Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  He dropped back against the pillow, feeling ill. He’d been better today but now his head was spinning. He’d worked himself up into a fever. Wonderful. Nothing like a few hours of bad dreams and a foul tasting mouth. Thank you, Ermina.

  He heard someone at the door and fired a pillow in that direction.

  “Hey, be careful there, Head of Household,” Franz said, his tone telling Menders that he was grinning. “Good thing you didn’t fling that at the fair Ermina, they’d be hearing her yowling down at Spaltz’s.” He came toward the bed, thumped the pillow down on Menders’ lap and then sat against the bedpost. Menders could hear the rattling of a DeGratz set.

  “So you heard,” Menders sighed, repositioning the pillow.

  “Couldn’t help it. Want a suggestion? Dismiss the housekeeper, not the nurserymaid.”

  Menders grunted. He didn’t want to discuss it.

  “Here, let’s have a look at your eyes.” Franz got up and unwrapped the bandage.

  Menders worked his eyes open. He could now see light and blurry shapes, but not much more because of the swelling in his eyes.

  “I won’t use the lantern, I’ll just put the drops in and change the bandage,” Franz said.

  The fresh bandage did feel better, as did the clean and temporarily cool pads over his eyes. He didn’t ask Franz what his eyes looked like. His prognosis was still uncertain. No point in talking about it or wondering if he would ever have more vision than he had now.

  “I’ll let you torment me through a game of DeGratz now that I’ve seen the last sticky baby for the day,” Franz announced jovially, clicking the DeGratz pieces into place on the board.

  “I was talking to Eiren,” Menders said, surprising the doctor. He usually pounced on the opportunity of a game of DeGratz like a starved weasel. “She wants to set up a school in that vacant building on her father’s farm.”

  “Indeed? Interesting, very interesting.” Franz’s voice was thoughtful.

  “She could set up an informal school now, but when I told her that there are places where she could learn to be a teacher, she brightened up - until she thought of the cost.”

  “Now I’m intrigued. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to have a school on the estate. Some of the ignorance I deal with… well, I won’t dwell on it,” Franz sighed.

  Menders nodded. He saw it all the time on the estate farms. Both human and animal suffering were made worse by ignorance. It wasn’t that the farmers were heartless. They simply didn’t know that there were better ways of doing things.

  “What say that when little Eiren is about to be unneeded in the nursery, we have a talk with the Spaltzes and send our protégée to learn to be a teacher,” Franz said outright. “Between the two of us we can afford it. I’d hate to see that little girl married by the time she’s sixteen and starting a string of babies. I doubt you’d have any resistance from Spaltz, other than that he’ll insist on doing some kind of work to offset the cost of school and board for her.”

  Menders smiled and leaned back against the pillows. He would have ruminated over the entire affair for days and even weeks, while Franz was inclined to act outright.

  “Now then, let’s get on with this game, and mind you don’t cheat,” Franz cautioned. They began the game, calling out their moves to each other. After a short struggle, Menders won and smugly said “DeGratz!”

  “Oh grundar shit!” Franz groaned. “Talk about a mind like a steel trap!”

  Menders grinned.

  (13)

  Clearing Vision

  “What do you see?” Franz asked as Menders set his glasses in place on his nose.

  Menders looked around.

  “Everything – but I’m going to need a new correction, it’s blurred,” he answered, smiling with relief.

  “Good. That’s the best we could hope for, considering the swelling and the length of time your eyes were infected. I’ll make enquiries as to whether there’s a proper optometrist in Erdstrom - otherwise you’ll have to go to Erdahn.”

  Menders smiled and lay back, looking at the beautiful blurred world through his glasses. “Put up the shades,” he ordered.

  “Yes sir,” Franz answered, and did so.

  Menders blinked.

  The world was green. Of course he had known that spring had come during the tedious weeks in bed, but it was still a shock, for his last view of the world had been a study in white and grey.

  “Winter has marched on,” Menders said quietly.

