by Ron Glick
Mari had noticed his preoccupation though and had made every effort to draw him out, yet to not avail. After Geoffrey had been put to bed, she had asked him directly what was on his mind. But he had only answered that he wanted to go to bed and excused himself from her presence.
It had not taken Mari long to join him there, either. Absently, she spoke of taking the necessary steps to clean up after dinner, leaving what could be until morning. When Nathaniel had not responded, she had curled quietly against him. Even the efforts to arouse her husband physically only received the barest responses at first. His movements were wooden, as if he made love to his wife as a chore, with no emotion at all. Halfway through, this mood changed though, and Nathaniel's movements came as though from desperation, holding her tight and nearly crushing her in his need. When he had finished, he lay atop her, weeping.
Several long minutes had passed before Nathaniel had wordlessly rolled off of her. Turning his back to her, he hugged himself tightly. She could only wrap her arms around him in sympathy, not knowing how to comfort him. She had fallen asleep holding him, and though she had rolled away several times during the night, she had always returned to cuddle up against his backside. Nathaniel had not been able to move himself from where he lay all night.
During the night, he had been visited with vague, imaginative flashes. A richly dressed man with a small cut on his neck. A sword cleaved finely in two. Being surrounded by people he somehow knew revered and worshiped him. It was impossible to make sense of any of it, nor did he care to try.
There came a noise from the front of the cabin, drawing Nathaniel from his stupor. Listening carefully, he could hear voices, though he was unable to make out more than murmurs. There was more than one, he was sure, but beyond that, there was no telling. And by their increasing volume, he could tell they were approaching his home.
Visitors were uncommon here, but not unheard of. There was a ranger who lived off the wilderness hereabouts who would come to visit every couple of months or so. He had known Nathaniel's mother, had even shared many of her druidic beliefs, and considered it a respectful gesture in her memory to keep in touch with her son. There were neighbors in the woods a few miles away, but they usually only came before the projected snows to speak of sharing supplies during the winter months. And even rarer was the occasional wanderer who had come across their homestead by chance. No one from Oaken Wood had come to Nathaniel's home since he had returned to live there at all, not even Bracken. There was something of an ill omen believed to linger around the old druidess' home, and this satisfied Nathaniel's wishes for isolation well enough that he did little to dissuade the notion.
With all that had happened in the previous day though, Nathaniel did not for a moment consider that this visit was not in some way related to the new life being thrust upon him by the Gods. Nathaniel felt like he had been exposed to more new influences and notions in the last day than he had had the misfortune of coming across in all his adult life. Of course, that was far from the truth, but it did seem more than a little overwhelming in how important he had suddenly become to so many people.
Quickly he rose, dressed in the breeches and tunic of the day before, and made his way barefoot to the front door. He did not wait for the visitors to rap upon the door, flinging it open on the startled face of Duncan Alair, an old tracker from Oaken Wood with whom Nathaniel had had many dealings with over the years. His companion stood partially obscured behind the large man, her face concealed below the hood of a traveler's cloak.
“Oh, mornin', Nate,” said Duncan, recovering slightly. “I 'spected you would have been up and about by now, or I'd have waited a spell in coming. And the lady was awful insistent, you see...”
The only response to his words was a dark look from Nathaniel, so Duncan took a step back and to the side. With a nod and a raised arm in gesture, Duncan displayed his companion for Nathaniel to see. “She says you know her and all...” he tried to explain.
At this, the lady lowered her hood and gazed up at Nathaniel with devilish green eyes. “Yes, Sir Nate.” Lady Brea lingered ironically upon the name. “Do tell dear Duncan that we know each other.”
Nathaniel could not mask his surprise at seeing her, either. Reflexively, his hand went to the place where she had drawn her nails across his chest the day before, as though to take some protective measure against her. Had she come to make good upon her threat to take possession of him and to steal him away from his family? His heart beat in his chest at the shock, but his voice was the most telling of all of his anxieties. “What are you doing here?”
