The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door)

by William Timothy Murray

  "I think I'm about full. What will you do this night?"

  "I will keep vigil."

  • • •

  That night, restless though they were, they slept soundly enough in the loft upstairs. Sheila, never shy, and anyway accustomed to Robby and the boys, slept with them, cuddled against Robby at the end of the great bed that very nearly stretched across the entire room. Ullin, as usual, was the last to retire, staying up to smoke his pipe with Ashlord well into the night, softly chatting with his elder friend about all things that came to mind. After a long while, they grew silent as the fire grew low. At last, Ullin stood and tapped out his pipe, nodded good-night to Ashlord, and made his way up the stairs.

  When he entered the room, he smiled at the peacefulness of the sleepers. Ibin's normal lion's snore was subdued, Billy's competitive bray was altogether missing as he lay with his arm over his head, and the lovers were curled under their blankets. A candle burned low on a nearby table, casting its light upward into the rough-hewn beams overhead. The town was quiet and the breeze rustled softly in the tree tops. A distant dog barked, none too enthusiastically, and from below could be heard the innkeeper giving the great room the last sweep of the night.

  Ullin took off his cloak and undid his straps and harness, and laid aside his sword. He put his daggers on the table, and, unbuttoning his leather tunic, sat in a chair beside the candle to take off his boots. A pendant fell from around his neck and dangled in the light as he bent over. When he straightened up, he held it near the candle. It was a small silver locket, and he looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, then he clicked it open with his thumbnail. Within was a tiny likeness of his mother and father, done years and years ago, brought back from the west by Mirabella. He gazed at it, remembering the day she returned, when she handed to him this very locket, the one she had pried from his dead father's grip. Ullin was only a youngster, and had been out playing with his little friend, Weylan. On his return, he knew instantly something was very wrong at the Hall. As he strode up the steps to the doors, Mirabella emerged. Now looking at the locket, he remembered still the flush of joy and relief at seeing his beautiful aunt coming toward him, and then the grim look on her face that instantly shattered his relief. She held out her hand and gave him this locket, saying nothing. When he looked questioningly into her tearful face, she turned away. He knew what it meant. The days that followed were black. His grandmother died of grief and his mother nearly did, too, inconsolable over the loss of her husband. When she departed Tallin Hall for her own kin in Glareth, Ullin begged to stay, claiming Tallin Hall as his home. He went with her to Glareth by the Sea, but was so miserable there that she permitted him to return. But Tallinvale never seemed the same without his father. Nowadays, his mother was feeble and infirm and, unlike his grandfather, her connections to the Elifaen had little lasting effect on her body. Still, he thought, smiling at her image in the low light of the candle, she was once beautiful and strong.

  He put his nail under another tiny hidden flange under the image and gave it a gentle push. Beneath the portrait of his mother, snapped open another small chamber. In it was a long strand of jet-black hair, carefully twisted into a tiny braided ring that encircled another tiny portrait. It was of someone he had met in the west while on assignment, someone he had never mentioned to anyone. He fingered the braid, giving an almost imperceptible sigh, and his lips turned up slightly at a pleasant thought that came to mind, a gentle feeling in his heart. It was a long deep moment, full of memory and the visceral sense of vast melancholy distance. Just as his feelings edged toward unendurable longing, he felt an inexplicable presence, as if she was somehow still with him. He gently closed the locket, then, he tenderly kissed the back of it. Ullin blew out the candle, picked up one of his daggers, and slipped onto the nearest cot. Soon enough, in spite of his anxieties, he drifted off, and his sleep was peaceful and deep.

  Likewise, the others were less fitful than on many previous nights, and when Ashlord looked in on them some few hours before dawn, he, too, noticed their peace and decided to give them another hour before rousing them. So, instead, he went to the window and peered into the night, wondering about Certina and her travels, among many other things. He stood motionless, as comfortable as sitting, neither blinking nor yawning, hardly breathing, it might seem. In the dim light he could have been taken for a dark statue but for the occasional slight creasing of his brow over his black bottomless eyes. This was his way, his fate one might say, to struggle in his mind, to grapple with problems near at hand and far into the future and long since passed, to relive in acute memory all his long days upon the earth, just as the Elifaen are said to do, and to turn over all things as a puzzle. To him, the beginnings of his habit stemmed from his first memory, unblurred by time, the memory of his first breath, taken on the dawn of his first day upon the earth. It was a deep breath, the firm inhalation of rich, cool, clean air, bathed in golden light that rang with the purity of boundless love, a breath that filled his being with life and ignited his heart. Just as the sunrise over a distant horizon struck a ray into the high, sapphire-blue walls of the icy cave, he opened his eyes, knowing they would never close again until the time of his leaving. Ashlord then exhaled, and he rose up from the granite bed where he had been placed.

  "Who?" he asked.

