Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter

by Martine Carlsson

  The two guards watching the castle’s gates recognized their king at once and stood at attention. Folc trotted towards them and addressed the guards.

  “Where can we find the city council?”

  “They should be in the great hall. They never leave the castle. Should we announce you?”

  Folc glanced at Louis, who shook his head. “It won’t be necessary,” Folc said. “Just open the door.”

  One of the guards banged at the doors. Lissandro heard heavy wooden movements and metallic clinks. He thought that the only missing sound was the wrecking of mortar. The doors finally opened. They rode inside the silent courtyard, dismounted, and entered the dungeon. Frightened servants peered at them as they passed through the halls. Some covered their mouths and noses with rags. Others retraced their ways and vanished in staircases. Taken by surprise in idle games, the guards rectified their appearances and rose to take back their place near the doorways. No one tried to stop them. At the head of their group, Louis strode towards the great hall, eager to unleash his wrath on the council like Thor’s hammer. Lissandro hurried behind him. No matter how chaotic this place was, it was still Pembroke’s city.

  “You don’t consider to take down the whole council, do you?” Lissandro hastened to say. “Those men have been put in charge by Pembroke. He has to be informed. It’s his responsibility to—”

  Louis halted and turned around, his lower teeth bared. “Watch me.”

  His friend flung the doors of the great hall open. The six council members sitting around the long board swirled in their direction with a start. A short, moustached man in crimson robes rose and made a few steps back as if to flee, while the closest man to them grabbed the sword at his belt. A few councillors gaped, but no one covered his nose. The soldiers that had followed them into the castle blocked the doors. Trapped, the council’s members stared at the intruders with anxiety. Two of them, a young knight with blond curls and a priest, lowered their heads and shrank, guilt painted on their faces.

  Too far from the capital, too much freedom, Lissandro thought. They knew they had failed. These men must have panicked and followed a trail of bad decisions. Now, they faced the worst judge they could have gotten. Lissandro pitied them.

  A round, middle-aged man with small glasses dressed in layers of marigold overcoats pushed himself away from the table and made a few steps in their direction. “My name is Lord Guimar, Your Majesty. I preside over this council.”

  “Lord Guimar. As you are in charge here, maybe you can explain to us who those people outside your walls are. Did you apply a quarantine on the city and blocked access to refugees?” Louis asked.

  Maybe a yes would have saved the men. Unfortunately, the count’s features twitched. “No, Your Majesty. Those are no refugees. When we learned that the plague spread in the south, we took measures. We closed the gates, seized and rationed the food supplies, and asked the people to stay at home. Despite all that, some in the city got sick. To prevent the disease from spreading, we expulsed the sick outside our walls. We thought they would manage by themselves.”

  “You thought they would die and let them starve,” Louis said. “What of the hanged ones?”

  “They poisoned the wells. We had witnesses. We had to take a decision. This was an example.”

  “What does the disease look like?” Lissandro asked.

  “It’s the plague, my lord. The men lose all their fluids and die within a few days with a terrible thirst. The smell is obnoxious. We had to act.”

  “It’s not the plague,” Lissandro whispered. The man’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “I’m sorry, it’s not. It’s cholera,” Lissandro insisted.

  “Because of your cowardice, you threatened the whole city for nothing,” Louis said, walking towards the lord. Guimar stepped back. “You hanged innocents on false accusations.”

  Lissandro felt Selen at his side. “Please, do something,” Selen whispered. Yet Lissandro knew there was nothing to do.

  Louis kept walking towards Guimar. “Families starved outside your walls, and because they didn’t die fast enough, you unleashed your dogs,” he insisted, stressing his disgust.

  The lord glanced at the council’s members with distress, but the men kept their eyes downcast. “We…we thought it was the best thing to do.”

  Louis glowered at Lord Guimar. “I believe you.”

  Despite his lean body, Louis gathered enough strength to push the heavy lord through the window. The glass exploded as the man fell with a shriek of terror. Louis swiveled around. His accusing finger shot up towards the table.

