by C S Marks
“I’m one of the ones who actually had plotted against King Darius,” said the man with the ring. My name was Rubio, remember? I’m one of the few who actually might have deserved your attentions! Ha!”
“Who is that man near the wall?” I asked, feeling a cold chill take hold in the pit of my stomach.
Rubio looked over at his companions. “Oh, him? That’s Vero. You don’t recognize him because it was so dark in the bed-chamber. Thing is, you killed him by mistake! He wasn’t supposed to be there. That’s why he hates you so much. If I were you, I wouldn’t speak to him at all, even if he speaks to you.” Rubio’s cold, reptilian eyes glinted in the candle-light. “You’re in a dangerous place here, Shadow-man.”
I turned to Asher. “What is the purpose of this? Are these people…are they all people whose lives I ended? Have they come to torment me? I thought you were my friend. Why have you brought me here?” I felt my eyes widen as I realized something else, to my horror. “There isn’t any water, is there?”
Asher held up his hand. “Save your strength. You must hear them out—all of them. They have things to say.”
I don’t know how much time passed. I don’t remember how many souls I heard that night…I lost count after a while. A few knew why their deaths had been ordered, but most did not. They wanted me to tell them. In a few instances, I could relate what I had been told, but it didn’t help them. They would shriek and rail and scream that it wasn’t true—that they had been killed for no reason. Then they would vanish in a whirl of smoke and light and tears.
Finally, Vero rose and approached my table. He raised his hand as if to strike me, but seemed to remember it would do not good. When he spoke, his voice was like a razor cutting into my flesh. “You’ve ended my life, Shadow-man, and I would curse you if I could. But I was a good man in life, and I will continue to be a good man now. I would not wish your guilt or your wretchedness on anyone.” He turned to leave, grabbing his tankard in one massive hand. Then, at the last, he turned back to me, draining the tankard in several long, satisfying swallows. I nearly wept with desire for just one drink, and he smirked at me. “Sorry…somehow I just can’t bring myself to share,” he said, then walked into the mist, clapping his fellows on the back and laughing.
“You’re lucky that’s all he did to you,” said Asher in a solemn voice. “But he held on to his humanity—to the things his father taught him. Didn’t your father teach you that it’s wrong to kill?”
“Yes,” I said, so exhausted I didn’t know if I could draw another breath. “When does this end? Can’t I just die in peace?”
“Not quite yet. One more soul would speak with you this night.” He beckoned to a lone figure still seated in a misty corner. “He’s ready for you now, I think. Come on. He won’t stand much more.”
The figure moved to sit beside me, reaching out with one pale hand…a hand with ragged nails and fingers marred and torn as though they had been chewed. Salina!
She lowered her hood, and I could see the terrible bruises on her face. One eye was swollen shut, but the other glowed with warmth and love for me. “What happened?” I muttered, tears coming despite how dry I was.
“Someone didn’t like the dreams Salina had concerning him,” said Asher. “He beat her to death years ago.” He shook his head. “You didn’t even know, did you?”
“I’m in a good place now,” said Salina. “I can’t tell you any more than that, as it is forbidden. But you have things to do with your life still, Glennroy. You have to bring yourself out of darkness. You were brave once, brave and good, but you have spent your life in the shadows, hiding from your victims, hiding from yourself. You went too far.”
I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, how sorry I was that I had thought only of myself all these years, but I just couldn’t find the words.
“Shhh. Don’t cry, Glennroy,” she said. “I know what’s in your heart. You don’t have to say it.” She smiled—the bright, hopeful smile I had known when she was a child. “You have to survive, and find yourself again. There is much good that you may do, and you must atone for the evil you have done. Only know that I love you, and I forgave you long ago. Your destiny wasn’t really yours to control until now. You have been given another chance. Use it well.”
By the time I managed to choke out the words “Don’t leave me,” she was gone.
I turned on Asher. “Why did you bring me here? How can I ever atone for so many? I was only doing what I was told to do, in the King’s service! This isn’t my fault. And I need water!”
I leaped up from the table and lunged over to the long oaken bar, where the tavern-keeper stood, regarding me with a placid expression. “Are you deaf?” I yelled. “I need water!” I reached across the bar, enraged, and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt. I could hear Asher laughing behind me, but I was intent on the tavern-keeper and would not release him. “Water,” I shouted again, “or you will regret it!”
To my horror, the tavern-keeper’s face began to change. His nose elongated and his chin shrank, his eyes moved around to the sides of his head, the pupils transforming into horizontal black bars as the color lightened from brown to amber. Coarse, thick hair began to appear, covering his face and sprouting out of his shirt collar, as two dreadful-looking horns emerged from the top his head. He opened his now-tiny mouth and let forth a long, piercing bleat.
“Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-aaaa!”
The tavern-keeper had turned into a goat before my eyes. I had never before heard a goat laugh, but I was hearing one now. And Asher, who was still there for a moment longer, laughed with him. “You still have a long way to go, my friend. You have to accept your guilt and learn to live with it. Then, maybe, you can be free. Goodbye…and good luck!”
