Deception of the Damned

by P C Darkcliff

  She screamed as the maddened stream threw her over the edge of the small waterfall that constituted the tribe’s western border. For a second she was airborne. Then she plunged into the water again.

  The river swept her through the night. It tossed her around and pulled her down as if she were nothing but a piece of bark. She flailed her limbs to keep her head above the surface, yet her mouth and throat kept filling with water faster than she could cough it out.

  The water bubbled and spumed, like a frigid, stampeding hot tub. Chill and cramps drew all energy out of her body. Moonlit trees and brushes dashed past her along the bank by the hundred. She reached for each of them even though they stood some sixty feet away. The black outline of a wall or a palisade flashed a black shadow over the crazed watercourse.

  A strong whirlpool spun her around and tried to drown her. Then something slammed against her. The current still pressed and pushed at her back, but something prevented her body from being dragged on.

  Jasmin thrust her head above the water. To her relief, she realized that her limbs were entangled in the branches of a fallen willow, whose enormous trunk bridged the river. The hope for salvation drowned the pain from the impact.

  Trembling with cold and exhaustion, she dragged herself through the crown onto the muddy bank, where she vomited all the water she’d swallowed. Her retching echoed through the night to the roar of the currents. Once again, she was on her own in these dark times. But now she had nowhere to go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  It began to pour again at dawn. Lying on the riverbank, half asleep and half unconscious, Jasmin thrashed around from drowning nightmares until the pummeling raindrops woke her up. When she opened her eyes, the raging river and wild woods blinked at her behind gray sheets of rain.

  The river couldn’t have dragged her more than twenty or thirty miles from her village, which would’ve meant a relatively short car ride in her times, but now she felt as if she had landed on a faraway shore. Just like the other tribespeople, Jasmin had never ventured beyond the three-mile perimeter of their hunting territory. Although she knew she was safe from them here, she felt utterly alone and vulnerable. It was hard to imagine that this uninhabited wilderness would one day become the Czech Republic.

  Recalling the large shadow she’d seen last night, Jasmin got up and stumbled back upstream to explore it. It was farther than she had thought.

  Her stomach rumbled before she got there, and riverbank bushes added more gashes to her hurting skin. Her drenched tunic stuck to her body so firmly she felt she might never be able to peel it off. Finally, a high, crumbling wall materialized from the sea of raindrops.

  It was so covered with moss and darkened with age that it was hard to tell what kind of stone it was made of. As she climbed over a pile of rubble, Jasmin wondered whether it was war, fire, or decay that had brought it down.

  When she peeked over the top of the wall, she was surprised to see twenty or so wattle and daub hovels scattered among tiny fields. Columns of smoke rose through the holes in the thatched roofs. A few cows grazed in a drenched meadow, and four or five dogs chased each other in a grove of oak trees.

  Jasmin guessed that this hamlet had been built on the site of a sophisticated Celtic settlement, of which only the crumbling fortification remained. She knew from history books that the Celtic confederation of the Boii had occupied these lands for centuries, long before the arrival of the Slavs in the Early Middle Ages. She’d probably encroached upon the territory of a proto-Slavic tribe, similar to Hrot’s.

  A little boy emerged from one of the dwellings at the back of the village and rushed through the mud and puddles to a nearby shack. He disappeared inside, and when he came back, he held something in the skirt of his tunic. Jasmin was too far away to see what he’d got, but since he carried the bundle slowly and carefully, she guessed it was eggs.

  Her eyes gleamed. As she’d hardly eaten during the days that had led to the ritual killing, she was so famished she could eat the eggs raw. And eggs meant chickens. The vision of a fowl roasting on a spit brought cascades of saliva to her mouth. She could go into the village to beg for food and shelter. But what if they killed or enslaved her? Her experience with the nomads—and with Hrot’s own tribe—had made her cautious. She decided to wait and venture into the village on a foraging expedition once darkness had fallen.

