Pembroke sat back. “You don’t need me to have my signature.”
“The lords are more literate than our guards. You will write a whole letter. Make it persuasive. All kinds of people tend to disappear these days.”
Pembroke looked down. “I have no choice,” he scoffed. “For the difference it will make.”
Snapping his fingers, Mauger took a step to leave, his dogs on his heels.
“Why?”
Mauger turned around. He hesitated, but Pembroke’s fate was sealed. “Have you seen in which decadence they live? We got rid of the nobles’ supremacy, but now the merchants and the guild masters grow stronger each day, puffed up with arrogance.” He felt his heart hasten as he spoke and controlled himself again.
Pembroke’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand. How is your vision different from the king’s? All we did these last years was in the name of justice and equity. The king fights decadence with all his strength.”
Mauger snorted. “The king wants the tyranny of the plebs. How is a drunk baker having his way in the back of a tavern with harlots less decadent than a lord in his palace?”
While scratching his salt-and-pepper beard, Pembroke pinched his brow. “I don’t follow.”
Mauger felt a twinge of disappointment. “It is time we skim this society so that arts, science, and knowledge flourish again. We will wipe out the unworthy, the fools, and the sanctimonious. We won’t stop at Nysa Serin. The whole Trevalden will know a revival through its purer roots.”
“But this disease annihilates all and everyone.”
“It’s to better start again,” Mauger said, raising an eyebrow. “A blank page with only the chosen few.”
“But why save the rich?”
To his surprise, Pembroke seemed even more puzzled. Mauger had considered the treasurer to be smarter than that. “Isn’t that obvious? The rich have no interest in the city. Should it disappear in flames, they would still rebuild on it and spread like cockroaches on the lookout for a profitable bargain. However, should they be forced to stay home, they would do all to maintain order to preserve themselves and their goods. It was about time they moved. Saving them…” Mauger shook his head.
“You’re a madman,” Pembroke grunted. “The people will resist. Every disease dies out somehow.”
“That, we will see.” Mauger left the man alone with his thoughts. There were indeed other ways to get rid of the leftovers once the time came.
Now it was time he inquired about his guests’ well-being. Mauger left the tower, crossed the inner yard, and returned to the main gallery. Pacing nervously, Kaeden waited in front of the great hall’s door. From under his ample green surcoat, the Chamberlain took out a folded paper.
“News from the city watch,” Kaeden said, holding the paper.
Mauger took the note and opened it. Another letter from Urian beseeching him to dispatch the guards of the palace.
“The situation down there is getting out of hand,” Kaeden said. “Shouldn’t we…”
“Trust me. All you’ve heard until now from the city are rumors dressed up with each yard they rise uphill,” Mauger responded, placid. “Are our guests satisfied with their accommodations?”
“A bit cramped, yet I would hope so. But—” Kaeden blinked askance like a chicken alone outside by nightfall “—what if they bring the disease?”
“I think we would know soon enough. I trust our guests to take drastic measures without our help.” Mauger stared at the Chamberlain. “But don’t you already communicate with them through your servants?”
Kaeden winced. “I have much to do in my chambers. To run this place…”
“…is probably far less complicated now the king is gone.”
“There are still the cooks, the laundresses, the maids…” Mauger cleared his throat with impatience. Kaeden flinched. “And I fear they eat all our resources,” he murmured.
“Let them eat.” Mauger stepped towards the door and grabbed the handle. “You know what? Serve them the whole kitchen’s pantries.” He pushed the door open and walked out, leaving Kaeden to his turmoil.
The great hall was generously lit with chandeliers. The abusive amount of juniper wood in the hearths made the air suffocating. The perfumed braziers aligned from the west door to the east front doors were superfluous, but one could never be too careful. Mauger stretched his arm and delicately dropped the letter above the burning coal. In front of him, Breness came to greet him.
“Lord Mauger. We had hoped for the protection of the Crown, but we never expected such hospitality,” Breness said, motioning to the scene behind him.
