Children of Swan: The Land of Taron, Vol 2: (A Space Fantasy Adventure)

by Coral Walker

  Lord Shusha’s rattling sound stopped. Cici came closer, and he could feel her cold fingers running along the contour of the chin and the neck to where his collar was.

  With his eyes still shut, Ornardo continued, “If you see the willow tree and the well, you know for sure it is the place. You will see two hills, overlooking each side of the house. The hills are grassy, and each has a distinctive Charleea tree on top. The trees are of the same kind except that one is older and bears red flowers and the other is younger and bears yellow flowers. The old red one is mine, and the young yellow one is Lizi’s. They should be in blossom right now, so you can’t, in any case, miss them. I planted the yellow Charleea tree after Lizi was born. It was her favourite tree, her favourite hill, her favourite spot — where she would like to be buried ...”

  The shirt buttons were now undone all the way to the navel, and the shirt pulled aside to expose the chest. He felt the hot air fluttering on the exposed skin, and the soft fingers fumbling and probing before the cold tip of the knife pressed at the spot where the fingers had lingered.

  He waited.

  But the tip of the knife didn’t go any deeper but trembled with the hand that was holding it.

  “Allow me, my Lady.” A sudden feeling of disquiet surged within him as the coarse excited voice reached the ears. The body jerked.

  — Ms Upright.

  He sensed the alarm in Jack’s mind voice and flicked the eyes open. Before him was the strange, pale-faced woman in a tiny blue dress. Cici’s jewelled dagger was in her tiny claw-like hands, while Cici, gasping and shaking, was retreating.

  — She’s the one who took Bo.

  Jack was screeching.

  With a flash of intuition, the small woman seemed to be aware of Jack’s anguish. She stretched her neck, perhaps on tiptoes, to peek down into the eyes from just above.

  “Good-Bye, Jack,” she whispered, “Bo’ll miss you. But not for long. He’ll join you soon.”

  He heard a cracking sound, as if something had split open, from which rage and despair were pouring out. The body was overwhelmed and was revolting. He let it be, let it writhe and wriggle, and struggling against the chains that held him, he tried in vain to punch the woman in her pear-shaped face.

  Strong hands seized the shoulders and pressed onto the chest. He felt the skin being lacerated, the pressure of the square edges of the box against the open cut, and the tingling feeling of something crawling through the wound skin and nibbling its way into the flesh underneath. It radiated a strange sensation of nausea, and before long the shoulders dropped quietly as the restraining arms released them. Sickness, heightened by a growing dizziness, overwhelmed him. Images, so many of them, flooded his mind at the same time, distorting and fragmenting. Would he ever be able to piece them back together again?

  In abject fear, he groaned.

  19

  Yellow Band

  When dusk merged into the night, Putu came and blindfolded him before releasing him from the chains. He tumbled to the floor and vomited.

  The air was no longer hot and scorching, but fresh and cool. Putu picked him up like he was handling a child and set him upright on his feet. He flinched, not from the pain in his ankles and wrists that were sore from the fetters, but from the shameful consciousness that he was still alive.

  With Putu’s hand heavy on his shoulder, he let himself be manoeuvred like he was a puppet. There were stairs after stairs, corridor after corridor. His feet stumbled now and then but, unseeing and unfeeling, he tottered on.

  They came to a softly lit room, and the rays of light that seeped through the fringe of the blindfold irritated him. Putu’s heavy footsteps were now receding and became quieter and quieter until he was left in complete silence. The awareness of being all alone echoed in the void of his mind, dazing him. He stood swaying like the sole tree in the vastness of some desert.

  Then came the smell, a lightly scented one, creeping in through his nostrils and captivating his mind before he was aware of its existence. The blindfold slipped off his face, his eyes blinked wildly at the abrupt brightness, and then he met her dark-ringed eyes. The next thing he knew, he was sinking, his body slanting forward and his head falling into her open arms.

  +++

  He stuffed handful after handful of the food into his mouth. The mechanical feeding seemed to be the only thing he was able to carry out easily. At intervals he stopped, his mind bewildered by the realisation of being the sole ruler of the body. Still, he took another handful of food — in any case, he must feed the body.