  "Collandoth, you shall be called. One of the Melnari, you are, and my agent in this world. You shall learn, and with your learning you shall guide the happenings of the world in the way I shall set before you. You will gain and lose fortunes and friendships, kingdoms and loyalties, but never shall you want of faith. For I am your Father and unto me you shall return when your way is ended. Neither mortal nor immortal are you, neither Man, nor Faere, nor Dragon, nor any other worldly race that may be or may ever come to be. Go! Take up your path and tread with care. It is for you, my agent, to learn and construe the right way of things. This I say: Long may it be before the coming of your time and the consummation of your power in this world. Abide with patience and care, watching all things, fearing not to look in unthought-of places and obscure lands. When the time to act comes, you shall know what to do."

  Ashlord nodded.

  "And where shall I begin?"

  "Begin in youth, and make this day your beginning."

  So Ashlord stepped from the cave, his white hair blowing about his head, and he walked out onto the path that led downward into the valley below. It was a long walk and took all day, his limbs learning, his heart becoming strong, his eyes and ears keen, and the grip of his hands firm. By afternoon's end, his hair was black as coal, and, since that day, his form changed very little. But even just a little changing, steady and continuous, amounts to much over long centuries. It was only a few years ago that he absently noticed the white strands returning at last to his hair and the lines on the back of his hands, and he knew the time of his departure was closer at hand than was the day of his arrival.

  Chapter 11

  Kings and Queens and Frying Pans

  Day 89

  156 Days Remaining

  They breakfasted on hot coffee and cold meats and bread, and were in good spirits and well rested as they set out from the inn at Undertree. Although their thoughts turned to stern matters again and again, the breaking dawn of a fair day, and the good pace they made kept their moods lighter than might be expected. The westward track they took led them higher into the hills then south through farmland. Here, Ashlord led them away from the path and through the fields directly west. Behind them the sun slipped into the rising fog and in front of them steep dark-forested slopes rose up, shedding thin mists like tufts of cotton rising through the pine-greens, maple-golds, and yellow-leafed gums.

  This part of the Thunder Mountains was not so pretty as that around Hill Town. They crossed through many barren dales and bald hillsides, scraped clean of timber by the Damar, and there were fewer and fewer homes that, if not abandoned, were more squalid than anything Robby had ever seen. Billy's frown indicated his own opin
ion of the farms they saw. It was, on the whole, a depressing entrance into the mountains, and the deeper they went into Damar territory the more unwholesome it seemed. Whenever the terrain allowed, they picked their way across the fields and through the woods, avoiding roads and paths. There were few places where they could ride and the need to pick out ways for their mounts and pack animals slowed them even more. On several occasions during the afternoon, they found their way blocked by slopes too steep for the animals, or by brush too thick, or by streams too rapid and rocky, and each time they had to backtrack to find a way around. Billy's opinions as to the advantages of walking over riding often came to mind. But he did not bring it up again, and they said nothing about it, trudging onward, pushing briars away as they went, ducking under rocky outcrops, or splashing midstream along the relatively clear way provided by small brooks. Several times they saw Damar patrols, ahead of them or on the hillsides above or on the slopes below them, always traveling along a path above or below them and making such good time that the group envied their easy progress. Still, each sighting filled them with greater and greater caution. Robby and his fellows knew the risk of being caught, the awkwardness, if not outright danger, of any story they might proffer, and all were agreed to struggle on as they had for as long as they could before risking any open roadway.

  At the end of the first day, they were very tired, aching, and dirty. Hardly a member of their company was without scratch or bruise from all the brush they pushed through and the rocks they had stumbled over. Their arms hurt with the exertions of pulling and pushing the horses this way and that, picking out places they could pass through. Now, at the end of the day, even the horses seemed to lack spirit as they had their saddles and packs removed and were watered, fed, and rubbed down. Their masters were not much better off.

  "How far d'ye reckon we got?" Billy asked at one point, trying to pull a rock out from the place he hoped to spread his bedroll.

  Ullin shook his head, not having the heart to tell them the paltry distance he thought they had made. In truth they had only managed just under six leagues as the crow may fly.

  Ibin seemed more interested in food than rest, but was satisfied with a thick bit of bread and some cheese that Billy passed over to him. One after another, they undid their bedrolls and dropped upon them. By the time Ashlord had cleared a ring for a fire, they were all sleeping. Even Ullin, normally the last to take rest, sitting on the ground with his back against his saddle, packed his pipe, but he, too, was asleep before Ashlord could spark a flame to light it with. The ground was hard and cold and at a slant, yet it was a welcome place to them all, at first. But Robby, who had unrolled his blanket across some roots, tossed and turned until at last he, still mostly asleep, dragged his blanket a few feet aside and collapsed again upon it.

  Now sleep quickly came to him, but it was burdened by visions of Passdale, confused scenes of Redvests buying pickles and nails at the store, with his father packing goods away through the back door, and Mirabella laughing with Sheila about the folly of men. The visions blew away in a blue-white mist, and he sat up. Looking down between his feet, he saw himself below, stretched on the ground amid the others of his company. He realized he was sitting on a branch several feet above, clinging with one hand on the trunk and with the other the limb on which he sat. Letting go he slid and fell slowly through the air and landed noiselessly on his feet beside his sleeping body. Ashlord was blowing on an ember at the end of a stick, preparing to bring it to his pipe, but all others were asleep.

