“You still don’t have number seven?” Menders asked, deliberately putting references to prophecies, threads and weaving men out of his mind. He knew the Thrun called him Weaving Man, a name from their ancient sagas, as well as Magic In The Eyes, but he wasn’t going to become a slave to anything mystical, regardless of what Tharak might say.
“Number seven must be very special,” Tharak laughed. “I am still waiting for her.”
(42)
Secrets and Letters
A cry rang through the Family Wing. Kaymar, who had been stalking up and down the corridors of the first floor, started and moved swiftly in the direction of the sound.
In his study, Menders dropped his book and rose, going to the door of Borsen’s apartment.
Kaymar was already there, bending over Borsen, who was weeping aloud though his eyes were shut. Another nightmare – these night disturbances had become frequent during the winter months.
“Come on now, Little Man,” Kaymar was saying, his voice so unaccustomedly tender that Menders blinked. “Wake up. You’re safe at home. It’s Kaymar, Borsen.”
Menders moved to the other side of the bed and boosted himself up to sit on the mattress. Borsen, in the talons of whatever dream tormented him, thrashed away, fighting, tangling himself in the covers.
Menders’ and Kaymar’s eyes met. They knew what would happen the moment either of them touched the child – and wanted to avoid it.
“Borsen, it’s Uncle,” Menders said, keeping his voice low and calm. “Wake up, Borsen. You’re having a dream.”
“The room’s damned cold,” Ifor said from the doorway. “Every time he has a nightmare, the room is cold.” He lumbered over to the stove and opened the damper, bending to heave in a log.
Borsen’s eyes were clenched shut, his entire body shuddering with emotion.
“Best go ahead and shake him out of it, Cuz,” Kaymar sighed. “I’ll catch his legs if he starts kicking.”
Menders reached out and put his hands on Borsen’s shoulders.
The child began to shriek and fought with all his strength, his eyes going wide in a waking nightmare.
“Mama! Mama! Don’t let him take me! Wake up, Mama!” Before Kaymar could react, he kneed Menders painfully in the ribs.
Menders never flinched, pulling him into his arms, taking the blows and kicks as he rocked the boy back and forth, speaking to him gently. Kaymar came across the bed and put his arms around Borsen as well, preventing him from flailing against Menders.
“Dear gods,” Ifor murmured as they struggled with Borsen. “What in the name of Grahl torments him like this?”
It was a rhetorical question. This drama had played itself out many times now and so far, no-one had been able to find what Borsen’s nightmares were about. Something was locked deep inside Borsen’s mind and he was refusing to let it surface.
“Now you’re waking up. It’s Papa, Borsen. Don’t be afraid, it’s Papa,” Menders whispered, so intent upon comforting the little boy that he failed to guard his words. He didn’t see Kaymar’s jealous glance or Ifor’s raised eyebrows.
Suddenly Borsen gasped, became aware of them and began to cry.
“All right now. It’s all right. See, Kaymar is here, so is Ifor. You’re at home and you’re safe,” Menders said firmly. He held out his hand for Borsen’s glasses, which Kaymar, with one lithe movement, swept up from the bedside table. Now that his eyesight was corrected by his spectacles, Borsen panicked when he was without them. Menders slid them into place on the boy’s nose and then rose, holding Borsen close.
“I’ll take him to my office,” he said. “Thank you both.” He turned and walked out of the room, murmuring softly to Borsen.
Kaymar began making up Borsen’s bed without a word, tugging viciously at the twisted sheets and blankets. Ifor opened the door of the stove and put in another log.
“The boy would be better with lignus burned in here. It wouldn’t go cold in the middle of the night,” he said as if Kaymar wasn’t glowering with jealousy. He waited until the smaller man was finished with the bed and then went to him.
“My dear, we all love that boy,” he said. “Right now, he needs Menders. You’ll have your chance to be of help to him. He’ll need you a great deal as he grows up, because Menders can’t begin to understand many things about him.”
Kaymar said nothing, but nodded. Ifor watched as he stalked away down the corridor, flicking his knife from its scabbard at his waist. Then Ifor sighed, deliberately cleared his mind of the burdens of everyone and went back to bed.
Later, Hemmett moved silently through the house on his way to the kitchen for a glass of milk. Just as he was reaching for a glass, he heard Borsen’s tearful voice coming from Menders’ office. He moved toward the sound. He listened.
Some minutes later he turned away, stricken by what he’d heard Borsen telling Menders. He no longer wanted anything to drink – or to eat. Heart heavy, he retraced his steps up to his room.
***
Dear Cahrin and Olner,
It was wonderful to have you and the children here in my quiet part of Mordania, although as you saw from the Thrun carnival, it is sometimes far from quiet.
With the winter past, work on the new boarding school has begun. Our previous arrangement of having children travel in to board with local families was a strain for all concerned, and my suggestion to have the children board at The Shadows was wisely turned down by Eiren, who correctly said it would undermine her authority with them. So the new school will fulfill all our needs – although at some considerable expense. I shan’t bore you both with what it costs to have bricks shipped out here.
