by Pedro Urvi
When she thought of Romen another image filled her mind, that of someone who had impressed her even more. She remembered Adamis’s beautiful face, his grey-blue eyes, how he looked at her when he talked to her, and such a feeling of pleasure took hold of her that everything else around her disappeared for a moment. She recalled the slimness of his body, his golden skin and his immense Power. Every time she thought of Adamis something in her stomach awoke, like a small sleeping creature which started to scamper around, upsetting her but at the same time leaving her delighted. But what on earth is wrong with me? I go all silly thinking about him. Am I going off my head? For the love of Oxatsi, he’s a damned God, a spoilt arrogant Prince who waited till my captivity was almost over before he deigned to show me the slightest bit of kindness. But deep inside her she knew Adamis was much more than that, and even though she wanted to believe otherwise, she could not. Without meaning to, she let herself be carried away by the memory of the Prince’s company, of his last words before their farewell, and the feeling of wellbeing came over her once again.
She remembered the disc of Power which he had given her and which she always wore on her. The conversation with Albana came to her mind, and the wellbeing turned first to restlessness, then quickly to anger. She brought the disc out of the little leather pouch where she kept it hidden and stared at it. The golden pip fascinated her; she knew that Adamis’s Power was in it. It was as though she were carrying a part of him with her. Or rather a part of his life, one he’ll never be able to enjoy because he gave it to me. She studied the arcane disc, trying to make sense of it all. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized Albana might be right: that she must be a hybrid, because Notaplo had come to the same conclusion with his experiment. But I can’t be a bloody hybrid! It’s impossible! My parents are both human, both Senoca! She shook her head.
She tried to calm herself, without much success. There was only one way to know the truth: she would have to talk to her mother, although she was sure of the answer she would get. Solma was the best mother in the world, but there was no Power in her veins. Quite the opposite: she had been sickly and weak half her life. Why? To hell with it! Why did you have to give me this damn artifact? She turned her anger against Adamis.
“It’s no good just moaning, you always have to find something you can do. So I’ll do something.”
She got up and went in search of her mother.
She found her in the kitchen of the house they shared, preparing a stew which smelt so rich it awoke the lion sleeping in her stomach.
“It smells too good,” she said cheerfully. “It’ll attract more refugees.”
“Kyra, dear, you’re just in time. Come and help me.”
“Sure, Mom. What would you like me to do?”
Solma brandished a wooden ladle. “Certainly not cook. You’re so impatient you hurry everything and never manage to make anything taste good.”
“I’ll admit cooking isn’t my thing, but I like helping you.”
“Well, you could always pay attention and learn from your old mother.”
“You’re not that old, and you know I’ll never learn.”
“Because you’re not interested. When something interests you, you learn quickly… don’t think I haven’t seen you training with your brother and Urda. Cooking? No way. But if it’s fighting… that’s different.”
“Mom…”
“Well, let’s leave it at that … now stir the broth, nice and slow.” She handed her daughter the ladle.
The conversation between mother and daughter drifted to the trivialities of life in the Shelter, the usual gossip about the newly arrived and their thousand and one needs: from food to medicines, tools and other basic essentials. They lacked everything, but they were free, and with freedom there came the happiness they had so much longed for. Poor, needy, but happy. Kyra went to get the cleaning cloth, but could not find it. She was about to ask Solma when she saw it soaking in a wooden bowl to one side, almost hidden. While her mother was telling her what an excellent hunter Isaz was and how lucky they were to have him to get fresh meat for them, she picked up the cloth and saw it was stained with blood.
“Did you cut yourself, mom?”
Solma turned round. When she saw the cloth in her daughter’s hand her face shadowed.
“No… no, I didn’t… It’s blood from a piece of meat…”
Kyra was not convinced, either by the explanation or by her mother’s tone.
“Tell me the truth. You’d never wipe off blood with your cloth, that’s the sort of thing I’d do… and besides, where’s the meat?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. You soak it and rub it hard and then it comes out,”
“Blood’s very hard to clean off. You taught me that. Where’s this blood from? Are you sick again? Don’t hide it from me.”
“It’s nothing, Kyra, let it be…”
“Mom, tell me the truth!”
Solma sighed resignedly. “I coughed up some blood this morning, that’s all.”
“That’s all? You told me you weren’t coughing up blood any more, that the climate of this island was doing you good, that your lungs seemed to have improved, that you were feeling much better.”
“I was… at first… I thought I was getting better… but it seems to have come back.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. What good would it do? None.”
“Mom, you should’ve told us.”
“I’ve had this illness all my life. It still hasn’t beaten me, and I’m not giving up.”
“Has Idana seen you?”
“The good apothecary can’t do anything for me.”
“I’ll bring her for dinner this evening and have her examine you. She’ll tell us what she can do for you. I’m sure she can prepare something to help your cough, at least.”
“Don’t you worry, sweetheart.”
“I’ll bring her, whether you like it or not.”
Solma gave up in the face of her daughter’s insistence and nodded with a sweet smile. Kyra hugged her, saying nothing, but holding her for a long moment. Then they went on preparing lunch.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about, Mom,” Kyra said.
