The Heretic's Song (The Song's Of Aarda Book 1)

by K Schultz

  Isil shared stories of her life as a drover, and Rehaak told her outrageous stories that made her laugh. Isil’s gravelly voice was unpleasant, but her laughter pared away the crusty exterior, and years of hard living. When she laughed Rehaak caught glimpses of a younger, less careworn version of Isil. When they ran out of stories, they sat on the bench in front of the fire, staring at the flames in comfortable silence, — alone, but together. Isil and Rehaak unrolled their bedrolls in front of the fire, and drifted off when they could no longer resist sleep. In his exile, Rehaak discovered fellowship.

  Chapter 6

  Rehaak rose early, and stepped outside, to see the sunlit world stretching and yawning, taking its first breath of the day. Deepening twilight on the previous evening, prevented Rehaak from seeing the clearing, but now he stood enraptured by what he saw and felt. The world appeared fresh and new in the pale yellow dawn. The hut sat in a natural clearing, large enough to support a sizable farm.

  Someone had found this clearing, and took advantage of the natural wonder. The buildings were the sole human intrusion into the primeval landscape. Huge trees hemmed it in like great green sentinels guarding the sleeping glade and spoke to Rehaak, in a language that his heart understood,

  In his revelation, the trees became tall old men, ageless and ancient, in their verdant coats of moss and lichens. They guarded their clearing with a persistence impossible for lesser beings. They stood silent watch, undisturbed for longer than men walked upon Aarda, and would continue their vigil long after the last man’s bones became dust.

  The day was moist, green, and full of life, smelling of both decay and growth. Light shone through the foliage and lent the air a green glow, resonant with the ecstasy of creation. A rush of energy engulfed Rehaak as he waded in this rushing river of life, the antithesis of his vision of destruction. He sensed its vitality and vigor in his bones and wept tears of joy.

  Rehaak’s questions fell away. He knew with absolute certainty he wanted to stay and forget his questions and obstacles. Rehaak decided in the time between heartbeats, this was the haven he sought. A divine allure had called and captured him.

  Once he decided to stay, irresistible peace enveloped him and he danced through the clearing, drunk with a joy that pulsed like a second heartbeat within him. He would have stripped off his clothes and danced naked among the sunbeams, except for the chance that Isil might arise and discover him.

  Smoke coming from the chimney signaled that Isil prepared breakfast and stopped his revelries. Any other day Rehaak might have regretted his time alone with the forest, but the intoxicating joy prevented guilt. He had wanted to cook for her this morning. He considered himself an accomplished cook, but it was too late for that now.

  By the time he entered the hut, Isil was making porridge for their breakfast. “Good morning,” he said, with a hangdog expression.

  “Did yuh have a nice time cavorting among duh posies?’ she asked with a wry grin.

  “Yes it was pleasant. You said no one has laid claim to this building.”

  “Yup. I ‘spect dey be afeared o’ catchin what kilt duh last batch dat lived here. Never worried about it muhself. Figured everyone’s gotta go sometime. Nothin in particular holdin me tuh dis life anyway.”

  “Well then, meet the new owner,” he smiled, “Unless you want to claim it.”

  “Naw, go ahead. I ain’t much fer sittin and settlin, but I’d take it as an honor, if’n yuh lets me stay once in a while, as I comes by with muh freight.”

  “Consider it done. You shall have perpetual free room and board at Rehaak’s house.”

  “Rehaak’s house, ” he thought. It had a nice sound.

  “Fair ‘nuff.”

  They shared a meal and more conversation, but in spite of his newfound joy, Rehaak withheld his fears and the prophecy from her. When they finished eating, they hitched the mithun to the wagon, and Isil departed, leaving Rehaak behind to begin his new life.

  Rehaak gathered firewood for the evening, and wandered the clearing, salvaging what he found, to make the hut both habitable and comfortable. When that was complete, he struggled to rehang the door; since a real house needed a door.

  When Rehaak left Narragansett he had searched for a new life. His God granted his wish and life’s possibilities excited him once more.