Brea smiled. “Oh, I admit we did not part affably, but I was hoping you could see your way of giving me the chance at amends.” Inwardly, Brea struggled to consciously maintain her control, her own heart beating at the site of the young man. Imery had not seen fit to remove the enchantment Goodsmith had laid upon her, insisting that to do so would reveal divine intervention. And to see him now again in the flesh made her chest ache with the effort to breathe steadily and not to swoon at the thought of his speaking to her. However, Imery had provided Brea with an inner reserve of force to assist her priestess in resisting the charm. Imery had told her that she only had to focus upon her service to the Goddess to tap the reserve she had been granted, and so long as her faith in Imery remained pure, Goodmith's charms would hold no sway. Yet Brea had to first want to resist. And that was something she could not so easily want with her heart beating so unnaturally fast.
Did it only take looking upon this God made flesh to cast his spell, she wondered? Or was she just fearful of the confrontation? At the moment, she was hard pressed to tell.
“So you do know her then?” asked Duncan again. “I only ask 'cause if she's unwanted, I can always drag her back to town, priestess or no. It's not right to be the cause of mischief, and I'd not visit it upon you if I could avoid it.”
Nathaniel sighed. “Aye, I know her, albeit from the briefest of meetings. And I imagine the damage is done already. You could make good on your threat to drag her bodily from my sight, but she knows the way now and would only return on her own.”
Duncan looked stricken. “I'm sorry, Nate. I guess I didn't think that far ahead...”
Nathaniel shook his head. “It's alright, Duncan. Truly. If not you, she'd have found another to lead her. She's willful that way, I would imagine from what I have known of her, so far.”
The tracker lowered his eyes. “You know, Nate, I'm glad I came, just the same. Your ma was a great lady, and a good friend to us woodfolk. I should have come around more often after she was gone. I guess... I waited too long and then it was too late... I did ya fair in our trades and whatnot, but I was not the friend to ya that your ma would have preferred me to be, I am certain...”
Nathaniel smiled in spite of himself. The bittersweetness of Duncan's words mingled with the memories of his mother and the cursed knowledge he had recently acquired, creating an odd sense of balance within him. For a moment, he did not feel the ache, and this man's sincerity had given him that reprieve. “It's okay. I understand,” he said simply, choking on the words.
Duncan looked up, a tight smile on his face. “I appreciate that, Nate. Surely, I do. Not sure why I felt the need to just come out with all that all of a sudden. Guess I just felt it was time, ya know? I...” he cut off as words caught in his own throat, the glimmer of a tear forming in his eye. “Been ten years and I still miss her. Losing her was hard on a lot of us, you have to know that. Hardest on you, for sure, but she meant a lot to a lot of us. And to lose her that way...”
Impulsively, Nathaniel stepped forward and embraced his mother's friend. Duncan returned the hug, both men oblivious to Brea standing to the side with a puzzled look on her face.
This is a God in hiding? Brea asked herself in disbelief. He talks of a mother that this other man knew. And he just seems so... human. Could Imery have been mistaken?
No, she amended. A God could do anything, including appear this human. It's just part
of his disguise. Yet she could not so easily set aside the doubt lingering in her own mind.
After several moments, Nathaniel released his hold on Duncan and the older man wiped at his eyes with his sleeves. “You turned out alright, you did, Nate. Your ma would have been proud.” Nathaniel just nodded silently in return.
The men stared silently at each other, each knowing well the feelings of the other, yet unable or possibly unwilling to say more on the subject. In a way, Duncan's words had offered a balm for Nathaniel's twisting emotions, not that the other man could have known that his mother's memory had so recently been brought up by someone else. It encouraged him to have his mother's friend here.
