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DDDDD ZZZZZZ //
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D D AAAA RRR GGGG OOOO NN N Z I NN N EEEE ||
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D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 8
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-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 2
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DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE ||
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\\
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\
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========================================================================
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DargonZine Distributed: 05/13/1995
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Volume 8, Number 2 Circulation: 609
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========================================================================
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Contents
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Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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A Lighter Burden Jim Owens Firil, 1015
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Ship of Doom Carlo N. Samson Seber 1013
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"I am my Lord's Possession" Alan Lauderdale 20 Firil-7 Naia,
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1004
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========================================================================
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DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
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collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
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We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
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Please address all correspondance to <dargon@wonky.jjm.com>.
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Back issues are available from ftp.etext.org in pub/Zines/DargonZine.
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Issues and public discussion are posted to newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
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DargonZine 8-2, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright May, 1995 by
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the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@wonky.jjm.com>.
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All rights reserved. All rights are reassigned to the individual
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contributors. Stories may not be reproduced or redistributed without
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the explicit permission of the author(s) involved, except in the case
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of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
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Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
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========================================================================
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Editorial
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by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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<ornoth@wonky.jjm.com>
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It's not really an important point, but there was recently some
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discussion on the newsgroup rec.mag.dargon about the role that Robert
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Aspirin's "Thieves' World" books had in inspiring the Dargon Project,
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and I thought it worth reiterating here.
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Dargon does bear a strong resemblance to "Thieves' World" (henceforth:
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TW). And in a sense it's true that in 1985 TW inspired me to start a
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collaborative fantasy writing project that would print stories in
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FSFnet, the fantasy and SF emag that I'd founded a year earlier. I can't
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argue with that.
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Way back then, TW was the only popular example of a collaborative
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writing project, and that description hadn't even been coined yet. So at
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that time I usually described the Dargon Project as "similar to Robert
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Aspirin's Thieves' World series" because that was really the most
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effective way of getting the concept across. However, the TW books are
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not as ubiquotous as they once were, and several other similar projects
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have led to a popular understanding of what a collaborative writing
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project is without having to tie it to TW. So a while ago I dropped the
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"Thieves' World-like" comparison from the DargonZine FAQ.
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But why is it so important to drop the reference to TW, anyways? you
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might ask...
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Well, from the start, TW served more as a negative model for the Dargon
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Project than a positive one, and I (and many of the writers) consciously
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tried to avoid the problems we thought had killed the TW series. These
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included (but were not limited to) powerful/destabilizing magic,
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archetypal/stereotypical characters, superlative characters, authors
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investing ego in their characters, competition between writers who tried
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to make their characters "better" than the rest, resorting to
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end-of-the-world plotlines, authors working virtually independently and
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"springing" their stories on the others, and so forth. Fortunately, we
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didn't have to suffer the added complexities of divvying up the
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royalties and the temptation (that many TW writers succumbed to) of
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printing garbage just because it was guaranteed to sell or because they
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were contractually obligated to produce.
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So with all those criticisms of TW, you can perhaps understand why I
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wince when people cite it as "the inspiration for the Dargon Project".
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Looking back on that list of things we wanted to avoid, I think we (the
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Dargon Project) have done a pretty good job of avoiding the pitfalls
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that were TW's fatal flaws. I can only think of one glaring failure
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where someone managed to violate several of those guidelines, and
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years later we're still trying to restore the project to normalcy!
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Beyond that, I think our problems have been minor. I just chastised the
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writers about "springing" surprises on people, but that wasn't because
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people were doing things behind others' backs, but because an author
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might waste a lot of time in writing a first draft of an inappropriate
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storyline if he/she doesn't run an outline by the group first. And while
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we do occasionally print garbage too, the reason for that isn't
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financial gain or obligation, but because we're amateur writers learning
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how to write, and it doesn't always come out as well as we'd like.
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We've also got problems of our own, though. The Baranur/Beinison war has
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taken us six years to write, and it's still going strong (despite all
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efforts to the contrary)> Taking on something that big was probably our
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biggest mistake. There's also ongoing conflict between the high and low
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fantasy camps, the people who want background detail and those who think
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it shouldn't be defined until it's needed, the realist versus escapist
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camps, the newbies versus the geezers, those who think fantasy stories
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need themes versus those who say it's ok to just write to entertain, and
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so forth. There are *ALWAYS* things to argue about in the authors'
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discussion group (and if there aren't any, we'll create some!), but
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hopefully that's all healthy discussion that everyone learns from.
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But enough pontificating. We've got a great issue lined up for you here.
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Leading off, we have a thought-provoking story by none other than Jim
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Owens. Jim last appearred in FSFnet 9-3. That was December of *1987*!!!
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He dropped off the net for the longest time, but he returns with this
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great short. We hope to see more from him, as well as a couple other
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veterans who have recently resurfaced.
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We follow that up with a new Cydric story by Carlo Samson. Carlo is also
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an old-timer, and was last published in DargonZine 6-5, which was
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December of 1993. Carlo and a couple other authors will be visiting me
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in Boston later in the month, and I'm sure there'll be stories to tell
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in the next editorial! Hopefully we can motivate Carlo to get stories
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out a little more frequently than once every 18 months! Carlo's last
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story left his protagonist (Cydric) in port, about to embark upon a
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voyage of exploration. "Ship of Doom" takes place at an unspecified
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point in that journey, which Carlo's future stories will present in more
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detail.
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And batting cleanup is a great story by one of our newest writers: Alan
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Lauderdale. Alan joined the project in January and has hit the ground
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running. I found "I am my Lord's Possession" engrossing, and I hope you
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enjoy it as much as I have. And Alan assures us that his next story is
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already half written, so hopefully it won't be too long before his works
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appear again.
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At present, I don't have an ETA for the next issue, but it'll be out
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just as soon as I've got the submissions! Hopefully this excellent issue
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will help tide you over until then.
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========================================================================
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A Lighter Burden
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by Jim Owens
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<jimo@moose.erie.net>
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Firil, 1015
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The day had dawned cold and gloomy. It was raining, light but
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steady, just as it had been for several days. Levy's heart was heavy
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within him as he stepped outside. He looked to his left, to where Sarah
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was bent over, working in her herb garden, little Jen sitting beside
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her. Sarah straightened a moment, her swelling belly becoming apparent.
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She glanced at him, but then bent back to her work. Levy's heart sunk
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even lower. He turned away from her and walked on.
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He crested the hill his house was built on. He looked down into the
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valley where his wheat crop was planted. Muddy water lay where wheat had
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sprouted only days before. Only as he walked closer could he begin to
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make out the young shoots, laden with mud. Levy's heart hit bottom.
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I'll no doubt lose most of the planting, Levy thought. The shoots
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will damp off and then we'll have neither seed nor crop. Why do we have
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such problems?, he asked, only partly to himself. Most of the winter
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wheat was taken south to help feed the soldiers during the war, leaving
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barely enough for food and planting. Without this crop, we'll have to
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sell my tools to get through the winter, assuming we could even find a
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buyer. He looked heavenward. Is this fair? He turned back towards the
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house, disheartened.
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At the top again, Levy glanced over at Sarah, still working in her
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garden. The sight, which nomally would have brought him comfort, if not
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joy, now merely added to the leaden weight in his soul. Married for over
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seven years, Levy wondered, and yet we still cannot agree on such a
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simple thing. How will we be able to agree on something like raising a
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boy? Or girl, he reminded himself; Sarah wants a girl. Levy sighed. We
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can't even decide whether we want a girl or a boy, he mused. He almost
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laughed -- good thing they hadn't had to choose on the first three!
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He lifted his eyes to gaze at the town ruins on the neighboring
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hilltop. Here and there among the shattered houses he could see the new
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buildings taking form. What a burden, he thought. They take our food,
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they take our men, and leave us to the scavengers. To add insult to
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injury, we don't even have enough men left to properly rebuild the
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buildings the raiders knocked down. Levy snorted in disgust. It would
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take weeks just to haul off all the debris. Still, it had to be done
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before they can build the new houses, Levy reminded himself. Then, too,
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much of the debris could also be used in the new homes. In every
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obstacle there's an opportunity, he reminded himself. You could build a
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lot of houses with what was lying in heaps on the distant hill. Just
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like the one Sarah wants.
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Levy walked into the tool shed, to get his tools for the day's
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work. The smell of metal filled his nose. Suddenly he longed to be back
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working metal, cutting it, selling his services to the highest bidder,
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like he had in his younger days in Dargon. In Dargon, he could make
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enough money to build a big house, with a separate bedroom for the
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children! He savored the thought of having privacy again -- Eli, the
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oldest, was starting to notice the sounds at night. Not that there had
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been many of them lately, he mused ruefully. Again he glanced back at
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the herb garden.
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What would be so bad about moving into the village, he wondered.
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With the war over the press gangs would again be banned, and a clump of
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houses would no longer seem an inviting target for food-gathering raids.
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Still, why crowd into town when all the countryside lies open and
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waiting? He had set his house apart from the others for a reason -- Levy
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prefered some solitude. With life in town came problems not of one's own
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making, the problems that other people brought with them.
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But it can be good to be where the people are, he countered, taking
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Sarah's side in his mind. Our children ought to grow up with other
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children to play with, to learn from. They have cousins there, and aunts
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and uncles (not to mention two solicitous grandparents). Besides, Sarah
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wants the hustle and bustle of town life. After growing up in isolation
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she wants to be with people now. Then too, the marketplace is there,
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with its goods and stuffs, which should be plentiful with the war past.
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And the men would now be returning. He remembered the angry
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disputes in town, with some wanting to go and fight, and Levy insisting
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that war was not the way, not how the Barels had lived their lives in
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the past. Moving back into town would mean the returning soldiers and
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their resentment and hostility. Or perhaps not. Perhaps a few years in
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the field had taught them what Levy already knew -- war was a waster, an
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enemy, not a gain or a glory. Or, Levy shuddered, perhaps they would not
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be coming home at all. He dreaded the thought of his little town, bereft
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of its men, its strength, its hope. Either way, town would not be an
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especially joyous place in the near future -- at least not for Levy.
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So many things to consider, so many points to ponder, he thought.
