Storm of Divine Light

by Ernesto San Giacomo

  “Close enough. In any case, the way I arranged the cakes on the tray signaled to Cyril what type of cards his opponent was holding. That was the start of my career as his ‘servant,’ you see.” He offered her a servant’s bow.

  Katrina burst out laughing. Her head fell back onto the sack of rice she was using as a pillow. “Cyril the Stuffy cheats at cards.” She kicked her feet. “Oh, it’s so simple that it’s genius.”

  “We planned on…” He drew a blank. “I can’t remember his name. Anyway, this one bloke was supposed to be our last target before leaving the city. But he got suspicious. Then he threatened us and we had to quietly slip away in the middle of the night. Jalkenese are known for holding grudges. I don’t dare return for fear of losing my head.”

  “I understand, but nobles don’t spend their time in lowly taverns. No one would recognize you. It should be safe. Please come with me?”

  “Hey, you two, I’ve been thinking,” Liberon called from the bench. “If I were to marry you two, the marriage would be valid.”

  “But what about the papers?” Katrina asked.

  “The One doesn’t bow to kings or their scribes. Documents are for the bureaucrats and the tax collectors. In the mind of the Light, you’ll be truly wed. Official papers can be drawn up when we get to Easterly. All we need for the ceremony to be accepted by the Light are three witnesses.”

  Dagorat gulped. No backing out now. Buck up, he told himself. You love this woman. Things should work out all right.

  Not long after, they halted at the campsite on the eastern side of the city. Katrina and Dagorat headed over to Craicwyth and Magda’s wagon to ask if they would serve as witnesses. They found Magda watering her horses. “Where’s Craicwyth?” Dagorat asked.

  She pointed towards a wooded area. “He thought he spotted some oleni beasts over there and went to hunt.”

  “We need a favor…or rather, a small service from you,” Dagorat said.

  Magda cocked her head. “I don’t know what I have that you could possibly want.”

  “Will you and Craicwyth be witnesses for our wedding?”

  Her face lit up and she clasped Katrina’s hands. “I knew it! I knew by the way you two look at each other.” She hugged them. “May the gods smile upon you both. Of course we’ll come and be witnesses!”

  “Thanks, Magda,” Katrina said, blushing.

  “When’s the blessed day?”

  “Today, as soon as Cyril gets back,” Dagorat said. “He’s the third witness.”

  Magda studied Katrina. “Impossible.” She pointed to her own studded nose piercing. “You’ll need one of these, and it’ll take at least a week to heal.”

  Katrina tilted her head. “Why would I need a stud?”

  “Are you not of the Wasana Clan? I could swear you are, just by looking at you.”

  “I’ve been asked that before. But I don’t know where I’m from.”

  “Let me see your left shoulder,” Magda said.

  Katrina took a step back. “Why?”

  Magda tugged on her collar to bare her own shoulder. “If you’re a Wasana, then you have something like this.” She showed a small tattoo of a black dot enclosed by a square.

  A gasp escaped Katrina. Her right hand clutched her shirt at the left collarbone. “I’ve always wondered about that mark.”

  “You were marked as a Wasana on the second anniversary of your birth, just like me. I suppose we have a lot to talk about. But for now, don’t fret, my lamb.” Magda patted Katrina on her shoulder. “I think there’s a wagon with jeweler’s wares close to the front.”

  “Not sure if I should.” She raised a brow at Dagorat.

  Her eyes resembled those of a mystified child reaching out to him. He had to help her make this decision, give her some type of counsel. Dagorat considered his own past, memories of his parents, his sisters, and his estranged brother. The longing to see them again stabbed at his heart. Yes, family was important. How sad that Katrina never got to know hers. “If it’s a custom of your heritage, then maybe you should embrace it.”

  “But Magda says it’ll take a week to heal.”

  “I bet Cyril can heal it faster.”

  She stared off in the distance. “I’ll do it, then. Thanks, Magda. We’ll be back.” Grabbing Dagorat’s hand, she dragged him off toward the front of the caravan. There they found the wagon in question, purchased a stud, and had the jewelsmith pierce Katrina’s nose.