  “No one saves his life by sacrificing innocents!” he yelled at the council. Lissandro and Selen flinched away. “Folc, have them hanged and write to Pembroke that he has to pick a new council. Until then, our men will apply the same rules as in the capital. And have those people outside be taken care of.”

  For an instant, Folc seemed to hesitate but gave the orders. The soldiers stepped forward and took hold of the council’s members. The blond knight cried. Some struggled in vain.

  “Your Majesty, please!” the man in the crimson robes whined loud.

  Louis strode to the doors and stormed out without a glance.

  Lissandro faced Selen with anger. Happy? Selen looked back at him with denial and distress, but Lissandro dismissed his justifications with a wave and stepped away to the hall where his disoriented companions had gathered.

  Further down the hall, Louis swirled back and pointed at them. “The rest of you. We leave to the Forest. Now. Kilda, you show the way.”

  “It will be dark in a few hours, and the horses need a rest,” Kilda objected faintly.

  “I won’t spend a single night in this castle,” Louis snarled, staring straight at Selen. “So either you follow me, or you can ride back to where you came from.”

  Louis’s eyes challenged them all with disdain. Lissandro felt the urge to follow his words and ride back straight to the Frozen Mountains. He forced himself to outstare Louis’s glower. After the humiliations he had endured, Lissandro had gathered enough wrath to rip Louis’s face off. Besides, there was nothing more he could do. Louis’s fate was not in his hands. Losing all hope, Louis had built his own hell and now drowned in a world void of happiness and love. Still, Lissandro saw angst in his friend’s eyes, and it pained his heart. He lowered his head.

  “Kilda, show us the way,” he whispered.

  18

  Selen wanted to puke. It was his fault. All this had happened because of him. The council’s members were not innocent of all those crimes, yet, to execute them was madness. Bad decisions didn’t mean wickedness. Selen would not dare to look at his hands for fear of seeing blood on them. Let alone thinking of what Pembroke would say once he learned about what had happened in Embermire. Louis had stared at all of them. Yet, Selen knew that the challenge was against him, and now Louis was dragging them through the forest in the dusk of the day only to avoid a place where they had once shared intimate moments. A tear ran down his cheek, and he pulled his hood lower over his face. After so many days, he didn’t understand how he could still have enough water in his body. He hates me. I saw it in his eyes. The rest of the time, Louis would not even grant him a glimpse. There was no turning back now. More tears wet his cheeks. Why did he have to reaffirm himself? He had had everything and had lost it all. Why? His throat and stomach squeezed. He leaned down the side of his horse’s collar and gagged acid juices. A translucent trickle hung from his mouth. He brushed it away on his glove before he burrowed his fingers in the mane, trying to disappear into the beast.

  With Folc in charge in Embermire, there were only six of them left. Askjell and Kilda, terrorized, rode in utter silence. Eliot followed the group at a safe distance, trying to stay out of any conflict. And then, there was Lissandro. His friend had been the only one who had dared to face Louis. Each friction had left Lissandro more broken than Selen could have conceived. With his head low, Lissandro was a shadow of himself. His beautiful, bi
g, blue eyes burned with hatred, and his lower jaw rotated as if grinding invisible bones. Selen couldn’t stop thinking that Lissandro was taking the blows in his place. Yet, he didn’t know how to stop Louis. Lissandro had warned him, but Selen had not realized the extent of the damage it would create. Maybe if they stayed away from inhabited places, the risks of collateral damage would be less.

  At the head of the group, Kilda reined in.

  “This is where I met Lissandro,” she said. “I don’t know the road further ahead.”

  Selen didn’t know the road at all. They had ridden straight north in the deep Ebony Forest through bushes, copses, and among boulders. Frozen, dead leaves littered the ground and crackled under their mount’s hooves. Not a single trail, human or animal, could be seen. They had halted in the middle of nowhere under tall, naked birches. Straight ahead stood dense pines. Selen hoped Lissandro still remembered the way through that.