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Levy stood and stared into the distance for a long moment, weighing his
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feelings. Sarah's got good reasons for wanting to go back, he finally
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realized, but I just don't want to live in town. I want to live here.
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With his feelings again clear, Levy headed down toward his sodden
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ground.
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The next day dawned clear and warm, outside at least; Sarah still
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wasn't talking. Levy walked over the hill and down to the wheat field.
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He saw what seemed to be a large rat grazing on the far side. He stooped
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for a rock, then threw it, the near miss sending the startled animal off
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into the nearby brush. He stopped at the side of the field, where he
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found a surprise. Despite the silt weighing them down, thousands of
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wheat shoots had pushed themselves aloft, straining towards the sun.
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Levy beamed at the sight.
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"Well done, faithful servants. You push aside this world's burdens
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as you fight for life." Levy paused thoughtfully. Now there's a thought.
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What burden am I laboring under? Am I a faithful servant? He sat there
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in a funk, part of his mind pondering this concept, part of his mind
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resentful at having been brought up short from its normal routine.
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Lately I've been very aware of what I want, Levy admitted, yet I
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haven't thought much of what anyone else wants. Eli, for instance. Have
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I ever considered that he might benefit from being around the other men?
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Or Eleya, the middle one, would she benefit from being around the women?
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Would they all be better off seeing their grandparents more often? Or
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the grandparents, seeing them?
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He stared unseeing across the field. How often had someone
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complained about the long trip to his shop to have something fixed? A
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growing realization plagued him. Perhaps I've been putting too much of
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myself on others these years. During the war I've not been much help to
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many in town. Oh, I've helped Mattan and Father and the widows, but life
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has been hard for everyone, and I've been out here. The Barel way is to
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serve, not fight, and I can't serve very well out here. Perhaps it's
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time I served someone other than myself, he concluded, his thoughts
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returning to Sarah. He walked back to the house, deep in thought.
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Levy walked to where Sarah was pouring milk into a large tank. He
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set aside the bucket, and took her in his arms.
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"I've been thinking. Perhaps you are right."
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Sarah's eyes were quick and distrustful. "Are we going to move into
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town?"
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"If you think that would be best."
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She softened, her arms not as stiff. She returned his embrace,
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tucking her head under his chin. "What made you change your mind?"
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Levy sighed. "Our heaviest burdens are the ones we make for
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ourselves. Mine finally got too heavy." He looked into her upturned
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face. "I'd like to carry yours for a while, instead."
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========================================================================
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Ship of Doom
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by Carlo N. Samson
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<macgyver@vpnet.chi.il.us>
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Seber 1013
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Cydric awoke in darkness, confused; for a moment he believed he was
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in his bedroom at the castle, until he remembered it had been months
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since he had slept in a real bed. He lay still, waiting for his strength
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to return; his body ached as if from prolonged exertion, and his clothes
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felt cold and damp.
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Fragmentary images of water flashed through his mind, with memories
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which, no matter how hard he concentrated, remained tantalizingly out of
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reach. After several minutes he gave up the effort; he slowed his
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breathing and listened intently. Gradually he became aware of the sounds
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of creaking wood, lapping water, and a faint flapping sound. He felt
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rough wood beneath his fingertips, and soon perceived that whatever he
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was lying on was slowly rocking.
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A ship, Cydric thought. I'm on a ship.
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The realization allowed him to retrieve one of the memories that
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floated beyond his grasp. He had been on a ship -- the _Vanguard
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Voyager_ -- and there had been a storm in the middle of the night. He
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had been on deck when the captain ordered him to go below. A wave
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crashed into the ship, and the captain was thrown hard against the
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starboard rail. He went to aid her, but another wave smashed into the
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vessel, and he felt himself being swept over the side into the churning
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sea ...
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Feeling somewhat stronger, Cydric levered himself into a sitting
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position. Aside from the ache, he felt relatively whole. His tunic and
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breeches had begun to dry, but wetness still remained in his boots. How
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long had he been lying here? And where was here? Was he back on the
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_Vanguard Voyager?_
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He realized that the darkness seemed to be lifting; he was out on
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deck near an opening in the bulwark. Huge tattered sails flapped from
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the ship's three giant masts, and the rigging seemed burned and torn in
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several places. There was also the very faint smell of smoke in the air,
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but he was unsure whether it was from tobacco or wood.
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The thought of tobacco brought on a powerful urge to smoke. He felt
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for his leather pouch and was relieved to find it still attached to his
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belt. To his disappointment, the tobacco was thoroughly wet. He sighed;
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it didn't matter anyway, since he was missing his pipe. He checked for
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his dagger and was satisfied to find it still at his side.
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Warily, the young man rose to his feet. He appeared to be the only
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one on deck. This was a bigger ship than the _Voyager_, but its crew was
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far less considerate. Why else would they have left him to dry out on
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deck like a wet washcloth? He had no memory of being rescued in the
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first place ...
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He recalled flailing about in the water to keep himself afloat. The
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_Voyager_ was nearly invisible in the darkness and rain, and he had felt
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himself being swept away from the vessel. He had shouted until his
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throat was raw, but no one seemed to hear and soon he had completely
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lost sight of the ship. He continued struggling in the water, but it
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wasn't long before he felt himself slowly sinking, dropping down through
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the dark sea and into unconsciousness ...
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"Hello?" he called out. "Ahoy! Anybody on board?" Silence. It was
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now considerably lighter than it had been when he first awoke. He
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thought it might be nearing dawn, but the light seemed to have a strange
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greenish cast to it. Upon realizing this, a warm thin sweat of anxiety
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broke over him. Without quite knowing why, he rushed to the bow of the
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ship, where a large catapult was mounted. He peered over the rail at the
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figurehead; it was a large black dragon, its massive wooden head thrown
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back and its mouth open in a silent roar. Cydric stood transfixed,
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gripping the wooden rail. There was something in his gap-riddled memory
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about the dragon, but he couldn't quite grasp it.
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A cold chill suddenly ran through him, and he felt a presence
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nearby. He tensed, wanting desperately to look behind him yet lacking
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the nerve to do so. Finally, he forced himself to turn around.
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For a moment he saw nothing. Then a shadowy form coalesced out of
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the air in front of him. It was a young man of about Cydric's age and
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general build, dressed in clothes that were at least fifty years out of
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style.
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Suddenly afraid, Cydric pressed himself back against the rail and
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tensed for a leap over the side. The strange youth raised a hand and
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looked at Cydric with fearful eyes. "Go," he said in a thin, almost
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inaudible voice. Cydric remained frozen where he stood, unable to take
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his eyes off the ghost, for that was surely what it was, as surely as
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this was a ship of ghosts.
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The spectral youth cast a glance over his shoulder, and his eyes
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filled with alarm. "Go, please!" it said, almost imploringly. He looked
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behind once again, and abruptly vanished.
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Cydric stared at the spot where the youth had been, unwilling to
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relax even the slightest bit. This is a drowning-dream, he told himself.
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It must be!
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A few moments later, Cydric felt another wave of coldness, but this
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time it was accompanied by a feeling of overwhelming fatigue. He felt a
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strong desire to yawn, and his sight dimmed as if his eyes were closing.
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An instant later the feelings vanished like a candle flame being blown
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out, and he saw --
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The ship was no longer deserted and no longer a derelict.
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Rough-looking sailors, all in old-fashioned seaman's garb, crawled among
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the intact rigging and tended to the full, billowing sails. Other
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crewmen scurried about to orders barked by a large thickly-bearded man
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who surveyed the scene from the aft deck.
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Unsure what to do, Cydric stood where he was in the hope that he
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would go unnoticed. That hope proved in vain, for the bearded man soon
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began storming his way toward him. Cydric decided that this was the
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moment to go overboard.
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He turned around and prepared to launch himself over the rail, but
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a strong hand gripped his shoulder and slammed him down. Cydric struck
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the deck and sprawled onto his back. The bearded man glared down at him
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and said, "So, Tullis! Wanting to bail on us, eh? You gutless worm!" He
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reached down and hauled Cydric up until their noses were almost
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touching. "The captain'll be right pleased to see you."
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Cydric closed his nostrils against the man's foul breath. "I -- I'm
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not Tullis," he said with as much composure as he could muster. "I'm not
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-- I was in a storm, and --"
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The bearded man laughed. "Did you break your head when you fell?"
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He called over his shoulder to a pair of nearby sailors. "Take Tully Boy
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here down to the captain. He was wanting to jump the gunnels!"
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"No, I --" Cydric wrenched himself from the man's grasp and backed
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away. "I don't belong on this ship. I don't know --"
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The bearded man lunged forward with surprising speed and struck
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Cydric savagely on the side of the head. The young man felt an explosion
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of pain in his mind and went limp, collapsing to the deck.
