"Although Paidos is the seat of its provincial governor and has at least the average population of Andiol's towns, it has sometimes been criticised for being a little sleepy. It is not a commercial centre on a par with Ipalos and, like Nissos, it does not attract attention with its distinctive food culture.
Of all the towns in the region, Paidos is still the most appealing to a peace-loving traveller. Who would not want to spend a day browsing the stalls in the Central Square, then take a trolley to the sports ground to watch the youngsters compete, and at the end of a memorable day, sit down to the famous dinner at the Saramanda’s Inn.
There is something seductive about the ordinariness of Paidos!”
- Every Home Travel Directory, printed in Dimalos in 1590
* * *
Josel
Paidos, Andiol Empire, in 1592, New Era, during the 22nd year of the reign of Emperor Saveir I Negos
The warm spring sun peeked through the clouds and managed to dazzle the crowd watching the sky. The empty hills north of the town of Paidos were only this crowded once a year, when a traditional kite fight concludes the seven-day Spring Youth Competition.
The ten finalists stood ready on the platform. Many of them had been practising patiently since the first days of spring. And with good reason. Fighting on kites required a great deal of skill and ingenuity. As they swooped across the sky at almost harpoon speed, the spectators were easily blinded by more than just the bright sunlight.
The audience swarmed into the background. There were arguments about the air pressure and whether the wind had become too strong. The competitors turned a deaf ear to such things, just waiting for the umpire's signal to send the kites into the sky.
Kite fighting was quite different from other sports in the Spring Competition, which were mainly based on physical endurance or strength. The decent quality kites were expensive to buy, so the youth from poor families were left out from this portion of the competition. While running did not require family wealth to participate, kite fighting had a certain reputation as a sport for the better off. However, this did not diminish the importance of winning in the eyes of competitors nor the public.
Victory, only victory will do, thought 16-year-old Josel Sandkan on his platform. He wanted to make his father proud, his opponents jealous, his friends respect him and the girls in his class admire him. The joy of competition came along for the ride.
He had managed to get a handmade glider from the most renowned kite maker in Paidos. He hadn't had much practice, but Josel was confident in his talents and his kite. After all, he had come third in the kite fight a year ago. Now he had to make up for it, especially as he had made a complete mess of the swim and only finished sixth in the run. Today he would show the others.
The umpire took a significant step forward. The crowd had fallen silent in anticipation. Josel raised the green-tailed kite on his straight arms in front of him and looked at his best friend Franz, whom he had hired to help him observe the movements of the other competitors.
The umpire's whistle blew the kites away. Victory. Only victory, Josel repeated in his mind as the Greentail swung into the wind. Soon the excitement of the race carried his mind into the sky as well. The kite's wings flapped in the wind, his fingers alternately turning the reel and pulling the string. Josel was one with his kite.
There was a roar in the stands as the flyers took each other on. There was applause when their favourite flew out of the opponent's reach. And when someone's race ended with a broken string, there was a gasp of disappointment.
In the Andiol Empire, the sports meetings were seen as educational and training events for children and young people. Training, winning, and losing taught mental control and personal growth, but for adults, competitive sport was not considered a suitable pastime in most parts of the country. For this reason, the youth's contest in the spring was the most important sporting event that took place in Paidos every year.
"Josi, your kite is lower than everyone else's!"Franz shrieked and waved his hand in the direction of the Greentail, which had sunk dangerously close to the ground.
The young kite flyer tried not to be disturbed by his friend's shouting and concentrated on carefully adding the string to his kite. Josel never took his eyes off his kite, but he could hear through the torrent of curses in his ears that another competitor had broken his kite's string and was out of the game.
The gusty wind in the hills ruffled Josel's blond hair and rattled the kites mercilessly. Once again, someone broke a kite string and Josel was one step closer to victory. Let the rivals finish each other off, he thought, deciding to dodge rather than attack.
"There's only five of you left," Franz announced, wrinkling his big nose.
Josel saw the same, glancing at the board held by the assistant to the tournament director. "Who else?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"Bartos, two girls from the Eastgate school and Zdain Monteilon."
"Zdain Monteilon!" Josel pronounced the name, lowering his voice and cursing immediately as his kite lost altitude. It glided dangerously close to the kites of the other competitors.
