by Henry Thomas
When he made it through the door his guards followed him and stood on either side of him, grasped him firmly by the elbows, halting him there. He smelled food and his mouth began to water. Inside, the room was lit by rushlight. A large fire roared on a raised hearth in the center. The smoke escaped through a hole in the roof above. The great conical thatched roof was green on the inside and black near the hole in the center from the constant smoke traveling past. Joth could see stars in the night sky through the smoke. Beautifully carved beams and posts formed the structure that the roof hung upon and the interior was made bright by lime washed wattle and daub walls that filled the spaces in between the posts and formed a smooth circle broken only by the door through which he had come. Seated on woven rugs placed over the packed earth floor before a long low table was the entire population of the village as well as the old man and his company from the pass.
She was there too, sat among his tormentors from before, who chattered and giggled when he appeared. There were earthenware bowls set before them and they drank from short cups of wood and horn. The old man motioned him forward.
“Joth Andries, you look better than the last time we met.” There was mirth in his voice. “Come sit and we will speak together for a time.”
His guards moved him to a place at the table across from the old man and bid him sit down, which he did. A woman stood from the table and went to the fire where something in a cauldron sat warming. “Your friend is safe and he is being tended to.” A short horn cup was set before him and a small bowl full of a dark broth, some mussel shells and vegetables peeking through the surface.
“Where is he?” Joth did not see Wat in the Roundhouse.
“He is safe and well and nearby. Please, eat.”
The woman came again and put a basket filled with small round loaves of bread on the table. This was too much for Joth to resist, and so he did as the old man asked him. His hunger was such that he very nearly inhaled his meal, and although the food was flavored strangely to his palate, he found it quite delicious and satisfying. Without asking, another bowl was set before him and he finished it as well, digging out the mussels and bits of crayfish, leaving only shells and some chewy bits of what he guessed were some sort of wild leeks that flavored the broth. The bread was dense and dark and full of seeds and nuts. His horn cup was filled with light crisp mead. Had he not been surrounded by his enemies and dressed in their outlandish garb he might almost feel at home, he thought.
He had not had any alcohol for weeks and the two cups of mead he drank went straight to his head, but his cup was filled every time he drained it. After the third cup he decided that it might be foolish to drink any more until he found out what was going to happen to Wat and himself, and whether or not he might convince the old man to let them both leave together once and for all. When the serving woman came again with the mead he put his hand over the top of the horn cup and shook his head. One of the old hens said something then and the whole table erupted with laughter. Even the girl and the old man laughed, and Joth felt his face redden and his ears burn. It was the young warrior who spoke first and broke the laughter, saying something slowly and insistently that Joth of course did not understand, but he could see the sobering effect of the youth’s words on the assembly. The old man smiled and nodded.
“My son is right, even if he is impatient.” The old man inclined his head at the boy, and Joth saw the youth’s pride melt away for a moment. Somehow he had embarrassed himself or his father by his words, but Joth could only read into it on the surface without a grasp of the language. The old man let the moment hang there, the smile never faded from his lips.
“I am called Traegern,” he said to Joth. “I am the Elder of the People. I speak for all.”
The entire assembly muttered something in unison, as though they acknowledged his claim. Did they all speak Oestersh? Joth felt more and more confused. The girl kept staring at him.
“The People have long kept to their lands, leaving the Oestmen to their cities, and existing together in peace; or at least as peacefully as the times have allowed.” Traegern’s voice was rich and easy to listen to, Joth mused; perhaps he had already had too much of the savages’ mead.
“We allow the Oestmen to pass into our lands in good faith that they uphold the ancient agreement between our peoples, and honor the treaty of our mutual ancestors.”
Joth had no idea what the old man was talking about. Mutual ancestors? He knew of no treaty or agreement, just the famous victory of Ulno Rhael, the man who drove the savages over the mountains. He was growing more perplexed by the moment, but he listened as Traegern continued to speak.
“Now I am an old man, but in my youth the Oestern mages would come to speak with the Elders of the People and they would share knowledge in this way, over a table with gifts of food and laughter. These days are different from those since the Magistry became the power in Oesteria. These are dark days for the People.”
He drank from his horn cup and held it out to be filled as he spoke, but even that gesture was not unkind. He commanded but he did so without lording his power.
“At first, the soldiers were few. They came and went without incident. We the People decided it was best not to war with the soldiers, because that would break the words spoken by our ancestors. Now the mages come and demand from us instead of asking. Now they have become greedy for our gold and our knowledge. Now they spill the blood of our children.”
Joth felt the room staring at him. The stillness of the place was palpable. “So now we send a message to the High Mage. He must remember the words spoken and honor them, or we shall call down the mountains upon him and his kind.”
Joth saw the assembled people nodding and heard them all mutter their agreement, or at least it seemed that was what they were saying. He was still unclear as to what would happen to him and to Wat.