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Dim thoughts drifted through Cydric's mind as he teetered on the
|
|
edge of oblivion. A flash of green -- green lightning? A name -- Sarkos?
|
|
A black ship with the figurehead of a dragon ...
|
|
Slowly he returned to consciousness. He was on the floor of a
|
|
silent room that smelled of must and decay. When his eyes adjusted,
|
|
Cydric could see the silhouette of a man outlined by a single lantern
|
|
that was mounted on the wall. The man was seated behind a small table,
|
|
and his face was hidden by flickering shadows.
|
|
The man said nothing as Cydric slowly rose to his feet. For several
|
|
long moments neither spoke; finally, the silence was broken as the man
|
|
said in a cold, deliberate voice, "So, Tullis. You've ... returned."
|
|
"My -- my name isn't Tullis," Cydric said, aware of how loud his
|
|
voice seemed to sound. Cydric strained to see the man's face through the
|
|
gloom of the cabin. A realization struck him; continuing to stare at the
|
|
man's face, Cydric said, "Forgive me, *Sarkos*, but I'm not a member of
|
|
your crew."
|
|
The man seemed to stiffen at the mention of the name. In the same
|
|
cold voice he said, "You'll address me as Captain."
|
|
Cydric held his breath and said nothing.
|
|
"ANSWER ME!" Sarkos suddenly cried, slamming his fist on the table.
|
|
Cydric jerked back, deeply startled. A moment later he found his voice
|
|
and replied, "Yes -- Captain." He decided it was prudent not to
|
|
antagonize the man.
|
|
Sarkos rose and turned the lantern up slightly, increasing the
|
|
light just enough for Cydric to make out the Captain's lean, slender
|
|
frame, his dark hair and short beard, and the deep-set, hollow eyes
|
|
embedded in a long, tired face. Sarkos sat down again and regarded
|
|
Cydric with the expression of a man who has just discovered a worm in
|
|
his piece of bread.
|
|
"I don't know why you've ... come back, but nothing has changed,"
|
|
Sarkos said tonelessly. "I am the captain; on this ship my word is law.
|
|
I have the right to punish those who break my laws." A humorless grin
|
|
tugged at his mouth. "You think you are above my justice?" He paused.
|
|
"Do you?" he repeated slowly, his eyes narrowing.
|
|
"No, Captain," Cydric replied quickly, a tingle of fear racing up
|
|
his spine. Sarkos was a dangerous man, there was no question of that.
|
|
"And was it worth it, do you think?" Sarkos was not looking at
|
|
Cydric, but somewhat past him. "I had every right. I still have the
|
|
right. Do you think it was worth it?" Without waiting for an answer,
|
|
Sarkos placed an intricately-carved wooden box on the table.
|
|
"Go ahead," he said. "Look at it. See if it wasn't worth the cost."
|
|
Cydric stared hesitantly at the box, mentally sorting out what
|
|
Sarkos was saying. Apparently, someone named Tullis had violated one of
|
|
the captain's rules, and it had something to do with the contents of the
|
|
box.
|
|
"LOOK AT IT!" Sarkos roared. He pounded the table, causing the box
|
|
to jump.
|
|
Cydric approached, paused, then lifted the lid of the box. What he
|
|
saw inside made him gasp. Resting on a bed of red velvet was a huge
|
|
oval-shaped emerald, about the size of a clenched fist. Forgetting
|
|
himself, Cydric reached out to touch the emerald, but Sarkos slammed the
|
|
lid shut.
|
|
"Now get away," he said with a low snarl. Cydric put his arms to
|
|
his sides and backed off. He suddenly remembered his dagger, but decided
|
|
that trying to fight his way out of the situation would do no good.
|
|
For a moment Sarkos said nothing, then cracked Cydric across the
|
|
face with the back of his hand. Cydric staggered from the blow. Sarkos
|
|
gripped the front of Cydric's tunic and yanked him close. In a sullen
|
|
whisper he said, "And to think that me, of all people, trusted you."
|
|
The captain's eyes now seemed full of a dark, concentrated fury.
|
|
Fear clenched Cydric's gut, and he knew that Sarkos intended to kill
|
|
him.
|
|
But before either of them could make another move, the door burst
|
|
open and a dark-skinned crewman stuck his head into the room. "Captain!
|
|
The Duke's ships -- they're attacking!"
|
|
Sarkos's anger suddenly seemed to drain away. He released Cydric
|
|
and sagged back against the table. "Gods damn," he muttered listlessly.
|
|
A moment later he looked up, his face a mask of resignation. "Prepare
|
|
for battle," he said. "And--" he glanced at Cydric--"lock him in the
|
|
hold."
|
|
The dark-skinned man nodded and entered the room. He drew the
|
|
cutlass that he wore at his side and used it to motion for Cydric to
|
|
walk ahead of him.
|
|
|
|
A short time later, Cydric watched as the door to the damp ship's
|
|
hold slammed shut, leaving him alone. Thin beams of light filtering down
|
|
through cracks in the cargo hatch above provided barely enough
|
|
illumination for him to see dusty crates, barrels, and coils of rope
|
|
strewn about. He waited a few moments, then tried to force the door open
|
|
with his dagger. It firmly resisted, so he went over and sat down on a
|
|
crate to consider his situation. If this was a dream, he thought, it was
|
|
certainly the most realistic one he had ever experienced.
|
|
A scuffling sound interrupted his thoughts. He leaped up and spun
|
|
around, dagger in hand. Staring into the shadows for a breathless
|
|
moment, he detected no one. Then a small furry shape skittered across
|
|
the top of a barrel. Cydric relaxed -- it was only a rat.
|
|
Sheathing the dagger and sitting down again, he mused about what
|
|
the dark-skinned crewman had said to Sarkos. Duke's ships attacking?
|
|
"Which Duke?" he wondered aloud.
|
|
"A Duke of Pyridain," came a reply. Cydric drew his dagger again
|
|
and looked around for the speaker. From the gloom at the other end of
|
|
the hold a figure gradually emerged. It was the youth who had appeared
|
|
before and urged him to leave the ship.
|
|
"Who are you?" Cydric demanded, rising to his feet and taking a
|
|
defensive stance.
|
|
"My name," the youth said wearily, "is Tullis."
|
|
At the sound of the name, Cydric lowered his blade. "So *you're*
|
|
Tullis," he said. The youth nodded sadly. "Why does everyone on this
|
|
ship think that I'm you?"
|
|
"I tried to warn you. You should have escaped when you had the
|
|
chance."
|
|
"What ship is this?" Cydric demanded.
|
|
Tullis sighed. "You are on the _Rampant Dragon_. Her captain is
|
|
Jaren Sarkos, whom I believe you've already met."
|
|
The name of the ship stirred something in Cydric's memory. His brow
|
|
furrowed as the image of the black dragon figurehead, illuminated by
|
|
green flames, came to him. The _Rampant Dragon_. He had heard the name
|
|
mentioned somewhere before. The _Rampant Dragon_ ...
|
|
Suddenly, it all returned to him.
|
|
|
|
He had been on lookout in the _Vanguard Voyager's_ crow's nest,
|
|
high atop the main mast, when he first glimpsed the strange green
|
|
lightning. At first he dismissed it as a random imagining produced by
|
|
his cold and tired mind. But a little while later he saw another flash,
|
|
clearly this time, on the darkening horizon. Curious now, he remained
|
|
alert and carefully watched the sky and sea around him, hoping to catch
|
|
another glimpse of the unnatural lightning.
|
|
His watch ended without another sighting. In his report to the
|
|
officer of the watch he mentioned only that he had seen lightning,
|
|
omitting any mention of it having been green. But as he made his way
|
|
below, he caught sight of a third stroke of green lightning, far out
|
|
over the water.
|
|
In the _Voyager's_ galley he encountered Captain Brynna Thorne,
|
|
enjoying her customary early-evening bowl of dried figs. With her was a
|
|
white-haired seaman by the name of Avron, who was the oldest member of
|
|
the crew and known to have a vast knowledge of ocean lore. Cydric was
|
|
hesitant to ask Avron about the green lightning with the Captain
|
|
present, not wanting her to think that he was prone to irrational
|
|
imaginings; but his desire to know if he had in fact seen some kind of
|
|
natural occurrence won out, and he told the old sailor about what he had
|
|
seen.
|
|
Avron frowned and pursed his lips when Cydric mentioned that he had
|
|
seen the green lightning three times. "Not a good sign," the old seaman
|
|
muttered ominously. He then told the young man that there was an old
|
|
belief that anyone who saw green lightning three times in one day was
|
|
fated to join the crew of a wandering ghost ship called the _Rampant
|
|
Dragon_, a pirate vessel cursed to sail the seas forever.
|
|
Captain Thorne shook her head skeptically. "Old seadog talk,
|
|
nothing more," she said with a tone of dismissal. "My father told me the
|
|
same stories when I was his cabin girl. And I've also heard it said that
|
|
one can see a flash of green at sunset, if the sky is right."
|
|
"Believe -- or disbelieve -- what you will, Captain," Avron
|
|
replied. "The sea holds many mysteries."
|
|
Cydric asked the old sailor to continue, but he refused to say
|
|
anything more about it. Cydric came away believing that the story was
|
|
indeed an old sea tale ...
|
|
|
|
... until the storm the following night that washed him up on the
|
|
ghost ship. Cydric stared at Tullis, whose form seemed somehow
|
|
indistinct. "This ship is cursed," Cydric said, and repeated to Tullis
|
|
what he had just recalled.
|
|
"That is the story," Tullis affirmed with a solemn nod.
|
|
"But why was the ship cursed?"
|
|
Tullis gave another sigh and related the story of how, many years
|
|
ago, Captain Sarkos -- a cold-hearted pirate who regularly raided the
|
|
southern coast of Baranur -- disguised himself as a nobleman and tricked
|
|
the only daughter of a powerful duke of Pyridain into giving him the Eye
|
|
of Cirrangill, a huge perfectly-cut emerald the size of a man's fist. It
|
|
was one of the family's treasures, and the duke was furious at the Eye's
|
|
loss. He sent out his three fastest ships in search of the _Rampant
|
|
Dragon_, and after three days they caught up with the pirate on the open
|
|
sea.
|
|
The _Dragon_ was larger than the duke's ships but surprisingly fast
|
|
for a vessel her size. She was able to keep just ahead of the pursuing
|
|
ships, until one of them managed to get close enough for several
|
|
ballista-launched flaming spears to set fire to her sails and bring her
|
|
to a stop. The three ships maintained a flaming-spear attack, while the
|
|
crew of the pirate vessel returned fire with catapult-launched stones
|
|
and burning coals.
|
|
The battle soon turned in favor of the duke's fleet. Sarkos, seeing
|
|
the heavy damage to his ship and fearing capture, came to a drastic
|
|
decision: he called upon Cirrangill, god of the seas, and offered up the
|
|
namesake jewel in return for help. The sea god manifested himself as an
|
|
immense waterspout and agreed to aid Sarkos. The duke's fleet was caught
|
|
up in the vast watery vortex and sent to the bottom, but the _Rampant
|
|
Dragon_ remained unharmed.
|
|
Cirrangill then demanded the emerald, but Sarkos knew the mythical
|
|
history of the jewel: it had originally been a gift to a poor fisherman
|
|
from the sea god himself, as a reward for the man's honesty. Over the
|
|
years the emerald changed hands many times, but it had always been a
|
|
gift -- never once had it been bought or sold. Sarkos knew that unless
|
|
he willingly gave it up, the sea god could not reclaim the jewel.
|
|
Knowing this, the pirate captain greedily refused to part with it.
