by Wilf Jones
‘Don’t you worry, it’s fine the way it is,’ said Angren, ‘But your dad was right. He sounds like he knew a thing or two. Look, you just sit here and tell me all about him – we can let Garaid here hand out the rest of these, give him something to do.’
Garaid was sitting at the edge of the group fidgeting and looking very unsettled.
‘Garaid!’
He looked up at Angren and at the three cups in Benito’s left hand and then nodded. Benito gave up his commission reluctantly and frowned when Garaid managed to spill some of the tea as he took the cups.
‘So Benito, your Dad. What job did he do?’
‘My dad was a carpenter, the best in the county. He let me help him sometimes. I did planing, what I was best at.’
‘A good trade carpentry,’ put in Bibron, ‘My brother went for a carpenter before he got taken on as a shipwright. Do you think you could take to it?’
‘Well… I’m not so good at some of the other jobs.’
‘Well neither were he before he learned. But if you like handling the wood it comes to you eventually.’
Benito smiled again. Perhaps it was an unusual thing for him to talk about what he might be able to do rather than what he could not. So it went. The companions, Sigrid and Bibron in particular, took up an interest in anything Benito wanted to talk about. Carla watched for a few minutes before making up her mind about whether she wanted to go over to them. The Signoren lifted the baby a little and Carla was quick to take him into her slight arms.
‘Yes Carla. I think you should take our little wonder to see them. Benito will look after you. I need to talk with the Lord Seama.’
She nodded gravely at this idea and without any more hesitation she went to sit with them, putting herself between her adopted brother and the kind lady who seemed so gentle. And although Carla could not speak to contribute anything of her own she seemed happy enough to listen to the conversation around her.
Now that the children were well distracted Seama and Terrance sat down with the Signoren, and a quick glance from the wizard was enough to bring Angren over to join them. It was time for talk. Bassalo’s story needed telling and they needed to listen however uncomfortable that story might prove to be. Anything they could find out about the Black Company would help them decide what to do next.
‘So Signoren,’ Seama said, as Angren settled himself, ‘as Angren is the only one of us who knows the area at all, I thought that maybe you could start by giving us a picture of what life is like here and in the Skirt, and an idea of the different settlements and so on.’
In truth Seama knew enough about the region but he thought it might be better to work their way into the Signoren’s story one step at a time. Bassalo seemed pleased to have some sort of structure to adhere to and so he began with a geography lesson that would have credited any classroom. Seama let him talk for a good while without any interruption. It was as the Signoren began to focus in on the village of Huaresh and his schoolhouse and the children he’d taught there that Seama looked over at the rest of the company. It was a quiet but happy scene: already Sigrid held Carla in her arms as together they cradled the baby. Sigrid found a lullaby from somewhere deep inside, and the little girl leaned her head back against Sigrid’s shoulder and closed her eyes.
‘Never knew she had such a lovely voice,’ said Angren thickly. ‘The little ‘un won’t like it when we have to go.’
‘She will not,’ Seama agreed, ‘but at least she has begun to recover because of this moment, whatever pain may come later. Signoren, you know I have the ability to speak to her more deeply than with words, and she’ll be able to reply. Do you want me to try? It may help bring her voice back.’
Bassalo had been watching Sigrid and the child. He shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know. I think it will come back when she is ready. There is a reason she cannot speak: if her tongue cannot form the words then she cannot say it, and if she cannot say it then she does not need to think it.’
Seama pursed his lips. ‘Yes I see, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing. There must come a point—’
‘Must there?’
‘Yes. It’s always better to confront the bad things in your life, because if you don’t those bad things begin to control you.’
Angren wouldn’t have that. ‘For Gods sakes, Seama, she’s a child. What she needs is time not confrontation. She’ll start to feel better when she’s got a long way away from here!’
Angren’s voice was louder and the tones harder than necessary. The lullaby faltered as all eyes turned towards him and the look in Benito’s eyes was fearful.
‘Please do not shout.’ Bassalo said this quietly but it was plain that he was annoyed. ‘What Carla needs in fact is her mother and her father and her baby sister, she needs her home and certainty, she needs the knowledge that she can go to sleep without fear and that she will wake up to a normal day.’
They all looked at him. The words were sharp in meaning if not in delivery.
‘You may wonder that I do not weep as I speak. I have lost the ability.’
It was all so desperate. Seama made up his mind to get down to it: there was no point in delaying anymore. He asked the Signoren to describe what had happened when the Black Company came to Huaresh and then both he and Terrance listened motionless as Bassalo revealed to them the full horror of that day. Not so the weapon-master – Angren couldn’t sit still, rocking slightly, clenching his fists as he struggled with the deadly rage that was building in him. Seama hoped the tale wouldn’t take too long.
Bassalo to give him due could see that drawing the story out wasn’t necessary. He didn’t dwell on the violence, and avoided offering any detail on what the Company had done to Carla and her parents. But perhaps like Carla he couldn’t bring himself to speak about things he would rather forget. He gave them the mechanics: the organization of the defence and his attempt to save his people, the formation of the attack and the numbers involved, the calling of the demon. He attempted to skate through the rape of the village.