Katrin has shown great interest in being one of the school’s patrons. She showed me the accounts she has kept from her soap making enterprises – quite a tidy sum, which was combined with a small amount from her royal income and invested in the school. She has made some useful suggestions for the building such as a separate entrance for little ones so they don’t get trampled. As you saw for yourselves, she is a clever, thoughtful girl who is mindful of others. I am immensely proud of her.
Not to be outdone, Borsen and Hemmett both contributed their own ideas. Borsen insists I tell you of his idea for a trade school – a first class idea, for as he explained, not everyone is capable of, or should be forced into pure academia. Hemmet took a page from his military training to suggest physical exercise classes in order to, as he put it, ‘wear the cussedness out of the students’. Hemmett is back at the Academy now, having his own youthful cussedness worked on by Sir, no doubt.
And now that a certain young apprentice tailor has run along and is not looking over my shoulder… thank you, Olner, for ordering the jacket from Borsen. It meant the world to him to have his first ‘foreign order’ as he calls it. When I reminded him that you are in Erdahn, which is in Mordania, he simply replied that it might as well be another world away.
Sometimes I feel that isolated here, too. Borsen is an insightful lad and as you remarked, he has come a long way from the waif we took in, though there are still troubles that plague him. Of late we realized that his room going cold at night can lead to him having nightmares. I believe I mentioned he had been left in terrible circumstances when he was only six years of age, abandoned by an uncaring father as his mother starved and froze to death in front him.
Given such horrors and hardships, it is easy to see why the little lad craves our love and affection so much. He does his best to rise above the memories of such things but I fear that these are scars that he will bear for life. I am thankful that he can confide his fears to me, but cannot press him for confidences – those have to come when he is ready.
It’s high time I was at the school building site. Eiren teases me that I should become the headmaster… can you see such a thing, my friends? Me, in a stiff black top hat and severe sideburns, books under my arm, face set in a stern grimace… yes, I know you’re laughing at the imagery. As am I.
Affectionately,
***
Dear Cahrin,
I write to you, feeling you may be the only person who would understand my fears. There was an incident here yesterday at the school building site, involving Menders and one of the workmen.
With Katrin now a keen patron of the school, we all go to view the progress frequently. Katrin takes great pleasure in this and dresses beautifully for each occasion.
The men on the site are carefully selected and their references closely examined, but there was a new man brought in on short notice to replace someone who was injured. To come straight to the point, this new man made a loathsome and insulting remark about Katrin – and Menders overheard him.
Suddenly my calm, reassuring man of reason and intellect was transformed into a… thing, a raging beast that tore into the workman with horrifying fury and speed. Cahrin, I say this with no exaggeration, drama or hysteria. I believe that Menders meant to kill the man and was capable of doing so with his bare hands.
Kaymar and some other men tried to pull Menders off but he shrugged them away with the strength of a giant. He laughed, as if he was enjoying himself while he throttled the workman! I think that was worst of all. It took all Kaymar’s wiry strength as well as the efforts of several others to subdue him.
As quickly as the rage appeared, it subsided. Menders stalked away without a word. I ushered a shocked and stunned Princess from the scene as rapidly as possible. Kaymar stayed behind to mete out whatever further disciplinary action he felt was warranted.
Although what was said was obscene, loathsome and crude and cannot be excused under any circumstances, I do not believe that it warranted such a violent response. Like Katrin, I was horrified by the fury of Menders’ reaction.
I realize Menders has not gone mad, or taken some turn, but that what welled up in him was some inner darkness that must always be there, something he strives to control at all times – and usually does. I know very little of his past, small details at most, and I also know there are things he does not wish to discuss. I have my suspicions of what might have happened to him in his childhood, but know that he will never confide those experiences to me.
You are the daughter of an assassin and the wife of another. You are the only person I can turn to now for advice and guidance as to how to help him.
While I do not fear for my own safety or that of anyone Menders holds dear, I am at a loss to explain or understand the inner complexities of my most beloved husband and friend.
Sincerely,
Eiren
Finished with her letter, Eiren went to bed but could not sleep. From her window, she could see the lamp in Menders’ office casting a long rectangle of light on the ground outside. He had been pleasant but abstracted and distant during dinner, then returned to his office where he had already spent the entire afternoon.
It wasn’t unusual for him to get caught up in work, but she knew he wasn’t working tonight. He was angry with himself.
She’d known almost from the beginning that Menders had a very dark side, and though she knew he would never harm her, she had made it a point never to provoke that darkness.
Eiren sighed. She truly hated it when Menders was this distressed because she wanted to comfort him and let him know that he was human after all, and that no-one else expected him to be as perfect as he expected himself to be. That would be no consolation to a man like Menders. He expected too much of himself, and she knew from experience that trying to convince him otherwise would guarantee his going into a cold, silent anger.
You wanted him, so you take the bad with the good, she scolded herself. Almost all of life with him is pleasant and full of joy. Let him have his time alone. Things will get back to normal soon.
She woke when he came into her room. She always knew when he was near, even though he moved silently. He put a log on the fire, undressed quickly and crawled into the bed with her without a nightshirt, despite the cold.
