The Flesh Endures

by Cleo Cordell

  Slimy green strands, in which were threaded shells and human bones encrusted with limpets, framed the woman’s face. Hanging from a hook in one of her ears was the rotting corpse of a drowned man. Thousands of tiny crabs and shrimps moved over the woman’s face and body, their claws busily grooming her. She lifted pincer-like hands to push the green strands back from her face and turned her sharp beak nose and gaping fish eyes upon him. The dark power rolled off her, spreading towards him like the waves breaking on the fetid shore behind her.

  ‘Who calls upon me?’ she said again.

  ‘One who asks for your assistance,’ Karolan answered.

  ‘Give me your name,’ said the diva, her lipless, facial orifice opening to show a fringe of waving, crab-like mouth parts.

  Karolan was not so foolish as to name himself. ‘I am a traveller come seeking one of your kin. I seek an undine – a water sprite.’

  ‘Ah, a son of the higher realms, you are. By what right do you come seeking one from my domain?’

  ‘By the right of blood and flesh. The sprite is bound to me,’ Karolan said. ‘I wish to command it to come forth into my realm. But it has hidden from me.’

  The diva grinned, her waving mouth parts clicking together with a sound like the chittering of a monkey. As she tossed her huge head, the bones in her hair clacked together. Crabs and shrimps were sent flying in all directions. ‘If I give you this sprite, what shall you give me in return?’

  Karolan picked up the emerald and held it out, reaching through the window. His hand looked very small against her monstrous shape. He was careful not to over-balance. ‘I offer you this bauble which is the colour of the sun on water.’

  ‘Come closer, son of the upper reaches. I cannot see you clearly.’

  ‘But I can see you, great one. Your beauty holds me in thrall,’ Karolan said, holding his position although his muscles ached with the strain. The arm which was extended through the window was growing numb with cold. The diva hissed her displeasure. He thought he had failed and made to withdraw his hand, when she slithered across the sand towards him, her tail humping in muscular spasms. The stench of her grew stronger. He almost gagged at the penetrating miasma of rotting fish and decay. Reaching out one of her pincers in a surprisingly delicate movement, she took the emerald. Karolan steeled himself not to recoil or show any sign of weakness.

  The diva’s lidless eyes studied him for a moment. They were filmed and milky. He heard the wet rasping of her breath, felt the chill emanating from her cold-blooded flesh. ‘Seeker of my lesser kin, you are passing ugly,’ she said with a rich chuckle that set her mouth parts waving and threshing. Giving a satisfied nod, she slipped the gem beneath one of the scales in her tail. ‘The one you seek is in a place far from here. Watch and behold.’ Turning her back she dropped down onto the sand and began slithering and humping her way back to the cave.

  Karolan withdrew his arm and allowed himself a sigh of relief as the huge shadow faded into the distance. Inside the window, the seascape faded. The sky grew lighter. He found himself looking down onto a scene of rolling green hills. Strange trees, tall fern-like plants bordered a waterfall, which foamed and boiled over great slabs of limestone rock. Within the flow of water, he saw pale elongated forms. Some of them resembled young men and women with sharp features and long hair, while others were four-legged and had the appearance of delicate hares and fawns.

  All of the sprites were laughing and dancing in the water. He saw how they changed form, the hares becoming women and the fawns becoming men. So rapidly did they change shape that the whole mass of them seemed to glisten and pulse. Glimmers of silver light speckled the sprites and their tinkling laughter rang out on the water-scented air. Karolan waited for them to notice him. It did not take long before one or two became curious and edged towards the window. Colours of pale blue, grey-green, and a delicate hue like the inside of a mussel shell, glowed softly within their forms. Others followed the first curious beings. Soon he found himself being observed by many of the slender creatures. Their faces were vague and misty with the mere suggestion of eyes above noses which were no more than indentations. In the region where the heart might be there was a certain pulsing, glowing denseness in their fabric.

  Karolan recognized the sprites as the Fetch’s kin, but he could not tell which of them was his familiar. Then he noticed that one of them had held back and was sheltering within the waterfall. He hid a smile. ‘You were never so chary of drawing near to me when you dwelt in my world,’ he said. ‘Come forth now and return with me. Your master has need of you.’

