The Legend of Eli CrowChapter 58
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Yren sat in the mud, trying desperately to get himself under control. A passing rain shower had dumped just enough water to turn the hard-packed earth to mud but not enough for much else; the bulk of the shower had passed to the south, just beyond the treeline, where it did little good for the town’s farmers. Even there, it only rained for perhaps an hour before moving on. Now, the sun was shining and the mud was slowly drying.
Yren closed his eyes against the chaosed sunshine, wondering how such a promising day could lead to something so corrupt and foul. His jaw tightened against the memory and he tried to bring his heart back under control, to quell the pounding against his chest. The world spun, even with his eyes closed, and he couldn’t bring his breathing under control. He felt like he was spinning out of control; like he was spinning out of the world.
He clenched his jaw as his stomach threatened to heave yet again. Already the remains of his breakfast lay soaking in the dirt beside him, its foul stench rising on the wind. He shuffled, trying to move from the foul-smelling puddle but his arms had no strength and his legs wouldn’t hold him.
Finally, he had to open his eyes, the image of what he’d seen inside burned into his eyelids. He couldn’t stand it any longer, couldn’t stand the darkness and beyond the darkness. He clenched his fist, willing the world to quit spinning but there was no strength in his hands.
“Don’t go in there,” he called to Bremer as she approached. Bremer looked at his pale, tear-soaked face and nodded.
Tergin had tried to get more out of Yren’s sister back at his domen but she just kept repeating herself over and over, her eyes haunted and glassy. When it was obvious Teran had nothing further to say, Tergin had helped her stand and enlisted Yren and Bremer to keep her upright. It was all they could do to keep her upright; it was as if the young woman had no strength of her own. In the end, as Tergin set off, they’d set the girl in a corner of the warm hearth.
“Go,” Bremer had ordered, Yren obviously torn between concern for his sister and unease about what Tergin was going to find. “I’ll take care of her.”
He’d set off twice, turning back each time to see Bremer holding Teran close. Each time, Bremer had shooed him off, her hand waving him away. Now, he wished he’d never left.
“Is it – is it bad?” Bremer asked, stopping short of her friend. She had never seen Yren like this, never seen his countenance so pale or his hands trembling. She’d never seen him sitting in the dirt and mud, unable to move. It quailed against her image of him; he’d always seemed larger than life, stronger than the world around him. To find him laid low, unable to stand, was more than she could bear.
“Don’t go in there,” he repeated, a bit softer. His head hung down and she heard great, wretched sobs come from him. She moved to kneel next to him, to hold and comfort him, but her father interrupted.
“Bremer, go back home,” he called from the doorway of the town hall. “Tell Gillen Hawksley to come. I know she’s tired – but we have precious little time for rest just now. Hurry, Brem – its urgent.”
Bremer, already almost down to her knees, straightened. She looked at her father – and wished she hadn’t. Since she was little, her father had always been a fountain of strength. He’d always seemed implacable and unstoppable. As she grew older, she found him as flawed as any other human – but the image of his immense resolve and towering will always backstopped her perception. Looking on him now, though, she saw an old, uncertain man, his features as pale as her friend’s.
She turned to look at Yren again but the young man just shook his head at her. The haunted look in his eyes was all the answer she needed; a look at him and a look at her father answered the question for her. It was bad. Very bad.
She found Honor Hawksley where she’d left her, sitting at the great table. Only now, the woman’s eyes were closed, her head laid on her arms at the table. The great Knight looked like any other woman at the moment, only the cords of muscles in her arms and the scars on her face gave any indication of what she truly was. The woman was snoring lightly, her mouth partially open and the barest hint of drool collecting in the corners of her mouth.
“Honor Hawksley,” Bremer said softly, her feet slowly approaching the Knight.
Gillen Hawksley was instantly awake and alert, her body straightening off the table in an instant. Her eyes were hard, her face a snarl and her hand sprouted a long, deadly-looking dagger. When she saw who confronted her, her face eased just a bit – but the edge of the hard-hitting knight never fully left her countenance.
“I’m sorry to wake you, Honor,” Bremer said quietly. She took no offense at the knight’s actions, though she did step back involuntarily. “My father told me to get you and bring you back to the Town Hall. He said it was urgent.”
Gillen blinked, her mind absorbing the details without really thinking about them. It took a moment for sleep to ebb from her mind but as the words penetrated, the dirk in her hand disappeared. She shook her head a moment, the words finally making sense.
“Is it about Goodwoman Masick?” She asked, easing herself up off the bench.
Gillen was four inches taller than Bremer and probably fifty pounds heavier but as she stood, stretching, bones in her arms, legs and back crackling, Bremer had the distinct impression the woman was even taller; certainly bigger and stronger. She seemed to fill the room as her shoulders rolled and her body came back to life.
“I don’t know, Honor,” Bremer swallowed. “I think so, though. I think – I think whatever happened, it’s bad.”