“You want me to be the messenger?” Joth asked tentatively.
Traegern smiled ruefully. “We cannot trust to words alone, Joth Andries. The mages need to be shown. We need to be certain that they will know the truth of things. Only by their knowing the truth can we trust in what they will say.” He was looking at the girl now. “My daughter Eilyth will go. You will escort her there and bring her back safely.”
Joth just stared at the assembly in disbelief. Eilyth nodded once at him, her red hair chiming with gold. Immediately he heard a disgruntled response from behind him, the voice he recognized as belonging to the young warrior who bore him such a fierce hatred. Traegern shook his head and said a word in response and the young warrior turned and left the assembly, the door of the roundhouse slamming shut behind him.
Joth was flummoxed. “I am just a simple man, I don’t think that the High Mage will grant me an audience. I have never even been to Twinton. I only know Immerdale, I was garrisoned there.”
It was Eilyth who spoke. “The mage will grant you audience, Joth Andries. This I know.”
Traegern looked on and nodded as if he knew it too. “They can not refuse our envoy. You need only escort Eilyth to the High Mage’s city and keep her safe. Your Lord Uhlmet and your friend Wat shall be held as assurances.” Joth cared not a whim for the safety of Lord Imperator Uhlmet, but he would save Wat’s life if he could.
She was staring at him in that unnerving way that she had, as if she were willing him to do her bidding. He felt as though he had to accept even though he felt out of his depth. But Joth was not one to simply give in, however, so he said, “I only ask that I see my commander, my friend, Wat. I need to speak with him before I can say anything one way or the other. I need to know that he is safe.”
The old man looked at him intently. “You will do this Oestman. You have no choice in the matter. Your conduct and the well-being of my daughter shall determine whether or not you see your friend again.”
Joth knew that he had no room to bargain. Here he was, lost beyond his land’s bord
ers and at the mercy of his captors; yet they offered him a way home, a chance at life. He should have been dead by now. He held out his horn cup and allowed it to be filled again, and then drained it in one go. Summoning his resolve he said, “I will conduct the Lady Eilyth to Twinton and seek the High Mage, and I will bring her back safely. On this you have my word, and I shall let no harm befall her. I swear this on my life and the life of my friend, Wat.”
A look passed between he and Traegern and Eilyth, and Joth felt as though his words were being weighed. The old man studied him for a beat that seemed to last an eternity. Finally he spoke.
“Very well then, it is settled.” Traegern raised his hands and said something in his own tongue and the assembly repeated his words in unison. When the elder lowered his hands more food was brought forth and the villagers all fell to chattering among themselves and eating, seemingly paying him no mind. Joth tried to eat more, but his mind was reeling and his belly was full. His mead cup was filled twice more, but he left the last cup half full and stood from the rug where he had been kneeling. The room was spinning a bit, Joth thought. The mead had gone straight to his head and the fatigue of being harried for the past few days seemed to hit him like a thunderbolt once he was on his feet again.
The villagers showed no signs of slowing as several of them produced musical instruments and fell to playing among themselves. Here and there a few joined in singing, and soon the atmosphere inside the roundhouse had changed from festive to raucous. Traegern met his eyes.
“You wish to sleep now, Oestman?” he said over the din. At Joth’s nod he said something to the man who had escorted him in who grabbed Joth by the elbow and led him back to the wattle and daub hut he had been held in earlier. The man led him to the door but then suddenly Joth was pushed up against the low wall, an elbow at his throat pinning him against the coarse thatch. Joth could barely breathe.
“Harm one hair on her head, Oestman, and I shall end you.” The young warrior spoke haltingly, the Oestersh words awkward on his tongue. “One hair…remember.”
He held him there a beat longer then shoved him roughly through the door and slammed it behind him. Joth heard them speaking to each other in their strange language outside his door as he picked himself up and got his wind back, rubbing his sore neck. The talking died away, but Joth could feel the presence of the guards outside and he knew that his captors would stand at his door all night and leave nothing to chance. Not that he was planning an escape; he had sworn to bring the strange girl to Twinton, and he was not going to abandon Wat to the savages just to save his own skin. He was confused still. The girl was some sort of witch, she had tricked him into dropping his knife somehow.
No, he thought, she showed me something and it changed me inside. Was that a trick? Magic? He had felt as though he understood everything for the first time in his life, his place in the world, his purpose. Then as quickly as it had been revealed, it was gone and all he was left with was confusion and a longing to know it once again. His throat was still throbbing as he settled down with his back against the wall of the hut and found a blanket to cover himself with hanging from a peg on one of the posts. She must be a witch, he thought again as he closed his eyes and listened to the noises of the night around him. Surely only a witch could have gotten inside his head like that, but as Joth drifted off to sleep he found himself thinking of how sweet the world had seemed when she spoke to him, and how much he wanted to look into her eyes and hear her speak to him again. He wanted to listen forever.