|
|
And so, angered by the pirate's ingratitude, Cirrangill laid a
|
|
curse upon the ship and crew; they would be doomed to roam the seas for
|
|
all time and relive the battle with the duke's fleet, which now ended
|
|
with the _Rampant Dragon's_ destruction.
|
|
|
|
"... and that is what is happening now," Tullis concluded, casting
|
|
a glance up at the roof of the hold.
|
|
"But why aren't you with them?" Cydric asked. "Aren't you affected
|
|
by the curse?"
|
|
A grim look came over the youth's face, as if he was recalling a
|
|
painful event. "This is a ship of ghosts, but I ... I am a different
|
|
ghost." He paused, as if to compose himself. Then he continued.
|
|
"During the chase, the Captain was always on deck and rarely came
|
|
back to his cabin. I had heard about the jewel and knew where he kept
|
|
it. One day, I couldn't resist -- I took the box out of its hiding place
|
|
and looked at the jewel. I don't know for how long I stared at it, but
|
|
the next thing I knew, the Captain was in the room, shouting at me --
|
|
hitting me. He took me down here, to the hold and ... " Tullis stopped
|
|
and gazed into the shadows.
|
|
Cydric read his look and knew what had happened next. In a whisper
|
|
he said, "Sarkos killed you."
|
|
Tullis nodded, unable to speak.
|
|
"So you're a true ghost."
|
|
Again Tullis nodded. "Yes -- and doubly cursed for it. Everyone
|
|
else has only the faintest notion that they've been repeating the same
|
|
events, but I seem to be only one who truly remembers."
|
|
"But why *does* Sarkos and the crew think that I'm you?"
|
|
"You are not the first man to be taken aboard this ship. Each one
|
|
before you was mistaken for one of our men who'd been killed in some way
|
|
or another in the past. And the only way any of them left this ship was
|
|
by bailing overboard."
|
|
Cydric now understood Sarkos's behavior toward him. The pirate
|
|
captain no doubt believed that Tullis had come back, and had tried to
|
|
justify his actions to relieve his guilt. But knowing that was little
|
|
comfort -- what he needed was a way off this ship of doom.
|
|
Stepping over to stand directly in front of Tullis, Cydric drew a
|
|
breath and asked, "Will you help me escape?"
|
|
The ghostly youth nodded his agreement. "But I first have to ask
|
|
you this: will you help me to end this curse upon our ship, so that we
|
|
may finally know rest?"
|
|
Cydric paused before replying. "Will you still help me if I don't?"
|
|
"Yes. I said that I would."
|
|
Stepping back a pace, Cydric frowned slightly as he considered
|
|
Tullis's request. It would be easy to simply leave him and the others on
|
|
board the ship to their fate. He was certain that Sarkos deserved his,
|
|
but what of the rest of the crew? And what of Tullis -- was his
|
|
transgression so great that he deserved to spend forever in this waking
|
|
nightmare?
|
|
Cydric gave a mental shake of his head. Who was he to judge any of
|
|
them? But if people like himself were unwillingly drawn into the
|
|
punishment reserved for the _Dragon's_ crew, didn't he have a
|
|
responsibility to try and ensure that it happened to no one else?
|
|
A long moment passed. Finally, Cydric spoke. "Then I'll help you."
|
|
|
|
Tullis showed Cydric the location of a rusted axe, lost behind a
|
|
row of crates. Cydric used it to hack away at the door after being
|
|
assured by Tullis that no one was nearby. After escaping the hold,
|
|
Cydric followed Tullis to the Captain's cabin. The spectral youth
|
|
directed Cydric to a loose plank underneath Sarkos' bunk that was the
|
|
hiding place for the box containing the Eye of Cirrangill. Cydric
|
|
removed the emerald and turned it over in his hand. He cast a dubious
|
|
glance at Tullis and said, "Are you sure this is the only way to end the
|
|
curse?"
|
|
"Yes. And at the right moment you must do what I told you,
|
|
otherwise the curse will continue."
|
|
|
|
A short time after leaving Sarkos's cabin, Cydric emerged from an
|
|
aft hatch onto the deck of the _Rampant Dragon_. The air was thick with
|
|
smoke and the shouts of the crew. Huddling near the steps leading up to
|
|
the aft deck, Cydric looked to port and saw three ships in a loose line
|
|
a short distance away. The starboard-side hull of the middle ship was
|
|
ablaze, but the other two were undamaged. Suddenly, a great spear of
|
|
fire leaped from the foredeck of the lead ship. It soared in a graceful
|
|
arc toward the _Rampant Dragon_ and buried itself in the portside hull
|
|
just above the waterline, sending a shudder through the vessel.
|
|
Cydric staggered and fell to the deck, coughing. A moment later, a
|
|
gust of wind cleared the smoke from the deck, allowing him to observe
|
|
crewmen with buckets racing toward the port side to dump water on the
|
|
flaming spear. Looking up, he saw other crewmen in the rigging
|
|
struggling to put out fires in the mainsails.
|
|
Two more flaming spears flew from the attacking ships. One fell
|
|
short of the _Dragon_, but the other grazed the mizzen sail and set it
|
|
afire. Cydric leaped up and scrambled out of the way as crewmen rushed
|
|
astern to combat the flames. He made his way forward and crouched
|
|
against the starboard rail, not far from the steps to the foredeck. He
|
|
watched as Captain Sarkos bellowed to the men manning the catapult to
|
|
winch the arm back to firing position. When it was ready, one man dumped
|
|
a bucketful of large dark rocks into the bowl and another man set them
|
|
ablaze with the torch he held. They stood back, and a moment later
|
|
Sarkos gave the order to fire. The catapult arm slammed upright and
|
|
flung the rocks toward the lead ship. Most of them missed, but a few
|
|
landed on the deck where a crewman quickly extinguished them.
|
|
Tullis materialized beside Cydric, who looked up at him and said,
|
|
"It's not going well for Sarkos, is it?"
|
|
Shaking his head, Tullis replied, "It will become worse. The Duke's
|
|
ships will start to draw closer; two will continue the attack, while the
|
|
third will attempt to ram."
|
|
Cydric felt a twinge of fear. "And then?"
|
|
"The attempt will succeed. This ship will sink, and all hands will
|
|
go down."
|
|
"But you'll all be brought back to go through this all over again."
|
|
"Yes, unless you are able to put an end to it. Be ready."
|
|
|
|
The battle soon began to unfold as Tullis described. All three
|
|
ships ceased firing, then pointed their bows toward the _Rampant
|
|
Dragon_. Sarkos screamed for the crew to finish repairs to the sails and
|
|
ordered the catapult attacks to continue.
|
|
As the Duke's ships approached, the first and last ship in line
|
|
altered course slightly so that they would pass directly fore and aft of
|
|
the _Dragon_; the middle ship seemed to hang back, but was on a course
|
|
for the pirate vessel's midsection. Sarkos directed the catapult crew to
|
|
concentrate fire on the first ship, but a well-placed flaming spear
|
|
smashed into the catapult frame and set fire to one of the men.
|
|
Cydric stood up to see if Captain Sarkos had been hit. A few
|
|
moments later he quickly crouched down again as an arrow sped past his
|
|
face. The flanking ships had closed to within arrow range and their
|
|
archers were raining death down on the _Dragon's_ deck. Cydric covered
|
|
his head as crewmen all around him sharply cried out in pain. A few
|
|
screams seemed to rise in volume and then abruptly end with a muffled
|
|
"thump".
|
|
After what seemed like years, Cydric heard Tullis whisper that the
|
|
ships had passed. He lowered his arms, stood up, and was struck with
|
|
horror to see arrow-pierced bodies littering the deck of the _Rampant
|
|
Dragon_. Turning to face port, Cydric saw the middle ship rapidly
|
|
bearing down on the pirate vessel.
|
|
Tullis appeared, his face stricken with anguish. "Now, Cydric!" he
|
|
shouted urgently. "The jewel! Do it now!"
|
|
Pulling the emerald from his tobacco pouch and holding it aloft,
|
|
Cydric faced starboard and said in a loud voice, "Great Cirrangill! God
|
|
of the Seas! I offer to you your sacred Eye in return for the release of
|
|
the souls on board this ship!"
|
|
There was no immediate response. Cydric quickly repeated the offer,
|
|
and was about to do so a third time when Tullis cried out a warning.
|
|
Shooting a glance over his shoulder, Cydric saw Sarkos staggering toward
|
|
him. The captain's clothing was blackened, his face was bloodied, and an
|
|
arrow protruded from his upper back.
|
|
The young man from the _Voyager_ took a step forward just as Sarkos
|
|
gave a yell and leaped. He slammed into Cydric, and the two of them
|
|
collapsed to the deck. Cydric lost his grip on the jewel and saw it
|
|
skitter away; Sarkos pushed off of him and dived after the emerald.
|
|
Retrieving it, the pirate captain lurched to his feet. Just then, Tullis
|
|
materialized and confronted Sarkos.
|
|
"You murdered me!" the ghostly youth cried. "You killed me with
|
|
your own hands!"
|
|
Sarkos recoiled in shock. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "You
|
|
betrayed me. I had a right to kill. I had every right!" He gave a scream
|
|
of rage and flung the emerald at Tullis.
|
|
At that moment, the _Rampant Dragon_ shook violently as the duke's
|
|
ship impacted the pirate vessel's side. Tullis vanished as the green
|
|
jewel passed through him.
|
|
As the ramming ship pushed its way into the _Dragon's_ hull, a
|
|
shimmering translucent mass formed in the air over the water to the
|
|
starboard side. It assumed the vague shape of a bearded human face.
|
|
Cydric watched as the emerald flew in a leisurely arc toward the
|
|
shimmering mass. The jewel tumbled end over end until it appeared to
|
|
cover the left eye of the translucent shimmering. A green light exploded
|
|
outward from the emerald, filling the sky. The light blinded Cydric, and
|
|
he lost all consciousness.
|
|
|
|
There was the sensation of falling a long way, stopping abruptly,
|
|
then slowly rising. A pale green curtain wavered in the distance, and
|
|
the feeling of rising quickened the closer the green curtain approached.
