by L. M. Roth
And Cort turned on his heel and headed for the hut to say his farewells. So hastily did he leave that he did not hear the last words of Melisande. Nor did her husband as he suddenly hied after his brother in a burst of regret, only to stop and drop to his knees, covering his face with his hands. The rustle of the leaves deadened the sound of his wife’s voice as she murmured to herself.
“Perhaps I married the right brother after all.”
Chapter XVI
The Vortex
The sound of the water lapping against the boat was soothing, a lullaby to his jangled spirit. The salty air was cool and invigorating, setting his senses tingling with renewed energy. Cort closed his eyes and breathed deeply, exhaling slowly and felt the tension in his shoulders relax for the first time since fleeing Eirinia.
It had been a fortnight since he left home, and the ship was slowly trudging its way north. It had been a jolt to see the galley of slaves rowing her forward, for it had been many years since he had seen a slave. In Eirinia they were subjects of the Valeriun Empire, but free to roam as they liked. He had not seen a slave since his last journey to Gaudereaux as a young boy. Gaudereaux…that long ago.
Why did memories leap to mind of his last visit there? That was the time when Elena, slave to Pascal and Gaelle had accompanied them, taking the place of Fanchon who had defected from their ranks. He didn’t like to recall even now how wounded Dag had been by her decision to remain in Gaudereaux, and how it ended their betrothal.
Not that Dag would have found lasting happiness with her, of that Cort was sure. Her love of frivolity and endless chatter would have worn down any man who wished to seek a life of contemplation and devotion to Dominio. For Fanchon brooked no rivals and demanded that all devotion be given to her. Even Dag’s love for a defenseless orphaned boy had stoked the fires of rivalry in her jealous heart.
A vision of her laughing face rose in Cort’s mind. He could almost hear her piping laugh like that of a flute in his ear. Why was her memory suddenly so vivid? He had not thought of her in such a long time…
Was it due to being back at sea? He had not gone to sea for many years, not since the days of the quest when the Empress Aurora had demanded that Marcus Maximus fulfill her orders, and he had traveled with his friends. What adventures they had shared, swept along by the River Zoe! He had not known such excitement since, for the River had taken them where it willed, on a course that it had plotted, and not where they had planned.
A sudden stop jerked him back to the present. Why had the ship stopped so abruptly in its course? For it had stopped so unexpectedly that he had been thrown out of the chair in which he sat.
He rushed up to the deck to satisfy his curiosity. An amazing sight met his eyes, and his jaw dropped in astonishment. The Captain, the crew, and the galley slaves were all huddled at the brow, staring at the vista before them. On the horizon, the sea rose up in waves, although there was not a breath of wind to be felt and the water around them lay in a dead calm.
The sailors murmured with growing uneasiness, and the Captain’s brow was furrowed in a deep frown. He chewed his bottom lip as he considered his course of action. The galley slaves stood at full attention and waited silently for orders.
Cort sidled over to them.
“What is the matter?” he drawled. “Why have we stopped?”
The crew acknowledged his presence with a brief nod of their heads. The Captain drew his gaze back from the horizon and looked at Cort.
“We know not,” he muttered. “A flat calm all around us, but beyond, waves erupting at random. It is not a storm, for then it would be evident beyond those waves and not just in that one spot. A mystery it is, and one I am not sure I wish to seek the solution to.”
Cort felt a tremor of excitement. How he loved a good mystery! His eyes sparkled as he felt the first glimmer of interest in life since his forced and hasty departure from Eirinia.
“Let us hasten with all speed to solve it, for I am agog with curiosity. Come, Captain: why do men go to sea if not for adventure and to seek new boundaries. And beyond is an adventure, I’ll swear!”
The crew caught the contagion of Cort’s enthusiasm, and to a man they seconded his motion to proceed. The Captain did not seem swayed, and continued to scrutinize the horizon with an air of trepidation. He looked at his men, and seeing their gazes fastened upon him, reluctantly gave the order to proceed.