“What is it?”
Kyra showed her Adamis’s disc.
“Had you ever seen anything like this before?”
“No… never. It’s pretty, but it doesn’t look like a jewel. It doesn’t even look like Senoca work. Is it… something to do with the Enforcers?”
“No, the Gods.”
“The Gods? What are you doing with something of theirs?”
“Adamis gave it to me. There’s a tiny bit of his Power in it.”
“Why did he give it to you, this God who held you prisoner?”
“I’m not sure. I think he wanted me to use it. In fact I’m practically convinced that’s why he gave it to me.”
“Well, that’s very strange. Why would a God do such a thing? Won’t it be dangerous? Nothing good comes from the Gods, only death and destruction.”
“Don’t worry. To use it you need to be a Hybrid.”
Solma’s face showed only surprise and incomprehension. “A what?” she asked.
“A Hybrid,” Kyra repeated more slowly. “Don’t you know what that is?” She was trying to read her mother’s face, alert to every gesture and movement.
“Hybrid? No, I don’t know what it means. Why are you asking such strange questions?”
“To use it you must have Gods’ blood and must have inherited their ability to generate and use the Power.”
“What strange talk is this? And why should he have given it to you, this God?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out, Mom. Am I a Hybrid?”
“Kyra! What sort of nonsense is this? You’re my daughter, a Senoca. You’re not anything strange.”
“Are you sure, Mother? The Gods tested me, and they say I’m a Hybrid. So is Albana. Adami
s has given me this disc, and I’ve found I can use it. Are you telling me the truth, Mother?”
“For Oxatsi’s sake! You’re the daughter of Solma and Siul, two Senoca, children of Senoca. You’re not any kind of Hybrid, or whatever it is they told you that you are.”
“Doesn’t any blood of the Gods run through your veins, Mom?”
“I’m a Senoca farmer from the Sixth County, just like my parents, and my parents’ parents,” she said in a tone which left no place for doubt. “There’s only Senoca blood in our veins. That I can swear to you.”
Kyra was bewildered by the answer. She had hoped her mother would be able to clear up the mystery which haunted her. But the conviction in Solma’s voice left no doubt that she was telling her the truth.
“And Father?”
“Siul grew up two farms south of my parents’, along the road to Issoli. Your father was a farmer just like his parents and grandparents. He never left the fields, he never left the Sixth County. We were all country folk. We’ve always been, both our families, right back to the beginning.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am, believe me.”
Those answers left Kyra in a state of total confusion. What’s the explanation of this? It doesn’t make sense.
“Stop going over it, my child. Don’t believe anything the Gods may have tried to put into your head. Nothing good will come of that. Everything the Gods touch rots. Where they tread, nothing springs up again. Forget the whole business. It’ll bring you nothing but pain. Take heed of your old mother.”
“Old? There’s hardly a wrinkle on your face.”
“Oh, how I wish! Thank goodness we don’t have a mirror.”
Mother and daughter laughed at the thought.
“Let’s finish this and clean up,” Solma said with an affectionate smile.
Kyra nodded, returning the smile. At that moment Solma put her hand to her chest. Her kind expression changed to one of pain.
“What’s the matter, Mom? Don’t you feel well?”
Solma tried to reply, but instead of words, what came out of her throat was a racking, uncontrollable cough. Kyra noticed something wet on her face. She put her hand to her own forehead and wiped it off. She looked at her hand with horror, It was her mother’s blood!”
“Mom!”
But her mother could not answer. She was coughing, such a deep, hacking cough that she seemed to be bringing up her whole lungs. She spat saliva and blood with every cough. Kyra hugged her and gave her a cloth to hold back the cough. And as she did so, Solma collapsed to the ground. She began to convulse uncontrollably before the girl’s horrified eyes.
“Mom, what’s happening?” she cried, horribly afraid.
Solma was shaking, banging her limbs on the ground as if she had been struck by lightning in a storm.
“Mom, don’t die! Nooooo!”
But Solma was unresponsive. Kyra held her mother’s head as she went on convulsing on the floor, blood pouring out of her mouth, nose and ears.
Kyra shouted to the heavens: “Somebody help me! For Oxatsi’s sake, call Idana!”
The convulsions became stronger.
“Hold on! Don’t die on me! Hold on!”
Chapter 8
Ikai held Solma’s hand in his own. He was sitting beside the bed where his mother lay, his head down. Someone came into the room, but he was so tired and saddened he did not even raise his head. He could not remember how long he had been there; all he felt was impotence the size of a mountain crushing him.
“You should rest,” he heard Albana say.
He shook his head.
“There’s nothing you can do…”
“All the same, I’ll stay with her.”
Kyra’s muffled sobs reached him from the other side of the half-open door. His sister was sitting on the floor with her arms around her knees, trying hard not to cry, to stay brave, without much success. Urda was with her, staring at the floor with dull eyes. The atmosphere in the house was so gloomy it was like a wake.
Idana came into the room, carrying a small bowl, and Ikai stood up at once.
“Will she live?” His words were a plea.