|
|
Suddenly the curtain was pierced --
|
|
-- and Cydric found himself breaking the surface of the water and
|
|
being hoisted into the air. Hands grabbed him and gently set him down.
|
|
Cydric opened his eyes and saw a group of people huddled over him.
|
|
Among them were Avron and Captain Thorne. I'm back on the _Voyager_, he
|
|
thought. He blinked his eyes several times and tried to speak, but
|
|
instead gagged and vomited the seawater that filled his throat.
|
|
|
|
A little while later, Brynna and Avron visited Cydric as he
|
|
recovered in the crew quarters. Brynna told him that not long after he
|
|
went overboard, the storm had abated and they found him floating only a
|
|
short distance from the ship. He then told them, somewhat hesitantly, of
|
|
his experiences on the ghostly pirate vessel.
|
|
"Actually, I'm sure it *was* just a drowning-dream," Cydric
|
|
admitted after he finished.
|
|
"In true fact, though," said Avron, "there really was a duke of
|
|
Pyridain who ordered a certain pirate hunted down and captured. But all
|
|
the ships were lost in a storm, so it is said."
|
|
"And there's the explanation," Brynna said with satisfaction. "A
|
|
simple story blown into a mysterious sea legend. That's how most of them
|
|
start."
|
|
Avron opened his mouth as if to argue, but closed it and merely
|
|
nodded.
|
|
Brynna patted Cydric's shoulder and said, "You should be better
|
|
tomorrow. Is there anything you need right now?"
|
|
Cydric thought a moment. "No, but I do have one request."
|
|
"Yes?"
|
|
"I'd like to go back to galley duty, if I may."
|
|
|
|
High up in the crow's nest, a crewman gazed out over the dark
|
|
water. His watch was almost over, and he thought about leaving his post
|
|
a little bit early. But just as he made up his mind to do so, his
|
|
attention was drawn by a tiny dot of green light at the limit of his
|
|
vision, seeming to be just under the surface. He brought the spyglass to
|
|
his eye, but was only able to catch a brief glimpse of the green light
|
|
dimming and going out, as if it had sunk into the depths of the cold,
|
|
mysterious sea.
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|
|
"I am my Lord's Possession"
|
|
by Alan Lauderdale
|
|
<lauderd@phadm1.cpmc.columbia.edu>
|
|
20 Firil-7 Naia, 1004
|
|
|
|
[20 Firil, 1004.]
|
|
Sir Ongis Fennic scrounged up a drumstick and strolled over to a
|
|
window. His sharp, commanding black eyes gazed out at the morning
|
|
shadows and mud of his courtyard. With wolfish ferocity, he tore into
|
|
the cold leg he held. His black hair and physical strength only added to
|
|
the lupine resemblance. (It was a pity that his oversized nose spoiled
|
|
any appearance of feral cunning.)
|
|
"She still there?" he asked around his gnawing.
|
|
"Yes," Cahill replied. Cahill partook of the servant's lot of
|
|
anonymity. Like the rest of them, he tugged his forelock, knew his place
|
|
and stayed out of the way. All that distinguished him was a modest
|
|
calligraphic skill and a scar on the left side of his face acquired
|
|
while learning to stay out of the way of Sir Ongis's horse.
|
|
"Risser's teeth, she gets up early."
|
|
Cahill refrained from commenting that the morning was in fact far
|
|
advanced. He knew too well that such a remark was dangerous to his
|
|
health.
|
|
"Standing there every day ... she's just asking for a whipping. She
|
|
doing anything?"
|
|
"No," Cahill replied.
|
|
"No evil eye, no chanting, no spitting on my gateposts?"
|
|
"No."
|
|
"If she's a witch, she's a cowardly one."
|
|
"She never said she was a witch, only the creature's mother,"
|
|
Cahill thought. He kept silent, though. There was nothing he could think
|
|
of to say that wasn't either lickspittlishly beneath his shreds of
|
|
dignity or unbecoming to a servant who wanted to survive. He gazed
|
|
uninformatively at his liege lord.
|
|
Sir Ongis nodded over at the covered birdcage. "What about her?" he
|
|
asked.
|
|
"No better."
|
|
"Worse?"
|
|
Cahill shrugged and nodded.
|
|
Sir Ongis threw the drumstick at the fireplace and strode to the
|
|
cage. He tore the cover off and glared through the wickerwork at the
|
|
small figure within. The creature looked like a girl but her height was
|
|
only about three hands.
|
|
"Say the words, dammit!" he shouted. "Just say the damned words."
|
|
She raised her head and looked at him. "I will not." Her voice was
|
|
scarcely audible over his own breathing. "I want to go home."
|
|
"You'll go where I send you!" Sir Ongis exclaimed. He replaced the
|
|
cover approximately and turned again to Cahill. "What about my wife?" he
|
|
asked.
|
|
"Your wife, sir?" Cahill asked, surprised.
|
|
"Yes, my wife." Sir Ongis stalked toward his servant. "Remember
|
|
her? She's sick too. Or had that slipped your mind? How. Is. My. Wife?"
|
|
"She's much better," Cahill said quickly. "Much better! Memfis --
|
|
you know, the leech? -- he says she's improving. He says she's much
|
|
better."
|
|
"He's been saying that for a week!" Sir Ongis roared. "If she's so
|
|
much better, why's she still in bed?"
|
|
|
|
Sophie stood outside the gates of Sir Ongis's hall. Sophie knew Sir
|
|
Ongis had her daughter, her Mouse. Sophie knew Mouse was her daughter's
|
|
name, not Melisande. Sophie knew how her daughter had come to be given
|
|
her true name ...
|
|
|
|
[Yule, 994.]
|
|
She was always small, even at her birth. She slipped out of her
|
|
mother's womb quickly and with no fuss. For Sophie, the event was
|
|
routine; the baby was her seventh. She no longer bothered with a midwife
|
|
-- or even summoned her sister, whose house in the village she'd come to
|
|
visit for the birthing. Sophie knew what to do. She stood up from the
|
|
birthing stool and put the infant in the old basket -- the one that
|
|
would be burned. Then she dressed and, taking both the old basket (with
|
|
baby) and the Naming Basket, she went along to the other temple.
|
|
Not the temple of Kurin -- the only god who ever seemed to answer
|
|
his worshipers these days -- but the older temple, the one dedicated to
|
|
the Stevene. The one whose only remaining purpose, it seemed, was
|
|
washing and naming infants. And burying the stubborn remainder who
|
|
insisted on worshipping the superseded god of everything. The temple
|
|
persisted only because of the continued patronage of the family Fennic.
|
|
Otherwise, "something" would surely have happened to it by now, the
|
|
Kurinish priests and leaders of the congregation were so hostile to it.
|
|
Even the Fennic's support wasn't enthusiastic; it was merely a family
|
|
tradition. The great-grandfather of the present Stafhold would have died
|
|
as an infant but for the wisdom of a Stevenic priest. The good will left
|
|
over from that event wasn't quite depleted yet.
|
|
Since that time, every mother brought her infant to the stevenic
|
|
temple for naming -- though it was beginning to crumble these days.
|
|
Fanatically devoted worshipers of Kurin were beginning to bring their
|
|
infants to the new temple (a century or two old, but still "new") for
|
|
blessing. The one remaining priest of the Stevene, Bartleheim, was too
|
|
weak to protest this breach of tradition. He was old, he was tired, he
|
|
was blind. He was irrelevant.
|
|
Sophie, though, wasn't fanatical about much, certainly not about
|
|
debates over whether to worship the sun or worship everything. She went
|
|
to the old temple because that was where she'd taken her six previous
|
|
babies. And three of those were still alive, so she was doing all right
|
|
doing it the traditional way. Two were old enough to help their father
|
|
already and the other would probably train in clerking in a few more
|
|
years. Sophie had done well by the Stevene. No reason to change.
|
|
She rang the bell in front of Bartleheim's shack, then continued on
|
|
to the old temple itself. She went in and went to the chapel where the
|
|
naming font was. Fortunately, she'd birthed by day. Otherwise, she would
|
|
have had to bring her own candles. The temple used to have candles and
|
|
lamps burning all the time, then only at night, then just whenever
|
|
people came. Now people almost never came (except to name their babies)
|
|
and the temple had no candles. The last lamps had disappeared years ago.
|
|
Sophie put the basket down and checked the water. At least the font
|
|
still worked. (She recalled that keeping the font functioning was mainly
|
|
what the Fennic patronage accomplished.) She skimmed dead insects and
|
|
scum off the surface of the water and sang quietly to her new daughter
|
|
while she waited for Bartleheim.
|
|
Her ring gleamed slightly when it swept into the water under the
|
|
floating muck. Sophie smiled at it. Actually the thing was badly and
|
|
permanently tarnished and probably a cheap metal (tin? copper?) to begin
|
|
with. It wasn't a wedding ring. Gregor hadn't been able to afford
|
|
anything like that then. No, he'd found it in a field about a year ago
|
|
and brought it to her with much joking ceremony. She'd appreciated the
|
|
joke, accepted the belated token, and liked the ring itself even if it
|
|
was homely. It fit snugly and almost never called any attention to
|
|
itself. Gleaming was unusual, but this was supposed to be holy water.
|
|
Bartleheim showed up finally, led by the only acolyte the stevenic
|
|
temple had. He was an idiot named Henri (who could hope to become priest
|
|
only by default when Bartleheim died). Henri positioned Bartleheim by
|
|
the font while Sophie unwrapped her baby. Then the acolyte wandered off,
|
|
touring the rest of the dark, dusty chamber. Bartleheim started blessing
|
|
the Stevene with comfortable, familiar words. Sophie immersed the tiny
|
|
girl in the water and cleaned her for the first time. The water was
|
|
cold, the girl displeased by the experience. She began to cry.
|
|
Bartleheim recited louder.
|
|
He reached the point where the omniscience was supposed to advise
|
|
him of the baby's name and paused. Since a god of everything was
|
|
terribly busy -- too busy to reliably choose a name that would please
|
|
the baby's family -- custom allowed the mother to whisper a suggestion
|
|
to the priest at this point. Sophie, keeping a firm grip on the unhappy
|
|
infant, leaned over to recommend the name Merry to the divine principle.
