Chapter I

Two Years Earlier

Rain was pouring. The freezing sensation had taken over his body so intensely that he could hardly feel anything, except for the pebbles that jabbed his worn and torn shoe soles with each step. But the hardest and most unbearable pain was one that was not physical. Something too massive and stagnant, but so fragmented and fractioned, that it reached every organ, every cell of his body, burning him from the inside. It had not only spread to each and every cell of his body but also every minuscule part of that enigma the priests in Lucius's village described as the soul.

The ashen sky was hiding the Sun as if it did not exist. It seemed as if the world was doubtful in the dawn. The thicket forest path meandered through the hazy skyline and seemed to stretch into eternity. For him, something was relaxing and calming about this endlessness...

The commander was wearing crimson armor. His chestnut eyes were visible through the open helmet. He lounged in the armchair, sipping wine from a red, ornate cup. It could have been the fire that made his eyes look brownish, and it stayed in his memory. He smelled of violets drowning in the wine. Lucius remembered the overwhelming, intoxicating fragrance of violets and wine from the day the commander visited him, with his hands bandaged, when he was injured.

Lucius could not remember what had taken place before he and his sister were abandoned in the forest. Prior to that, he could only recall some faint noises and blurred memories that seemed frozen in time. He remembered that gaze seen in the mirror, reflecting sun spells in differently colored eyes. - The one he glimpsed before going into the tavern, or even after having been dragged from there... There was something icy in that look which had become part of those indelible scenes...

Bracken plants were visible in the distance, swaying with the wind. Lucius saw himself in them. Like those plants, he also swayed in the wind, but God knows why he did not fall yet and continued on his way. The winter was about to end without a single snowflake. As he trudged along the stones, Lucius wondered why he was worrying himself about the snowless winter during this difficult time.

The other sounds around him had quietened, with only the noise he created, the patter of raindrops, and the wind's whistling being distinct. The noises resembled the roar of a blocked-up ocean, an ocean he had never seen in his life, but one he always envisioned when his father told him tales about his sailing trips...

Two years before the storm wrecked the three-masted frigate near Mondelay, taking with it the exotic plants that were meant for Lucius.. “The Red Widow”- what a peculiar name for the ship which had sunk together with his dad... This narrative seemed strangely insignificant now. The time when he was so worried about it seemed so far away, like the time when he could be worried about something.

Space hopelessly waned with each blink of his heavy eyelids and then some vehement force brought the world, lost in the twilight, back to him. The hills gradually faded away with the countless steps and the hilly landscape gave way to the flat valley.

It was too difficult to save the wounded man, as the arrow had reached his lungs. The torn silver armor was flickering under the sunlight, escaping through the window. The red-drenched cloth was blood-caked. Lucius still remembered the clotted blood odor - sweet and heavy, that he had rarely felt before.

He stood on the top of the downhill. “do not worry!” he heard his voice. Was he talking to Laily? He was surprised that he could speak at all and, having made the first steps up the hill, he rolled down the slope...

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The wounded man was way too young. He had no more than a hint of fuzz on his face, not even a beard. Blood loss had taken away the color from the ashen-gray face. It was obvious that things weren't alright from the mother’s scowling face. His fellow soldiers stood around his bed as if they were part of the silent oak walls, unable to say anything.

The color of the ceiling and the smell of the wool came to Lucius together. He tried to sit on the bed but, not finding enough strength, he fell back again.

“Don’t fidget,” said the hoarse voice.

“Where am I?” asked him instinctively.

“In my hut”, answered the unfamiliar voice. “Drink this.” the stranger was holding a glass.

Without hesitation, Lucius grabbed the glass and swallowed the medicine in one go, just like his mother had instructed him when he was a child. A warmth spread throughout his abdomen, replacing the coldness, which Lucius thought was an inherent part of his body. While the chill and agony had faded from his body, something still remained, hidden under the woolen blanket, that would never be absent from his soul. Something permanent that was immovable and so huge that it almost made Lucius cry. If he could, he would definitely cry, but he had realized in the village that he could not. If he had not cried when he was being dragged from the tavern, he could never cry again...

“Where is Laily?”

“In the bed next to you. She is well... You will be too.”

“Well...”, this weird wheezing sound made Lucius realize he giggled...

“I am sorry.” one could see the tears in the wounded person’s eyes, which made him look sincere. “I am sorry that I cannot stop him. You don’t know who he is”.

“It’s not your fault”,- said Lucius wiping off the blood with a white cloth; with the cloth that he had washed for the wounded warrior the night before, but now he was using it for himself...

Waking up, he found the room empty; or rather, the stranger was nowhere to be seen. Laili was still lying on her bed and her calm and peaceful breathing blended perfectly well with the shadowy colors of the room.

Everything was reeking of wood and smoke; the burned aroma was spreading all over the room through the roaring fireplace. Leather pieces were hanging on the wall, gray and furry. - supposedly of a wolf, Lucius could not tell in the dusk.

A table, high chairs, and a cupboard made the only room in the hut look furnished and reminded him of his old house; there were no animal furs in his home though. Mum and Dad were not fond of furry things. The old house was filled with books- books and herbs and with the blood and superstitions of the patients who, as soon as they left the premises, spread stories about the mysterious soothsayers...

The village was always strange to Lucius, as he himself was probably to the villagers...

Suddenly, the door opened and the man blowing into his hands stepped in. As soon as he talking, Lucius recognized the hoarse voice.

“You are awake,” said the elderly man walking toward the fireplace. He was tall, a little stooped with age, but one could still call him well-built. Although he was almost bald, there were silver patches of the remaining hair on his head, and his long beard was unkempt and tousled.

“You must be hungry”, the man said, warming his hands on the fire; after several minutes he added,

“Come on, wash your hands” and with these words, he moved towards the door.

The well water Lucius washed his hands with was icy cold. The man had brought out a piece of rough cloth to dry his hands.

As they stepped back into the hut, the man seated Lucius at the table, fetched meat and bread from the cupboard for him, together with a jug full of wine. The very first bite made Lucius realize how hungry he was. At the same time, he was surprised that life went on as if nothing had happened. Strangely, the world moved on and even forgot everything, as if all that had happened was just a child’s dream.

“Have some wine; will strengthen you.” the man filled the glasses. Lucius had never tasted wine before and he found it quite sour. Did the commander feel the same while sitting in the armchair? He looked at the half-empty glass through the light shedding from the window; the wine was white; the commander drank red.

The old man was telling some funny stories while he was eating his food, probably trying to cheer him up. Although he tried once, Lucius could not smile, which discouraged the old man from continuing.

Lucius felt tipsy from the wine. He had stopped eating, but he kept on drinking wine. The wine had affected the old man as well.

“What has happened to you?” he asked after finishing one of his stories.

The man had honey-colored eyes; Lucius felt the warmth pouring out of the eyes of his host when he was looking down at him...

“I cannot talk about it now,” Lucius heard his voice. “Oh, it’s okay,” said the host. The man’s voice was warm, too. It was strange that Lucius had not noticed that before.

“My sons found you and your sister at the end of the slope. You must have fallen. We are the woodchoppers and work for Lord Bryan. We are shipping the logs for Mondelay tomorrow and I will tell the guys to take you there, if you don’t mind it, of course.”

Lucius nodded quietly and looked up at the spot on the wall.

“How old are you, kid?” he heard the question. “Twelve”, he answered. The slight slumber brought about by the wine and the dark colors of the room made Lucius doze off.