The Invisible Chains - Part 1: Bonds of Hate

by Ashling, Andrew

  “And it is,” Emelasuntha said. “For an army. Look at how steep the surrounding mountain is and on this side the walls literally stand on the edge of a cleft. But that wouldn't stop an experienced mountaineer like you, would it, Sobrathi? Remember when we climbed—”

  “Yes,”Sobrathi interrupted her, “but then we were twenty years younger and I was forty pounds lighter. Anyway, we'll reminisce later. First, lets get out of here, before they notice that you're gone. Do you think you're still up to it? We'll have to descend these walls by rope and then manage the cliff.”

  “Don't worry,” Emelasuntha answered, when suddenly they heard steps.

  The little group hastily went back through the door that led to the stairways. Moments later a lonely young guard appeared, slowly walking alongside the parapets.

  “Shit, he'll discover the rope hanging down the wall,” Sobrathi said.

  Emelasuntha removed the cap of her mantle and shook her long blond hair loose. Before Sobrathi could stop her, she stepped onto the wall walk. The guard, a young man of barely twenty years, startled.

  “Your majesty, what are you doing here? I don't think you're supposed—”

  “Just taking in the night air, soldier,” Emelasuntha smiled.

  The soldier was young and Emelasuntha was a striking woman.

  “Come here,” she said smiling invitingly, “I want to show you something.”

  “What is it you want to show me, my lady?” the young man asked, smiling back as he came nearer.

  “Your entrails,” Emelasuntha answered, as she slit his belly open with the razor sharp dagger that appeared from under her mantle.

  The young soldier grabbed with both hands at the mass of blue-gray guts that protruded from his abdomen, faintly steaming in the cold night air, and tried to push them back, with a look of both surprise and indignation on his face. Emelasuntha turned him around and let him lean against her as she lowered him softly, carefully, to a sitting position. He turned his head and looked at her uncomprehendingly, questioningly.

  “In the end they all turn into boys, and they look for their mother. Never their father. Always their mother,” she thought as she tenderly took his head in both her hands.

  “It will be all right, love,” she whispered soothingly, and she yanked his head sideways with a swift, brutal movement until she heard a sound like a breaking, dry branch.

  She lowered the body on the ground and stood up.

  “Hurry,” she said in the direction of the little door, “before he is missed and they come looking for him.”

  “The rope can only hold two at a time safely,” one of the men said. “Ladies, you go first. Countess, you know the road. Don't wait for us. We'll catch up.”

  “Go, dear, go,” Sobrathi urged the queen on. “I'm right behind you.”

  At first he had wanted to go on his own, but both Hemarchidas and Iftang Busskal had protested vehemently. Then he had proposed that he would go, accompanied by Hemarchidas, which had quieted the Cheridonian, but not the cavalry general. At long last it was decided that he would take, besides Hemarchidas, his guard with him. After Lethoras had indicated that he felt left out, he and Bortram were included.

  “That's a fucking invasion army. I don't want to make a fuss,” Anaxantis had said. “We'll buy some simple tunics, also for the soldiers of my guard. I don't want to parade around with my crest in full view.”

  “But even rich merchants don't venture out on the streets without a highly visible retinue,” Hemarchidas had said. “Look at our host. And you're the lord governor, by the Gods.”

  “Yeah, well, I want to be able to look at the shops and walk around without everybody staring at us.”

  Since he wouldn't budge from this last stance, Bortram and Lethoras had taken it upon them to buy neutral tunics for all of them.

  Anaxantis felt all his senses attacked at once in the narrow, busy streets of the center of Dermolhea. The unfamiliar sensation of having to wrestle himself through throngs of people, the smells of fresh and dried fruits and exotic spices, the sounds of stall keepers yelling the praises of their wares, and the rumble of thousands of people conversing, arguing and bidding, it all was new and extremely exciting for him. When he saw a shop that sold books and made a beeline for it, Hemarchidas knew that he had to intervene.

  “Anaxantis, no, we'll be late,” he said, laughing. “We can always return after we have visited this physician Tollbir person.”

