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

by William Timothy Murray

  "No. I know. It is my choice."

  Chapter 22

  The Witch

  As Robby and his company moved west and fought their way across the bridge at Redwater Gorge, Esildre rode very slowly eastward along the same way that the travelers from Barley had come to Nowhere. She did not urge her mount on, but let him take his own pace along the forest path. Her two companions, who rarely spoke but were always attuned to her mood, followed closely behind, sometimes exchanging glances with each other. Her silence never bothered them in the least, and they instinctively knew that hers was the silence of contemplation, of the careful consideration of possibilities, and of choices being weighed. When she had something to say, she would say it. And the two great-nephews correctly surmised that the root of her present meditation was a very simple fact, one that was only discovered the day before.

  Bailorg was dead.

  Vengeance for her brother's death was gone. Hope of capturing Bailorg and returning him to reveal the mastermind of his deed before the King's judges was now entirely extinguished.

  "At the hand of a mere boy!" she inwardly mused. "A mortal, too, until he suffers the Change."

  Her purpose was now gone. To come all this way! A needless journey, putting her servants at risk, alone in her castle without her protection. And putting her kin in harm's way as her escorts. Going all the way to Duinnor, then coming all the way here. What was the point of it all?

  Raynor told her she should bide her time, preparing instead to confront he who sent Bailorg with Navis, he who rewarded Bailorg for the foul deed. Her own father! But she refused to believe Raynor. How could she believe him? She insisted on leaving, to look for Bailorg herself and bring him to justice, or to at least force a confession out of him for her own ears to hear, so that she at least would know who had planned her brother's murder. Raynor acquiesced, maintaining it was a foolish thing to attempt, convinced of her father's guilt. Folly, he said it was.

  Folly, indeed, she now accepted, letting her buckmarl come to a halt. Bailorg was dead. And now what? Should she turn around and join Robby and his company westward? No. She remembered Ullin, and mistrusted herself. No, her company would only put them at greater risk.

  Her two companions halted, too. They had never succumbed to the temptation to look behind her veil, taking brotherly strength from each other to resist. And they knew that she trusted them for that, as she trusted no one else. Or perhaps there was one other, one she spoke of only briefly, only once. The man who had escorted her to Duinnor. But she never said his name.

  "There is only one other whom I would trust as my escort," she had told them one night when she was expressing her gratitude for their patience. It was the night she told them that she intended to go southward instead of continuing east toward Karthia on the River Osterflo. "But, with my sight restored, I would not trust myself in his company."

  It was an interesting declaration, and the twins, who rarely needed to speak to each other, had even chatted about it later. But that conversation was distant from their minds as they now settled in their saddles and waited.

  Esildre was reviewing again those things that Collandoth and the others had told her, and the mysterious gaps in their explanations. Why did they seem so deferential to Robby? Because he killed Bailorg? Or was there something else about him that demanded such respect? And if they went west to Duinnor, why did they not send the Kingsman ahead, to carry swift news of the invasion? What held him back from that obvious duty?

  Oh, Ullin Saheed!

  She should have said something to Collandoth. She should have warned them to be wary of the Kingsman. But her shame kept her silent. That the Kingsman was not immediately lost to madness was a wonder and a mystery. Truly Ullin's longing was a torment to him, long before Esildre encountered him. If it had not been for that torment, might he have resisted her? And might she, perhaps, have resisted him? No, most likely not. It was his torment that made her unable to resist, for all his loneliness. What must his love be to produce such feelings? More powerful, and more terrible, than she had ever felt from any of her previous victims. A man like that, filled with such anguish, ought to already be made mad by it. But, she wondered, why wasn't he? A man like that, carrying such weight, could be capable of anything.

  She sat for a long time on her patient buckmarl, speaking not a word to her escorts, and they not a word to each other or to her. The day grew long and overcast, then it began to rain. Still Esildre pondered her questions, heedless of the downpours. Finally, when the gloom of the day could hardly be discerned from the coming night, she reined around.

