The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  “So when do we bring him out and show him off?” another voice asked. “You said that the people’ll rally to him, so when do we do it?”

  “You can’t!” Dasen blurted. He forced himself up. His eyes came open. The world was blurry, blotched with white, but became clearer as his eyes searched the dim room. He was lying next to a rack of shelves that stretched to the ceiling eight feet above. It was packed full of foodstuffs – meats, vegetables, jars, crocks. Around him were bags of grain and flour, casks of beer, barrels, and crates rising like walls. Against the far wall, near the outside door was a pile of wood on one side and mound of charcoal on the other. It was the storehouse of an inn and a sizeable one by the look of it.

  Eight men stood around the room between the sacks and crates. Six of them were gathered in a clump near the outside door. These were the same men that had been outside the temple. They were soldiers, thick and muscled with broad shoulders and stances. They wore plain clothes but had thick leather vests over their shirts and sturdy clubs tucked in their belts. The seventh man had not been at the temple, would have stood out there like a bow on an urchin. He was portly, middle-aged, and soft. His cheeks were ruddy, nose red. He wore the apron of an innkeeper, but it was pristinely white, and the black suit beneath it was fine. He stood by a door on the opposite side of the room, glancing nervously from the clump of men to Dasen to the heavy, barred door at the back of the room. The final man was sitting in a chair near a small round table with Teth on his lap. He was the biggest of them and the only with a full beard – a Morg. He restrained Teth easily though he held his head awkwardly away, suggesting that he did not relish the job of holding the filthy, grime-splattered, stinking youth. Teth sat on the big man’s knee looking like a toddler. She frowned but did not appear to be fighting. Her eyes flashed to Dasen. He caught them, saw anger, then sorrow before they returned to the floor.

  By the time Dasen had completed his inspection, the man who had spoken at the temple was approaching, eyes smoldering. The lamplight showed several days of stubble standing out around a bushy mustache. There was no sign of gray in the stubble or in the long, brown hair that hung down over his shoulders, but he must have been well into his thirties by the cracks around his hard blue eyes. He closed on Dasen and held out a hand. “Dasen Ronigan, it is my great pleasure to meet you. My name is Kian Polemark, lieutenant of the Thoren Directorate Guards. I owe you my life as does every man in this room.”

  Dasen took the soldier’s hand and let him hoist him to his feet. He stood, rubbing the lump at the back of his head as he watched his captor. Kian was not quite as tall as him, but still a big man. He grinned, showing off a number of gaps including a front tooth that had been chipped almost to a point. He had a handsome, rugged face, and a warm, inviting smile, but his cold eyes were too intense by half.

  “These others are Jax, Torin, Sam, Geoff, Rog, and Jaren. The Morg is Garth.” Kain pointed to each man in turn. They nodded their deference in turn but remained otherwise silent. “We were, every man, in Thoren.”

  “Don’t include me in that group,” the innkeeper mumbled from near the door. “This boy’s more likely to cost me my life than save it.”

  “I said every man in this room, Mark,” Kian growled. His fellows chuckled as the innkeeper sneered. “Everyone of us, save that worm over there, saw what you did. And the truth is we’ve been looking for you ever since.”

  “Let us go, then,” Dasen said, motioning to Teth. He tried to sound commanding, like he deserved the reverence that these men seemed to have attached to him. “Let me and my valet go. He’s . . . .”

  “You don’t need your stories with us.” Kian interrupted glanced at Teth. “She’s neither a boy nor your valet.” Kian nodded to the man holding Teth, and he carefully released her. She stood cautiously then crept wide around the men to stand by the outside door. Dasen eased toward her. None of the men moved to bar him. “That there,” Kian looked to Teth and allowed his eyes to linger, “is the very goddess of war. And I have her to thank for my life every bit as much as you.” He bowed toward Teth. His fellows mumbled their agreement.

  “Tell ‘em, Kian,” one of the men said. “Tell ‘em what happened in Thoren.”

