by L. M. Roth
“How can that be?” he asked in a voice suddenly cold with suspicion.
“I am not at liberty to tell you. But if I do not return to Valerium my father faces certain death,” and the voice of Marcus broke slightly as he replied.
Arvid spied the pain in the young man’s voice, and in an altered tone he addressed Marcus once more.
“Does your father ail?” he inquired. “Are you on a quest to seek a cure?”
“Suffice it to say that my father is in grave peril, and I alone can save him,” Marcus responded, with finality in his tone.
Arvid pondered this answer for a long time. Marcus wondered if he had brought the sentence of death upon them all. Yet, he must be honest if he were to please Dominio. Please, he prayed silently, preserve our lives so that I may save my parents.
At last Arvid spoke.
“I need time to consider the right course of action,” he declared. “For now I bid you get some rest, and we will meet again when I have decided whether to spare your lives, or to take them.”
Chapter V
The Healing Spring
The guard led them out of the chamber of the Thene. Marcus was curious about the man after witnessing the exchange of smiles between him and Ylva. The guard was tall and lean, yet Marcus detected a hint of well-toned muscles under his long robe. He wore no armor, and Marcus suspected that for all the courtesy of the Thene, this was a primitive people who worked no metal.
As if sensing Marcus’ rapt attention, the guard turned abruptly and looked directly at him with a hostility that made Marcus’ heart stop a beat. The man raised an eyebrow as if challenging the prisoner. His hair was the same red-gold tint as Ylva’s, but where her eyes glistened like emeralds, this man’s eyes reminded Marcus of the pale blue glint on an ice-covered pond catching the reflection of a winter sky. He shivered inwardly.
The guard turned his back on him and led them down the staircase, past the other levels they had glimpsed. They were once more in the large hall, and the warmth from the fires blazing over rings of stones felt welcoming to their cold, tired bodies. But it was not to the hall that their captor was taking them.
He led them to a narrow door at the far end of the hall. This he opened, revealing a narrow stone passage that descended into the ground and led away from the hall itself. He took a torch from a bracket in the wall and struck a flint against it, striking a spark that burst into flame. Down the passage he led them into a spacious chamber hewn out of rock.
Here no warmth penetrated, and the cold was a shock after the cheerful fires in the great hall. The guard snickered in an evil way when he witnessed Kyrene stamp her feet and Elena rub her hands for warmth. The girls recoiled from his snicker, and he leered, clearly enjoying their discomfort. He grabbed the hands of Elena and stroked them.
“Permit me to warm you,” he whispered as he drew close to the girl.
“Keep your hands off a lady!” Felix shouted, as he lunged for the guard, in the same instant that Elena snatched her hands from him.
The guard struck Felix across the face. Felix would have been hurled to the floor had Marcus not caught him before he fell.
“Be silent, prisoner!” the guard exclaimed. “I am Halvor, son of Holger, and I do as I will.”
He turned back to Elena who met his eyes with her own flashing fire and fists clenched upraised. He drew back as if reconsidering, then drew himself erect and stood back from her.
“Be it as you will, wench. But I wager you will be glad enough for me to hold your hands when the Thene sentences you to death!”
With this pronouncement he left them abruptly, slamming the door of the chamber behind him.
They looked at one another in a sobriety that bordered on despair.
“What shall we do?” Felix asked.
“Do? There is nothing we can do,” Marcus answered. “Except to consult Logos. And pray.”
Free at last from prying eyes, Marcus drew the Sword from its scabbard. All gasped when they beheld it, for in this dark place it shimmered in its silver purity and appeared to have a light of its own.
“First,” Marcus addressed his friends, “let us join hands, that we may be bound together.”
They came together in a circle and clasped hands, even Elena who was not actually a follower of Alexandros. Standing together with their heads bowed, they consulted the Sword Logos, who guided them into all truth.
“Logos,” Marcus prayed, “please show us the way out of this trouble we have landed in.”
While Marcus was yet speaking, words in delicate script appeared on the blade of Logos. Eagerly they clustered close together to read it.
“Everyone who drinks of this water will thirst again; but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him shall never thirst; but the water that I will give him will become in him a well of water springing up to eternal life.”
The script gradually faded as they stared at the words. They looked blankly at one another.
“Well, let us commit this to memory, shall we?” Felix remarked brightly, although his face looked as perplexed and uncomprehending as the rest of them.
“Of course, we shall,” Marcus agreed.
There was a deep silence. No one spoke. No one looked at the others. All eyes were fastened on the floor.
“But, what does it mean?” Dag asked, speaking for all of them. “How will it aid us?”
Felix shrugged his shoulders and raised an eyebrow as he looked to Marcus, and Marcus ran his fingers through his crop of wavy dark hair.
“I do not know,” Marcus replied. “But we shall commit it to memory, for Logos would not have revealed it unless it was to be of use.”
So they started at that very moment to commit to memory the words Logos had written.
It was impossible to mark the passage of time because the chamber was so dark. Had it not been for the torch left by Halvor they would have had no light at all. They could not say whether three hours had passed or four or more.