Cort whooped and the crew joined in and hastened to their places. Cort remained at the rail next to the Captain, who bestowed a very sour look on him, as though he had just bit into a piece of unripe fruit. Cort pretended not to notice, and looked eagerly at the vista ahead.
Slowly the ship traveled on and the slaves pulled with all their might. The waves turned out to be further on the horizon than they appeared, and it was some time before they drew closer. As they did so, the sound of their splashes assaulted their ears, and the spray of salt water doused them even where they stood.
Now that they were so close, they could see the cause of the waves. But it only served to deepen the mystery of their origin…
Behind them the sea was quiet. Before them it was churning like a whirlpool, with the waves rippling up from the vortex deep below. As the waves rose up, troughs opened up as well, and the ship was soon caught up in the swells, to the alarm of the Captain and the anger of the crew as they rose and fell in the whirling eddies.
Cort felt the outrage mount against him; for it was he who had suggested they continue on and explore the source of the mysterious phenomenon. Now, however, he saw that they had already decided to place all blame upon him for any mishap to their adventure.
“Be calm, my good men!” he implored them as they advanced toward him. “We may yet retreat if necessary.”
Even as he spoke he knew that course of action was not possible. For the ship was stuck fast in the maelstrom. He quickly turned back to the rail to ascertain the source of the turbulence. Only to catch his breath in amazement at the sight that greeted his astonished eyes.
Rising from the vortex was the figure of a woman, transparent and composed entirely of water, yet it was clearly a woman. Cort heard a gasp behind him and knew that the Captain and crew saw it also. But…what was it?
He quickly bowed his head and breathed a prayer to Dominio.
“What, Lord? What is this thing? And how are we to overcome it?”
No sooner had the words left his lips than the figure grew to a tremendous size and loomed menacingly before them, reaching out arms shaped like tentacles that sought for victims to take to a watery grave. And suddenly Cort knew what to do. He stretched out his arms and spoke in a voice that could have cut through the ice-clad trees of his homeland.
“Begone, foul spirit! I take authority over you and your domain in the name of Dominio, the One true God! No longer shall you wreak havoc on the unwary, for I declare the Kingdom of Heaven has come, and your realm is left desolate!”
For a moment as Cort addressed it, the figure appeared to grimace at him and increase in size, but upon the completion of his declaration it shriveled until it disappeared completely. Slowly the waters calmed and the waves dropped, leaving only a tranquil sea ahead of them.
The Captain and the crew rushed at Cort, but this time with more benign intentions. He flashed a brilliant smile at them, and laughed at their mouths hanging open with stupefaction.
“How, how, but,” the Captain fumbled for words that refused to come.
Cort understood his confusion and extended his hand to him.
“Permit me to tell you,” he began, speaking slowly, “about Dominio, and His Son Alexandros, and the Kingdom of Heaven He came to advance.”
Not all of the crew believed his message, but several did, and gave their hearts to Dominio and pledged to serve Him and advance the cause of Alexandros. The Captain was reluctant to take that step, being of a somewhat cynical nature that accepted nothing he could not touch, see, or feel. And although he had seen the figure of the woman, he
could not bring himself to agree that it was the words of Cort that had dispersed it and calmed the sea. Perhaps, he said, it was only a chimera, and its dissolution only coincided with the words as they were spoken.
Cort did not press him, but prayed that Dominio would open his eyes and help him to believe. He quickly found himself the center of a cluster of the crew, who asked him questions, and importuned him for further teaching. So, he spent the remainder of his days at sea visiting the crew’s quarters after sundown, instructing them, praying with them, and most important of all, sharing the love of Dominio with them.
The interaction brought a healing to his spirit, as he continued to grieve over his rift with Brenus. The crew looked to him for leadership, and it caused him to step out in a boldness he had never thought he possessed, having always left it to others to take the lead in spiritual matters. Now the fellowship with believing brothers filled the empty void in his heart that had ached since his enforced departure from home.
