Mordon of Widley

by M. C. Stiller

  Raeah threw back her head and laughed. When she looked down at Mordon, he looked prepared to fight for his life. “Yes, it hurt, but what is a little pain when you have learned a very important lesson?”

  Mordon had incorrectly interpreted her laugh. She was happy, not falling into Poltarc’s sodden pigsty of a world. It took him a minute or two to regain his composure. Within the next two hours of practice, Raeah had managed to add a great deal to his awareness of the sword and its use. When Raeah stepped back and saluted him, he was not sure he wanted her to stop. “Thank you, Raeah. Are those maneuvers the sole content of his repertoire, or do you think he kept something from you?”

  “He was an excellent instructor, as I’ve just proved. Would he keep something from me? I don’t know. If he thought I was his puppet and wanted me to survive away from him, he would probably show me all he knew just so he would preserve his investment. But a mad man might do anything.”

  Mordon nodded in agreement, “Once more, thank you, you may have saved my life.”

  Mordon didn’t realize how famished he was until the delicious smells hit his nose. Both he and Raeah moved to sit next to Simper. The man had prepared a meaty stew. Bowls of the aromatic mixture were handed them. Mordon’s mouth watered with satisfaction. He asked what it was they were eating.

  Simper smiled as he helped himself to the stew, “Crony, boyo . . . collected by Cutter and prepared by me. How’s it taste?”

  Raeah thought it was delicious and said so, “I’ve never had better, Simp.”

  The use of his shortened name made both men smile, it was the first time she had done so. They ate until the stew disappeared from the pot. The men noticed Raeah getting fidgety. She stood and commented with a note of nervousness in her voice.

  “I cannot sit here in front of you, half expecting the wraith to emerge. This valley is in deeper shadow. I trust what you have discovered, Mordon, but I need to be alone to make sure I have control of the transferal. Neither of you have seen the wraith . . . . I do not wish for you to witness something hideous beyond measure. If you reacted as the others, it would tear my heart from my chest.” She was at least truthful with them about this point. “Let me go into the forest and await the alteration. If I can control it as I did earlier in the day, I will come back to you and continue my story. If I cannot . . . my story will be told you from behind the trunk of a tree.”

  Mordon nodded without comment. He understood why she wished they never saw the wraith. The memory of her night form being blacker than the night sky filtered through his thoughts. He followed her movements until she was lost among the trees. “Simp . . . I hope like hell she can bring about what she achieved this afternoon.”

  Simper had followed Raeah with his eyes as she walked away. What that monster Poltarc had done to her was beyond his ken. He loved the princess as if she were his daughter. Having her undergo these changes tore at his heart, and made his bile rise just as the moon does in the sky. No matter which way he looked at it, the wrong needed an act of vengeance in answer.

  Raeah did not go far, though it was far enough she knew they could not see what happened to her. The distance was quite irrelevant, but her privacy was paramount. Among the towering firs, it was darker still than the glade. The moment came when she could feel her body slipping into its smallest components, and reforming into the wraith. She fought the change with all her might, then relinquished. The wraith solidified and she floated among the trunks without bearing.

  Fighting the change earlier had not worked either. Raeah remembered the whimsical thought she had used to change into the wraith in daylight. She considered what had come to mind, and used it to change back into the princess. Instead of running back to Mordon and Simper, she practiced shifting until one form came and went at her will. But she did not stop there, for a full hour she kept flicking between princess and wraith until she knew for certain she could change at a thought. She found herself laughing on the return to the glade. One moment, the trill of her more human voice filled the space between trunks, and then the heinous shriek of the wraith surrounded her. By the time, she could see the men, they were standing looking as if they would run. She maintained the more human form, and laughed until stepping out into the glade.

  Stars had filled the heavens. The quarter moon shone brightly in the sky. Both men looked relieved. “It seems I owe a beetle a great deal. How do you suppose I can repay an insect, or even find the helpful creature?” It had been a rhetorical question, but Simper answered.

