Ellas - A dozen years ago

Kane

Clack, clack went the sounds of the practice swords, trimmed branches really, that Joram and Dantis swung at each other.

I’d shown them both the bare basics after allowing each to get the feel and weight of my sword.

Both their eyes had bulged as I’d given them their turn. Joram’s smile had actually been wider than that of his son, who himself was obviously ecstatic.

The sword was far too heavy for Dantis, he could barely hold it with both hands, but Joram’s hard farmers life had him wielding the blade as if it weighed no more than a hoe.

Clack, clack went the sticks as Joram and Dantis laughed and laughed.

I should have admonished them for their brevity, use of a sword, any weapon, was a serious matter even in practice, but watching them play brought a smile to my face. If only life could truly be as simple and peaceful as that which Joram and his family had. What I wouldn’t give for such a life. And yet soon, years yet, but still far too soon, this would all end for them. He would return and all would change before his coming. This play fight, I thought, is just a precursor to the life of strife they will have to face if we cannot stop him.

‘Do you intend to work today, Joram?’ Mae shouted from the doorstep.

Joram turned from his parry of Dantis’s stick toward her voice, and Dantis’s unblocked swing caught him full on the arm with a loud thwack.

Joram howled as much in shock as pain, and it was Mae’s turn to laugh.

Dantis apologised profusely to his father, but he, too, could barely conceal his laughter.

As Mae’s laughter slowed she said, ‘Dantis, your chores won’t get themselves done, either. Off you go. Go on… And Joram, stop whining; it was but a tap… and if you will play at fighting, you must expect to be hurt. Be about your work, or there’ll be no dinner on the table for you.’

All laughter was now gone from her voice, replaced with a quiet, almost seething anger. ‘Master Kane, would you be so kind as to join me for a bit of talk over a brew?’ The last was not spoken as a request.

Dantis, still laughing, ran off, a belated, ‘Thank you, Master Kane,’ shouted over his shoulder as he went.

Joram muttered quietly, ‘She’s not a one for violence, not even in play… so forgive me, but I feel her words to you may be harsh. And then, he too was walking away, leaving me with a Mae, who’s clearly forced smile did not reach to her glaring eyes.

‘Yes, mistress Mae. I would be only too please to join you. Tea would be very welcome,’ I said, as I followed her through the door.

‘Please take a seat while I pour, Master Kane.' she said as she walked to the stove.

‘Kane,’ I said, and to her questioning look, I added, ‘No need for the master honorific. To my friends, I am but Kane… and after the fine hospitality you have shown I would be remiss if I did not consider you and yours as friends.’

Her glare faltered for an instant, only an instant, and then it was back. ‘You have paid well for that hospitality, Master Kane. Very well, indeed.’

The slight in her words was obvious without the emphasis she place on the honorific, but her tone also told much. She was angry, and yet it seemed that she was embarrassed at her own words, the words that rebuked my declaration of friendship. That, or I read too much into the undertones of her words, I thought. I said nothing as I waited for her to return with the tea.

She sat opposite me, tea in hand as she blew to cool the steaming brew. Her eyes stared at mine as if trying to perceive what lay behind them.

‘I do not like violence, Master Kane. I did not take to you on that first day the instant I saw that… that sword you wear. Later, when you so won Dantis’s heart with your play, I softened to you… I saw that you were a good man. But your offer of the sword teaching… and what you did today…’ Tears welled in her eyes and she dabbed them away with her free hand.

‘Today when I saw the look on Joram’s face… how he was with that play sword, a simple stick… but that look in his eyes. I know that look. I know what he intends… ‘ Her voice trailed off again, as the tears came once more.

I remained silent as she calmed herself. There was more to come, I was sure.

Eyes down on the table, she said, ‘It is not his fault, I know that. He is a good man… but he torments himself with her memory. He wants to go after her, and bring her back to us, but… they hurt him so. He was not himself after, not for a great while. Only now, since the babe, has he again become the one I wed. He is not a coward… he is not! He just lacks… he lacks what you have.’

Her eyes rose to mine. ‘I fear that today you have given him that which he lacked… with that silly stick, you have given him belief in himself. And I fear that he will now follow her, and then he, too, will be gone. I could not bear it if he left again… I couldn’t.’ The tears began in earnest then, and sobs wracked her body.