  The rain was over in the evening. The rising moon shone through the departing clouds, first red and large, then increasingly smaller and paler. Jasmin could see no guards milling along the crumbled walls. It was a warm night, and the huts were black and fireless. The dogs were nowhere to be seen.

  Cold sweat drenched her drying tunic as she climbed over the wall and stole into the village. She skulked like a fox among the shadows of the trees, through the tall grass, and along the undergrowth. She froze when she heard something behind her, but it was just a hedgehog. Her empty stomach gave an outraged kick as she made out the outline of the tiny shack. By then, the smell of chickens was unmistakable.

  A shadow passed over the wooden wall. She crouched and peered into the dark. A lynx, which had probably invaded the village for the same reasons as Jasmin, was prowling around the coop. When the lynx heard her, it dashed into the night.

  A sheet of coarse linen curtained the hen house’s entrance. As her fingers groped the sheet to unhook it, angry barking and baying rolled around the village. The fleeing lynx must have run into the dogs. The clucking that was now coming from the hen house added to the cacophony.

  Shadows poured out of the hovels. Jasmin pressed her back against the coop, expecting the barking and the shadows to come closer. Fortunately, the dogs were probably pursuing the lynx, and the people were sleepy and bewildered.

  “Who’s out there?” A cracking adolescent voice came from a nearby hut. Their dialect was nearly identical to that spoken by Hrot and his tribe.

  “It’s me, your father, you dimwit!” somebody replied.

  “What’s with all the barking, then?”

  “Shut up, both of you!” The thin yet authoritative voice must have belonged to an elderly woman. “You! Go check on the cows. And you, make sure the sheep are fine. It’s probably nothing, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. I’ll go and count the chickens.”

  Jasmin wondered whether she should hide behind the hen house. But what if the old woman took along one of the dogs? Jasmin knew she would be captured if she tried to run across the village back to the river. She crept to the corner of the hen house and looked around. Only two huts stood between her and a large, shadowed plain. She guessed it was a field, and she hoped she’d be safe if she managed to cross it without being seen.

  Jasmin dashed to the nearest thicket, in whose shadow she panted like a startled rabbit. Then she sprinted toward another brush to hide again, and eventually, she left the last hut behind. She knew she was dreadfully exposed as she ran across the barren field, but nobody seemed to be pursuing her.

  Fortunately, the wall behind the field was as dilapidated as the one along the riverside. She scrambled up the ruin, jumped off, and ran through a thickening forest.

  A monstrous shadow stretched out in front of her: an enormous edifice draped in green foliage that rose toward the crowns of the high trees. Hoping that she’d stumbled into a ruined seat of a long-gone chieftain, Jasmin found a crevice and squeezed in.

  No roof was there to block the moonlight, but she could hardly see a thing: the trees, which grew freely among the crumbling walls, made the edifice look like a large, walled-off forest. Their crowns, which had probably been growing and poking at the roof until it collapsed, shrouded the place in shadows. She climbed a high pile of rubble and looked toward the river. The hovels squatted in distance like black pebbles. The riverfront wall was just a black gash. The village seemed peaceful, and she could discern no movement in the barren field she’d crossed.

  The strain of the last days fell on her like a boulder. Her head throbbed with fatigue, and she didn�
�t even feel hungry anymore. All she wanted to do was to find a dry corner and drop to sleep.

  JASMIN WOKE UP WITH a cramp in her stomach. The sun was up, and birds chirped in the trees among the walls. She climbed the pile of rubble to make sure that nobody was coming from the village. The field was empty.

  As she looked around, she wondered at the sheer size of her new shelter, which might have been as large as the entire hamlet. Little was left to indicate the material or architectural style of the building. The trees had brought the roof down entirely, and moss, vine, and creepers covered the walls like a shock of green hair.

  When she looked back at the field, Jasmin saw three figures coming. She crouched, breathing hard. They kept walking at a casual pace, showing no signs of having seen her. To her relief, she soon realized it was just a very old man and two little girls. When they got closer, Jasmin spotted an earthen pot in the man’s hands. The bigger girl was carefully carrying a jug; the smaller one had a bowl.

