by L. M. Roth
“For shame, Marcus! Felix tries so hard to keep up with you; it is not right to taunt him so! A true soldier is also a gentleman, your father would tell you that.”
Marcus felt shame overcome him as his mother dried Felix’s tears. He knew from experience that when his loving mother did not support him in a disagreement that he had truly done wrong. He turned away from them, not willing to see his mother take Felix’s side.
The scene shifted abruptly. He saw a figure stand before him in the cave, its back turned to him. He rose from his makeshift bed to face the figure. On hearing his movement, the figure turned and he saw the face of his mother, Honoria. She looked at him with the blank, staring eyes of one who walks in their sleep. She turned away from Marcus, and walked deeper into the cave, entering the fissure that led deeper into the cliff side. Marcus followed her as she entered and walked the hallway that he now saw descended into the heart of the earth. He had no torch, and yet he could see because there was an eerie glow that permeated the chamber.
Still Honoria walked on, going lower and deeper, never looking back. Marcus followed until she came to yet another opening into another chamber.
Here, he saw Tullia. At least, he saw part of Tullia. Only the upper part of her torso was visible because she stood up to her waist in quicksand that covered the floor of the chamber. Frantically, she tried to free herself, only to sink further into the mire. Then in panic she screamed.
“Help! Save me, somebody, save me! Can anyone hear me? Save me, or I will perish!”
Marcus tried to call to her, to tell her not to fear. He would find a rope and bring her out safely. He turned back to the opening to ask his mother to comfort Tullia while he searched for rope.
But Honoria had vanished. He turned back to Tullia. She was gone. The chamber floor was dry; there was no quicksand.
Marcus looked around him and saw that he was indeed in a chamber that led off the inner hall. So he had left his resting place and walked in the dark without stumbling or falling led by…who? His mother? Was it a vision, or only a dream?
Tullia. Tullia struggling in quicksand. But there was no quicksand. Was she in trouble? Did she indeed need to be rescued?
The thought haunted Marcus. Though she rejected him he still loved her, still cared for her: nothing would change that, not ever. And a flame surged up within him. If she was in trouble, he would rescue her, rejection or not, and even if she never returned his love. He would not leave her to some horrible fate!
And Felix, crying in his mother’s arms? Suddenly, Marcus was overcome by the sense of shame he had felt in the dream. Yes, he had boasted often, he could see that now. How he had gloried in his father’s renown, rank, and riches! He had so emulated his father that even as a child he had demanded the respect of all those around him, simply because he was the son of Valerius Maximus, Commander of the Imperial Army. And yet, just as in his dream, his father’s boots were too large for him. And the sword he wielded was a useless wooden toy.
Had he taunted Felix? Yes, he must be honest and admit he had. If not with words, he certainly had in his attitude. Marcus took it almost as his due when Tullia and other maidens showered him with attention, while treating Felix as a brother. And just as in the dream, Felix fell trying to compete with Marcus. He had fallen; fallen into temptation and betrayed his dearest friend.
And yet, it was Felix that his mother comforted in the dream, while she rebuked Marcus for his pride.
Was this dream sent to him by Dominio? Was He trying to communicate something to Marcus?
The night passed without further incident. Although Marcus lay in the dark with his thoughts, no visions came to disturb his meditation, no dreams to trouble his rest. In vain he attempted to sleep, but his mind ran in circles and slumber eluded him.
In the morning they congregated in the outer chamber. The storm had ceased and all was still. After breaking their fast with bread, cheese and dried fruit, they ventured to peer out of the opening of the cave.
What they saw was a transformation of the forest. More trees had fallen in the night; some even lay in the clearing. For a moment, the little band stared in stunned silence. What havoc a mighty wind could wreak!
It was Felix who spoke first.
“We must thank Dominio for sheltering us in the storm, and bringing us safely through.”
They all joined hands, and one by one gave their thanks in heartfelt gratitude. Were it not for the cave they could not have survived the ferocity of the storm!
