Light in the Darkness

by CJ Brightley

  “I am,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Unless you specially want to?”

  “No, no. You go.” She smiled uncertainly, then brightly, with a hint of mischief.

  “What?”

  “Just anticipating what I’m going to see.”

  They finished up the meal in silence, casting occasional glances at each other. Finally, it was obvious that neither of them was going to eat anything else. He visited the separate lavatory first, then waited for her in the bathroom while she did the same. She had set the bath running. He watched the level and turned it off when it reached three-quarters, just as her footsteps padded in behind him.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, and took a few breaths. “Read me the instructions again.”

  She fetched the book and did so.

  “Right,” he said, and faced her. Swallowing his nervousness, he pulled his nightshirt quickly over his head and dropped it to the ground.

  She looked him up and down, bright-eyed, in a way that he thought was more interested and appreciative than critical, then met his eyes and gave him a slow smile. He stepped into the bath, wincing as his feet transitioned from the cool tiles to the hot water, and slowly sat. He soaped up a sponge, and began to wash.

  “You have to talk, remember,” she said. “Tell me about each part as you wash it.”

  “Face,” he said. “Ordinary. Not a very strong chin. Nose too big. Neck. Thick, sunburned.” He washed as he spoke. “Shoulders,” he said. “They’re… strong, I suppose. Broad. I lift things with them.”

  “Do you like them?”

  “They’re all right. Arms. Some muscle. A few scars. That one was from a chisel that slipped, and this one… this one I got in the war.” He fell silent briefly, and she kept her peace as well. “And this one was when my father and I were carrying some wood between us, and I slipped, and a splinter tore into my wrist. Over on the other side…”

  He kept on, describing his scars (there were a couple more), and then moved to his chest.

  “Hairy,” he said. “I’m a hairy man. Keeps me warm, I suppose.”

  He bypassed his crotch for now, and washed first his good leg, then his bad leg. “And these,” he said, lifting himself out of the water so she could see clearly, “are the scars I got when… the scars I got.” They were a matched pair of puckered marks, one at the front and one at the back of his thigh muscle.

  Neither of them said anything for a minute.

  “You don’t have to tell me now,” she said.

  “It was a wet day,” he said, almost across her sentence. His eyes weren’t seeing the bathroom in Hope’s flat, but a green valley in Denning, full of soldiers.

  “It’s amazing, when you’re living in the open, how often it’s wet weather,” he went on. “You don’t notice when you’re in a house. Or maybe that part of Denning rains a lot. I don’t know. Anyway, two of us were sent off to construct a forward watch post in a tree, and because I know wood I was one of the two. Though I’m a carver, not a carpenter. Distinctions like that are lost on the military.

  “The other man, Big Berry, was the size of an ox, he was there to lift and carry things. I’ve known big men who are smart, but… Berry wasn’t one of them. Nice fellow, gentle, but not sharp.

  “We had some rope, and I was up the tree, with Berry hauling on the rope to take the toolbox up to me, and I look down the valley and see a quad of birds start up out of some bushes. Black and white birds. I saw the white flashes under their wings. And I thought, wonder what they saw. So I hunkered down on the branch I was standing on, and gestured to Berry to keep quiet.

  “And before I know it, out of the bushes comes a Denninger scout, in the grey uniform their rebels used. I kept watching — the foliage was pretty thick, and I was in my brown shirt, didn’t have a proper blue uniform like the regulars, just a brassard, so I didn’t think he’d see me.

  “The scout took a good look round, and he gestured behind him: come up. The next thing I see, a sergeant’s squad of enemy are slipping out of those bushes. That’s twenty-seven,” he said, then mentally kicked himself; of course, she would know that, the Pektal word for “sergeant” came from the Elvish for “twenty-seven”. He looked at her, and met her fascinated eyes. She nodded for him to go on.