|
|
"M -- owww!" she exclaimed. There was a flash in the font and a
|
|
sharp pain in her fingers.
|
|
"By the grace of God and in the love of her family, the child's
|
|
name shall be Mouse," the blind Bartleheim said with a mental shrug.
|
|
"Praised be the name of Cephas," chimed in Henri from the shadows
|
|
elsewhere in the building. He knew his cues, but wasn't good at
|
|
perceiving when a ceremony had careened off its track. The acolyte came
|
|
back (empty-handed) from a survey of the temple's almsboxes.
|
|
"You may now burn the basket," Bartleheim went on helpfully.
|
|
"But that's not supposed to be her name," Sophie complained.
|
|
"It's what you said," Bartleheim replied.
|
|
"Yes, but -- where's my ring?" Sophie stared at her hand. (The
|
|
other hand was busy cradling an infant who'd suddenly decided to be at
|
|
peace with the entire situation.) Where the pain in her fingers was
|
|
worst was where her ring used to be. It was gone now. Sophie started
|
|
fishing around in the font. With only daylight available in the chapel,
|
|
the bottom of the basin couldn't be seen. And no ring could be felt
|
|
anywhere in it.
|
|
Sophie felt tired. She'd lost her only piece of jewelry and gained
|
|
a daughter named for the vermin who helped keep her family hungry too
|
|
often. "Her name is Mouse?" she asked, continuing to feel around the
|
|
basin.
|
|
"Praise Cephas," Henri affirmed, taking it upon himself to attempt
|
|
to burn the old basket. Recognizing the potential for catastrophe in
|
|
this plan, Sophie abandoned her search and relieved the acolyte of the
|
|
basket.
|
|
"Can we change it?" she asked.
|
|
"And offend God?" Bartleheim responded. "I'd rather not."
|
|
Sophie started to ask about her missing ring. Then she considered
|
|
Bartleheim's clouded eyes and Henri's vacuous grin and thought better of
|
|
it. Perhaps Gregor could find her another. Perhaps she was just never
|
|
meant to wear jewelry. Silently, she burned the basket while Bartleheim
|
|
said a little basket-burning prayer and Henri gazed raptly at the flame.
|
|
Then, she dropped a couple of coins into Henri's hand. ("Because it's
|
|
customary, that's why!" she thought to herself in annoyance over why she
|
|
should make an offering for a botched ceremony.) Finally, she gathered
|
|
up her contented little Mouse in her new basket and went home.
|
|
Gregor held Mouse and listened to Sophie's account. He gazed
|
|
thoughtfully at his first daughter. She gazed thoughtfully at her first
|
|
father. "Well," he said at last, "it makes a better story than if you'd
|
|
succeeded in naming her Merry."
|
|
"I just hope you won't regret that opinion," his wife told him.
|
|
|
|
[20 Firil, 1004.]
|
|
Gregor paused at the end of the row. Morgan, his ox, was content to
|
|
stop pulling the plow also. Both stared out across the fields
|
|
thoughtfully.
|
|
Gregor was farming. That was what he did. He got up and worked;
|
|
later, he might rest. Sophie might go and stand outside Sir Ongis's hall
|
|
for hours hoping that he might relent and give her back her child. He
|
|
still had work to do and many mouths to feed. Mouse, though, had never
|
|
been much of an eater.
|
|
|
|
[Summer, 994]
|
|
The infant Mouse declined to eat. To say that she "refused" to eat
|
|
would be putting it too strongly. She simply declined it almost all the
|
|
time when Sophie offered her breast for suckling. She slept and she woke
|
|
and she greeted the world with great interest, but tears were rare and
|
|
eating was rarer. Sophie worried (first of all, it was uncomfortable)
|
|
and Gregor heard about it every evening.
|
|
Sophie asked her friends for advice and Gregor heard a report about
|
|
every suggestion. She got 27 different sure-fire ways to persuade a baby
|
|
to eat from 11 different friends. Two thirds of these really only
|
|
applied to solid food; the others didn't work.
|
|
Gregor advised her to take Mouse to Merton, the most accessible of
|
|
the priests of Kurin. (He also advised her that Bartleheim was useless
|
|
and she agreed.) So she did, and reported to Gregor every detail: Merton
|
|
looked at Mouse. Mouse looked at him. Merton smiled at Mouse and Mouse
|
|
smiled back. Merton drank some milk and ate a biscuit. Mouse stared at
|
|
the window of his office. Merton put his hand gently on Mouse's forehead
|
|
and prayed to the sun for guidance. Mouse put up with it. Merton
|
|
received no clear guidance from Kurin. Mouse and Sophie went home.
|
|
So Gregor had resigned himself. Sophie had given him Cedric and Con
|
|
(Gregor the Younger) and Follano and Petrin and Dorian and Tobric. (And
|
|
she would follow the Mouse with Armonk and Quinn and Widric and
|
|
Barberry.) Cedric and Con were strong, healthy boys who already were
|
|
helping their father work the land. Dorian was growing up fine. If poor
|
|
Mouse went the way of Follano, Petrin and Tobric, that would be sad, but
|
|
life would go on. Sophie would go on.
|
|
But Mouse flouted the alternatives -- eat or die. She continued to
|
|
sleep and play with the world. She also continued to avoid eating and
|
|
crying. She stayed small, but she stayed alive and contented. For
|
|
Gregor, who started off waiting sadly to see how long the Mouse would
|
|
take to waste away and die, the vigil shifted gradually to appreciating
|
|
this strange, small blessing. His daughter continued to be1 another joy
|
|
around the house but not another mouth to feed (though Sophie never
|
|
stopped trying).
|
|
Mouse loved sunlight. Left to her own devices inside the cottage,
|
|
she would eventually maneuver herself into any illuminated patch of the
|
|
floor. Outside, she lay on her back and laughed at the light. Since she
|
|
seemed to treat Gregor and Sophie with equal love, Gregor sometimes took
|
|
her along when he went out to his fields. (Especially after Sophie
|
|
became pregnant yet again.)
|
|
The hawk reminded Gregor that it was dangerous for his daughter to
|
|
be small.
|
|
Gregor was pulling weeds; Mouse was gurgling in a basket. Gregor
|
|
was in a struggle with an especially deep root when the baby's scream
|
|
jolted him out of it. He looked up and saw the bird swerve past Mouse's
|
|
basket and lurch upward into the sky again. For want of anything more
|
|
effective to do, Gregor threw a stone or two at the retreating hawk, but
|
|
Mouse continued to scream. Gregor went over to her and made sure that
|
|
she'd come to no harm. The baby clung to her father the rest of the day,
|
|
crying (very uncharacteristically) if put down. After that, Gregor made
|
|
sure that his tiny girl was not quite so exposed when sitting outside.
|
|
|
|
(Gregor grimaced and urged the ox into starting another row. He
|
|
hadn't been there when she was taken.)
|
|
|
|
He remembered that Mouse took up crawling before anyone except her
|
|
mother thought it appropriate. (Gregor regretted her precocity. Once she
|
|
started crawling amongst his crops, the pleasure of her company was
|
|
overbalanced by the trouble of looking after her. He had to leave her at
|
|
home most of the time.) Everyone else reminded Sophie that now she'd
|
|
have to make sure that Mouse stayed away from dangerous things like
|
|
cooking fires, but Gregor knew that there was no worry. Sophie was an
|
|
experienced mother and a wise one, who knew how to do that
|
|
automatically. She told him that she was just glad that something about
|
|
Mouse was normal. She was equally pleased when Mouse began walking and
|
|
talking; she only worried because her daughter was still so small.
|
|
|
|
[20 Firil, 1004.]
|
|
Gregor stopped. The furrow was going wayward, as was his mind. He
|
|
brought Morgan back into line and resumed the plowing. Mouse was never
|
|
wayward, he thought. Almost never.
|
|
Sophie stood nursing Barberry and still remembering her other
|
|
daughter, the one Sir Ongis was holding prisoner. Mouse was always a
|
|
good little girl. She almost never made trouble for her mother or anyone
|
|
else in the family. For example, there was the day that Sophie left her
|
|
knitting out. There were the needles and the orderly knots and all that
|
|
yarn that any kitten would have known to make a mess of. When Sophie
|
|
realized that the house had been quiet for too long and went on patrol,
|
|
she found Mouse sitting next to the needles and yarn, staring at them.
|
|
Remarking "When you're older, we'll make some socks together," Sophie
|
|
gathered up the knitting and put it away where it belonged. (Mouse
|
|
watched her in solemn silence.) It was so much later when Sophie
|
|
discovered the extra row that she decided she must have knitted it in
|
|
herself by mistake.
|
|
Now, though, Sophie felt a twinge of doubt. Why else would she
|
|
remember the matter (except that she never erred in her knitting besides
|
|
that one time)? Was Sir Ongis right in declaring that Mouse was a faerie
|
|
princess who should be presented to the Duke of Dargon himself? Sophie
|
|
didn't think so. For ten years, Mouse had been Mouse, daughter (tiny
|
|
daughter -- smaller than the brand new Barberry) of Sophie and Gregor.
|
|
How could she be changeling or faerie? Wasn't that what the naming at
|
|
the stevenic temple was supposed to prevent?
|
|
|
|
Mouse knew what her mistake had been. She should never have let
|
|
Dorian get her to come with him into the woods. Mommy Sophie had told
|
|
her always to stay close to home. She'd warned her that so many things
|
|
were bad when you were small. Mouse hadn't known that that included
|
|
people. Now she knew.
|
|
But Dorian needed her. He'd explained to her that Farnace had
|
|
loaned him a book. He'd been looking in the woods for a safe place to
|
|
keep it because Con and Cedric sometimes abused the books he had at
|
|
home. He'd found a safe-looking spot in a shallow cave but the cave
|
|
turned out to have a false floor which fell through under the book and
|
|
the opening was too small to get through unless you were Mouse and would
|
|
she help?
|
|
Of course she'd help.