  Robby turned his attention to the west, and he rose upward again, through the limbs and branches, until his feet were just above the highest leaves of the trees. From here, he could see far, but the view was muddled by reddish-brown shadows that closed in. Turning to the east, or what he thought must be east, he watched the rising sun waver through shadows like a fluttering yellow butterfly through autumn leaves. With great effort he tried to discern the land around him, and while he could barely make out the nearby mountains, the lands more distant seemed clearer. Somehow, he saw all the way back to Tallinvale and the city there, bustling with crowds pouring into it. Then, slightly northward, he perceived a line of carts moving slowly out of Passdale, laden with harvest goods and booty, driven by familiar men and guarded by red-cloaked Tracians. They moved south along the old road. Turning his gaze farther north, he thought he saw Lake Halgaeth and a lone sailboat, heading northeast across the tossing waters. In Janhaven, he could only perceive the stockade and could not see anyone he knew. Naturally, he thought about his mother and his father and wondered intensely what had become of them. Yet, his state of mind was that of an observer, and though part of him cared greatly, most of his being seemed only to be watching.

  Turning west again, he thought he saw a movement in the treetops. For a moment, he could have sworn someone was standing there, just two or three branches away, looking at him. No sooner had he noticed the apparition than it disappeared into the windblown foliage and the ruddy shadows closed in.

  "If only I could somehow get to Micerea," he said to himself. "Perhaps she could instruct me about this strange dream-place."

  "It is not time yet for your instruction."

  Micerea appeared out of the mists beside him, no more than an arm's length away, standing on the same dune where they last met, and now Robby was standing there, too. There was something different about her, Robby thought.

  "When will that be?" he asked.

  "I cannot say," she replied, "but certainly not before you make Tulith Morgair. I cannot stay. And you must rest!"

  Robby realized that, this time, Micerea wore only an outer garment and none of the weaponry or light banded armor as before. He also noted that, though she still had her head and face covered with only her eyes showing, a thick strand of black shiny hair had worked its way to the edge of her right eye.

  "May we not talk for just a few moments?" Robby asked as she made to turn away. She stopped and turned back to him.

  "Talk?"

  "Why, yes. It doesn't have to be about anything in particular."

  "You no longer fear me, then?"

  "I wouldn't say that. It's just that sometimes it's nice to talk to someone you don't know. Who doesn't know you very well. Sometimes it's easier to be at ease with a stranger than it is with any others."

  Micerea looked down at the slumbering company below and then back at Robby.

  "You are fortunate to have such good friends, Robby Ribbon of Passdale," she said. "But I understand that sometimes those closest to you may not accept what is in your heart, and so you dare not speak those things to them."

  "That is so. And other times, it's just nice to chat about things that don't even matter."

  "Everything matters."

  "Yes, I know. I just mean things that aren't so important to your friends. New things, maybe. Little things."

  "Like what?"

  "Like, well, like trees and rivers."

  "There are few trees and fewer rivers in my country."

  "Things like that is what I mean. Won't you tell me about your land? Perhaps your family?"

  "Perhaps, but now is not the time. I must go, for I need to awaken and do my work. And you must rest."

  "Oh," Robby nodded. "If you must."

  "I will tell you this: I love the land I am from as much as you love your home. To me, my homeland is beautiful. But there is a sickness in my country. I do not think it has always been there, but there is no cure, and this sickness makes my people the way they are, infirm with short lives. It is part of the reason they drive themselves to attack the green hills to the north and east. Now I must go!"

  "Wait! Please. Won't you at least tell me about this...this dream."

  Again, she turned back to him.

  "It is a bit scary," he went on. "And it seems, well, naughty."

  "Naughty is as naughty does," she said. "You can walk amongst the wakeful, but it is like being a ghost. They cannot see or hear you and cannot feel your presen
ce. You can see them and hear them, though."

  "The perfect spy."

  "Not quite. You cannot move a feather or change any object. You cannot burgle anything of value but what you may see or hear. You cannot turn a page or make a candle flame flicker. Or, at least a way has not been found to do so."

  "The idea that someone could be watching you at any time. That's not very comforting."

  "No. And those few who have this ability, like us, must be careful not to let others suspect that we have it. Many who have done so have come to terrible ends at the hands of their own neighbors. To be discovered is the greatest danger. When you are in someone's dream you can easily hide by simply taking part in their dream. But when you are outside, when you are dreamwalking, you stand out to anyone else who is likewise as you are. This is how we find each other, by looking for the distant light of those others in this realm."

  "Dreamwalking. But didn't you say before that anyone can do this?"

  "That was what I was taught. But few waken to it. It is rare among my people and uncommon among Men. There are some Faerekind, it is said, with this ability. They are clever and bold, though seldom will you encounter them directly. I warn you: they have other powers as well that they may use. They can bend the world to appear as it is not. They can cast a piece of their soul into the body of another, and do mysterious things that way. Their trickery is well known to my people. Beware! I must go! It is too dangerous for me to stay."

  "What do you mean?"