by C. Greenwood
I tried again, calling to a stern-faced young woman on her porch, “Hello. I’m traveling to Selbius. Perhaps you can tell me if I’m going the right way?”
She frowned and disappeared into her house.
I turned around, looking for someone else to speak with. The children were still standing about, staring at me with open curiosity. Had they never seen a stranger before? As soon as I walked toward them, they scattered like frightened geese, disappearing into or behind their homes.
This was too much. Why were these people so unfriendly?
In frustration, I spun in a circle and raised my voice to shout at the village in general. “What is wrong with you folk? My little brother is in danger, and I can’t get to him because no one will point me toward the road! Is everyone here as mad as the wild man?”
I didn’t really expect any answer. I was startled when a voice spoke up from behind me.
“If a wild man is after you, that’s Mad Mael. At least so we call him. Nobody knows his real name.”
I turned toward the speaker, a youth little older than me, with short dark hair, serious eyes, and an open, honest-looking face. His broad cheeks and chin were darkened with uneven patches of hair, as if he was trying without much success to grow a beard. I decided he couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen, despite his burly build.
As this was the first person who showed any inclination to speak with me, I must be careful not to scare him off.
“You know of the vicious lunatic?” I asked, keeping to the subject of the wild man.
“Everyone in these parts knows of him,” came the answer. “He keeps to the woods alone and survives by robbing travelers. He seems to enjoy murdering them while he’s at it. Some of his victims have been found partially eaten, or so it’s said. Whether the gnawing was done by Mad Mael or wild animals is anyone’s guess. But folk like to say it’s Mad Mael. At any rate, it looks like he’s already had a bite out of you.”
He indicated my neck, where I realized the teeth marks must still be evident.
I touched the sore spot. “Yes, he attacked me a few days ago. Now I’m trying to get to the city without encountering him again. Only I’m not exactly sure of the way.”
“You’re making right for it,” said the stranger. He pointed beyond the village. “Keep on in that direction, and you’ll soon come to a narrow lane that’ll take you clear to the capital city.”
I thanked him for the information and would have been on my way. But he didn’t seem in a hurry for me to leave.
“The sun’s going down,” he observed. “It’ll be dark soon, a dangerous time to be wandering the woods with Mad Mael on the loose. You’d be best off passing the night here in Shadow Haven and setting out in the morning. I can offer you a roof to sleep under. It’s not much, but it beats lying on the ground.”
“I can pay you nothing,” I said honestly.
He shrugged. “That’s all right. I’ve got nothing worth paying for.”
I was surprised at my luck. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had helped me purely out of kindness.
“My name’s Rideon,” I said, sticking out a hand.
“I’m Brig,” he replied, taking it.
Even as I followed this Brig across the green, I wondered if I should be suspicious of his motives. Might I wake up tomorrow to find myself robbed? Then again, what did I have that was valuable enough for taking?
While I debated the question, Brig led me to the smallest and shabbiest house in the village. Little more than a rickety shed, it seemed to combine home and barn under one roof, with a goat wandering out the open doorway just as we were going in.
The interior was cramped and dim but for a low-burning fire in one corner that cast lazy shadows leaping across the walls. There was also a flickering lantern standing on a plank of wood resting atop a barrel. This makeshift table and the stools around it were among the few furnishings in the room.
Aside from open doors in the front and back, the house had only one other source of fresh air, a small window. When I peered out it in passing, I found myself face-to-face with a brown cow, placidly chewing her cud and pushing her nose into the house. It appeared Brig’s family liked to keep the livestock close. There were also numerous chickens underfoot, scratching about the dirt floor.
I wondered how Brig’s mother felt about all this. Then I realized that might not be an issue. There didn’t appear to be any woman of the house, only Brig and an old man sleeping in a chair in front of the fire.
Brig raised his voice. “Grandda, we’ve company tonight. How’s the stew coming along?”
The old man started awake and looked at us uncomprehendingly. With his skinny frame, snowy beard, and mass of wrinkles, he might have been a hundred years old.
“What you sayin’ now, boy?” he demanded, putting a hand to his ear.
“Stew,” Brig repeated loudly, gesturing to a kettle over the fire. “You’re supposed to be watching the stew.”
His grandfather glared. “New? Of course he’s new! Who is he?” He pointed a bony finger at me.
“This is Rideon,” Brig patiently introduced me to the deaf old man. “He’s eating with us and sleeping here.”
Brig’s grandfather swept me with a contemptuous gaze. Then he looked away. “Beasts! Thieves and murderers!” he barked, poking at the fire with an iron.
I wasn’t sure if he was accusing me or just making a general statement.
“The woods villages are tight communities,” Brig explained to me quietly. “Strangers and outsiders are looked on with suspicion.”
“Does that mean he wants me out?” I asked nervously.
Brig shook his head. “Don’t worry about Grandda. He’ll soon forget you’re here.”
The old man seemed to have lost interest in me already, as he put away the iron and leaned forward to stir the kettle over the fire.
The contents began bubbling, filling the house with a smell that made my stomach growl. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten a full meal.