‘There was murder and violation and mutilation all around. Everywhere. They left none untouched…’ Suddenly Bassalo was shaking and the shaking brought him fresh pain. Seama thought that weeping long and hard might have been better for the Signoren. Terrance laid a hand upon the teacher’s shoulder.
‘But you survived Oswaldo. You survived and you saved these children—’
‘I saved no one! I was fixed at the top of the bell-tower – struck through by one of the uprights. I could not move. I just had to watch as those monsters destroyed everyone and everything that I loved, and I could do nothing.’
‘But the baby?’
‘He saved me! You must understand: I was ready to die – I wanted to die. But then I saw him, down in the wreckage of the schoolhouse. He was nestled in his mother’s arms. She was hidden between a turned over trestle and the stage. I could see them only because I was so high up. For some time I couldn’t tell whether they were dead or alive, but then the baby moved and his mother’s arm fell away. Such a tiny chap, I could see that, but full of life. He was trying to get his lips back on the nipple, trying so hard, and then I realised he was going to cry. He was going to cry and those animals would hear him and find him. And it didn’t matter that he was an infant: they had murdered at least five babes in arms already, and worse. But that was when he saved me. You see I could not let them take him – I would not let them take him.
‘So I had to stay alive. And I had to cover his cries, and I had to make him sleep and do this until they had gone. You will understand what I did, Seama?’
‘You drew in your strength and gave it over to those two tasks, whatever it might cost you for the future. You have my deepest respect Signoren. I used the spell to conceal quite recently. For you to have made him sleep is nothing less than a marvel.’
‘The circumstance demanded I succeed. But yes it was hard and I was nearly dead, whatever my intent, by the time the Company moved on.’
‘I’m surprised they left,’ said Angren, ‘You said there was an inn?’
‘There was some complaint among the men but I think they had news of some resistance building. A group of our men had escaped into the forest; I know the plan was to meet up with others from some of the neighbouring villages.’ Bassalo paused to think. He took a great lungful of air despite the pain the movement cost him. The memory of it all seemed to be taking his breath away. ‘I’m not sure which would have been better,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘They might have carried on with their games and perhaps some of my people would have survived somehow, but before they left they were ordered to… to ‘tidy up.’ Yes that’s what they called it: tidying up.’
‘How did the children survive?’
‘The lad was in a cellar hiding. I don’t know for how long and I don’t know how much of the carnage he had to listen to, but I know that he lay there waiting for them to find him. It is hard for Benito to know what to do most of the time. The boys in the village would always mock him so for being slow. They’d most likely have called him a yellow-belly for staying put. Yes they would. But they would have been wrong. He may be slow but Benito knew what he had to do for once, and I am so glad he did.
‘He came out only when all the screams had long finished. It was the sound of the baby crying that called him – called both of them. I was so tired by then, passing out every few minutes. It gave me a shock to see the pair of them climbing through the schoolhouse. Gave them a shock too when I spoke out. Poor Bene! We made him cut me down. He knew it would be bad and bad it was. I think I got most of my injuries then, and Bene thought he’d done wrong. Again. He thinks that everything he does is wrong. He’s had to live with criticism all his life. Well not any more. We would have died without Benito. My Benito. He is… he is… oh such a good boy.’ The Signoren had to be quiet for a few minutes before he could continue. He may not have able to shed tears but a man can cry without them.
Edro brought over some fresh tea just then and Bassalo took the cup he was offered in the palm of his hand. Perhaps the heat of the cup was a more bearable sort of pain.
Terrance it seemed had decided the Signoren had pain enough.
‘Here, let me put some milk in that. Now, let’s get this tale done and then we can decide what to do next. Little Carla. She survived too and it seems to me that small though she is, she has played her part in keeping you all alive. You have become a good team.’
‘Well yes. Yes we are. Benito was in a terrible state after – he didn’t know what to do. The worst damage was the spar forced right through, just below my right shoulder. Carla was incredible. She could see it had to come out. Made the lad draw it a bit at a time while she staunched the bleeding. It was a bad moment. I passed out completely. When I came round I had to ask them to stitch my wounds. Benito fetched his mother’s sewing box but it was Carla who did the job. She had Benito pushing the flesh together while she stitched. Imagine that: a seven year old girl! Just like her mother… so strong.
‘I was lucky she hadn’t been killed. That captain of theirs had taken quite an interest in them, in what they did to her parents – what they made her watch, in what they did to her. No doubt the idea of leaving her alive in all the carnage amused him somehow. Maybe they just forgot her. We may never know. If ever we meet again I’ll ask him.’
‘Ask him?’ Angren was reaching boiling point. ‘If I ever catch up with the bastard, I’ll do more than ask him questions. Look, did you find out who they were, did you hear any names?’
Bassalo seemed surprised or perhaps confused by Angren’s reaction. ‘What does it matter? They did what they did and now they have gone.’
‘It matters,’ Angren growled, ‘because when I find them, the scum are going to suffer for what they did. I’m going to make them pay.’