  The wedding would happen. In less than a day, events would carry Dagorat off like an abandoned boat on a rapid river, caught in the currents of life. They returned to the wagon and found Cyril, Kiralynn, and Liberon waiting for them.

  “Where’d you disappear to?” Liberon asked. “I didn’t say anything. You two being such close friends, I figured you should be the one to tell him.”

  “You have some news for me?” Cyril asked.

  “Is it about Blackfang?” Kiralynn added.

  “Nothing about him.” Dagorat pointed to the small bandage on Katrina’s nose and asked the mage, “Do you have anything to take care of that?”

  “A piercing for a wedding? You mean you two are going to…”

  They nodded with big grins, and Katrina added a giggle.

  “So you’re of the Clan Wasana like Magda?” Cyril asked. “No reason to worry. I’ve helped many girls who needed to get married quickly.”

  “Oh?” Kiralynn smirked at Katrina.

  “No,” she answered, and glared at the mage. “Cyril!”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Cyril said. “I only meant that I know how to rapidly heal a piercing. Lie down here.” He dug out a small basket and rummaged through its contents. “I never journey without some healing salves and potions. Ah, here it is.” He withdrew a small flask filled with green fluid, and stared at Katrina with a grim expression. “I won’t lie to you. It’s going to sting.”

  Kiralynn cut in. “I have to go. But I’m glad to leave hearing good news.” She mounted her horse and offered a salute with her sword. “Good fortunes for the wedding and your mission. May I see you again in Mentiria.” She rode off, exchanging farewell waves with the group.

  Katrina looked at Cyril. “I’m ready.”

  “Take the bandage off,” Cyril told Dagorat. He opened the flask and dipped a thin piece of metal with a loop at the end. “The perfect amount of this healing potion will be caught in the loop, and I can apply it right onto the wound.”

  Her eyes squinted in anticipation. Cyril’s cure touched her nose and her lids sprang open. She let out a loud grunt. “It stings terribly.” Her hand waved to fan away the pain.

  “And it will continue to sting for a while, but it should cease by evening. You can replace the retainer with your stud by tomorrow morning.” Cyril pointed his finger at her. “Don’t touch it.”

  Dagorat gazed upon his bride. My goodness, he thought. My bride. Can this be real? The stud, of all things, brought the point home. Yes, it was real. He knelt next to Katrina and took her hand. “By this time tomorrow, we’ll be wed.”

  CHAPTER 16

  MAY THE LIGHT SHINE UPON THEE

  DAGORAT WAS DRIFTING BETWEEN THE world of dreams and consciousness when Katrina grabbed his shirt and jostled him from his slumber. “Wake up.”

  He bolted up and rubbed his eyes. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. I just wanted to wake you. This is going to be a special day. Remember?” Katrina removed the dollop of dried salve from her nose. She showed him the stud in her nostril, and flashed a stunning smile. “I wanted you to be the first one to see this.”

  His hand reached out and cupped her cheek. “I’m still bothered by this wedding.”

  Katrina pulled away, staring at him with a pained expression. “What? I thought you wanted to get married, too.”

  Damn! He hadn’t intended to give the impression of cold feet. Dagorat smoothed down his shirt. “Of course I do. But I would’ve liked a more proper wedding. A handmaiden for you
, a wedding sojourn, things like that.”

  Her eyes gleamed and her smile glowed with joy. “I did too, and I thought about it a lot. But in the end, all those things don’t make us any more wedded than a simple ceremony does. It’s not the silly trappings that make a marriage; it’s who your partner is and how much you love them.”

  Dagorat wrapped his arms around his love and squeezed her tight. “I guess you’re right.” How different she was from the maidens of his wilder years. They’d meant nothing to him, their bodies simple playthings, objects feeding his ego. Whenever he strolled into a tavern, the women crowded around him, thanking him for his ill-gotten gifts. In those early days, it had been thrilling. But after a number of shallow, meaningless trysts, deep in his heart he concluded that they never truly wanted him.