Darkness overtook me and I fell to the floor, hearing only the voice of the wretched goat-man in my ears.
***
I heard the voice of the goat again, only this time I could also hear the sound of a copper bell. I imagined I could smell the goat, too. How wonderful—odor of ghostly goat. When I felt something touching my shoulder, I cried out, terrified. The goat-man would surely get me! Then the sun hit my face, and I knew I was no longer in the tavern. Beings like the goat-man would never come out in the sun.
I moaned piteously and opened my eyes. A goat-face loomed directly over me, licking and chewing as goats will, but it was a real goat. And with goats...come goat-herds… I felt my spirit leap as hope seized it, struggling to turn away from the rock and toward the open air. Here were men…herdsmen…and a caravan! I tried to cry out, my throat was too dry and raw to make a sound.
Help me. Oh, please help me! Then darkness again.
When I came to the second time, a woman was holding a water-skin to my lips. “Careful,” she said in heavily-accented Aridani. “Only one swallow.”
I knew better than to drink too much water at once, but it was so hard not to. Still, I disciplined myself, taking one swallow at a time, pausing for what seemed an eternity, and then another swallow. I was given a small piece of salted meat, already obligingly chewed for me. The salt tasted wonderful and made me feel even better.
I had been saved, but for what purpose I did not yet know.
***
A long-established desert custom holds that when you find a man dying of thirst, you give him water even if the man is an enemy. Sharing your water guarantees that, should you find yourself in a similar state, anyone who finds you will share his. “The Wheel turns,” as the desert people say.
The people of the caravan took me in, and they were courteous enough, but no more than required. I did my best to repay them, though I knew I could never make up for what I owed. I told them my name was El-morah, and I tried to make myself useful, but they kept me at a distance, as though they didn’t trust me. In fact, my only friends were the goats. They followed me everywhere, to my dismay. I knew I owed my life to them, but since my encounter with the goat-man
I have viewed them with a suspicious eye.
One day I noticed one of the men struggling to lift a heavy bundle onto the back of one of the dromadin, and I moved to aid him. He wasn’t in a position to prevent me, but he shot me a look that clearly said I was unwelcome. “You will please stay away from the dromadin, and from our provisions,” he said.
I should have simply bowed and backed away, but I didn’t. “Why? I am no thief. Do you believe I would harm you?”
“Not a thief? Of course you aren’t,” he said. “I’ve never met a thief yet who would not deny it.” He looked hard into my eyes. “The only reason a man would be this far out in the desert alone is if someone drove him there. Only criminals are driven into the wastes alone, and only a madman would go there of his own accord. So, which are you—criminal or madman?”
I didn’t know what to say. “Well, I’m not a madman…”
“Then why were you driven here? No…never mind. I don’t want to know. Just stay away from our provisions in the future.” With that, he turned and left me standing alone, my face burning with shame. What would I have told him had he let me answer?
Am I a criminal? I was driven from the City, but not for what I had done. I have a price on my head for what I did not do. And who was really to blame? I drew a deep sigh and went back to the goats. At least they didn’t pass judgment on me. After I thought on it for a while, I decided it was Corvyn’s fault. He was the one who kept secrets…he told me all those tales about how those people deserved to die. If not for Corvyn, my life would have been very different.
As Asher would have observed, I still had a long way to go.
The first glimmer of light came in the form of a young woman named Fythia. She, like me, was an outcast, a Plague survivor with no other family, and she had paid for the privilege of traveling with the caravan. Since she had paid, she did no other work, and therefore had little to occupy her time. In fact the others in the caravan shunned her, and she no doubt longed for human company. I know I did.
I had filled back out nicely, and many would consider me handsome—I’ve been told I have a pleasantly rugged face and fine, strong shoulders. I caught her casting appreciative glances my way—I was no stranger to female attention, after all—and resolved to try and talk with her. It wouldn’t be that difficult, as she was always alone.
When I approached her she seemed almost fearful, and would not look directly at me, let alone speak. I caught the disapproving looks and sneering faces of others in the caravan, and thought I had guessed what the trouble might be.
On one rather chilly night, I found her trying to start a small fire. She struck her flint again and again, but raised only an occasional tiny spark.
“You need a new flint.”
I had come quietly up from behind, and I startled her, though I hadn’t meant to. She drew back from me, one arm held up, protecting her face. Who has hurt you so badly? I knelt down, drew forth my own flint-and-steel, and quickly got the fire smoldering. A bit of careful fanning brought it into flame.
I handed her my flint. “Here you are. You should have no more trouble, and I have another one. May I share your fire for a while?”
She nodded, and spoke to me for the first time. “Since you kindled it, it is yours to share.”
After that, we talked often. I never pressed her, and I tried not to ask difficult questions. She returned the favor, and we spent many pleasant hours wandering among the goats. The caravan made its way between oases, traveling by night and resting by day, and I discovered that Fythia shared my fascination with the stars.
Finally, one night, I decided to see what I could find out about her. I had my suspicions, and I hoped to learn the truth. “Do you know where the caravan is going? No one seems to want to tell me,” I said.
She looked hard at me. “Does it matter?”
