by L. M. Roth
Out of Lycenium, away from her bridges and ports they went back to the wild. Here and there they saw signs of civilization; roads running parallel to the river bank, bordered by wooden fences whose rails were partially hidden by the overgrowth of green grass that sprung up untended by any human hand. Occasionally they saw tree covered spits of land that projected into the wide river where hardy souls had built little wooden huts on the flat projectiles. These belonged to the fishermen who supplied in-lying villages with fresh fish, and found it more convenient to live as close as possible to the source of their livelihood.
On and on the River took them, past scenes of incredible beauty, as they left the upper elevation of the mountains and descended to the lush valleys below. The cool, dry air of the heights turned warm and moist as they returned to the lower reaches. There were changes in the River as well as in the surrounding landscape. Whereas in the mountains the River seemed confined and restricted by the peaks and narrow passes, here in the lowlands the River was so wide at one point they could not see the opposite shore.
They became aware of a lightening of their hearts as well as of the June sky. For as they raced on in their little boat the puffy white clouds of the mountain regions cleared away, the sun above them loomed a great yellow orb, and the sky was such an intense hard blue it hurt their eyes to look at it for any length of time. Lycenium had retained the last vestiges of the cooler clime of spring, but here in the valleys summer was well underway, and they knew the temperature would climb rapidly.
All the morning they sped on, carried by the whim of Zoe. None of them was inclined for idle talk at the moment, preferring to bask in the warmth of the morning, so they each became lost in their own thoughts, reflecting on what the end of the journey might possibly hold for them when they returned to their own lands.
Marcus reflected that Dag and Fanchon had only happiness lie ahead for them as they prepared to soon be married in his homeland of Trekur Lende, although how someone as pleasure loving as the light-hearted girl would fare in such a wilderness he could not imagine. Young Cort would live with them, away from the parents who would have sold him into slavery; for him the outcome was almost like a dream come true. Kyrene would stay with the little band as a mentor until the time Dominio released her to return to the Isles of Solone, possibly following the wedding of Dag and Fanchon, as she could hardly travel alone with Marcus and Felix, who must return to Valerium. Felix would go home to his father’s villa in Potentus, and his life would resume as usual.
Marcus alone had no inkling of what the future held for him. He had failed the Empress in his quest, and the fate of himself and his parents hung on the outcome of it. Would she be merciful and release them from their captivity? And Marcus: would she allow him to live after failing to fulfill her command? Or would she live up to her bloodthirsty reputation and slay them all?
About midday when they began to think seriously about lunch, the river narrowed abruptly. They saw on either shore the outskirts of a forest. From the water they could hear bird song as the tiny feathered beings called to one another in a language known only to themselves.
With delight they listened to the trills and coos, cheeps and whistles. A nightingale’s voice rose above the others, pure and clear like silver raindrops. It was answered by a lark, whose golden tones were as resonant as the chimes of a bell.
As the River narrowed further still, the forest seemed to invade the River itself. Here and there were dotted tiny islands where one or two or as many as half a dozen trees crowned each one. A gentle breeze rustled their branches, so that they too seemed to sing. The water was so clear that it reflected the trees, and in the absence of clouds it was difficult to tell what was river and what was sky.
Cort cried out in delight that the world had turned upside down. Dag smiled at his childish notion, but Fanchon laughed in joy, and pointed out the patches of daisies that graced the little banks. She then sang out to the birds, who sang back to her, and she clapped her hands in simple glee.
All of them seemed to be suddenly possessed of an unaccountable merriment, and each recalled some delightful experience they thought was long-forgotten. Here in this forest of enchantment the memories came rushing back, as vividly as though they had taken place but yesterday, and would await them again on the morrow.