  There was consternation amongst the other sprites. They began to chirrup in high voices. He caught the odd phrase amongst the rustles and cheeping.

  ‘It speaks, says I . . .’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Like it not . . .’

  ‘Nor I. Beware . . .’

  The sprite, which had been sheltering within the torrent of water, flowed with the stream down over the rocks and emerged onto a moss covered mound. Stepping free of the water, it resolved into a shape Karolan recognized. Now he saw that the Fetch looked markedly different from its kin. In this, its home dimension, it was made of ethereal, spirit material – yet its form was denser than that of its kin, the outline of skull and limbs more pronounced. The Fetch’s eyes were dark, greenish pools, wide and tilted at the corners. The nose was a small bump and there was an impression of nostrils and a mouth. Its limbs were slender, but where those of its kin ended in an amorphous smudge, the Fetch had faint fingers and toes.

  Karolan noticed that the Fetch wore an expression of sadness. Within its form the colours were tainted, the blue and green muddy and dull. He understood. The sprite had been changed by its association with himself. Having experienced the doubtful pleasures of the upper realms, it had been tainted as well as enriched. It had tried to return to its own world, but it no longer truly belonged. Just like it did not really belong in Karolan’s world. For the first time Karolan realized that he and the Fetch had something in common. They were both set apart from their own kind.

  ‘How now, upstart sprite,’ he said not unkindly. ‘You must return with me.’

  The Fetch gave a bleat of alarm, capering back and forth across the rocks. The other sprites made way for it, keeping their distance, glancing suspiciously at the window. ‘Be calm. I am not angry with you any more,’ Karolan said. ‘I know where Garnetta is. I need your help to release her.’

  ‘Not angry, with I?’ the Fetch whimpered. ‘The female you have?’

  Karolan nodded. ‘I know you lied and played me false, but that does not matter now. I forgive you. Come with me. There’s much to be done.’

  The Fetch took a final look around. The other sprites kept well back from it. For a moment an expression of anguish passed over the Fetch’s face, then the faint glow in the region where its heart might be began to pulse. ‘Forgive I? Then come with you I will, Master,’ it said. ‘My place, it is, to be beside you. Serve you well shall I.’

  ‘That you will,’ Karolan said sternly. ‘There will be no more fleeing back here. I’ve wasted valuable time coming in search of you. If you ever do this again, I swear I’ll ask the diva who lives by the sea to collect you – personally!’

  The Fetch gave a squawk of alarm. ‘Will not come back – ever! No pleasure here for me. Not pain and suffering enough to bathe in. Too, too bad.’

  Karolan suppressed a grin. ‘Good. Then draw near. Enter the upper world.’ The Fetch moved close to the window. ‘Hurry now,’ Karolan said, feeling exhaustion creeping over him. In a trice the Fetch had jumped through the window. Karolan was aware of it as a ragged shadow hovering around the edge of the chalk circle. The sweat ran down his face as he began backtracking through the ritual. He had been dangerously weakened by his encounter with the Diva, but his concentration did not lessen for even a moment. His muscles jerked with tension as the bright square of the window shrank and grew dark. The vista beyond faded, then there was nothing but dar
kness.

  Karolan continued to sit upright only by a supreme effort. He clasped his hands to his solar plexus, holding the energy within his body. The walls of the laboratorium came into view. Karolan said the words of ending, then slumped forward, his face grey with exhaustion. The Fetch darted back and forth, crooning softly at the edge of the circle as Karolan retched and gasped. It was some time before he felt strong enough to crawl across the floor until he was outside the circle. Immediately cool fingers stroked his skin and ruffled his hair. He smelt the faint odour of licorice and almonds. ‘Tired are you from travail. Rest you must.’

  Karolan had not the strength to resist as hands began massaging his shoulders. He groaned with pleasure as his tired muscles relaxed. The spirit flowed back and forth over his skin, its touch warm and soothing. He found himself wondering at these caring actions. Had the Fetch learned to be unselfish at last? He closed his eyes as fingers massaged his calves and feet, absorbing the tension and exhaustion. Gradually the bone weariness faded. He had begun to think that the Fetch had indeed learned a lesson in chastisement, when its touch underwent a subtle change.