Still, as Brig divided the stew into wooden bowls and gave us each a chunk of hard bread, I was careful not to be greedy or eat more than my share. It was clear there wasn’t much to go around. Watching Brig serve the old man, it was equally clear he was the one looking after his grandda and not the other way around.
Eyeing my host over the table between us, I wondered aloud what prompted his hospitality to me, a stranger.
“I heard what you shouted on the green about needing to get to your little brother,” Brig answered. “It seemed to me anyone so anxious to rescue their kin was deserving of what little help I could give. What sort of danger is the boy in anyway?”
“I’m not sure exactly,” I said vaguely. “When last I saw him, he and a friend were fleeing a pair of dangerous men who had been giving us trouble. He got away then, but I must make sure our enemies haven’t hunted him down again.”
To my relief, Brig didn’t pry. Maybe he knew a little about secrets and the need to keep certain things to one’s self.
By the time we had finished the meal, it was completely dark out. The old grandfather had climbed into a crudely built bed that was like a shelf along one wall. His loud snores came from among the filthy blankets.
Brig showed me where I could sleep, indicating a ladder nailed to the wall and leading up to a loft that was more of a small ledge tucked beneath the low ceiling. He gave me an old blanket, saying it was the best he had to offer. I considered myself lucky to get it.
I climbed the ladder and made up my sleeping pallet in the cramped, dusty area among the rafters. As I lay down, I looked at a chicken roosting on a beam directly across from me. Once I would have been shocked at sleeping in such humble conditions. I was, after all, the son of a congrave. But those days were long gone. Now I knew I was fortunate just to be warm and dry and to be lying down with a full belly for the first time in many days.
The last thing I did before closing my eyes was to make sure my bow
was close at hand. I seemed to be in a safe place for the moment. But I was relying on the magic bow to warn me if that situation should suddenly change. I could no longer relax without it.
* * *
It was night when I was awakened by my father’s servant, Cadvan. He seemed agitated, even fearful. He already carried a small, sleepy Ferran in his arms.
Cadvan told me I must ready myself quickly to go to my father. “The congrave has sent for his sons,” he informed me. “We must get to him before it is too late. Already they have broken through the castle walls.”
“They who?” I asked, frightened by the panic in the old servant’s eyes.
He didn’t answer, hustling me out of my room and down the corridor. Despite the late hour, the hall was blazing with the light of a thousand silver candlesticks reflected in the ornate mirrors lining the walls. Our footsteps were muffled as we ran across the thick carpet. In the distance, I heard the roar of voices outside, the sounds of a clash.
Over the gallery we ran alongside, I could see the grand staircase sweeping down to the lower floor. There several dozen of the household guards blocked access to the upper floor, forming an armed barrier at the foot of the stairs. But a barrier against what? The tall front doors letting into the great room were closed, but crashing sounds came from beyond, as if someone outside were trying to hammer their way into the castle.
Cadvan didn’t take us downstairs but across the hall to an outer room that led into my father’s bedchamber. We found Father pacing the floor there, waiting for us. His face was taught with worry.
“Father!” Ferran cried and, after wriggling out of Cadvan’s arms, ran to him.
Conscious that I wasn’t a little boy like my brother, I tried not to show my fear as I asked, “What’s happening?”
My father’s expression was grave. “I fear I have been a fool to offend the praetor, son,” he said. “I must try to make peace before it is too late. Otherwise, we might all pay the price.”
“What price?” I asked, confused. I knew little of politics or of my father’s feud with the governor of the province.
Father didn’t answer, turning instead to his servant. “Cadvan, you must get the boys out of here. There is a hidden stairwell behind the—”
But before he could finish, there came a loud crashing noise from outside.
My father muttered something despairing under his breath. Then, “It is too late,” he said.
We all rushed from the room to look over the balcony into the great room below. The scene that met our eyes was a terrifying one. Soldiers dressed in the colors of the praetor of Camdon flooded through the splintered front doors.
Like a dark wave, they spilled across the polished floor, brandishing weapons. Their swords and armor were already spattered crimson. With the blood of my father’s soldiers? Perhaps they had attempted to keep the intruders out? If so, they had lost the fight and likely their lives with it.
Now the enemy poured across the elegant great room. They would have flooded directly up the winding stairway toward us if not for the remaining household guards barring their way.
The outnumbered guards fought bravely but fell all too quickly, the stairs soon red with their blood.
Cadvan tried to get my father’s attention. “Master, you must flee.”
My father wouldn’t step away from the balcony, from the sight of his loyal guards being slaughtered.
“There is no fleeing now,” he said. “I have brought this upon us, and I must go down to them. Perhaps if I speak to them, they will spare my sons.”
And before any of us could stop him, he strode away. As the blood of the last dying guardsman pooled across the marble stairs, my father calmly descended to our waiting enemies.
CHAPTER FIVE
I woke with a start and bolted upright, covered in sweat. The sudden movement nearly sent me plunging over the edge of the narrow loft into the dark room below. It took me a moment to remember where I was. The fire in the lower room had burned down, leaving nothing but a glow of amber coals to light my surroundings. The fat chicken roosting on the rafter across from me was a pale shapeless form in the shadows. My bow was still beside me and cold to the touch when I gripped it for reassurance.
