by Pedro Urvi
Yosane’s words calmed the anguish Kyra was feeling.
“You’re a good person, Yosane. I think we’re going to be good friends.”
“I certainly hope so,” she replied with a laugh.
The two girls hugged in the dark and a strong link was forged between them, one born of fear and need, one of unbreakable friendship.
Suddenly there came a metallic sound above their heads.
They gave a start and stood up at once. This was something new.
Kyra closed her fists and clenched her teeth.
“They’re coming, get ready. Time to fight.”
5
It was midmorning, and Ikai was limping along the narrow streets of his village. The wounds in his side punished him mercilessly every time he made a prolonged effort or sudden movement, but the pangs of acute pain were not going to dissuade him; he would bear the suffering. He knew what he had to do, and he was aware of the great risk he was about to face. He had been thinking about it all night and along the whole length of the dusty road from the farm, weighing up the possible outcomes of what he was about to do, as he always did before an important decision. Before any decision, since Ikai was anything but impulsive and rarely let himself be carried away in the heat of the moment. As his sister used to say: It’s as if you didn’t have blood in your veins. But for the first time in a long time, after analyzing the situation carefully and coming to a logical conclusion, he was not going to follow what his mind told him to do. He was preparing to go against what he knew was the most sensible course of action.
He had to save his sister. At any cost. Even at that of his own life. He had promised his mother, and he would be true to his word. And although he was well aware that his mission was little short of impossible and that he would most likely die in the attempt, he could not avoid facing it, because it was all about his little sister and whether or not he had made a promise to his mother, Ikai would not rest until he had her back. He walked determinedly, looking straight ahead, with a single thought in his mind: saving Kyra.
The villagers backed away when he passed. They all knew him, his family, his farm. He had grown up in that community and had spent his time in the village since he was a young boy. His family was well-respected, but Ikai had been feared and hated since the day when he had accepted the profession he now followed. He was a Hunter, and his end was to serve the Regent and the Gods by hunting men for them. Ikai justified this to his unforgiving conscience by shielding himself behind the idea that he hunted criminals and fugitives, but he knew at first hand this was not always the case. Very often it was some wretched peasant who had tried to escape from a cruel end marked out by the Gods. That was what had happened to his sister. If Kyra fled, they would send a party of Hunters after her. The mere thought made his stomach turn. He felt a terrible shame at being who he was, and it crushed him as if a whole mountain had fallen on his shoulders.
He arrived at the village square and his head cleared. He gazed at the fountain on one side, beside the drinking trough. As was the tradition with his people, most of the façades were painted in indigo blue, while the roofs were chalk white, giving the impression that the landscape was a sea of houses. We are the People of the Sea, and although the Gods have denied it to us, we remember in our own way so future generations will not forget.
Ikai had always been amazed by his people’s surprising capacity to cling to the hope of old times, of better times, when they were free and lived off the sea. Now they lived in the extreme poverty of slavery, but even so all the houses sported spotless blue façades, while the dark and cheerless truth of an oppressed people hid inside the humble abodes. He stared at that sea of stone against a sky filled with white clouds which was the village and smiled. We’re the Senoca, the People of the Sea, and so we’ll always be.
Something caught his attention out of the corner of his right eye. On the wall of the smithy was a red spot, as of blood. Puzzled, he came closer to the wall. When he looked more closely he found it was not blood but a hand painted in red. Someone had smeared his hand with red paint and then pressed it against the wall so as to leave a print. Ikai breathed out heavily. He had seen that mark before in several villages in other counties, but never in his own. He did not know what it meant, but he felt a chill.
He went on towards the square. He recognized the Proxy’s house immediately. It was a huge tower which filled the whole of the north side of the square. It was robustly built, much bigger than the rest of the buildings of the village. He walked up to the reinforced door of the building, which was flanked by two guards, a man and a woman, both in leather armor and carrying spear and shield. When they saw him approach they called on him to halt. He watched them; they were nervous, distrustfully checking the weapons he carried. He stopped in front of them and showed them the golden Ring. The guards recognized the symbol of the eagle and solemnly saluted him.
“Greetings, Hunter,” the woman said.
“Greetings, Guard,” replied Ikai politely. He recognized her; she had spent some time stationed in the village and by the expression on her face she had recognized him as well. In any case, in the pyramid of power of the kingdom the Hunters ranked above guards and soldiers of the Regent, which meant that they would be respectful and helpful.
“Do you wish to see the Proxy?” asked the other, a man with a thick black beard whom Ikai did not know.
Ikai nodded.
“Today isn’t a day for admitting the people, Proxy Ambuk isn’t accepting anybody… but you being a Hunter… It’s all right, wait here, I’ll see whether our lord will be prepared to receive you,” the woman said, and disappeared into the building.
Ambuk was enjoying the cool fresh air, wrapped in his woolen cloak. The garden behind the house was open, and only a tall hedge protected him from the winter wind. But this garden, once filled with flowers, color and life, had been the favorite place of his beloved wife Olga, and Ambuk tried, with little success, to preserve it. He knelt before the two graves and laid some wild flowers on them which he had picked from the field which opened out to the east.
