So it came that one day he awoke-although it must have been nearly noon-to the terrible realisation that someone was standing at the end of his bed. He tried to leap up toescapeout the window, but something invisible to his eye held him fast, and he knew he was as good as dead. He looked at the black-cloaked figure that stood just beyond his trembling toes, and he shook with fear. He could not see the face inside the hood, and he was almost thankful for the fact.
‘Wh-what do you want?’ he stammered, but the ominous figure said nothing. ‘P-p-please! Don’t kill me!’ he said, begging for his life, and tears ran down his cheeks as he blubbered in fear.
Still the cloaked man watched him in silence, as if looking into his very soul. When the magician finally did make a sound, Cadin almost wet himself with fright.
The magician sniffed aloud several times. ‘Your room smells of death.’
‘No, no. You’re mistaken, good Lord!’
‘I know a murderer when I see one. You killed my mother. You killed my father. You killed my sister and brothers,’ said the magician.
‘I–I’m sorry!’ bawled Cadin. ‘I’m ever so sorry.’
‘Quiet!’ the magician commanded and Cadin almost severed his tongue shutting his mouth as quickly as he could. ‘What a pathetic creature you have become.’ The magician passed his eyes slowly across the room with disdain, before returning his gaze to the man in bed. ‘You have caused so much suffering to others, I believe it is time you were given something in return.’
Cadin shook his head feverishly and tried to object, but he could only sob and whimper, filled with fear as he was.
‘Do you know,’ said the magician, ‘suffering is really not so bad, once you get used to it. It can clear the mind and pave the way for wisdom. Wouldn’t you agree?’
Cadin nodded furiously but then shook his head just as hard, unsure of which response the magician was seeking. He certainly did not want to volunteer for any punishment, but neither did he want to disagree with his disgruntled captor. In truth, he had no idea what the magician was going on about. He had never been keen on discomfort of any kind, preferring instead whatever earthly pleasures his coins had been able to gain him.
The magician watched on, unimpressed by Cadin’s response. ‘Tell me,’ he said finally, ‘they say it is never too late for a man to change his ways. What do you think of that?’
‘I agree!’ Cadin blurted out. ‘I can change! I will change-I will!’
‘Very well,’ the magician stated. ‘Everyone deserves a second chance. And a little change can be good for the soul.’
And with that, the magician turned slowly and moved towards the door. The spells that held Cadin fell free and he took a deep breath, filled with relief. He eyed the window and was just wondering whether he should jump out of bed and leap into the street, when four bulky figures came in through the doorway, pushing inside just as the magician’s cloak had slipped from view. They each brandished a long-handled club-the typewith rusty nails hammered through the end-and the last man in shut the door gently but firmly behind him, before turning around and nodding to the others. They hovered around Cadin’s bed, looking neither enthusiastic nor worried. One of them spat into his palms and rubbed them around the haft of his bludgeon before finding a comfortable grip.
Cadin knew it was pointless begging or pleading with them, for they would not care about such things. It would not matter if he screamed or howled or made them any kind of promises. He knew, himself, from all his years of experience, such tasks had little need of emotions. The men would only be looking forward to the things they could buy once he was dead. He was only a job for them,an inconvenient nuisance standing in the way of their payment.
He looked at his sorry excuse of a purse upon his bedside table, for he had wasted away his fortune in the tavern only the night before. Perhaps it may even have been enough to have them turn their backs for just a moment, but the purse now sat flat and empty.
The thought struck him that perhaps the men were only here to scare him. The magician had mentioned a chance, after all. Surely, the magician would not lie to him at such a time? Why give him aray ofhope if there was not some basis behind it? Perhaps the men would put down their clubs and leave him trembling with fear, or order him to leave the town-that had certainly happened before and he would not care in the slightest.
‘Are you going to let me go?’ he asked sheepishly, wrapped tightly within his sheets.
But they did not answer and his timid hopes quickly evaporated. The four of them raised their clubs and he closed his eyes as hard as he could.
What right have the strong to take from the weak?
What justifies the shepherd to decide the fate of the flock?
Know then that I have seen what lies in wait at the edge of the woods
and rejoice that I have thrown myself between the lambs and the wolves.
— inscription upon a weathered rock face; the Valley of the Ancients
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-1d9b48-1e01-0f49-a6b5-9ba2-67d3-2d7633
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 01.12.2012
Created using: calibre 0.9.7, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Foster, Michael
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She Who Has No Name tlt-2 Page 59