by D.E. Dunlop
“It’s that…” Ren bit his tongue while signalling to the upstairs rooms. “She’s been putting spells on us. I told you she’s evil.”
“Well, I don’t know about that.” Tinne dismissed as he continued to rub his hands over the fire.
Ren looked thoughtfully at Tinne. He knew he had to convince him about the situation. “Let’s walk.” He said; the way he had a hundred times before when there was something he needed to discuss.
“I just got warm.” Tinne said.
“It’s important.” Ren said.
“It’s always important.”
“It’s important.” Ren said again with a little more urgency and Tinne agreed to go.
Ren rose to put his mug on the kitchen counter and grab his coats. Shayla came down the stairs with her hair in a towel and wearing only a terry cloth robe that stopped just below her knees. She greeted Tinne joyfully.
“I was starting to wonder if you had gotten lost.” She said with a slight tone of despair pouting under her words.
“I was just out observing the solstice. Shall I make you some breakfast?” Tinne offered.
Ren glared at him.
“That would be swell.” She said with a look of surprised delight as she reached the bottom stair. “But, I don’t want to be a bother or interrupt.”
“Oh, no. No problem at all, I’d love to.” Tinne replied.
Ren continued to glare at him, but Tinne responded with a look that said, “What?” and he proceeded to return his coats to the newel post and head to the kitchen.
Shayla batted her long lashes at Ren behind Tinne’s back. She let her robe slide slightly from her shoulder as she turned to follow him into the kitchen.
Ren, having his coats on already, decided he was still going out. He needed to have a smoke, cool off and do some serious thinking.
Sheila Na’Gig was a woman of sensuous pleasures, the kind who could capture the love and very soul of just about any man. Everything about her was strange and alluring. Her speech was elusive, symbolic, and metaphoric. Her movements were smooth and fluid. Her attire was duplicitous. Her intent was to destroy men. Some say she was a powerful witch who consumed the very life of any man who laid eyes on her. Some say she was a spirit trapped in a woman’s body, unable to vanquish its ravenous hunger for love.
Ren knew that Tinne was close to the point of no return. He also knew that if he didn’t get his friend out of there soon his fate would match his own father’s. She would lead him to the point he was hopelessly and completely in love with her and then disappear. If she succeeded in seducing him into her deep sensuous kiss prior to her departure, he would eventually lose his mind entirely and possibly take his own life in desperation.
**********
The snow had not fallen as heavily here as it had when they were enroute and Ren found his way fairly easy. He wandered into the forest at the bottom of the bluff without really planning to. He simply meandered aimlessly.
At first he didn’t see them there, standing silent, waiting, as if to be freed from some cage or to suddenly leap on an unsuspecting passer-by with gratuitous affection. His mind was on Tinne and Shayla. He wondered how he could split them. Tinne’s affections were so strong for her now. He was certain Tinne must be considering marriage. “Maybe that’s it…” He thought, “Sheila Na’gig would never marry. Her disposition drove her to take her men out of wedlock. That way they would be morally corrupt when she disappeared.” He reconsidered and thought the idea may be too risky and dismissed it.
When he finally saw them he was startled into stepping back and reaching for his sword. He eased when he looked around. He stepped close to the nearest one and marvelled at her. She was a statue of a beautiful woman, apparently made of fine porcelain, but wearing real clothes. Ren looked around and was surprised to see several others like her scattered throughout the trees. Some were marble white while others were ebony black, deep tan and some were reddish brown. They were situated in various poses and various styles of dress. They appeared to express different moods as well. Some looked happy, some sad, some even looked shocked or angry. The state of their clothing lead Ren to believe they had been placed there at different times, perhaps as much as a few hundred years apart or even several hundred. “Who crafted such fine work?” He whispered as he inspected one very close. He caressed her polished cheek and neck with the tips of his fingers and the trees were suddenly filled with the sound of a beautiful ringing laugh. The laughter was so gentle and subtle he nearly missed it. He looked around to see who was there. When he saw no one he dismissed the laughter as his imagination and went on to scrutinize over another. When he touched the underside of her extended forearm his ears filled with sobbing and crying.
“The sirens.” He said softly. “So this is the cause and the source…enchanted statues.”
He reasoned within himself that a young man lured into the forest by such beautiful sounds, such as he had been hearing since they arrived, could become so enticed as to become disoriented. Disorientation coupled with the madness of being lost and all alone in a deep dense forest could easily cause hallucinations. Perhaps the young men throughout history had simply fallen from the bluffs. Or, perhaps, being overcome with passion when they found these enchanted and extremely life like statues, they threw themselves from the bluff for shame of wanting after an inanimate object. Or, perhaps an even worse fate befell them. Perhaps they were coaxed into the forest in pairs, best friends like he and Tinne, to fight to the death over the only live woman in the forest. He took a deep breath and stared with concern at the edge of the bluff towering high above him.
Later that day Ren was able, after much effort, to pry his friend away from his obsession and brought him back to see the sirens.
“You see? Possessed sculptures. She casts a spell on these sculptures and lures men in unawares and destroys them.” Ren accused.