Cort remembered hunting for similar daisies to take to his mother to adorn their plain wooden dinner table, and the way she smiled her thanks, and hugged him warmly as she placed them in a clay pot. Kyrene recalled splashing in the sea surrounding the Isles of Solone, and collecting shells to make necklaces, exulting when she found the occasional stray pearl that floated free of the decomposed corpse of a long-dead oyster. Dag thought with longing of the forests of Trekur Lende, and the thrill of the hunt, as he slew with his long spear the mighty bear or the wild boar.
Fanchon was reminded by the reflected trees of the green lushness of the woods of Gaudereaux, and the bird song brought back memories of dancing under a night sky at the height of summer. For Felix the clear water was almost as good a tonic as his beloved baths in Valerium, where he washed away the stain of his early morning exercise. So too the crystal water seemed to offer ablution from his guilt.
But Marcus felt in the softness of the breeze, the light caress of his mother touching his cheek as a small child in a gesture he had forgotten until now. Odd, but the breeze which touched the trees was not blowing here on the River, yet he felt the touch on his cheek. He could almost hear the voice of Honoria, low and soothing, in the lullaby of a whisper, “Hush, my child. All will be well.”
Chapter XII
A Dangerous Storm
On they went, through the forest, their small boat weaving in and out of the islands. As they traveled further, the trees on the shore grew taller and closer, the elms and maples that harbored the birds gave way to towering pines and majestic spruces.
They rushed on for miles, how many they did not know, and the further they went, the thicker the trees clustered on the shore of the river bank. The sun of high noon began to wane, and clouds out of the southwest suddenly darkened the sky. On they came, not the billowy white of Lycenium, but the ominous black of looming thunder.
The breeze that had been so gentle only a few hours before now picked up intensity. It began to stir the river, so that ripples spread out to the shore, and tiny waves lapped at the boat.
“Hark!” Dag suddenly cried out. “The birds do not sing,” he remarked, as a frown furrowed his brow.
Marcus also became aware of the silence, and glanced uneasily at the trees. There were no birds flying or nesting on the branches of the mighty trees. Instead, he noticed for the first time, they had descended to the ground. He knew what that signified: the birds with their uncanny sense knew that a storm was pending. And their little boat was on the river with no shelter in sight. They were laid bare to the elements, vulnerable and unprotected.
“Well,” Felix commented with a hint of strain in his voice. “I feel I could use a good walk after hours in this boat. Let us explore the woods and see the lay of the land. Perhaps we can find some friendly inhabitants who will kindly shelter us for the night.”
“Right,” Marcus agreed, lifting an eyebrow at Felix, in a conspiratorial gesture they had long used.
Felix nodded in return. No need, it meant to alarm Cort and the girls by the danger of their situation.
Marcus glanced away from Felix, shrinking back from the momentary intimacy. They had not been alone or talked together since the day Felix confessed to Marcus his role in all of the woes that had befallen him last year. Felix had taken another room at the inn, but the others had made no comment on this fact, reluctant to intrude on the privacy of their friends. Marcus deduced that they attributed any strain between the two of them to their mutual love for Tullia: that there was a deeper cause for their rift was not known to them.
And yet…Kyrene had stated to Felix on her first meeting them that all was known and not concealed as he though
t. Had she any inkling, Marcus wondered? Then he decided she did not, as she continued to treat Felix in the same friendly manner she always had, not seeming to sense any betrayal on his part toward Marcus. Xenon had told them that when one prophesied one did not always know to what it referred, and had to give the word in faith, perhaps never knowing what the prophecy meant.
Marcus had decided to forgive Felix, but twinges of anger remained. He could only pray for healing of his own battered heart, and trust that Dominio would give him strength for the journey. But he was not yet ready to exchange gestures of friendship with Felix. The wound was too new, too raw, and the hurt still tender.
Suddenly, the wind whipped up, and thunder could be heard in the distance, moving closer to where they still sat in the boat. They used no oars and therefore could not steer the small boat. All they could do was pray and ask Dominio to allow Zoe to release them from the River and guide them to shore. They held hands and bowed their heads to pray.