  “Now, this particular tree had a bald spot, a place where it was missing a limb after some storm or other, on the side towards the enemy. If I slid down the tree, they’d be likely to see me. They were close enough, too, that if I shouted down to Berry, they’d probably hear me, but I knew he wouldn’t leave me without some explanation.

  “I searched my pockets. There was a bit of paper in one of them, some document I’d got when we shipped out and hadn’t thrown away, but nothing to write with.

  “I had my knife, of course. I thought about cutting my finger and writing in blood, but not only would that be melodramatic, but it probably wouldn’t work that well, either. Instead, I grabbed a dry stick and carved into it: ‘27 enemy SW coming’, and dropped it into Big Berry’s hands. I could see him at the foot of the tree, looking up at me. He caught it, read it — slowly, but he could read — and nodded.

  “He gestured for me to come down, but I shook my head and made shooing motions. He put his hands on his hips. I looked around for another stick of wood, didn’t find one, and tried to communicate “they will see me” with gestures. He didn’t look happy, but he headed off. Back to camp, I assumed, to report.

  “I grabbed the rope and started pulling it up. It ran through a pulley attached to the tree just above my head. I needed it to get down again safely, but if it was draped down the tree the enemy would notice it and find me. I hauled it up, both ends, bundled it together and sat it on a branch, then I tucked myself up into the tree and hoped for the best.

  “Well, that tree was the tallest tree around, so it shouldn’t have surprised me too much that the rebels assembled under it and started talking about whether they’d climb up it to see what they could see. I was praying Nine that they’d decide it was too much work, that they’d realise that the view was mostly back the way they’d come anyway. But no; they sent someone up, and started moving off to a little clearing just up the track for a bit of a rest and a snack.

  “There was one man, a young man, climbing the tree, and his mate as a spotter, standing pretty much where Big Berry had been standing. I was hidden up in the leaves, but as soon as he got near I’d be seen, sure as anything. I didn’t have many options left. No rifle, I’d left that down the bottom of the tree and Berry had it.

  “You have to understand, we’d all been told about the First Siege of Lakeside Koslin, where they drove women and children and old people ahead of them to set off the mines that Realmgold Determined and his people had left behind them when they evacuated the city. Someone who could do that… we didn’t want to get captured if we could help it. I was up that tree, calculating in my head, what could I do? What could I do?

  “I had a carabiner on my belt, and I clipped it as quietly as I could through one end of the rope. Then I dropped the toolbox, which was still tied to the other end of the rope, in his face. He yelled, and fell onto his mate. I jumped after the toolbox.

  “The friction of the rope and the counterweight of the toolbox coming up slowed me a bit, though not much; I still hit hard. He was underneath me, and his mate was underneath him, so I recovered first, rolled off, unclipped, and legged it through the bushes, back the way they’d come. I thought that would be the least likely place for them to have men. I was planning to circle round back to camp. We knew the area reasonably well by then, I’d been sent out to get firewood, and had explored a bit. I knew there was a ridge over to the left, past a stream. I could get up that and over it and come out behind the camp. We were using the ridge as a natural defence, and they’d follow the path round it, the long way. I could be back before them.

  “Someone probably heard the first soldier shout, because I heard
a couple of pairs of boots running back even as I got up off the ground, and before I made it to the bushes I heard a shot behind me. That was this scar,” he touched his arm. “I plunged into the bushes like a rabbit and pushed through, heading for the ridge as directly as I could. But I needed to put them off the trail.

  “I know trees. It’s part of my living. Not all the trees are the same in Denning as here, but enough of them are that I knew what I was seeing, and I headed for a grove of whitebarks as soon as I spotted it. Whitebarks entangle their roots together, and the whole ground around where they grow becomes a big mat of roots. Doesn’t take footprints very well. And they form big groves, so I could go in and then come out the other side and be hard to track.

  “Problem is, you can see a running man against whitebarks, so it didn’t work as well as I’d hoped. There were several of them after me by this point. I think only one or two had rifles. Most of the troops in the rebellion weren’t very well armed, but one of them had a crossbow, and wasted his bolt before he was close enough to get a good shot. It hit a whitebark off to my left.