  Jasmin licked her lips and gulped as she watched them enter the fort through a crevice. She had an absurd idea that they were bringing her a meal to welcome her to the neighborhood. Her next conjecture was more feasible but equally exciting: it was an offering to a deity, which they believed to dwell in the ruins. Wouldn’t they be happy if the food “miraculously” disappeared?

  As they passed her lookout, she glimpsed strips of bacon in the pot, milk in the jug, and blueberries in the bowl. The smell of the bacon made her climb down and tiptoe behind them.

  They halted at the other end of the building. Jasmin hid behind a thicket, some twenty yards behind, and watched.

  “I apologize for disturbing your solitude, revered priestess,” the old man called as they placed the dishes by a small hole at the bottom of the back wall. “But we brought you your breakfast.”

  “Thank you, good man,” a female voice came from behind the wall. Although weak and tremulous, the voice was pleasing.

  It seemed that an old woman was living behind the fort. Jasmin assumed she was a hermit who’d chosen the seclusion to devote herself to whatever the tribe worshipped. A lonely woman . . . and so much food! The woman would probably wait until the visitors were gone, and then she would reach for the pot. Jasmin hoped to snatch a few strips of bacon before the woman stuck her hand through the hole.

  “Is there anything you wish to be brought for lunch, priestess?” the old man asked.

  “Nothing special, good man.” The woman’s voice came through the hole. “Just some water and a little bread.”

  Jasmin’s forehead wrinkled in a slight frown. She hoped that whoever was to come at midday would disobey the wish and bring some meat as well.

  “Very well, priestess,” the man said and bowed. The girls bowed as well, even though the woman could not see them, unless she was on her knees, peering through the hole. “May the three-headed spirit give you a good morning.”

  “And to you, good man.”

  As soon as the three of them passed her thicket and disappeared, Jasmin left her hideout and moved forward. She knew it was dishonest to steal from an old woman. Nevertheless, it was much safer than going to the village and hoping for the tribe’s compassion. Stealing wasn’t a crime if it kept one alive and if it didn’t hurt anyone. The pot was filled to the brim. Even with Jasmin’s help, it was impossible that the woman could finish it all.

  Jasmin cringed as she snatched five or six bacon strips out of the greasy heap. She was about to head back when the woman’s voice came from behind the wall: “What did they bring us, child?”

  The bacon fell back into the pot. Jasmin was about to run away, but the unseen woman said kindly, “Don’t be afraid, child. I won’t tell anyone about you.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Jasmin stammered. “I just wanted to take a small part of the food because I’m starving.”

  “I know that well, and I am happy to share my meal with you. Somebody could see you, though, and you’d be in trouble. Besides, I would be even happier if we could eat together. This hole is too small for you to crawl through, and the door has been long barred. I’m sure you can find your way in, however. Please, come over. Don’t say no to a lonely old woman.”

  After a short hesitation, Jasmin walked to a place where the wall was only about seven feet high, and where a thick vine helped her climb to the top. As she’d believed that this was the back wall of the building, she expected to see a small hut in the woods. Instead, she saw a walled enclosure that must have been some kind of a back room.

  Bewildered, she used another creeper to climb down. The enclosure was partly covered with a thatched roof, which had replaced the original stone ceiling and served as a shady porch. The climbers that hung everywhere along the walls made Jasmin feel as if she weren’t indoors but rather in a valley surrounded by vertical slopes. Blanketed by grass and moss, the piles of rubble at the walls’ base resembled green hillocks.

  A log cabin, by far the best dwelling Jasmin had seen in these times, leaned against one of the walls. In front of the cabin, a tall, old woman with long gray hair sat on a pile of hides. She was dressed in dirty rags which strangely contrasted with the gold jewelry that sparkled on her neck, wrists, and fingers. Her wrinkled lips stretched into a toothless smile, and her pale, clouded eyes stared past Jasmin as she said, “Sit down, child.”

  The woman didn’t look at her as Jasmin sat on a nearby tree stump. She only inclined her ear in Jasmin’s direction, and Jasmin realized her hostess was blind.