Just then a gust of wind slammed against the boat, almost upending it. It caused a wave to rise up that carried them to the nearest shore. They seized their chance and spilled out of the boat into the shallows, and waded to the river bank. Dag and Felix carried the boat on their shoulders, and they set off into the forest.
But before they could enter the trees, the rain came, pouring down in a teeming torrent that battered their faces and soaked their clothing. Such was the force of the downpour that raindrops pelted their eyes, forcing them to shut their lids against the sting. The rising wind hit with a gale force that tore their breath from their lungs and whipped their cloaks around them. Struggling to see, they stumbled blindly, trying to stand in the wind.
“Get under the boat and hold onto each other,” Felix shouted. “Head for the trees!”
They hurriedly clustered under the boat, each one grabbing the belt of the person ahead of them. In this way they made it into the forest, where the rain could not penetrate as thoroughly through the thickly entwined branches of the towering trees. They stood for a moment, gulping air into their lungs, attempting to wring out their saturated robes, and shaking water out of their eyes. Together they clustered under a mighty pine with low-lying branches, and watched as the rain met the river with such intensity that the waters mingled. And the drops bounced off the current, and the current swirled the rain and they became one. The wind blew across it and waves rose up in crests that threatened to come ashore.
And then the trees began to fall. First an old fir only about thirty feet away crashed to the ground with such force that the earth shook beneath it. Then another fell to join it only a few feet beyond it. And then another…
Sheer terror overtook them as they ran to get away from the falling trees. But even as they raced further into the forest, hampered by the boat, trees continued to be felled by the gale.
“Stay together! Look for a shelter,” Felix struggled to shout over the wind.
Deeper into the forest they ran, hoping the winds could not penetrate the interlocking branches. But they were wrong. The trees fell relentlessly, and those that remained standing whipped their branches across their faces as they fought to make their way through them.
Fanchon cried out in fear as she strived to keep going.
“Make it stop! Make it stop, Dominio!” she wailed.
Cort also had difficulty running against the wind. The small boy and the fragile girl were propelled forward by its battering rage.
Just then they came to an unexpected clearing in the forest floor. They faced a rocky plateau that rose before them to a height of at least fifty feet. The summit was roofed in long grass with trees dotted here and there on its surface, but the wall that faced them was built of what appeared to be gray shale, smooth and sharp. At its base they saw a narrow opening of perhaps five feet across.
“Look!” Kyrene exclaimed. “A cave! Perhaps it is large enough for us to shelter in for the night.”
The others saw it also and laughed in relief, but Marcus hesitated. There was something in the appearance of that cave, indeed in the violent storm that made him uneasy.
“Perhaps we should explore it thoroughly before taking shelter there,” he cautioned, pitching his voice over the howl of the wind.
Dag objected.
“We must get Cort and the girls out of this wind. They are too light to stand up to it,” he protested.
At that moment, Marcus heard a crack behind him, and Felix pulled him by the arm and pushed him to his left so hard that he was knocked to the ground. Then Marcus saw the reason why: a huge fir tree crashed in a heap right where Marcus had stood only seconds ago. Were it not for the quick action by Felix he most certainly would have been killed or injured. Shaken, Marcus rose to his feet and stared at Felix. Before he could say a word, Dag intervened.
“What did I tell you? Now, we must run into the cave and out of harm’s way!”
So they ran without wasting any more words into the narrow opening. They could only enter one at a time, but the cave was deep enough to hold them all comfortably. A stone ledge hung over the entrance; and the rain washed off of it, leaving the cave floor dry.
From its shelter they watched the fury of the storm. The wind lashed at the trees and those that didn’t fall were bent over by its savage ferocity. The rain flew horizontally past the cave opening, still pouring in sheets of cascading water. Thunder boomed, shaking the ground so fiercely it seemed it must surely crack open. Lightning split the inky blackness of the evening sky with dazzling flashes of incandescent light. As it did so towering thunder clouds were revealed in a lofty formation that seemed not of this world but another, one more mysterious and lovely, where strange powers might invade and surprise them unexpectedly as they went about their everyday lives. In truth, it was so beautiful that it mesmerized them, although Dag cautioned them to step further back from the door of the cave.
