by D.E. Dunlop
“If you say so, Love.” She blinked long and full, smiled at him slyly from beneath her long dark lashes and transformed into porcelain, her pale blue robe hanging unnaturally from its new inanimate model.
Tinne sat in deep contemplation among the plush pillows on the sofa. On the floor he had spread at least a dozen charcoal portraits of Shayla. He was wrestling with an all too familiar and nagging feeling. He poured over the images. He cropped them with frames he constantly adjusted. The compositions were right. The form was right. Her features were right, her lips, her shoulders, her slightly dishevelled hair and sparkling yet mischievous eyes. He got up and walked around the area in front of the hearth to get a different perspective. This was that great argument artists speak of; the moment an artist grows concern for his own sanity. Tinne remembered quite clearly the first time this happened. He remembered it every time there after.
“It’s speaking to you.” His father said. “You better believe it, son.” He said in response to Tinne’s astonished look. “The sooner you accept it the sooner you’ll get over it.” Owen looked over the painting his young son was struggling with. “You have to be careful at this point, son. The wrong mark will ruin the whole thing.”
“But if it’s talking to me won’t it say what the right mark is?” Tinne inquired.
“Nope. It will only say one of two things. “I’m not finished” or, “I’m finished”. The rest is up to you.”
Tinne returned to the present and it struck him. The ruby wasn’t right. It didn’t have the right gleam to it. He picked up one of Shayla reclining partly on one side with the ruby hanging toward her hip. He blotted the inner part of the ruby until it was just a faded spot.
“I need colour.” He said. “Some red will make it jump, just a hint, something glossy.” He bolted up the stairs to Shayla’s room and began to rummage through her vanity. He was looking for lipstick or nail polish and was overcome with a nauseating loss of energy. He staggered and caught himself on the bedpost.
Ren looked blankly at the ruby hourglass in the palm of his hand and then at her naked belly, so pale, so plain. He marvelled at how dull the jewel had become, not nearly as lustrous as it had been the first time he saw it sparkling in the forest. Before long his attention was drawn to the house in the distance. He slipped the hourglass into his pocket and headed there.
“Now the moment of truth.” He said quietly to himself. The house was still and dark. Ren searched every room until he found Tinne. He was in a bedroom lit by a single candle. He did not respond to Ren’s calls or the first couple of shakes. He just lay in the bed, in a less than semi conscious state, covered to his chin with heavy furs. Ren quickly went to the barn and saddled Tinne’s horse and packed a lot of gear. He then packed Tinne.
“Frick, you’re heavy. A little help would be nice.” He grumbled as he tried to navigate them down the stairs and out of the house.
Having Tinne’s horse tethered to the front porch, he tried to feed Tinne onto its back, but he went right over the other side. He fell on the ground with a thump.
“Oops.” Ren said. He dropped his impaired friend twice more before he finally managed to get him to stay. To keep him there, he tied him to the horn of the saddle. He slowly led the horse and its load down the sloppy snow covered lane toward the pond. When he was about to turn to go up the side of the bluff he stopped.
“What was that?” He asked without expecting a response. He had heard a sound. It didn’t really sound like an animal. He heard it again, sort of low and groaning. It was coming from the place where the sirens were, but it didn’t quite sound like a siren. He took his sword and approached the place of sirens. He could see the sirens were still in place and intact amongst the trees, including Shayla. He experienced a slight chill and shiver as he passed her. The groan was a little louder and coming from the bluff. There was a sudden crack of branches and a crash like something large had run through the smaller trees and underbrush. Ren ducked down, not wishing to be seen. For a couple of minutes there were only the sounds of chickadees. Ren continued on. As the bluff became visible through the bare trees he saw it, something large sitting in the larger branches of an old tree. No, it was hanging in the branches. It called out to him mournfully.
“Ren, is that really you? Help me.” It said.
“Oh, crap! Stephen!” Ren yelled and ran to his aid.
