formed at the edges of his mouth. His top lip curled upwards, revealing a row of yellow teeth.

  ‘You’re old,’ I blurted, and brought my hand to my mouth.

  His head tilted back, and laughter escaped his lips. I thought I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and I closed my eyes and turned my head to listen. Alongside the footsteps was another noise, a scraping, thumping noise I knew well. Mother was fighting her way up to see me.

  ‘Here they come,’ he said, chuckling.

  The door flew open and two figures entered. Mother scooted across the floor at an impressive speed. Jemely froze near the door.

  Varago helped Mother climb up and sit on the end of my bed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Mother said. ‘I just couldn’t bear it hearing you laugh, Varago. I knew it meant something good was happening. Adenine, can you see me?’ Mother waved her hands at me. She stared at me expectantly.

  ‘Oh, look at those glowing eyes!’ Jemely said. ‘They’re as precious as gems. With a face like that, she’d be sport for the boys in town.’

  Mother’s hair had become coarse. Her smooth skin was wrinkled like Varago’s, but her stark brown eyes were as young as ever. Her cheeks showed a little red under the yellow lamp light, but other parts of her were shadowed.

  ‘Take the cover off the window,’ I said.

  Jemely raced over to the window and yanked off the cover. Every angle, every nook and line and curve of the room was exposed. And in the foreground of my vision, Mother’s eyes glistened with tears.

  ‘Can you see all right?’ Varago asked.

  I looked at him. He was seated on a chair he’d brought up from the living room. He was leaning forward, his hands clasped together, his lips in a thin line, and I tried to figure out what he was feeling by looking at him. It was hard. I wasn’t accustomed to it. I closed my eyes for a moment, the whole scene freezing in my mind while I made sense of it all.

  When I opened them, Jemely peered at me, hands on her hips. ‘See? I bet you weren’t eager to see the ugly likes of me.’

  Jemely’s long, wavy hair curved around her freckled face. Her dress struggled to cover a large bosom that made her hips look small. Her ears stuck out like a rat’s, and her eyes were almond-shaped like Varago’s. When she smiled, I saw that her teeth were straight, but there was a gap in the bottom row. Her angular face was so striking that I couldn’t understand how anyone could find her ugly.

  ‘No. Jemely, you’re not ugly,’ I said.

  She laughed, took a step forward, and stretched out her hand. I watched her fingers come towards me. The movement was so odd that I was mesmerised by it until her hand moved out of sight and she touched my head.

  I looked at Mother. She hadn’t moved an inch. I shuffled down the bed until I was within her reach. Tears dripped down her cheeks. She wiped at them with the back of her hand and then wiped her hand on a black apron that she wore over her flowery dress.

  ‘Do you feel all right?’ she asked.

  In that moment, I wanted to close my eyes again; the colours and patterns of the room seemed to dull the fullness of her voice. It used to have a rich, womanly sound, but at that moment, it sounded far away, one voice competing for clarity against others. My vision seemed to be distracting my ears.

  I nodded, and her hand went to my face. She pulled me into an embrace and burst into sobs. Love filled every inch of me, and the moment was perfect. I squeezed Mother tighter and rubbed a hand up her back to comfort her. How I’d missed seeing her beautiful face.

  Jemely sniffled a little too, then looked away, saying, ‘Well, I gots work downstairs. See you later, missy.’ She waved at me. I understood what waving meant, but seeing it was bizarre. She closed the bedroom door behind her. My eyes began to ache, and I rubbed at them.

  ‘What is it?’ Varago asked.

  ‘They’re sore.’

  ‘I should expect so. Would it be better if I covered the window back up?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’ Mother asked.

  I shook my head.

  ‘She’ll be a tired little mouse for a bit. Give her time,’ Varago said, and he gave her a smile so warm, so tender, that I felt as if I’d intruded on an unspoken conversation. I was surprised to see Mother looking at him the exact same way.

  ‘Butter needs to eat,’ she said.

  ‘He’s here?’

  ‘Yes. Downstairs. He’s still very sore. Klawdia brought him over this morning.’

  ‘I have to see him,’ I said, realising I was hungry after all.

  After talking to and petting Butter, I spent the rest of my morning exercising my eyelids.

  Open. Close. Open. Close.

  They had stopped aching, and my surroundings became less overwhelming. No longer squinting in the bright light, I was able to focus on individual features of the house. The colours danced with hues and shades. There was so much detail in simple things, like the knots in the wood in the ceiling and the different variations of brown in a wooden plate. I made a game of counting the cracks and dents in our stone floor near the hearth.