  “I don’t think the beetle will mind if you just let it go about its business.”

  Mordon stepped close to her, and took her right hand in his. He kneeled, raising the back of her hand to his lips and gently kissed her skin. The touch of her warm hand against his lips sent a thrill through his entire body. Looking up into her face, he spoke with sincerity, “I am so proud of you, Raeah. Seeing you like this in the firelight brings hope to us both. Though I must confess, the intermittent laughing and shrieks were causing our nerves to fray.” He began to fear for his sanity. How was he to remain aloof of this woman’s allure, and still play the game she played? Mordon almost wished he had been found and killed by Scatley’s men. There was truth hiding within this dance they stepped, but how long could he survive?

  “You have given me a great gift, Sir Mordon.” Another truth, but it changed nothing.

  Simper wanted his sleep, so he cut them short, “Let’s get on with the story, princess. There is still plenty of night left to hear what you have to say, and get more than a little sleep.”

  Mordon stood and frowned at his friend.

  Raeah agreed with Simp, “You are absolutely correct. Let me settle in, and I will continue. A shiver ran through her body, strong enough it caused Mordon concern, even though he said not a word. It must be unsettling for them to think she might lose control and change. “Do not worry about my changing. I know now what triggers the shift, and I will not allow it to happen.” She was surprised how even a man of Mordon’s size and strength would show such ease of tension. Men . . . they were resilient when they had to be and children at heart, always.

  Raeah sat on the grass and rested her back against the mossy log. An inner revelation registered in her mind. She was accepting the log at her back without cringing from memories. She waited until the men found places to listen. “Remember,” she spoke softly but with intensity, “even though we have won the moment, it is still eradication and malevolence I must convey. Keep your swords in hand and your wits about you.”

  She breathed deeply, and let her lungs fill with the scent of the forest and grass, and released. This night may be her last in this world. She wished to saturate everything about this place into her soul; hoping to retain a portion of the wonder of it all if by chance she died by their swords.

  CHAPTER 8

  “After repeatedly explaining to Poltarc my experiences and feelings at each step of my change, Prince Sadon peeked into the room and politely interrupted our talk.”

  “‘May I bring you anything Poltarc, or you princess?’

  “It surprised me more when Poltarc returned with politeness instead of reacting in anger. Perhaps witnessing the man’s earlier terror had placated Poltarc’s usual angry retort.”

  “‘Bring us a white wine and some chocolate please, Sadon. Please continue my lovely, I am in complete astonishment of every descriptive word. I thought for certain I had gone too far in my tinkering with your cells. But here you sit, as lovely as ever.’

  “How he could have considered my death head and the form he had created to be beautiful, I’ll never understand. Sadon came in and poured our wine, as if I really were the princess, and left the room. I believe I faltered and shed a tear, but Poltarc was as intrigued by its action as I had been saddened. The wine I ignored, not knowing if I could manage even a sip looking as I did. But he enjoyed his, and did not seem to notice I had not lifted my
goblet even once.”

  “When he was finally satiated with the details of my transformation, he motioned me to follow. This time, he strolled to the door in which Sadon had offered me ingress seemingly so long ago.

  “‘I have a simple request, my lovely. I wish you to fly and scour the south of the island of anything you see. It does not matter to me if it be man, woman, child, soldier, fish, or fowl. I want to witness your killing and revel in each deed. Frighten them if you want, play with them like toys if you desire, but anything you see, I wish you to kill. The more they express fear, the more I will enjoy the play. The sight of their blood and terror will give me joy beyond your understanding. Be on your way now, and don’t disappoint me. No cheating for I will know, your eye will let me see everything as it is done.’

  “He opened the door to the night, and then he did the strangest thing. He held my arm and pulled me to him, and kissed me full on the mouth of the skull and stepped back. I was so befuddled, I left without saying a word. He had entrusted me to do what he loved the most. I vowed to bring happiness his way.”