  Chapter 7

  Rehaak threw himself into his new life with passion, but the excitement and enthusiasm vanished over long months of hard work.

  He grew strong and lean, from hours of manual labor. Once he made the hut livable, he sailed through life exploring the clearing during the day and building wooden furniture from wind-felled trees at night.

  The Abrhaani believed that all life was sacred, their creed condemned needless or careless sacrifice of any life. They placated the spirits of plants and animals when they needed to take a life. Rehaak did not share his forebears’ beliefs, but the forest provided an abundance of material.

  On his first trips to New Hope, he bought food, supplies, tools and cookware with gold, but now he avoided spending it, lest the villagers resent his affluence. Many people survived in New Hope but few flourished, and envy was a powerful motivator for evil actions. Rehaak traded distillations and tinctures made from the medicinal herbs he found in the clearing, so his gold remained hidden at home.

  The townsfolk were grateful for pain relief medicines and other remedies. Over time Rehaak gained their trust and became the town’s unofficial healer. Some citizens welcomed him with enthusiasm while others grudgingly accepted him. After two years, pockets of mistrust still remained, but Rehaak took it in stride. Since most people tolerated his presence, he was content.

  Raamya, the sawyer and his sons were exceptions. They despised Rehaak, though they accepted his healing potions. Rehaak suspected that Raamya wanted the forest hut for his son, Radik. Any trouble in New Hope revolved around burly Radik, surly Ogun, and sly Mato.

  Raamya was not typical of Narragansett refugees. He had significant wealth. He arrived in New Hope after the town had grown. He harvested the fallen timber the forest provided, and took advantage of the labor force in New Hope. Raamya subjugated and abused the poorest, who were his workers, and they bore the worst of his cruelty. His three sons mirrored their father’s attitudes.

  Raamya’s firstborn and heir, was old enough to marry. By Abrhaani custom, a young man must first build a house before he married. With a completed house, he could then start a family once he found a wife. They had waited too long out of fear of contagion. Rehaak was unaware of those circumstances when he took up residence there. To his dismay, Rehaak had made enemies for himself even before his first visit to New Hope. Raamya now needed to build a house for his boy if he wanted Radik married.

  If Radik claimed the hut, he could start married life, without the cost of building his own dwelling.

  Constructing a new dwelling took time and diverted energy from their other business endeavors. If Raamya convinced or coerced Rehaak to vacate, he could claim the property for Radik, but Rehaak refused to abandon the home he worked long months to restore.

  The townsfolk got perverse pleasure from seeing the arrogant sawyer and his unruly brood bested by a newcomer. Although few people liked Raamya, many yielded to him, because of his power and influence.

  Latonia, his wife was the polar opposite to her husband, always caring and generous with her neighbors. Latonia’s tender heart and kind deeds earned her the love of the townsfolk. She provided an indispensable counterpoint to her husband that made living conditions tolerable for people. Many wondered why she had married the boorish sawyer, and why she stayed with such a disagreeable man.

  In spite of the general dislike people bore for Raamya, a few tried to curry favor with the lout. Those few made life uncomfortable for Rehaak whenever he visited town. No one caused problems for him at his home because everyone avoided the glade where he lived. There were rumors that the glade was fey and that Rehaak too was otherworldly, since he lived there unmole
sted by its mysterious forces. Rehaak was loath to dissuade them, since that belief fostered his status, but no villager ever crossed his threshold.

  Since he remained secluded in his forest glade, the animosity of a few townsfolk was a minor annoyance, not a major problem. Rehaak stayed out of town life and preferred the solitude of his wilderness home. Isil, unaffected by the general superstition about his house, relieved his isolation with her visits, as she journeyed to and from Narragansett.

  Rehaak rose early every morning and began each day by fetching water from the nearby stream. He loved light playing across the leaves, treasured the smell of wet earth, enjoyed the birdsong, and reveled in the freedom. Dawn struggled to burn through the overcast, leaving heavy mists hovering along the ground. Rehaak had experienced other dreary days of rain and mist, but today was different. Perhaps the villagers’ superstitions were affecting him, but something felt wrong.