  I explored the kitchen. Vibrant vegetables and fruits—green, red, orange, and brown—sat on bowls and plates. Hanging above the kitchen bench were the metal hooks holding rabbits, pigs, and chickens. Having used the kitchen many times over the past year, I was already aware of most that the room contained. But seeing it with my eyes felt different.

  I reached out and held what I recognised as a wooden spoon. But when I closed my eyes and passed the shap
e between my hands, it felt more like a spoon than ever. I would have to get used to putting sight to objects.

  The decorations collected over Mother’s and Father’s trade journeys were breathtaking and wondrous. I had forgotten the depth to material things, and I wondered if it was simply the newness that made everything seem so alive. Further explorations revealed that the closer I was to a piece of furniture, painting, statue, or other object, the sharper the image it provided. Whenever I walked into a room, objects rich in colour were the first to attract my attention. Mother’s closet, for instance, seemed especially green. She told me it had been painted, and the green used for it was called Springtime Grass.

  Mother’s blanket was embroidered. I recognised the pictures stitched into the fabric depicted people dressed in flowing gowns, and the figures’ necklaces, rings, tiaras, and earrings were real jewels glued to the blanket. Hanging on the walls in the bedroom were large golden frames surrounding pictures of wild animals. Printed tapestries displayed scenes of battles, feasting lords, and gallant knights.

  Mother beamed as she fetched a charcoal sketch of her and Father that an artist from Bivinia had made for them. ‘This was made twenty-five years ago, before the Wicked King fell out of grace with the fair Bivinians.’

  ‘I remember this,’ I said, tracing a finger down a patch containing no charcoal. In the drawing, Mother was smiling, but Father’s face contained only a smirk. His eyes sent my mind to the past, back to when he’d still been alive. Bothered by the way it made me feel, I turned away.

  ‘I miss him too,’ she said.

  I didn’t tell her that guilt was what I felt. How I wished I had died instead of him.

  Hanging above the embroidered blanket was a complex arrangement of wheels and metal that made up the pulley system Mother used to get in and out of bed. It was an eyesore compared to the richly decorated room. Outside the bedroom, next to the steps leading down into Mystoria, was the bathing tub. It was childish to have feared it, but somehow it had come to represent all that troubled me. I was older, taller, and smarter, and I saw it for what it was: a simple object that people washed in, no longer the symbol of tragedy. I looked at the stone floor. The bloodstain had long since been cleaned, but I could still see the brushstrokes of red made by my father as he dragged my uncle into the next room.

  Seeing again brought difficulties. Watching my feet step out in front of me was odd, as if they were not mine but a stranger’s. Mother gave me indecipherable looks at times, and I constantly asked her for her thoughts. Eventually, she put me in a chair, sat across from me, and animated her face with many different expressions. Having relied solely on my hearing for three years meant I’d forgotten how to read faces.

  ‘Communication is more than words,’ Mother told me.

  I applied that phrase to every interaction I had from that moment on. Thankfully, whenever I became overwhelmed, I only had to shut my eyes, and the world became less chaotic.

  I noted the stairs leading upwards to the attic. Earlier that morning, I had been so eager to see Butter that I had missed the details of my staircase. The hallway seemed narrow and small. When I was six, I would stand in the middle of one stair and put my arms out wide, and my fingertips would barely scrape the framing walls. I ascended the steps now and stretched out my arms, and my elbows touched the sides.

  I stepped up to the door of my attic room and pulled the latch. Inside, white blurry threads hung from dusty railings. Cobwebs. I shuddered.

  My bed seemed small and lonely in the centre of the large room. I had forgotten how the ceiling tilted at an angle, and seeing it again brought back memories of lying in bed while Mother and Father tucked me in. I’d always hated it when they said goodnight. I had comforted myself by counting the grooves between the wooden slats.

  The dirty attic window let in filtered light. I wiped it clean with the sleeve of my dress and peered outside. I could make out the houses, shops, and stalls below. The town had changed a little. A few houses were a different colour, and some stalls were missing. There were tiny patches of white on the roofs where overnight snow had collected.

  On my bed, I hugged my legs up against my chest, desperately wanting a new life filled with adventure where I learned to sail boats, fight with swords, fish with nets, or ride stallions across the southern plains. As a young girl, it had been enough to imagine these things while playing with my toys that were now stacked lonely and neglected in the corner of my room, but not anymore.

  Mourning the loss of my childhood days made me think about the future. Eventually I’d have to go live in Meligna if I didn’t get away from Healer Euka and this town. I loathed the idea of being a northerner, hated by southerners and forced to heal their men.

  Still, I can bring someone back from the verge of death.

  By having the ability to heal any man to full health, whether he’d fallen ill or become wounded or had been bitten by some venomous snake or insect, made me feel obligated to help. Every day I didn’t heal them was a day I’d been selfish, and yet, I couldn’t shake the fear. I’d seen that same fear in my uncle’s eyes; he’d been in so much pain and had only wanted it to end. How could I blame him for that?