  He hardly spoke, but Cici chattered on.

  The room they were in was on the middle level of the Western Wing. It was the very same room where she had spent most of her childhood, and that she now used as her occasional bedroom. Next to the room, was Lady Barloom’s room and after that Lord Shusha’s. Since he had known her, he had never set foot in this room.

  He looked on as she swirled joyfully around the room, pointing to the characters on the folktale-themed tapestry and curling her hand over the knobs of drawers carved in the shape of a sharp-clawed lizard.

  “Do you remember the dress I was wearing when we first met?”

  She smiled her impish smile, made her way to a wardrobe set into a recess in the thick wall, and swung the door open. A floor-length pale blue silky dress with a golden Arnartarna band across the chest burst into sight. On the band, beneath where the heart would be, was an Arnartarna flower in full bloom made of the finest yellow fabric.

  Cici hurriedly shut the door. Her chest heaved as she drew a sharp breath. Her hesitant eyes lingered on him, querying.

  For a while, he sat stunned by the exquisite sight of the dress, and his mind meandered. He wondered if Lizi had wanted an engagement dress with an Arnartarna band just like that. How she was wide-eyed with wonder every time she came home from a grand engagement party. She had dressed her doll in a pale blue dress. The shining yellow fabric was difficult to find, but Cici had brought some to bribe her in exchange for her silence. With that, she had made her doll’s blue dress a matching yellow Arnartarna band and a tiny Arnartana flower to sit where the doll’s heart was.

  Once she had her doll prettily dressed, she sat on the hearth-rug with the doll on her lap. With an innocent expression, she ran her finger along the band, circled the flower for a few times and sang sweetly, “By the strength of the Arnartarna band across your chest and the virtue of the Arnartarna flower upon your heart, you are bound now to the handsome young man whom you love for the rest of your life. I pray for the soul of Arnartarna, in the eye of this Arnartarna flower, to bear witness to our loving oath.”

  Cici’s murmuring brought his mind back to the present. “I didn’t know it was there. I thought they would bring it to me tomorrow.”

  Then her face lit up. She sprang to her feet, threw the wardrobe open and grabbed the dress. “Wait for me,” she cried holding the dress to her chest and with a swirl vanished into a side room.

  She returned shimmering in the glossy frilled dress, her smiling face radiant. Gulping in astonishment, he felt he was again in his very own body, as if the path ahead had never been interrupted, still dreaming of an enchanted future with a loving wife and family, whom he would dote upon and share his life with.

  Quickly she danced closer and took his hands in hers. Without a word, she arranged them so that, except for the first fingers, the rest interlaced.

  His heart started drumming wildly. In amazement he felt his hands in her firm grip being lowered and the fingertips pressed against the smooth surface of the yellow ribbon. Then her lips quivered before parting, and her trembling but clear voice filled the room. Tears sprang up in his eyes.

  “By the strength of the Arnartarna band across my chest and the virtue of the Arnartarna flower upon my heart, I am now bound to my handsome Ornardo Zartartu, whom I love, for the rest of my life. I pray for the soul of Arnartarna, in the eye of this Arnartarna flower, to bear witness to our loving oath.”

&nb
sp; He let his hands be manipulated in hers, feeling the softness of her skin, the contours of her breasts, and the throbbing of her heart as the fingers traced around the flower. Something dripped onto his hands, wet and warm.

  Tears, but not just his.

  +++

  In his arms, Cici was asleep. She had drunk two glasses of the red wine from the cellar where they were locked in. He waved his head as she held out a glass to him.

  “Are you still worried about what we did in the barrel?” she chuckled, grinning devilishly. Her cheeks were red from the wine, and her impishness made her a small girl again.

  But he must stay sober, mustn’t he?

  The lights were out, and the darkness that stripped the room of its splendour had rendered him a sanctuary. He sat there savouring the transitory calm. But when the sound of hollow footsteps resonated outside the closed door, this hard-fought peace fled. There was a brief pause, and he heard a man’s heavy breathing. Then, to his relief, the footsteps headed away across the hall and vanished, after the sound of a door shutting.