  Some women hoped for a special gift from his next haul. Others, attracted by his popularity and power, hoped to claim bragging rights. It didn’t matter at the time. He’d basked in their attention, letting himself believe he was the most interesting man in Easterly. One by one, he’d undress them in his mind’s eye before making a selection or two for the evening. But he always departed in the morning feeling hollow and unfulfilled. Now, with Katrina in his arms, the realization of completeness warmed his blood.

  Liberon and Magda threw open the back flap of the wagon’s canvas and hoisted a huge barrel up and in. Magda made a “hurry up” motion, and Craicwyth appeared with a yoke over his shoulders, hauling two sloshing buckets of water. He emptied them into the barrel, sending up clouds of steam.

  “At least eight more buckets, my love,” Magda said. She studied Katrina and cupped her cheek. Her finger stroked Katrina’s nose. “Oh, that looks so grand on you, my lamb.”

  “What’s the barrel for?” Dagorat asked.

  Magda placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t think I’d let her wed without a handmaiden and a ritual bath, do you?”

  Katrina sprang to her feet and hugged the older woman. Beaming, she turned to Dagorat. “See? It’s a proper wedding after all. And we’ll call this caravan trip our wedding sojourn.”

  “I’ve already started the soup, and my dear Craicwyth felled a fresh oleni for the feast.”

  Craicwyth and Liberon came back and emptied four more buckets of water into the barrel. Katrina grabbed them both in a big hug. “Thank you for the feast and hot water.” The kindly bowmaster gave her a smile and wink.

  “One more trip and you’re done,” Magda told them. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a small ball of soap, and offered it to the bride.

  Katrina held the ball up to her nose and inhaled with delight. “Mmm. It smells like fresh fruits and berries.”

  Magda opened a satchel and dug out a hand-sized tin box and several fine brushes. “And see what else I’ve brought you.” She opened the box to reveal a number of small compartments filled with different color pastes. “This one will make your lips red. And I’ll put this one on your cheeks. Just as a blushing bride should look.”

  Liberon and Craicwyth added the last buckets of hot water. Magda flicked her hand at Dagorat in a dismissive gesture. “This is women’s private time. Out with you.”

  With a last smile at Katrina, he hopped down; Magda tied the flaps closed. Through the canvas, Dagorat overheard, “Get those things off, and into the barrel with you.”

  ***

  With a tilt of her head, Katrina examined the box of pastes. “No, I don’t want to look like a Karnalian woman. Dagorat’s already accepted me as I am. And that’s the way I’ll offer myself to him.”

  Magda pressed her lips together. “Well if that’s what you want, then so be it.”

  “He knows everything about me. I’ve never hidden anything from him. Why should I pick today of all days to wear a disguise?” Katrina undressed and hoisted herself into the barrel. The warmth engulfed her skin and penetrated her muscles. She hadn’t had a bath since the journey began. “Oooo. It’s perfectly warm.”

  Magda produced a wooden ladle and poured some water over Katrina’s head. She dipped the ball of soap into the water and rubbed it until suds bubbled up. With deft fingers, she worked the suds into Katrina’s hair, scrubbing away the weeks of grime. Katrina leaned back and sighed. What a beautiful start to the day.

  ***

  Liberon tilted his head back to mark the high point of the sun. “Poldrens will begin soon.”

  “You mean midday?” Dagorat said. He wrung water from his hair, having taken a quick wash in the river.

  “Starting at midday and ending three hours later – that’s Poldrens.”

  Dagorat shook his head. “Can’t you monks mark time like everyone else?”

  With his chin held high, Liberon said, “It makes us charmingly unique.” He set up a spit over one of the two fires, while the cauldron of soup bubbled merrily over the other. Shortly thereafter, the freshly killed oleni beast wafted its aroma over the site. Cyril inhaled with an expression of pure bliss.

  As hard as he tried to keep busy, Dagorat couldn’t tear his gaze away from the wagon. The love of his life was in there, getting ready for the ceremony. Not long now before she’d emerge, and Liberon would forever alter their identities, bodies and souls. He and Katrina, bound together and merged, as if they were one person. Strange; he’d never thought of himself as half a person before. But now, on the cusp of his wedding, he had no doubt that tying himself to Katrina would make him feel complete for the first time in his life.

