Wudrick could hear Dampy order the two rebels who had carried him from the well to get themselves some veget juice, then go outside and guard the outer perimeter of the hut. A few moments later the eating room lit up with outside light and a frail, hooded figure entered the room. The dream-like image he saw convinced him he had fallen asleep, but Dampy soon reassured him he hadn't.
"What do you want, oh, creepy one?” Dampy jumped up and snarled at the hooded figure. "Loden is at the well. It’s just me here guarding this spy."
"Spy?” Wudrick thought. He felt flattered. No one had ever considered him much of anything before other than the mayor’s bumbling husband. Now, all of a sudden, he was a thought to be a spy - a spy worth guarding no less. A strange feeling washed over him. It was the feeling of important.
The Hooded One stopped in the doorway to the sleeping room and said something to Dampy in a low, gravelly voice. Wudrick couldn’t make out the words, but it was obvious Dampy didn’t like what he’d heard.
"What? I will not!” Dampy declared overly loud for the short distance between them. The Hooded One spoke again. “But ...!” Dampy sputtered. The Hooded One said more and Dampy stammered more. Wudrick didn't know what to make of the faceless, hooded figure, but he could tell it held a position of authority, for in the end Dampy stomped out of the hut - but not without a final word.
"Okay, okay, but if this westerner ruins the revolution we'll all have no one to blame, but you, whoever or whatever you are." With those closing remarks, Dampy slammed the hut door behind him.
Wudrick felt a dreary anxiety come over him as the Hooded One approached. Never had Wudrick seen such a mysterious person. Soon, the strange being was standing beside the cot, the blackness of its hood staring down at him in silence. Then, it retrieved something from beneath its cloak and carefully put a measured amount into a cup of veget juice. A moment later the strange creature was holding that very same cup to his lips. Afraid, Wudrick was reluctant to drink, but he was even more afraid not to.
As the drink first touched his lips, it was sweet to the taste. However, as it flowed to the back of his throat, it soured, leaving a bitter after taste. Almost, immediately, his head began to spin, his muscles relaxed and he knew he was falling into a deep, deep sleep - or dying. He fought to keep his eyes open, but it was a losing battle. The last thing he remembered was seeing the dark shadows of the hood dissolve away, revealing a surprisingly familiar face.
"You?" he moaned, as he drifted into deep, dreamless unconsciousness.
Chapter 13
It was shortly past high noon and the unchanging life in the little town of Nuttinnew was in chaos.
When Bourg returned to Center House he found another female sitting in his newly acquired favorite eating room chair. She was slumped over the table, sobbing uncontrollably. Although he couldn’t see her face he recognized her by her hair, which was cropped short like the female he had just left in the clearing.
She was Fleetra, special attendant to the mayor, which in Bourg’s mind gave her a special status as defender of the faithful to the status quo. So, dutifully, he honored her and sympathized with her sorrow, even though he didn't know its source. Unsure if it was his place to say anything, Bourg stood by, shuffling his feet in discomfort. His attempt to divert his eyes from her, as an act of propriety, proved impossible, for her pitiful countenance drew them back like a sticking stone. Eventually, he acquiesced, allowing them to freely gaze upon her.
Instantly, a vision filled his mind. He was floating like a cloud high above the town. Looking down he could see this honored female walking into the Great Veget Field with her hand extended. Deep into the field, at the clearing, the female he had just hidden was extending her hand back toward her. And although they couldn’t see each other, the mere extension of their hands mysteriously linked a common bond between them.
The vision frightened him, not just for what he saw, but because he knew that he knew more about these two females than he could remember. He was sure of it. However, even in his new life, Bourg's thought patterns remained simple and all this was a bit overbearing. Before he could even begin to figure it all out, the female at the table looked up at him. Her eyes were red and wet. The skin on her face was shiny and drawn. Her voice cracked as she spoke, but her demure appeared relieved to see him.
"Oh, wellkeeper, good wellkeeper, will you help us, please? Mardrith has often told me how sure she was that beneath your rugged exterior there beat a heart of sincere compassion. Can you - will you help us?” Fleetra pleaded, then waited for an answer. None came. She pursued her plea. "I know something terrible has happened to my - my cousin, Mardrith."