  Rehaak ignored the feeling, and picked up his water bucket, but a raw and nagging dread intensified. Danger lurked in the mist this morning and made heart beat faster as a chill spread from his neck downward. The hair on his arms stood upright. As he scanned the clearing, he stepped back into the entrance and reached for his staff beside the door. As he did, Rehaak sensed movement in the brush along the path to the stream. There was something or someone out there.

  “Show yourself, whoever you are!” he challenged, and received no response.

  “Has Raamya’s hostility escalated?” he wondered.

  “I’m not in the mood for games this morning, so be on your way, or make your intentions known.” There was still no reply.

  Rehaak grasped his staff in his free hand and set the bucket on the ground, preparing for the worst. Fear deepened as he noticed movement again, this time in several directions at once. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the mist coalesce and darken to his left. Nausea accompanied the fear as three men appeared out of the fog.

  Their arrival distracted him from the strange behavior of the mist. The men carried clubs in addition to the knives like those carried by the thugs who attacked Isil. As they advanced, he recognized none of them. They were not from New Hope.

  Rehaak considered his options. He had little hope of outrunning his opponents. If he barricaded himself in the house, he delayed the inevitable. They could smash through the door, or set fire to the hut to burn him out. His best option was making a stand just inside the open doorway, where he forced them to attack him one at a time. With luck, he might even the odds before they wore down his strength.

  “What do you want?” he asked. Hope for a peaceful outcome faded as they continued toward him without answering. They had a fierce and feral look. His heartbeat thundered inside his chest. He formed a prayer for aid, as he noticed more movement in the mist behind the men.

  “Great,” he muttered. “Reinforcements.”

  Three large shaggy wolves with yellow eyes and fearsome fangs emerged from the underbrush. The beasts slunk along in silence with teeth bared, as they fanned out behind the men. Lean and powerful, they stood as tall as Rehaak’s hip.

  “Wonderful, after you kill me you feed me to your pets – is that your plan?” he said, vocalizing to calm his nerves.

  Rehaak’s assailants, heard his comment and looked puzzled. Noticing where he was looking, the man to Rehaak’s left turned his head to see what had attracted Rehaak’s attention. He cursed and warned his companions, when he saw the animals skulking behind them.

  Before the man’s companions turned, the wolves began their charge. For a second or two, Rehaak watched in stunned silence. The wolves stopped short, in a semi-circle flanking the three men, snarling, as they maneuvered, looking for an opening. The men stood back to back, facing the beasts with their weapons ready. Both sides appeared to have forgotten Rehaak, as he watched from his doorway.

  Just when Rehaak expected a stalemate, one wolf saw his chance. He lunged for the brigand nearest him, locked his teeth on the man’s knife arm, and the battle began in earnest. The other two men dared not take their eyes off the remaining wolves to help their beleaguered companion. Oblivious to the fangs buried in his flesh, he swung his club at the animal’s skull, a tactic which promised eventual success.

  Rehaak threw caution aside and entered the fray, siding with the animals, swinging his staff above his head, howling like a maniac. Rehaak’s shout distracted the combatants. The wolves recovered quickest and pressed the attack, leaving Rehaak free to pick his targets. He aimed at the heads of the men with wild two-handed swings, while dodging the moving bodies of the combatants. Rehaak flailed around until he landed a blow that felled one of them. It was inelegant, but effective.

  As the man hit the ground, a wolf pinned him. A second blow to his temple and the man twitched and became still. Rehaak pressed in again and another man fell, blood oozed from his ears and nose. As if on cue, the wolves broke off their attack, leaving the last man to face the four of them. The bleeding man stared at Rehaak, his eyes glassy and vacant.

  “What do you want?” Rehaak asked again

  The man smiled. His face twisted in hatred, mingled with insane amusement. He glared at the wolves, as he yowled, hissed and spat at them like an alley cat. He turned to look at Rehaak, raised the knife to his neck and cut his own throat. As blood jetted from the wound, surprise replaced the glassy stare as blood spurted from his neck. He spasmed and fell backward.

