Tarnava — 14 YBB
That’s good enough for now. Let’s take a break for the midday meal.
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Murentam Valley — 15 YBB
Saf took a deep breath.
“What do I do now?”
“I don’t know, Safram. To speak truthfully, I’ve never seen a Mark before. I don’t know what these do.” Mina took a deep breath of her own. “Gods, this is a mess.”
“I think it has something to do with moving. It took me back to a place I had been earlier in the night.. like a sort of portal magic.. if only I could figure out a way of making it happen on purpose..”
“Safram, Mages study for years at the Imperial Academy to control their Marks. I absolutely forbid you to try to use this magic on purpose. You have no idea what danger you would be putting yourself in.”
She paused, looking back at the mirror, which still reflected the elaborate twisting patterns of Saf’s Marks.
“We should be trying to remove it. Who knows what means the Imperial Mages have to find rogue Marks. If the Writman coming to Murentam for the Goddays learns that you have a Mark of Power with no imperial Binding.. it won’t just be your head.”
Saf chewed his lip. It made sense that he should be trying to get rid of his tattoos, but something deep within him rebelled against it. At last, he felt like he had a tiny fragment of power, or was on the precipice of having it. He was a serving boy, and always had been. He had never felt power before. Already, his marks felt like a part of him, and the idea of losing them had a nauseating effect akin to the idea of losing a limb. And he still had no idea what they meant or did.
“I guess,” he responded, dejection lining his voice.
“I’ll try to think of something to remove them,” Mina continued, “But honestly, I don’t know if it will be possible. They appeared spontaneously overnight, I suspect they may reappear just as quickly if we try to clear them off.”
“In the meantime, Safram, I’ve changed my mind about showing these Marks to people you trust. Anyone who knows of this will be in grave danger if the Mages find you out. It’s safer not to know.”
Saf grimaced at the thought that he had put Mina in grave danger. The conversation from the previous night sprang back into his mind.
“Mistress, I was thinking, now that I really do have the Marks, can you tell me what you meant last night? When you said we weren’t normal, the five of us? How could you have known that this might happen?”
Mina sighed.
“I said too much last night. I have to think some more about what to tell you. It’s too late for you, but the girls and the twins may still get to live out a normal life. You’ll learn this when you’re older, but sometimes the truth hurts much more than secrets.”
Saf turned away from her, towards the window. I have a past. Not knowing anything about where they came from, he and the four others had, as young children, always invented outlandish tales about their mothers and fathers. They were the offspring of deposed queens, and disgraced knights, and princesses banished for pursuing true love, and adventurous merchant sea captains abroad for decades in the West. Now, it seemed they really did have a history, if only they could find it. No matter if he couldn’t get it out of Mina. He would find it himself.
“I’m sorry Safram.”
An uncomfortable silence ensued.
“Alright young man. We should be getting back to our duties. Be careful. Did I already tell you to be careful? Anyways, be careful. If something happened to you..”
Saf turned back to Mina.
He went for a light-hearted, sarcastic response to her concern, rolling his eyes a bit.
“Thanks mother”
But Mina didn’t laugh. Her mouth quivered. A little pool of tears was forming beneath her brown eyes.
*****
With every pile of horseshit that Saf shoveled up from the straw-covered floor of the stables into his wheelbarrow, he cursed the Mormora, weavers of fate. Plop. Why had Young Henerick singled him out for a demonstration? Why not anyone else? Plop. Why had he decided it would be a good idea to pull a trick? Plop. Why had he thought anyone else would be impressed with that? Plop.
The earthy, sulfurous stench was overwhelming. He knew from experience that if you stayed in it long enough the odor would fade into the background. The real torture was having to constantly leave and come back in. Better to finish all your tasks in the stables and be done with it for the day. Still, Saf was sorely tempted to find some excuse to step out.
A calm chestnut mare lapped water from a trough in the back of the stall. Not such a bad life, Saf thought. The war stallions and broodmares got better treatment than most of the human servants at the castle. They had a set routine, a set purpose, no open-ended questions about their life. The mare raised her head from her trough and watched him passively with her big black eyes.
