by Mike Shel
“Somethin’ like that. Oxula says if we want careers in the queen’s dungeons, we hafta grow up hard men.”
“So now you begin to see that Oxula is rough with you because he thinks you need to be a hard man one day to survive here. Do you want to make a life as a jailer in the queen’s dungeons?”
“It’s better’n the back alleys of the city, stealin’ bread and cuttin’ purses.”
“And ending up wearing one of your hands around your neck, hung on a thong.”
“Huh?”
“Forgive me, lad. That’s Busker law I’m thinking of. Convicted thieves had a hand severed and strung round their necks as a warning to others who would pick a pocket.”
“They still chop off pickpockets’ hands, sir. Jus’ don’t make ‘em wear ‘em.”
“Yes. The Buskers were a more dramatic and florid folk than you Hanifaxers.”
“Sir?” The old man didn’t respond, waiting for the lad to continue. At last he did. “Sir, I figured out you were some sorta magician a while ago. And tellin’ me you laid a charm on the chalk, and the way you handed me that coin when I know they strip you and search every hole a man’s got before tossin’ you in a cell…well, those things kinda confirmed it.”
“Yes, lad, I’m something of a magician.”
“Somethin’ more than a magician, though—a sorcerer. But you don’t have no gem in your head. Every sorcerer I seen has a stone in his head.”
“It’s called a binding jewel, Ghallo. And where I’m from, sorcerers weren’t fitted with them.”
“Where are you from?”
“I was born long ago in a great city called Urdesh’ai’ahm.”
“That don’t sound like the other places you told me about down south.”
“Urdesh’ai’ahm isn’t in Aericum, my son. It was in the far north.”
“The north, sir? But you’re a wo—” The boy caught himself. The old man thought it might have broken his heart if Ghallo had named him a wogget. Having narrowly spared the old man that epithet, he recovered. “A foreigner, sir, from the south. How could you a-been born in the north, where everyone’s skin is white? And what do you mean it was in the north? The city ain’t moved, is it?”
“The city was wiped from the face of the earth, Ghallo, along with many others like it, and the people who inhabited them. It no longer exists. And while I am a foreigner of sorts, my history is a bit too complicated to explain to you right now.”
“Sir, if you’re a sorcerer, why don’t you use a spell to get yourself out of this awful place, an’ spare yourself the headsman’s axe?”
“Because this is where I have been placed by God, though a less spiritual sort would say it was the queen’s command that put me in this cell. Don’t worry about my death mark, son. Very soon the man and his daughter I told you of will be here to speak with me, and a short while after that I shall be released.”
“Sir, I want t’ believe you.”
“And why do you doubt me?”
“Oxula’s book also listed the crime that got you here.”
“And what was my crime?”
The boy was silent for a moment. “It says you laid your hands upon the queen’s person.”
“Oh, yes. In a sense, I did.”
“Well, that’s treason, sir. An’ traitors don’t walk outta here. They get carried out, or me and the other jailer boys mop up what’s left of ‘em.”
“Well, I’m not a citizen of your empire, lad, so technically I can’t be charged with treason. But I see your point. Nonetheless, I will walk out of this place by my own power. You needn’t worry any more for my welfare.”
“If you say so.” The boy did not sound convinced.
“I say so.”
“Could I ask for another story, sir?”
“You can, and I will tell it, as a thank you for a service well done. Would you like to hear the story of Lady Herenea and the Swine?”
“Feels like I heard o’ Herenea before.”
“You might have. It’s an old Busker tale. Lady Herenea was a great sorcerer and the daughter of a god, and she lived on an island in the Sea of Azkaya, closer to the Wall of Serpents than your Duchy of Warwede. The island was called Gethes. She lived in a beautiful fortress on the isle from which she could see the approach of any vessel coming from any direction of the compass. Rocky shoals surrounded the island, so that when the seas were rough, unwary sailors would find their wooden ships broken to bits.”
“Are the Azkayans in this story, sir?” asked Ghallo.
