by Mario Routi
Lydia, panting from the exertion of running, was beginning to hope that she might survive. She looked like a plump owl with eyes that seemed too big for her face, a tiny, beak-like nose and untidy brown hair. She knew that Bull had a reputation for keeping his word and she believed he would treat them well now that they’d helped him.
When she saw the knife flash in his hand and heard the sound of tearing cloth as he cut into the hem of her long nightgown, she almost screamed out loud. Bull sliced several pieces from the material and grinned at the shocked look on her face, kissing her on the forehead.
“Thank you. I’m sorry I frightened you. As soon as you see me grab Turgoth and leave, go quickly back to your room so that no one can suspect you of being involved.”
She nodded her understanding and watched as Bull opened the door and stepped silently inside. Turgoth was asleep on the bed, wearing a long black robe. The Minotaur padded to the side of the bed and brought his fist down hard on the King’s head. Turgoth’s mouth sprang open in shock and Bull quickly stuffed a piece of Lydia’s hem into it to stifle his shouts. Pinning the King down, he tied a gag over his mouth before yanking his hands behind his back and binding them. He then lashed Turgoth’s feet together.
Slinging the King’s body over his shoulder like a sack, he ran fast over the walls of the Castle before the guard could spot him, heading towards the forest under the gaze of the stars in the dark night sky.
Once safely amongst the trees, Bull threw his prisoner to the ground. The King squinted up at him, breathing hard.
“Now tell me, what do you know? Or...” Bull sliced through the gag and pulled the rag from his mouth, “I’ll rip your guts out here and now and feed them to the forest!”
“Do what you will, Bull, and release me from my eternal torture,” Turgoth sneered. “I don’t care for my life, you know that. But I like Rebecca as much as you do. She’s... extraordinary. Look, she still lives, but not for much longer.”
“Murderer!” Bull roared, the mighty sound making many inside the castle walls stir uneasily in their sleep. “Where is she?”
He hit the side of Turgoth’s face with all his strength.
“WHERE?” he demanded.
Turgoth felt as if his head had exploded with pain.
“She’s a several hour ride away. Mount Thunder. You don’t have enough time to save her.”
Bull yanked him to his feet, towering over him.
“Take me to her and I’ll let you and your people live. Refuse and I swear I’ll slaughter you all!”
“I will, for the sake of Rebecca and for my people. But, if I am to betray them, I would ask you to kill me once we’re done!”
Bull threw him across his horse and jumped up behind him, galloping off across the plain towards the mountains.
21
Inside the cabin on Mount Thunder, Generals Sam, Max, and Tom were finishing a bad tempered board game as they tried to make the time pass more quickly. Outside the window, dawn was approaching and they were all feeling uneasy at the task that lay head. Rebecca was asleep, tied up on a bench. Standing up from the table, Tom stretched, spat on the floor and ambled over, studying the young girl’s athletic body. The other two Porth exchanged knowing looks.
Rebecca stirred but didn’t open her eyes. She smiled, still in her dreams, temporarily relieved of the reality of her situation. Tom squatted down on his haunches and put out a gnarled finger to test that the ropes were still firm.
“What time is it?” Rebecca asked, making him jump back in embarrassment. “I’m so sleepy.”
Max and Sam sniggered at their colleague’s discomfort as Tom slunk back to sit with them, avoiding their eyes. All three of them were now staring stupidly at her bright young face and, for a second, Rebecca thought she saw their ugly features soften, as if they felt some twinge of pity for her, deep in their hearts. She tried to gather her thoughts.
“Is it dawn yet?” she asked, blinking and trying to move her stiff muscles despite the bonds.
They looked unnerved by the calmness of her query and shifted awkwardly in their seats. Max and Tom both looked at Sam, like he was their leader.
“No - it’s a few hours away yet,” Sam said.
“When you see the King, thank him on my behalf for giving me this extra time to think,” she said, “but I’m not going to change my mind.”
They exchanged looks again, all three of them humbled by her quiet courage and the strength of her resolve.
“We still have to ask you again,” Sam said. “Those are our orders.”
“Do what you have to,” she smiled sadly, “but let me ask you a question, too. Why do you fight? You’re already immortal, as are all the other mythical creatures, so you don’t need the Flame. Why, then, risk your lives in war?”
The Porth all looked puzzled and none of them answered her. Rebecca watched and waited patiently, aware of their intense discomfort. General Sam signalled to the other two to follow him outside the cabin.
For nearly half an hour she strained in vain to hear what they were talking about. Eventually, they shuffled back into the cabin and stood in front of her in a line, like naughty schoolboys called before their headmistress.
“Rebecca,” Sam said. “Your question has made us think. After discussing it, we realize we have fought for so long that fighting is second nature to us. It has never before occurred to us to wonder why we do it.”
“Then is it right for you, your families, your children, to die for no reason?” Rebecca asked. “On Earth, there is also senseless killing, but under a pretext of one kind or another. It always proves to be a needless sacrifice.”
The Porth looked very unhappy as they listened.
“If you go to King Turgoth,” she continued, “and tell him that you no longer wish to fight for Sharkan interests, I’m sure he won’t object. Then you could live in peace.”