|
|
So she went with Dorian out to the woods with some twine to fetch
|
|
back a book from the bottom of a mysterious cave. It was an adventure;
|
|
it sounded like fun. At the cave, Mouse tied the twine around herself
|
|
and Dorian lowered her through the hole in the floor. Down she went in
|
|
the darkness until the downing ended with ground. She started feeling
|
|
around for the book and, just as she felt something that was probably
|
|
the book, she realized that she was looking in the darkness at two
|
|
glowing eyes. She jerked on the twine the signal to get her out of
|
|
there. The eyes didn't move, but neither did the twine -- at least not
|
|
right away. So she jerked again -- and flew upward.
|
|
She was just lucky she didn't crash into anything on her way up.
|
|
She got back to the surface all right and argued with Dorian about his
|
|
paying attention to her signals and being more careful bringing her back
|
|
up. Then, she went back down -- only this time with a makeshift lit
|
|
torch.
|
|
(Dorian's very smart, actually, and almost always had with him the
|
|
flint and stuff for starting a fire. Mommy Sophie didn't like Mouse
|
|
playing with that stuff, but Dorian was just enough older and bigger
|
|
that it was all right for him.)
|
|
Nothing bothered Mouse while she and her light dropped again
|
|
through the dark. With the torch, she found the book easily. It was
|
|
broken and some loose pages had scattered. She ignored that at first,
|
|
though, looking around for the thing with the glowing eyes. Not finding
|
|
anything, she next set about reassembling the book. Then she untied the
|
|
twine, wrapped it around the book and re-tied it. She hopped onto the
|
|
book, signalled Dorian to lift her out and, as the book was beginning to
|
|
lift off the ground, she saw the glint.
|
|
She made another mistake. She jumped off the book and went to see
|
|
what the sparkle was. It was a small, dirty disk, only as wide across as
|
|
her hand. There were two of them, lying on the ground, and they glowed
|
|
slightly. She'd found the eyes! She picked one up -- and it burned her
|
|
hands so she dropped it.
|
|
"What happened?" Dorian called down.
|
|
"Found something," Mouse shouted back.
|
|
"What? Mouse, are you all right?" Dorian called again.
|
|
Mouse sighed. He hadn't heard her or understood her. People almost
|
|
never did unless she was sitting on their shoulder. She glanced behind
|
|
at her landing spot. The twine dropped down to the ground again. Dorian
|
|
had removed the book and put a pine cone in its place.
|
|
"Mouse? Come on, we've got to go."
|
|
Mouse made another mistake. She decided she didn't want to leave
|
|
without the disks she'd found. She ignored her brother. She wrapped her
|
|
hands in the folds of her dress and picked up one of the disks. It
|
|
wasn't easy, but she managed to get both disks over to the pine cone,
|
|
one at a time. After a while longer, she'd wedged the disks in between
|
|
the pine cone and the twine. She signalled to Dorian to bring her up.
|
|
Nothing happened. She signalled several more times and still
|
|
nothing happened.
|
|
Mouse sighed and began to climb the twine. Climbing up and down
|
|
things around her home was something she was used to. Climbing back up
|
|
this twine wouldn't be that hard. She'd have some things to say to
|
|
Dorian when she got to the top, though.
|
|
She pulled herself up through the hole in the cave floor and was
|
|
immediately picked up by hands the size of her Daddy's. Surprised, she
|
|
screamed.
|
|
"A faerie princess!" an unfamiliar voice announced. "In Sir Ongis's
|
|
forest." Mouse looked at the strange, bearded face; the face was staring
|
|
at her in amazement. A hand was still wrapped around her middle.
|
|
"Let me go!" she shouted, grabbing and trying to pry loose the top
|
|
finger. She always did that at home when picked up and it never worked
|
|
there either.
|
|
"That's my sister!" Mouse heard Dorian shout. "Let her go!" He was
|
|
running toward them. Other voices joined his: Cedric's and Con's. He'd
|
|
gone for help. But others were also with her captor. Though Cedric and
|
|
Con and Dorian argued long and loudly (and Mouse joined them and was
|
|
ignored by all), Sir Ongis's men -- for that was who they were --
|
|
brought her to Sir Ongis.
|
|
Sir Ongis found the faerie princess fascinating and would not let
|
|
her go. He dubbed her Melisande, the daughter of Queen Braia, the Great
|
|
Lady of the Forest. She explained that she was Mouse, daughter of Sophie
|
|
and should be allowed to go home. He told her that that was a most
|
|
unimpressive pedigree to be presenting to the Lord of these lands. She
|
|
told him impressiveness didn't matter if it was the truth. He told her
|
|
that as Lord of these lands, it was up to him to decide what was true.
|
|
She stamped her foot and said no. He laughed at her outburst since it
|
|
took place on his trestle table.
|
|
Then he told her that if she was indeed a mouse and not a
|
|
melisande, then he was her lord and master and therefore could do with
|
|
her what he pleased, including ordering her to play the part of a faerie
|
|
princess named Melisande. She disagreed, but was ignored yet again. Sir
|
|
Ongis went on to say that he didn't much care if she was really a faerie
|
|
princess or only a freakish peasant. Faeries and faerie princesses were
|
|
just stories anyway. What Sir Ongis intended to do was dress Mouse as a
|
|
faerie princess and present her at Dargon for the amusement of Duke
|
|
Clifton. Mouse again said she'd rather not; she wanted to go home.
|
|
Sir Ongis became annoyed and ordered Mouse to swear allegiance to
|
|
him and promise to obey his commands. He said that she had to do this
|
|
because she had been living on his lands. She said no again.
|
|
"You are my possession, little mouse," he warned. "Now say it. Say
|
|
'I am my lord Sir Ongis's possession'."
|
|
"No."
|
|
"Very well," Sir Ongis said. "I can be patient."
|
|
This Mouse doubted.
|
|
He put her in this covered cage and here she still was, wasting
|
|
away. She hated Sir Ongis.
|
|
|
|
The cover flew off the cage again. "Well?" demanded the bad lord
|
|
himself.
|
|
Mouse had little to say to him. Everything she could think of to
|
|
say had been said before and denied. She took a deep breath and
|
|
attempted to bellow "May I ... please ... sit ... outside?"
|
|
"Not until you -- " Sir Ongis began yet again, then stopped,
|
|
apparently changing his mind. "Will you give me your parole?" he asked.
|
|
"What's that?" Mouse belted out.
|
|
"It's a promise that honorable prisoners make to their captors in
|
|
exchange for certain liberties during their confinement. You're an
|
|
honorable faerie princess, aren't you?"
|
|
"Honorable," Mouse shouted, nodding. It was too much effort to
|
|
debate the question of whether she was faerie.
|
|
"All right -- "
|
|
"This," Mouse continued, gesturing to the cage, "honorable?"
|
|
"Yes it is!" Sir Ongis shouted at the tiny creature's impertinence.
|
|
"How dare you impugn -- ?" He broke off, paced across the room and back
|
|
and tried again. "I am an honorable vassal of Lord Fionn Connall who
|
|
owes service to the Duke Clifton himself. I am honorable and I believe
|
|
you to be an honorable faerie -- or whatever you actually are. I think
|
|
we might arrange a parole. Will you promise not to attempt to escape if
|
|
I let you sit outside?"
|
|
Mouse thought about that. "Yes," she agreed.
|
|
"No crossed fingers or anything like that."
|
|
"Yes," Mouse repeated her promise, holding up her hands in plain
|
|
view.
|
|
"And if anyone else tries to help you escape or kidnaps you, you'll
|
|
do whatever you can to stop them and failing that, return here as soon
|
|
as you are able?"
|
|
Mouse thought longer about that. "Yes," she finally agreed.
|
|
"Good," Sir Ongis said. He picked up her cage, carried it out onto
|
|
the terrace and put it on a table. Mouse waited for him to open the cage
|
|
door. He didn't. She stared at him from within the cross- hatching of
|
|
sunlight and shadow. He watched her.
|
|
"Outside," she finally bellowed.
|
|
His eyes narrowed. Finally, deciding agreement, he opened the cage
|
|
door. "Leaving the table would be attempting to escape," he remarked as
|
|
she crawled across the cage and out through the opening. If she said
|
|
anything in response, it wasn't to him.
|
|
Mouse fell out through the cage door and sprawled on the table. She
|
|
lay still in the sunlight. Except for her size -- perhaps three hands
|
|
long -- and pretty face she scarcely looked like a faerie. Her dress was
|
|
still filthy from her sojourn underground. Her light-brown hair was
|
|
matted and disheveled -- but her mother was none too clean-looking
|
|
either. Her exposed skin was deathly pale and hanging loosely on her
|
|
bones.
|
|
"You should eat something," Sir Ongis said, appraising her
|
|
condition and worrying about making her presentable to the Duke.
|
|
She ignored him.
|
|
"Why won't you eat any of the food I offer you?" he asked. "What do
|
|
you want to eat, choice nectar?"
|
|
She shrugged. "All right," she breathed into the table.
|
|
Sir Ongis stared at his sick prize. Then he went to see if anyone
|
|
besides bees knew how to collect nectar. Thank goodness it was spring,
|
|
he decided.
|
|
|
|
Sir Ongis was a busy man, what with his own keep and household to
|
|
supervise (while his wife was sick) as well as his extensive lands. (His
|
|
servants, on the other hand, wished that he had a war or something
|
|
somewhere else to keep him amused instead of spending all day hectoring
|
|
them.) Nonetheless, he managed to visit his terrace from time to time
|
|
that day. On each visit, he found Mouse the same: She was lying
|
|
motionless in the sun, asleep, as far as he could tell, since she
|
|
ignored everything he said to her.
|
|
Late in the afternoon, he stepped out onto the terrace just as a
|
|
shadow was finally creeping across the table.
|
|
"Wake up!" he shouted. This time, she stirred, rolled over on her
|
|
back, and looked up at him. "Time to go back to your cage," Sir Ongis
|
|
announced. "I could let you stay out," he offered, "if you swear that
|
|
oath of allegiance."
|
|
Mouse said nothing. She went over to the wicker cage and climbed
|
|
in. Sir Ongis spat a curse over the balustrade of his terrace and
|
|
carried the cage back inside.
