Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles)

by Dale B. Mattheis

  Well after dark, a shadow figure hobbled out of the forest supported by a rude staff. Three dragging steps and stop. Three more and Jeff stopped longer. Muted gasping sounds gradually faded. Raising his head he sniffed the air from side to side. Starlight revealed a face that sagged with exhaustion and was so thin that every bone stood out. His clothing was matted with snow from falling, his beard a chunk of ice.

  “Smoke. Know I smelled smoke.” After a brief silence he sobbed, “Oh Jesus, where is it? I can’t do this anymore.”

  Dragging his damaged leg, three steps at a time, Jeff skirted a number of obstacles but stumbled into another. Circling the mound he continued toward the edge of the clearing, now only a short distance away. A yellow-orange rectangle of light blinked into existence.

  A torch-wielding man cautiously emerged from the rectangle, spear in hand. Vision impaired by the torch, he bumped into the stooped figure. Letting out a terrified yell he jumped back. Jeff stopped and tried to figure out what the noise meant, failed, and took another step toward the forest. The villager’s cry brought others running. Mesmerized, they watched Jeff move in slow motion until he disappeared into the trees.

  Casting apprehensive looks into the woods, the villagers hurried to find light and warmth. Inside one of the lodges an elderly man was stoking the fire. He looked up when a younger man entered.

  “What has happened? Have the gods visited us?”

  “No, Father, it was a demon!”

  The old man snorted skepticism. “Tell me of this ‘demon’.”

  He became alarmed as the tale unfolded. “You are foolish children. This is a man near death, no demon. You must go quickly, Erlik. Gather help and bring him to our lodge.”

  Erlik ducked out of the lodge with a fresh torch. It was his fervent wish that he would live long enough to duck back in. Rousting out a collection of equally reluctant friends, they edged into the forest muttering terrified oaths at the huge footprints. Fifty yards into the forest, they found him lying face down in the snow and deathly still. Erlik felt deep chagrin when he kneeled and got a closer look.

  “Assist me. Father was right, this is no demon.”

  Pushing through the door to his lodge, Erlik and two companions lay Jeff on deer hides that covered the floor. A fourth entered and set the backpack down. Quick hands stripped Jeff of clothing. When his hat was removed, the elder drew in a dismayed breath.

  “Now will the doom of this village be spoken by the gods. This man is of the Alarai.”

  Erlik was stricken by his father-in-law’s words and took his hand. “Forgive me for having failed you. If such doom should be harsh, it must be mine alone.”

  The old man, who once was known as Theregrond, shook his head and patted Erlik’s hand.

  “Are you so mighty as to warrant such responsibility when others were equally negligent? But come, now is not the time to debate guilt. We must begin his warming at once.”

  Erlik’s wife, Lilet, and his daughter had finished undressing Jeff and were cleaning his face of crusted dirt and ice that was beginning to melt. Shortly, they slid him onto a bed of furs near the firepit.

  “He is so thin. Will his spirit survive, Grandfather?”

  “There is hope, child.”

  Dropping extra furs by Jeff, Theregrond glanced at his granddaughter. Magda was sitting back on long thighs, hands busy with a rough comb made of bone trying to get accumulated debris out of Jeff’s hair.

  Magda had intrigued Theregrond as she developed from a quiet, introspective girl into an even quieter woman. While she rarely spoke, he always paid strict attention when she did. Each word seemed to have been picked from a thousand others in order to find just the right one. She participated in village activities and seemed to enjoy them, but never abandoned her emotions to the moment.

  Her parents had become concerned that Magda was not showing enough interest in men of her age. Theregrond perceived that concern to be misplaced. He didn’t think there was a young man in the village she had not evaluated. She did it without any fuss, and always privately. When Magda made up her mind she would act. He had seen it before.

  Magda threw off her clothes and slid under the furs next to Jeff. Lilet did the same and they sandwiched him between them.

  “He is so cold.”