The apothecary held Solma’s head gently and forced the infusion down the half-conscious patient’s throat.
“She’s very weak. Barely breathing.”
“She must live. She can’t leave us now, after all we’ve been through.”
“I’m doing everything I can, but she’s very sick…”
“We need her,” Ikai begged, almost unable to articulate the words for the knot in his throat.
“We’ll know at dawn,” Idana said. Her face was heavy. “Be strong…”
The night went by like a slow, unending torture. Nobody slept, and time seemed to stand still. They were all silent, afraid of breaking the somber quiet which hung over the house and hastening that dearly-beloved woman’s final journey.
When dawn came and the first light crept in through the windows, they all questioned Idana in fear and hope. But Solma had not opened her eyes, she was not moving, and her breathing was almost imperceptible. Idana examined her again, as she had through the night at regular intervals. Without a word she left the room, to return a few minutes later with a green potion in a glass jar. She administered it to Solma, then massaged her chest and back with a brown ointment which smelled nauseating.
Fearfully, Ikai watched Idana’s every movement. Kyra knelt beside him, stroking Solma’s forehead. When the apothecary finished she turned to both of them.
“I’ve done all I could ‒”
“Is she going to live?” Kyra interrupted.
“‒ but I can’t heal her.”
“You mean she’s going to die?” Ikai asked. He was dreading the answer.
“I very much fear so… I’m deeply sorry…”
“What’s wrong with her? She’s been sick for a long time, but never this badly.”
“At first I wasn’t sure. I thought it was some sickness of the lungs ‒ hay fever, perhaps ‒ but no, this is something different, unfortunately much more serious. She’s suffering from a strange illness, something that’s killing her from the inside, from her blood. I’ve never seen anything like it, it’s as if her own blood was turning against her and attacking her organs. It’s invading her lungs, and that makes her cough blood. Unfortunately it’s beyond my knowledge… I’m afraid I can’t cure her.”
“There must be something we can do!” Kyra cried. There were tears in her eyes.
“She’s unconscious and I very much fear she won’t come out of her dream-state. I can keep her alive for a while, but that’s all I can do.”
“How long?” Ikai asked .
“It’s impossible to know. It depends on how strong her body is, and how far the illness has progressed. In this trance-like state the blood-poisoning should progress much more slowly, but how slowly I don’t know. A few weeks at the most…”
“I won’t accept it! I’m not going to let her die!” Kyra cried in despair.
Idana went over to the window and watched the dawn brightening with a thoughtful look. “I remember my father telling me about a healer once, someone truly exceptional… one my grandfather had gone to in despair, when everything was lost.”
Ikai was now full of interest. “A healer? Who?”
“Not exactly a healer… they called her The Witch of the Lake, if I remember my father’s story aright. She was a sinister character. There were evil rumors about her. They said she made sacrifices… of animals… some even said she sacrificed humans… there was talk of babies…”
“She sacrificed babies? That’s abominable! How could a monster like that help us?”
“Ikai, let her finish,” Kyra said.
Frowning, Ikai crossed his arms over his shoulders.
“According to my father,” Idana went on, “the Witch lives in an isolated corner of the Fourth County. She’s said to have powers, and that she’s capable of either ending somebody’s life or heal
ing diseases of the blood. Nobody of the Fourth County dares to visit the lake where she lives, so rumor has it: it’s between the three peaks of the Dark Mountains. My grandfather Gusten, who’s also an apothecary like his father and his grandfather before him, had heard of this Witch, and once when things were desperate he asked for her help.”
“What happened?” Kyra asked.
“Gusten was called to try and save a patient with a rare hereditary illness. Several members of the family had died from the same thing. Otes, the sick man, was the patriarch of the Lomas family, who were very powerful and influential, distant relatives of the Regent. The best surgeons had already given up all hope and left. My grandfather tried to save him. He did everything he could, but without success. It was then that Nemora, the patriarch’s wife, gave Gusten a desperate ultimatum: either he must save Otes or he and all his family would be hanged for incompetence.”
“The pigs!” Kyra burst out. “Why should a poor apothecary be expected to cure what the best surgeons couldn’t? If it was up to me I’d send all those noble families to the salt mines, then they’d learn. I really would!”
Ikai put his hand on his sister’s shoulder to sooth her.
“Go on,” he said to Idana. He was deeply interested now.
“My father told me that Gusten, in desperation, consulted the Guild of Apothecaries in search of some solution. It was someone from the Guild, an old apothecary of the Fourth County, who told him about the Witch. As he had no other option, he went in search of her.”
“Did he find her?” Kyra asked.
“He reached the hidden lake, in a valley where the sun never shines, in the eternal shadow of the three great peaks. He camped there for four days beside the lake, but saw no trace of the Witch no matter how hard he searched. On the fifth day, just as he was getting ready to leave, the Witch came.”
“What happened?”
“My grandfather never revealed the details of their meeting to my father or anybody else. What the Witch asked for in return for her help, he took with him to the grave. But my father did confirm one thing. Gusten healed Otes and saved his family from the hangman with a strange preparation the Witch gave him. A remedy that didn’t come from the Senoca.”