And thus it was that the ship drifted on until at last it brought Cort to the boundaries of Valerium. Here he would travel to Potentus, and be reunited with his old friend Marcus Maximus.
Chapter XVII
The Path
Slowly he turned away, his head hung low, his body slumped in despair. How could this be? What had happened, that such a tragedy could take place here?
It was only a few days ago that Cort had arrived in Potentus, eager to see Marcus and Tullia and spend some time with his old friends before deciding what he must do next. The thought occurred to him that perhaps he could be of some use in assisting them with the work in Valerium, where Marcus was the acknowledged leader of the Alexandrians.
But this could never be! The Alexandrians had been dispersed, forbidden to pledge allegiance to the Kingdom of Heaven, banned from meeting in the land of Valerium. And Marcus had once again lost his home; his estate had been seized by the Imperial government once more, just as it had so long ago by the Empress Aurora.
Cort had arrived at the villa, so impatient with eagerness to see his old friend that he had not even booked a room at an inn but made straight for the Maximus home, only to find its gates locked and anyone barred from entering. In his bewilderment he went to the marketplace where all of the news of the day was exchanged and made inquiries. His innocent questions were met with suspicious glances and those whom he questioned dropped their voices for fear of being overheard. In this fashion the history of recent events was relayed to him, and the fate of his friends revealed.
Cort was so outraged that he went to the Palace, and requested an audience with Emperor Urbanus, whom he had last seen as a young lad. But either the message did not reach him or he had forgotten Cort, for no word came to him. He sent again, to be met with the same response. Heartsick, he realized he could do nothing to help Marcus. He had been informed that the Maximus family had retreated to Lycenium to take refuge there, but Cort was not certain that his future lay there.
He had visited Lycenium once on his journey with Marcus and had been captivated by the city, but he could not really picture himself having a future there. Of what use would he be in that civilization of refined culture and rich commerce, where sages imparted the wisdom of the ages and scholars instructed in knowledge?
He did not know what to do, so he prayed and asked Dominio to guide him. Zoe, he thought, so many years ago it was Zoe that led them on their journey. Could he ask Zoe to lead him now? And if so, where would she take him?
He was not to take Zoe, but was to trust to the course that the Spirit of Dominio would chart for him. He had been astonished when he prayed to hear so clearly that he was not to take the River, but simply walk, permitting Dominio to lead him. The manner in which He did this was to give Cort peace in his spirit when he took the right path, and to disrupt that peace when he veered off it.
Although his heart was heavy at times for the thought of his family in Eirinia, and his friends in Lycenium, it was not long before his spirit rose at the adventure Dominio had led him to. It did not suit him to remain in one place for long, and he had been rooted in Eirinia for far too long. Now he was being taken on a quest of his own, and who knew what lay ahead on the road his feet would take him?
It was not long before the snow began to fall. December had come, and the flakes drifted slowly from gray skies as soft as the breast of a dove. In the quiet woods the snow deepened the hush that reigned in this sylvan domain, where most of the birdsong was silent in the winter months, and the woodland creatures slept in their burrows awaiting the return of spring.
Cort paused for a moment in his trek and permitted himself the luxury to simply appreciate the vista before him. Tall trees of pine and fir lifted their evergreen limbs to the sky for as far as his eye could see. Fluffy white down settled on their branches as the snow continued to fall. Cort had not seen snow like this in Eirinia, where the climate was more temperate and snow rarely skimmed the ground.
In a moment of sheer joy, he put out his tongue to catch a falling flake. It tasted good as it melted in his mouth with a small burst; it was clean and crisp and as pure as an innocent babe. He twirled around and raised his arms in delight and danced an impromptu step. How good it was to see and feel snow again, after all these years!
“Dominio is good, oh He is good,” he sang softly. “He leads me on the path of life, and His eye watches over me. All my life I will follow and give Him praise.”