Soon Josel had to dodge a rather clever attempt by the girl with braids to wrap her own string around Josel's left kite pin and break it. In kite fighting, twisting was the surest way to cut your opponent'sstring, but you could easily ruin your own competition.
The girl's attempt was her undoing. With a sidelong glance, Josel saw Zdain Monteilon's lion-shaped kite swoop down and cut the second string of her kite with a single, precise stroke of its wing. It crippled the competition equipment beyond use.
"Monteilon is right behind you. Push downwind! Quickly!" Franz advised.
The rules did not forbid the use of an assistant, but Josel felt that Franz's shouting would do more harm than good. However, he deftly altered the Greentail's course, taking it away from the lion kite, which was making dangerous dives. Bartos snapped both strings from the remaining girl, sending her rose-patterned glider wobbling sadly to the ground. There were only three of them left in the race.
Josel tried to stay calm, but it was almost impossible. He had to be number one today. He would be hailed as a hero and the arrogant Monteilon would get a well-earned thrashing.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the string of Bartos' kite snap, and the boy threw the reel to the ground in frustration. Poor Bartos was stocky and rather clumsy and did not excelin the other disciplines of the Spring Competition. That's why he had been training hard all spring to succeed in kite fighting.
Third place was not a bad result at all, Josel thought. As much as Josel liked Bartos, he was secretly glad that he had lost the game. Now there were only two of them left: Josel Sandkan and Zdain Monteilon.
It was not the first time they had faced each other in a Spring Competition. It had been two years since Josel had come second and Zdain had won. But that was on a track, not the kite field. This year, neither of them had been successful in the other events, so only a win in the kite-fighting event could save either of them.
Zdain also seemed to have noticed that the other competitors had dropped out of the game. His lion-shaped kite made a sudden, menacing dive towards Josel’s Greentail. The attempt was not clever enough, however, as Josel was able to dodge effortlessly by jerking the reel in his left hand.
Franz said something encouraging, but Josel could not hear exactly what. At the start of the race, Franz's keen eyes and witty advice had been a great help, but now he had to focus all his senses on the sky and the kite if he wanted to come out of the duel on top.
Josel released a little more string from each reel and hoped for the best. A gust of wind caught the kite and he had to fight hard not to break the string from the sheer force of the blower. That shouldn't happen, the shame of it would be too much for him to bear. Second place would be worth nothing, for it would mean a bitter defeat to Zdain Monteilon. It was time to put everything on the line and go on the offensive.
He turned his glider to dive and saw his opponent about to do the same. Zdain was too clever to let Josel to simply cut his kite's strings. The rattling wind did not help his attacks. Turning around seemed to be the only option.
So be it, all on one card, Josel decided, letting his kite rise and fall with the airflow. With flapping wings, the kite arched up, down and in all directions. To the onlooker, the sequence of movements may have looked like aimless darting, but in fact each dive had a purpose. Josel was simultaneously dodging Zdain's attack and looking for an opportunity to circle around the lion kite.
They were equally fast, and the kites reached each other without either gaining a decisive advantage. The fluttery-tailed kites swarmed around each other like peacocks on a courtship display. Then their strings would twist in a death race, to be lost by the first flyer to cut their strings. The crowd, and even Franz, had fallen silent. Everyone waited.
The gliders were snatching at each other and soon they were together on countless bends. Even if both kite fighters wanted to, the tangle could no longer be untangled. Josel pulled as hard as he dared, plunging down again from the heights, hoping for the best. It was now as much a matter of luck as skill.
And then, quite unexpectedly, the kite with the lion decoration broke off both strings and fluttered to the ground, flapping in the wind for a moment. The umpire blew his whistle. Josel raised his hands in the air and let his own kite go. He was the winner!
Franz squeezed his friend in a fierce hug, soon joined by Josel's other friends who rushed to the scene, including Bartos, who was regretting his own defeat. The flurry of congratulations did not prevent Josel from meeting the gaze of Zdain, who stood in the distance. He exuded angry disappointment.
Josel grinned deliberately at the brown-haired boy, who turned briskly and strode down the hill, accompanied by a servant. The sight made Josel doubly pleased. Zdain failed to win any event in the Spring Competition, although he had been the favourite in fencing and the long jump. Josel himself had been the best kite fighter in his age group. Could a 16-year-old have hoped for anything better?