  "We shall abide with the little people," she said to her escorts, "and help them prepare, if we may. Then we shall decide where we should go."

  • • •

  The next morning came in subtle changes, gray and foggy, but a bit of sunshine tried to break through during midmorning. Robby and his companions were glad to be away from the damp, exposed place where they had uncomfortably slept. When noontime came, the clouds had gathered again and it was a wet, gloomy day of uphill and downhill. They rode where they could, but when the rains came again, they dismounted and proceeded on foot along the slippery way. There were more breaks in the clouds during the afternoon, sometimes raining while the sun shone. Both rain and sunlight were fitful and restless until, as if out of exhaustion, Sir Sun gave a last glare at the travelers and then disappeared behind a thunderstorm that came booming over the steep slopes. It was such a heavy downpour that they stopped in the middle of the way and huddled with their horses, calming them as best they could against the blinding jabs of lightning and splitting cracks of thunder. It did not last long, thankfully, and they continued with what light that was left to them. The road descended and remained fairly steady and easy, allowing them to ride again. This they did for several miles through a forest where even the trees seemed to droop from the heaviness of rain.

  "Ho! Look," Billy called ahead to the others. "What have we here?"

  It was perhaps a sign of their fatigue that those in the lead did not notice the little side path that Billy pointed to. Ashlord came up from the rear, and Ullin came back from the front. Dismounting and handing Robby their reins, the pair walked toward the path's opening for a closer look.

  "How did I miss seeing this?" asked Ullin.

  "Well, it seems to lead off to'ard some clearin' beyond," said Billy, leaning sideways out of his saddle to see under some branches. "A good place to camp, maybe?"

  Ashlord craned his neck but could not see where the path led.

  "We may as well have a look," he said. "It will be dark soon enough, and any Damar that passes at night will surely not see this."

  "Lead on, Billy," Ullin said. "We will follow."

  After passing through thirty or forty yards of a dense wood, there opened a broad flat clearing. In the center stood a wooden cottage made of hewn planks with cedar shingles. All around were gardens gone untended for many months. A dense tangle of vines had nearly taken over one side of the cottage. Otherwise, it looked as if it had once been neat and trim and well-kept. No smoke came from its chimney, and the cottage had every appearance of being empty.

  "Well, if anyone is there, we've been seen, certainly," said Sheila.

  "Let us put friendly faces on, and feign that we are lost if necessary," said Ullin. Ashlord nodded and then approached the cottage just as the rain resumed in a downpour.

  "Hullo!" called Robby. "Is anyone home?"

  No reply and no movement could be heard or seen.

  "Hullo!" he cried again as Billy walked up and gave the door a loud knock. After a pause, listening, Billy shrugged.

  "Shall we enter?"

  "Go ahead," said Ashlord. "I don't think anyone is home."

  "The door's locked on the inside," said Billy pulling and pushing on the handle. "Solid, too!"

  "Robby," Ullin nodded at the door. "Why don't you have a go?"

  Robby grasped the latch handle and turned it then pushed gently. T
he crossbar within burst from its pintles, and the door swung open with a loud protest from its hinges.

  Robby stood back, peering within the gloom and sniffing. The memory of opening the house of Sheila's uncle suddenly sprang to mind, and he didn't fancy another sight like that. But he smelled nothing other than the musty odor of disuse. Billy pushed past him and confidently strode in.

  "Hullo!" he called, then turned to the others. "Nobody's home, an' don't look like thar's been anybody here for some while, judgin' by the dust. It's dry though."

  It was a modest, two-room place, the largest portion with a stone fireplace for heat and cooking, a table with a dried-out oil lamp and equally dried-out onions on it. There was dried corn dangling from the rafters, along with large pots, some tools, and a chair, hung upside down to be out of the way. Sheila poked at the ashes with the fire-iron and sent a crowd of swallows fluttering away up the chimney and a couple others right out and through the door, startling her. The other room had a cot and a clay washbasin and pitcher. There were clothes stacked neatly on a chest which, when opened, revealed more clothes, woolens, and the like.