They stared at her with bewildered eyes, trying to take in her words.
“After you have done your duty in killing me,” she went on, “so he can’t be angry with you, go to the King. You must struggle for the rights of your own people.”
Realising that they were having trouble thinking about such deep and dark questions, she took pity on them and lightened the atmosphere by asking them about their children and grandchildren - whether they were learning to read and write, what toys they had, and how they spent their time. She kept the tone of the conversation pleasant in order to make the time pass more easily for all of them. The Porth talked readily about the people who were dear to them and Rebecca found what they had to say truly interesting.
The Porth were not intelligent and she wondered how they had ever made the rank of general. Their brains were sluggish and rusty from disuse and she could see that they genuinely had no idea what they were killing and dying for.
After a while, she lay back on the bench and fell asleep again, only to be awoken a couple of hours later by General Sam shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw that a pink dawn had arrived outside the window.
“Please,” Sam begged, “please tell us you’ve changed your mind.”
She shook her head and smiled kindly at the hopeful, ugly faces.
“No. I’m sorry Generals. However, I would ask a favour. Would you allow me to die outside, surrounded by nature?”
“Of course,” Sam said. He untied her from the bench and lifted her to her feet with surprising gentleness. “Follow me! We are already late - it is past dawn!”
She hobbled out into the fresh air while the three Porth, acting almost as guards of honour, trooped out behind her.
Rebecca ambled among the trees in the damp wood, feeling the soft cushion of the fallen leaves beneath her feet. A sweet breeze stirred them. Some swirled up in a joyful, rustling dance, as others fell from the branches above, drifting to t
he ground like dying birds. Those that still clung to the branches, fluttered like multi-coloured fans.
It was a blessed day, a perfect day. The vivid colours all around her in the trees and on the ground were made magical by the indistinct, dreamlike hues of autumn. For the first time in her life she appreciated how much more beautiful leaves were at the moment of their death, when they made their first and last journey from their birthplace in the trees.
She cupped her tethered hands and a leaf floated like a feather into the tender nest, where it hid coquettishly, nestled in the warmth.
“You die beautiful,” she whispered to the leaf, “strong and proud, because you enhance nature with your extraordinary beauty. And you’re happy because you served your purpose while you lived.”
The wind picked up as if wanting to blow away the sadness of the day. Suddenly, the trees seemed to change into giant birds trying to jerk themselves free of the ground and fly away. Their branches looked like wings and their leaves, like feathers. She wondered if somewhere, in another dimension, trees flew as well as talked. She looked up into the branches of an ancient oak.
“Do you talk, too?” she asked, but received no reply.
The Porth followed as if in a trance. Max carried Rebecca’s crystal sword, which glinted in the rising sunlight.
She leaned her back against the old oak tree and felt it shudder. It might not have spoken, but she was sure that it was aware of her because it touched her tenderly with its bark, as if it were caressing her, giving her courage.
“Trees are like people,” she said to the listening Porth. “They may look alike but they are never exactly the same.”
The generals were close to tears as they stared at her. They couldn’t believe their ears. In a few minutes she would be dead, and yet she didn’t even seem to be thinking about it.
“Trees are the columns that hold the sky in place,” she went on. “If we cut them down, the sky will fall and crush us.”
“She’s probably gone mad,” Sam whispered to his comrades.
“If leaves wither, they don’t turn green again,” Rebecca thought, and then she noticed a pair of woodcocks playing together in the air just above the treetops. They seemed to be showering in the fresh sunbeams, making themselves clean and burnishing their beauty. Their morning calls were the prelude to their mating dance. It reminded her that she was about to die and would never feel the pleasures of lovemaking. She felt a spasm of jealousy for the tiny, joyful birds and the feeling started to tear at her tranquillity.
Max raised her crystal sword and slowly approached her. His legs were shaking so much that he could hardly walk. Her vision blurred as her gaze left the amorous birds and fixed on the approaching blade. Her grandfather had forged it himself and had given it to her for her protection, but now it was coming inexorably closer to being plunged into her heart. An ice-cold current flowed through her veins, making her shudder.
“I’ll never see the moon again,” she whispered, looking up at the sky. The woodcocks had disappeared.
“May I say something?” she said, bringing her gaze back from the sky and causing Max to hesitate. “Generals of the Porth, for the first time in my life I feel something that is probably fear. It’s a new experience for me and I don’t want to see the sword as it pierces me. I’m sorry, but could you please blindfold me?”
Max lowered the sword and hung his head as Tom trudged back to the cabin to fetch something that would serve as a blindfold. The sun was now wide awake as if disturbed by a nightmare. It gazed down at her and realised that the nightmare had come true. It looked at her with a father’s love and seemed to be telling her: “It’s your fault that you’re going to die, not mine. You will never get to enjoy life like the woodcocks. You can change everything in an instant if you want to. Decide to live!”
“No, no!” She shouted to the Porth, resisting this last temptation. “Leave it. I don’t need the blindfold. Just kill me!”
The entire forest heard her cry, even the two woodcocks from the secluded spot they had found for their embrace.