  Eventually they reached a little square that was rather quiet although not far from the commercial district. Hemarchidas looked doubtfully at a house, that once must have been distinguished and imposing, but now was in urgent need of repairs.

  “This should be it,“ he said hesitatingly.

  “OK, you guys go to that tavern on the corner,” Anaxantis said, “and I'll meet you there when I'm done here.”

  “Oh, no,” Hemarchidas replied, “they go to the tavern. I come with you. You never know who or what lurks in houses like this.”

  “Oh, by the Gods, first mother, then Ehandar and now you. I wish you all would stop treating me like a baby,” Anaxantis muttered, but he couldn't suppress a smile.

  “Did you come for the doctor?” an old woman asked, when they had entered the hall.

  “Yes,” Anaxantis said, “he's expecting us, well, me.”

  “He's with an important patient now. When he's finished he'll come and get you. Meanwhile you can sit there.” She pointed at some ramshackle chairs that stood forlornly in a dark corner.

  “An important patient, an important patient,” Hemarchidas grumbled. “First he makes you come here to him. Then he makes you wait.”

  “I could as well have brought Ehandar,” Anaxantis sighed.

  About twenty minutes later a farmer with his arm in a sling came out of a door, followed by a smallish, gray haired old man.

  “You can take that off in a day or two,” he said to the farmer. “And let your arm rest. Don't try to lift things with it or something stupid like that. Give my regards to your wife and thank her for the chickens and the vegetables.”

  The farmer mumbled something and left. The little, old man peered in the direction of the dark corner and scratched his beard.

  “You next?” he asked and without waiting for answer he walked back to the door he had come out of.

  Anaxantis and Hemarchidas followed him. The room they entered was dominated by an enormous table, with an array of strange instruments, bottles and flasks of all sizes and mountains of books and parchments. Near a window, looking out over an inner garden, stood a smaller lower table, covered with a cloth. The old man sat down in an enormous easy chair and motioned them to do the same on two chairs.

  “Your maid said you were treating an important patient, but we only saw a peasant with his arm in a sling leaving this room,” Hemarchidas said gruffly. “Do you really think that the lord governor is less—”

  “That man has a wife and four children,” Murno Tollbir interrupted him, “who depend upon him for their food, clothing and a roof above their head. They think he is pretty important.”

  He blinked.

  “But—,” Hemarchidas started.

  “And he pays me in fresh vegetables and chickens from his own farm,” Murno Tollbir interrupted him again. “I think he is pretty important. And who are you, by the way... no, don't tell me...”

  He stood up and went over to the table and retrieved out of one of the mountains a scroll of several parchments.

  “Let me see... oh yes, the young lord governor. Well, my good sir,” he said blinking at Hemarchidas, “let's see what could be wrong with you. People are worried about your health, this document says. Several times over, in fact. Before I stick my finger up your behind, maybe I should ask you if you really want your page to witness that?”

  He nodded in the direction of Anaxantis.

  “What?” exclaimed Hemarchidas.

  “I would think the question was simple enough,” Tollbir shrugged, “but if
you don't mind, neither do I. Otherwise,” and he turned to Anaxantis, ”go away you, there's a good boy.”

  “He's the lord governor, not I,” Hemarchidas said tersely.

  “In that case, you go away, there's a good boy. You know where the door is. It's that thing you came through a minute ago.”

  He rifled through the parchments.

  “Take your mantle, tunic and shirt off and lay down on the small table there, on your back,” he mumbled.

  “Listen old man, you can't treat—” Hemarchidas started.

  “Why are you still here, annoying man? Didn't I tell you to go away? Are you deaf?”

  “Oh, in the name of the Gods, Hemarchidas, please, do as he says,” Anaxantis said, “or we'll be here forever with you two bickering.”

  “Humph,” Hemarchidas snorted. “I'll be waiting outside then.”

  “Is he always like that? And you, come on boy, we haven't got all day. At least I haven't,” Murno Tollbir said, when the door had closed behind the Cheridonian.