  The caresses grew languorous, more intimate. He sensed the Fetch’s growing hunger. After its self-enforced exile, it simmered with the need for its preferred sustenance. He suppressed a grin, as his familiar began acting true to type.

  ‘Stop that. We must go to find Garnetta. There’ll be fuel enough at Holy Penitence for you to enjoy your doubtful pleasures!’ The spirit’s hands were withdrawn, reluctantly. He sensed that the Fetch was sulking and laughed aloud. ‘Well, upstart sprite. At last you do my bidding,’ he said, rubbing the sweat from his body with his shirt. ‘If you had done so earlier, much suffering might have been avoided.’

  ‘Never too much suffering,’ murmured the Fetch.

  Karolan ignored it. ‘Still, it was perhaps time for us to move on. Romane has grown old. I need to seek out someone else I can trust. We shall start again, in a new country, this time with Garnetta.’

  ‘Ah, the female. Much pain has she suffered. Gorgeous is her distress. Passing sweet her pleasure,’ the Fetch crooned, lost in erotic imaginings.

  ‘Don’t tell me what you know of that now or I’ll lose my newfound patience with you!’ Karolan rapped. ‘All I care about is finding her again. You shall help me.’

  ‘Find her. Help you. Yes, Master.’ The spirit subsided into silence, subdued colours of purple and indigo flickering within its shadow form.

  Dressing quickly Karolan buckled on his sword. ‘Stay close to me,’ he said to the Fetch as he secured a hooded cloak around his shoulders and knotted a leather purse at his waist.

  At the stable, Darkus pushed his nose into Karolan’s hand in welcome. Karolan stroked the palfrey’s velvet cheek, before mounting and riding out of the yard. He was conscious that the Fetch had taken him at his word. It was a faint, reassuring presence next to his right shoulder. Bound now by a single purpose, he urged Darkus into a gallop and headed for the road leading towards Chatesbrook. He did not think to look over his shoulder for a final glimpse of the manor where he had spent the past thirty-five years.

  Gunter waited for Karolan on a stretch of common land outside the town’s postern gate. For some time he had been watching the trickle of people coming to the St John fair. Jugglers and tumblers rubbed shoulders with pilgrims coming to kiss the reliquary which held the fragment of Our Lady’s fingernail. Drovers came with sheep and farmers with crates of chickens and poles strung with conies.

  Gunter wished he felt more cheered by the sight of so many visitors. But he knew that it was not simply that the pestilence’s strength was abating or that tradition was stronger than fear. It was something far more base. He did not relish telling Karolan the news that the crier had given out yestermorn.

  Still, it was a plain fact that with so many travellers arriving, it would make it far easier for Karolan to enter and leave without attracting undue attention. Shading his eyes as he caught sight of a horse in the distance, Gunter scrambled to his feet. He waved and stood by as Karolan pulled Darkus to a halt. ‘Well met, my friend,’ Karolan said, slipping out of the saddle. ‘You look troubled. What’s amiss? Have you had second thoughts about letting an erstwhile felon on board your ship?’

  Gunter laughed shortly. ‘Never, but I bring bad news. There’s to be a hanging on the morrow on the eve of St John’s fair.’

  ‘I suspected something of the sort,’ Karolan said, glancing at the postern gate which was blocked by two women arguing about the ownership of a goose. ‘The promise of such entertainment is what draws a crowd. But that could aid our purpose. We’ll not be noticed amongst so many. Who’s to be kicking air? Looters?’

  ‘Aye, but that’s not the whole of it. It’s Garnetta. She’s been found guilty of heresy and moral corruption. They are going to burn her after the hanging.’ Karolan was quiet for so long that Gunter did not think he could have heard him aright. ‘I doubt the Devil himself could get to her now,’ he said gently. ‘There’s such a huddle of church dignitaries in the monastery guesthouse. The whisper of heresy brings them scuttling like rats round a sewer.’

  Karolan only nodded, his face blank and unreadable. Gunter was alarmed by Karolan’s lack of response. He had always seemed in control of any given situation. Now his self possession seemed to have deserted him. It pained Gunter to see his friend staring fixedly at the brightly painted cart holding mummers’ costumes, whilst the actors walked by its side.

