“Can you defend yourself? A page should,” Louis said, dubious.
Folc blushed. “I can throw rocks,” he mumbled shamefully.
“I can teach you how to fight,” Selen suggested.
Selen saw Louis turn towards him, trying to find the words to complain, but his friend realized that it was too late. The problem was settled. Selen smiled brightly at him and laughed. “I take the whole responsibility,” he said.
Folc jumped for joy and ran to the horses.
Selen put a hand on Louis’s arm. His friend still looked confused. “He would have died alone at some point anyway,” Selen murmured.
CHAPTER 10
As the platform drifted downstream with the currents and the mist engulfed him, his friends had progressively disappeared from his sight. Lissandro was now stuck on the uncontrollable ferry. His experience as a trained sailor was useless. There was not even a long enough plank on board that he could use to maneuver with. He could swim, but it would be madness to jump into the water with such strong currents. Moreover, he had his horse with him. The poor beast was terrified and reared in every direction. Lissandro wanted to calm it, but he did not dare to go near his mount. The last thing he wanted was to be thrown into the water with internal injuries caused by a kick to the chest. He held to the rail, hoping the currents would slow down. They did not. They became stronger instead. Water poured on top of the platform. If it hadn’t been flat, they would have sunk already. Yet, they could still overturn. The platform hit a rock. Lissandro heard the wood crack. It can’t be, he thought. I can’t die that way, not now. He felt a metallic taste in his mouth. His vision blurred with white spots. Lissandro felt warm and sweaty. His body turned numb. As a last reflex, he unrolled the rope around his arm before losing consciousness. The dream state took him.
He opened his eyes. Lissandro lay on the ground. He felt sand against his cheek. His vision was blurry, but he knew that right in front of him, behind the heather, the waves crashed on the beach. The pain in his chest was overwhelming. He felt something in his mouth. He spat. It was blood. His father had had him beaten again by his brutes. Only, this time, it was worse. His father had burned down Lissandro’s office and his ship. The whaler had been such a beauty with her white sails. No man had been injured, but all he had achieved over the years had been destroyed in the flames in a few hours. He got up and turned around. The family house stood there, a traditional New England manor. It looked as gloomy and cold as the monster living in it. Lissandro moved towards the porch and climbed the steps, slowly, holding the railing. His ribs hurt like hell. The front door was open. He entered the lounge. The classy furniture shone. All was tidy and clean. A fire was burning in the hearth. Lissandro moved closer to it.
“Here you are, scum.” He heard a voice behind him, filled with disdain and anger.
“Hello, Father,” Lissandro responded.
“How dare you come back here? I thought I was rid of you.” His father came closer.
“You burned my home, my ship, my life…” Lissandro murmured slowly with sadness and despair.
“And? You think you can come back here?”
“I only wanted to see my mother.” Lissandro felt tired, so tired.
“You have no mother…and you have no father. No one here gave birth to a sod.” It sounded like his father had spat the last word at his face. “Now, disappear from this place and leave the country.”
Lissandro realized what his father had said. He turned around. “Where is my mother?” he asked firmly.
“I told you to—” His father’s face was filled with hatred.
“Where is my mother?” Lissandro yelled.
“You deserve this one.” His father rolled his sleeves up and raised his fist high.
Lissandro grabbed one of the pokers hanging on a hook near the fire and ran it through his father’s chest. The man gazed at him in disbelief. He grasped the metal bar and fell down on the Asian carpet with a thud. Lissandro gazed at him with relief and disgust. He took a burning log from the hearth and set fire to the carpet. The flames spread fast on the fabric.
Lissandro ran upstairs to the bedroom. His mother lay on the floor in a string of blood. Her face had marks of bruises, and her skull had been crushed. Lissandro fell on his knees. He held her and cried. Around him, the flames crawled inside the house, up into the bedroom.
Curled up next to his mother, Lissandro looked at the orange glow spinning and growing. Soon, he would not be able to leave. Maybe it was better that way. His heart was heavy as a stone. He did not want to live anymore.
“But why should you die?”