  The wolf cocked his head in perplexity as he watched this new turn of events. The man’s knife-hand stabbed and hacked at his own torso, but the wounds didn’t bleed. He was already dead, a marionette moved by an invisible puppet master, who caused him to mutilate himself, after death should have rendered him incapable of such actions.

  Rehaak recovered enough to knock the knife from his hand with his staff. The moment the knife left his grasp the corpse went limp. A dark mist formed around his body before it thickened and surged upwards. The wolves reacted, snarling and snapping at the insubstantial shape before it dissolved.

  Rehaak stood in stunned silence as he stared at the body. Once he overcame his astonishment, he bent and inspected the corpse to see if he could find an explanation for what he had just seen.

  Rehaak straightened, and stood staring at his own bloodied hands beside the mangled remains of his attacker. The wolves had vanished leaving him three graves to dig, no explanation for the attack, and no idea how a dead man mutilated himself.

  Rehaak buried them on the forest’s edge, far away from the hut. The tattoos on their backs were peculiar but Rehaak did not examine them, since he wanted their bodies in the ground before nightfall. As he covered their bodies with forest loam, an unfamiliar dirge flowed out of Rehaak’s mouth. Though he couldn’t understand the words he knew it was a song of grief, loss and anger. As soon as he had sung it, the unintelligible words and the memory of the action faded from his memory.

  Dark questions whirled through Rehaak’s mind, but he consoled himself with the adage, “Questions are the beginning of knowledge.” That truth was the only plank to grasp, in the flood of uncertainty threatening to engulf him. When Isil arrived, she could offer her opinion.

  Though he was reluctant to touch the knives the men had carried, he collected the weapons and forced himself to clean them. In spite of his revulsion, he wrapped them in oilskin, and stashed them inside his fireplace niche.

  Chapter 8

  In late afternoon, two days after the battle, Isil arrived. Rehaak pressured her to stay the night, because he wanted her insight. He overcame her reluctance to stay, with the offer of a delicious rabbit stew. Once they finished the meal, he drew up the old bench and his new chair, in front of the fire. Isil alternated between scowling and nodding, as Rehaak told his story.

  “Well, what do you think?” he asked when he finished.

  “I think yuh landed yerself in a mess fer sure.”

  “Obviously, but what did they want?”

  “More’n likely dey wanted yuh dead, I reckon, but we don’t kno
w who sent ‘em.”

  “You think someone hired them?”

  “Yup.”

  “Was it Raamya. Is he trying to get rid of me?”

  “Nope.”

  “The man detests me, he might have —”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yup.”

  “How could a dead man mutilate his own body, and what was the black mist?”

  “Dunno.”

  “That’s what I like most about you, your garrulous conversation. What about these knives then?” Rehaak offered one to her but she recoiled as if it carried plague.

  “Are they the same as the knives carried by the brigands who attacked us on the road when we first met?”

  “Yup,” She looked thoughtful, but remained silent.

  “Can you answer a question in words of more than one syllable?”

  “Yup.”

  “Well?”

  He rewrapped the three blades before he returned them to the small space he had discovered built into the side of the fireplace. The niche covered with a loose stone, was a good place to hide valuables and store the knives, dry and safe from rust. He was not sure why he kept them, since they gave him, in Isil’s words, the ‘shivers,’ every time he handled them.

  “Not Raamya,” Isil replied. “Dis feels o’ somethin more serious. Duh wolves comin tuh help yuh and all duh rest o’ dis — dat tells me dis be bigger dan a squabble over land ‘n such.”

  “Do you have any ideas?”

  “Lemme ponder it a stretch.”

  Rehaak had learned that it was pointless to continue asking questions once Isil stopped talking. It felt good to have her company again, since he feared another attack. He insisted that she use his new bed while he unrolled his old bedroll in front of the hearth. Without further conversation, they drifted off to sleep.