  “Listen, doctor, I'm not a stickler for ceremony and etiquette, but I do appreciate common courtesy”

  “Courtesy, courtesy, fiddlesticks.”

  After having removed his mantle, sword, tunic and shirt, Anaxantis lay down as instructed.

  “Hm,” said Murno Tollbir, “I have a letter here from your brother and a separate account of the state of your health through the years and particularly the last months. Probably by your mother.”

  “Let me see that,” Anaxantis said. “I doubt that it is from my mother.”

  Tollbir handed him the parchments.

  “Yes, the letter is written by our scribes. The three other parchments are in the handwriting of my brother.”

  “Your brother?” Tollbir said surprised, taking the parchments back. “Well, if your brother ever wants to change careers, he should come and talk to me. I could make a half decent doctor out of him. Your brother is complete in his report, he has attention for detail, a good eye for what is important and it is all written down in an orderly and logical manner. Well, well, your brother, eh... So, had a good trip?”

  “Now that you mention it, the same brother wasn't all too happy that you refused to come to Lorseth when the lord governor told you to.”

  “Fiddlesticks. Didn't I explain in my letter? No, I probably forgot. Anyway, to get a good idea of your state of health I needed you to make some light, but unusual and sustained effort. A three day trip on horseback fitted the bill perfectly. And, how do you feel?”

  “The first day my muscles were a little bit cramped, but now I'm all right.”

  “Not feeling abnormally tired?”

  “No, not really.”

  Murno Tollbir proceeded with prodding him all over his belly, laying his ear upon his abdomen and his chest and tapping with his fingers upon various bones and joints. Meanwhile he kept asking all kinds of questions which Anaxantis answered as good as he could. He seemed to be satisfied with what he had found or not found. He scratched his beard.

  “Good,” he said. “Now, turn around, sit upon your knees, lower your pants and drawers and lean forward upon your chest. With... eh... your behind to the window. I need the light.”

  “Are you serious?” Anaxantis asked exasperated.

  “Quite serious,” the doctor replied. “I have to check inside if there are no ulcers or other deformities and if there are no swollen glands or signs of hemorrhoids. We can skip this, of course, and you will probably be all right for the first fifteen, twenty years or so, but if anything is wrong, we can cure it easily now. If you wait you're setting yourself up for a lot pain and no guarantee that you will ever be cured. Believe me, pain in the butt is a... well, just that. Your choice. Besides, do you really think I like sticking my finger up the asses of boys, even pretty boys like you? Now, if you were a pretty girl that would be a whole different story. But then you wouldn't be wearing any clothes anymore for some time now.”

  Tollbir chuckled while he rubbed his index finger with oil. Anaxantis sighed and reluctantly did as he was asked. His face was fiery red. The doctor kept mumbling approvingly while he introduced his finger. Then he touched a certain spot and to his utter devastation Anaxantis felt his member rising.

  “Good... good...” Tollbir mumbled, “no abnormal swelling and the reaction is as expected. Hm, while I have you in this position, let me feel... Yes, both testicles are fully dropped, and the tubes don't seem to be entangled.” He placed his fingers behind the scrotum and rolled the balls gently, using his thumb. “No hard lumps and they feel firm. Theoretically the dynasty is safe if ever it would have to depend upon you.”

  “Are you deliberately trying to embarrass me?” Anaxantis complained.

  “What?” the doctor asked absentmindedly, while scratching his beard with the hand that he hadn't used to examine him. “Well, that didn't hurt, did it? You can pull up your pants and sit upright upon the table, please.”

  He went over to a basin and washed his hands vigorously.

  “Well,” he said pensively, “just as I expected, you're a boy—”

  “Is that your conclusion?” Anaxantis sneered. “You're really brilliant. I could have told you that. While keeping my pants on.”

  “Let me finish, will you. You're a boy in perfect health and absolutely normally developed for your age. Oh, by the way, don't overdo it.”

  “Don't overdo what?”