  “I picked up the pace. I’m not a fast runner, but it’s amazing how fast you can go with guns behind you, especially in a whitebark grove, with springy ground and no undergrowth. I dodged back and forth among the trees and hoped the grove went all the way to the stream.

  “No such luck, of course. I hit a bramble-brake. I could hear the stream on the other side of it, and I slid under the bushes and started to crawl. By this time, the woods were full of shouts, Denninger accents calling out to each other. They assumed I was a watchman, I suppose, aiming to report back to his unit, which was close enough to true.

  “I tore myself and my clothes up pretty thoroughly getting through the brambles, but I got out on the stream side, and headed downstream, away from the camp but also away from the shouts. I stayed on the rocks and tried not to disturb any until I found somewhere I could swing myself onto an overhanging branch and climb out into a tree. No footprints on the bank.

  “They had to look for me, but I only had to run, see? I could move faster. So I made it up to where the ridge started, into the rocks at the foot. My plan was to get over the ridge without being seen and hurry along the other side, back to camp. I assumed Berry had already made it back and warned everyone.

  “Well, that plan didn’t work out either. That crossbowman, or another one, most likely, had a lucky guess at where I might be and was way out in front of his unit, and when I was just about to the top of the ridge he lined up a good shot and…” he gestured to his leg.

  “I fell between a couple of rocks. I was heated up enough that I didn’t feel the full pain yet, but I knew it was coming. I cut a piece off my trouser leg and wrapped it round the bolt to stabilise it, keep it from moving round and doing more damage. I sawed off the two ends that were poking out, too, for much the same reason. Knew better than to pull it out. Hurt like a… It hurt a lot.

  “While I was fixing it up, I could hear the crossbowman approaching. He wasn’t sure where I was; his footsteps kept stopping while he looked for me among the broken rocks. I heard him call out.

  “‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we’ve got your big mate, and the Major’s coming up behind. You might as well come out now.’

  “Well, that changed everything. If they had a major, they probably had more men than we did, and if Berry had been captured... I had to get to camp and warn them, leg or no leg.

  “My first problem was the crossbowman. I’d heard him reloading on one of his stops. It’s a distinctive sound, you can’t mistake it. I grabbed a piece of rock and lobbed it so it would strike behind where I thought his voice was coming from.

  “Must have worked, because he turned round and repeated himself. I bit down on another piece of cloth to keep myself from yelling out, and peeked round one of the rocks. He was right there, closer than that wall,” he pointed to the far wall of the bathroom, “peering round with his crossbow up, his back to me.

  “Have you ever played target-knives?” She shook her head. “I have. I’m village champion. Partly because I have a knife in my hand all day, and I can practice any time I like. I keep a target in the shop, and a throwing set to hand. I…” he dropped his eyes. “I think you know what I did.”

  “You threw a knife into his back.”

  “Yes. I’m not proud of it. It was war, and it wasn’t just him or me, it was him or my mates, you understand? I don’t… I’m not a killer. I regret it to this day.”

  “Of course you do,” she said, her voice soothing him. “What then?”

  “I went and got my knife back. Couldn’t take his crossbow, it would have slowed me down too much, so I cut the string and damaged one of the limbs so nobody else could use it, and started crawling up the ridge. On the other side, I cut a crutch from a tree. Got back to camp just in time to rouse them before the rebels attacked, and we called in an airboat, and then some reinforcements, with that handy farspeaker device of yours. I told you about that when we first met.”

  “But your leg…”

  “Well, you know, moving round on a leg that has a crossbow bolt in it is what Mindhealer Lily would call ‘contraindicated’”, he said. “Not smart, in other words. And so.” He gestured to his scars.

  Hope had tears standing in her big dark eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Well. Had to tell you sometime. And this seemed… Somehow this seemed like the time.”

  They fell silent for a long pause.