I lay back down, and my racing heart slowed. It had been a long while since I dreamed of the time my family was taken from our home. On that long-ago night, I had gone to bed the heir of a congrave and woken to be arrested as the son of a political criminal. For his feud with the praetor of Camdon, my father had ultimately lost his life and Ferran and I had been imprisoned. In the end, both my brother and I had been forced to flee Camdon for the safety of Ellesus, a new province where we had no quarrel with the local praetor. And now here we were, separated and not much better off than we were before.
What had sparked such a vivid nightmare tonight? For the most part, my memories of the past had grown dim of late. But every once in a while, fragments of those events surfaced in my dreams. I fingered the magic amulet on its cord around my neck. In the darkness, I could just make out the faint purple glow emanating from the polished stone. I imagined I felt its energy radiating through my fingertips. Was it the magic of the amulet that played with my memories? Or could it be my enchanted bow after all? Or both?
I rolled over and tried to quiet my mind, but it was a long time before I slept again.
* * *
In the morning, Brig gave me a breakfast of mushy boiled oats. Then it was time to be on my way. I tried to say a respectful goodbye to Brig’s grandda, but the old man waved me away impatiently, muttering about strangers and trespassers.
Outside, Brig stopped me as I was about to leave, offering me a knife.
“It’s only a rusty old potato peeler,” he admitted. “But it may give you some protection if you run into Mad Mael again out there.” He nodded toward the surrounding trees. “You might also need it when you reach your brother. There’s no telling what lies ahead in the city.”
I took the small knife with its flimsy three-inch blade and tucked it into my belt. It wouldn’t be a very effective weapon, but having it made me feel a little less helpless. I also made up my mind.
“I will return and repay your generosity when I have enough money.”
He didn’t try to talk me out of it, but I could see by his face he doubted my promise.
Now I had to ask for a final favor. Did he or his grandda have an old hat of some kind they might no longer want? Preferably something with a broad brim?
He looked confused by that, probably thinking there was little need for shading my face beneath the deep shadows of the forest. But he went into the house and came back shortly with a battered old hat. I didn’t care that there was a hole in the top because, when I put it on, the crooked brim came down low, casting a shadow over the upper half of my face. This would serve my purpose very well.
To my surprise, Brig also supplied me with a few hard biscuits to get me through the journey. I stuffed these into my pockets for later. Then I thanked Brig and left him there. I crossed the green and abandoned the sleepy little woods village. I had meant what I’d promised Brig. I had every intention of returning and repaying him for the food, shelter, and hat, provided I survived long enough to do so. My host had been right about one thing. There was no telling what lay ahead.
As soon as I was away from the village, I paused beneath the trees and turned my purple cloak inside out, revealing the dull gray lining. Not only would it make me less visible in the forest, if Mad Mael was still looking for me, I was also thinking ahead to my eventual arrival in Selbius. It would be best if I didn’t arrive in that town looking like the same youth who had left it. Not only did I want to avoid the attention of the thieves’ guild, who were no friends of mine, but if the man with the scarred chin or others like him were still looking for me, a disguise would serve me well. Finally, remembering how one or two strangers back in the woods village had stared at my amulet, I tucked the charm inside the neck of my tunic. The last th
ing I wanted where I was going was to draw attention.
Thus prepared, I started out, keeping to a brisk pace but staying aware of my surroundings. If there were any more wild men out here, I wouldn’t be caught unprepared.
* * *
It appeared I had seen the last of Mad Mael. After briefly traveling in the direction Brig had pointed me, I came upon a little-used forest lane and, following it, finally reached the edge of the wood.
Considering my experiences there, I might have been relieved at leaving Dimmingwood. Instead, I felt a slight tug of unease as I left the cool shadows of the trees behind. I had been hidden there, protected from the outside. Now I returned to a world where I had deadly enemies and the responsibility of keeping myself and my brother alive.
The road grew wider and more heavily traveled as I walked toward Selbius. I began to pass occasional travelers on foot, and one or two wagons rolled past me, laden with goods I assumed would be sold in town. Although the sun beat down, seeming oppressive after the deep shadows of the wood, my strength held up. My leg didn’t feel the strain of the long walk. It was very nearly healed now. Last night’s rest had done it good. Before long, I was able to throw away my walking stick.
I journeyed for two days, the road traffic increasing all the way. At last I spotted what looked like a glittering mirror in the distance, Selbius’s lake reflecting the brilliant sun off its surface. In the center of the lake was the island upon which the capital city was built, accessible by a long bridge that spanned from one shore to another.
I attached myself to the long line of people, carts, and animals making their slow progress over the bridge. It was crowded here. There was no shelter from the sun. I found myself with a new reason to be grateful for the broad-brimmed hat that at least protected my eyes from the glare off the water. Relief came in the form of cool breezes, tinged with the scent of lakeweed, blowing in off the lake.
The line shuffled along until we reached the entrance gate to the walled city. A few guards were there, questioning visitors about their business in the city. As usual, they didn’t trouble me. Evidently, they didn’t expect much mischief from a skinny, quiet youth in a farmer’s hat and travel-stained clothing.