  He sat completely still until absolute silence returned. Quietly he wriggled one of his arms free and fumbled a light stone out of his pocket. With a rub, a dim light shone from the stone and slowly grew to a soft orange glow.

  The golden sheen on Cici’s sleeping face captivated him, and he watched with affection as her lips curved slightly as if she were smiling in some dream. Gently he ruffled her hair that flowed over his bent arm. With a sigh, he shuffled the arm free and dropped her head softly onto the cushion below.

  A small object on a table caught his attention — an old metal ring, wide and plain. Instinctively, he was drawn to it, as if he had seen it before and something about it seemed important, although he wasn’t sure what it was. He rolled it in his hand and shone the light onto it. There was a scene etched on it — a targar and bokwa locked in battle. He knew the scene! It was in Jack’s mind!

  ‘Jack!’ he moaned quietly, and his heart shuddered at the name.

  Stowing the ring safely in an inner pocket, he reached for the door. Before opening it he turned and glanced back in the direction where Cici was lying. The darkness devoured everything, relentlessly, without revealing even a faint shape. The feel of her soft skin came back to him, fresh and clear. He felt a passing sadness, and quickly, almost resentfully, dismissed it.

  He pulled the door open.

  20

  Charleea Tree

  A few steps into a passageway, he found himself facing a rectangular silver panel on the wall, the same as the one he had seen at the top of the tower.

  “A lift!” he remembered what Jack had called it. Pondering, he ran his fingers along the centre line where the door split to see if he could wedge in his fingers, but failed. He turned his attention to the round circular-shaped button on the wall and reached out a hand. Dilea’s words rang in his head, “Don’t touch that, you don’t know what will come out of the silver box.”

  He couldn’t take any risks, not tonight.

  The small circular light above the silver door flashed and illuminated a green arrow, and a quiet hum sounded from somewhere behind the panel. Frightened, he scuttled a few steps back and hastened into a short corridor that led to the stairs. The stairs took him to the grand hall, and he came out of an opening opposite the entrance to the spiral staircase. The silver panel that Jack had called a “lift” was on his right.

  He peered anxiously at the lift and its flashing arrow light. Then it pinged unexpectedly. He edged a few quick steps down the hall and shrank into the deep shadows along the dark rooms. No sooner had he pressed his body flat against the wall than the lift split open, and two men in white overalls strode out, followed by Ms Upright in her short blue dress. To his relief, they marched past him without turning their heads and disappeared conveniently into one of the lit rooms opposite.

  As quickly and quietly as he could, he scurried across the hall to the double door where Lizi was kept. Certain that there was no one else in the room he pushed the door open and sneaked in.

  The bed in the glass case was right in front of him. Its confined space, obscured by thick, swirling purple mist, revealed nothing but segments of a naked body. He trembled at the sight of it, and, as his hands started shaking, felt to his consternation the strength that had sustained him so far was draining away.

  A strange wail sounding like a baby’s cry came from inside the glass case. Alarmed, he shuffled his feet forward. A face suddenly popped out of the purple mist, and it took him a few seconds to realise it was the chubby blue face of a baby. A surge of joy coursed through him.

  Lizi’s baby!

  The baby was looking at him with big, round eyes, curious and innocent. His heart tender with fondness, Ornardo stretched out a hand to touch the glass surface where the baby’s face was. As his hand approached, the baby’s eyes narrowed. All of a sudden, it twisted its angelic face into a look of malevolence, bared its small teeth, and hissed at him.

  Blood, there was blood all over its sharp triangular teeth!

  He reeled back and drew in a sharp breath. Before his eyes, the baby turned exposing a rough-scaled hump that gradually diminished into a long tail. With a swish of its tail, it dived into the deep mist. The mist, disturbed by the swift movement, momentarily cleared to reveal the blood-stained torso of a prone woman. The woman, with her stomach torn open to expose its bloody contents, had doubtless been a feast for the vicious beast.

  His stomach churned and he bent over in sudden excruciating pain. As if to aggravate deliberately the horror, the baby sank its face into the stomach of its own mother.

  A flame of rage swept through him. He hissed loudly at the baby and flung his arms in the air. Seeing it was useless, in a frenzy he scrambled his fingers around the edge of the glass case, and punched it, in a vain attempt to open it.