  The tone of Magda’s voice and the fact that she had spoken again attracted Theregrond’s attention. She had pulled Jeff’s head against her neck. Lost on some distant horizon, her eyes were filled with calm certainty. Theregrond glanced at Lilet and found her intently studying Magda’s face.

  Some hours later Theregrond nodded with satisfaction as Jeff began to breathe deeply and shiver.

  “Perhaps the crisis has passed.”

  Magda said nothing, but closed her eyes and her own breathing took on the rhythm of sleep. Lilet shifted position so she could run a hand along Jeff’s ribs, which stuck out prominently.

  “He is so wasted from his toil, Father, yet strength remains. It is not his time to leave this world.”

  “As the gods ordain.”

  Lilet raised her head so she could view Magda’s face from a better perspective. Orange light from the bed of coals illuminated her daughter’s features more effectively than full sunlight. Lilet had never been able to understand Magda, for the two women viewed the world from perspectives that could not be reconciled.

  While Lilet was comforted by the predictable routine of village life, actively avoided anything unusual, Magda took every opportunity to wander far afield in search of new adventure. Magda, perhaps, understood this better than Lilet. At the moment, however, and sensitized by events, Lilet was taken with prescient insight that eluded the limitations of her tightly ordered life.

  The sense of completion to Magda’s features, the way she held this man, struck Lilet to the heart. She could not comprehend being attracted to such a person. He had just arrived, was a complete stranger, not of her people, and obviously extremely rash. She saw a future for her daughter that faded far beyond the realm of experience; saw alien landscapes and peoples that frightened her. Lilet gasped and tears rushed to her eyes. For one brief instant she glimpsed eternity but did not welcome it and shuddered away.

  “Oh, Father, I fear for her. What has provoked her to move so quickly? It will be her death to join with this man!”

  “Do you doubt a time is come when the gods would walk among us, Lilet?”

  “This is a man, no god.”

  “Yes, he is a man, but will you consider my question?”

  “The time is come.”

  Theregrond nodded. “Then let us be accepting of their will, whatever the import. I believe that, in your heart, you have long known that Magda is a most unusual woman. Perhaps her destiny lies far from this village.”

  “Thus I fear, for it has been given me to view that destiny and it…” Lilet lay down and placed a hand over Jeff’s heart. “I will say no more.”

  Jeff woke up the next afternoon. He babbled incoherently, took some broth and was quickly asleep again. It was two days before he could stay awake for more than an hour, and six more before he could walk. The skin on his fingers, cheeks and ears blistered from the effects of frostbite. As it became clear over passing days that he wasn’t going to lose fingers, Jeff’s relief was immense. The swollen knee also began to shrink. Magda was his constant companion during those anxious days.

  Never speaking more than a word or two, she always seemed to be there when he needed a hand up or a shoulder to lean on while trying to get his legs working again. His body odor was so offensive that Jeff could hardly bear it, and he was humiliated by what she must think.

  Without having to look in a mirror, Jeff knew that his filthy, emaciated body and scabbed face must be extremely ugly. He tried to brush Magda away the first time she gave her hand to assist him. Rather than withdraw, she simply took his arm and pulled him to his feet.

  When Jeff was able to stand for more than a few minutes she draped a fur robe around his shoulders and
assisted him to the village sauna. Inside, she undressed him like a child and had him sit on a stool. Dipping a bucket of warm water, Magda unceremoniously dumped it over his head. Others in the sauna lent a hand in what became a communal effort.

  He could hardly sit on the stool but had enough strength to struggle weakly when Magda scrubbed the worst of the dirt off with a bristle brush. The villagers considered that a positive sign and encouraged him with cries of approval. They did not release their grip. A woman tossed a wad of alkali soap to Magda and she laid into the task.

  The village chief and elders visited on a regular basis to keep track of his recovery. When he had gained some strength, Jeff recounted his experiences on the trail in a halting voice. Those assembled hung on every word as the story unfolded. Jeff lapsed into silence after relating what he could remember of the last march. There was no sound except the fire’s crackling as the chief continued to examine Jeff’s drawn features and bowed head. Theregrond took the chief aside.