  “They already know,” Kian growled. He clenched his fists then forced himself to let it go. “But that’s not what you mean. You want me to tell them why I’m not rotting in the ground like all the others who were betrayed that day?” He looked sharply at the man who had spoken. He did not back down but neither did he manage to hide his unease.

  “I was as good as dead the last time I saw her,” Kian started with the deep resonance of a seasoned storyteller. “I was down. I had an arrow through my shoulder. An invader had just knocked me senseless, would have split my skull except for my helm.” A motion to the scab along his forehead made the point. “He was preparing to finish me. I looked to the side to keep from seeing the blade come down and saw her.” He looked at Teth with such intensity that it made her shiver. “I watched the arrow leave her bow, did not even need to see it plant in the throat of the bastard that was going to end me. I had seen her arrows fly enough times that day to know exactly where it would go. I had marveled just as many times that a scrap of a boy could shoot a bow better than any man I’d ever seen. But this time I actually watched her.” Kian paused to gather himself. He took a deep breath. “I saw you look at him. I saw you look at your husband as only a wife looks at her husband, and I knew. I knew that you were two sides of the same coin. The god and goddess of war sent by the Order itself to deliver us from these bastards.”

  His fellows murmured their agreement, all except the innkeeper, who scoffed. “I followed you into the river but never saw you again,” Kian finished. “Then the valati pulled me and the rest of this lot from the water and brought us here. And still, we all knew that we would see you again, that we needed to pave the way for you, that you would find us, that we were tied together by the Order itself. And then you appeared at the temple right before one of my speeches, you ran down our alley, you showed us your powers. There can be no disputing the role the Order played in that. You were meant to be with us. The Order has sent you. No one can deny it.”

  Teth groaned as if Kian had just punched her in the guts. He looked toward her. She was staring at the ceiling, teeth clenched.

  Dasen did not have the wherewithal then to figure out what it could mean. He was too busy trying to decide what to do about Kian. It was clear that the man had cracked. The Order didn’t work that way. This was a coincidence, nothing more. It was certainly not enough to draw him into some crazy rebellion. They had seen enough fighting. They needed peace, not war. “Maybe we should be on our way,” he suggested as he inched toward the door.

  “I’m sorry,” Kian bellowed with a laugh. “I guess I got a bit ahead of myself. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ve been giving speeches for almost a week now, and I can get a bit carried away.” He laughed again. “I am sorry. But it is true that this city needs you. More importantly, I cannot allow you to leave. That is for your own good. Slink and his gang are still out there. We have a bit of an agreement with them, but that fuck is crazy, especially at night. I can’t guarantee you’d live more than a minute after you pass through that door. Unless, of course, you use your powers. In which case, the soldiers and bounty hunters will be on you like the Maelstrom itself. This is the only safe place you’ll find.” He paused, watched Dasen then Teth.

  “I tell you what,” he decided. “You don’t need to do anything right now. The city’s not ready, and from the looks of you, neither are you. We have plenty of time. You stay here with us. We have food and beds and bathes and clothes.” The last was said with a hard glance at Teth. “Mark will set you up with a room.” The innkeeper opened his mouth to protest, but Kian cut him off with a gesture. “We’ll leave it at that for now. When you’ve recovered, we can talk, and you can decide what you want to do. Agreed?”

  As much as Dasen disliked it, Kian was right. They didn
’t have any other choice. They’d never survive a night in the city. Their only choices were to surrender to the invaders or to Kian. He looked to Teth. She just stared at the ceiling shaking her head and mumbling. “Ageed,” he said and reach a hand out to Kian. The big man crushed it in his own. His smile was wolfish, eyes blazing.

  “Let’s get you a room and some food then,” he said. He led Dasen toward the door with his arm around his shoulders. “This is it,” he mumbled as they walked. “The Order has given us everything we need.”