“No, not this one, though Gethes ate its fair share of Azkayan vessels as well. Now, as the daughter of a god, Lady Herenea was immortal, and in addition to her powerful sorcery, she possessed the Second Sight.”
“She could see the future?”
“The Second Sight means many things, Ghallo. Some can see into the future, others can see into the hearts of men. Lady Herenea could do the latter, and when sailors were in peril near her island, tossed about by stormy seas, they often cried out for aid from her father, who was a sea god. She would then peer into their hearts and decide if they deserved rescue. If they were pure and devout, she would offer them safe passage into her harbor, but warned them that once on her island, they must obey her laws, and could never leave.”
“I think I’ve heard this story before. But it was about a hero called Urculae.”
“We’re about to meet Urculae, lad! King Urculae of the island kingdom of Marcenala, which you now call Harhulster. Nonetheless, this is a story about the Lady Herenea. She heard the sailors aboard the ship which Urculae captained cry out for her father’s mercy—a terrible tempest had torn their sails and ripped the oars from their hands. They drew closer and closer to Gethes’s hungry shoals, where the ship’s timbers would be broken, and the sailors would surely drown. The Lady Herenea looked into the hearts of those men, and what she saw repulsed her: avarice, pride, a willingness to trample upon others in pursuit of their own desires. In other words, she saw what lies in the hearts of most men.”
“But the hero Urculae…”
“Oh, his heart was darkest of all, Ghallo, filled with self-serving greed and ambition like no other mortal she had ever spied. She was so shocked by what she witnessed that she readied a mighty spell to hurry the battered vessel to her island’s ravenous rocks. But then Lady Herenea beheld Urculae’s face and form, and she was entranced by his manly beauty.” There was a long exhale from Ghallo on the other side of the cell door. “You have some comment, my son?”
“Girls’re like that. She thinks some boy is tall or handsome, and she don’t care if he’s a bully or a sneak, or…”
“Both men and women are vulnerable to beauty, Ghallo. You would do well in life not to consider that, or nearly anything else, the exclusive province of a single gender. And that is most definitely not the point of my telling this story.”
“Sorry, sir. It just reminded me of a girl I knew, Alaisas. She made moon-eyes over this turd named Coha, who was a right mean bastard—”
“And yet I am speaking not of Alaisas and Coha, but the far more interesting Herenea and Urculae. May I continue?”
O’ course, sir. I apologize again…but one thing. Urculae was supposed t’be really ugly. I thought ‘urculae’ even meant ‘ugly’ in old Busker talk.”
“Yes, in the ancient dialect of the bay isles, it does. But it also means ‘strong’ in that and other Busker tongues. Regardless, Herenea was smitten, for she found Urculae to be the loveliest man she had ever set eyes on.” Ghallo let out another heavy sigh. The old man could almost hear the boy’s eyes roll. “So she transported herself to the deck of his storm-tossed vessel and made an offer: if Urculae would swear to love her and obey her laws, he and his men could live with her on her island forever.”
“Or they could be in a shipwreck and drown. That don’t seem like much of a choice.”
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“The Lady Herenea was very beautiful, Ghallo, and her island was a paradise for those who lived there and did the lady’s bidding.”
“What was her bidding?”
“To tend her crops, her grapes and groves of oranges and lemons, her fields of wheat. To mind her herds of sheep and cattle and goats. To groom her flower gardens and care for her exotic menagerie.”
“What’s a menagerie?”
“A fancy word for zoo.”
“Outdoor work’d be nice.”
“Very pleasant, yes. Despite this, Urculae’s thoughts were much like your own: that she had given him little choice. But Urculae had a silver tongue to match his fine features, and told her he was lovestruck and promised that he would love her, and on his life he and his men would abide by her rule.”
“So Urculae didn’t fall in love with Lady Herenea like she did him.”
“No, he did not, though that night he made love to her with considerable enthusiasm.”
“Made love?”
“Come now, Ghallo! Don’t tell me you’re unfamiliar with sexual congress between two people!”