Bourg felt like breaking the eating table with his fist. Not for any other reason than to pound the confusion out of his brain. He despised the feelings crawling around inside of him. The Lord Mayor had warned him of such feelings. It was his duty to fight them off; to keep from getting his proper emotions entangled in them. Such were only tricks being played on his mind by the enemy. He had been told. Their purpose was to distract him from his true purpose in life: to serve the Lord Mayor with all his heart and with all his might until the end of life, itself.
"She's in The Great Northern Veget field,” he said coldly.
"She is?” Fleetra's face beamed with hope.
"Yes. I followed her there,” Bourg's voice was emotionless. "The Lord Mayor had warned me of her treacherous behavior. When I found her, I knew the Lord would want me to..."
Fleetra's whole body shook. Her face took on a pale contortion making it look almost non-human. “You - you've killed her! No. No!” Fleetra shrieked as she jumped from her chair and attacked the giant, pounding her fists upon his massive, hairy chest. Bourg didn’t defend himself. Her fiercest blows were little more than an annoyance. The confusion in his brain pained him much more. He struggled to focus his thoughts on the recent past; to his encounter with Mardrith. No, he hadn't killed her. He didn't say he had. The hysterical female only assumed he had.
"Listen, here female! I said,” Fleetra's screams drowned out Bourg's attempt to correct the error. “I knew when I found her the Lord Mayor would want me to bash in her skull....”
“You bash in her skull?” Fleetra screamed, then wailed.
"Ha, ha, ha!" a shrill, terrifying laughter filled the room. "Bashed in her skull! You bashed in Mardrith’s skull, did you? For me? Ha, ha, ha! You magnificent, loyal creature. Of all the inhabitants of the west, you are truly best qualified to be the trusted one between my thighs.” The shrill peel of her laughter stung their ears.
"Ooh!" Fleetra fell to the floor in a dead faint.
"Wellkeeper, you have pleased me more than you could possibly know. Where is the body now?” Pentalope's devious mind churned.
"I left the female on the edge of a clearing in the midst of The Great Veget Field,” he answered honestly.
"You what? I have a hundred easterners out there to keep you safely in here. How did you...? Well now, what am I getting all worked up about? You have truly proven yourself worthy of my trust. If you are willing to kill even one of my enemies, I have little to fear from anyone subverting your loyalty to me now, have I? Did anyone see you murder her?” Pentalope asked, scratching beneath her chin with the long, curved fingernail of her index finger, as she envisioned the potential she had unleashed.
"Uh, no, no, I don't think so. I don’t see how they could have. I...."
"Good! Good!" came Pentalope's cheery response. "I’m not ready for your special talent to be revealed - yet. You did bury the body?"
"Bury the body? I - I did cover her over with a pile of veget leaves, but ...."
"Ha! Hid the body, as well, did you? My, my, I am impressed. Still, a pile of leaves is only a temporary tomb. Someone will surely discover the remains during the harvest, and that would upset me very much. So, listen to me very carefully, my faithful beast. I want you to put that traitorous female in a place where her rotting corpse will never be found. Do you understan
d me? I want everyone, especially this one lying on the floor, to just forget she ever existed. And if someone should be reminded of her, let them think her craziness drove her out beyond the rolling hills, to The Land of Nocomback. Am I making my desire quite clear to you?” Pentalope's face was inches from Bourg's. The glare in her eyes caused Bourg to blink and look from side to side in humble submission. "Well, am I?"
"Yes. I think so, but I...."
"Oooh, you think so!" Pentalope screamed with lost patience.
"I mean, I know you want her hidden so no one will ever find her."
"Ah, see there, and so many people think there's not an ounce of wit behind those big, fury eyebrows of yours,” Pentalope chirped. "Now, be a good and faithful servant and fulfill your Lord's request."
"Yes, sir - er, Lord, ma'am,” Bourg stammered, being overwhelmed with an unsettling concoction of fear, relief and confusion.
