The following week Marianne followed the same routine, and after dumping the bucket on his head the prisoner put the still full plate of food before him and motioned for her to sit before him. As she grabbed a lamb shank, dripping with juices that smelled of red wine and herb, delicately trying to bite into it without spilling it all over her clothes, the prisoner began to talk.
“Let’s talk about something a little different to last time,” he looked up at her as she wiped meat juices from her chin, “The frozen forests of the northern lands are home to a myriad of wild beasts. The wild geese are huge, there are massive moose with antlers that are bigger than a mans stretched arms, and foxes and rabbits the same colour as the snow who are impossible to see until you stand atop them.
“But, by far the most dangerous creatures in this inhospitable place is the bear. They come in different colours and sizes, but all should not be trifled with. To hunt one you must make sure you have the right equipment. The right bait, the right weapons, the right mentality. Here I have a story about a man who survived an attack by a bear while he was weaponless…”
* * *
Tyran took a few steps from the apparent safety of the trees into the large, snow-covered clearing that opened up before them, building to a small hill in the middle. At the peak of the hill stood three cairns, built from various sized rocks taken from the surroundings. He stopped as a chill breeze crept through the multiple layers of clothing he wore.
He looked over at West, who was leaning up against a tree. His only new adornment from the attire he had worn at their first meeting was a thick woollen cape that he had now wrapped around himself. His hand snaked from under the folds and motioned for Tyran to continue.
“What are we here for?” Tyran whined, unused to the cold of the northern reaches of the continent, “There’s nothing out here. Only this snow stuff.”
He stamped his feet as he tried to free himself of the ankle-deep substance that was beginning to soak his boots and stockings with ice-cold moisture. This place they were in now seemed to have snow in abundance, something his homeland in Ukaibe had not seen for countless generations. Snow was like a myth further south, to those un-travelled.
“The village Soothsayers were very clear. Everyone one we saw said the same thing,” West began reciting the same thing he told Tyran every time the question had come up in the past few days, “The man called Ulfgar is the best tracker in these ranges, and he is our best chance to convince someone to join us.”
“And this is the spot?” Tyran pointed up at the almost empty hillock. West just nodded solemnly. Tyran sighed and his shoulders slumped forward, all will to fight the impending trudge through the snow gone. West waved him on again.
His feet crunched through the snow as he made his way to the cairns. His breath misted before him as he started to feel that the world was getting smaller. The trees were getting smaller and smaller, and the sounds of the forest creatures were dwindling until the last sounds of birds whistling was just the ringing in his ears.
The white that surrounded him felt oppressive, the pale blue sky, devoid of a single cloud, starkly contrasting the bleakness of the snow-covered landscape. The ground rose before him and his movements became more laboured as the thickness of the snow increased the further away from the trees he got.
He reached the top of the hill, atop which stood the three cairns he had seen from afar. The emptiness of the world around him pressed in and he shivered, not from the biting cold, but from the feeling that something here was otherworldly. The cairns felt out of place now, but his eyes were drawn to them, and he looked more carefully at them.
They were put together from a myriad of differing stones, each placed precisely atop the other so they formed a kind of cone-shaped mound, which rose past his waist. The central one was roughly his shoulder height at the top and the base was wider than his shoulders. The other two were smaller versions on the central one. None of them seemed incomplete, and upon walking around them Tyran saw that flowers had been placed between the rocks on the leeward side, protecting them from the chill winds.
A smaller mound just off to the side intrigued him. He had not seen it from the distance, but now he noticed it and how it rose just above the height of the cairns. Tyran walked up to it and then tried to climb his way up.
His hands tried to grab onto the snow, but it just pulled away every time. He pushed his hands in deeper, attempting to grab onto whatever was forming the mound. Finding purchase he grabbed and pulled himself partway up. He grabbed again, slightly further up, and was surprised by what his fingers brushed against.
Fur? His mind raced at the idea of fur being under the thick layer of snow.
Before he had time to think further on it the mound shook, snow being flung to his left and right and blasting into his face. The fur he was holding onto rose up, dragging him with it. Tyran screamed at the sudden onslaught of snow and movement and let go, falling backwards into the snow. His arms and legs scrabbled at the ground as he tried to move away from the hulking mass that was continuing the shake snow from its bulk.