To lift their spirits, they prayed together and drew much comfort from their prayers to Dominio, and from the words they gave to one another. They had grown much since they first met Kyrene and she had astounded them with the prophecies she spoke over them. Now it was not unusual for any of them to prophesy, and this they did to reassure and encourage each other.
“Dag,” Felix said to the great Trekur Lender, “a new day has dawned and the day is growing brighter still. The old has passed away, and new beginnings lie ahead.”
Dag bowed his head and was quiet. Marcus wondered if he thought of his former love Fanchon and her desertion, or the rejection of his own village because of Dag’s new belief in Alexandros.
Now it was Marcus’ turn for a word to give.
“Elena,” he turned to the pretty slave girl, “it is time to choose: light or darkness, life or death. If you turn from your own way, Dominio will bless and keep you. But if you go your own way, He cannot protect you from the decisions you make, that may bring their own evil consequences.”
It was, Marcus thought, a heavy word. Elena stared at him but said nothing. Then she shivered involuntarily, whether from the words of Marcus or from the cold he could not say: she kept her own counsel and was silent.
Marcus noticed Kyrene looking at Elena thoughtfully. There was something Elena was keeping from them, Marcus felt, and knew that Kyrene felt it also.
A slight commotion at the door drew their attention. Another guard, this one unknown to them, had drawn the bolt and was entering the room laden with trays that he attempted to juggle without spilling anything. One tray held mugs filled with water, the other held bread and lightly salted fish of an unknown species.
Felix leaped up to assist the guard, who gave him a cheery thanks in the Common Tongue. Marcus was instantly struck at the contrast between this guard and Halvor. Where Halvor was cold, this man smiled at each of them in turn. Halvor was insolent to Kyrene and Elena; this guard treated them with deferential respect.
Mar
cus wondered if the guard were talkative enough to give information and decided to try.
“Thank you for your kind service,” he addressed the guard.
“We are very hungry and the food is welcome.”
The guard bowed deeply; then glanced furtively behind him at the closed door.
“Whatever I can do to make your imprisonment easier, that I shall do,” he said in a tone of utmost sincerity.
Kyrene was so moved at his words that she burst into tears. The guard drew a kerchief from the pocket of his robe and presented it to her, and she apologized as she wiped her eyes.
“I am sorry,” she said, “but your compassion touched me deeply. Is it true that we shall be executed?”
The guard lowered his voice and drew closer to them. He cast a glance behind him, to confirm there was no one in the passage outside to hear his words.
“I cannot say,” he replied. “But I know that few escape from this land that trespass on it. That is the law, and few have ever been granted mercy and been spared their lives once they have entered Jytte‘s Land.”
“But why?” Felix asked, his voice rising slightly in his frustration. “What is this secret that Arvid says must not be revealed? The only thing I have seen in this country is water, water, water! Whether it is snow, or ice, or skrells, it is still only water!”
“Ah, there you have it!” the guard answered him. “It is a special water, and make no mistake about it!”
“Special?” Marcus queried. “How is it special? And who are you, and why do you tell us what no one else is willing to tell?”
The guard looked steadily at Marcus as though measuring him. Whatever he saw must have won his trust, for he drew even closer to the little band of friends and lowered his voice to a whisper.
“My name is Gunnar, son of Gunvor. Understand that for what I am about to tell you, I would be sentenced to death if it were discovered. So, it is to be secret, understood?”
They all nodded their heads. None dared speak in an effort to be as quiet as possible.
“All right, then,” Gunnar continued. “I must be quick before they wonder where I am.
“Have you seen that statue of Jytte in the chamber of the Thene?”
“The one with water flowing from the hands?” Marcus asked.
“The very same,” Gunnar nodded. “Well, Jytte is a kind of mother goddess they worship, and she it is who guards the sacred waters.”
“Sacred waters?” Felix interrupted. “What are those?”
Gunnar answered with increasingly rapid speech, and many backward glances at the door.
“Long ago the ancestors of the Thene traveled to this land for there were too many to support them in their own country, and they needed to find more ground for their flocks. When they came to the valley, they saw all those pools of water, and streams, and reasoned it would be a good place to raise crops and keep their herds tended. But the real value that they did not recognize at first lay not in the pools and streams, but in the skrells.”
“The skrells?” Kyrene asked. “What is special about the skrells?”
“The skrells come from deep underground,” Gunnar explained, “and they are hot, not cold. When the tribesmen came here and saw those they reasoned that the heat would make bathing more comfortable than cold water. So, they traced the skrells to their source in a spring that bursts out of the rocks, and one and all bathed in it.
“At first all seemed as usual, but as time passed, they became aware of a strange thing; a strange thing indeed!
“The young said that the hot springs invigorated them, and refreshed them after a hard day working in the fields. But the old said that after bathing in the springs several times that the pain left their bones, and they could bend their knees with the suppleness of the young.
“You see, the skrells are healing springs,” Gunnar concluded.
“Healing springs?” Felix repeated.
Marcus suddenly gasped as the full realization hit him.
“Yes, Felix, healing springs!” he breathed. “Springs that restores vigor to the young and suppleness of limb to the old.”