* * *
Josel had celebrated the victory with his friends in the classroom at school until late in the evening. Bartos, Franz and everyone else had treated him like a hero. Franz had commented ad nauseam on Josel's performance and laughed at Zdain's defeat. Even magister Hamus, the esteemed head of the Portwell School, had come to personally congratulate Josel.
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The celebrations went on for a long time, and one by one the youngsters left the scene. When Josel finally went home after the party, the rail-carriages had stopped running. At that moment, instead of choosing a driver, as his father had suggested, he decided to walk home and savour his victory. It was a short journey, and the air was mild.
It was a starry night and the thousands of twinkling dots in the sky lit up the sleeping town. The biggest light in the night sky was the moon, rounded almost to its full size. Casting a bluish glow on the earth's crust, it guarded the journey home of Paidos' best kite fighter.
As he walked, Josel recounted the moment he won the race. The green-tailed kite soared into the sky, the crowd cheered, and Josel Sandkan was the winner. Nothing would stop him now. He would beat the others at the next sports championships in the summer and autumn. And in a year's time, of course, in the new spring races - Josel's last. School would end and he'd have to find something else to do.
More specifically, Josel had not bothered to plan for the future. Working long hours as a shop assistant or in a manufactory were not appealing. His father had made a half-covered wish for university. That would mean moving far away to Dimalos or Nao-Kartheon. Besides, Josel was not interested anyway. He would rather go to the mechanics' college in Paidos, for example. It was said that there would always be work for technicians.
A buzzing in his ears woke Josel from his musings. He searched for the source of the sound but found nothing. The street was empty and dark - or rather, almost dark.
For some reason, the two nearest streetlights had gone out. They had probably run out of gas. Josel had not remembered noticing it before, but now the darkness was closing in from all sides and refused to disperse. There was no light in the windows of any of the houses, and the clouds had suddenly obscured the clear night sky.
It was not an atmospheric darkness, not like, witnessing a stormy night from your own bed. Josel was in a hurry to get home. He quickened his pace and thought about running. Just then the third streetlight went out.
A cold shiver ran from the back of his neck to the top of his head, but Josel shook it off. After all, he had nothing to fear in his own hometown. Still, just to be sure, he looked around and tried to listen. There was nothing or no one. People were asleep in their houses and even the stray cats had scurried off to chase mice. Josel was alone on a dark street.
He took a few unsteady steps before something came into view. Josel flinched. Someone was standing further ahead, under the lit streetlamp.
There was no reason to be scared. The night watchman had just arrived to light the streetlamps.
Josel forced himself to slow down as he walked towards the only light bulb on the street and the figure standing by it. The closer he got, the more he began to feel that it was not the night watchman after all.
The figure standing under the streetlight was wrapped in a dark robe with a hood covering his face. Josel's mind flashed back to the newspaper reports of robbers and murderers outskirts of the province. There shouldn't be any of that in safe Paidos.
As he came to a street corner, a dark figure suddenly stepped forward. Josel tried to scream, but no sound came from his throat. Even his feet were bound, unable to move. At the same time, a hand grabbed his forearm and would not let go.
Josel tried to break free, but the striker held firm.
"Don't move!" a man's voice cooed from the hood.
Frantic Josel looked around: the street was still deserted, and no one would come to help.
Then the assailant's hood fell. The light from the streetlamp fell just in time to reveal the most horrible face Josel had ever seen in his life.
The man's lips were badly bruised, as if torn off by some kind of tool. The lipless mouth was stuck in a grimace, revealing teeth and gums that made Josel sick. So did the raised scars that criss-crossed the man's face. Even the stranger's gaze was disgusting to meet, for whites of his eyes yellowed morbidly.
"Congratulations on your victory, Josel Sandkan," an unfamiliar old man’s voice croaked, though it was hard to tell his age from the mutilated face.
"How do you know my name?" Josel asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice.
"I've been watching you. I’m Kal’ditha, give your father my regards. Don't forget, Kal'ditha," the stranger rasped, looking at Josel with devilish, burning eyes.