  “I killed 14 soldiers who did not run from me before reaching the edge of the city. I flew along the path of the very road we travel now, shrieking my happiness to be free of the warehouse and free of the log.”

  “I reached Wycot, and was disappointed there was no one to kill. I turned more southerly, and flew into Sothpern, stopping at every farm house, hovel, village, and city that came in my sight. Nobody, including men, women with children, soldiers, dogs and horses could withstand my knives, or the form of the wraith, for longer than seconds. I killed so many people and things, I think I was completely mad by the time the sun rose and I changed into the princess.”

  “It did not matter my form, each killing I performed sent a chill through my body, and great satisfaction knowing Poltarc was enjoying each death.”

  “I moved about aimlessly, and killed indiscriminately. It took another night for me to reach the border of Sothpern and Mothport. But it was the same wherever I went. By the time, I had wheeled through the kingdom of Mothport to Duratia, I had become something that hunted flesh, a predator extraordinaire. Nothing I saw survived.”

  “I could feel Poltarc’s delight every time a throat was cut from another victim.”

  “I finally reached Widley, and was surprised to find a familiar face. Scatley was sitting under an awning, eating a steaming leg from some animal. For some reason, I left him there for later and flew about Widley, searching the streets and piles of rubble. I did not locate anyone to kill. His disappointment came all the way from Glouster, and I was afraid. I flew in fear about the rubble. In a frenzy, I searched for anything my knives could bring forth blood. I found a bear and a wolf, but no people.”

  “The dawn shifted the cells of the gossamer wraith, and the princess walked the rubble until I heard shouting. Racing in the direction of the voices, I discovered two men angry they could not find some thief. They died quickly. Poltarc’s, and perhaps my, desire and lust for blood were unquenched. I was rounding a pile of rubble when in the corner of my eye I saw a man, a very large man crawling from beneath a collapsed wall. In an instant, the man’s size brought memories of a man about the castle, and I hesitated. Guilt so deep I could hardly breathe swept through what I had become. I feared looking directly at him: Poltarc would know and I would suffer. I knew that individual very well. I had watched him grow to a man in my father’s guard.”

  “I followed at a distance, no nearer than a block. Not being able to look directly at him, it was difficult to follow his direction or know his intensions. He saw a flicker of me in the corner of his eye, and I hid beneath him as he climbed to the second story of a building. Out of fear for the man above me, I faced a wall. I did not move a muscle until he left. From then on, it was straightforward as to the determination of his objective . . . the castle.”

  “The man climbed the inner stones of the outer wall, right where they intersected the cistern tower and disappeared into a bared hole. I followed and floated to the ceiling of the tower. He seemed to know I was there, so I left through a hole in the tower’s roof. I flew to the outer eastern wall and entered a shuttered window into my father’s attic. There I stayed until the next night. I visited the man in the tower once more. He knew I was there, but I feared to say anything to him. I took a pewter mug from the roof by whim, just so he would know I was about. The next day, he kicked down my door without fear and confronted such evil as he had never known without concern.”

  “Talking to him made me sway from madness to a semblance of something lucid. The man had the effrontery to make me weep. I was this force no one could defy and live . . . and yet he made me weep for my past.”

  “I went to him again and again in his tower, thinking I could kill him and be on my way. But his words and lack of fear befuddled my mind. I found it was beyond my faculty to use the knives on him. For he was the man . . . the boy I remembered. Talking to him lifted me from the evil I had become, and gave me glimmers of hope I’d never considered I would feel ever again.”

  For the very first time she hated her deception, “I already loved him . . . the boy in the past and the man he had grown into. He was the person I had always wished my brother had been.”

  “To satisfy Poltarc, I harried Scatley and his men, and any I could ferret out from the ruble. But it wasn’t enough killing to satisfy his lusts. Poltarc haunted my every moment unless I killed for him. Those I had killed in the process of getting to Widley were already forgotten. He wanted fresh kills, fresh blood, and fresh terror in the faces of those I slaughtered. Scatley and his men finally moved into the castle: they needed more protection, and the stone walls of the castle still stood without damage. The prospect of there being crowded into a confining space suited plans forming in my confused mind.”