“You should be dead.” Ren accused as he freed him carefully from the branches.
“I thought I was.” Stephen replied.
“That has to be a forty metre drop.” Ren surmised while straining his neck to see to the top of the bluff face.
“What happened? One minute I’m in my bed roll, the next I’m hanging from trees.” Stephen inquired.
“You don’t remember any of it?” Ren asked.
“No.” He said with a puzzled look showing slightly from beneath the bruises on his face.
“You were seduced by a siren. You played lover’s tag for a while and she lured you over the edge of the bluff before I could stop you. I thought for sure you were dead. I can’t express how sorry I am I didn’t search for you.”
“I guess the trees broke my fall.”
“Looks like they broke more than your fall.” His clothes were quite torn and one arm appeared to be broken and dislocated. Ren did his best to splint and sling his wounded comrade and placed him in the saddle of Tinne’s horse. He repositioned Tinne so he lay across the horse’s front shoulders, took the reins and, again, led the horse with its injured load around the bluff to the spot Ren and Stephen had camped the night before.
Ren packed up their abandoned camp and Stephen called in his and Ren’s horses from the forest. They wanted to get as far from the sirens as they could as fast as they could.
“Is he going to be okay?” Stephen asked looking at Tinne who was still tied crossways over his horse’s back.
“Oh, hey. Stephen, this is Tinne. Tinne, Stephen.” Ren introduced them while Tinne remained semi unresponsive. “I don’t know. Only time will tell.”
The Sirens were unusually quiet so confusion was limited and they came out of the forest the next day. About ten metres out of the forest Ren looked back and thought of Shayla in her porcelain glow. A voice on the wind said, “Don’t forget me, Hun.” He looked hard into the forest expecting, for a moment, to see her there. Only the crisp ringing of her laughter in the trees filled his ears.
They stayed in Mono Mills for a few days to allow Tinne to rest before heading on to Bayfield. The snow was melting quickly as the temperature rose above the seasonal norm. Mist and fog and flooding made their trek difficult.
Chapter 19
Welcome Home
Ren and Tinne stood, mouths agape, looking across the overpass at Bayfield’s demolished front gates. They proceeded, as if in a trance, across the bridge with their horses behind them. Their eyes lingered on the pocked marks in the walls from bullets and cannon fire. Life appeared to be normal with the exception of the presence of Sittyan soldiers. They paid no mind to Ren and Tinne as they wandered, relatively aimlessly, through the streets looking at each other and the soldiers like they had just walked into a very bad dream. They made their way to Bee’s and pounded on the door.
“What the hell’s going on?” They both blurted out when she opened the door.
Ezbieta jumped on Ren when she saw him and smothered him with kisses. Then she promptly jumped back and slapped him repeatedly. “You bastard! You jerk! I thought you were dead! What the hell took you so long? You’ve been gone nearly a whole year!” She screamed while beating him profusely.
“If you stop hitting me I’ll tell you! Holy frick!” Ren shouted. “Can we come in at least before you kill us?” He said when she stopped her assault.
She let them in, apologized slightly, smothered him again with hugs and kisses and set about making some tea and coffee. Evening was com
ing on so she started the stove as well. Tinne thanked her, but refused anything and passed out in a chair.
When Ezbieta sat down with dinner she explained what had happened to the best of her knowledge. She was going to insist Ren and Tinne tell their story first, but she was happy they were back.
“I was at Kearsey practicing some spell craft when I heard alarm bells. I thought, maybe, you guys were back and getting into something again. The bells and alarms rang on and on, so I figured something wasn’t right. I tried to find a way in, but the whole city was locked down, so I slept under some pines in the Sunnidale ravine. When I got up in the morning they told me the army had gone out in the night to fight the Sitts. I couldn’t believe it. The Sitts haven’t come north of the marsh in five centuries.”
“A mortally wounded soldier came in from Banting in the night and some of our troops have already engaged.” The guard said. “We’ve got the whole city on high alert.”