Kaeden hadn’t been tight-fisted with the entertainment. All the servants had been requisitioned for their guests’ pleasures. Minstrels played while damsels danced. Some lads had been dressed as fools, and Mauger even suspected disguised harlotry. As usual, a banquet had been dressed. Several barrels must have been pierced to furnish so much wine. The austere benches had been replaced by couches and silk cushions. The room had been exceptionally decorated with lavish tapestries. Yet, besides the view, something else greatly upset Mauger.
“What is that smell?” Mauger asked. The acrid perfume managed to be stronger than the juniper wood.
“Piss,” Breness answered.
Mauger turned to face him. “Excuse me?”
“Some of us have been convinced that to wash in urine would serve as a repellant.”
Only a quick glance told Mauger what Breness's opinion about it was.
“Any news from the city?” Breness carried on.
“All I can say is that you are in the most secured place.” Mauger let the spectacle displayed in front of his eyes fill him. For now.
32
The higher they climbed, the deeper their feet sank into the snow. Despite his high leather boots and his two layers of pants, Selen felt the wetness rub against his knees with every step. Considering how much sweat he had perspired all over his torso, it didn’t make a big difference. The moisture creeping up his legs was less unpleasant than the moisture stuck in the fur around his face. Each of his breaths condensed and fastened into the fox’s hair. His coat, though tied at the waist, dragged on the snow. Resting on his staff, Selen pivoted, snuffled, and looked at the landscape around him.
Earthfell had disappeared into the valley. The slope where they stood was still covered with forests of firs crisscrossed by half-hidden brooks. Yet, the landscape was clear for miles, and one could see the flat lands in the west and the range of mountains stretching from north to south. Villages stood in the lower parts of the hillsides. Once in a while, Selen heard a bell or the mooing of a cow from an open barn. However, there was no sign of life in the outdoors. The bright sun reflected on the immaculate snow of the high pastures. Selen wondered how the place looked during summer. He doubted it was as cold and inhospitable as the Frozen Mountains. Those prairies must be covered with flowers, glittering streams, and white patches of frolicking goats.
Selen sighed and pulled on his staff, forcing his sore legs to move again. They had walked the whole morning without a break. According to the map, there should be a village a bit further ahead, and it was important to reach it at noon. Shepherds had a few shacks on the highest prairies. Maybe their group would find information on a place to stay for the night.
“Ahanu,” Lissandro called out with a voice short of breath. “You said you heard the legend many times. I was wondering… If there is a legend, then there must be dangers. Something that would scare the curious. What kind of dangers lurk here?”
“Besides the snow and the precipices?” Ahanu asked. “Oh, there are many kinds. It differs from one legend to the other, but if I sum up all I can think about, it’s mostly horses. Some talk of a headless horse, other of a horse with three legs, in all cases this dangerous mount will drown in a stream anyone tempted to ride it, especially the young maidens.”
“Good we are short of young maidens,” Lissandro exclaimed. “So, I hope you all heard tha
t. If you see a horse, it’s a trap.”
“Only horses? It sounds pretty safe,” Folc said.
“I said mostly,” Ahanu said.
“Then, there are the dahu, the voirloup, the wyvern… You name it,” Louis mumbled.
“Exactly,” Ahanu responded.
“I see a village,” Eliot said, pointing at rooftops dominated by a temple tower.
“That was about time,” Kilda said. “I need a break. My feet are sore, and my pants are wet.”
Lissandro whistled. The dog capered back to him in the snow with his tongue dropping out as if he was smiling. Their group changed direction and made towards the first houses.
The village’s houses were made of dark, rough wood and crooked under the weight of time. The base of the planks that met the stone foundations was weather-washed and had turned grey, even green for the most dilapidated. Some roofs were broad, streaked with large stones, and seemed to bury the house into the earth like a giant lid. If the place had the potential to be charming in summer once covered with flowers, the bare porches and windowsill conveyed a dull sight. Some walls were decorated with wagon wheels over heaps of logs, and wrought-iron lanterns grated in the wind.