  “You must leave now. Life was nearly gone when he was found, and of a night I hear his spirit crying its desolation. We must be patient lest it flies to seek distant refuge.”

  Nearly the end of December, the days extended no more than five hours and the deep cold retained its grip on the land. Villagers spent their days constructing new garments, repairing old ones and tending to many other tasks in preparation for spring. Evenings were given over to singing, recitation of ballads and dancing. It was a pleasant time for the older villagers, but the young set felt confined as winter ground on. Even though game was scarce, they organized hunts just to burn off energy.

  Jeff gradually became an accepted part of the village, which he learned was called Fastholm. He visited the meeting hall on occasion during the day, but always withdrew when the real partying began. One evening, without saying a word, Magda hauled him to his feet and tossed a fur robe at him. When he dallied, she grabbed the robe, threw it around his shoulders and dragged him out of doors.

  Taller than Jeff by four or five inches, she had a figure that even his dulled perception had taken note of. Of much greater importance, he always felt comforted in her presence. Jeff thought Magda was the most self-possessed, psychologically poised person he had ever known.

  At the hall’s entrance, Jeff balked. The commotion inside was overwhelming. Taking a firmer grip, Magda pulled him into the smoky interior and humid warmth. The place was packed with villagers and filled with music and laughter.

  “Now you will dance with me, Jeffrey.”

  They broke into the outermost ring circling the meeting hall. While the pace was fast, the steps were familiar and Jeff was surprised to find that he could keep up. The knee was a problem, but it loosened up after a few times around the hall. The rings eventually broke up into smaller groups. In the process, Jeff was spun away by a woman who was about Magda’s age and height. Jeff thought her name was Nilka.

  Stopping well away from the dancing, Nilka bent to kiss him. Before she could, a fist flashed past his face to land up alongside her head with a cracking sound. Nilka reeled back, but not far enough. Magda pushed by Jeff and landed a whistling left cross that dropped the already stunned woman to the floor. Glancing at Nilka to make sure she was breathing, Magda pulled Jeff toward a small group of villagers that had formed into a square.

  As the frenetic pace slowed, Magda’s body and hands left no doubt she was interested in more than dancing. The hall was quiet except for drunken snores and a lone fifer trying to put two notes together when she lead Jeff to a dark corner and began kissing him. When Magda slipped a hand under his belt, Jeff called up visions of Zimma much as a priest might hold up a crucifix to ward off temptation and sidled away. Taking his hand, Magda led him back to their lodge.

  The evening had been a radical break from morbid brooding. Yet in some ways the merriment had intensified the sense of personal weakness and failure that continually haunted Jeff. The villagers were so full of life and easy confidence that he could hardly bear their presence.

  While physically on the path to recovery, a part of his soul had been deeply injured by those last days on the trail. For the first time in his life he had been completely whipped. The sense of fear that hit Jeff each time he thought about leaving was so overpowering that on one occasion he broke down and wept. He had nearly died three times since arriving on Aketti. The last time had wormed its way deep.

  Jeff couldn’t shake memories of the awful silence and utter loneliness of the land. The beautiful, star-filled night that had sucked the life out of him while trees exploded and groaned their agony. He frequently awoke from sleep bathed in sweat from nightmares of slow death, his body covered with frozen rime, arms reaching out in supplication. But no one was there.

  Theregrond and Magda made sure Jeff was not left behind when, late one night, their family trekked to a nearby hill in company with the entire village. Logs were stacked into a tall pile until the whole affair threatened to avalanche down the hill and set afire. Theregrond joined a group of older men and women intently viewing stars that revolved by overhead. The oldest among them abruptly threw her arms up.

  “The sun returns to us. Give joy with the Song of Life.”

  Individual voices were raised, only to be submerged in a chorus that sorted itself out into a three-part acapella hymn. Although Jeff didn’t know the words, he experienced such a rush of emotion that he could do nothing but join in. He also thought, This is it. The Winter Solstice. The longest night of the year. I’ve got to leave.

