“There has not been any sign of rain all day, lad,” Armas said disbelievingly.
“Nor was there any out there on the North Road, sir,” the patrolman said.
“So tell me true, what does this rainless thunder have to do with your brother?” Armas asked him, impatient to get to the point of it all.
“Do you not guess, lieutenant?” Hollis asked, a mix of anger and fear coloring his words. “Tell me, boy, what did you and your brother see next?”
The young patrolman just stared at the old chieftain, the words momentarily not able to find their way to his frightened lips. “I do not know, sir. The thunder bellowed and shook us yet again, and then a flash of green light burst from the clouds like a sickened bolt of lightning. My horse, spooked as she was, threw me from the saddle.” He looked back and forth between the officer and the woodcutter, not sure how to explain the rest. Finally, he spoke his truth, though it was grossly incomplete. “By the time I had caught my breath and found my feet … my brother was gone.”
“Gone?” Armas asked.
“Gone, sir. No horse, no brother, no hoof markings, and no more storm clouds neither. My horse, she was mad with fear, and it was all I could do to manage to control her enough to take me back to the gate,” the patrolman explained.
“How can a man and a horse just vanish like that? Are you certain you did not see them? Did you sound your horn or call out his name?” Armas asked.
“Yes! Yes sir, of course, but he was nowhere to be found, and I heard no answer.”
“And you think I am the mad one?” Hollis said to Armas, his voice dripping with contempt. “How long ‘til whatever green-hell of a storm this was makes its way to the precious Citadel? Huh! Tell me, Lieutenant … what kind of power will our Priest King have then?”
“Enough now!” Armas said to the incensed chief. He put a steadying hand on Hollis’ arm and pulled him to the side of the room in a private conference. “Do not address me with such a tone in front of your men,” Armas corrected with stern fervor. “It discredits your leadership, and you know it.”
Hollis studied the face of his friend, then nodded in consent. “Forgive me. I have been too long in the hungry stare of this dark predator. And I have begged for aid, for help from those who choose not to believe or even admit that we are indeed hunted!”
Armas thought in unsure silence for a moment about the gravity of his next decision. “I cannot say for sure that your fears are anything more than the anxieties of a man who has been far too long in the fringes of the light. And I will not risk your neck and our assignment with just the testimony of a frightened young patrolman.” His whispered words were forceful and decisive.
“Armas, you must see—”
”What I can say for certain is that the last thing our cause or your men need is for you to march into the Citadel and demand action that they will never give you.”
“So you would willingly let the citizens of Haven walk into this dark storm without word or warning?” Hollis asked incredulously.
“No, my friend,” Armas said, his expression softening with his meaning. “But I will not charge you as messenger. I need, Haven needs, the great chief of the woodcutters with his axe sharp and his head still firmly attached to his neck. If we ever hope to fend off whatever it is that lies out there in the darkness, then I cannot allow you to go to the Citadel. If you do … I am convinced that you won’t come back.”
The men stood in silence as Hollis realized what Armas was trying to tell him.
“Well then, it looks like I am not going to get the pleasure of seeing our fine Priest King after all,” Hollis said, still shaken.
“I need you to trust me on this, old friend,” Armas insisted. “Ride as hard and fast as your old bones will allow you, and send me another twenty of your best to join this lot and head for Abondale. As soon as Yasen’s eye is on the mend, he shall bring the company of woodcutters south and join the ranks of the chosen few for the journey across the sea. Let us pray that Yasen and our new governor can find commonality in our great cause.”
“Well that all depends,” Hollis said, “on who this new governor of ours is.”
“Have you not heard the news?” Armas asked, a bit surprised.
“In case you have forgotten, I have been otherwise occupied with graver concerns than finding out who the Priest King has chosen to be his next lap dog,” Hollis grumbled.
“So it would seem,” Armas agreed. “The Priest King has, in his infinite wisdom, appointed Captain Seig to the post of governor of the new colony.”