  “I’m sorry about the food,” said Jasmin. “But I got lost and—”

  “Do not apologize,” the woman interrupted with a benevolent smile. “I can never eat everything they bring me, and I always leave more than half of it to the animals. Bring the food over, child, and eat it all if you wish. Meanwhile, I’ll talk to you if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not . . . priestess.”

  The old woman chuckled. “You can call me Plamena, dear.”

  “And I’m Jasmin.”

  Plamena nodded as if she had already known that. Jasmin brought the dishes and dug into the bacon.

  “You’re not safe in the ruins on the other side, Jasmin,” Plamena said. “If the villagers saw you taking my food, they would surely kill you. Nobody ever dares to even peek in here, but they bring me food and drink and firewood, and anything else I could ever wish for. This place is safe, too, as no large predators can scale these walls.

  “You see, child, I’ve always craved solitude, and I wouldn’t feel well in the village, among so many people and noises. But I’ve felt a strange thrill ever since last night when I sensed that somebody had settled near me. Perhaps it is because my life is coming to an end, but at times I find the perpetual loneliness unsupportable. I know you have nowhere to go. Stay with me, then, Jasmin. Stay with me, if you wish.”

  Jasmin looked around the enclosure. The conquered walls stood as a silent witness to the horrible force—human or natural—that had brought the enormous edifice to its knees. Wild cats were perched on the top of the walls, staring hungrily at the pigeons and rats that feasted below on rotting leftovers. Swarms of flies buzzed in the farthest corner, which the old woman probably used as her privy.

  Living in such a limited space was hard to imagine. Nevertheless, Jasmin knew she had to accept, as she would likely die without Plamena’s protection. Besides, Jasmin felt obliged to keep this old, lonely woman company. It would only be for half a year in any case: Jasmin had determined to do anything to leave these times that winter solstice. She had to return to the haunted woods and speak to the Emissary at all cost.

  “You are very kind, Plamena,” she said. “I will stay gladly, but I must leave at the end of autumn.”

  “And until then, may you be happy here, child,” the woman said with a smile.

  “Thank you so much.” Jasmin leaned over and squeezed the old woman’s hand.

  At that moment, Plamena screamed as if sharp thorns covered Jasmin’s fingers. “The three-headed spirit
protect us!” she exclaimed. Tears swelled in her clouded eyes and trickled down the deep ravines on her face. “You are damned, damned! Why did you ever consort with the powers of the other side? Why did you ever deal with that antlered monster? Oh, you foolish, enamored child! You’ve been blinder than I am!”

  Jasmin pulled her hand away. The old woman was obviously endowed with the same magic powers as Anath. Perhaps, the three-headed spirit this woman worshipped was the same entity as the goddess Krverah. Although she was blind, Plamena had glimpsed the Emissary.

  “Should I leave?” Jasmin asked. It seemed unlikely that Plamena would want to share her roof and bread with someone whose soul had been befouled by the monster.

  Plamena only sighed. Two cats screeched and chased each other along the top of one of the walls. Four or five hawks glided on the warm currents under the blue sky. A squirrel or a mouse scurried over the thatched roof.

  Jasmin got up. “I’ll go right now,” she said, but Plamena shook her head.

  “You should stay, child, as you need my guidance and protection. Oh, my poor girl, so young you are, and so many beasts and humans have already tried to kill you! Stay with me and spend a few tranquil months. After all, I cannot blame you for doing foolish things out of love, for I was like you when I was about your age.”

  Relieved, Jasmin sat back down. She wondered what Plamena had to say.

  “Yes, I was once also young and smitten, even though it might be hard to believe now. And my love made me blind as well, child, but blind in the true sense of the word. My man was violent. One day he got furious for one thing or another and beat me so severely that everybody thought he had killed me. They later told me that they were about to bury me when I suddenly stirred. But it was only blackness into which I awoke: the beating had left me completely sightless. Oh, Jasmin, you were so lucky your husband wasn’t like mine.”