“I do what I can, but you know I’ve never been much good at this,” he said, addressing his wife’s grave. “I know it looks dreadful at the moment, but come spring I’ll try to make it blossom again and fill it with color and life. I have a new servant, from the south, and he seems to know quite a lot about flowers and their care. Yes, this year we might have a garden worthy of the name.”
A gust of wind ruffled his white hair, and Ambuk rearranged it as best he could. He put his hand on the second grave and tears came to his eyes.
“Take good care of your mother, Matis, my son, wherever you may be. Don’t let anything bad happen to her. Take care of her always. I know you will.”
He dried his tears with the sleeve of his silk tunic and stood up. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the great sorrow he felt. Several years had gone by since that fateful day, but for Ambuk it was as if it had happened that same morning. In his memory it remained indelible, like the anguish and pain which never left him.
He looked up at the sky and cried:
“Why this injustice? Why my family?”
He had asked himself the same thing countless times, although he knew the answers which he refused to accept. The Gods were tyrannical egomaniacs and knew neither forgiveness or pity. What had happened to his family was no different to what had happened to many others, where blood had been cruelly and unjustly shed by divine order. His misfortune was nothing more than another drop in a sea of pain, in the ocean of suffering of a whole people.
He recalled the day they had come to take Matis away. He recalled how Olga had thrown herself on the Eye-of-the-God, begging for him not to be taken away. He recalled the fateful spear of the Executor taking his wife’s life. He recalled his son charging at the assassin in his mother’s defense. He recalled the bloodshot eyes of the Executor who killed his son. By the will of the Gods. For having dared to touch one of their servants
. For having resisted the divine will.
Everything had happened so fast… in the blink of an eye. Ambuk had no time to react, he could only reach out with his arm in an attempt to stop all that madness and cry out in despair while his astonished eyes watched those terrible events unfold. Yes, he remembered it well, and no matter how much he might want to forget, he never would. At that time the Proxy was his uncle Kulban, from whom he inherited the titles some years later. His uncle had tried to mediate to prevent Matis from being taken, but to no avail. The Eye did not listen to reasons. The Gods wanted the boy, and that was all there was to it. Who and why were irrelevant to the Enforcer of the Gods. He had a mission, and he had come to carry it out or else blood would be shed. And blood was shed.
He still found it hard to believe that the Eye-of-the-God had respected Kulban’s life or his own, since when the warrior servants of the Gods wielded weapons and these ended up soaked in blood, nothing was left alive.
Ambuk looked at the graves and took his leave with a faint smile.
“I’ll come back tomorrow. Today I’ll go on trying to shield my people from trouble at the hands of the Golden, for you, in your memory.”
Filled with melancholy, he went inside the building; he needed a glass of wine to warm his body, and to tend to village matters.
One of his guards was waiting for him.
The guard returned and Ikai looked at her expectantly.
“Follow me, my Lord Proxy Ambuk will receive you now,” she said, and they walked in.
Ikai looked at the building with analytical eyes. He knew it, although it had been a while since he had set foot in it. The Hunters’ duties required them to work with Proxies fairly often, and he had accompanied Master Sejof on occasion to see Proxy Ambuk. He found him in the open inner courtyard, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. He was propped against soft cushions on a bench with his eyes closed, protected from the cool with a woolen blanket. A servant came with a jar of wine and filled the glass he was holding absentmindedly in one hand. Four armed guards watched the room.
“The Hunter who wished to see you, my lord,” the guard announced.
Ambuk opened his eyes to look at Ikai with a frown. The Proxy was a slender man with short snow-white hair. His eyes were small and blue, and his gaze seemed to hint at a deep sorrow. His appearance was neat, as suited a man of his social position, and he was over fifty. He was a distant relative of the Regent, like most Proxies, since the Regent himself chose them among his kin or among those he sealed alliances with, mainly important families of either merchant or military lineage.
“A Hunter, you say?” he asked hesitantly as he studied him.
Ikai bowed and showed him the symbol of his Ring with due respect.
“It’s all right, thank you, you may leave,” he said, dismissing the guard with a slight wave.
Ikai took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.
“I know you…” Ambuk said, his eyes opening wide in recognition. “I’ve seen you before, you belong to… Sejof’s group, if I’m not mistaken…”
“You’re not mistaken, my lord. Sejof is my Master Hunter.”
“I see my memory still works. I’m reaching an age in which one is not so sure about things,” he said with a friendly smile.
A little more at ease, Ikai let his shoulders relax.
“What’s your name, Hunter?”
“My name is Ikai.”
“Hmm… your face seems familiar… not only because of your profession… you’re from this county, are you not?”
“Yes, my lord, my farm is not far from here. It belongs to this village, to your jurisdiction.”
“I see. Then that’s why your face seems so familiar.”
Ikai nodded.
“Your eyes… they’re… very striking…”
Ikai lowered his glance in annoyance. He did not like people remarking on his strange eyes. It made him different, something of a misfit. He had spent his whole childhood being teased for it, and children’s cruelty had no limits. But it had also helped him form an armor of solid rock around his feelings.