Gillen’s face clouded and set in anger. “And probably has something to do with our being here.” She shook her head and blew a long sigh. “Damn it all to chaos, but I had no choice.” She turned back to Bremer. “Can you lead me?”
“Yes,” Bremer agreed, nodding slightly.
Gillen moved towards the large man sleeping against the wall, his eyes closed and soft snores rising from his mouth. Before she could take more than two steps, though, the man’s eyes opened. He looked at Gillen and then to Bremer and the younger girl couldn’t help but feel his eyes looked haunted somehow. “Go,” he muttered in a raspy voice. “I’ll guard them.”
“Don’t go back to sleep,” Gillen warned. “If you need relief, wake Syl. Trade off as you need – but I shouldn’t be overly long. If an attack comes, barricade yourselves in and make some noise to alert me – the barricade might hold them off for a while, hopefully long enough for me to return.”
Uud nodded.
Tergin was waiting outside the hall, a bit of color returning to his cheeks. He had no smile for his friend, just a nod. “I’m sorry to wake you, Gillen,” he rumbled, his voice tight. “I have something I think you need to see.”
Gillen nodded and Tergin’s eyes turned to his daughter. The brown eyes softened slightly at the sight of her but neither his face nor the tense set of his body changed. “Brem, head to the smith. Make sure Yren made it home okay. Stay there for now; I’m sure Elva could use your help with Teran and Yren. Just don’t get in the way; if she sends you out, head home – not here. Understand?”
“Yes, da,” Bremer nodded.
He nodded at her and turned, leading Gillen back into the Town Hall. Bremer watched as he paused outside the door. He shook himself and his shoulders set, his back straightening. He seemed to take a breath as he walked through the doorway.
Bremer had a habit of just entering the Tulat house; it was a sign of her friendship with Teran, Yren, Issa and Bena, just something they did at one another’s houses – well, something she just did at Yren’s house, at any rate. Now, though, the familiarity seemed wrong. She stepped back, her eyes taking in the weathered, wooden house with the thick, well-fitting door. The windows held cloth curtains, a luxury few in the town could afford but then Ardt – and Yren, of course – were very good smiths. Now, though, the windows looked strangely barren and dark, the soulless eyes of a soulless house. Bremer couldn’t shake the feeling of darkness hovering over her as she looked at them.
The smithy sat off to the left, north of the main house, a large metal sign hanging outward from the store front. She knew the storefront wasn’t deep and behind it was the large, open, covered area of the smith’s forge. She’d never noticed before but the storefront looked lifeless; the weathered planks of the walls seeming old and faded. The sight sent a shiver through her frame and a deep desolation wrapped itself around her.
She stepped up to the house door and rapped, the echo of her knocks sounding lonely and broken. She felt as if there was something dark sucking the life out of the home; an ill wind blowing hot and humid across the faded wood in a strange kiss of death. She shook herself and rapped again, louder this time.
“Brem?” Elva asked as the door opened. The Goodwoman’s smile seemed out of place; warmth on a day which seemed to have none. “Why are you knocking? You know you’re more than welcome here any time.”
“Sorry,” Brem forced a smile but the sense of foreboding remained. “I’m feeling a bit foolish today.”
Elva waved her in, the older woman wiping her hands on her apron absently. It left streaks of white on the navy apron; floury remnants of an approaching meal. Brem couldn’t help it; her forced smile grew naturally.
“Thank you for bringing Teran home,” Elva remarked as she walked over to the table next to the hearth. “I think she may have caught something. She’s feverish and mumbling.”
“She hasn’t said anything?” Bremer asked, her voice slightly too innocent.
“Not a word,” Elva said slowly, looking over at the younger girl. “She just basically passed out on her bed, the poor dear. Why? Do you know how she got sick?”
“I’m not sure,” Bremer demurred. She looked around quickly. “Did Yren get home?”
“Yes, he’s out with Ardt in the smithy,” Elva chuckled. “I swear those two do nothing but work the metal. You can head on back, if you’d rather.”
Bremer didn’t mean to eavesdrop. It wasn’t she had something against eavesdropping – she often listened in on her father’s conversations – but it wasn’t something she’d meant to do in this case. When she heard the murmured words of Yren and Ardt, however, she slowed her steps and listened intently.
“Of course I didn’t tell Elva,” she heard Yren say. There was still something in his voice, something thick with worry and fear. “I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.”
“How bad was it?” Ardt asked.
“Bad, Ardt,” Yren sighed. “Very bad. I’m not sure how Teran managed to stay sane; I’m not sure I’d have the strength if I had had to transport Goodwoman Masick.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” Yren blurted. “I’d just like to forget it – but I swear, I never will. It was – Ardt, it was barbarous. They skinned her, Ardt. They somehow managed to keep her alive while they cut the skin off of her body.” Yren gave a wavering cry. “Gods, I can still see it behind my eyelids. Her eyes were missing – they cut them out. Her – her – her center, her loins; it was – it was gone. Seared shut. Her – her rear hole, too. How in chaos did they manage to keep her alive through that?”