Selen noticed that not a single column of smoke rose from the chimneys. Maybe the villagers spared the firewood for the night. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t see any villagers either. The dog halted. Selen heard him growl low.
“What is wrong with the dog?” Ahanu asked.
“I don’t know,” Lissandro said. “I don’t see nor feel a threat.”
“It’s too quiet,” Louis said.
“That it is,” Folc said.
They kept on walking and reached the outskirt of the village. No one stepped out to meet them. No lights burned in the lanterns. Selen sniffed, but the air didn’t smell of burned wood or cooking. Silence reigned. They progressed slowly along a street. The shutters were closed for the most. The other windows were pitch-black holes. Though the village was old, the place was in too good shape to be abandoned.
“Maybe they attend a religious ceremony,” Louis said. “Maybe we will find them at the temple.”
The temple stood a few houses further, circled by a small fence. Its oaken doors were shut. The dog growled again. Selen looked at his companions. Everyone gazed around, searching for a sign of life. Prepared for a trap, their moves were sharp and jittery. Kilda had her hand on her sword’s hilt. The bright sun and blue sky helped Selen to keep calm. He wasn’t sure he would have felt the same way should it be twilight. This was a ghost village at best. Lissandro stepped forward and pulled at the temple’s door handle. It resisted.
“It’s locked,” Lissandro said.
“Could they have left?” Louis asked.
“Over here!” Folc shouted from behind the temple.
Selen and his companions hastened towards their friend. Folc took a step back and raised his staff to block the way.
“Don’t move closer,” Folc said.
Behind the church stretched the cemetery. Some tombstones were old and had lost their marks. Others were made of wood and had no marks at all. Many were fresh. Selen started to count then realized it was useless. A few holes were larger than usual. One covered several feet. Here and there, where place could still be found, small knolls of earth waited, prepared to welcome the next victims.
“Here are the villagers,” Lissandro whispered. “Well, most of them, at least.”
“Was that the plague?” Folc asked.
“Maybe. The place is so remote it could be anything else. There may be a few survivors,” Louis said. “We should check around.”
Louis, Lissandro, and Selen went their way up the street. From behind the walls of a long house, Selen heard a moan. Intrigued, he made a sign to his friend to follow him. The place looked condemned, and windows were sparse. He tried the knob of a low door on the side. It turned. The door squeaked open onto the inside. It was dark, and it stank of shit and putrefaction. Selen gagged and put his hand on his nose and mouth. His boots tramped on hay and mud. The moaning repeated itself. Selen squinted. Bright light came from the end of the room when Lissandro pushed a large door open. Selen’s glance swept around the barn. They were in the middle of a cowshed. The smell emanated from the deceased animals lying in their pens. The moans rose from the ones still moving, though, starved and weak, none stood up anymore. The heartbreaking sight devastated him.
“No, no…” Selen muttered, his voice breaking.
“Someone has to put an end to their suffering,” Louis said with grief.
Selen couldn’t stand either the sight or their screams of distress. Shocked, he turned around and left the place in a hurry through a door on the side.
It led to the habitation. Outside light came through the two windows on both sides of the main door. The wood furniture and walls rendered the room dark and oppressive. The cushions on the benches, the needlework, and the tablecloth were the only patches of colors. The stove, mucked up with grease, still had pans on it. The doors of the heavy cupboard stood ajar. Clothes lay scattered on the floor, as well as a bowl made of wood, a metal pitcher, and a basket eaten by rats.
In the middle of the room, crudely constructed stairs led to a second floor. Selen put a foot on the first step and leaned forth. It was still solid. He climbed the stairs. If someone was up there, the noises his weight made on the planks would be enough to wake up a corpse.