They prepared to journey on, only to have their way impeded here and there by fallen trees. It became necessary to climb over the trunks and take care not to become entangled in the branches. Such difficulties made their way arduous and prolonged the trek back to the River Zoe.
As they trudged along Dag entertained them with stories of Trekur Lende, where they would shortly return. They should arrive in time for the great Festival of Bjorrne, he said, when all the villagers celebrated the long summer days and paid homage to their god. Marcus and Felix had heard of this before, and Cort had taken part in such festivities, but Kyrene and Fanchon heard it for the first time.
Of course, Dag said, he did not worship Bjorrne now that he was an Alexandrian, but the long days with no night was a sight to see! And if they saw the Lights of Rainbow Hue they would be awed by their glory. What a sight that was, as it blazed in the sky, yah?
Marcus had never heard Dag talk so much. Fanchon must be loosening his tongue, he thought. I only hope he does not become as voluble as she is, or they will both talk and no one will listen, no? He caught himself using Fanchon’s byword, and with difficulty stifled a laugh. Only to make the mistake of glancing at Felix, who openly grinned at him.
The grin proved too much, and Marcus felt a snicker escape him. He attempted to quench it, but Felix lost control and guffawed helplessly, reducing Marcus to a heap on the ground as he lay face down, waves of laughter erupting from his throat like lava from a volcano.
Dag glanced at Marcus, then at Felix, his face impassive. Felix attempted to regain his self-control, but howled in glee, while Marcus shook with mirth. At last, the laughter stopped, and Marcus sat up. He attempted to stand, but his legs wobbled, and he plunked back on the ground. Felix, wiping tears from his eyes, strode over to Marcus and held out his hand.
Marcus hesitated a moment, then gave Felix his hand. Felix pulled him to his feet, and they stood for an awkward moment looking into each other’s eyes.
Then Marcus extended his arm and put his hand on Felix’s shoulder. Felix returned the gesture, and Marcus nodded his head. Felix let out a sigh and a smile of such sweetness lit his face that Marcus gasped. And smiled in return.
And then the laughter began again. And they succumbed to it without a fight.
Dag looked at them in genuine puzzlement.
“Why do you laugh?” he asked with a frown. “What is so droll?”
Marcus hastened to stem the flow of giggles.
“Oh, nothing,” he answered Dag. “Nothing at all.”
Chapter XIV
Cort
For a week they traveled on without further incident. The days grew longer and warmer, and they encountered no more storms to disrupt the peace of the summer days. Truly, they could almost have been on a pleasure cruise, Marcus thought to himself, were it not for the dread that filled his heart at the failure of his mission, and the interview with the Empress Aurora that awaited him on his return. That she would be furious he knew, and what fate lay in store for himself and his parents he knew not. Yet he entrusted everything into the hands of Dominio, and hoped for mercy.
The River Zoe carried them steadily north into country whose shores were bordered by forests and flatlands. They had left the mountains behind them. Soon they would be in Trekur Lende, and Dag and Fanchon would leave their company to remain with his people. And Cort would stay as well, leaving the others to return to Valerium.
Marcus became aware for the first time that he would actually mis
s the Trekur Lenders; Dag was such a rock to lean on, so stalwart in his faith as well as sturdy in a forest. And no one could be more endearing than affectionate young Cort, so eager to give love and receive it. Yes, I shall miss them, Marcus thought with a pang. Shall we meet again in this life, once we part?
They were nearing the trading post whose port they had departed from when they traveled to Gaudereaux. They could bypass it and continue further up the River Zoe to Trekur Lende, but Marcus felt an impulse to stop there for the night. Since the night of the storm, they had sheltered in woods here and there on fine nights, sleeping onboard in their cabins if it rained. But there was a small inn at the trading post. It would feel good to sleep in a bed for a change instead of the hard floor of their cabins!
The others thought the proposal an excellent idea, and they eagerly put the boat into port after Zoe released them from the current. So excited were they to walk on land again with the prospect of a comfortable bed for a night that their bundles felt light, and they all but skipped to the trading post.