“She was still alive?” Ardt asked, his voice sickly.
“Not when I saw her,” Yren sobbed. “She was thankfully dead when I saw her – but I heard them talking. When Teran brought her in, she was alive. Ranger Ellsworth helped her carry Goodwoman Masick in. Thank the gods she was there; I’m not sure Teran would have managed it on her own.”
Bremer couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could just feel the horror in Yren’s words, the evil in what he described. She could feel her heart pounding and the world spinning. She wanted to unhear what Yren had just relayed – but she knew she couldn’t. She knew she’d never be able to forget it for as long as she lived.
There was silence for a moment and Bremer, shaken and ashamed, had just started moving forward when she heard Yren resume. “There was a note on her; they’d stuck it through her shoulder with a knife. Tergin tried to hide it from me, but I saw it. It read – ‘Give us Princess Ataya by first light or every man, woman and child in this town will suffer a worse fate.’”
“Princess Ataya is here?” Ardt gasped.
“Yeah,” Yren’s voice was unsteady. “I’m sorry – I missed that part. The knights – there were three knights at Sir Givens’. They were the last of a – of a platoon of knights supposed to guard the Princess. They met – something they called the Red Guard. They said the Red Guard had a mage with them – a mage who could make fire hot enough to melt gaussteel.”
“Hot enough to melt gaussteel?” Ardt gasped again. “Chaos. A fire that hot? It’s a wonder any of them are alive.” Bremer watched Ardt get up, his hand rubbing his face. The older man started to pace.
“What can we do?” Yren asked. “Do we – do we – are we going to hand over the Princess?”
Ardt turned, his look thoughtful as he contemplated his adopted son. “Should we? What do you think?”
Yren stared at the older man for a moment. “No.” The word was soft and Yren hung his head. “No. We can’t.” He looked back up. “But I don’t want to see my neighbors – my friends die.” The young man’s voice was unsteady as he went on. “I don’t want to see you or Elva or Teran or Issa or Bena, die.”
“Son, death is inevitable,” Ardt commiserated, clapping his hand softly on his adopted son’s shoulder. “We all die. We’re men, we’re born simply to die. It’s the way of the world. What matters isn’t that we die – what matters is how we live. What truly matters is what we do with our lives. I agree, we can’t hand over the Princess. We’ll fight for her – and maybe we’ll die for her. Not because if we hand her over, the Queen would probably kill us all herself. Not even because she’s a Princess. We’ll fight because it is the right thing to do. We must fight for her because we must never succumb to evil. Anyone who could do to Goodwoman Masick what they have done, is evil. If we succumb to it once, if we let it rule us once, it will become that much easier for it to rule us again. THAT is why we’ll fight ... and, even if we lose, THAT is why we’ll win.”
“Now, go down into the cellar and bring up my chain mail and my sword,” Ardt ordered. “I may die – but I’m not going to make it easy on them.”
Yren easily moved the heavy anvil which hid the trap door into the cellar. As Yren started to lift the cellar door, he stopped, his back straight and his eyes wide. Fourteen swords. Three knights, ten recruits. He suddenly knew for whom the fourteenth sword had been made.
Bremer took that moment to step out into the smithy. She nodded to Ardt as she made her way to Yren. “I’ll help.”
“You heard?” Yren asked but he already knew. He knew of Brem’s eaves-dropping habits.
She nodded, not trusting herself to talk. She felt small, suddenly, like the world had somehow grown so much larger in the past few minutes. She felt small and lonely and scared and she didn’t like those feelings at all.
It took them half an hour to pull everything from the cellar. Yren’s armor took five trips on its own. They didn’t talk as they worked, both trying to lose themselves in the silence. Bremer watched her friend as they made the trips up and down the stairs, though, and she noted a gradual change as they worked at their task. She could sense Yren readying himself, could almost feel his resolve strengthening. She could actually swear each climb up out of the cellar saw her dearest friend’s back get a little straighter, his face a little stonier and more resolute. It was as if he was coming to grips with what was being asked of him; as if he’d found peace in the inevitability.
As they carried the last of the swords up, Ardt came through into the smithy.
“I’ve told Elva,” he said. “She’s rushing dinner. We won’t have fresh bread and the stew might be a bit undercooked, but we’ll meet them on a full stomach.”
“I’ve also spoken with Tergin and the Knight-lady,” he continued. “They’re bringing the Princess and her maids into the town proper. They’re hoping they can give her more protection with everyone around her. The whole town is mobilizing. Teran has gone to join with Ranger Ellsworth and the other rangers – they’ll be few, but they think they might be able to harass the Red Guard. The rest of us are to meet at the Town Hall.”
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