Rebecca bravely thrust her chest forward to receive death. Max raised the sword again and resumed his slow approach. The sun grew pale and the sky turned yellow. Everything froze and time stood still. Her mouth was dry and she struggled to breathe. Her sight grew dim and her pulse pounded like a drum. She closed her eyes as the crystal blade caught a ray of sunlight on its journey towards her heart.
With an explosion of pounding hooves and cracking branches, a horse charged out of the forest bearing, it seemed, Death himself in His flowing black robe. But Death had arrived alongside Bull, who was the first to leap from the horse, shadowed by the black-robed figure.
In an instant, Bull had sized up the situation. He saw Rebecca under the tree and a Porth with a sword preparing to kill her. There was another Porth not far from her and a third Porth pacing up and down just a little further away. He let out a war cry so powerful and so filled with fury that it could be heard all the way to the skies.
The Porth drew their swords as Max hurled Rebecca’s sword to the ground. His hands working at the speed of light, Bull drew and hurled three daggers, one after another. The fourth one was already in his hand as the figure she believed to be Death yelled, “No ... no ... no!” and fell to his knees, slumping forward and clutching his head between his hands as if fearing it would split in two. Then he just stared with eyes that saw nothing.
With each ‘no’ a dagger flew into the throat of one of the Porth. One by one, they fell to the ground, writhing for no more than a few seconds before dying. Bull ran to Rebecca, cut the ropes from her wrists and took her in his arms. He held her tight, spinning her round and round and kissing her. Bull the Minotaur was weeping, sobbing like his heart would break.
“You’re alive. Alive!”
When Bull eventually released her from his embrace, she saw that the Porth were dead. Feeling sorry for them, she picked up her sword and replaced it in its scabbard. The figure of Death was still crumpled on the ground with his head in his hands, but now she recognised him for who he was. The King’s long black nightshirt was ripped to shreds. Bull took her by the hand and they walked towards the stricken Turgoth.
“You must kill me too, Bull,” he wailed. “How can I face my people now? And what am I to tell their families?” He pointed at the bodies of the three dead Porth.
“Rebecca, you should know that it wasn’t me who actually saved you,” Bull said. “It was King Turgoth!”
Turgoth struggled to his feet and Rebecca went to him, encircling him in her arms. He stroked her hair before pulling away sharply and stepping back.
“You must both know that I feel no remorse for giving the order for your kidnapping. It was a political act. But I will regret till the day I’m killed the lies I told Lord Life when he came looking for you. It was the first time in my life I ever told a lie. I may not see you again. I definitely don’t want to meet you in the Lomani. It would be too painful for me and perhaps for you, too.”
He bent his head and kissed Rebecca’s forehead, his eyes swimming with tears. “I wish you... good luck. Luck plays a big part in life.”
“Thank you, King Turgoth. I wish the same for you.” Rebecca stood on tiptoe and kissed the King’s ashen cheeks, tasting in his tears the pain, love, affection, respect and admiration that had poured against his will from his eyes.
“If my people still accept me as leader,” he said, “I will mount an attack on Utopia the likes of which no one has ever seen. Farewell Rebecca - I’ll never forget you!”
As she and Bull rode away, Rebecca turned and watched the lonely figure of the King grow smaller and wondered why she felt such pain in her heart.
22
As they rode, Bull explained everything that had happened up to the point when he appeared from the trees on his charger.
�
��I didn’t have time to assess the situation accurately,” he explained, “or I might have acted less hastily and more rationally. All I saw was you standing against the tree with your hands tied and, near you, I saw a Porth with a sword who was getting ready to stab you. I couldn’t take any risks. All through our journey Turgoth kept urging me on, telling me that we had to hurry and that there was no time to waste. I have never seen a man so anxious and so misty-eyed. He seemed to be torn between remorse for his people and his desire to see you safe. ‘That girl must live,’ he kept saying, over and over again.
“His mood veered between wild optimism and terrible depression - which affected me too. There was nothing he wanted more than for us to save your life. The poor horse was exhausted from the extra weight, but we couldn’t allow it to slow down, even on the steepest hills. When the sun rose, although we were quite close to you, he kept wailing: ‘Bull, we’ve lost her. Rebecca is dead for sure.’ Then, I too, lost hope because he spoke with such conviction and such utter desolation. A few minutes later we found you. I didn’t understand why he was so sure that you were already dead.”
Rebecca told him her whole adventure from start to finish. “So Turgoth was right. They were supposed to execute me when the first rays of the sun became visible,” she said. “It was only because they were a few minutes late that you were able to save me.”
She then told Bull about what had happened at the King’s palace - how he had handed her the dagger and instructed her to kill him, and then again how he had left her sword in the living room on purpose, for her to murder him. And how he had given her time to think things over, in the hope that she would change her mind in time to save her own life.
“Tell me, Bull,” she said, “don’t you think Sharkans should have the same privileges as Orizons and that we should all share the Flame?”
Bull stayed quiet for a while, thinking of what to say. “The right thing,” he said eventually, “would be to share it. But that cannot be done now - not after so many wars and so much bloodshed. A bad beginning was made. The mythical gods shouldn’t have imposed such discrimination, but the damage is done now.”