On the first floor was the family bedroom. The presence of a smaller bed next to the main one led him to assume that the family had been large. The only window was clogged with dust and cobwebs. The chests spilling their insides denoted that the inhabitants had packed with haste. Selen looked at the clutter around him. Most of the clothes left were rags. Something caught his attention. He pushed the garments to the side and picked up a small doll. It was made of woven hay and had a brown and white dress. Selen sat on the bed and observed the little face. It was creased, a mark of affection for what could have been a child’s only toy. One of the eyes was missing. Could the child lie in one of the graves in the cemetery? Deep inside, he knew the answer. Tears welled up in Selen’s eyes and dribbled down his cheeks in silence.
He heard footsteps come up the stairs and towards him. Louis sat next to him on the bed and put his arm around his shoulders.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. We don’t know what happened,” Louis whispered against the side of his head. Louis took his hand in his and picked up the doll. “You shouldn’t think too much. It’s hurting you.” He put the doll away.
“I feel empty,” Selen whispered.
The embrace around his shoulders tightened. “You feel tired.”
“We haven’t even reached the lair of our enemies. Yet, each step in this land confronts us to horrors and death. The war is over. So why?”
“It reminds us that life is only a dream.”
Is it how you still see it? Selen had seen in Earthfell how Louis was crushed by the guilt of the plague striking his country, but he thought the comfort brought by his presence had softened Louis’s torment. How could he build a future with someone who had so little grip on reality? So little interest in life? No. The stake wasn’t in a lack of interest, but in a lack of power. Louis was powerless and forced to witness the ruin of his world, to witness the crimes committed against his land. Moreover, nothing in Trevalden, from Embermire to Earthfell, had reflected a glimpse of his work, of his vision of social virtues. The countryside was a failure, a complete loss of energy. And the capital was in ruin. Selen couldn’t endure the thought that it might have been his love’s first reason to put an end to his life. This would only mean that, whatever his own actions, he was incapable of fulfilling his friend’s dreams.
“Louis?” Selen whispered. “When you had that dagger against your heart in the village, did you think I would get over it and carry on living?”
“I suppose a part of me thought you didn’t want me anymore…and that it wouldn’t matter if I were gone.�
� Louis paused. “I felt empty. If it’s how you feel now…”
“No.” Selen turned his face and stared into the sapphire eyes of his friend. “In my world, I heard that some kings used to have the ones they loved the most in their life be buried with them. It could go from their pets, their horses, or their wives. I always thought it grim because most of the time they were killed and did not have a choice. If you die, I want my body to be your shroud. And I won’t let anyone stop me. I don’t want to survive you, Louis. I want you to think about it every time you consider suicide,” Selen said, laying a finger against Louis’s forehead. “Don’t leave me alone in this world.”
The tips of Louis’s fingers grazed his cheek. Their foreheads touched. Selen closed his eyes. The breath from Louis’s open mouth warmed his frostbitten lips. A lock of Louis’s hair caressed his face. Louis carried his hand through his open coat and onto his chest. Surrounded by death, in this murky room, they sat silent, cupping each other’s bleeding heart like a fragile, frozen rose. Feeling the silver dripping down to his chin, Selen let go of any hope to see the sun again.
Louis rose first, his hand still holding Selen’s. Selen got up and followed him down the steps. Standing in the doorway of the open main door, Lissandro sang, as a whisper to himself.
“Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, ashes, ashes…we all fall down.” As he walked away, his friend’s hand opened and let go of the dried flowers he was holding.
They found their companions in the street. Their faces were low. The dog sat on the side as they gathered in a circle.
“It is chaos inside most of the houses. Those people abandoned all behind,” Ahanu said.
“There were no bodies,” Kilda said. “I saw blood. Maybe animals took the corpses.”
“If it were the case, then there wouldn’t be animals left alive. We found sheep… We fed and freed the ones that could be freed. For the good it may do them.” Folc kicked his staff.
Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter Page 34