  “I knew I needed to make a choice . . . and I chose Mordon.”

  She came from the folds of the trance her story had placed her in, and was surprised to find the two men openly stunned to inaction, their swords at their sides, apparently forgotten. She had expected to die within the telling, yet she lived. Within seconds, tears flowed down her cheeks. She was equal parts startled and grateful she could yet look upon the beauty of the glade.

  Mordon listened to her commence her story, and almost immediately found he was clenching his fists. He tried to relax and let her words flow over him without letting them affect his judgment. He wanted to listen to what was beneath her words, rather than the horrific story.

  When she spoke of killing the innocent, he could not help gripping his sword tighter. Then he realized there must be more people out there still alive. It sounded as if she raced ahead, and did not scour each kingdom for the living. If she had been less intent on finding people ahead of her, she would have taken the time to crisscross each kingdom until no life of any sort remained. There must be thousands of people surviving; eking out a life in numb fear. They had to be growing their food and trying to sustain some resemblance of a life destroyed by Poltarc . . . and now Raeah.

  She had done evil things . . . unforgivable things . . . things he could abide in no one other than Raeah. How could he assassinate the one person in his life that he at the same time would die to protect? Mordon watched her speak words that should have sealed her death from either him or Simper. Mordon glanced at his friend, and found him bowed of head, his hands covering his face. The man’s head slowly moved from right to left, indicating he could not bear her deeds or words. Mordon knew his friend loved Raeah as a father. Just as he knew the man loved him as the son Simper had never been able to have on his own.

  When Raeah mentioned Widley, Mordon had listened with interest. His eyes widened as he heard she had followed him into his tower. He had not felt her presence inside the tower that night. It made him tremble thinking how close he had come to dying.

  Simper listened to the girl spew tragedy and death from her mouth.
He tried not imagining the women and children dying under her knives. How could he not seek retribution for her willing crimes? How could he listen to this, and not cut the throat causing him so much pain? Simper finally lowered his head into his hands, and shook his head in agony. How could he love someone as if they were his, and feel compelled to end their wretched life? He finally broke down and groaned his grief: grief for those she had slaughtered, and grief for the young woman sitting across from him.

  Mordon felt vile, incapable of doing the right thing by murdering Raeah while she spoke, and yet, feeling unable to pick up the sword he had let drop from dismay moments before. How could he let someone . . . nay some thing as different as Raeah confess to such crimes and do nothing? In the end, his only answer was to drop his chin on his chest and groan his frustration. He silently bemoaned his inability to answer for the singular thing he should have done, and for those who had died by the hands of the one he hated to love.

  When Mordon finally looked up at Raeah, she was weeping. The glow of embers made the streaks of her tears glisten. He moved to sit next to her and wrapped her in his arms.

  Raeah accepted the warmth of Mordon’s body as an unbelievably fine gift. She had dreaded the telling of what she had done to these two men. Their hearing of her killing Poltarc’s soldiers would not have caused a reaction. But the telling of what she had done in her mad dash to please and placate Poltarc’s lusts should have caused either of the men to sever her head. Raeah wasn’t completely sure she wanted to be forgiven for the things she had committed. But neither of these two men had moved a muscle to slay her. How was it she felt almost cheated of what she anticipated?

  Simper finally pulled his cloak from the pack at his side, drawing it over his body. He lay on his side upon the grass, wanting sleep to overtake him and help erase what visions the girl’s words had brought to his mind. He was too old to be confronted by such frustration. He should be tucked into a warm bed, lying next to Lizbeth with a satisfied smile on his face. Damn Poltarc, and damn a world where young people had to contend with such difficulties. He fell into a deep sleep, thinking solely of Lizbeth and what he desired.