He looked Felix in the eye and stared until Felix’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped as comprehension smote him.
“The Fountain of Youth,” Felix breathed.
Chapter VI
The Choice
“Fountain of Youth?” Gunnar puzzled over the phrase.
He was thoughtful.
“Yes, I see,” he said slowly. “Water that restores youth.”
“Exactly,” Marcus said. “But why have you told us the secret? Are you not in danger yourself simply by telling us what you have?”
Gunnar nodded emphatically.
“Yes, I would be if anyone knew. But you shall not tell, so I am safe.”
“Gunnar, why are people executed simply for trespassing? One cannot help losing one’s way, or passing through a country that is simply on one’s route. Why die because of it?” Marcus asked.
“Why, it’s because they hold this land to be sacred to Jytte, their Mother goddess. She it is who provides the healing spring. And this is her holy ground. That is what they believe, and they will do all within their power to protect the secret,” Gunnar said with finality.
“‘They?’” Felix raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Gunnar. “Why do you say ‘they‘? Are you not a citizen of this country?”
“Oh, yes, assuredly I am,” Gunnar nodded. “But I do not believe as they do. I serve only the one true God, not this false goddess Jytte.”
Marcus blinked his eyes, but kept calm.
“The one true God?” he repeated. “And Whom do you hold to be the one true God?”
Gunnar came closer still, and lowered his voice even further. Then he whispered:
“All may seek, and all may buy, the great Pearl of price so rare, but it costs all you possess, so let the buyer beware!”
Gunnar looked at them, suddenly wary, as if waiting for their response.
Gasps of joy escaped the lips of his listeners, and smiles lit all their faces with gladness.
“You serve Dominio! Why, so do we!” Felix exclaimed. “That makes you our brother!”
And he clasped Gunnar on the shoulder. Gunnar clasped Felix’s as well.
“That is good!” he cried out. “For I feared I must lead all of you to the one True Way before you are executed, but now it will not be necessary.”
The smiles were instantly erased from their faces as if by an unseen hand, for Gunnar’s words reminded them of the dilemma yet to be solved.
He saw their altered faces, and tried to make amends.
“That was clumsy of me,” he blushed. “There is so little time and I wanted to be sure you are prepared for eternity, was what I intended.”
He beamed his apology, but no one smiled in return.
“I am certain all will be well,” Gunnar soothed, after an awkward silence. “If there is one thing I have learned, it is that Dominio works all things out for our good, and for His glory.”
They slept fitfully that night. The intense cold made sleep difficult, as did the heaviness of their hearts. Cort cried out in his sleep, troubled by some nightmare. Kyrene lay with eyes wide open, silently praying. And Marcus could not sleep for pondering on the word Logos had given them…
When the morning came it was Halvor, not Gunnar who opened the door to bring food and water. He appeared pleased at the sight of their heavy eyes and pale faces. Marcus wondered why the sight of their distress gave him such satisfaction.
“When you are finished eating I am to take you to the Thene,” Halvor remarked as a grin split his face. “You may want to savor your meal. It may be your last.”
A stifled sob escaped Elena and Halvor turned to her.
“Not to worry, my lady,” he jeered as he gave her a mocking bow. “Death will come quickly, I assure you of that.”
Elena’s fear turned to fury and she threw her mug of water at him, hitting him square on the foreh
ead. Halvor snarled at her and would have struck her had not Dag caught his arm and wrenched it behind his back. Halvor screamed in pain, and Dag released him, throwing him against the door.
Halvor rose to his feet, and rubbing his injured arm he glared with venom at Dag and Elena. He started to leap at Dag, then looked at the great man’s height and heavier build and reconsidered.
“For that you may die a slower death than is usually granted. I shall see to that!” he shouted as he flung himself from the chamber.
Elena broke down, and Marcus put a comforting arm about her. Kyrene stroked her arm and whispered soothingly in her ear.
“Let us pray,” Marcus said.
They drew into a circle and sought comfort before facing the Thene.
The summons came, as they had been warned it would. Halvor returned, and with many backward smirking glances, led them to the chamber where the Thene sat waiting for them, surrounded by his followers. Marcus searched his eyes for any sign of his decision. The utter gravity of his face, the curtains of remoteness that seemed to shutter his eyes said it all, even before the Thene spoke.
“Death,” he pronounced. Then he relented, with a look of compassion. “I am sorry, but it must be so.”
“But why, may I ask?” Marcus demanded. “It is against all the laws of hospitality, indeed, of human decency, to execute someone merely for traveling innocently through a country! If this be your law, then why not build a barrier around your borders, to bar passage to the unwary, and save the lives of the innocent!”
The Thene looked gravely at Marcus, one long slender finger stroking his chin. Marcus stood his ground, holding himself defiantly erect, every inch the son of Valerius Maximus, head of the Imperial Army.
Arvid shook his head ruefully, then answered Marcus’ question.
“Young man, I admire courage, and therefore regret what must be done,” he said in a voice that resonated through the chamber. “However, I have a sacred trust to uphold. It was given me by my father, and to him by his father, and so on back to our first father who came to this land many lives of men ago.