  “Well,” he said. “Suppose we should finish the exercise before the water gets cold. Actually,” and he let out some of the water with the plug and refreshed it from the hot tap, swirling it round. He had almost forgotten his nudity, but now he flushed a little, and not from the renewed heat.

  “Um. This bit,” he said, poising the sponge above his crotch.

  “Yes.”

  “Could be fairly key to, um, future plans.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Well. It’s an ordinary enough one of them, average size. A bit unruly,” he said, as it unfolded itself in response to the thought of their, as he’d put it, future plans. He washed it.

  “And my back,” he said, washing that also. “Never seen it, so I don’t have any strong opinions.”

  “There’s a scar across your shoulder,” she said.

  “Ah, that. Yes. Fell out of a tree when I was twelve.” He finished washing his back, and said to her, “Did I miss anything?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “All right.” He began to heave himself out of the bath.

  “Wait,” she said. “You need to lie back, close your eyes, and I get to talk about your body now.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Curses. Forgot that. Can I get some more hot water first?”

  “Of course.”

  Hot water run, he lay back as instructed, and she approached. He closed his eyes.

  “Your hair,” she said, “is a little shaggy. We need to get you a haircut. But I like how it feels when I touch it.” Obedient to the instructions, she didn’t touch it. “It smells like cedar shavings and wood oil, did you know?” He shook his head.

  “Your face is honest,” she went on. “Your eyes. Kind. Warm. I feel safe when I look in them. And your nose is a perfectly fine size.

  “Your lips. I like them. I’m looking forward to feeling them on mine later on. I think you have a nice chin, not too large. And your strong shoulders are very masculine. So is your hairy chest, and your big arms. Now that I know the history of your scars, I want to run my hands over them. And kiss them.”

  “All of them?”

  “All of them.”

  “Even the big ones?”

  “Especially the big ones, though we might leave that for a little while, because if I start kissing you there who knows what will happen? Those strong legs, I like to feel them behind me when you hold me. And as for your, um…”

  “Yes?” he said, daring to tease a little with his eyes closed. “What part of me?�
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  “As for your penis,” she said (she was, after all, a lifemage, so he should have expected the anatomical term), “I think it’s very fine, and I look forward to getting to know it… intimately.” Her last word dripped with honey, and the organ in question twitched, at which she chuckled.

  “Overall,” she said, “I’m very satisfied with what I see. Or at least, I plan to be very satisfied by it. Very satisfied.” He was uncoiling more and more as she spoke, which he was sure was the intended effect. “Oo,” she added, as he reached full size, and throbbed.

  “You,” he said, “are very naughty.”

  “You,” she said, “had better believe it.”

  “Are you quite finished?”

  “Quite finished. You can stand up now so I can watch you dry yourself.”

  He opened his eyes, and found hers focussed some way south of his face. “You are a very bad girl,” he said.

  “You have no idea. I suspect, in fact, that I have no idea, not until we’ve tried everything in Lily’s book two or three times, anyway.”

  “What will we do in the second shift-round?” he said, as he stood. Water cascaded off him, and he brushed it from his body hair into the bath. Manoeuvring his bad leg carefully, he stepped over the side of the tub and reached for a towel, deliberately facing her to display his body. Is this me? he thought. When did I become like this?

  She smiled at his joke, and watched with intent interest as he towelled off, and then dressed. When he was fully clothed, she sighed.

  “That was fun,” she said.

  “Glad you liked it. Now,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry, “your turn.”

  She turned shy again at that, biting her lip and pulling her arms in awkwardly, then squared her shoulders, looked him in the eye, and slowly lifted her nightgown over her head, as he had done earlier. She paused just below her hips, and he licked his lips nervously, at which she smiled a one-sided smile, then lifted the gown further, to the base of her breasts, where she paused again. His eyes followed the hem. She pulled it off over her head and dropped it, then turned and walked — no, sauntered — to the bath, where she leaned over and swished the water with one hand, showing him her body in profile. He let out a long, slow breath.