He heard a voice crawl inside his head. Calling at him, giving him hope. He rose. The flames were all around him, licking the walls and the curtains.
“Come. Follow me.”
He heard the comforting voice again. He had to live. He looked at his mother with affection and gave her a last kiss. Lissandro rose. He closed his eyes, ran into the fire, and threw himself through the window. The glass exploded into a thousand pieces against his body, and the cold, night air rushed inside the room. He fell. Arms caught him. Hair brushed against his face.
“I will take care of you now,” a deep, warm voice said above him.
Lissandro woke up, lost grip for a second, and screamed. The platform bumped into another stone. This time, the board whirled around. His hand found a rope to hold on to. He heard a noise. Was there a storm coming? The thunder grew louder. The mist cleared on the river. The platform’s speed increased. More rocks pointed out of the water. Lissandro understood what was ahead. Yet, he closed his eyes and smiled. He remembered now. “I know who I am.” Furthermore, a comforting feeling lingered in him. It warmed his heart and made him feel good. For a few seconds, the platform was suspended in the air. Then it dived, falling straight downwards. Lissandro disappeared into the waterfall.
CHAPTER 11
As his friend’s horse was stronger, Folc rode in front of Selen. The poor boy didn’t weigh a lot anyway. Folc hummed a song while braiding the mare’s mane.
“If you were a page, it should mean that you come from a rich or noble family, right?” Louis asked.
The boy felt silent and lowered his face. “They were noble, indeed. My father was Lord of Tyntagiel. They are dead.”
“I’m sorry to hear it, Folc,” Louis said, feeling more compassion for him, “but you must have relatives alive somewhere?”
“I have an aunt in Millhaven, but I don’t know if she is still alive. I heard the city was taken by the orcs.”
“I read about Millhaven in books. It stands at a strategic crossroad on the way to the Iron Marches. The city is big with strong walls. I would be surprised if the orcs have destroyed it. Millhaven is a major source of revenue for Trevalden.” Louis hoped that he wasn’t giving Folc false hope. Yet, the destruction of the second city of the realm seemed improbable.
“How well do you know what happened to the realm since you got lost?” Selen asked.
“I haven’t talked to people since then, but I heard that the new king sent his armies north. I saw villagers flee from everywhere. Some of them spoke of what happened in Millhaven. Others told about burned towns and bandits. I scavenged in the gardens and the fields and slept in abandoned barns. I stood away from towns and inhabited villages. What you saw in Grimewallow happens everywhere. It’s the big, green monsters, the ones you call orcs. They come and kill nearly everyone.”
“Nearly?” Louis asked.
“They take some with them.”
“I suppose they want slaves, too,” Selen said.
His friend’s face darkened. Louis thought that Selen remembered what had happened that night near the ruins. The thought of Selen being taken away and used as a slave made his blood boil. His hate for orcs grew stronger.
“So, Folc, what did you use to do as a page?” Selen asked.
The boy leaned his head against Selen’s breastplate and looked up. “Oh, the usual page things: cleaning armour
s, running messages, cleaning clothes, dressing my lord, more cleaning… Is there something you want me to clean?”
Louis and Selen laughed.
“No, don’t worry, boy. We have no goods to clean, and we can dress ourselves,” Selen said, brushing Folc’s hair with his hand. “But it’s about time you learn how to handle something sharper than a broom. Maybe we can find you a sword on the way.”
“Which way?” Folc asked.
“That, we will see,” Louis answered.
The sun was high in the sky when they decided to halt for a break. The horses needed some rest, and they all had become hungry. By mutual agreement, they rationed their provisions to the strict minimum they needed to hold a day. Without a bow or a rope, they could not hunt game, and they did not put high hopes on scavenging either. They had not seen more habitations since Grimewallow, only woods and more fields. Most of the time, the path had wended its way at the bottom of a gully, preventing them from getting an overview of their location. They were lost and still had no idea which road to follow.