They soon discovered, however, that after traveling in the wild for a week, even the hustle of the rustic trading post seemed strident, and the voices of so many raised in the bargaining of trade a clamorous din. For this was the peak of the trading season, when the last of the winter snows had melted, and the spring rains had ceased their showers, making travel easier for those who lived in the harsher climates of the northern lands.
Still, nestled in the heart of the woods, with peddlers displaying their wares at makeshift wooden booths, the trading post exuded an undeniably homespun air that was not without a charm of its own. The aroma of pine permeated the air, accompanied by the scent of cedar from the fires where the food venders cooked their offerings; hearty stews and soups simmered in iron kettles, fresh meat sizzled on spits, and fat potatoes roasted over embers.
It was an enticing mix of odors, and one that invigorated all of them. A soft breeze stirred up the potpourri further still, and sent the chimes ringing at the stall of the wind chimes peddler. This item was a novelty to all but the Trekur Lenders, but Dag explained that their people used them to signal travelers of nearby settlements. Villages were strewn far and wide, he explained, and those who trekked in the wild looked for shelter in winter and storms. If he heard chimes when the wind picked up and played their song, then he knew there was a safe place where he could pass the night, and the sound led them to it.
Marcus recalled the chimes that had hung under the eaves of the roof of Dag’s house, but he had been too cold and weary at the time to even wonder about any possible significance they had. Even the usually curious Felix had not questioned them. Now as he listened to Dag expound on their use, it struck him how hospitable and warm the people of Trekur Lende actually were, with their emphasis on taking in strangers out of their harsh climate and caring for their needs. This was at variance with the tales he had heard of them before entering their land; a wild, savage people who would as soon kill a man as look at him. No, this was not the same people at all…
Fanchon, Marcus noted, blinked her eyes when Dag mentioned the scarcity of villages. Did she not understand the nature of the place where she was going? Had Dag not prepared her for the country that was to be her home? Or had she merely regarded it as an adventure and had not thought of the permanence of her destination?
Marcus inwardly shrugged. It was, after all, Dag’s affair and not his own.
They spent some time exploring the wares at the stalls and sampling the food. Kyrene bought a wind chime because it reminded her, she said, of the harp in her father’s garden. It too, she said, sang in the breeze, and the chimes would be a lovely memento of her journey. Fanchon was taken by the display of furs, and stroked the soft pelt of a bear skin. Dag bought her a bearskin cloak, similar to his own kapake. He said she would need it when the snow came and the land turned to ice. Fanchon tried on the cloak, which buried her tiny frame, and Marcus wondered how such a frail creature could ever cope with the rigors of a winter in Trekur Lende.
Marcus and Felix found little of interest in the necessities for sale at the peddlers’ stalls, being accustomed as they were to luxuries that were imported from every reach of the Valeriun Empire. The food, however, proved tantalizing to their appetite, and they gorged on venison stew. Cort sighed in sheer ecstasy as he sank his teeth into roasted bear meat and a potato.
“Ah,” he exclaimed, “I have not had bear meat and a potato since I left home!”
The others laughed at his innocent delight in such simple pleasures. He was truly a boost to their weary sprits at times with his childish joy.
A man dressed in the woolen garb of the Trekur Lenders came over to the food stall at that moment. He nodded casually at the little band, who returned his greeting. Just then his glance fell on Cort and his eyes widened. He stared at Cort, who suddenly paled and dropped the treasured potato. Heedless of its loss, Cort returned the stranger’s stare with a slight shake of his head and an imploring gaze. But the man did not comprehend.
“Cort!” he exclaimed. “Cort Asbjorn! Where have you been all these months? The whole village scoured the woods for you. We thought you were dead or stolen by slavers!”
Cort gasped for breath, and panted as if he had just finished a race.
Dag also caught his breath at the man’s statement and stared at Cort with the look of a man who has just been dealt a stunning blow.
“Asbjorn?” he thundered. “Asbjorn! You are of the tribe that is a foe of my kin! You lied to me!”