  “Let yourself be entered or put things up there yourself, which ever it is you do.” Tollbir said, clearly with his thoughts elsewhere.

  Anaxantis again became fiery red in the face.

  “Why would you think—”

  “Oh, dear boy,“ the doctor interrupted, “if you don't want your physician to know such things, then you should groan a little or at least show some signs of discomfort when he sticks his finger up your butt.”

  “I'll remember the next time,” Anaxantis grumbled.

  “But, that's not important,” Tollbir mused. “Your brother wrote that your mother arranged Zyntrean doctors for you. They're quite capable in Zyntrea, in fact the school at Torantall is famous. So, the question is why would they think it necessary to put you on medicines. Your brother also writes that your medicines were lost shortly after your arrival here. That is, what, somewhat more than half a year ago, and yet, you're in better shape now than then. Very strange, don't you think?”

  “What are you implying? That I was poisoned?”

  “Poisoned is a strong word. You've taken those herbs and pills for years, and you're obviously not dead. Right after you stopped taking them, how did you react?”

  “At first I became very sick. My throat started hurting and then the pain changed places as it were, to one of my ears. A few days later I started heaving up. Really bad tasting stuff. I never have tasted anything like it before. It looked a bit like sticky, slimy threads.”

  “Yes, I see. That was your body evacuating long term waste products. Your stool, how was your stool?”

  “You really have a knack of abashing people, haven't you?”

  “O, fiddlesticks. Don't be such a baby. Your stool?”

  “Watery the first days. Then hard, eh, difficult and painful to pass. It returned to normal after about ten days.”

  “The hard parts were waste that had been in your body for far too long and had petrified. Good riddance. Could have caused a lot of problems later on. Diet?”

  “For months mostly gruel and bread. Some butter, vegetables and once and again a little meat. Strangely enough, I don't seem to tolerate food in great quantities or when it is too rich anymore.”

  “That's perfectly all right. Most people dig their graves with their own teeth as it is. So, for months you lived mainly on grains. A sober diet, let's say. That's probably what gave your body the opportunity to cleanse and heal itself. Remarkable. Open your eyes wide, please.”

  With his fingers he held Anaxantis's eyelids spread open.

  “Look up at the ceiling. Yes, like that. No
w try to look at your belly. OK. Open your mouth.”

  “So?” Anaxantis asked when he had finished.

  “Well, you're boringly healthy as far as I can tell. The question remains, however. Why did they give you herbal concoctions when it is clear they did you more harm than good? You wouldn't happen to have a sample of those medicines for me to examine?”

  “No, I'm afraid everything was lost.”

  “A shame. Knowing what was in them could have told us a lot. Ah, yes, the sweets your mother send you were lost at the same time, your brother writes. Good. Don't eat sweets. They're poison. The body isn't made for them. And don't drink milk. Not too much and not too often at any rate.”

  “I usually don't. But is it really bad for you? That's the first time—”

  “Are you a calf?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The question is simple enough, I would have thought. Why does everybody insists that I ask them things twice? Are you a calf?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then don't drink milk. Milk is for calves. It is designed to make a beast the size of a very large dog into something enormous within the year. You're far from enormous. And it took you sixteen years to reach even this stage. Don't drink milk. Oh, some milk in prepared dishes is quite all right. Easy with cheese though. Too salty.”

  “Any other advice?” Anaxantis asked with sarcasm bleeding through in his voice.

  “Yes. Never lie to me. I will misdiagnose you, and that could be dangerous for you. More importantly, you would be wasting my time. As for the rest, keep doing what you are doing. Enjoy your food, but eat sparingly. Indulge yourself from time to time if you must. If what your brother writes is true, you're getting plenty of exercise in the open air, which is excellent. Oh, yes, if you have to fart, fart. Don't keep it in. Very bad for you.”

  “You really don't weigh your words, do you?” Anaxantis said, becoming red for the umpteenth time. “Lucky for me, I'm not gassy.”

  “Fiddlesticks. You're a boy. You're sixteen. You're gassy.”

  “Hm. But basically I'm all right?”