Louis sat on a stone in the sun, a short distance from the horses. He tried to calculate how many days they would be able to survive with only a dozen apples, some jam, and two loaves of bread as hard as stone. Maybe if he took a leather strap from one of their bags, Selen would be able to weave a snare and fetch them some rabbit. They also had a bottle of wine left. Yet, Louis was reluctant to propose too much strong alcohol to Folc. However, the water of the streams and rivers, polluted by the corpses, surely carried deadly diseases by now. Wine would have to go until they found beer.
“Bend your legs. Up with your left arm. And block!”
Selen and Folc trained on the grass right in front of him. Selen had found two branches that he had cleaned, and taught Folc the basics of sword fighting. Louis’s calculations were continuously interrupted by the incessant knocking of their sticks. Still, he did not mind it for anything in the world. After all they had seen, blithe moments were more than welcome.
He saw that Folc learned fast. The boy hopped, blocked, sidestepped, slashed in the air, and stepped backwards. Selen swayed and dodged like a snake, making it impossible for Folc to hit him. Every time he raised his eyes, Louis was lost in the elegant moves of his friend and how his hair swirled around him. Selen’s thrusts were short and precise but slow enough for Folc to see them. Though he still could not block most of Selen’s blows, the boy memorized the positions well, which Louis thought was Selen’s objective.
“Keep your balance. You’re doing well. Don’t stop moving. Left. Right. Bend your head.” Selen hit Folc’s stick with a twist and sent the branch flying. It landed a few feet away. “Your grip is too tight. If you squeeze your sword, this is what happens. Your weapon must be a part of your arm. Whatever happens, never hesitate to kill, because it’s you or him.”
“I can’t feel my arms or my legs anymore,” Folc laughed. He held his hands on his thighs, panting. “I think I need a break.”
Louis rose. “I think we need to keep moving. Let’s find a safe place before night comes.”
They all got up on the horses and rode back to the road.
The sky was getting dark when they saw the house at the turn of the road. It was a little thatched cottage with white walls and blue window frames. The door, which had not been repainted for many years, was green. A plum tree stood amidst tulips in a lovely shrubbery of camellia, enclosed by a white fence. A cat lay on the bench near the door and warmed its fur on the last rays of sunshine. Louis discerned a small barn at the rear of the house. Smoke rose from the chimney. It was the first untouched house he had seen in a long time. The curtains moved behind the window to the left of the door. A short, old woman walked out of the house and came towards the gate. She wore a long black dress with an overcoat and an embroidered black shawl over her head.
“What do you want?” she quavered.
Louis heard anxiety in her voice. He kicked his horse and approached her. “Excuse me, madame. I know we are strangers, but would you mind if we stayed in your house for the night? We have our own food.”
The elderly woman cackled. “Would you mind… madame… You come from another time, my dear lad. No one addresses himself that way these days. Are you lords?”
“No, we are no lords, but we are no bandits either,” Louis continued.
“I may be turning blind, but I can see that quite well.” She stared at him and scrutinized Selen and Folc, who stood at a distance.
“All right,” she said, “you can come in. There is a small stable behind the house that you can use for your horses.”
They thanked her and led their horses to the back of the house. There were some chickens lying on the hay in the stable, but no horse or cow. It was narrow but nothing two horses could not endure for a night. They untied their bags, unsaddled their horses, and rubbed them down. When they were done, they followed the decrepit stone path back to the front of the house and opened the door.
There were only two rooms inside the house; one that looked like a bedroom was hidden behind an ajar door, and the other one, the main room, was where the hearth stood. A table and three chairs took most of the space. A giant carved cupboard covered half the left wall, and an oak trunk served as a second table in the right corner. Needlework decorated the walls. A spinning wheel had been placed under the narrow window, and a huge rocking chair covered with wool cushions and a blanket stood near the fire. The room was welcoming and pleasantly warm.
“Come inside and close the door. It’s getting late and the nights are cold,” she mumbled.
“Is there any fresh water we could use?” Selen asked. “If it is not too much trouble.”
The old lady pointed at a bucket. “All you can pump, you can use. The pump is outside in the yard. There is a basin in the bedroom if you need one.”