And yet, what were the odds that a friend of his mother, whom he had only had bare contact with since the years of her passing would not only appear on his doorstep so soon after his contact with Gods, but that he should so uncharacteristically divulge deep emotional feelings that he had been keeping to himself for ten years? And that the words would be ones he needed to hear for his own self-worth? Nathaniel puzzled over whether the Gods had manipulated Duncan to appear when he had, but quickly discarded the idea. Why would they send him in the company of a New Order priestess, if they were trying to manipulate him towards their ends? It would seem more logical that they would be more careful than to risk anything with anyone even remotely tied into the opposing powers nearby. So then, perhaps this was an example of Fate, or the prophecy itself manipulating circumstances to compel him upon the path it had chosen for him?
Only one thing seemed certain: it was far too early in the day, especially with a sleepless night, to try to wrap his mind around such imponderables. However, Duncan was here, and this presented an opportunity to resolve at least one issue. With emotions so raw and fresh, Nathaniel dared to breach the topic he had not yet been able to with his wife.
“Duncan, about my mother,” Nathaniel started. “About how she died. Were you there when it happened?”
The trapper looked uncomfortable and cast a look at Brea before he answered. “No, Nate, I was not. Though I hate myself each day that I was not. I should have been. I could not believe it when I did hear...”
“What...” Nathaniel swallowed. “What happened to those that... did it? Do you know anyone personally who took part in it?”
Anger brewed below Duncan's eyes. “Aye, I do. And not a thing happened to them. That priestess absolved all who took part, so long as they swore to her cause. And not a one declined her amnesty, neither!”
“Priestess?” asked Brea, suddenly intrigued.
Nathaniel ignored her. Trying to act nonchalant as best he could, Nathaniel vocalized Duncan's meaning. “None would stand up to a priest of the New Order. If she granted pardons, none could naysay her. Was... Aliban one of them, do you know? Was...” he could not bring himself to ask the question.
Duncan visibly struggled with how to answer. But he never got the chance to settle his internal debate.
“Yes, Nathan,” came a whispered voice from behind him. Nate turned to see Mari standing in the doorway to their room, her arms wrapped tightly about herself. “Yes, my father and I were... there. We were part of... it.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I'm sorry. I never told you. I... I just couldn't...”
Nathaniel could only stare. The pit dropped out of his stomach. It's true, was all he could think. It's all true...
Mari lowered her eyes, staring at her own bare feet. “I don't know how you found out, or who told you. I thought after all this time, people wouldn't talk about it anymore. I thought...” Mari looked up and took a half step toward her husband. “I thought if I left it alone, it would go away...” Her eyes were sadder than Nathaniel had ever seen them, a sadness that he now realized had been there all along beneath the surface. And that sadness took on an edge of pain, as well. “I guess I know why you were acting so strange though... I couldn't think of what I had done wrong... I guess I just didn't think back far enough...”
Nathaniel could stand still no longer. He moved quickly across the room, past Mari, who cowered fearfully at his approach. But he only pushed past her with the barest contact he needed to enter their room. He took up his boots there and turned again. Mari had backed out of the doorway this time, so Nathaniel's route to the front door was unobstructed. In quick order, he had brushed past Duncan and Brea and out of the house. Without a word, he stalked off around the side of the house barefooted and headed into the woods at the side of the cabin.
Mari fell back against the door jam, sobbing. Great heaves wracked her body as her legs gave way and she found herself sitting unceremoniously upon the floor. “H-he's g-g... gone!” she cried piteously. “He just left me and he's gone!” Anything further she might have said were barred by the huge, wracking sobs she could no longer control. Like a man seized in fits, she fell to her side and began convulsing in her misery.
Duncan was torn momentarily, looking first after his friend's son and then to Mari. It took him only a breath to decide though and he crossed the room to kneel next to the distraught young woman. “There, there. He'll be back,” the man soothed, leaning down and lending what strength he could through placing a firm hand upon her back. “He's in shock, he is, and a might bit scared, too, I 'magine. But he'd not leave without another word. His ma raised him better'n that...”