Finally, I spoke, ‘What is it that you talk of, Mistress Mae? I truly do not understand what it is, nor what you perceive that I have done to Joram today. What is it that you want of me? You must calm yourself, and then speak plainly, if I am to be of help.’ I almost bit my tongue as I spoke those last words – I had no time for this. I could not linger here. I had to follow the Nargu; I had to be there when they took me to him.

Mae wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘You would help me… help us, despite my harsh words to you?’ Her eyes were filled with hope.

I nodded despite myself. ‘If I am able,’ I ventured. ‘Tell me… from the beginning, what it is that troubles you, and then, when you have told all, perhaps between us we may find a way.’

Sniffing, and again wiping away tears, Mae gave a hesitant and embarrassed smile. ‘This was not what I intended… I did not plan to seek your help. I just raged inside at what you had done… how you had inflamed Joram once more to seek her out—’

‘The beginning, Mistress Mae. If you please,’ I interrupted, gently.

Mae flushed. ‘I am sorry…’ Again she sniffed and wiped at her eyes. ‘I will begin at the beginning, as you say,’ she said, her cheeks now almost as red as her eyes.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

‘Joram touched on it. He told of his family and the Black Pox, and of how only he and his sister… not his true kin, but a sister nonetheless, were the only ones to survive its ravages. After, he raised her even as he worked the fields… he doted on her; he was as an older brother and a father to her.

'All was well until she was almost a woman grown, and then, almost overnight, she changed, becoming sullen and withdrawn. The slightest of mishaps had her ranting and raving, and even smashing and breaking anything to hand. She wept continually. Joram was at a loss as to what to do with her. We were courting by then, and I, too, saw the change… she had been a quiet and kindly young girl, with never a bad word for anyone; she had taken to me immediately, welcoming me as a sister into their small family. I still cannot believe how Carthia changed so…’

Her words continued, but I heard nothing as anger and adrenaline fuelled my body. Carthia? Was I mistaken? Surely she could not have said that name. It cannot be her. I stared at Mae a long moment, her words slowly trailing off as she saw my tension.

‘You said Carthia. Her name… Joram’s sister, was named Carthia?’ I asked, my voice as cold as the chill that ran through my veins.

Mae startled at my tone and moved back from the table slightly to stare at me. ‘Yes… yes, her name is Carthia,’ she said, hesitantly. ‘Why? Do you know something of her… and why is it that your tone is now angry? What do you know? Tell me, please.’

I did not know what to say, inside I shook, my anger and hatred of the woman Carthia almost tearing me apart. She had killed Jain, killed my friends – all of them. My anger surged at the thought and filled the words I spoke with venom. ‘Describe her… tell me of this Carthia. Tell me how she looked,’ I demanded.

Mae pushed back her chair and stood, shock and fear on her face at the harshness of my words.

Her reaction, the look on her face and the fear in her eyes, drained away my anger, leaving only shame in its place.

‘Please…’ I said, haltingly, ‘forgive my words… forgive how I spoke, Mistress, I—’

‘You know something of her? You must… why else would you ask of her… and with such anger in your words. What do you know? Tell me!’ Mae’s words were now filled with the anger mine had held. The fear was still there, but held in check by her fury and her need to know what I knew.

I hesitated. What could I say… what could I tell her – that ten years from now, a woman named Carthia would forcibly send me to my home, and then kill all those that were dear to me? It sounded ridiculous even to me. ‘I have met one who called herself Carthia,’ I said. ‘And you are right, I was angry just. That Carthia, the one I knew so briefly, caused me great hurt… but it cannot be the same. Surely such a name is common? Describe her to me, the Carthia you speak of… please.’

Standing still, Mae considered me a while, her face a mix of anger, fear and need.

Finally, she said, ‘Joram has a likeness of her. A traveller with some talent of such things created the likeness in exchange for his supper and a bed for the night. In hangs in our bedroom… it is a good likeness, but she is younger then, only fifteen summers, she would be almost twenty summers now. I will fetch it.’

She stepped from the room, and only seconds later returned with a lovingly framed charcoal drawing on what appeared to be hand made paper; it was off white and heavily textured. But there was no mistaking the face that looked up at me from the frame Mae had set on the table.

She was younger, her features less hard, and the smile on her face positively beamed – the smile that which, on very rare occasions, Alex had favoured me with.