  Ibin and Billy looked longingly at the cot.

  "It must get very cold in here in the winter," Robby said, peering over Billy's shoulder. "See all of the knotholes stuffed with bits of cloth?"

  "Yeah," Ibin nodded, reaching down and pulling out a clump from a nearby wall. "Mustget, mustget, itmustgetprettycold, prettycoldwhenitssnowing, Robby."

  Back in the other room, Ashlord looked over the pots and pans and all the accoutrements for living, but saw no evidence of recent occupation.

  When Robby came back from the bedroom, Ashlord was scratching his head, examining the door and the crossbar that Robby had dislodged.

  "I don't see a very easy way to lock the door from outside," said Robby.

  "Nor do I," replied Ashlord, picking up the crossbar.

  "And yet there is nobody inside and the windows, such as they are, are boarded up tight, too," added Ullin.

  "The only way out is through the chimney," said Sheila, "but only for a tiny person."

  "Which I don't think's the case," said Billy holding up a pair of trousers that were nearly broad enough for Ibin.

  "Well, let's see," said Ashlord, attempting to reassemble the pieces. By balancing them together and then closing the door very carefully, he managed it so that the crossbar fell into place as the door closed.

  "There you have it," he said, unsatisfied. "Perhaps the dweller left one day, the door accidentally barred itself behind him, and he never returned."

  "I guess we'll never know," said Ullin.

  "Is it safe to stay the night here?" asked Sheila.

  "Well, there is something odd about all this," Ashlord replied, examining the carving about the lintel. "But it is dry, at least, and the rain seems to be getting heavier. Yes. Let's stay the night and be away as early as we can. Shall we?"

  Ullin and Robby nodded in agreement, and they all went out to gather in their things from the horses and to tend to them.

  "Let's see 'bout gettin' some farwood, if thar's any dry enough to light," suggested Billy to Ibin.

  By the time all of the saddles and bags and packs were inside, the cottage was fairly crowded. They stacked their things neatly enough to allow space on the floor for sleeping, and Sheila was already coaxing a smoky fire in the fireplace by the time more firewood arrived and the horses had been seen to.

  "There's good feed for the horses," Ullin said when he entered, stamping off water. "And the well water is good. I could find no stable or barn, so I don't think this farmer had any livestock. But I found these."

  He dumped some onions, radishes, and little carrots onto the table near the fireplace, saying, "Looks to me like they were laid out in the spring but let go. Deer and rabbits have had a feast, and weeds have all but choked the rest of the gardens."

  It was now pouring in earnest, thunder rolled through the mountains in the peculiar way it does in such regions, and night came swiftly and dark. They shut and latched the door against the wind-driven rain, cooked and ate, and were all thankful and quite satisfied with the cozy place. Ibin took down the chair from the rafters and gave it to Ashlord to sit before the fire, and then he took away the pots and pans to clean. Certina explored the rafters and the nooks and crannies of the place, coming and going from Ashlord's shoulder. At last she found a place on the mantel to sit, and with lazy eyes she watched Ashlord smoke his pipe. A candle was found and lit and placed on a shelf on the other side of the room above where Sheila and Robby slept on the floor. Ibin remade the cot in the bedroom with their own blankets, after removing the musty covers that were tangled there. Billy commented on how the last occupant must have been a restless sleeper, judging by the state of the bed. He thanked Ibin for the favor, noting to himself that the bed was far too small for Ibin's long and heavy frame.

  "The owner must've had a dog er cat er somethin'," Billy commented as he tested the mattress and pulled off his boots. "An' he must've been fond of playin' with some toy whilst his master slept. Just look at them scratches on the floor an' against the wall, over yonder near that knothole, the one what ain't got no stuffin' in it."

  "Yeah,Ibet, Ibet, Ibethehadadog."

  "Yep. Pro'bly follered his master to wherever he went off to."

  Since there was no mattress too lumpy for Billy and no floor too hard for Ibin, the two were soon gently snoring.