As the snow settled Tyran could more clearly see a huge, brown, fur-covered shape had risen before him. Its height towered over his own, and it was easily twice as wide as he was himself. He tried to move slowly away from the creature, to hide behind one of the cairns while it had still not seen him, but his hand pressed into the snow causing it to crackle as it passed between his fingers.
The mound of fur before him grunted with a deep low rumble. Then it started to sniff at the air in front of it. Its shoulder lowered and Tyran could see it was starting to turn around. Adrenalin began to kick in, his muscles beginning to warm up, and his breathing quickening. Twisting around his pushed himself off the ground and began to run towards the trees he had emerged from.
He could see the path he had taken to get up to the rise, the lines through the snow of where he had dragged his feet giving him a clear indication of where he needed to go. West was down there. He would think of something. His scabbard began to tangle with legs as he moved frantically, causing him to trip several times and land face-first into the snow.
Tyran glanced over his should and saw that the mound of fur had slowly turned itself around. By its sheer size he thought the creature that was looking in his direction and sniffing at the air, was a bear. An animal he had only heard tales of, as they were not found too close to the arid deserts that he called home. It was more massive and fear-provoking than he had originally imagined.
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He was about halfway to the trees when he looked back and saw that the beast was now starting to come down the hill towards him. Its thick legs pushed the snow apart quickly, and its front paws pounded on the ground before it ever now and again as it picked up speed. Tyran let out a squeal as he doubled his efforts in getting away, his hand pressed against the cold pommel of his sword in an attempt to keep it out of the way.
The sound of the bear closing in was creeping up on him now, the thumping of its feet and the crackle of the snow resounding in his ears. Tyran stopped in the snow, understanding that running wasn’t helping him anymore. He wasn’t used to the moving through the snow and the bear was catching up to him fast.
With ragged breaths he tried to grasp the hilt of his sword, but his fingers were numb with cold and were struggling to maintain a proper grip. With a glance up he could see the mass of fur-bearing down on him, the crunch of the snow beginning to sound like the breaking of bones in his head. Finally managing to get a grip on the hilt he half drew it out before a voice broke into the sounds of the snow.
“No weapons,” West called out and Tyran slammed his sword back into its scabbard, “They have a soft underbelly.”
Tyran’s head raced as the bear suddenly reared up before him, arms high in the sky, casting a great shadow across him. He braced his back foot, leaned low, and drove his elbow deep into where he assumed its belly was. The fur gave way and he could feel himself striking something fleshy.
The bear let out a massive burp as the air was suddenly expelled him its body and it fell forward, crashing into Tyran. The burp caused a wave of smells to wash over Tyran, various kinds of foods and the unmistakable smell of alcohol. The bear's dead weight pushed Tyran to the ground and he tried to roll out of the way but his leg was caught.
Laughter broke through the quietness that now surrounded him, as he could hear West moving out from under the trees and starting to make his way through the snow. The bear groaned and rolled away from Tyran, to lay spread-eagled in the snow. Finally free, Tyran took the opportunity to put distance between himself.
“Ulfgar I take it?” West called as he started to pull something from inside the pack on his back.
"Not so loud," the bear called out, in a very human-sounding voice.
“What the hell…?” was all Tyran could manage to say through his shock.
The figure before him sat up and pushed back the hood of what, Tyran now understood, was a huge fur cloak. The face beneath wasn’t much better than the image of the bear though. Big features covered it, and vibrant red hair was everywhere. Bushy red eyebrows, a mass of red hair flowing from on top, and a huge beard which the man was now scratching.
“What you want from me?” the man gruffly directed his questions towards West, “Haven’t you heard I like to be alone?”
“Oh yes,” West uncapped the bottle he was now holding and took a swig of the clear liquid. With a satisfied ‘Ah’ he put the cap back on and continued, “I heard that, but I also heard other things. And I was hoping you’d like to talk to me for a bit.”
Tyran could see that the man, who West had called Ulfgar, was eyeing the bottle greedily and licking his lips. He nodded to West and stretched his hands out, to which West easily offered up the bottle. Quickly unsealing it Ulfgar took a swig and gave a sound much like West had.
“Oh my, you brought the good stuff,” Ulfgar patted the snow beside him for West to sit, “Fine, I’ll talk…”
Tyran crawled a little closer as the large man started to tell his story, and West sat beside him as the two of them shared the bottle of what Tyran assumed was some vodka.