  The attic room seemed to close in on me, and I decided now was a good time to go searching for a new blindfold that I could see through. I went to the storeroom where Uncle Garrad had died, and tried a few different types of materials. Wool was too opaque and scratched my face, lace wasn’t thick enough and meant people would easily see my eyes underneath, so I ended up with a silky white cotton that allowed me to see through the stitching. I could clearly make out the storeroom objects, and to ensure it hid my eyes completely, I searched for a mirror. As I peered into one, my stomach did a little flip.

  I saw the entirety of myself for the first time in my life. Mother had always kept me away from mirrors, and it was part of the reason she’d covered all the glass in the house.

  The fabric slipped down my nose and I saw my eyes. They were as gold as Mother’s favourite locket, and as I turned my head, the gold deepened and I noted honey-and orange-like crystals that flashed and sparkled even in the dim light. They seemed to pulse like amber coals, and as I leaned back, I thought of myself like a wild animal. The blacks of my pupils were piercing and midnight, and the edges of my jaw had lost their baby fat. My arms were skinny. The roots of my long hair were golden.

  I found a jewelled dagger and cut the white cotton into a long strip. As I held the blade in my hands, I remembered Father clutching a similar one on the night he’d stabbed Uncle Garrad, though his hadn’t been as decorative.

  For the next few days, I would pretend that I still couldn’t see. Healer Euka would not know that I had unstitched my eyes, and if she spied on me, she hopefully would not notice any changes. It was too risky to continue attending my classes, and I knew Mother would agree, but first I had to say my farewells to Emala and Frooby, a duty I would carry out at midday.

  Later that morning, Mother agreed that I should go and say goodbye to my school friends, but of course she put another rinse of dye through the gold of my hair. At my request, Jemely came with me; I was nervous that being alone would tempt Healer Euka and Mayor Vawdon to hassle me.

  Mother said that the letter to sell Garrad’s hill shack had been sent through to Juxon City and that we should expect the sale of the property soon. Being a merchant, Mother seemed to know unusual things like that.

  Before leaving the house, I found a suitable walking stick in the backyard and used it to aid in my appearing to be blind. When Jemely and I stepped out into the sun, there was a mild twinge of pain in the corner of my eye. I held on to Jemely’s arm and twisted my head from side to side, moving as I did when I was blind. Sometimes, I would close my eyes to remember just how to act. The blindfold I’d created worked perfectly in filtering much of the sunlight.

  In the town square, no one paid any attention to us. People looked at me and then looked away. A few greeted Jemely. Most people wore trous
ers and dresses. Some had on coats, and the occasional older lady wore a feathered hat or neck scarf.

  The town square was framed by several large buildings and many smaller ones. Some looked new, but most looked old and run-down. The use of the buildings was divided between shops and homes; some were both. Jemely whispered in my ear, telling me who lived in each one and what the person did as a job or what they sold. Stalls overflowed with goods and merchandise.

  For the first time, I saw Varago’s house. It was two stories, had a white-and-brown exterior, and was topped by a heavily thatched roof. Smoke rose from the chimney, and several people waited outside. The council hall, the largest building in town, was next door. That building was one story tall and all stone, with a high roof and stained-glass windows. Strange stone beasts hung from each side of the roof. Their tongues lolled from their mouths, and their wings stretched to the sides. I eyed the building nervously.

  Jemely, sensing my tension, picked up the pace. Two men guarding the entrance gave us lingering looks. Remembering my lesson from Mother earlier that morning, I knew their narrowed eyes and unwavering eye contact meant they were suspicious of us. But then, maybe I was being overly fearful.

  ‘Do the soldiers serve Mayor Vawdon or King Erageo?’ I whispered.

  ‘The mayor,’ she said. ‘The mayor has to go to Juxon City now and again to report on the town. Sometimes we get Juxon officials visiting here, though.’

  Next, we passed the smithy, Fara. A group of soldiers stood around her while she worked, and she was smiling and laughing with them. Her hair was black and short, and she wore men’s clothing that revealed labourer’s arms. If not for her soft features, she could pass for a boy. She waved at Jemely and me, and I resisted waving back.

  I tried to keep focused on the road ahead, but the trees, which had lost most of their autumn leaves, rocked in a gentle breeze. I couldn’t look away. I marvelled at the clouds, at the sun, at the cloud-covered Borrelia mountains, which loomed over our town like the pines towering over houses. The sight made me happy. We approached the two school buildings, which were smaller than I’d imagined. I wondered if I had imagined everything as if I were still the girl of ten.