  “Let’s halt for today. We can pass the night here,” Louis muttered. He dismounted and trudged away towards the pines. His gait looked so exhausted that Selen thought he would collapse. Louis vanished in the darkness of twilight. What have I done? Selen felt a hand on his leg. He looked down.

  “Let me take care of your horse,” Kilda said.

  Selen dismounted. Kilda’s face was pale, and she had dark marks under her eyes. Even her scar was whiter than usual.

  “I’m sorry Kilda,” Selen murmured. “I’m sorry to all of you.”

  She gave him a tight hug before looking at him. “Sometimes, things happen without our will. This is fate. No one blames you.”

  Selen walked away in silence. He passed next to Askjell, who was busy building a fire from dry bits of saplings, and made his way through bushes. A few yards from the camp, he sat on a large stone, his arms clutched over his legs. In a nearby copse, greenfinches sang. Soon, it would be pitch black around him. Selen closed his eyes and prayed to Rhea. If it was fate, only the Goddess could save them. He didn’t pray for himself but for his love. After what he had done, the last thing he wanted was salvation. Great Mother of all things, save him from the wrongs and the torments I created.

  “Your Majesty?”

  Selen swiveled around with a start. Eliot stood next to him. Between strands of his long auburn hair, his eyes narrowed as if the boy studied him. How long had he stood there?

  “Yes?” For a reason he couldn’t explain, the close presence of the monk made Selen feel uncomfortable. He is too seductive, fatal like a flamboyant foxglove.

  Eliot sat on the ground next to him. “Will we reach that magical place tomorrow?”

  “I hope so,” Selen sighed.

  “What do you want us to do if nothing happens there?” Eliot asked low.

  Selen looked at the monk. “I’m sorry. I fear I don’t understand.” He feared he did understand.

  “Well, if we don’t find anything. What are your orders?”

  Selen’s eyes narrowed. “We follow the king’s orders. Whatever they are,” he hissed.

  Eliot did not insist. He got up and walked away. As he watched him leave, Selen felt anxiety grow in him. From now on, he would keep an eye on the boy.

  Not keen on lingering alone in the twilight, Selen gave up with his prayers. He pushed himself up, stretched, and returned to the camp. His bag lay near Askjell’s blanket. He gazed at it, searching his thoughts for his next move. Like a backwash, white filled his brain in waves. His stomach reminded him it was past dinnertime. An odor of mould cheese and lard floated around. Lissandro broke the silence.

  “Sit down, Selen.”

  The notion of rest weakened his legs, and he crouched. His eyes fell on the wineskin Askjell held up to him. Selen raised his hand in a short but polite refusal. From the other side of the fire, Lissandro sighed. Keeping his eyes on the dead grass, Selen groped for his blanket on the side of his bag and wrapped it around him. His back ached as he lay down, his head on the horse-smelling leather of his bag. His gaze riveted on the dancing orange glow.

  The crackles of the sprigs were the only noise. Deafening and heavy like lead. He felt the judging stares on him and the disgusting, undeserved compassion. Please, don’t talk to me. Let me sleep. On ground level, he gave a quick look around. The black riding boots weren’t among the fur-lined winter shoes. His eyelids closed, burying him in his coffin of shame.

  Selen woke up and pushed his blanket from off his face. Around him, his companions prepared their horses and packed their things. Louis had somehow managed to find water and shaved while Kilda returned from behind bushes. Slowly, Selen rose and folded his blanket he then tucked in his bag. He felt dizzy, and his stomach grumbled painfully. Folc had been right, he should have tried to eat more. Lissandro walked towards him, holding his saddled horse by the bridle.

  “Thank you,” Selen whispered and grimaced, upset by all the little favors his companions still did for him. “I could have done it myself,” he groused.

