The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  It was after noon when Ipid looked up from the papers before him. He adjusted the damp collar of his shirt. It was another sweltering day – the breeze through his window like a furnace – and he was not sure why he had decided to put on real clothes. Partially because it felt wrong to do work in his pajamas but also, he knew, to separate himself from the scent of Eia. Yet even with his nightclothes folded on the, now made, bed, even with the windows open and a breeze shifting the curtains, he could smell her. And each breath brought his thoughts to her.

  He looked down at the pages before him. As Eia had suggested, he had given up on writing letters. Instead, he was trying to order his thoughts, think through all he had to accomplish, and develop a plan for the remainder of the week. Find Dasen, negotiate Kingdoms’ surrender, aid Liandria and Morg Fells, destabilize Arin. It was an impossible list. He had no idea how he would accomplish any of those, did not even know where to start. What was clear, however, was that he could not do it alone. His stomach rumbled. His thoughts returned to Eia. Not accomplishing anything here. And staring at this paper won’t change it. He sighed and pushed himself back from the desk.

  Turning into the main hall that connected his wing to the one he had reserved for Dasen and Tethina and had since given to Eia, he thought about what he would say, tried to craft an apology, to think of a tactful way to ask for her help, then stood at her door for a long moment, anticipation and trepidation battling. Finally, he brought his hand up and knocked. He had no idea what to expect, no idea what he’d say. But wasn’t that always the way with her? He felt his tension grow, his breaths become shallow as he waited for an answer.

  Nothing. He knocked again, harder this time. “Eia, it’s me. . . . I’m sorry about this morning. I want to see you. Are you there?” Not a sound. “I . . . ah . . . had some questions . . . about the Darthur and Dasen . . . . And I wanted to look for some lunch. . . . I could find us some more wine.” Ipid waited before admitting the obvious. She wasn’t here.

  With a sigh, he walked back to the broad staircase and down its carpeted expanse. He listened but, hearing nothing, began to search. In the dining room, a plate sat with a cloth napkin covering it. He lifted the cloth away and found half of a roasted rabbit surrounded by a colorful arrangement of vegetables – she hadn’t completely abandoned him. Stomach rumbling and mouth watering, he covered the food and peeked into the kitchen. The wine bottle Eia had taken sat empty on its side on one of the tables. Vegetable scraps and peelings were scattered around it. A dirty, worn knife stood among them, tip buried in the wood. The room was otherwise empty. The back door was open, but the vegetable garden was as lifeless as the kitchen.

  “Eia! Are you here?” Ipid stood at the door and yelled. “I’m sorry for this morning. I’d love it if you’d join me. . . . Thank you for the food. It looks wonderful.” When he ran out of things to say and there was still no response, he walked back though the door and down the hall.

  In his study, several books had been removed from the shelves and scattered about the room. The bottles of wine that he’d set next to the cellar door had been toppled, at least a few of their number removed. Ipid thought about what he’d seen. If Eia had consumed that entire bottle of wine in the time since she’d left him, she would have to be falling over drunk. It had only been a few hours, and she could not weigh a hundred pounds.

  Returning to the hall, he walked toward the front of the manor and found the front door ajar. There was no sign of Eia in the expanse of green on the other side. Stomach rumbling and cramping, he returned to the dining room and quickly ate several bites of the rabbit. He chewed quickly, stuffed some tiny carrots into his mouth, and returned to the gardens.

  Down the path, he passed exotic flowers, elaborately carved hedges, fruit trees just beginning to hold their bounty, but no Eia.

  He heard splashing. The pond. At the back of the estate was a small, ornamental pond. Fifty paces across and never deeper than a man’s shoulder, it was surrounded by weeping willows, their fronds hanging around the water like a curtain. The reeds and moss had been removed, leaving hazy water with blooming lilies dotting its surface. Eia stood at the pond’s edge, water rising to her waist, body naked. Back to Ipid, she ran her hands up her body to her breasts then on to her neck and through her water-soaked hair, but her eyes were locked on the trees at the pond’s far end, staring at something . . . or someone. Ipid heart skipped. Who could deserve such as this? Has she already found another object for her affections?