“Not too long ago I had gone out on a hunting trip with the others from town. We were going to find a few big beasties and bring back a smokehouse full of meat. The plan was going well, everything was fine. But when I got back to town I made my way out to my homestead. I live a fair distance out of town, takes a good half-day trek to get there. We liked our solitude.
“But when I got out there… When I got there,” Ulfgar hunched over further, his shoulders shaking, his voice beginning to crackle as he tried to hold back tears, “When I got there I found my house open. The sounds I had expected to see were not there. And the smell that assaulted me as I got in nearly made my stomach curl. When I saw my wife and children lay in the middle of the floor, pools of blood around them, flies everywhere, I lost it. I broke down.
"I found a trail from my house, and followed it, my blood aboil with rage. I was relentless, I continued, unsleeping, never stopping. And eventually I found their camp. It was Imperialists. They had sent small roving bands of men north. I don't for the love of my land know why, there isn't really anything up here. But I killed them all. I didn't let a single one escape.
“It made my rage subside. I was just filled with sadness then. So I gathered my family up and buried them atop this hill. This is where my wife and I had loved to come when she was younger. Look out of the tops of the trees at the vast white landscape. How she loved the view,” tears freely fell down his face now, mixing into his beard.
“I know why they came,” West said solemnly, “There was talk about it before I defected.”
“Oh, you’re an Imperialist?” Ulfgar asked with a slight shrug.
“I am sorry to say, friend, that I was. When I realised what was happening to the people though, I defected. Now I’m trying to find a way to put a stop to this war,” West shook his head, “But anyway. I believe they were coming in search of mineral reserves. Gold and silver to fund the war, iron to make more weapons. They would have wanted to steer clear of major towns, but a small cottage in the woods, they would not hesitate to take what they wanted and silence those who tried to stop them.”
West rested a hand on Ulfgar’s back.
“I am sorry.”
“You said,” Ulfgar looked up at West now, a slight twinkle in his eyes, “you were looking for a way to stop this war?”
“Yes, I am,” West stood tall and offered a hand down to Ulfgar to help him up, “And I would like for you to join myself and the boy, Tyran, while we seek this out.”
Grabbing the offered hand Ulfgar brought himself up and turned the assistance into a handshake.
“If we can bring an end to this, then I will gladly help you.”
* * *
“And so, the two men continued on their way, now with a bear as a friend,” the prisoner finished as Marianne wolfed down the last pieces of food from the plate.
“I don’t really understand what you were just speaking about, but it sounded interesting,” she said, wiping her mouth on her sleeve to remove the last remnants of her gluttony from her face.
The prisoner raised his head and let out a short laugh, “I agree, I don’t understand it myself. Why would a bear follow a person who it had just tried to attack? My mind is a little fuzzy on this. I’ve only spoken about what I can see in my mind. I’m sorry if you leave here confused.”
Marianne politely excused herself from the prisoner and left the cell. Her mind was a flurry of activity now that the story was finished, and as soon as she had put her belongings back in her small room she took what free time she had to make her way to a library which resided on one side of the large square that fronted the Palace.
No one would look for her now, so she took her time to wander around the many shelves that were covered from top to bottom in books. Ukaibe prided itself on the number of books they had and the high level of literacy they promoted throughout the country. Even maids like Marianne could read, though not to the same level as the nobles, but at a serviceable level.
Eventually she found a tome which she thought might hold the answer to what she was looking for. The History of the Monarchy of Ukaibe. Marianne began flicking through, looking over hundreds of years of information on the Royal Line. Births, Deaths, Marriages, the amount of information the tome held was amazing. Marianne didn’t understand the significance of most of it, but she was on the lookout for something in particular.
Finally, she turned a page to see a family tree on it. Just like the first story the prisoner had told her, there were seven sons of royal blood. Looking at the date she counted back on her fingers and realised that the family tree was from around a hundred and fifty years ago. Flicking through the rest of the book to see if there was another with seven sons she could not find one.
When she was sure that this was the only one she turned back to it and looked at the seventh son.
“So, his name was Tyran?” she looked across at the other name and could see they had years listed for their births and deaths, but when she inspected Tyran’s entry it only listed a birth. Her brow furrowed as she tried to understand.
Closing the book she placed it back on the shelf and made her way back to the Palace.