“N-no he won't!” Mari wailed. “I killed her and the only thing that's kept him here at all is he didn't know!” Her voice was quickly approaching that of a screech, which Duncan supposed was the only way she could talk at all at that moment in time; her lungs were compressing in with the force of her convulsions so that only a scream had a chance of escaping her lungs, at all.
Duncan was struck by the confession. Of course, he had known she had been there that day, even that she had participated. His father had bragged afterward over his cups on her aim. As morbid as that thought was, she had only been a little girl, egged into an evil act by her own father. What a terrible bit of knowledge to grow up with, Duncan thought. To know you helped kill a woman...
“Hush now. It'll be alright,” he said aloud. “Nate loves you, lass. He'd not take leave of you without talkin' this through. He's a rational boy, that one. He would want answers, not more questions. And you'll be who he comes to for them...”
Mari turned her head and looked up at the older man. “I didn't know, Duncan,” she cried. “I swear, I didn't know what we were doing! P-papa p-put the rock in my hand and he showed me how to throw one himself. I- I didn't know what it would do!”
Duncan did not know what else to say. He worried for her, more than he did for Nate. What this must have been doing to her all these years... the guilt must have been unbearable. When he had heard that Aliban's daughter would marry Nate, he had thought the young man had known and had forgiven her past. Love conquered all, they said after all. That she would have kept this from him had been unthinkable. But obviously she still blamed herself and had feared the possibility of losing Nate if he ever learned the truth more than she had trusted in his good nature to forgive her.
Pleadingly, he looked up to the priestess for guidance, but the Lady Brea had vanished from the entryway. Likely gone to comfort Nate, he mused. I don't imagine she'll be all that welcome, but I guess it's part of her creed to help people in need.
With that thought, he put the priestess of Imery from his mind to focus his attentions upon the woman curled up on the floor in front of him.
* * *
Nathaniel stalked into the trees with no direction nor destination in mind. He did not know why he had left. All he could think of was to get away. He had gone after his boots only, but he had not even tried to put them on. Even now he could feel the rocks and sticks gouge the bottom of his feet. But he just did not care. He never thought about actually stopping to put on his boots anymore than he thought of just casting them aside. So he still carried them at his side as he made his way through an area of pathless forest.
They had been right. Or, at least, Karmel had
been, he amended. His wife had been using him. She had not loved him. She had prostituted herself out of some misguided whim of the New Order, for no other purpose than to control his offspring, to make certain that whatever remnants of faith in the Old Gods his mother may have passed on died with his son. And worse still, she had helped in taking his mother away from him! The woman who would marry him had aided in his mother's murder! How could he have been so blind to never see?
Before he realized it, Nathaniel had slipped in muddy soil and slid bodily down a short slope into the stream that ran roughly half a mile from his cabin. There was a trail he and his wife maintained a little further downstream, but Nathaniel had come across the stream by a less traversed way. The water fed from somewhere to the north, and it was cold – even though the frost had not yet set in the hills, this water felt like fresh snowmelt to Nathaniel's reawakened senses. Likely it fed from some deep underground spring, cooled in the deep rock, but Nathaniel had never bothered to follow the creek to find out. He had imagined doing so as a child, but as with so many childhood dreams, it had vanished by the time he was grown enough to actually pursue it.
Sitting now in the shallow, flowing water, Nathaniel wondered how different his life could have been if he had followed that sense of wanderlust instead of staying, wooing the local beauty and settling down to raise a family. He could have escaped from all of this and he would not now be sitting half-soaked in the frigid running water, aching so deep that even the numbness of his limbs could not take away the pain.
No, he could not have escaped all of it. There would not have been anywhere he could have gone to escape the attention of the Gods! How far exactly would he have needed to travel, he wondered, before another of the potentials would have become the next closest target for their games?
Nathaniel slammed his fist into the water and screamed. He could not take this, any of it! It was too much for any mortal to bear! The trees themselves seemed to sway away from the force of his voice as he howled his voice raw.