“Seig? Ha! Men like him are going to have a hard time winning the loyalty of men like mine,” said Hollis. “Let us hope, for the sake of Haven, that I am mistaken about him. The last thing we need is two stubborn rams locking horns with each other when the real enemy is staring us down through the shadows.”
“I will drink to that,” agreed Armas. “Now … I am going to see if Keily is as good with a half-dead eye as she is with a brace of rabbits. And you? Ride, my friend. Ride hard, and send me back good men and sharp axes.”
“Well, at least this is better than sitting around waiting for the green death or the dragons to get me,” he said with a wink. Hollis clasped arms with the lieutenant in a parting gesture. “Aye, I shall send the men, and they shall bring their axes, and they shall strike hard at this great darkening with all of the courage that they can muster.”
Hollis turned and walked towards the tavern door, calling two of the most sober of his men to ride along with him back to the cutter camp.
He turned back to Armas again. “I hope, for all our sakes, that Jhames is right about this new light. For if the sacrifice and tenacity of our flint-like resolve do not sway the heart of the THREE who is SEVEN soon and compel His new light to come for us … we will all be lost to the green death. You can mark my words on that, my friend. We will all be lost.”
Hollis left the Gnarly Knob without a further word, and the vacuum he left in his wake put those who remained in the room suddenly in need of breath.
Armas felt a sickening feeling in his stomach as the door slammed closed after Hollis, but he pushed it aside, willing his focus to be on his present assignment.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“It is a miracle that you are even here in my tavern,” Keily said after hearing the story that Yasen told her. “The THREE who is SEVEN must have great plans for you, to spare your life like He did.”
“He may,” Yasen consented. “But I doubt I will ever really understand why His plans have such threads of pain woven through the fabric of His story.”
“Ah, well … that’s easy enough to understand!” Keily exclaimed in a matter-of-fact, albeit teasing tone of voice.
“Oh it is, is it?” Yasen retorted.
“The pain is like the strand of contrasting color in the tapestry.” She rose to her feet and walked over towards a moth-eaten tapestry of a ship at sea. “Without it, it would be hard for our eyes to focus,” she looked at him playfully, “and we might not so plainly see what it is that was meant to stick out above the fray. The presence of pain promotes the true worth of something or someone, doesn’t it? And then, somehow, the worthy things tend to stand in the foreground of our attention and our memories.”
She looked back at the tapestry. “Without the pain, without the thread, well … we would be hard pressed to even recognize the ship at sea, and all the more so when the moths have done their worst and our sight goes the way of the fading silver.”
“I am not quite sure if I should call you the wisest healer I have ever met, or if that whole explanation of yours was just poking fun at my lack of two good eyes,” Yasen said with a mirthful laugh.
“Well …” she winked at him, “I am not so sure either. But don’t you go cursing the pain just yet, North Wolf, for I have quite a bit more of it that I am about to inflict upon you.”
“Very well then, you may do your worst,” Yasen gruffly agreed, but softened his surly retort with a
n amused smile.
“Just consider this,” she said as she traced his scar with her fingers once again, “the underscore of something beautiful to come. Huh?”
With that thought, Keily did her best to apply the poultice of herbs and oils, willow bark and ground kale. She wrapped his head with the concoction and he winced and breathed hard through his teeth at the stinging pain that bit at his eye. She squeezed his shoulder to acknowledge his pain, waiting with him as the burning subsided.
“Let’s pray that this will do the trick, for these are the extent of my skills,” she told him kindly as she leaned in to brush his forehead with a kiss for good luck. She turned then to leave the room, but Yasen’s hand reached up and took hers before she could step away.
“Wait, my lady,” Yasen told her through labored breath. “It may just be that I should indeed be grateful for this loss and pain … for it seems that they brought me to you. If that be the truth of it, well then, I owe a debt of gratitude to Him after all.”