  “Just be glad you’re marching with it, Head of Household and not ploughed under the sod,” Franz replied. “What is it, Eiren?”

  Menders looked around. Eiren was standing in the doorway, fuming.

  “Mister Menders, I know it’s not for me to criticize and Doctor said we weren’t supposed to bother you with what she does, but you should know. Ermina won’t let me give Katrin anything to eat and she’s hungry.”

  Menders listened carefully. Katrin was crying upstairs.

  “Ermina says Katrin has to start having meals on a schedule,” Eiren continued belligerently.

  “Thank you,” Menders replied, climbing out of bed. He started for the door but couldn’t face the idea of confronting Ermina wearing only a nightshirt. “I’ll be there as soon as I’m dressed.”

  He went to the closet, grabbing a pair of trousers and a shirt. He could hear Katrin’s crying escalating.

  “I can go up there and bring her down,” Franz offered.

  “No, I have to do this,” Menders responded, pulling the nightshirt off over his head. He drew on his trousers and began to button the waist.

  His hands slowed. He’d been swallowed up in voluminous nightshirts for many weeks.

  “Gods,” he whispered. He’d always been lean but if he didn’t hold the trousers up with his hands, they would be down around his ankles.

  “Well, at the Military Academy they always said I was like a greyhound, all prick and ribs, but nothing like this,” he muttered to Franz, wrapping the loose waistband a quarter again around his waist. “I need one of Katrin’s diaper pins.”

  “You’ll fill out quickly the way you eat. For now, use this.” Franz dropped just such a pin into Menders’ hand from the collection of odd items that infested his pockets. Menders pinned his trousers, pulled on the shirt, which draped on him like a deflated balloon, found his shoes and headed for the stairs with Franz at his heels.

  He was winded by the time he reached the top. He leaned against the wall, catching his breath while Katrin’s wailing turned into despairing sobs. He gritted his teeth, clenched and unclenched his fists, then walked into the nursery.

  Katrin held out her arms to him, crying his name. He went and gathered her up, glaring at Ermina. At that moment, Katrin’s belly rumbled and she whimpered.

  “Why are you letting her cry?” he asked, his tone cold and low.

  For once Ermina was dumbstruck. Obviously she had not expected him to be up and about. When she’d seen him only this morning he’d still been bedridden, with his eyes swathed in bandages.

  “And since when does anyone in this house not eat when they are hungry?” he continued, walking toward her. Katrin snuggled against him, rubbing her teary face on his shirt.

  “It’s high time she was given some sort of schedule and discipline,” Ermina said, having found her tongue. “She’s been very difficult during the time you’ve been in bed.”

  “Where I should be right now,” Menders said. “Katrin has a schedule, and always has. She gets up in the morning, goes to bed at night, has meals with the rest of us and additional food when she’s hungry. That is how it will remain. Franz, would you take Katrin down to Cook for something to eat, please?”

  He glared at Ermina until Franz took Katrin away. Then he grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “What are you doing in this nursery?” he growled, giving her a shake. “Who the hells do you think you are?”

  “Menders, it’s only a half hour until time for her to eat! She needs to lea
rn that she can’t have everything she wants the moment she wants it,” Ermina began in the shrewish tone that infuriated him.

  “A half hour! That’s an eternity to a child Katrin’s age! What possible purpose could it serve to make her stay hungry for half an hour?” He felt himself building up to a rage and released her. If he didn’t, he might just shake her to death.

  “She’s terribly spoiled! The nurserymaids give in to every whim she has! You’re just as bad!”

  “You are not in charge of Katrin, the nurserymaids are. You are not a nurse, you are a housekeeper. Katrin is my charge, not yours. Get out of this nursery, and stay out. You have nothing to say about how Katrin is raised.”

  “It’s always Katrin with you, isn’t it? Why are you even out of bed?” she snapped.

  “Because I heard my baby crying while you just stood by and did nothing,” he answered. He waited until she slammed out of the room, then leaned against Katrin’s crib wearily. Even though he’d been in bed for weeks and had been desperate to be free of the confinement, he wanted to be nowhere else now.