  In the next room, the others also made themselves comfortable.

  "I think the rain will not last," said Ashlord to Ullin. "But I would prefer that you stay here the night through, rather than scouting ahead as is your custom."

  "Suits me," Ullin said, trying to stifle a yawn as he stretched out nearby and leaned against his saddle. He took out his pipe and lit it. They watched the low flames together, listening to the rumble of the passing storm outside.

  "It seems to work uncommon well," Ullin pointed the stem of his pipe at the fireplace.

  "Yes, it will be a warm cottage, tonight."

  "I do not think I have seen stonework such as that," he observed, stretching forward to tamp out his pipe into the fire. "Or the likes of these wreathed vines surrounding the fireplace. Seem something of a fire risk, so close to the hearth."

  He referred to the flat stones framing the fireplace and, surrounding that, a densely woven frame made of thin knotty vines, dried and brittle. The flat stones had writing painted on them and there were runes carved into the mantel.

  "I have seen them before," observed Ashlord, "and it is still a common practice among some folk. The writing and the runes on the stones are various charms, and the wreath frame is made of witchbane, all intended to keep evil spirits from entering through the chimney. You may notice, too, the few windows also have the same wreathes surrounding them as has the doorway. Similar charms are carved into the lintel there."

  "Hm." Ullin looked at the door, settling back against his saddle and pulling up a blanket.

  "These days, the practice is merely traditional, or even decorative in its simple way, much like the hanging of a horseshoe, or mistletoe, or wreaths of holly."

  They said no more and continued to stare at the flames. Ullin's eyes closed just as the rain tapered off, and he fell asleep to the sound of a gusty breeze that shook the drops from the trees and persisted well into the night, blowing away clouds. At last, even the breeze died, and misty fogs rose up and wandered along the surrounding mountain shoulders and drifted and curled through the forest.

  Robby and Sheila slept peacefully, though Sheila snored lightly. Billy and Ibin slept somewhat peacefully, too, but each snored as if in competition with the other. Ashlord continue to stare at the fire, letting it die down since it did make the cottage uncommonly warm. Ullin slept lightly, and from time to time he stirred and briefly opened his eyes before quickly drifting back into unsettled dreams.

  Ibin was dreaming, too. It was a fantastic feast, with cold foamy beer in huge tankards suited to h
is size, ham aplenty, fruit pies and sweet cake, and juicy roasted apples dipped in sugar syrup. The best thing was that he was the only guest, and he sat at the table mysteriously located in the woods just outside the cottage with no one else around. The woodland clearing was lit by an uncanny greenish glow that also illuminated all of the wonderful victuals. As he sat on a bench to eat his fill, he noticed a tall shadow pass behind him. He thought little of it, though, for the food was the tastiest he had ever put his lips around. Yet, the more he ate, the more famished he became. No bother, since the more he ate the more food appeared, out of nowhere, on the table before him. So he ate, and he ate, and he ate, becoming hungrier all the while. So full of food that he was nearly starving, he noticed that the table seemed to be growing taller, or else his bench seemed to be sinking, and his feet could not get any purchase on the ground. As he crammed a slab of pie into his mouth and reached far up and over the table for a tankard, he had the distinct sensation that he was being pulled under the table.

  He awoke with a start, relieved somehow, but saddened, too, that it was only a dream and now all that food would go to waste. Suddenly he realized he was sliding slowly across the floor. Something had him by the ankles and was tugging on him. He tried to sit up, but he could only get to his elbows. In the dim light, he perceived two long arms, the spindly hands of which grasped his ankles, and he was being dragged toward a knothole in the wall through which those arms impossibly reached. His heart jumped straight into his throat, and though he tried with all his might, he could not get any sound to come from his mouth except, "Gala-, Gala-, Gala-," choked and high-pitched. But it was loud enough.

  Ullin sat up, alarmed, the hairs on his arms standing on end. Ashlord was already standing, stiff and erect, looking about, his head tilted, listening.