  Turning away from the source of her attention, she dove back into the water. Ipid walked cautiously down the path toward her, searching the trees. He had not yet found anything when Eia rose from the water and began walking directly toward him. Her naked body glistened. Water dripped from every point, ran in a shower from the hair that reach almost to her slim hips. Somehow, she did not seem to see Ipid, though he was no more than ten paces from her. She looked back over her shoulder, eyes still locked on the far bank, face a mask of desire to match the invitation in her eyes.

  Heart hammering, Ipid followed her gaze and finally saw the source of her flirtation. It was a boy. No more than twelve, he stood shirtless and dripping on the far bank. His mouth hung open, body frozen by what he was witnessing.

  Ipid looked from the boy – he did not recognize him – to Eia. She strode from the water, hips swinging clumsily. “What are you doing?”

  Eia jumped. Her attention turned and she laughed. She looked back to be sure her audience had not gone then approached. She walked slowly, seductively, hid nothing, showed no shame. “Join me,” she said, words slurring. “I want you.”

  She grabbed his hand, tried to bring it to her. Ipid jerked it away. “What are you doing? There is a boy there. He’s not more than twelve.”

  “I know. He’s cute, isn’t he? I don’t think he’s ever seen a woman naked. I get the best reactions from him.”

  “Eia! He’s a boy. You can’t . . . “

  “What?” Eia backed away, nearly stumbling. “I haven’t hurt him. I let him look at me. I didn’t touch him, he didn’t touch me. Tell me you wouldn’t have sold your mother to have that opportunity when you were his age.”

  Ipid ignored her, refused to give her the fight she clearly craved. Instead, he turned to the boy. “You there,” he yelled and stepped around Eia to block her from his view. “Are you alright? Do you need something to eat? Are your parents still . . . ?”

  That was as far as he got before the boy was gone. As soon as Ipid emerged, his mesmerism seemed to fail. His face filled with shock. He snatched his shirt from the ground and ran. Ipid’s questions followed him, but there was no response.

  “Are you happy?” Eia asked from over his shoulder. Her hand wrapped around him. Her lips found his ear. “Will you join me for a swim now?”

  “Can we go back to the house?” Ipid pulled her back in front of him. She stumbled, staggering in his arms, nearly fell. He caught her, but she squirmed free and went to her knees. She began working the belt of his pants. “Eia, stop! We’re in the middle of the garden. That boy could be anywhere.”

  “Let him watch,” Eia slurred. She fought his hands to get to his pants. “He might learn something.”

  “No, Eia.” Ipid secured her hands, held them away from him.

  “Is that all you can say? Fine! We’ll go to your house. We’ll fuck in your bed like good little boys and girls.” She stumbled to her feet, strode past him, and swayed toward the house.

  Ipid felt his emotions swirl. He searched the area for the boy, wondered where he had come from, wondered if he needed help, wondered what Eia’s display had done to him. Not finding the lad, he took a deep breath and followed Eia. She was obviously drunk, not thinking straight, but to do that to a boy, to play with his emotions, to taunt him, seemed cruel. There was clearly no point in addressing it now. Now, he’d get her to bed. They’d discuss it when she was sober.

  #

  An hour later, Ipid returned to the dining room. He looked at th
e plate of food, feeling ill. His stomach rumbled, but he was not sure if he could get food past the guilt burning a hole in his chest.

  Eia was finally asleep in her own bed, but she had been so persistent, so relentless that he had finally given in. He had known that it was wrong, that she was too drunk to know what she wanted, but he could only resist so long. There had been no love in it, no affection. And when they finished, she had passed out, had left him feeling like the lowest creature to walk the earth. He had sputtered his apologies, nearly cried for having given her exactly what she wanted, and her eyes had shuddered closed, her body had gone limp. His words had been lost. His guilt, his weakness had remained unrepentant.