Alex, I thought, how long since I last brought her to mind? But this was not a sketch of Alex. This was Carthia, a woman I had hated and despised for centuries.

My hand below the table clenched into a fist so tightly that I thought the bones of my fingers would burst through the skin. I forced myself to calm before I spoke.

‘The Carthia I knew was at least ten years older than you say this girl would be now.’ Not a lie, I thought. Strange indeed, but nevertheless true. ‘This is not she. So tell me, Mistress Mae, what is it that happened to this girl? Where is she now, and what is it I may do to help?’

I left less than two hours later with both Mae and Joram’s eternal gratitude at my promise to search for Carthia echoing through my ears, and Joram’s tale of his sister weighing heavily on my heart.

She had been a quiet girl, a shy but friendly child, Joram had said. Quick to laugh and eager to always lend a hand. On that they both agreed, even though Mae had only known her a year or so. Then overnight, she had become sullen and withdrawn, prone to bouts of temper, crying at all hours, and refusing to speak of what ailed her.

Weeks later they awoke to find her gone. She had taken little with her – a change of clothes, the little coin she had squirrelled away over the years, and a keepsake ring entrusted to Joram parents by her birth mother to be given to her when she came of an age to look after it.

Joram ranged far and wide. Weeks he spent searching with no sign before he came across a band of four mercenaries who had word of a young woman seen wandering alone in the wilds. They had laughed as they listened to Joram’s pleas for news of his sister, and laughed even harder as they told of how they chased and hunted her through the night, and what they planned for her should they catch her.

Joram had been horrified at what they said, and had demanded to know what had become of his sister. Then they had laughed all the more as they beat him senseless, took all he possessed, and left him for dead.

It was a sad tale, sad at least for Joram and Mae. But what I felt for Carthia, the hate I held in my heart, dispelled all thought of pity at what the men might have done to her.

Joram could tell no more of where his sister might have gone, nor even if she still lived. But I had given my promise regardless, for I knew that she lived, and I knew the woman she would become. I had promised to search for her and send them news, if not the girl herself. But what I would really do when I found her, I did not myself know.

I had not a clue as to how I might find the woman. But Anna would – she had a network of spies and confidants spread wide across the world. They would find her for me, I knew. I need not tell Anna why I had to find this woman, indeed she would demand that I did not tell her once she knew that this was a tale that she must not know. But she would help me. I would make her if need be. But for now, I needed to see where the Nargu took me, and find where it was that he hid from the world.

That night I camped on the outskirts of Setia’s village. Haramfeast it was named, after the founder of the village some centuries past – Haram was a short and portly man, who they said would never be found without a pie or a ham in his hand.

I longed to visit with Setia, and talk with her of what was to come. Truth be told, some small part of me wished to see her face when she was confronted with the sight of the two of us. But such a confrontation was impossible, I knew – I would not do such a thing, but I did wonder, dwell upon even, what such a meeting would do to all that was to come.

My belief was that even should I attempt such a thing, it would not be allowed – fate, destiny, whatever it was that controlled our lives, would intervene and stop, or somehow negate the changes that any such act would precipitate. And so I sat, a mile out from the far side of Haramfeast and waited.

Sleep did not come easily that night. Mae’s tale of Carthia and the likeness she had shown, unnerved me.

What was it that would change a young girl so? How did a quiet and shy girl become the heartless creature that had murdered my friends? Anna would find her for me, I knew she would. But what then? What would I do? What could I do?

I could watch, and I knew that I could do nothing else. If I intervened, all would be changed… if I was even allowed such action.

But as I had planned to be there when the Nargu took me to his hiding place, I swore that I would be there when Carthia sent me back. I would be there, and I would would take retribution on her and whatever lurked in the trees for the death of my friends.

I shuddered at my thoughts as adrenaline and hope flooded my body. I had not seen their deaths. I had only heard her words, Kill them all. I could stop her, I realised. I could save them.

Fate, destiny, whatever it was, had not yet been written for them, for that which had haunted me for so very long. I had heard her words, but I had not seen their deaths. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was fated that I should be there to stop her and save them.

I vowed again then. I vowed that I would be there. I vowed that I would watch until the instant that I was gone from this world, and then I would be the one to write destiny. I would save them… and destroy the woman, Carthia, and all who stood with her.