  ‘You cannot set foot inside Holy Penitence and demand her release now,’ Gunter said. ‘It’s too late for that. I hesitate to suggest this, but I thought . . . that you or I might be allowed into her presence. We could make it a quick and painless end for her. Leave her as if sleeping . . .’

  Karolan turned to him then. Gunter felt a flicker of alarm. For a moment he thought his friend truly mad, for his eyes were wild with excitement, his mouth was curved in a grim smile. ‘Come, Gunter. There’s work to do if I am to cheat death again,’ Karolan said. ‘Oh, we’ll give them a spectacle to remember and no mistake! What was that you just said?’

  ‘Ach. Nothing at all,’ Gunter said, dazedly. Had he heard aright? Karolan spoke of cheating death, ‘again’?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  For most of the night Garnetta had watched the construction of the platform in the market place. No doubt the sound of hammering, the growing pile of kindling, was supposed to help her decide to make her confession. It mattered not now. They would burn her shriven or unshriven.

  She ought to be in abject terror of losing her immortal soul, but she felt only sick at heart, afraid and very alone. It would not end like this. She would recover from her wounds, as she had done before – many times, for finally she realized what Karolan had given her. The dark gift had made her body and soul inviolate. Whatever pain or injury she suffered, her flesh endured. Ah, but she feared the agony of the fire. Could even she survive a wholesale burning? The agony would send her mad. And if she survived the destruction of her flesh, how dreadful would be the healing? She trembled with horror at the thought of it. Fire, all consuming, seared the flesh from the bones and melted vital organs. Her teeth clamped down on a rush of nausea as she imagined her eyeballs melting, her body-fat boiling and sizzling, running in acid trails down her limbs.

  No. Oh, dear God. No. I cannot bear it. I must escape. There has to be something I can do. Someone who will help me. The answer came gently, soothingly into her disordered thoughts. Karolan. She wanted to open her mind to him, but still she resisted. Because of him, she had fled from the tower. He was the demon who terrified and appalled her, but now she knew that the world had worse to offer. Karolan had shown her kindness and been gentle. She knew that he would have told her the truth in his own time. Her own fear and doubt were her enemies.

  From the glimpses into his past experiences she knew that he too had suffered. She saw him now as sinned against, as well as having wronged others. But dare she trust him? It would be an act of faith to
remove the shield with which she had closed him out of her thoughts. For a moment she experienced doubt. Would he be waiting? Did he still care? Taking a deep breath, she reached into herself, her extended senses vibrating like the deep note of a harp. There came the sensation of a curtain twitching and then – there he was. She had forgotten how it felt to touch his mind. It was almost impossible to describe the feeling. It might be compared to seeing in colour for the first time, or tasting fine wine after a lifetime of drinking only water. He filled her completely, the beat of his existence in every breath she took, the silk shadow of his intellect surrounding her like a cloak of cold fire. The vaporous mind trail of Karolan’s persona was all powerful. She knew at once that no one else had ever mattered to her the way he did. She no longer cared what he was or what she had become. It was enough that like called to like. Her place was beside him.

  Opening her heart, she called out to him. Karolan. Help me. There was no hesitation. His answering voice was strong and steady in her mind. Be not afraid. I am coming for you. Have patience. She felt his joy and relief. The evidence of his regard became something tangible, a soft benison that soothed and quietened her, chasing away terror and doubt. Did he truly care so much then? She had not misread him. He had been waiting all this time. A calm settled over her. She was no longer alone. If anyone in all the world could set her free, it was Karolan. And then, despite the hammering beyond the window, the sounds of laughter and merrymaking as the crowds gathered to watch the spectacle, she curled up on the frowsty straw and slept.

  Hours later, she woke abruptly, shielding her eyes as the gloomy cell was flooded with light. The oily smell of burning rushes filled the air. It took only seconds before her eyesight adjusted. Four monks had entered the room. Three of them she did not recognize, but the fourth was familiar. ‘Well then, Stephanis,’ she said coolly, standing up and stretching her limbs. ‘Is it time?’