“Oh, I ain’t, sir! Just not heard it put that way before. ‘Made love.’ Sounds like they were bakin’ a pie together.”
“Perhaps you’re more accustomed with coarser terms for the act of love? Truth be told, they did rut like beasts in heat, for the Lady Herenea hadn’t lain with a man for an age and her need was great, and Urculae was a beast. The next day, she held a bounteous banquet for Urculae and his men. But his sailors did not comport themselves as they should have, instead gorging themselves and getting disgustingly drunk. Then they raped, or attempted to rape, Lady Herenea’s serving women and men.”
“Oh, so soon!” marveled Ghallo, tapping on the cell door.
“Ghallo, you think the sailors went about raping too soon? That perhaps they should have waited a day or two more?”
“Oh, no, sir! It’s jus’, well, you knew that the sailors were gonna mess it up. I mean, why would you be tellin’ me this story if they all obeyed the lady and lived happily ever after? That would sort of be a boring story.”
“It is always a marvel to me how human beings are so indifferent to tales of happy lives, instead wanting to hear stories of violence and despair.”
“I don’ mind a happy ending, sir. But you kinda want to make them work for it, you know?”
“Fair enough. The Lady Herenea was ready to punish Urculae’s sailors, who cowered before her.”
“And what did she do to punish them?”
“I was about to tell you that she did not, persuaded by Urculae’s gentling words: his men had been long at sea and were—”
“Jus’ blowin’ off steam,” Ghallo interrupted, bitterness in his voice. The old man put his palm flat against the oak of his cell door, felt Ghallo’s youthful heart through it. A beast of a father, who brutalized his mother until she died far too young, and eight-year-old Ghallo was thrown out on the streets by that faithless father. No doubt he had heard his father excuse his inexcusable behavior with that phrase, or heard other men say as much, after the emotions and bodies of others were abused. He decided to let it pass and continue his story, skipping ahead rather than detail the brief reform in the sailors’ behavior and slow escalation to acts of greater and greater depravity.
“Yes, Urculae said they were just blowing off steam, and from that moment forward, they would behave as gentlemen.”
“It didn’t last,” said the boy. The old man worried at the lad’s growing cynicism. He must do something about that before he left these dungeons.
“No, it didn’t. For a time, they tried, but soon they tired of even the gentle tasks Lady Herenea asked of them, gave up consuming food and wine in moderation, and respecting the persons of her servants. With each infraction, though, Urculae would intervene, and paint the sailors’ transgressions as the sort of mistakes made by all. As though they were children, rather than grown men. You asked what she did to punish those who disappointed her in the past. Well, the Lady Herenea turned them into animals to suit their sins. A man who was stubborn, she turned into a bull, someone who acted like a careless fool was turned into a chattering monkey, and a man puffed up with pride was made a peacock…”
“What’s a—”
“A bird with extraordinary plumage.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Swinging in a tree all day, playing with the other monkeys, eating berries. Or a bird, flyin’ around. Beats swillin’ slop into bowls in the dark all day. An’ cleanin’ up blood.”
“Well, Ghallo, that is an interesting perspective. But trust me that fitting the soul and self of a human being into the confines of the mind of an animal is a terrible thing and causes great suffering before the self is eventually lost entirely in the person’s new animal nature. There is little pleasure in it, I promise you.”
“I’ve always liked dogs and cats more than most people.”
“Not an uncommon sentiment, my son, but being born a dog and being made a dog are two very different things. You’ll need to take my word for it.”
“As you say, sir.”
“At last, the sailors committed some crime that even Urculae’s silky words could not excuse, and so the Lady Herenea changed them into the animal that best suited their natures.”
“Pigs.”
“Yes, pigs. Urculae was incensed that Lady Herenea would treat his men in this way, regardless of their crimes. He confessed that he had never loved her, that she had imprisoned him on this island against his will, and that she was a cruel and hectoring woman who wished only to control men. He reminded her that he was a king in his own land and said that the behavior of his sailors was her fault, for their souls could not be so tethered: intrepid explorers needed to feel the spray of the sea on their faces, the wind in their hair.”