  “Come on,” Franz said in the doorway, “Back to bed. Baby is happily eating a slice of bread and butter, Ermina has flounced off to her room and you’re about to fall down.”

  After a slow trek down the stairs, Menders got into bed gratefully. A few minutes later, Eiren brought Katrin in to him.

  “Menders!” she cried, smiling and putting her arms out to him.

  “I can see you now, Little Princess,” he said, taking her and holding her close. “When I have new glasses, I’ll be just like I used to be.” He held her on his lap while she patted his face and then gently put her hands to his glasses, but left them in place.

  “No, no,” she murmured. He smiled.

  “That’s right, leave them where they belong,” he said. She was sleepy after her crying fit and the food she’d had, so he settled her onto the pillows and eased down beside her.

  “No one will ever starve you, my Snowflower,” he said, stroking the golden hair that was beginning to grow long. “Not even for half an hour. Why don’t you stay here with me for a little while?”

  Franz had pulled the shades down so Menders removed his glasses. Soon he would have a new pair made, so he could see properly. He would be able to start eating normally again. Before long, he would begin building his body back to the strength it had before he fell ill.

  Katrin turned over and smiled at him before she closed her eyes.

  (14)

  “How Many Boys Have You Been Expecting To Step Out Of The Dark?”

  It was early summer before Menders finally let himself into the dim, aromatic stable. Two heads appeared over stall doors and in one stall noisy kicking began.

  “Hello there, fat boy,” he murmured to Franz’s big grey gelding, rubbing the horse’s neck and feeding it a couple of sugar lumps. The greedy animal lipped at his hand long after the sugar was gone. “You eat too many of these, you soft Artreyan lapdog,” Menders laughed.

  The kicking further down the stable increased and Menders left the affectionate horse, walking down between the slanting shafts of early morning sunlight that fell through the high windows.

  His farlin, Demon, snapped at him in greeting.

  “I see you didn’t miss me,” Menders smiled, paying no attention to the farlin’s dramatics. “No sugar for you if you don’t love me anymore.”

  With a bit of eye rolling, Demon leaned his head against Menders’ shoulder.

  “Ah, that’s better. You’re very sweet, so you can have your sugar – but if you nip my hand, I’ll give you a clout around the head you won’t forget,” he said, offering the sugar. Demon took it and crunched happily.

  “I’m not supposed to ride out on you yet,” Menders said, patting the sinuous, striped neck as Demon nosed his pockets, hoping for more treats. “I’ve been sick, so I’m going out on your pudgy friend over there.”

  When he walked away Demon went back to kicking his stall door. Menders turned back to him, laughing.

  “So you did miss me,” he said, rubbing Demon’s forehead. He could see the farlin was restive. He’d been cooped up for weeks. Franz wasn’t about to ride him, being far too large for Menders’ Mordanian saddle and it was the same story with Lucen. Franz’s Artreyan saddle would swim on Demon’s lean body. One of the younger tenant farmers had taken Demon out for some exercise and had returned looking, as Cook said, like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. The farmer had refused to try riding Demon again. Eventually even Lucen wouldn’t lead Demon anywhere because he kicked and bit out of frustration. The farlin had spent the last two weeks stabled.

  “I’ll put you in the pasture,” Menders said, reaching for the lead. He hesitated.

  He truly didn’t care for riding Franz’s gelding. The gelding was a good horse, but riding him was as easy as sitting in a chair. Demon, on the other hand, was prone to bolt and buck, shied at everything and had a particular trick of whipping his head around in a snakelike motion to nip his rider on the foot. He adored Menders and obeyed him out of love, but he was still a handful, with a wild strain in his bloodline that was downright lunatic.

  “What say we go against doctor’s orders and have a ride?” he asked the farlin, who knew the word ‘ride’ and went back to kicking his stall door resoundingly. “Stop that. Wait for me.”