Then the grip on his arm loosened and Josel found himself free. Without a moment's hesitation, he darted away, but stumbled and fell to his knees in pain. The barking laughter of the scarface came from behind him.
Josel winced and pushed himself to his feet. When he turned to look, all the streetlights were lit up again, but the scar-faced stranger was nowhere to be seen. It was as if he had vanished into the darkness of the night.
The stranger's eerie laughter still echoed in Josel's head as he stood alone in the street, trying to catch his breath. His hand tingled where the scarface had held it, and the pounding heart refused to calm down.
Could the lipless horror return? Or summon something even more terrifying? A shiver ran through Josel’s body and a voice in his head told to hurry home.
* * *
Only in the hallway of his home could Josel really catch his breath. What had happened in the street now seemed distant, a kind of nightmare that had passed and would be forgotten with the dawn.
He looked around and noticed a light shining from the living room. From that direction came the sound of soft footsteps and then Josel's father entered the hallway.
"Well done, Josel! I received the news of your victory this afternoon. I'm sorry I couldn't come to the hills to watch," Andreuz Sandkan said with a smile on his face and gave a clumsy pat on Josel's shoulder. "You must be tired, but perhaps you could tell me about the race," he added.
The suggestion sent a warm feeling through Josel's chest. Usually, Dad didn't have time to talk because he was constantly interrupted by work or something more important.
Josel followed his father into the living room, determined not to spoil a rare moment by telling him about the frightening stranger. Maybe what had happened was just a coincidence; after all, the lipless man didn't have to mean anything.
Despite the late hour, Josel, sitting at the lounge table, told his father about the race from the beginning to the last whistle. He would probably never tire of explaining his victory.
Andreuz nodded his head in agreement and asked a few clarifying questions. When Josel mentioned the congratulations from magister Hamus, his father's smile widened. Usually, Andreuz Sandkan's ears only heard reprimands from teachers about how his son should concentrate more on his schoolwork.
Almost half an hour passed during this conversation. As his father began to prepare to go to bed, Josel began to feel that he could not remain silent about the strange encounter after all. "Dad, I met someone on the street who sent you a message. There was something strange about it...the man said 'greetings from Kal'ditha'."
"What did you say? Repeat!" Andreuz Sandkan's eyes flashed with sudden uncertainty and fright. "What did the messenger look like?" he demanded in a voice so frantic that Josel became a little worried.
Josel described the disfigured man as accurately as he could.
His father rose from his chair and muttered to himself, "Strange, very strange.” Then Andreuz made up his mind and said firmly, "I must go out. You stay inside."
"Why? Who is this Kal'ditha?"
"Don't ask questions, it's safer not to know."
"But I want to know!"
"Josel, enough. Listen to me. If I'm not back by eight in the morning, go straight to the imperial governor of Paidos and tell him something has happened to me. Only the governor can help you then.”
"Curtus!" Andreuz shouted, pulling on the wire leading to the attic, causing the bell upstairs to ring. Curtus Jerovann was an old man who lived in the attic of the Sandkan house, acting as Josel's father's personal assistant and looking after their home. This had been the case since Josel was a very small child. Since his mother's death, most of the Sandkan family's chores had been left to Curtus.
Before long, Curtus was stumbling down the stairs with a knife hanging from his belt. He could tell from Andreuz's tense expression that something was wrong. Curtus brushed his grey hair and waited for an explanation.
Curtus did not have the habit of talking too much, which often led guests to think he was just a servant. In reality, the relationship between Josel's father and Curtus was an equal friendship, and the old man was not an indiscriminate executor of Andreuz Sandkan's orders.
"Josel was accosted in the street by someone who said his name was Kal'ditha. Do you understand?" Andreuz explained, giving a brief description of the man's appearance.
The words made Curtus shudder and rake his hair twice as hard. "Damn it! There's something ominous about this..." he stated but did not go any further.
"I agree. We need to find out why this Kal'ditha is approaching us," Andreuz said and continued towards the front door, nodding, "Come on, let's go."
"What about the lad?" Curtus asked, glancing at Josel with a hint of concern on his face.
"He's safer here."