Cort did not answer Dag. Instead he ran. Dag raced after him. The others followed, Kyrene and Fanchon not understanding Dag’s agitation. But Marcus and Felix knew, and hastened to catch Cort before Dag did.
Felix, as fleet as a deer, outran the stocky Trekur Lender and managed to grab Cort, who struggled to release himself.
“Let me go! Let me go!” he screamed.
“Do not let him go!” Dag bellowed. “He is the son of my foe! I am sworn to kill him at first sight. It is a vow, and I must keep it, or be killed at the hands of my kin!”
“Whoa, Dag!” Marcus interjected as he attempted to restrain his furious friend. “You took another vow as well, and that was to Dominio; to spread His Kingdom. And as I recall, you are not permitted to kill anyone! Do you not remember?”
Dag stopped his ranting and looked hard at Marcus, then at Cort who pleaded with his eyes.
“Yah,” Dag grudgingly muttered. “I did take that vow.”
With a heave of his shoulders he freed himself from Marcus.
“But I took a vow to my kin as well. I cannot break it!”
“Then you must choose which one you will keep, Dag. For you cannot keep them both!” Marcus attempted to reason with him.
“Either you kill Cort and keep the vow to your family but have blood on your hands in the eyes of Dominio. Or you spare Cort and break the vow to your family but please Dominio. But one thing I urge you to meditate on: if you do kill Cort, then you will spread the kingdom of darkness, not the Kingdom of Heaven at all. Xenon warned us of that. So choose carefully, Dag.”
Dag hesitated.
Felix took advantage of his hesitation.
“Dag, you must also remember that in the eyes of Dominio Cort is your brother now by faith. He is therefore, part of your kin. So, if you do not kill him you would break no vow.
“But, if you do kill him, then not only would you grieve Dominio, you would actually kill a member of your own family! I vote then, that you do not kill Cort since you would commit double sin by so doing.”
Marcus stifled the impulse to laugh. As usual, Felix had found the simple answer to a complicated question. But could Dag be reasoned out of his fury?
Dag wrinkled his brow, then raised an eyebrow as he looked askance at Felix.
“I do not quite see what you say. I think I do, but I am not sure.”
Dag shifted his gaze from Felix to Cort and back to Felix again.
Suddenly his eyes blazed
, and his normally impassive face turned red as his nostrils flared.
“But of one thing, I am sure,” he roared. “Cort lied to me, to me who was as a father to him.”
Dag fixed his eyes on Cort who visibly trembled at his wrath.
“Get him out of my sight. Or I will change my mind.”
Chapter XV
Dag’s Tale
The thaw came eventually, just as in the spring when the frozen river ice lingers as though reluctant to surrender winter’s ruthless grasp, so too the heart of Dag gradually melted toward Cort.
In truth, the others failed to see why the wrath of Dag burned so hotly against Cort. Surely, Felix reasoned to Marcus, anyone could understand that Cort hid his identity from everyone since he was a runaway? But Dag could not view it in that light.
Because Dag refused to share a room with Cort any longer, he and Felix traded places. So Dag bunked with Marcus, who did not relish either the big man’s simmering rage or his rumbling snores. However, it could not be helped.
Dinner had been an awkward meal. Talk was desultory; a funereal pall seemed to hang over them all. Cort’s face was pathetic in its misery, as he vainly attempted to catch the eye of Dag. But Dag pretended not to see. He ate in complete silence, although he did not appear to relish his food, and indeed, seemed unaware of what he was eating.
Marcus glanced around the table and noticed that there was one person who did not seem distressed by the turn of events. Although the tender-hearted Kyrene’s eyes were brimming with tears, and Felix chewed his bottom lip as he always did when perturbed, Fanchon was utterly radiant. Marcus had not seen her so giddy since the evening he first met her at the Governor’s feast. Her eyes glittered, and her conversation was frothy in its gaiety. She laughed at nothing, as she rambled on in her usual butterfly way, alighting on this subject, then to abandon it for another, with no visible pattern to her conversation.