"But first, carry this one upstairs, and put her on her - no, put her on my cot.”
"Yes, Lord Mayor." Bourg was much relieved to no longer be at the center of Pentalope's concerns. He didn't know what Pentalope had in store for this female. He didn't want to know. He had enough concerns of his own for the present. Bending down, he quickly swooped Fleetra up in his arms. "She doesn't weigh much more than ... than ...?"
An image of a young male filled his mind. The face was familiar, but from where and when? He couldn’t remember. There were too many disassociated thoughts racing through his mind - too much confusion. He had to keep his thoughts simple. "Don't think about anything. Just do what the Lord Mayor demands and block out everything else,” he told himself, and this is what he did. It was all he could do, if he wasn’t to go completely mad.
Bourg carried his light cargo to Pentalope's sleeping room and ungently deposited it on her bed. When Fleetra hit the mattress, she let out a groan and opened her eyes, which widened to the size of saucers when she saw the murderer of her beloved standing over her. Bourg jerked back, turned, and stumbled quickly out of the room, past Pentalope who was standing in the doorway. As he bounded down the stairs, he could hear Pentalope comfort Fleetra.
"There, there, I know this has all been quite a shock to you. However, you must not worry yourself about these small matters. Forget this horrible misfortune which has befallen poor Mardrab. Be assured, this is a great loss to me, as well. It’s such a shame that this, uh, terrible accident should come about just when she and I were truly beginning to develop a deep fondness for one other. Surely, you could see it. So you see, my dear, I too, share your pain in this, our sad loss. I know Marbraid would want us to comfort one another in this time of our joint bereavement. Here, take this oil. In remembrance, you may massage my entire body, just as she has done. It will make us both feel much, much better,” Pentalope cooed as her pullover slipped to the floor. Then, wearing nothing but a sardonic smile, she held out a vial of especially refined veget oil.
Outside, Bourg thrashed his way through the tall dried veget plants. “Hide her body? She isn’t even dead. You misunderstood!” he had tried to tell the Lord Mayor. But she was so pleased with what she thought he’d done, he couldn't bring himself to disappoint her with the truth. After all, Bourg only lived to please the Lord Mayor, she had told him so herself.
He couldn't imagine what she would do if she knew the young female was still alive. Therefore, he had no other choice than to actually do what the Lord Mayor thought had already been done. He would go back to the clearing and bash in her head, then bury the body where it would never be found.
Over and over again, Bourg rehearsed the act of bashing upon nearly every clump of sod he came across as he made his way through the veget rows. However, Bourg hadn’t busted up clods in the fields, since his youth, and found himself to be quite inept at striking a clean blow. With his mind so absorbed in the task, he was soon lost. If it weren’t for the continual tones of his victim’s gentle sobbing, he might never have located her at all. She was fortunate, for there is hardly anything to render a male’s malice malleable than the seductive subtlety of a Sabine’s sobs. Perhaps, nature intended it that way. By the time Bourg reached her, his anger had been drained from his head and was replaced with something much more noble - the natural compassion still residing deep withing his true heart.
He knew it was going to cost him dearly, but what could he do? If only he could remember more about his past life - more than what the Lord Mayor had told him. How could he have always been a creature of terror, and still be filled with such a sickening sensation by the mere weeping of a female.
When Bourg stepped into the clearing, his foot snapped a dried twig. Immediately, dried veget leaves flew everywhere as Mardrith leaped from her place of hiding and positioned herself in the center of the clearing, with planted feet and raised hands as if expecting an impending attack. Glancing to one side then the other and seeing no one else, she returned her attention to Bourg. Her body quivered with the tension of a coiled spring, but the confused look in her eyes betrayed an indecisive struggle between fight and flight.
As Bourg watched, he wished the troublesome female would race off to the wall of wind and sand and get lost forever beyond the gentle, rolling hills that surrounded Nuttinnew. However, to his surprise and dismay, the female just expelled a deep breath and collapsed in a humbled, human heap at his feet.