Six
Joth spent the next week at the village by the river. Apart from the young warrior the other villagers seemed to have accepted him as one of their own, going so far as to involve him in daily chores and welcoming him each night to evening meals in the Roundhouse. Most of them were friendly toward him, the biggest barrier being language. He learned that most of the People understood Oestersh, if not speaking it outright. Some of them knew it but simply refused to speak it. It was something that had to do with these ancient oaths and mutual ancestors that Traegern alluded to that first night when Joth was brought before the assembly. In the time that Joth spent with the People his opinion of them had changed. He no longer regarded them as savages. Before he had thought them all primitives, but he now looked at them in a different light. They lived simply, that much was true; but he found himself appreciating the peace and practicality of the daily lives they led. They were entirely self-sufficient, living off of the land in a way that was very close to nature.
In fact, they reveled in the glory of nature, and honored the natural order of things in every thing they did. What they took from the land for sustenance, they gave back to it in kind. They cared for their animals in a nurturing way and they only culled their herds when it was absolutely necessary. Their diet was comprised mostly of field greens and the bounty of their nets and weirs at the river. Life was sacred to them and they celebrated it in their day-to-day dealings with the land. It was foreign and familiar to Joth at the same time. He saw Eilyth only once during that week, in the evening of the third day. Joth noticed that she did not stay in the village with the others, and that the other villagers regarded her with great respect despite her young age. When she would ride down from the hills on her gray mare they would stop their tasks and go to greet her and walk alongside her. Always they would bring her gifts of food and drink and vie for her attention in respectful tones, and she would treat them patiently. She was beautiful and strange, both young and old, and Joth realized that he feared her.
He felt as though she had seen inside his heart and knew every wicked thing he had ever done, every evil thing he had ever thought of. If she were a witch, she was not like the witches in the tales his mother had told him. Her teeth were not filed into points, she carried no hazel wand, her fingers were not dirty and crooked; but Joth was afraid of her because he felt power in her, and her power was mysterious and dangerous to him. It unnerved him even more when she would catch his eyes and regard him with a slight smile as these very thoughts were firing in his head, as if she knew what he thought before he was thinking it. Joth would always look away. It was too much to have her looking into his eyes that way, he felt as though at any moment she could speak one word and he would be dancing to her tune no matter how he resisted. She would use that voice again. I would lose control of myself, he thought. She would be playing me like a harp and I’d be none the wiser for it. That scared him most of all, the thought of her saying a word and making him kill the High Mage without a second thought. Was that Traegern’s plan, an elaborate assassination attempt using him as the tool to avenge the People and their suffering at the hands of Uhlmet and the Magistry?
You’re a bloody fool, Joth, he thought. That plan made no sense even to him; he was no one special. Why would they send him in to Twinton with the girl if they meant to do that? Surely she could have bewitched him from the start and sent him in alone without ever putting herself at risk. Yet perhaps her power was limited; perhaps she needed to be nearby to exert her control over him, the way players hid beneath the stage and worked their puppets…
He was thinking all of these thoughts as he was helping the villagers haul their nets in, catching the fish that flopped on the banks, depositing them in the great wicker basket in the handcart they used to bring the catch to the Roundhouse. Joth would help clean the fish, and afterward he would transfer all the garbage into another basket that would then be dumped into a large compost heap at the edge of the village. They used the heap to fertilize their planting beds and their fields. Then he would go and wash himself in the hut that housed the washtub and wave off the old hens that would try to offer him help and shriek with laughter at his embarrassment. He was closing his hands around a wiggling brown trout when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He knew that she was there watching him before he turned around. As he stood and saw her, the fish slipped from his grasp and flopped into the river with a splash. Eilyth said somethin
g that elicited laughter from the other men and Joth felt his face redden. Then she addressed him.
“We leave on the morrow, Joth Andries. My father has allowed that you see your friend for a time tonight.”
Joth nodded.
“They will finish your work. I will take you to him now.”
The villagers all bid them farewell as she walked away and Joth followed a few paces behind. As they climbed a low sloping hill along the trail that had been worn by feet and by handcart, she spoke again to him without turning.
“You may walk beside me. You need not fear me.”
Joth felt his pulse quicken. He made a muffled reply and hurried his pace. They walked side by side into the village in silence, Eilyth leading him to the one hut he had not been given freedom to visit. She smiled and motioned with her head for him to enter.
“Thank you,” he said, and he pushed through the door.
Wat was sitting up on a pile of furs on a low pallet with his back resting against a post at the back of the hut, his torso swathed in bandages. His pallor was still a bit gray, but Joth could see immediately that his comrade was on the mend.
His paranoia broke and gave way to relief at seeing Wat alive, and for the most part, well.