In the courtyard, Jamin was training the newly formed militia. Saf could hear Jamin delivering another speech. Another reminder of what Saf didn’t have. The man was in his element, like a mystic priest with his audience enthralled.
“... sgakkura is not just the preserve of the knights, the noblemen, the Mage-Slaves...to be sgakkur is to be upright, to have fortitude, to embrace the destiny layed out for you at the dawn of time. To be sgakkur is to be strong of arm and strong of mind. To be sgakkur is to undertake any task set before you with ferocity of will. To be sgakkur is to have truthfulness, not just of the word, the mouth, but truthfulness of the mind, truthfulness of the heart. To be sgakkur is to live according to the laws of the gods and in harmony with the land. Above all, the sgakkurin is he who carries out, unto the furthest limits of his mind and body, the will of the Emperor.”
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Jamin paused. Saf could hear the silence of the spellbound novice fighters.
“It is a great gift. Never to choose, only to do.” Jamin pronounced do like a masterful sword-thrust: quick, violent, and precise.
“You will know the custom of our knights in battle. The commander says a few words of the death rites to the first man of the hundred-horse. Each man says the words to his comrade on the right. When each is prepared, they have their battle-cry: ‘I am dead! I am dead!’ So each man thinks himself already dead, and does not fear death, and meets his fate with honor. Think of the faces of our enemies when they meet our lords in battle, grinning and laughing at their own death as they charge.”
“But we are infantry. We simple soldiers of the empire have our own simple battle-cry.”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”
Jamin continued his ecstatic scream until he had no air left in his lungs.
“Personally I prefer it. At the Battle of the White Sands we had fifty thousand grown men screaming. You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced that. We felt like.. like gods when we fell upon the Garramanian host.”
“Some old soldiers say our voices have defeated more armies than our swords. I don’t know. But it’s your turn to practice.”
No one said anything.
“AAAAA” Jamin cried.
“AAAA” a few of the recruits responded, unsure of themselves.
“AAAAAAAAA” Jamin belted again.
“AAAAAAA” more of the men joined in now, better coordinated, and holding it for longer.
“AAAAAAAAAAAA” one of the men had taken up the next chant before Jamin could. Was that Tammus? He’s so quiet normally.
Jamin jumped in immediately. Other wild, monosyllabic screams rang out. Saf could no longer make out any individual voices.
Soon the whole courtyard was roaring in one giant, unending, battle-cry.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”
The villagers down in the valley must be scared out of their minds right now, Saf thought.
Saf imagined himself roaring with the men in the courtyard. There was a time he might have cried at missing out on being a part of the only exciting thing that had ever happened at Murentam. But now he had other things to worry about. His Marks. No one else has that.
He went back to distributing hay to the horses. As he worked the men in the yard resumed their training. The thud of wood on wood dominated. After a while, though, Saf picked up a pair of voices coming towards the stables, away from the sparring practice. It was Jamin and Taphik, one of Jamin’s lieutenants. Jamin was speaking in a low voice. Saf had to strain to hear.
“Some men found a shieling hut up in the valley towards af-Mindergad burned to the ground. One of the girls from the village is missing. And yet more sheep vanished.”
Taphik grunted. “You remember I went up yesterday to look at the last bunch of sheep corpses. I’m telling you, it’s magic of one kind or another.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m afraid of, Taph. What if they’re coming out of the Beastlands? We had rumors last year that they were getting lax on the frontlines. It’s been ages since we’ve had a dragon or a stryppalor but it isn’t so far over the mountains.
Taphik nodded. “Or it could be that whatever we’ve got on our hands now is from within the borders, the Outer Valleys, fleeing something from the Beastlands.”
“Maybe. You know what.. I’m starting to count the days til the Writman comes. I know our lord wants to look in control in front of the Throne, but it’s getting serious. We may need a Mage.”
Saf saw he had missed a bit of horseshit in a corner of the stall, and went to dig it out.
*****
The alpine air outside was glorious after hours inside the stables. Saf felt the weight on his mind lighten considerably. He had gotten his midday meal from the kitchens and felt reinvigorated. Still, he slowed down his steps in order to take as long as reasonably possible in reporting to Natan, one of the castle foremen. To Saf’s delight, Natan assigned him to spend the afternoon cutting timber at the edge of the forest to the west of the castle.