“What’s going on? Why are they here?” I asked.
“We don’t know yet. All we know is Tecumseth is in ruins.” He answered.
Around noon that day the army retreated with the news that the king had been slain, so I found a place to hide. Without Gerald and half the army I didn’t have much faith in a successful outcome. I could hear guns going off for hours and then they must have used canons because there were a few really loud explosions and then silence. Once they broke down the gates our army divided. The Royal Guard refused to submit and escaped into the north while the rest surrendered under the promise of life and, I heard, under the prompting of Captain Maynard. It’s a good thing they did because I’m sure they would have just destroyed everything if they hadn’t. The arena is what keeps everyone in line, that and the raids.
“Arena?” Ren asked.
“Yeah, they built it to execute any would be rebels. Initially it was just for prisoners of war. They set them up against their own soldiers and dogs, but now I don’t know. I’ve heard of houses being raided and people being dragged out in the night for what I don’t know.
“I know.” Ren said.
“What?” Ezbieta pressed.
“I’ll have to tell you tomorrow. I need to discuss it with Tinne to see if it’s safe to speak about it.” He said quickly and shook Tinne to wake him up. “We gotta go.” He said to him. “Thanks for supper, Bee. It was excellent.” He gave Ezbieta a kiss and shoved Tinne through the door. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Ren called over his shoulder.
The next day when Ezbieta finished work she found that Ren and Tinne were not sitting at their table. Jas’n said he hadn’t seen them at all nor did he know they had returned. She decided to see if they were at Tinne’s. Ren met her at the door and invited her in.
The small apartment was dimly lit by only a few candles. Ren sat her down on the beat up old sofa next to Tinne’s bed and sat down to face her. He took her hands in his and told her all that had happened to them since the day they left in search of the Field of Lords. Tinne lay motionless in the bed next to them. If not for his shallow breathing one may have thought he had moved on.
“He hasn’t been well since she left.” Ren explained to Ezbieta with a slight stretch of the truth. He had told her that Shayla had just left them in the house one night and didn’t come back. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he also didn’t want her to know how he had conned Shayla or how close he had to get to her partially clothed body in order to remove the ruby. He was afraid she would think him untrustworthy so he left out the bit about stealing the ruby altogether. “I thought he was feeling better so we headed back home. Mostly, though, I wanted to see you. I missed you like crazy. I thought I was going insane.
“The rain came down in buckets. It was barely above freezing. Tinne rode along, hunched in a ball with his hood hanging low and dripping. The only way, sometimes, I could tell if he was still alive were plumes of breath or smoke puffing out from under it. For the first three days he didn’t say a single word. It wasn’t until we reached the Boyne that he spoke.
“What’s that?” He asked regarding a low rushing, roaring sound as we made our way through a bit of forest.
“The river.” I said. It had overflowed its banks and was at least three times its usual size. I swear it must have been forty-five metres across, maybe as much as seventy. My attention was snagged on the debris floating by, cattle, barn boards, Tinne and trees.
“Tinne!” I yelled and charged in after him.
“Just let me go.” He mumbled. “It’s a perfect ending; washed away in the torrent of her love.” I kept tripping on things I couldn’t see and being knocked down by the raging current. I grabbed and reached blindly and caught hold of a willow. When I turned to make sure I was holding Tinne’s head out of the water I nearly puked. Instead of Tinne I had a decaying corpse of a man in my hand. His face was half gone and there was only one eye left in his face. If I hadn’t remembered Tinne was still in the river I might have gone mental. Luckily, the crazy bastard got snagged on the next tree. I got a rope around him and pulled him out with one of the horses. “If you do something like that again I’ll kill you myself.” I told him. After I got him on his horse I wrapped another blanket or two around him. Probably didn’t make much difference for warmth ‘cause everything was soaked by then.
“Day after day, love turns grey. Like the skin on the dying man
And night after night, we pretend it’s alright, but I have grown older and you have grown colder and nothing is very much fun anymore.