"Go ahead. Do to me what you must. I know that evil female has sent you here to destroy me. Without Fleetra, I might as well be dead. Do it! Do it now, but I beg you to do it swiftly, so I won’t have to endure this heartache any longer." Mardrith bowed her head before Bourg and waited for the death blow. Bourg waited as well. An eternal moment passed between them. Finally, Mardrith raised her head.
The hairy giant no longer towered over her, but he was sitting at the edge of the clearing with his arms folded over his knees and his chin resting on his arms. Then she noticed a small drinking flask laying within arms reach on the ground in front of her. Mardrith looked at it, then at Bourg. Even though his thick eyebrows cast dark shadows over his eyes, she knew he was staring at her. Was he just playing some sadistic game, waiting for her to make a move toward the life-giving flask, before he pounced upon her and cracked open her skull?
“Well, why not go for it?” Mardrith thought. “He’s going to kill me anyway. There’s no sense dying of thirst in the meantime.” Quickly, she leaned forward, swooped up the flask, then sprang up on the balls of her feet. The observing giant remained motionless.
Clutching the flask to her chest, Mardrith knelt down again, first on one knee, then on both. Slowly, she loosened the top of the flask. To die was one thing, but to live with cracked lips and a parched tongue was quite another. Pressing the flask to her mouth, she devoured its contents in a rapid series of large gulps. The water burned her lips, but soothed her throat. The thought had occurred to her it might be poisoned, but at that particular moment in her life it didn't really matter one way or the other. Gulping down the last drop, she knelt facing her assassin and waited to die - but she did not die.
Peering into the shadows beneath Bourg’s thick brow, Mardrith stared deeply into his dark blue eyes and saw a hint of the old gentleness in at least a part of his soul. It was a gentleness that in the past had always disarmed her, for it connected with a place deep within herself which only Fleetra had ever touched before. Because of this Mardrith had always made it a point never to look into the wellkeeper's eyes, whenever possible. And if, on any given day, she did by chance happen to look into them, she would avoid going to the well altogether on the following day, leaving the chore of collecting their water rations to Fleetra.
However, this was before Fleetra went to work for the mayor, then it became solely her responsibility, and something she had to deal with every day. She had never told Fleetra about this, and for that reason the uncomfortable feeling was all the more discomforting. To make matters worse, the more she secreted these feelings, the more she desired them. It was one of those little paradoxes of h
uman existence which cannot be explained with words - especially to one’s love.
Eventually, Bourg did move. He stood up and reached into his pullover pocket and pulled out a small veget pouch. Mardrith recoiled, instinctively taking a defensive posture. Bourg held out the small sack to her. It was a gentle enough gesture, but, Mardrith couldn’t get past her present distrust of him. Besides, refreshed with water, her moment of passive submission had passed. If he still intended to kill her, he’d now have a ferocious fight on his huge, hairy hands.
Bourg let the pouch drop to the ground. "You’d better stay hidden. The Lord Mayor thinks I’ve killed you. If she finds out I didn’t ... well, you know, then I will have to kill you.”
Bourg turned and stepped into the first few rows of plants, then halted. Looking back over his shoulder, but not directly at Mardrith, he called. "I'll bring food and water as often as I can. I’ll leave it here at the edge of the clearing. You can get it after I’m gone. If it’s left untouched two days in a row, I'll figure you’re either dead or gone." Bourg took another step.
"Thank you,” Mardrith called after him in a gentle, quivering voice. Bourg heard her and felt like he had swallowed a stone. He couldn’t think of any words to say in response, and even if he had, he couldn’t have spoken them aloud. His throat was knotted so tightly, it made his eyes water, as he rushed briskly through the rows of veget plants, far from the clearing and the female.
Upon reaching the outer rows, he stopped to wipe the moisture from his eyes. "Blast!" he cursed "The Lord Mayor was right! That’s one dangerous female. Why, she’s turned me into a blubbering fool. Not good for a beastly creature. Well, it began with her, and by Veget, it’ll end with her. I have a greater duty. I serve the Lord Mayor!” Bourg assured himself, then shouted aloud the slogan Pentalope had given him.
Pieces: Book One, The Rending Page 42