  “I don’t want you to delay our departure,” Lissandro said and let go of the bridle.

  Selen fastened his bag to the saddle. “Lilo, do you remember the way through the woods?” he asked in a gentler tone to wipe away his previous, reproachful remark.

  “I was sick last time I crossed the forest, but I remember I headed south all the time. It’s a garden. We should fall on it. It’s not as if we searched for a symbol on a rock.” Lilo gave him a faint smile.

  Selen mounted and led his horse in the line behind Kilda. Lissandro took the head of the group and rode through the pines.

  The Forest ground was uneven. Every thick pack of withered, yellowish ferns and naked blueberry bushes could hide a hole that would break a mount’s leg. Several times, Selen had to duck his head to avoid a branch. They were forced to ride around large, dead trunks and frozen, dark ponds. Despite his several layers of clothes, Selen was frozen. The sun didn’t pierce through the canopy, and humidity lingered between the trees. The fact that he hadn’t bathed for days didn’t help either.

  “It’s here!” Lissandro shouted. “I see it!”

  Stone ruins covered with moss appeared through the vegetation. Selen gazed at sections of walls and half-broken windows. For a while, he expected the ghosts of long dead lords to peer down at him from behind the stiles. Columns, enlaced by ivy, soared here and there. In front of them, a large marble stair rose to a second floor. Judging by the diversity of shrubs and vines, the place must have been enchanting and colorful when Lissandro had discovered it. Now, in Poseidon’s cycle, all the flowers had died, and nothing green but the ivy remained to adorn the forsaken palace.

  They tethered their horses in front of the stairs and climbed to the upper floor. The garden stretched as far as his eyes could see. Most trees had lost their leaves which lay on the ground or on the many bushes. It was a patchwork of browns, crimsons, and yellows. The bronze and stone statues representing magical creatures stared into the void with their blank eyes. A sculptured bridge crossed the ebony waters of a pond. Forgotten in the heart of the forest, the haunted backyard shaped dreams in Selen’s mind. The thought that no one but beasts admired its vestiges filled him with utter sadness.

  As he wandered around, he saw Louis a few steps from him. His friend had his back turned to him and was lost in contemplation of a bush cascading down a wall. Louis’s hand trailed onto the small, dead branches. When Selen realized it was honeysuckle, his heart stifled. Submerged by the emotion, he was going to take Louis’s hand when Lissandro shouted further away.

  “Here! I found it!”

  His hand retracted. Selen saw Louis walk away towards their friend. Heavy-hearted, he followed him. Lissandro knelt by a pond with a white stone rim. In the middle of the pond, a crooked tree grew on a small island. Leaves floated on the surface of the pure water. Despite its beauty and the melancholy it oozed, Selen found it hard to understand how this pond could be magical. Neither on the bottom nor among the grass on the island could something be concealed from the eye.

  “What
is supposed to happen?” Askjell asked.

  “Last time I was here, the tree came to life and talked to me,” Lissandro said.

  “Do you have something to do? A ritual?” Louis asked.

  “I have to remember,” Lissandro said. He dipped a finger into the water. “Maybe if you leave me alone with it, it may work again.” As they walked away, Lissandro called to him. “Selen, I may need your help.”

  Selen came back to the pond and knelt next to Lissandro. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Put a finger in the pond.”

  Selen removed his gloves. He wondered what would happen if he did as he was told. Was Lissandro testing on him? He hesitated. Slowly, he approached his hand over the water. It wasn’t warm or unpleasant. With one finger, he skimmed the surface. As nothing happened, he plunged his hand into the water. “How long am I supposed to bathe my hand?”

  “Do you see or feel anything?”

  “It’s cold and wet, like water. What should have happened?” Selen took out his hand and dried it on his clothes.

  “It’s not working,” Lissandro sighed. “When I touched the water last time, I had visions. Now, the tree won’t even change form.”

  Magic might take time. Selen tried to reassure his friend. “Maybe, if we wait a bit…”