I can feel
Cold as a razor blade
Tight as a tourniquet
Dry as a funeral drum.”
They both looked at Tinne while he mumbled the words of a sad and ancient melody. They strained their eyes, but could not decide if he was awake or asleep.
We followed the river west for a couple of days trying to find a bridge that hadn’t been washed out. Occasionally we happened upon a burnt out cottage or ransacked village. We were growing more and more concerned with every kilometre. It was beyond us what had taken place in this land. At last we came to Tecumseth, or at least what once had been Tecumseth. We were dumbfounded. There was nothing. The rubble was strewn far and wide. Silence filled our ears. Not even birds dared speak. It was as though sound had turned its voice from this place, leaving it empty and bereft.
“Sitts.” Tinne muttered. We both knew he had to be right. There just isn’t another force large enough to cause such devastation.
We wandered the city looking for survivors, but there were none. Even Banting castle was destroyed. We were hungry so we searched through shops and homes. Anything we did find had long turned sour. There were skeletons and partially decayed people around every corner. Many of them looked like dogs or wolves had been feasting on them. Our hearts raced with anxiety. We wondered if the Sitts had gone any further or whether they had only wanted to destroy a small city. Other than the annihilation there was no sign of them. It was way creepy. There was no sound, no movement; even the rain was silent as it continued to fall. Actually, I don’t remember the rain falling, but it was raining. Like I said, the whole scene was quite eerie.
Fortunately for us the bridge at the there was still intact. I didn’t know how far we would have had to go to find another had it not been. As it was, the water was splashing over the deck. That was a little nerve wracking. I was afraid the bridge would cash out at any minute, so I raced across. Tinne on the other hand, took his time. He’s been very, self-destructive lately. I didn’t realize it, but he had picked up a bottle of whiskey somewhere and was drinking straight from the bottle. I was growing more and more irate with every minute he meandered along that bridge. “Hurry up!” I yelled. “You’re gonna get washed away.” But he only looked at me with an empty stare and then he stopped in the middle to take another swig and light a smoke. I don’t know when or where he got those either, or when he start
ed smoking for that matter. The rest of the trek was fairly uneventful. We spent a couple of days in an abandoned barn trying to wait out the rain, but you know how it is in the spring; sometimes it doesn’t let up for a week straight. We decided it was best to just weather it. He hasn’t said hardly anything. He’s barely eaten anything. Just look at him. It’s hard to believe he’s really alive in there.
“Bee.” Ren said gravely. “The Sitts are here to find the Gorchan.” He said. “We have to find that stone. “We have to help Tinne.” Ezbieta added. “He can’t tell stories in this condition.”
Tinne sat up and hunched over in his bed with his teeth clenched tightly. Every muscle in his body contracted repetitively, hurting and aching without pain.
“Oh, it hurts!” He groaned, pressing his thighs together involuntarily. “Son of a bitch!!!” He screamed in blind raging anguish as he spun around and threw a flurry of punches at the bookshelf and the wall. He collapsed sobbing and Ren quickly covered him and bandaged his wounded, bleeding wrist.
“I never even saw that coming, man. If you were in a fight nobody could ever have blocked that! Look what you did to the wall.” Ren exclaimed. The shelf was broken and there was a hole in the drywall.
“I want to give you a hug, Tinne, but you’re naked and you’re my friend, and well, that’s just wrong. Try not to think about it.” Ezbieta said as soothingly as she could. She set about making him a soothing tea.
“I can’t. She won’t get out of my head.”
“We don’t have time. Ollie’s book says the stone was last seen here in Simcoe.” Ren urged.
“I thought we were looking for a dragon.” Ezbieta said.
“The Black Dragon is a stone.” Ren expounded, “Or, rather, it’s in a stone. Tinne told me about it on the way to the Field of Lords. Now, I have to find Ollie. He may have an answer to both of our problems. You stay here and help Tinne.” He said just before giving her a quick kiss and ran out the door.