She held her arms out. He said nothing, resting his head on her breast and wrapping his arms around her in turn.
He shivered silently for a very long time before he fell asleep. Sleep eluded Eiren, so she just held her beloved man and waited for morning.
***
My dear Eiren,
The assassin’s lot is not a happy one. You may think that a terrible, callous thing to say given your recent circumstances, but sadly, when such things happen, those words come to mind. You are correct. I am probably the only person you know who understands your grief and anxiety.
Being born into the business, I was sought after by young men of the Special Services for my assumed ability to tolerate some of the more dire aspects of their natures, which all of them have, your Menders and my Olner included.
These are exceptional men. They are also surely the last of their breed, as modern-day assassins are not so rigorously trained in the more subtle arts, or taught such levels of control and self discipline – and the result is men like poor Kaymar, who was given no more education than a thug and was only intended to be dispensable.
I do know that Menders was cruelly treated as a boy, by family and others, and was subject to the old ways of ‘toughening’ children. As a young man he was very prone to outbursts such as you described and sometimes instigated them. I saw this several times when we were courting. It was the reason I chose not to pursue marriage with him, although his long mission away in Surelia helped further the separation. I always let him believe that was the reason I rejected his suit. I know I can trust you, my dear friend, not to reveal this to him.
You might be asking yourself what you can do at times like this. I know I have, many times, when Olner’s own darkness rises like a bitter tide. Sadly, the answer is nothing, damnably frustrating as that may be. Such men mature with time and take on new lives for themselves as they leave their careers as assassins behind – but the fact that they were trained to violate one of society’s deepest taboos remains. If Menders holds himself in more rigid control now than ever before, it is because of his love for you and the Princess, and the two young men he lovingly calls ‘his boys’. The incident you described is an exception to your usual life, and dwelling on it will only cause you unnecessary pain and worry. Let it pass and your happy life will return.
Write again soon and let us know all your doings and the children’s. How is your Borsen getting along? He is such a darling little man!
With love,
Cahrin
(43)
Katrin’s Red Beast
“I’m driving into the village,” Menders said from the doorway of the suite. “Would anyone like to come along?”
Katrin and Eiren were collapsed on sofas. Although it was early spring, a prelude of summer’s brief fiery heat had produced an unseasonably warm day. The ladies were feeling it after a morning of housecleaning.
“Oh, I’m exhausted, darling,” Eiren puffed. “Another time, surely.”
Menders laughed a little at her flushed face and went to kiss her.
“What about you, my Little Princess?” he asked.
“It’s too hot,” Katrin groaned. “Can’t you put off until tomorrow?”
“I need finishing nails today,” Menders chuckled. “I’ll squire you ladies over another day then.”
“Wonderful!” Katrin replied, fanning herself. “Perhaps the weather will change.”
“Depend on it,” Menders grinned. “Far too early for it to stay this warm, my dear. I’ll be back soon.” He walked away down the hall.
Katrin collapsed back onto the cushions, fanning herself again.
“I can’t remember such a warm day this early,” Eiren sighed after a few minutes. “I let the stove go out and I think we’ll just have cold food tonight.”
“That sounds fine to me. The idea of a fire right now is agony,” Katrin groaned.
“Uncle! Uncle!” Borsen shouted outside. He could be heard running across the drive. Katrin sat up and looked out the window.
“How can
he run around in this heat,” Katrin wondered aloud. “And in that dark suit he always wears.”
“Youth is invincible,” Eiren smiled.
As Katrin watched, Menders caught Borsen up in a huge hug. Borsen chattered excitedly. Menders laughed and nodded, then they went into the stable together. A few minutes later, they drove out in the phaeton, Borsen grinning as Menders handed him the reins once they were on the road.
“He just took Borsen with him,” Katrin said darkly.
“So? You just turned down an invitation to go,” Eiren said in surprise. “Why would you mind if Borsen goes along? He wants to buy some fabric he’s been saving for and it’s a good chance for him to get it before it’s all sold.”
Katrin felt herself flush with embarrassment. “It just seems strange, is all,” she said lamely, remembering a time not so long ago when Menders would have either taken her or gone alone.
“You’re overheated,” Eiren smiled. “Go and put on a lighter dress and I’ll help pin your hair up off your neck. You’ll feel better then.”
Katrin did as Eiren suggested and felt cooler, but there was a nasty burning in her chest that didn’t fade as she thought about Borsen. It seemed that every time she turned around these days, there he was, in his little dark suit and dark glasses that matched Menders’ own. Standing right beside Menders… where she had always been.
Borsen was the absolute favorite of everyone at The Shadows. People seemed compelled to pick him up, to hug him, to hold his hand, to have him sit on their laps. Cook doted on him, the Men adored him, Tomar idolized him. Everyone had picked up on Menders’ calling him Little Man. Even Kaymar, who was undemonstrative with children, hugged him like a lost brother. Ifor carried him around on his shoulder. Mister Spaltz called him his grandson, just as he called her his granddaughter. It was nice that people cared, of course, but it was also irritating in some way that Katrin couldn’t explain.
Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series Page 53