  The canvas flap opened and Magda poked her head out. “She’s almost ready. Get the food done!” She climbed down and bustled over to the cooking fire. “My soup should be ready by now.”

  Obediently, Craicwyth hurried to baste the meat, while Magda joined Cyril in inspecting the soup. “You have to top it off with some eggs and paprikash, then cover it so that they fluff up and float on top,” Cyril told her.

  “I’m not sure what rural backwater you’re from, Cyril.” Magda rested her hands on her hips. “Where I’m from, we call that the peasant version.”

  “Oh, where you’re from. And what cave would that be?”

  “Cave? You overbearing Mentirian snob.” She wagged a large wooden spoon back and forth. “You don’t even know the difference between a tater and a carrot.”

  “But I do know the difference. I also know the difference between fine fare prepared by a master chef and the common slop you’re cooking.”

  Dagorat chimed in. “All right, enough, or you’ll never get done.”

  Cyril nudged Magda. “Spoken with all the proper jitters of a groom.” Dagorat folded his arms.

  “Finish up. I’ll go and fetch the lovely bride,” Magda said. She grinned and trotted away toward the wagon.

  The mouth-watering aromas of the roast and soup wafted through the glade. A number of their fellow travelers wandered over, having caught wind of the impending wedding – and of the feast to follow. One after another, they came up to Dagorat to wish him good luck. Even a group of troubadours who had just joined the caravan brought their instruments over to perform for the happy couple.

  Magda stuck her head out again. “We’re done! Why aren’t you all in your places yet?”

  Already? He’d completely lost track of time. Stomach suddenly in knots, Dagorat hurried to the other side of the fires, where a solemn Liberon positioned him opposite himself and slightly to the right. Cyril and Craicwyth took up places behind Dagorat. Guests filled in wherever they could, flanking the group on either side, leaving a path for Katrina down the middle. Only Liberon had a straight line of sight to where she would emerge.

  The monk perked up, gazing past Dagorat’s shoulder. “Your bride approaches.”

  Cyril, Dagorat, and Craicwyth spun around. Magda hopped down and helped Katrina descend gracefully from the wagon. Dagorat’s heart leaped when he set his eyes on his love, more beautiful than ever in her simple peasant dress. A circlet of white flowers adorned her head, and her face was so radiant, even a king would regard her with longing. She intertw
ined her arm with Magda’s, and the pair approached with a slow, measured pace. They stopped next to him, where Magda let go of Katrina’s arm.

  The wonderful fragrance of berries and flowers floated around his bride. He held out his hand with his fingers spread, and she interlaced her hand with his. Together, they extended their arms toward the monk.

  Liberon wrapped their joined hands with a white cloth. Then he placed two candles on a small, flat rock. He stood behind the rock facing them, and lit the first candle with a twig from the fire behind him. “Let this be the light of a man.” Then he lit the second candle. “Let this be the light of a woman.” He outstretched his arms and gazed skyward. “All light blends into one.”

  Together, Dagorat and Katrina responded, “The Light must shine.”

  The monk turned his attention back to the couple. “The Light of your souls will be blended and made indistinguishable from one another. For you shall be one with each other and one with the great Light.” He forked two of his fingers down, like a standing man, in front of the candles so the shadow lay outward across the stone and down between Dagorat and Katrina. “A reminder that the shadow of evil only exists when the Light is obstructed.” The shadow disappeared as he moved his hand away. “As you begin your new life together, remember to never suppress the Light of your souls.”

  Katrina and Dagorat picked up their candles and brought the wicks together so that the flames became one. Liberon held his hand up with his palm facing them. The couple bowed their heads. He brushed their heads with his fingertips and tilted his own head up to the heavens. “I declare by the Light that you are now one.”

  Liberon took his fingers away and beamed at them both. Dagorat let out a big whoosh of breath, cupped Katrina’s cheek and kissed her. He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to his new bride’s. For a moment, the whole rest of the world fell away. Then the crowd broke into applause, and he and Katrina waved to them.

  Led by Cyril and Craicwyth, each person came up to kiss the bride’s left hand, and then pat Dagorat on the back. Magda stood behind and between them, as befit a handmaiden. Dagorat heard a sniffle. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Magda wiping her eyes.