Tinne studied the sirens closely, feeling the old, tattered and frayed fabric and the polished porcelain bodies. “Fascinating.” He said at last. “But, I fail to see how Shayla can be connected to them simply because she lives in a meadow in the middle of the forest. You said yourself that the destruction of these men could have been their own doing, falling off the edge and what not.” He continued to walk about, admiring the sirens. “Besides, if no man ever got away from here, who told others about it? Maybe the purpose of these fine pieces is to scare people away. And if Shayla did that, it could simply be for her own protection. She is a woman all alone in the dense forest, after all.” Tinne reasoned.
Ren threw his arms up in the air and turned his back on his friend.
“You just don’t get it do you? Ever since we’ve met her you’ve become a different person.”
“Yeah, a happy person. Did you ever consider I wasn’t happy before I met her?” Tinne argued.
“At the expense of all your aspirations? You’ve turned your back on everything for a woman you don’t even know.”
“What have I turned my back on?” Tinne challenged.
“Try everything. What about becoming the high priest of the order of Anon? Even more, what about finding that stone?”
“I can still be a member of the order…” He started, but Ren interrupted.
“You were saving yourself to become more powerful, to be high priest, not just a member.”
“I can still find the stone…” He started again.
“When? We don’t know how long we’ve been here and you’re not the least bit bothered by it. You said yourself the Telling is near at hand. We were nearly killed by Sittyans over that rock. If they get it first all is lost. Come on! Wake up!” Ren was nearly yelling at this point.
Tinne stared at Ren thoughtfully for a minute and Ren began to feel hope that he had finally gotten through to his friend.
“You know, I just don’t get you man.” He said. “All of our lives you’ve been telling me to
lighten up. Stop being a Saint. Get a girlfriend. Well now that I’m doing all that you’re telling me not to.”
“She’s not a girlfriend, Tinne. She’s a harlot.” Ren said.
Tinne stepped backward and angrily unsheathed his sword. “How dare you.” He said.
“You gotta be kidding me.” Ren said with a look of disgust on his face.
“En garde.” Tinne ordered.
“No.” Ren refused.
“En garde!” He shouted.
“Fine then! If that’s what you want.” He shouted back, throwing his over coats on the snow.
The two friends squared off as they had many times in the past. Only this time there were no smiles or laughter even attempting to appear. Countless sparring sessions passed through each man’s mind as they sized each other up. They had never meant to harm each other before, but now their heads were full of rage. Ren lunged. Tinne parried. Tinne lunged and Ren followed right around with his parry and elbowed Tinne in the side of the head knocking him back a few feet. Tinne shook his head and they were at it again. They moved back and forth and side-to-side keeping exact distance between them. They exchanged thrusts and parries for a brief, but exhilarating moment. Tinne’s rapier, being longer than Ren’s short sword, managed to find a place to draw blood from Ren’s thigh, just above his knee. Ren grimaced and attacked with a greater level of intensity. He quickly returned the favour by drawing Tinne’s blood from his shoulder. They locked swords and Tinne hit Ren in the face with his head. The next time they came that close Ren put his knee hard into Tinne’s groin. Tinne dropped to his knees and gasped for breath. Ren stood over him looking down on him with disgust on his face. Tinne recovered sooner than Ren had expected and made to flip Ren by his ankle. Ren, however, was quick enough that he only stumbled back a few steps. The bluff echoed their angry growls and the bickering of their swords. Ren’s ears were full of the sound of laughing women while Tinne’s were filled with the sound of his own pulse. After a very long ten minutes the moment Tinne had always feared arrived. Ren drew his second sword and Tinne’s rapier sailed over his shoulder and bounced off a statue.
“I always told you, you should learn how to handle two swords.” Ren huffed between gasping breaths.
They stared silently at each other still very angry. Any bystander could have felt the tension between them. Tinne waited for Ren to finish him off as he raised both swords into an attack position. Ren held his stance and then quickly and effortlessly sheathed them both. He turned his back on his best friend and walked away. Tinne’s anger was rekindled and he leapt onto Ren’s back and the brawl continued. The anger inside of them felt best released through fists in physical combat. They exhausted themselves and fell in the snow. Seeing he was not getting the better of Ren Tinne told him if he couldn’t be happy for them he never wanted to see him again and stormed off toward the old brick house.
Ren just lay on his back in the snow and stared blankly into the dull grey sky at the flat white circle of a sun. Exhaustion, despair and steeped anger seethed in his belly, the kind of anger that stirred deep within, but showed little or no exterior signs. He spit a mouthful of blood in the snow and lit a cigarette.
Chapter 16
Long Lost Friend
“What is the power of the Story Teller, Grey Eyes?” The young apprentice asked.
The ancient man stared with blind eyes into the fire and furrowed his brow lightly as he often did when choosing words.
“Some say it is the power of the spoken word over the union stones and some say it is the power of the stones over many spoken words.” He replied. The two men stared silently at the fire dancing before them.
“And what do you say it is, Grey Eyes?” The young man persisted. He was unwilling to accept a vague response such as this. Another moment of silence passed, as the young man had expected, before his mentor replied.