“Well, no…not really, but I am curious. Where are we going?”
“We are going to a place called the Sandstone. I have been there…hopefully you’ll find what you need.”
“Why are you going there?”
“Because I need to go somewhere, don’t I? With luck, I’ll be able to earn a meager living there.”
“I have heard the men of the caravan say that you have no family.” I felt a small lump in my throat. “That must be hard.”
“Well, you would know, wouldn’t you? I see it in your eyes,” she said. “It seems we have both been driven out of the lands we knew, away from people we loved. I know why I can’t go back. Why can’t you?”
“I have a price on my head,” I said simply. “But I am not guilty of the crime I was charged with.”
“No, none of you is ever guilty,” she said. “I, on the other hand, am entirely to blame for my own predicament.” She looked into my eyes then, her gaze as old as shame itself. “You might not want to sit beside me.”
I knew then that my suspicions had been correct. “You were a hired consort, am I right?”
“I was…until I fell in with the wrong master. I’ll never lie with a man again.”
“You did it to survive, didn’t you? The Plague took your family, even as it took most of mine. We had to get along however we could.”
She smiled, but there was no humor in it. “I chose my path, El-morah.”
“What was your other choice? Starving to death?”
Her mouth drew into a thin, hard line. “Compared with some fates, starving to death doesn’t seem so bad.”
I looked at the dark red blotch on the back of her left wrist. No wonder she tried to keep it covered. She had fallen in with the wrong master, all right.
“I know you have the Blight,” I said. “Don’t worry…I won’t say anything to anyone. I swear it on my life.”
The color drained from her face, and she looked away. A moment later, I heard her weeping. “If you want to share a different fire, I understand. Aren’t you afraid of me now? Everyone else is. The last settlement I tried to call home thought they would burn me alive to cure me.” She shook her head. “Not that I blame them…”
“Blight isn’t passed by sitting near the same fire,” I said. “And no, I’m not afraid of you. How did you escape?”
“Someone realized that burning a sick woman to death is wrong, and wasn’t afraid to act on it,” she said. “I hope he wasn’t punished too severely. Now, since you are still willing to speak with me, what’s your story? What crime are you innocent of?”
“Do you really want to hear my story?” I asked.
“More than anything. It will take my thoughts from my own troubles, and maybe it will even help you with yours.”
I knew she would keep my secrets—she had no one to tell them to, anyway. It took several nightly campfires to do it, but I told her everything. To her credit, she didn’t appear to be shocked or to think any less of me, and that bolstered my confidence. When I finally finished, she sat silent for a moment. Then, tenderly, she took my hand.
“There is something…something difficult I need to ask you,” she said. “I want to ask a favor, though I know I have not earned that right. Still, we are friends, yes?”
“How could you doubt it? I have just bared my soul to you. I have trusted you with all my secrets,” I said.
“Then hear me, El-morah, who was once called Beltran the Shadow-man. You know I have the Blight. We both know what it does to people.”
I recalled the ravings of King Darius. “Yes. I have seen what it can do.”
“If madness tries to take me, I would ask your assistance in ending my pain,” she said. “I want to die fully aware, as myself, not as a madwoman. Please, will you promise me?”
I didn’t know what to say for a moment. If taking life is wrong, and I had been wrong for doing it…but was it always wrong?
“All I’m asking is to end my life with the same dignity granted to a dog or a hopelessly lame horse,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “You have the knowledge and the will to take life without causing pain. Will you not help a
friend?”
She would not end up like Darius if I could help it. “When the time comes, I will,” I said. “I promise.”
Often, as I lay in whatever shade I could find during the day, I reflected on the things she had told me. She chose her path, as I chose mine, but she has been willing to bear the consequences, whereas I have not. She has twice my fortitude. Even so, I was still blaming others for my situation—Corvyn, Darius, even Asher. He should never have taken me to the tavern. No man could withstand such an assault—being overwhelmed by all those angry souls. No wonder I was in such conflict. And I did want to atone—I did! I just couldn’t begin to know how to do it.
I hoped for another visit from Salina, or even Asher. Perhaps they could guide me. But the only visits I had were those I didn’t want. I had the worst nightmares of my life, usually involving my smothering-mask. I would be sitting alone under the moon, gazing at it, when the faces would appear there, struggling for breath. I heard their voices—you did this to me! You took me from my wife and children! You didn’t even know me!—and I would try to appease them.
I know…I’m sorry. I did what I was hired to do. I’m sorry! I had no choice. I’m sorry…
I would awaken in a cold sweat, trembling all over. Once I yelled so loud that Fythia heard me. She was there, wiping the sweat from my forehead, when I came to myself. “You kept saying ‘I’m sorry.’ But, in my experience, the man who has to keep saying so isn’t sorry enough yet. Guilt has a terrible hold on you—the only way to be free is to accept it.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I said, as my heart slowed to normal and I stopped trembling. “It seems I don’t know how to do that.”
“It’s not as hard as it seems,” she said with a gentle, genuine smile. “You just have to stop making excuses. You will have to admit to being what you are…and then start again.”