  He intended to get organized the following day but cowered away from even the thought of leaving. Over subsequent days he became moody, even surly, and was given to angry outbursts. It came to a head one night when Jeff awoke with a strangled scream. Everyone in the lodge was awake in an instant and reached for spears, but settled back with sympathetic grunts when they realized it was another nightmare.

  Sitting up, Jeff rested his head on his knees and waited for the sweat to cool. He stiffened at a light touch on his shoulder.

  “This is not right,” Magda whispered in his ear. “Your aloneness will first defeat then kill you. This must not be so, for you are a man of courage and serve us all.”

  She slipped into Jeff’s bed of furs and pulled him down to lie beside her. Taking him in her arms she stroked his body with smooth-drawn caresses. Jeff shuddered from the pleasure of her touch and was reminded of Zimma’s, reminded of what she had said. Throwing his arms around Magda, he buried his face in golden hair and let the tears come. When he awoke she was still there. Jeff felt a wonderful sense of wholeness and drifted into a sleep free of nightmares.

  Within a week Jeff began laying plans for his departure. Many hours were spent deep in conversation with Fastholm’s leaders. Their knowledge of the land was encyclopedic, leading Jeff to revise equipment and clothing as he learned. A rough but serviceable sled was constructed to carry extra provisions, clothing and tinder. He adopted the Northman’s way of carrying fire buried in a wad of punk that was enclosed in a ventilated earthen jar, devised a liner for his mittens, and constructed a balaclava to protect his face.

  Comforted by Magda’s arms, his nights were peaceful. Her calm serenity and unwavering persistence in loving him, in believing in him, called forth a depth of passion that first surprised then consumed Jeff. He had surrendered to her, but soon fell in love without really knowing it had happened.

  Most of the warriors in the village were eager to join in Jeff’s quest to rally the tribes. While cabin fever played a role in their enthusiasm, the threat he reported fueled the larger part. Thingel, the chieftain, insisted that he send teams out to visit tribes they were related to. Jeff gratefully accepted the offer and estimated that left around fifteen villages to visit.

  He had been spending as much time as possible with Magda, could have done nothing else. As the time to leave drew closer, Jeff felt such conflict at leaving her that he began to brood and withdraw. Magda would have none of it. She enticed, pursued and, if nece
ssary, seduced him. In the end she always captured him, sometimes two or three times in a day.

  The night before he was to leave Magda silently handed him his furs and, packing more, led him far into the forest. Laying out their bed on the snow, she undressed. Standing tall and ivory in the moonlight, she beckoned to him. Seeming to come afire, Magda gave him no rest until he didn’t want to rest, their cries of joy and pain not ending until shortly before dawn. With sunlight streaking the snow, they walked into the village hand in hand.

  Following a tumultuous send-off by the assembled village, Jeff picked up the sled’s traces and trudged into the forest. Magda accompanied him until they were alone and could stop for a private farewell. She slipped her hands inside his furs and pulled him close.

  “We will meet in the south, Jeffrey. I will not be separate from you, and would hold converse with Zimma.”

  The absolute conviction in Magda’s voice prompted Jeff to step back and look at her. He was reminded of Zimma after their first loving, but what Magda projected had a backbone of steel that surpassed comparison. She appeared radiant, not sad. Deep secrets seemed to lurk in blue eyes that pulled him ever deeper.

  Making sure he had scribed every aspect of Magda’s features into memory, Jeff studied her face. Yet he could not capture the essence of immutable determination that was such a large part of her being. He thought, How could I have been so fortunate twice in a row? Someone has to be looking out for me.

  “You will trek south with Fastholm’s warriors as we have discussed?”

  Magda smiled, her eyes dancing with hidden magic. “If matters permit, but you must know that I will come.”

  Jeff tried to decipher what was going on in her head. As usual, he drew a blank. Shortly after meeting Magda, he had learned that she said only as much as intended. When she had said her piece, that was it. There was no point in trying to get more out of her.

  “Though pledged to another, I have come to understand in a small way that this world is not stinting with love and will await your coming with great anticipation. My deepest wish is that I not perish in this war before we are reunited.”