“It is the power of the Master over the heart behind the spoken words.” He said after great consideration.
Realizing he would not get a clearer answer than this, the young man sat silent in contemplation while the fire crackled and popped.
**********
The sweltering sun fell slowly through the humid summer sky. The lush green forest dripped with moisture and sweat.
“Why can’t we catch this guy?” A Sittyan soldier asked the other while they huddled behind a fallen tree.
“Because you’re an idiot.” The other said in response.
“Seriously Bingham.” The first peeked over the log at the man they spoke of. “He’s old as the hills and over the last year he’s actually been in our sight more than a dozen times.” He grumbled. “Even the dogs haven’t been able to catch him.” One of the two dogs growled a low growl, but was shushed. The song of the cicada whined in their ears.
“He’s a fricken’ sorcerer. He just vanishes whenever he wants.” Bingham complained. “I don’t know why we bother. What’s he doing anyway?”
“I can’t tell he’s got his back to us.” The first said while sitting down again. “You don’t really believe in all that sorcery stuff do you?”
“Well how do you explain it, Rodney?” Bingham inquired slightly indignant.
“I don’t know. All I know is Queen Katharine wants this guy and we had better deliver.” Rodney said.
They both peered cautiously over the log. Earl had his back to them still. The afternoon sun caused his robes to glow. They could see him moving, but they could not tell what he was doing.
“Do you think he knows we’re here?” Bingham whispered. Rodney looked at him with a silent, Are you stupid? He always knows we’re here, sort of look.
“This time we’re gonna get him.” Bingham said while tightening his grip on one of the dogs’ collar. The four of them, two dogs and two men, secured their footing and prepared to charge. Right at that moment, to their astonishment, Earl turned to face them. He swung his staff around three times over his head like there was something in the cup of the antler tines and made a catapult motion with it toward the hidden soldiers and before they knew it they were hit with a swarm of insects that, first, nearly knocked them over and, secondly, very nearly suffocated them where they hid. They slapped, scratched and gouged to the point that rests on the edge of insanity. The insects clung, buzzed, bit and stung as a single entity, but as quickly as it hit the swarm dissipated and Earl was gone.
“Sick’em!” Bingham and Rodney shouted simultaneously as they released the dogs.
Earl raced through the forest as fast as his ancient body would go, which, surprisingly was more like a healthy fifty year old. He could hear the dogs barking behind him and could tell they were gaining on him quickly. To his advantage and great appreciation he happened upon a creek flowing in the direction he was running. He jumped in and continued as fast as possible. Just as he faded out of sight the dogs came to the end of the trail. They had lost the scent in the water. Bingham recognized right away what happened and continued the chase without the dogs. Rodney gathered them up and chased after.
Earl could see an opening in the trees and pressed harder. The gap between him and his pursuers was closing quickly. The clearing turned out to be the top of a bluff. Earl nearly went over but managed to stop and turn around to check his options. Bingham was right there, charging, still unaware of the drop only three metres before him. Earl somehow was able to duck and role Bingham over himself and headlong down the steep rocky bank. He didn’t, however, have time to dodge the dogs. They hit him square and the three of them tumbled after Bingham. Rodney stopped at the edge, gasping for breath with his hands on his knees. He couldn’t believe the scene in front of him. Two dogs and two men lay still amongst the rocks at the bottom while a wide, shallow river rolled lazily by on the other side.
Five young men hid in the underbrush watching this strange scene unfold before them on the other side of the river. Their long black hair wa
s tied in braids to stay out of their eyes while they hunted. Never in their wildest dreams did they expect to see this sort of event. Their attention had been caught by a scream and they turned to see a man in black array plummet from the top of the bluff. Two yelping black dogs and a man in white robes immediately followed him. They stood to get a better look, but quickly ducked again when they noticed another in black descending slowly. They watched him check those who had fallen and then he threw a tantrum. He kicked his helmet around and then he went off, they assumed, to find a way back up the bluff.
When they were sure the violent man was not coming back they crossed the river to inspect the scene. The dogs were seriously injured and barely breathing. One of the hunters had compassion on them and finished them off quickly. The man in black was most certainly deceased. The sword on his belt intrigued a couple of the hunters. The other three discovered the old man in white was still alive. They quickly built a couple of travois to tow the men back with them.
“What’s this?” One of the young hunters asked in reference to the sword on the dead man’s belt. “It looks like a long knife.” They had heard stories of sword wielding warriors, but never really knew what a sword was. He was reaching out to take hold of it and the blind old man stood up with a start.
“Don’t touch it!” He exclaimed. “It’s a weapon of war, possessed of terrible violent spirits. Just one touch can fill you with its lust and lead you to your demise.” He shuffled himself to the dead man’s side and removed the sword with its sheath. “Which of you has touched it?” He asked, looking around as if he could actually see. The young men looked back and forth at each other anxiously.
“We didn’t touch it.” One of them said after a period of silence.
The ancient one lifted the weapon and put his nose to it. Each of the young men shifted back and forth as they grew more and more antsy. It was rumoured in the village the old one could identify every member by their individual scent. The question they were each wondering was whether or not he could pick up their scent from something they had touched.