  In a moment Menders was back with his saddle and bridle. He saddled Demon quickly while avoiding the animal’s playful but painful pointed teeth. He mounted with one leg wrapped around the high pommel of the saddle, the traditional sidesaddle riding posture of Thrun herdsmen. That way when Demon bolted, which he was sure to do, he wouldn’t run out from under Menders – that is, unless the saddle girth broke.

  The moment Menders rode out of the stable, Demon tore down the road toward Spaltz’s farm as fast as he could go. Menders bent low over the animal’s neck, feeling the wind rush at his face and stream his long hair behind him. Eventually the farlin quieted and was content to walk along when Menders reined him in.

  It was well worth going against doctor’s orders. The wild ride had cleared Menders’ head and he could think clearly and sharply again. He’d been plagued with a tendency toward drowsiness and lack of energy – now he knew why. He’d needed exercise, not more rest.

  Menders began thinking about the dreams that accompanied his weeks of high fever. He’d come to terms with many of the terrifying memories they’d contained. For the first time in his life he no longer consciously blocked his memories of childhood and now had little to fear, even from his worst recollections.

  During the two years Menders had spent in Surelia, several stressful incidents had brought his traumatic memories floating to the surface. For the first time since becoming an assassin, he’d been unable to find any sort of mental peace. No matter how he tried to clear his mind, his brutal childhood continually confronted him, particularly the memories of the tutor who had used him sexually.

  Upon his return to Erdahn, it was easy to find Hartsen Trentov. Menders gained entry to the man’s house the night of his return, determined to kill his former tutor. He’d moved through the darkened rooms silently, finding his quarry sitting alone before the fire.

  The stench told him the story before the man even knew he was there. Menders didn’t need to kill him. Trentov’s own body, stricken with one of the slow growing rots that consumed people painfully from the inside, was already dying.

  Menders stepped out of the shadows right beside Trentov, who looked up slowly, his face pallid and full of dread.

  “Tell me, how many boys have you been expecting to step out of the dark?” Menders asked. “More than a few, I expect.”

  “Aylam?” Trentov quavered, shielding his eyes from the firelight. In response, Menders removed his dark glasses. When the tutor saw the white eyes that identified his ex-pupil, he shuddered.

  “How did you get in here?” he whispered.

  “How many boys have you been expecting to step out
of the dark?” Menders repeated.

  “Gods, if you’re here to kill me, just do it. You’d be doing me a favor,” Trentov groaned.

  “There are some things I want to know first,” Menders said. “Did you know you were hurting me?”

  The man looked away.

  “So you did. You knew you were hurting me.”

  “You fought. If boys don’t fight, it doesn’t have to hurt. Some like it.” Desperation rang in Trentov’s voice. “Your little cousin, Kaymar, I taught him after leaving your home – he loved it. He loved me. There were no complaints from him until I left for another posting…”

  Menders blanched. He had never met his cousin, Kaymar, who was six years his junior. He would have been just out of the nursery at that time. This man was babbling about meddling with a little boy, even younger than Menders had been when Hartzen Trentov first raped him.

  “You sicken me,” he snarled. “The idea that monsters like you walk the world sickens me.”

  Trentov sat, wringing his claw-like yellow hands in the firelight. There was silence.

  Menders turned away, ready to leave.

  “Aylam, please.”

  Menders turned back. Trentov was staring at him from hollow eye sockets, his face lined with pain.

  “Aylam, kill me. I know you intended it when you came here. Do what you came to do.”

  “No. You’ll die sooner or later. Until then, when the pain is tearing away at you – remember your student, Aylam.” He leaned closer, his pale eyes hard as alabaster. “When you’re feeling your guts sizzling and want the pain to stop, and you know someone could have made it stop and didn’t, then… remember me.”

  He faded back into shadow and had almost reached his point of entry when he turned and made his way back to the firelit room. He was not surprised to see Trentov in tears.

  “I would have been merciful enough to kill you if you’d done one thing,” he said, making the man jump violently in his chair.