Josel had followed the conversation in silence, but his father's concern had begun to catch up with him. Something very serious was clearly at stake, for Dad was still saying, "You'd better lock the door and not open it for anyone but me and Curtus."
"What if someone else comes to the door?" Josel asked.
"For your own safety, pretend you're not home."
The men began to leave. In the corridor, the father repeated what he had just said, "Josel, remember the governor if we are not back by morning."
Josel nodded, although he did not understand. What would an important person like Dareis Monteilon, the imperial governor of Paidos, care about the one-night absence of a family man?
He did not have time to wonder aloud, because his father and Curtus were already on their way to the stairwell. Josel stood in the middle of the floor for a moment, then hurried to place the iron latch on the front door.
Would a light latch be enough to stop the lipless stalker? The thought of the man rattling the door set Josel's hair on end. He rushed into the kitchen and rummaged through the drawers until he found what he was looking for. The knife looked sharp, but how did they fight with it?
A knife in his hand, Josel sank into a soft armchair in the lounge. Thoughts raced through his mind. The situation was too difficult to comprehend.
His father had also been acting strangely for a long time, always on guard, watching Josel's movements with almost paranoid attention. The father was clearly weighed down by some worry or burden he could not speak of. It had been like this since the death of his mother.
A wave of sadness hit Josel every time he thought of his mother. It was almost two years ago. It was almost two years ago. She had been on her way home from the market when a cart loaded with vegetables broke loose and rolled downhill at full speed. Idalae Sandkan was crushed under it and died instantly.
After Josel’s mother's death, there was no joy in the Sandkan home. Dad was buried in his work, even if it was not work in the true sense of the word. While the fathers and mothers of Josel's schoolmates worked as craftsmen, merchants or imperial officials, his own parents' career choices were rather unusual.
Idalae Sandkan was essentially a housewife but had achieved moderate success in the cultural circles of Paidos with her landscape paintings. Andreuz Sandkan, on the other hand, was a writer whose adventure novels sold poorly.
Despite modest book sales, the Sandkans' home was never short of anything. There was often a selection of whole meats on the dining table, the furniture was custom carved, and Josel's wardrobe was full of stylish clothes.
Otherwise, life was unadorned and backward. Andreuz and Idalae were not seen in the social circles of Paidos, and the parents had no close friends to invite to their home. They had not answered their son's inquiries about the reasons for their reticence.
The unusual blondness of the Sandkan family was also curious. Unlike the darkish-featured Dimali people of Andiol Empire, Josel had blue eyes and wavy golden hair. His mother had been very fair-haired and fair-skinned, and his father had sandy hair.
By the age of ten, Josel had made the connection between his own whiteness and the traders who had come to Paidos from far to the west. His parents, however, had evaded his barrage of questions, merely acknowledging that the family came from a vaguely distant place. Of course, the other children had noticed Josel's unusual appearance and he had been nicknamed Goldy from an early age.
* * *
Andreuz and Curtus did not return within an hour or two. All the while, Josel had been pondering the strange encounter, trying to weigh it up from every angle. He had been unable to make sense of the situation. Finally, he had fallen asleep on an armchair in the lounge, with the knife for protection.
It was early morning when he was awakened by the sound of voices echoing from the staircase. Without daring to turn on the lamp, Josel crept into the hallway. The handle of the knife clung to his sweaty palm.
Suddenly the latch clanged on the doorframe. Someone was trying to get in! Josel's heart jumped into his throat. He did not know what to do.
He took a few steps back, thinking about hiding. Then, from behind the door, came the familiar, firm voice of his father, telling him to lift the latch. Josel calmed down and hurriedly opened the door to the stairwell. Rain-soaked Andreuz and Curtus stepped into the hallway.
"No need to stab me, lad," Curtus said gently after seeing what Josel was holding.
Embarrassed Josel put his weapon down. Waiting for an explanation, he stood and watched as the men peel off their wet outerwear.
Andreuz Sandkan put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Josel, as I said, it is better that you know nothing more at this point. For now, the most important thing is that you avoid the stranger you met at all costs. If you see him, run away and come and tell me."
Josel sighed in frustration and, without answering, staggered back to his room. He threw himself onto his bed and almost immediately fell into a restless sleep, filled with kites curving in the sky and hooded strangers lurking in the streets.
* * *