|
|
The next day, Mouse and Sir Ongis repeated themselves almost
|
|
exactly. Sir Ongis allowed Mouse to sit out on the terrace and Mouse
|
|
gave the same parole she had the day before. The only differences were
|
|
that Mouse looked healthier when she scrambled out of the cage in the
|
|
morning and Ongis chose slightly different words in the evening when he
|
|
reminded Mouse that she could end her imprisonment in the cage with a
|
|
few simple words. He said
|
|
"Unless, of course, you've enjoyed this freedom and are willing to
|
|
swear that oath."
|
|
Mouse looked at Sir Ongis and shouted (simply so that he could hear
|
|
her) "Not freedom. Just sunlight."
|
|
Sir Ongis exploded. "Then you can rot in darkness!" he shouted. He
|
|
shoved Mouse into the cage and then carried the cage inside. He grabbed
|
|
the cage's cloth cover and carried both down to the keep's cellars where
|
|
his small, but adequate dungeon was. Going in, he slammed the cage down
|
|
on the ground and settled the cover over it. "There are rats down here,"
|
|
he remarked, savoring the thought. "Hope you don't get into a wrestling
|
|
match with any of them." He went out, securing the door behind him.
|
|
Walking back up the stairs, he muttered to himself "Damn her! I
|
|
will have her play the toy for that Duke! It would be such a shame to
|
|
damage her though."
|
|
|
|
The next morning, Sophie failed to show up outside Sir Ongis's
|
|
gate. Ongis nodded at Cahill's reporting this, the first time she'd
|
|
missed an appearance since the princess had been brought in. He imagined
|
|
all the explanations: Sick brat at home, too much work at home,
|
|
neighbors needing help, husband needing help, husband talking sense into
|
|
her, giving up hope. He considered going and breaking the news to the
|
|
mouse, but then remembered that he'd never told her about Sophie's vigil
|
|
to begin with. And right now, he wanted her left alone down there with
|
|
the imagined rats.
|
|
No, better to tell her that she'd even been abandoned by her
|
|
mother. Sir Ongis smiled, lit a torch, and strolled down to the cellar.
|
|
Nice touch that: He'd bring the light of companionship and then carry it
|
|
away again after telling the mouse the news. He unbolted the door of the
|
|
dungeon, entered, walked to the cage, pulled the cover off --
|
|
and stared at the empty cage.
|
|
He crouched down, incredulous. He stared at the new hole in the
|
|
side of the cage, the one made both by pushing the wooden slats aside
|
|
and by gnawing at them. He jumped to his feet and prowled around the
|
|
chamber, looking for some evidence of a dead Mouse or how she escaped.
|
|
He found some. The door wasn't a perfect fit; there was a small hole in
|
|
it. Likewise, there were one or two small holes at the base of the walls
|
|
of the room, suitable only for a mouse -- or Mouse, perhaps. It was
|
|
difficult to guess how small a hole that creature could wriggle through.
|
|
Sir Ongis stood up, thinking. The teeth-marks were evidence and
|
|
there almost certainly were rats down here, but he simply didn't believe
|
|
that his faerie princess had been carried off by any vermin. No, the
|
|
more telling clue was the absence of the girl's mother. She wasn't there
|
|
today because she knew the Mouse would be gone. She knew the Mouse was
|
|
gone because she helped her escape in the night -- or at least was
|
|
outside to meet her daughter when she emerged.
|
|
Sir Ongis ran for his stable, shouting for men to join him. Soon a
|
|
party was riding out to the remote part of his lands where the farmer
|
|
Gregor had his house. He returned that evening empty-handed.
|
|
|
|
[7 Naia, 1004.]
|
|
Lady Kathryn Fennic awoke in the darkness. She felt different --
|
|
she felt better. She could feel! She felt the way that her willowy (and
|
|
emaciated, right now) body was too long for this sickbed. She felt
|
|
itching in her scalp from long, straight, dark brown hair that had been
|
|
confined too long under that cap. She felt weak and fatigued still, but
|
|
it was a good fatigue, a tiredness as though she'd finished a job right.
|
|
The lump in her belly wasn't weighing on her, sucking away her strength,
|
|
as it had for the past month or more. There was a weight on her chest,
|
|
though, and that was new too. She opened her eyes and beheld the faerie
|
|
princess for the second time in her life.
|
|
(Sir Ongis had once shown his melisande to his wife immediately
|
|
upon acquiring her.)
|
|
"You ran away," Kathryn said. "Many days ago." She'd heard the news
|
|
but hadn't cared much about it.
|
|
The princess dropped onto her hands and knees; she was close to
|
|
Kathryn's ear. "I came back," she said.
|
|
"Why?"
|
|
There was a pause before the princess said anything. "Your Ongis
|
|
came after me," she began at last.
|
|
"I know. He couldn't find you. He told me."
|
|
"He found my family. Did he tell you that?"
|
|
"You have a family? He found other faeries?"
|
|
The princess's tiny face moued disgust. "Faeries! My father's a
|
|
farmer. Was. My mother's name's Sophie. She came here looking for me.
|
|
Did you know that?"
|
|
"No."
|
|
"I didn't either. Not until Dorian told me. He's my brother. I went
|
|
home and talked to him after I ran away from here. He told me that my
|
|
mother came here to try to get me back from your Ongis. She waited and
|
|
waited and then she went home. I never got to see her --"
|
|
"Didn't you see her when you got home?"
|
|
The princess made another face. "Are you stupid?" she asked. "It
|
|
took me days to get home. I didn't know the way exactly, I don't walk
|
|
very fast, and I was trying to keep away from foxes and people both. By
|
|
the time I'd gotten home, they'd already buried her. Besides, why would
|
|
I want to look at her body?"
|
|
"She's dead?"
|
|
"Yes, she's dead!" the princess hissed. "Your Ongis killed her."
|
|
"How -- how do you know?" Kathryn asked.
|
|
"He did it with my brothers watching, didn't he? He marched into
|
|
the house where my mommy and daddy and brothers and Barberry all were.
|
|
He marched in just after my mommy finally got home after walking all
|
|
night. He marched in with a bunch of his men and ordered my family to
|
|
give me back. And when my mother smiled at him and said they didn't know
|
|
where I was but anywhere else was better than his keeping, he got mad
|
|
and killed her. And that made daddy mad and he picked up a kitchen knife
|
|
and Ongis and his men killed him."
|
|
"Oh, Kurin ... "
|
|
"So that left Cedric and Con, because Dorian wasn't there and
|
|
Widric and Barberry were both crying. They looked at each other and then
|
|
at Ongis, but they didn't move. Ongis glared at them and then at the
|
|
carnage in that kitchen. Then he left. So he didn't tell you about
|
|
that?"
|
|
"No."
|
|
"So when Dorian told me, I had to leave again right away. I didn't
|
|
even see any of the others and I didn't tell them where I'm going or
|
|
what I'm doing. Do you understand that? It's no good going there again.
|
|
They don't know anything."
|
|
"Yes, I understand that," Kathryn said. "So what are you going to
|
|
do?"
|
|
"I decided to come back here. It's your Ongis's fault and mine my
|
|
parents got killed, isn't it?"
|
|
Kathryn preferred to avoid any answer to that question. "But now
|
|
what are you going to do?" she asked.
|
|
"Well, the way I see it, I have to do something to your Ongis -- "
|
|
"I wish you'd stop calling him *my* Ongis," Kathryn exclaimed. She
|
|
tried to sit up, but was reminded how weak she still was. "He's Sir
|
|
Ongis, and you should refer to him that way."
|
|
"No."
|
|
"Well, what do you think you're going to do to Sir Ongis? Are you
|
|
going to murder him for killing your parents?"
|
|
"You *are* stupid, aren't you?"
|
|
"I prefer not to think so," Kathryn said. "What's stupid about it?"
|
|
"If I just kill him because he killed them, that would make me no
|
|
better than him. And I think he's bad. I don't want to do anything like
|
|
him. So I'm going to do something else."
|
|
"What?" Kathryn asked. Then her eyes widened. "Do you think you're
|
|
going to kill me?"
|
|
The princess sat back and folded her arms. "That's stupid too. You
|
|
were dying already and besides, that's still too much like your Ongis.
|
|
Nope. I've cured you -- "
|
|
"You cured me?" Kathryn laughed.
|
|
"Well, me and God together."
|
|
"You and -- " Kathryn was about to say "that useless, gutless,
|
|
rattling old voice", but one chooses very carefully the occasions to
|
|
blaspheme. Instead, she said "And how did you do that?"
|
|
"I prayed to God and told her that you had a lump in you that was
|
|
killing you. And that it needed to go away."
|
|
"Yes, and I also had Brother Cwynydd visiting me daily and praying
|
|
-- "
|
|
"To Kurin. I know. And also that leech. Memfis. Sucking out your
|
|
blood. That's stupid."
|
|
"How do you know they didn't cure me?"
|
|
"They've been visiting you more than a month, haven't they?" The
|
|
princess grinned. "You didn't get better until I started praying for
|
|
you. Now you're cured."
|
|
Lady Kathryn Fennic frowned. She had no intention of ever ascribing
|
|
her healing to Cephas Stevene; the Fennics had made that mistake before
|
|
and only the early death of Henri the idiot priest had finally repaired
|
|
that error. "All right," she said. "I'm cured. What do you expect to
|
|
gain from that? If you expect me to kill Sir Ongis for you -- "
|
|
"No," the faerie princess waved away the idea. "That's still too
|
|
much like him. No. You're his wife. You're the mommy for his children --
|
|
if he has any children."
|
|
"One. A boy. Also named Ongis."
|
|
"Huh. I don't like that much. Anyway, he murdered my mommy and
|
|
daddy and now you're all better because I prayed to God for you to get
|
|
better. I want you to stay with your Ongis -- "
|
|
"Sir Ongis!"
|
|
"and hate him for me."
|
|
"Hate him?" Kathryn asked.
|
|
"Uh huh. He's a bad man. I've told you that, haven't I? It'll be
|
|
easy. All I want you to do is stay close beside him, right next to him
|
|
-- " the faerie bent close to Kathryn's ear, " -- and hate him for the
|
|
rest of his life." Then she crept away from the sickbed, leaving Lady
|
|
Kathryn staring upward at the invisible ceiling.
|
|
She sighed. "I already did," she murmured.
|
|
|
|
========================================================================
|
|
|