“And that’s when she turned him into a pig, too.”
“Oh no, Ghallo, though his words hurt her deeply; for she was still smitten with Urculae. No, she told Urculae that if he served her in a single task for one year, she would release him from his oath, which of course he had never really kept. For one year, Urculae, King of Marcenala, would be a swineherd, tending this sounder of unruly brutes. And he did. But Lady Herenea no longer fed King Urculae from her bounty as he tended his filthy sailors, now swine. So, in his hunger, one by one he butchered his pig-sailors, eating them to survive. With each sailor he ate, his unspeakable sin stained his soul so that it became an ugly and shriveled thing. On the day he set sail from Gethes and Lady Herenea, his outward appearance reflected his inward nature, so that his charm would no longer ensnare the vulnerable. And he cursed the island and the woman he blamed for making him hideous to look upon.”
“It sort of feels like he was jus’ tryin’ to cover for his fellows, though, sir.”
“I skipped a bit, Ghallo. Rest assured that Urculae himself was every bit as despicable as his sailors.”
“Then why didn’t Lady Herenea turn him into a swine, too?”
“Because she loved him, even after all he and his men did.”
“Mother Belu, but girls’r sure—”
“She loved him, though he was not worthy of that love. He was not the first man—or woman—to treat so precious and tender a gift so shabbily. When he sailed away, Lady Herenea whisked the island from the Sea of Azkaya, over the Wall of Serpents and into the Sea of Sacred Splendor, so that she would never again encounter a man of the Busker Kingdoms.”
“She what?”
“She moved the island far away. The place is called Gebes now, and its fortress guards the straits known as the Passage of Fangs.”
“How could she move a whole island?”
“There are very few things magic cannot do, lad, depending on its source and the skill of the conduit.”
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“Conduit?”
“The one who wields the magic. A sorcerer only guides and shapes magical energy, Ghallo. She serves as a channel for the power from its source, and directs its discharge and its form.”
“What’s the source of magic?”
“In this region of the world it is bits of a great stone that fell from the sky, buried now beneath the earth. In the lands that you call Aericum it is an enormous tree as big as a mountain, growing still at the center of the Godless Wilderness. In the lands of the Azkayans, it is a carved crystal sphere, within which swims a solitary man. I do not know of Aklan and the east.”
There was a quiet that followed. The old man was very tired. He needed the sun. He would sleep for the time that remained. But then the jailer-boy Ghallo at last made the request the old man had sensed earlier.
“Sir, could you teach me magic?”
The old man closed his eyes and smiled. He would never consider burdening the lad with so onerous a weight. It would be a cruelty. So he lied to the boy for the first and only time.
“I’m sorry, my son. You do not possess the qualities necessary to wield magic. Few do.”
And with that the jailer-boy left, going about the duties he had neglected, daydreaming about many things placed in his mind by the old man’s words. And the old man curled up in the least damp corner of his cell, covering himself as best he could with a tattered blanket, and slept. He knew that when next he woke, it would be time finally to meet Auric and Agnes Manteo face to face.
13
Ute
The dungeon warden on duty when Auric, Agnes, and Kennah arrived at the entrance to the queen’s subterranean prison was quite possibly the ugliest man Auric had ever laid eyes on. His face was the cratered remnant of a bout of pox barely survived, his bulbous nose broken so many times it had given up choosing a direction in which to point. The absence of an eyeball was conspicuous, for the man hadn’t the courtesy to cover the sphincter-like hole with a patch. His hair was coarse and irregular, the color of wet straw left in the field, and his teeth were a ruin of jagged and blackened stumps. He was no taller than Auric but had such an air about him that he seemed to occupy more space, his body a lumpish amalgam of muscle gone to fat, scars beyond counting, and unquestioned authority. His name was Oxula Jailer, marking him as a one-time orphan from the streets, pressed into his current occupation when very young.