Marcus realized with a start that Dag and Felix had been leading them through this storm. Was it because he felt dead and useless inside? Did the others see in him what he felt? The thought did not please him. This task had been assigned to him after all, and it was to him, Marcus Maximus, that Xenon had given the fabulous Sword, Logos.
He suddenly felt an unexpected and unreasonable anger rise within him. He should have been the one to give orders and direct them to safety, not Dag or Felix. And as for Felix, were it not for him Marcus would perhaps not be in the cave at all, but might be lying dead beneath the fallen fir tree.
But then, if it were not for Felix he would not be on this quest at all, because his father’s estate would not have been invaded, nor Valerius and Honoria imprisoned, nor Marcus taken captive and thrown into slavery. Were it not for Felix…
He could not bear to be in the same space with him. Yet to venture out into the storm was to court death. Marcus walked away from the others toward the back of the cave. If he could find even a small space to call his own it would suffice.
Dag, in the meanwhile, had rooted his gunnysack in search of rags, a long spike, and a flint. The resourceful Trekur Lender had spent many years on long journeys and was well prepared for any emergency. He produced what he needed, and made an impromptu torch. He created a flame by striking the flint against a loose pebble from the cave floor, and lit the torch.
Now at last, they could see the interior of their improvised shelter. It went back farther than they had seen at first, and there was another opening at the back that led into a small room. This provided more protection from the howling wind and they quickly filed into it.
The air in the enclosure was stifling, and their voices echoed when they addressed each other. Were it not for the torch Dag had made, they would have seen nothing in the intense blackness that enveloped them. After further exploration, they discovered yet another interior chamber that led into a third. Peering into it they spied another crack that revealed a long hall of stone, but where it led to they did not want to explore in the darkness of night.
“Not that it wil
l be lighter by day because there is no light in a cave, no? But at least it feels safer to wait until daylight to see where that hall leads,” reasoned Fanchon with a logic that Marcus felt, for once, almost made sense.
They decided that they should guard the exterior and interior openings from intruders of human or animal kind. So Dag opted to position himself in the first interior chamber, with Felix to take turns on the watch. Cort, Kyrene, and Fanchon would sleep in the second chamber, and Marcus chose the third that exited into the inner hall.
He did not relish the thought of the opening into a deeper darkness, but he wanted a space away from the others. His long months in captivity had taught him how to sleep light enough to hear the steps of any intruder, so he settled himself down to nap.
Instead, exhausted by the struggle in the storm, and weary with the weight of his suppressed emotions, he fell at once into a deep sleep.
Chapter XIII
A Vision In the Night
Marcus lay in the dark, unheeding the world around him. Outside the cave the storm raged on, taking down the sylvan sentinels and turning them into heaps of mangled limbs and branches, as thunder shook the ground, and the air sizzled with lightning strikes.
But Marcus knew it not. He dreamed…
He saw himself and Felix as children. He watched as he strutted around with a wooden sword, wearing an old cast off pair of his father’s army boots that were far too large for him. He paraded around the lawn of his father’s estate, while Felix clapped his hands and laughed. Marcus continued to march around, but Felix’s laughter gradually died, and a scowl darkened his young face. Then Marcus challenged Felix to a race in the garden, and they ran pell-mell along the bricked paths, while Marcus shouted, “I am winning, I am winning! You cannot keep up with me, Felix!”
Suddenly, Felix stumbled and fell, skinning one knee. Though he tried to stifle them, unmanly tears erupted and overflowed. Marcus taunted him, but a whirl of white linen came between himself and Felix, and his own mother scooped Felix up in her arms. She sat on a stone bench and examined the hurt, then turned with a gentle reprimand to her son.