Terrance shook his head. ‘It matters,’ he said more reasonably, ‘because they’ll do this again, and again, until they are stopped. Any information you can give us may help us find them. We’ll put an end to it.’
Bassalo was still studying Angren. ‘So you are intent upon avenging Huaresh?’
Seama was irritated by the question. ‘It is not, Signoren, a matter of vengeance.’
‘It bloody is with me!’ Angren insisted, ‘I’m not going to let that lot get away with it. You were saying, Signoren: names?’
Bassalo frowned. Seama gave up.
‘There were so many of them, all calling out to each other. So much movement. I can’t remember. The only one was the captain. He sat upon his horse the whole time, watching everything. They’d call to him to draw his attention to whatever they were doing. It was almost a competition between them and he was the judge. I remember his name. Trant it was, Morgan Trant.’
It was at this point that Angren finally exploded into a rage that scared the children half to death before Bibron and Terrance and Edro managed to frogmarch him, swearing and frothing in sheer fury, out of the camp and into the trees.
NEW PATHS, ANCIENT LANDSCAPES
South Valdesian Plain 3057.8.1
‘Morgan Trant crippled my brother. I swore if I ever found him I’d kill him.’
‘So you said.’
‘Crippled him! Sliced right through the back of his legs not once but three times. And just because he stood up to him. Told him what a traitor he was, and a murderer and a thief. Then Trant had his men chop-up Dag’s school-mates, and he made Dag watch. For god’s sakes, those kids were twelve years old! Killed because they wouldn’t stand back, wouldn’t let Trant and his gang just walk in and take what they wanted. Killed because that bastard is pure evil! If I ever find him, and I will, I’m going to kill him. Nice and slow.’
Seama sighed. Angren had been ranting in much the same vein ever since they had left Bassalo and the children and he didn’t seem inclined to stop. Now it was hours later and they were supposed to be settling for the night but still the red rage ran hot in him. No more boredom, no more thinking it was just a job. Now it was personal. Seama wondered if that might not be a good thing. The blind fury would soon abate no doubt, overnight maybe, but it would leave Angren implacable, determined and deadly. And such an Angren could be a very powerful weapon indeed.
‘Do you want me to help you get some sleep, Angren?’
‘What? Sleep? Oh I see. You mean you want to go to sleep and I should just shut up. That’s nice.’ He got to his feet. ‘Well I’m off for a walk so you lot can do what you like.’ And off he stumped.
Sleep would be welcome, Seama thought. It had been a traumatic day and he wanted to bring an end to it. The leaving of Bassalo and the children had been awful. Little Carla had clung on to Sigrid and wailed. It was the first noise she had made in three weeks but there was no comfort in that. Sigrid had sat with her and talked to her and hugged her. Seama stood by and listened as Sig explained that she had a job to do now: to stop those bad men, to make the world a safe place for children. But she promised that when the job was done she’d find Carla again and things would be better. And she explained that Carla had her job to do too: she must look after Benito and their miracle baby and the Signoren because she could do that better than anyone.
It was this last that stopped the wailing and caused the child to straighten her face, and dry her eyes and set herself to the task. There were tears pouring down Sigrid’s cheeks but, mind made up, little Carla wriggled free of Sigrid’s arms and in a very determined fashion she stepped up to face Seama.
Seama didn’t need words for him to understand what she wanted. She pulled him by the sleeve and made him walk over to where Bassalo sat by the cart. She laid his hand on the Signoren’s back and with only the fierce look in her dark eyes she demanded his help. She wanted him to cure the Sig
noren.
Seama shook his head. If only he could. There was something in Seama that pushed in one way and not in another. Tregar could have helped Bassalo. He could have eased the pain certainly. He could have made the mending faster. But not Seama. It was true that he’d surprised himself by mending his own arm when it was burned, without even having to think about it, but he knew this wasn’t the same. He’d often tried and always failed to use his power to heal. Most recently the best he had managed with Edro’s gashed arm was to bind it and staunch the bleeding, and to speak a protection to stop infection. The raw power he had poured into his own wounds didn’t seem to flow into others, or rather he seemed incapable of directing that power. It was a skill he’d failed to master, a talent denied him but one he envied.
But Carla didn’t understand that. She could not and would not. Even though he tried to find the right words, words to explain, words that said he was not being selfish, her gaze remained insistent. Seama was a wizard, a real wizard. Well wasn’t he? Signoren Bassalo was not, but even he could heal people. The Signoren would always help anyone in need. Seama didn’t need to hear the words spoken.
Bassalo came to his rescue.
‘Lord Seama, I see your problem here: we can only do what we can do, but it’s hard for Carla to understand these things. She doesn’t want to understand. She wants that we will all be well and safe. I keep telling them we are blessed, have been blessed. I try to tell them we could have died, and yet here we are alive, and better than that because we have our miracle too.’ Bassalo paused here to reach out and touch the infant, lying in a bundle of soft blankets by his side. ‘Yes, our miracle.’ He looked sharply at the wizard. ‘You will wonder at me talking of miracles, Seama. You may think it just a word to match the emotion. But no. I tell you it is nothing but the truth.