  #

  Teth forced her head under the water of her bath. She fought her body’s instinct to seal itself, tried to make her mouth open, tried to make hers lungs accept the water, tried to make herself drown. She felt her chest tighten, her tears mingle with the warm water, her head throb. White spots danced before her eyes. You can do this, she told herself. And this time, Dasen won’t be here to save you.

  Instead, he’ll find you dead in a bath. The image appeared uninvited: her bloated white corpse floating in a tub, naked for all to see with Dasen standing over her, crushed and broken.

  She rose from the water, panting, and gasping. Water ran down her face, into her mouth, turned her gasps to sputters. Head pounding, she leaned over the side of the tub and retched. Nothing came. “Fuck!” she gasped and punched the side of the tub.

  Eventual, she laid back in the bath. Her eyes roved the bathing room. Searching for a razor, she realized. She fanaticized about running it along her wrists, watching the water blur to pink as she faded away. And leave him to find you, soaking in your own blood. Her cruel mind, made her see the look on Dasen’s face. It’s not his fault, the voice told her. He doesn’t know. He couldn’t possibly understand.

  “But I want it to end!” she moaned to herself. “I can’t do it anymore.”

  In the time since her conversation with the Weaver, Teth had felt continuously as if she were drowning. The weight of that old man’s revelations had crushed her until she could barely pull herself from bed, barely eat, or talk, or move. All she had wanted to do on the boat was sleep and, barring that, lie on her bed and stare at the wall.

  Dasen should have thrown her out. She was a burden, a retched stinking heap that wasn’t worth his time or effort. She had deserved no patience or sympathy and had gotten all of it. Even through her despondence, she had seen how he cared for her, how he worried over her, how he searched for a way to save her. And now she wanted to reward him by turning up dead in a bath a few feet from where he slept? She could not imagine a more cruel trick to play.

  She couldn’t do it. But she also couldn’t continue living. That much had been decided that afternoon. In that moment after they were robbed, when they had lost everything, the revelation had hit her – she could not imagine why she had not thought of it earlier. The Weaver had proved his point beyond a doubt. He owned her, controlled every aspect of her life, and he intended that life to be filled with nothing but pain. He had put them on a path of constant struggle, hunger, fear, and depravation with not a scrap of hope that it would ever end. But most of all, no hope that they would ever have each other. Being robbed even when they had nothing to steal had been the final blow, the last reminder of the world that the Weaver had created.

  Then the revelation had come. Death. Weighed against the hardships, loneliness, and pain stretched before her, death was a sanctuary. Just the thought of it had given her strength like she had not felt in weeks. It can all end, she had told herself and had felt almost instant relief. Even now, the very thought of it was like a balm. Just knowing that it would all soon be over made it possible to keep going.

  She just had to find a way. The alley had been the perfect chance. But Dasen had to pull her back from the blade, had to use his power. And Kian just happened to be following them, happened to be a few feet away. At the time, Teth had been too stunned to see those things for what they were. Now, she realized how powerful the Weaver truly was, how hard her task would be.

  “Fuck you, old man,” she said with a tremendous sigh. She beat her hand down into the water beside her, sent it splashing to the floor. She felt the sorrow, the helplessness rising inside her. Even in this, he would thwart her. And why wouldn’t he? She felt all the energy seep from her, leaking out with her hope. Sadness lodged in her chest, throbbing, real pain stretching down her arms to her fingers. “You cruel bastard,” she moaned through a sob. “You can’t even give me this?”

  But de Nardees defied them, she heard a voice say. The Weaver had even told her so. He had said that she still had freewill. And if she used it at the right time, if she found her moment and acted against everything she believed everything the Order told her to do, then she, like the first King of Liandria, could be free.

  The idea took hold, germinated and grew. The moment would come. Death would face her. She had to position herself to meet it, and then act against the Weaver’s machinations and find the release she so desperately desired. Where Nardees had run from the blade, she would run to it. It was the only way. That bastard would have foreseen this, would have planned any number of contingencies to stop her – if she tried to drown herself, the tub would probably spring a leak – but eventually the choice would come. She just had to see it and act, had only to find death and embrace it.