“Forgive me, it wasn’t my intention to offend you, I simply meant to say they’re very unusual. One is emerald and the other a pale blue, almost grey. I’ve seen these eyes before, in another man.”
Ikai looked up in surprise.
“What’s your father’s name?”
“Siul…”
“I thought as much; it would have been a strange coincidence to have two men with the same peculiar eyes unless they were related.”
“Do you know my father?”
“Yes, we used to be friends, in another time, a better time now long gone, when my family was still alive. The truth is that you look very much like him: tall and strong, with hair the color of chestnuts and those eyes… strange… Yes, you look very much like him, there’s no doubt about it. Have you inherited his character too?”
“Character? I don’t know what you mean, sir…”
“His temperament.”
“I don’t know… I have quite a peaceful nature. From what I know, so did my father.”
“Hah! That’s a good one… Who told you that?”
Ikai blushed.
“Oh, it was your mother Solma, was it?”
Surprised, Ikai nodded. The Proxy knew his parents by name. That was remarkable.
“Let me assure you that your father was also peaceful, but under that restraint, there was always a volcano ready to erupt. Although he controlled himself very well. I rarely saw him lose his temper.”
“Did you know him well?”
“Very well. We were friends in our youth: inseparable, in fact. It was long before I became Proxy. Great friends, until a woman came between us and ruined our friendship. She nearly destroyed it, since youthful love is lived with insufferable intensity, my young Hunter.”
Ikai’s eyes opened wide in surprise.
“We were both courting your mother. In her day Solma was a real beauty, she had no rival in the village and she had a temper that couldn’t be tamed. I tried to woo her with gifts, compliments and gallantry. Instead she chose your father, who barely dared say a word to her. The mystery of love… I’ll never understand it. It hurt me so much that we quarreled. And of course I lost… just as I lost your mother. I nearly lost Siul’s friendship as well. But over time my pride healed, reason came back to my mind and we went back to being friends. A little later I met my beloved wife, and I’m grateful to Solma for not choosing me because the joy I knew with my wife was endless.”
Ikai looked at him, so surprised he could not utter a word.
Ambuk smiled, and his eyes, lost in memories, clouded for a moment. But the gleam of intelligence came back into them, and he looked closely at Ikai.
“Today I’m a little melancholic. You’ll have to forgive me.”
“You honor me, sir.”
Ambuk smiled.
“It’s a little unorthodox for a Hunter to come before me, a Proxy, without his Master… I guess the reason for your visit must have nothing to do with the duties of the Hunters. Is it something personal, perhaps?”
“It is, my lord. You’re a wise man.”
Ambuk gave a short laugh.
“Not at all, my young Hunter. I’m simply an observant man who’s lived and witnessed much at the service of the people, the Regent and the Gods. I’m listening…”
Ikai breathed deeply, summoned up his courage and spoke.
“I’m here before my lord to ask for his help, since it’s needed for someone under his protection.”
“You’re asking me to help someone from the village, someone I have responsibility for?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Go ahead, explain yourself,” Ambuk said, leaving his glass on the table and giving Ikai all his attention.
“It’s my sister… Kyra… she was Selected… and we haven’t heard anything more of her. I can assure you, my lord, that Kyra is a good and humble farmer who works the fie
lds from sunrise to sunset alongside our mother. We’ve fulfilled our quota, she hasn’t done anything to offend the Regent or the Gods. There’s no reason why she should have been taken. I beg your grace that she should be returned to us, we need her at the farm.”
When he heard the request, Ambuk’s face darkened. The smile vanished from his face, and a stern mask replaced his look of friendliness. He stood up and stretched his back.
Ikai watched him, not knowing what to expect. He knew Ambuk was a fair man; his honesty was well known throughout the county. He was one of the few proxies who enjoyed a good reputation. In most villages big enough to be governed by one, the Proxies acted like nobles, living in luxury at the people’s expense. They satisfied the requirements of the Regent by exploiting their domains, knowing that Sesmok would not intervene if the tax demands were met and there were no riots on the part of the rabble. Ikai had seen it first-hand thanks to his profession, which took him constantly around the six counties in search of criminals and fugitives.
The few occasions when the Proxies felt their own necks threatened were when the Enforcers of the Gods demanded something of them. For a poor farmer, to come across an Eye-of-the-Gods or his Executors was the worst of all nightmares, but it was equally so for a Proxy. The Eyes put an end to the life of a Proxy at the slightest fault, without hesitation, without mercy. After all, they were nothing more than chief slaves who ruled over working slaves. However much they might serve the Golden Gods, when all was said and done they were slaves. And for the Gods and their Enforcers, the life of a slave was not worth the air he breathed.
“I understand she was chosen by the Gods…”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ambuk nodded and began to pace with his hands at his back, his elegant blue and white silk tunic shimmering with every step. He closed his eyes and appeared to be meditating carefully on the subject. Ikai had faith in this man. That was why Ikai had gone to him. He had thought it out, he knew that going to a Proxy entailed a grave risk, but he was sure Ambuk would help him.