A winsome flash of genuine delight crossed her features at his bold words, but she dismissed them graciously. “Such a charmer, this wounded wolf of the North. I think that’s the willow bark talking,” she said with a smile. “Now I must be off … and you must rest.” She left half-blushed as she closed the door behind her.
A few minutes later, Lieutenant Armas entered the kitchen where Yasen lay stretched out, resting on the small table. “Yasen, I need a word with you,” Armas said. “Our time is short, for the ships will sail for the Western Wreath in a matter of days. I need to confirm that you understand your part in all of this.”
Yasen slowly sat up, making it clear to the lieutenant that the green concoction that was bandaged to his wound was causing this mighty man a great deal of pain.
Armas went ahead with his news anyhow, feeling the pressure of their task weighing upon him. “Hollis has already left for the North to send another score of men,” the lieutenant told him.
“North?” Yasen asked. “And what of his summons to an audience with the Priest King?”
“You let me take care of that,” Armas replied. “The Citadel is no place for Hollis right now.”
“I’m not sure how this task of leading the men fell to me,” the North Wolf growled. “I’m no chief, and certainly no politician.”
“If I am honest with you Yasen, I believe that you are exactly the kind of man this colony will need to succeed … and damn it all, man, you must succeed.” The intense sincerity of Armas’ tone stirred Yasen to greater concentration on the task at hand. For hours the men talked of the impending assignment, of the colony and the imperative success of the mission. Yasen wrote down the names of the men who would accompany him, making ready a full report that Armas could deliver to the Citadel.
As the night wore on, Keily came by the room often to see to the mending of Yasen’s wounded eye. Armas could sense something in the air each time the beautiful barmaid touched and tinkered with her patient. He observed that it was perhaps something more than duty or medicinal obligation that spurred on her efforts; there seemed to be a deep and familiar kindness that bordered on the edge of genuine affection.
“Careful there,” Armas said to Yasen after one such encounter. “You don’t want to go complicating an already complicated situation with the messy business of love.”
Yasen gave the lieutenant a quelling look, telling him to mind his own business without needing to utter a word. Armas raised his hands in surrender and continued with the plans for the colony. Of course he couldn’t blame Yasen; she was fiery and beautiful, and if any woman could hold her own around the hero of the North, it would be Keily.
“Well, I must be off. I will take your report to the Chancellor, and see to it that the Citadel will be prepared to receive you in three days’ time,” Armas finally told Yasen. “You see to making sure the men are rested and well fed, and that their minds and their axes are sharp and ready.”
Just then Keily came back into the kitchen. “Alright, enough of this!” she said to Armas. “If my patient doesn’t get some rest he will be no good to anyone.” She planted her hands on her hips, daring the lieutenant to defy her.
Armas bowed to the barmaid. “As you wish, my lady. I was just leaving. But please see to it that he mends as quickly as possible. For Haven will need him … all of us will.” The lieutenant shot a meaningful glance at the North Wolf, who put off his attention with a detached gesture.
Armas addressed Keily once more. “And please tell your father that His Brightness and I thank him for his generosity.” Armas handed her a small purse of coin as payment for both past and present expenses, then kissed her hand in a courteous farewell.
Armas and Yasen embraced arms. “Mend well, Chief … and mend soon,” Armas said. “Forty woodcutters, in three days. I will meet you at the Kings’ Gate and we will travel to Abondale together. Farewell, North Wolf.” With that, Armas left the hospitality of the Gnarly Knob and began his hard and hasty ride back to the Capital.
Two days passed, and the woodcutters regained strength and sharpness under the hospitable watch of Shameus and Keily. With warm food and good drink and real rest, the kind that comes when one does not fear the evil lurking just beyond the firelight, the men soon began to laugh and sing again. The memories of the green death began to fade from most of their minds as their loyalty and devotion to the way of the flint returned. They had little room left for hope or faith, so they managed their fears with ritual and tradition like woodcutters had for the last seventy years. They held to their disciplines, for that was all they knew to do. After each night’s rest and before the last meal of each day, the men prayed their prayers and recited the words of the Priests as they kissed the flints that hung around their necks.