While Selen was busy fetching water, Folc stirred the fire. The old woman sat in her rocking chair and covered herself with the blanket. Louis removed his armour and put it on the side against a wall. It felt good to move without the heavy weight on his shoulders. Selen came back inside and gave the water to Folc to boil it. A few minutes later, Folc filled the basin with warm water. They repeated their actions until the basin was entirely filled. While Selen took off his armour, Louis stepped into the basin. After so many days in the wild, it felt wonderful to bathe again. He washed his hair and rubbed himself with the soap. Once he was done, Selen took his place. Louis put his clothes on and stepped into the main room. He took some food out of their bag and offered an apple to the old woman.
“You’re very kind, my lad, but I don’t have the teeth anymore for that. If you are hungry, I may have some cheese and eggs left in the trunk.”
“But, you need food for yourself,” Louis replied. He considered that it must already be complicated enough for her to get food than to have three men eat her provisions.
“At my age, I don’t eat so much, and the cheese will become moldy if you don’t take it.” Louis doubted. “Will you go against an old woman?” she added.
Louis took the cheese and the eggs out of the trunk and fried it all in a pan.
“How is it you are still here and alone?” he asked.
The old woman looked at him with sunken, moist eyes. “I wasn’t always alone. They killed my husband and took my son. It happened last year. They came during winter—bandits. They wanted gold, they said. They tortured my good man and killed him. They took our son as a reward. I was too old and useless for them.” She looked down with grief. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Now I wait until my final day comes.”
The old woman’s story filled Louis’s heart with sorrow. “Is there really no one you can count on in this land? Why don’t villagers fight back?” He tried to conceal his anger in his voice, but he failed.
“My poor boy, no one can face these cruel monsters, and the bandits are too many. Driven crazy by hunger and sorrow, villagers have turned on each other. One day a simple peasant, the next day a ravenous out
law. The only hope had lain for a while on the Rebellion, but today…”
“Which rebellion?” Selen asked, coming from the bedroom. He had left his place to Folc. The boy had been so dirty that he could only go last in the water. Selen sat down at the table near Louis, took a piece of bread, and plunged it in the fried eggs. Water dropped from his hair onto the floor behind his chair.
“When the war was lost, some of the survivors, knights and footmen, formed an eclectic group in the north to resist a wider invasion,” the old woman said. “It worked for a while, as we could live in peace for two years. Then, the monsters came, and we heard no more word of victory from the Rebellion.”
“Could they still be alive somewhere?” Louis asked.
“Well, last autumn, they were preparing for winter a few miles from here. They may still be there,” she sighed. “Do you want to join them?” she inquired. “From what I’ve heard, it’s more an army of good-for-nothings and scoundrels! Not handsome lords like you.” The anger made her cough.
Louis got up and held a mug of wine for her. “I’m sorry, but we must see for ourselves. We will remember your wise words, though.”
“You remind me of my boy,” she said with melancholy, “brave and foolish.” She nodded to the bedroom. “You can take the beds tonight. I’m used to sleeping in my chair near the fire.”
The bedroom’s furniture was basic. There was a large bed and a smaller one, both of plain wood. A bridal chest decorated with blue paint stood in the corner at the end of the room, and a chair stood on the other side of it.
Folc had removed and cleaned the basin. The boy lay on the smaller bed, already asleep. Selen took one of the blankets that stood at the bottom of the bed and wrapped it around Folc.
“It’s probably the first time in four years that he can sleep,” Selen whispered.
Louis put his arms around Selen’s waist. “And we should do the same,” he murmured.
Louis and Selen half undressed and lay down in the other bed. The cold, rough sheets smelled of lavender and olive soap. No one had slept in this bed for a long time, but it had been kept fresh. “I know we are in a house with only a nice, old lady on the other side of the door, but I would like to stand watch. We don’t know what can come during the night,” Louis said, laying an arm around Selen’s waist. Though he was weary, he would not take the risk to get his throat slit during his sleep. This place could as well have been kept intact for a reason.
Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1) Page 8