  He chewed his cold lunch, barely noticing the flavors. An emotional rollercoaster. He had forgotten the way new relationships felt, the ups and downs, the elation and uncertainty. It had been twenty-five years since he’d courted Kira, since he’d hung on her every glance, lived for the slightest brush of her lips. Even knowing her fondness for him, even knowing that they would be joined, he had lived on the edge of a knife. And despite his seeming age and wisdom, Eia was worse. She was so unpredictable, so difficult, so demanding. It had barely been a day, and she had him swimming in such circles that he could no longer find the land, had him feeling just like the boy who’d flirted with a village girl behind the wagons of the caravan. Yet that boy would have never done what you just did.

  Heart heavy, he walked to his room. Eia was right, he was alone.

  #

  It was dark by the time Ipid found his way to the dining room. Eia was waiting. She wore another of Tethina’s dresses. This one was more conservative, with high neckline and full sleeves. Yet the deep burgundy colored silk brought out the blush of her pale cheeks and made her dark eyes appear huge. She was lounged sideways in a straight-backed chair with a book spread across her lap, bare feet dangling over the arm. On the table before her were two crude plates and an array of mismatched silverware – pieces that had not been worth taking. Wooden cups held a dark liquid. An open bottle stood between them.

  As he entered, Eia jumped slightly, slapped the book shut, and stood. “Hello,” she said and brushed an errant strand of hair nervously over her ear to join their pale fellows flowing down her back. Standing, it was clear she had altered the dress. It conformed to her body, hugging breasts and hips before falling into a pool at her feet. She was beautiful. Ipid had been almost dreading see her again, had been almost hoping that she would not be here, that he would not have to face what had happened that afternoon. But now, seeing her, looking into her dark eyes, watching her lips quirk into an uncertain smile, he could not help but feel elation.

  “I . . . I am sorry,” Eia said. She cast her eyes down. Her hands worked before her, picking at each other nervously. “You are a good man. You deserve better. Though I was drunk beyond all reason, I accept responsibility for my choices. Among my people, we are more open about our bodies, and about what we do with them, but it is wrong of me to force that upon you, and even more so on that boy.”

  “Eia, it’s . . . .”

  “No, let me finish. Part of what my order taught is that one must take responsibility for their choices. They are my choices. If they hurt others, then I have shamed Hilaal. He gave me freewill, and I honor him by using that gift to make choices that make his world better. I did not do that today.” She paused and looked down at her hands where they picked at one another.

  Ipid wanted to go to her, to relieve her of the burden of apologizing. He took a step forward, drew the breath to speak.

  “I am not done,” Eia said before he had a chance. “You will be happy to know that I found the boy. He is with his family. His parents are thieves, looters. They had stayed behind to pick through the abandoned houses. I apologized to the boy, explained to him what he had seen. He was confused but seemed to understand. I also spoke with his parents. They had gathered a great deal of food. I traded with them and made it clear that they should not come here.

  “And here again, I must apologize. I stole a bracelet meant for your daughter-in-law. I gave it to the boy’s parents in exchange for food, enough to get us through the week. I hope you will agree that the food is more valuable, but it was not my jewelry to take or to trade. If you’d like, I will find a way to repay you.”

  “Eia, it doesn’t. . . .”

  “Stop. I have one more thing of which I am most ashamed.” She sighed, clenched her hands to keep them from picking at each other, and seemed to steel herself. “I did not respect your wishes. Many times you asked me to stop. I did not. I forced myself on you, placed my own desires above yours. It was wrong. I do not blame you if you hate me, if you do not want to ever see me again. If that is the case . . . .”

  Ipid approached, grabbed her arms. “Don’t be silly. I am just glad that you are not angry with me. You were in no condition to know what you wanted. I should have been strong enough to walk away. It is me that should be . . . . You gave me exactly what I wanted. This may be the first time, a woman has apologized for seducing a lonely old man.” He laughed.

  “So you don’t hate me?” Eia’s face lightened but the sorrow did not leave her eyes. “I know I was awful. It is what happens when I drink too much. I should never have started, but I thought you were rejecting me, that you didn’t want me anymore.” A tear escaped her eye and drifted down her cheek, leaving a glistening path.