The affection and intentions of Keily towards Yasen became increasingly obvious to the rest of the woodcutters, though the North Wolf seemed rather oblivious to them. At meal time, when the whole of the company was gathered around the long tavern table, she would make sure to give a little extra attention to him.
“Why does Yasen’s baguette always look bigger than the rest of ours?” Oskar yelled out in mock outrage.
“Speak for yourself, brother!” said another. “My baguette is plenty large!” The table erupted with good-hearted mockery, laughter rising above the din of clinking flagons and spoons scraping the bottom of bowls.
“Aye, we all see the way that brown-haired lass looks at you, Wolf,” said Goran. “It’s not a wonder why you’re getting a bit more, oh what’s the word … attention.”
“She is only looking after my injuries,” Yasen said dismissively.
The whole table erupted once again, and the hero of the North shook his head in annoyance, although he could not stop a slight flush from coloring his bearded cheeks. The men fell suddenly quiet as Keily walked back into the room with plates of apples and some kind of cheese.
“Alright you old goats, what are you carrying on about, that when a lady comes into the room you pretend so quickly to be innocent little lambs? Huh?” she feigned offense, staring them down with a reproachful eye.
“Oh, I understand now,” she said, clearly not afraid to play along. “You’re all amusing yourselves with the size of Oskar’s small baguette!”
Oskar’s eyes went wide in disbelief, and his bearded cheeks grew as red as the ripe apples she placed on the table in front of him.
The entire tavern laughed hard, and Yasen shook his head in wonder at the fearlessness of this woman. Her eyes caught his stare, and an intimate smile was shared there between them in the midst of this public revelry. The laughter continued unabated until the sound of thunder and flash of lightning shook the small tavern and quieted their merriment.
“That’s a bad omen, a storm like this on the eve of our departure,” Goran said. “I say we pray that our brothers are alright out there on the open road.”
“Aye, I agree,” another said, and the table that was just moments ago alive with inappropriate banter
now fell silent in fearful prayer.
The thunder rolled and the lightning cracked while the men sipped their ale in silence, clutching their flints as if they were talismans to ward off the raging storm. Just then, the door of the tavern burst open in a fury of wind and rain, darkening lamps and candles alike as its open threshold admitted the violent gusts of the storm. A lone figure rushed through the doorway, seeking refuge from the tumult outside. The man had to have been soaked through to the bone, and as the lightning flashed behind him, the mood of the room responded to the shadowy, wet figure.
The cloaked man came in and closed the tavern door as fast as he could. “I am sorry for the mess,” he said apologetically. “The storm came upon me out of nowhere!”
The stranger glanced around the room at the stoic patrons who regarded him curiously. “Is Shameus here?” he asked.
“That all depends on who is asking, lad,” the grizzled old barkeep responded.
The soaked man pulled back his hood, revealing a vaguely familiar face. Shameus looked at him carefully as he tried to place the young man. “Do I know you, son? Your face looks an awful lot like a young man I once met, only … well … different, somehow.”
“You do, Shameus. You and your daughter showed me kind hospitality months ago, and I would like to ask for a second helping of it … if there is still room.” The stranger surveyed the full dining hall, his eyes lighting up with recognition as he spotted the beautiful barmaid.
“Cal?” Keily’s voice exploded from the other side of the tavern. She ran up to the soaking wet stranger and gave him a welcoming embrace.
The men at the table shared looks of utter amazement and exchanged wide-eyed words of disbelief.
“I thought he was dead for sure!” Oskar said.
“This is not possible, he must be a ghost. How can it be?” Goran wondered out loud.
“My friend, is that you? Is that … really you?” Yasen stood to his feet; his slow, dubious steps towards the young man were filled with wonder.
The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy) Page 29