Tree-felling was considered grueling work by most at Murentam. That was probably why he had been saddled with it. Repetitive, demanding physical labor. It didn’t help that afterwards you had to slowly roll the timber back to the castle storehouses, or process it on the spot. Saf didn’t mind any of that, because he loved being in the forest. Whenever he got a break he would be able to rummage around for wild strawberries or blueberries or delicious mushrooms.
He always felt a bit of freedom in the forest. In the castle he was a servant boy, beneath almost everyone. In the woods all of that was gone. Nothing was subordinate to anything else.
Whenever Saf was in a good mood he was primed to marvel at natural beauty. As he trekked through the meadow to join the other wood-choppers, his eyes stayed glued towards the sky. The mountain peaks were beautiful at that time of year. Af-Mindergad and af-Murengad’s icy summits sparkled brilliantly in the sun. Saf could see the high-mountain winds licking at the snow covering, sending wisps of white dust far out into the spring sky. He knew the path well enough that he barely had to look down.
Saf got to the worksite and a burly man that he didn’t recognize handed him an axe and directed him to a felled ash tree. Three other men were already at work, chopping the trunk into more manageable pieces for transport. Saf joined in and before long sweat covered his body, making his shirt cling uncomfortably. Most of the other men had taken off their shirts in the hot weather.
A few teased him for remaining fully clothed. I don’t have a choice. Despite being trapped in a soupy mess of cloth, the work went fast, partly because of the work-songs the men belted out in their deep voices. Saf swung his axe to the beat of the song, falling into an easy rhythm.
That was the first sign something was wrong. The singing had dropped off. Saf’s first reaction was to join in to compensate, but more and more voices behind him fell silent. Saf’s tree was at the edge of the timber area, and in front of him he saw only his two partners on the opposite side of the trunk.
Saf watched them look up from their work and.. freeze. Every muscle trapped in its position. Only their eyes flitted frantically back and forth.
A pit swelled in his stomach. He heard it first. Flinty like the gnashing of teeth, but louder than should be humanly possible. Humanly.
Instinctively, he turned. And it froze him. Terror and adrenaline exploded in his body. Rooted to the spot, all his survival mechanisms only fed his delirious horror.
It looked vaguely like a woman. Vaguely. Taller than any he had ever seen, with long, thin, dark hair that fell on every side of its head. Its limbs were gangly and emaciated. It was naked.
Saf watched it move around the statuary it had created, in a bizarre, hopping, one-two gait, almost like a girl skipping. It would go up to a man, bend down to look him in the eyes, and skip on. Finally it found a man it liked. Saccam, well-liked by everyone.
Somehow it opened its mouth wide enough to snap off the man’s head in one go, leaving a geyser of blood erupting from the stump of his neck. Saf was behind the monster, and couldn’t see its face, but he did see the lump of the head pass down the monster’s skinny neck.
A squirrel skittered heedlessly through the nightmare scene playing out. The Tall-Woman let out a high-pitched yelp and jumped awkwardly into the air. It would have been comical if a man hadn’t just been decapitated.
Resettling, the Tall-Woman claimed another victim in the same manner. Oruvar, Tarnaf, Birmissa, Bisrim, Namari. Saf reeled off all the gods he could think of. Aminingi. Please. Please save me, and if you do, please erase this all from my mind. Saf thought to pinch himself in case this was another dream, but it was useless. He couldn’t move.
The monster settled down. It rejected several more potential meals until it No hopped over No to him No No No No. Saf could make out the eyeballs of the other men straining at their sockets to look at him. To watch him get eaten.
A curtain of hair jerked down in front of Saf’s face. The gnashing sound had stopped. A nose emerged from the hair. A beautiful nose: slender, unblemished, pale. The creature reached a long arm around his back and tapped him. Right on the Marks. It sniffed him tentatively. Then the monster froze. For a few heartbeats it stayed motionless, then yelped, and before Saf could blink — He could blink again! — the Tall-Woman bounded off into the forest.
The men emerged one by one from their petrified state. Saf could hear a couple of them sobbing. All of them had a haunted look in their eyes.
Someone broke the silence.
“Boy, I could have sworn that thing was scared of you.”