  Ipid wrapped his arms around her. She felt so small and fragile, deflated from the powerful creature he had always known. “Don’t be foolish. I am sorry I pushed you away, but that was about me, not you. After last night, I want to be with you all the time. You are the only thing on my mind, and that scares me. It is all so much. Even without everything else, I have not had a woman in my life, have not allowed anyone close to me, in years. But more than anything, I am worried. I feel like the entire world is resting on my shoulders. I want to give myself to you, but there are so many things on my mind, so many things fighting for my attention. It is not fair to you, but I hope that you can understand.”

  Eia sniffed, pulled herself back from his arms and looked into his face, eyes shimmering with water. She snuffled. “I will take whatever you can give me. Thank you for being honest with me. I am afraid that I have known many men who are not so kind, who take advantage of women like me. It is my fear that caused this. I forced myself on you because I thought if I did not, you would slip away.”

  Ipid laughed. He would never have guessed to see this side of her, would not have even considered that it existed, but now it seemed obvious. A beautiful woman who gave herself so readily to men was destined to a life of rejection, of warm beds growing cold once the morning light shone. And Ipid had shown no sensitivity to her fears. That afternoon had, in many ways, been as much his fault as hers. “I won’t slip away,” he assured. “Even if I wanted to, I think you’d know where to find me.”

  He tried to laugh, but it was cut short by Eia’s lips on his. He brushed away the tears from her cheeks as he held her face, felt her, smelled her.

  She pulled away after only the briefest time. “Thank you. I am sorry to be such a mess.” She wiped her tears away with a cloth napkin and took a deep breath. A smile spread her cheeks. “Shall we eat?”

  #

  Later that night, Ipid laid awake. Eia was pressed against him, slow breaths tickling over his arms where they held her. He thought about her, about how good it felt to be there with her, to feel her warmth, the softness of her skin, to smell her, to have the taste of her lingering on his tongue. He wondered if he loved her. It seemed strange. He barely knew her, had hated her only a few days before, now he couldn’t imagine being without her. And to love again. He had not even thought that was possible, had not thought he could ever again be this close to another person. But here he was, with a woman held in his arms, and no desire to be anywhere else, no desire to escape. He had not felt that in more than a dozen years, and it felt good. He knew that he shouldn’t, that he had far too many worr
ies to allow himself the luxury of happiness, but he could find no way to dismiss it. It appeared that happiness had finally found him. Found him and sunk its teeth in at the strangest possible time.

  Chapter 6

  The 15th Day of Summer

  Teth shot from her bed. She screamed into the night. Her hands clutched at the darkness to fend of the talons, teeth, blades, and demonic faces closing from every side. Gasping, she clasped her throat to quell the blood that must be pumping from her open veins. She panted. Her heart beat so hard it hurt in her chest. But there were no monsters, no corpses, no bloodstained fields. She was alone in the darkness, in the dead quiet of a sleeping commune. “A dream,” she told herself in disgust. “A stupid, Order-cursed dream.”

  Her head dropped into her hands. Water sprayed from her hair, fell in streams from her nose and chin. Her clothes clung to her as if she had taken them swimming. She laid back in her bed, but it was cold and sodden. Her clothes and hair clung to her giving her a chill despite the relentless heat. And the images would not leave. She tried reassuring herself, tried laughing the dread away. It was futile. The bodies were still there, bloody and mutilated. The battle still raged, a maelstrom of brutality on every side. The monster still clung to the shadows, their teeth glinting in the reflected moonlight. The fear, the horror, the guilt still consumed her.

  Against the protests of her legs and back, she rose and stripped off the skiff she had made from an abandoned flour sack. She replaced the nightgown with the brown robe and walked from the room. Outside, the hall seemed bright compared to her room. The moon shown directly through the window at the far end, casting silver light. Beyond that, the halls were not lit in any way. As far as she could tell, there was not a single source of light in the entire compound. When the sun fell, the Weavers completed their tasks in the dark as if light were in no way necessary for their function, which, given the strict regularity of their routine, it probably wasn’t – they could probably conduct their entire day without a single one of their senses.