Deeper into the forest he trekked, guided by the peace he felt in his spirit. He was able to feed himself easily, having hunted all of his life. He lived on deer and small game that he felled with an arrow from the bow he carried. And even in the winter berries could be found if one knew where to look for them. He knew also that beneath the blanket of snow lay a carpet of green, and the grass contained nourishment for those who were not too particular to partake of it. Cort was not too particular, and ate the grass with fortitude if not with relish.
His trek took him deeper into the forest, until he began to wonder if he would ever see civilization again. The solitude was soothing, yet the absence of any voice except his own caused him to look inward for companionship, something he had never done. And as he looked inward, he began to wonder how much of what had happened between him and Brenus was his fault.
Had he shown his mistrust of Melisande too openly, causing his brother to react with hostility to the point that he was quick to believe her accusations against him? And what of Melisande? Why had she kissed him and claimed that he loved her, and confessed that she loved him? Had she been sincere, or had she known that Brenus had followed her into the wood and wanted him to see her and Cort so that she might accuse him? How much of what had transpired was real, how much was orchestrated by Melisande?
He suddenly became aware that he had come to a fork in the trees, with two paths stretching before him; one pointed to the east, the other to the west. He roused himself from his introspection to determine his course. To the east, he felt, his path lay to the east. As he stepped on the path, he felt a confirming rush of tranquility and knew he had chosen well.
And yet the further he journeyed, the more familiar the terrain became. Was it the species of the trees, the genus of the bushes that changed gradually and yet evoked memories? What was this place?
One night he woke from his sleep and heard a faint humming and became aware of a faint light in the sky. Slowly he shook off his slumber and rose from his bed of furs in the small tent he had constructed to shelter him from the bitter cold. He flung aside the woolen blanket that served as a hanging that he draped over the lowest limbs of two adjacent trees and ventured out to investigate. He looked overhead at the inky black of the winter sky.
Red flashes melted into orange, then glowed into yellow, shifted to green and shimmered into blue which cascaded into purple and blazed into red again. Cort blinked. In disbelief he rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes.
The lights. The Lights of Rainbow Hue. His chosen path had taken him far bac
k into his past. For Dominio had brought him back home, home to Trekur Lende.
Why Trekur Lende, he wondered. Of all the places in the world, why did Dominio lead him here? For there was nothing left for him in Trekur Lende, nothing at all.
Cort recalled the last time he had been here: the angry encounter with his father, who gladly surrendered him to the care of another man after being assured of payment for doing so, as though Cort was nothing more than a bargain to be transacted rather than his only son. And the violence of the villagers in Dag’s home, who cast him out along with Cort and Fanchon for daring to call their worship of Bjorrne idolatry given to a false god. They had left with heavy hearts, thinking never to return, as death was threatened should they ever enter Trekur Lende again.
They had made their home in Eirinia, and had never gone any further to Trekur Lende than the city of Potentus to visit Marcus. Although life in Eirinia was good and the land incomparably lovely, Cort had never really felt that it was home. He occasionally missed the snow of his homeland, the Lights of Rainbow Hue, and the Long Day when the sun did not set.
And yet in Trekur Lende he had no warm memories of a loving family to miss. There had been his father, his mother, and his younger sister, but his parents were too worn out with work to have much time for their children, and his sister had never been a true companion. He had a few childhood friends but they were lost to him when he was exiled with Dag. He realized now that the only place he had ever felt he belonged was with Dag; home was where Dag was. And that was now lost to him also.
In all of his years in Eirinia he had never met a maiden that took his eye, much less his heart. Why that was he could not say. They were fair enough to look upon, but somehow they seemed foreign to him, although he had been a lad of eleven years old when he settled in Eirinia and had grown up among them. He was now over thirty years old, long past the age when most men took a wife. Still, he had no desire to wed just yet, somehow sensing that there was something more, and what that something was he had not found among the young ladies in Eirinia.