  A guttural groan from the woman’s throat brought him to his senses. “Lizi,” he sobbed as he watched impatiently for the mist to thin.

  To his bewilderment, the face that the mist gradually revealed was the swollen face of a stranger ... but, no, the board cheekbone, the plump lips ...

  “Dilea,” he gasped.

  In reply she gave a feeble flutter of her drooping eyelids. Her lips trembled, and her throat gurgled faintly. He leaned forward, straining his ears.

  “Kill ... it ...” she seemed to be saying, “sss ... wi ... tch ...”.

  For a while, he was puzzled — sss...witch, what does she mean by Ssswwitch? He fumbled in his mind for a clue. The image of the man in a surgical face mask came back to him, and he remembered the button the man had pushed after he and Ms Upright had put the lid on. With his mind still whirling, he moved across the room to the monitor and located the button, which, among the many others, was the only one blinking. Without delay he pressed it. To his relief the heavy purple mist in the glass case started thinning out.

  Returning quickly to where Dilea was, he looked down at her with a gush of pity.

  A feeble smile crept slowly to the corners of her swollen lips. “Th ... anks, J ... Jack,” she said.

  “I ...” he swallowed hard, holding back the tears and taking gasps of air to steady his voice, which broke nevertheless. “I’m ... looking for Lizi ... my dear Dilea ... Do you know ... where she ... is?”

  With an effort, she lifted a hand and seemed to be pointing.

  Following the fingers, he saw a greyish sack lying on the floor by the feet of a long table. He hurried over to it, dropped to his knees and groped with his trembling fingers for a way to open it. The sack was made of some strange material, supple and thin yet uncommonly strong. Running across the sack was a long, silver strip that seemed to be made of numerous tiny teeth hooked together. At the end of the strip, attached to the teeth, was a small featureless metal tab. Stooping over, he took it, and flipped and rolled it between his fingers. Out of the blue, the top end of the strip split open as he was trying to pull the tab off.

  An intense stench swept ov
er his face, choking him unexpectedly. His stomach turned, and he rushed to cover his nose. But the next instant his raised hand froze in mid-air. There before his eyes was the bare head of Lizi, ash-coloured and stone-like.

  When he came out of his stupor, his heart throbbed with overwhelming agony, and he trembled and wept uncontrollably.

  A high-pitched squeal from behind shocked him out of his hysterics. He turned abruptly to see what it was. The half-bokwa baby, deprived of the purple air on which its survival obviously depended, was writhing in frustration and squealing for attention.

  Hastily he wiped his eyes dry and bent over Lizi one more time to touch her cheeks and lips. Tears welled up again as he whispered in her ear. “I’m taking you home, Lizi”

  Hardening his heart, he pulled the tab to shut Lizi’s stony face in and heaved the sack into his arms. As he lumbered past the glass-covered bed, he hesitated and cast a final mournful glance at Dilea.

  Dilea, who now had a smile etched in the fine lines of her lips, looked peaceful, as if asleep.

  +++

  Before long, he was stumbling along the shadowy wall of the main corridor, panting hoarsely. With a twinge of bitterness, he noticed how much Lizi had grown — no longer the child he remembered but a fully-grown woman, making it impossible for him to lift her completely off the floor.

  The squeals of the baby that had been sporadic a moment ago were now continuous howls and sounded alarming and loud in the empty hall. At the sound of a door swinging open, he froze.

  Out of a lit room dashed the two men and Ms Upright. Without so much as a glimpse in his direction, they hurried towards the source of the squeals,

  He plodded on for all he was worth, and no longer cared about Lizi’s dangling feet that were scraping on the hard floor. The lift was just a few steps away.

  When he spared a hand to press the button, Lizi almost slipped from his grasp, but he caught her in time. A lively ping came sooner than he expected, and the silver door opened like magic revealing a spacious box behind. The moment he stepped in he heard the indignant shouts and running footsteps — the two men and Ms Upright were rushing towards him, yelling as they ran. In a panic, he reached one hand for the buttons. There were two identical columns of them. In a cold sweat, he stabbed a random button with his fingers. To his wonderment and relief, the door shut, and was immediately followed by a dropping sensation.