  And Dasen. He would see it as a part of their struggle. He would not blame himself. He would move on just as he was destined to do when he realized that he could never have her. And they would both be spared the anguish of a love that could never be realized, that could never be complete.

  Teth laid back in the tub and smiled. It was not a smile of joy but rather of conviction, of a decision made and accepted. She felt hope return with her certainty that the black road would end and that the end would come soon. With another long, shaking breath, she picked up the soap on the side of the tub. She would get clean now, would face her life as best she could until the time came to end it.

  As she scrubbed the dirt and stink away, she thought of Dasen. The very thought of him, made her chest hurt. She couldn’t believe how much she loved him, how much she wanted to be with him, to hold him, and kiss him, and even . . . .

  It could never be. Just having him close caused her agony, made her think of everything she could never have. And it made no sense to lead him on. They needed to grow apart, so that it would be easier when the time came. In the morning, she would say goodbye, then she would let him go.

  The bath was cold by the time she stood, dried herself, slipped into the boy’s nightshirt that the innkeeper had provided, and walked the few paces to the room she was to share with her husband. She hoped that she had waited long enough, that he was already asleep, that she would not have to face him. In the morning she would be ready. Just not now.

  #

  Dasen’s eyes drooped; his head sagged. He stood from the chair and paced around the room, thinking that movement might keep him from ceding to sleep. He watched the door, praying and fearing that Teth would walk through. She had been in the bath for what seemed like hours, and he was beginning to wonder if he should check on her. She had insisted that he bathe first. He had tried to be quick, but she was clearly taking her time. That left him pacing, staring, begging his body to stay awake long enough to see her before he collapsed.

  He was in a well-appointed single room. It had a large bed, a small table, two chairs, an empty fireplace, and a single window. Curtains billowed from the window, allowing the evening breeze to stir the hot, stuffy air. The room had been Kian’s, but he had given it up when Mark refused to cast out one of his paying customers. The two of them were cousins as it turned out – Kian’s mother having come from Gorin – but theirs was clearly an arrangement of convenience. Kian and his gang’s main activity was stealing the food that was being gathered for the invaders. In a city strangled by rationing, that food was more valuable than jewels, so Mark gave them rooms and cover in exchange for a share, but sharing food did not mean they shared ideals. Dasen was not sure that he was any more en
thusiastic about Kian’s plans, but there choices were limited, and this room was certainly more comfortable than the alley, the infamous camp, or a mass grave would have been. A hot meal, a bath, a bed, a clean nightshirt, these were luxuries that he could barely imagine a few hours before.

  Now, if Teth would just join him. After the days they’d spent on the river, he didn’t know what to expect but hoped that her willingness to eat and bathe were indications that she had come out of her malaise, that they could celebrate their momentary good fortune with some of the closeness that had been absent since Thoren. They had come so far before that battle, and now that he was clean and fed, his last, greatest desire was to kiss his wife, to feel her close, to . . . . He stopped himself before his thoughts went too far. He had been patient on the boat, had given her space and time, but his patience was just about spent. He needed her, needed some solace, some indication that it all meant something.

  The door latch snapped open. Dasen leapt and turned, heart suddenly pounding beyond any momentary fear he had felt at being startled. The door crept open, and Teth slid around the surface quiet as a ghost, wearing a too big cotton nightshirt that matched his. He watched her in the light of the candle that stood on the table at her side. She was a shadow of the girl from the forest, wasted to bones and shrunken. But she was still beautiful, clean and bright, short, uneven hair drying into clumps, freckles stretching across her pert nose, long, white neck leading to broad shoulders, thin arms, small breasts, nipples just outlined by the shirt that hid everything else until it ended just above her ankles and small, white feet. He wanted her more than anything, could not help but imagine her without that shirt on, imagine her as she had been at the Muldon’s so long ago, the last time they’d shared a room.