Authors: L. M. Roth
Nolwenn tried
with increasing difficulty to hide the anger she felt threatening to consume
her. It was just like Maelys to take off and leave her with all of the duties
that she detested so!
Even now as
she helped Judoc in the kitchen, leaning over the spits where the boar was
placed to stoke the fire and the heat made the sweat pour from her brow, she
could barely contain her ire. Why was she the one left behind? Cort had left
and might never return, and Father had left to see with his own eyes how
matters stood in Valerium, and now Maelys used their absence as a pretext to go
off and have an adventure to alleviate her boredom.
Nolwenn knew
that Maelys was weary of Eirinia. She yearned to see the great world, to
explore new lands, and partake of the culture of fine cities. It would be just
like her to use her concern for her father and brother as an excuse to satisfy
her own desires.
Nolwenn
herself loved Eirinia and had no desire to ever leave it. She loved every inch
of this land, from the mist that rolled in from the sea, to the green hills
that glowed like fine jewels, and the woods that seemed to whisper secrets to
those unwary enough to be caught in their domain after the sun had gone down. She
did not mind the rumors of creatures that walked by night, those who wished to
recapture the realm they had ruled so long ago. She was part of this land, and
feared nothing in it.
Nolwenn kept
her feelings regarding such matters to herself. She knew that her father and
mother would be distressed should they ever hear of it. They served Dominio and
Him alone, and she knew that the incident at Spring Festival had upset them
greatly. And the fact that she had stood with Melisande, Brenus and the
villagers distressed them even more.
When the time
came for Summer Festival, she would have stood with them again had not Maelys
dragged her back to her mother’s side. How dare she treat her as a child! She
would soon be fifteen, nearly old enough to receive suitors. She felt herself
old enough to decide for herself where she would stand in any village dispute.
All the
villagers wanted was to acknowledge their ancient lineage and identity, the one
they had always been so proud of in the days before her own father had come and
forbade the worship of their gods. All they wanted was the right to worship in
their own way and not be forced to bow down to one God only.
What was so
terrible about that?
She took out
the amulet that her sister-in-law had given her. How pretty it was! And what a
comfort to have a sister-in-law like Melisande. If only she had been her real
sister! Then she would not be frowned on every time she took her side in a
dispute; for she knew that her mother would never take the side of an outsider over
one of her own children.
Now, however,
she focused her attention on the smoky crystal of the pendant Melisande had
presented to her. Would it show her something today if she asked it a question?
It did not always work, she noticed, a fact she would never admit to Melisande,
so careful was she of hurting her feelings that were so sensitive and tender.
Poor Melisande, she thought, to have no family to call her own, and then to
lose her new husband so unexpectedly.
Nolwenn
eagerly looked forward to the birth of Melisande’s child. It would be in two
month’s time, the first week of November. What a cheerful way to spend the
winter months, looking after the child and nestling with it before a warm fire
on a cold night. For she intended to help her sister-in-law as much as
possible, whether the rest of the family approved or not.
She glanced at
the pendant in her hand. The crystal had cleared, and she knew it would now
answer whatever she asked of it. If it remained cloudy, it remained silent. She
did not understand why this was so, but it was.
She held it in
her hands and rolled it gently between her palms. Then she posed a question to
it.
“Where is
Maelys?”
She gazed into
the crystal and waited for a picture to appear.
Slowly, a form
manifested in the pendant. Nolwenn saw a cloaked figure with a hood drawn close
about its head. She saw a ship, and the rise and fall of waves. Gulls flew
overhead, and a rocky coastline took shape in the background.
The picture
dissolved as quickly as it had formed and the crystal was blank and cloudy once
more.
“Oh!” Nolwenn
fumed. “That does not tell me anything! I know she is at sea, but I want to
know where she is heading.”
She asked the
crystal again, but this time it lay in her hand and did not change.
Two evenings
later one of the village children ran through the green, screaming and crying
so loudly that everyone came out of their huts to discover the cause.
It was Erwan,
the ten year old son of the village blacksmith, known for his high spirits and
the little black dog who was his constant companion. There was no one he would
rather spend time with than his little Cuno. Nolwenn noticed that for the first
time that she could remember the little dog was not with him and wondered what had
happened.
Erwan
continued to wail loudly even when his mother rushed to him and demanded to
know what ailed him so? His sobs now becoming hiccups, Laig strode over to him
and slapped him hard on the back. So stunned was Erwan that his hiccups stopped
at once. He gave one last snivel that convulsed his body before he turned to
face his mother.
“I was walking
with Cuno in the woods. I just wanted to see if the leaves were turning yet;
for I do love to see them change to red and gold! We walked through the trees,
farther than we have ever walked, and came to a path. I have never been to that
part of the forest before; it was a strange path. There were three roads that
met there. And I saw that I was standing on the part where they met.”
His voice
dropped abruptly to a whisper. Nolwenn was suddenly aware of the tension in the
faces around her. Laig stiffened and stared intently at the boy, hardly
breathing, while his wife Niamh appeared almost to be excited as her birdlike
black eyes brightened as she waited for Erwan to continue his tale.
“Go on,” she
urged. “What happened?”
Erwan’s eyes
grew wide and they never blinked as he continued.
“I heard
something; something in the grass. I looked all around me, but I saw no one, no
one at all! It was coming, coming closer…”
He shut his
eyes and shuddered, then wiped a hand across his forehead. His breathing became
heavy as he continued, until the only sound to be heard was the rasp of his
breath.
“And I swear I
saw the grass…move, but there was no one there! And I remembered what my mother
used to tell me about the goddesses, and how they travel together. And that if
you come to a path where three roads meet they demand a sacrifice. But I had
none to give, and the footsteps were coming closer, closer…”
Erwan
shuddered again and would have stopped there, but one look at the faces around
him warned him that he had better continue and at once.
“They were
coming for me. I was the sacrifice! But I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want to
die! And then I heard Cuno whimpering and knew he heard them too. And I heard
Cuno whimpering, and I knew what I had to do,
must
do.
“I looked
around me all the while hearing the footsteps coming closer. I found a big rock
and I pulled Cuno to me. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to do it; I had to!
I picked up the rock and I brought it down on Cuno’s head as hard and fast as I
could. I put him on the path where the three roads met, and the footsteps
stopped. They just stopped.
“I listened,
but I could hear nothing, nothing at all. Even the birds had stopped singing.
And I knew my sacrifice had been accepted, and I was safe.”
There was a
deep silence after Erwan finished his tale. Laig looked inquiringly at Niamh,
who nodded her head. The rest of the villagers took their cue from her, and
nodded their heads as well. Then they all returned to their huts without saying
a word.
Nolwenn
pondered on this strange incident. But she realized the villagers were right.
Erwan sacrificed his dog to the goddesses to save his own life.
After all,
what else could he have done?
There was no
trace left of the warm and hospitable atmosphere that had characterized the
Imperial Palace when Urbanus had been Emperor. A chill permeated the environs
of the Palace, even in the heat of summer. Had beads of moisture dripped from
the ceiling and mold clung to the walls he would not have been surprised.
Justus Lucius
had requested an audience with Emperor Iacomus most reluctantly. He had no
genuine government business to transact with him, but circumstances had forced
him to intercede for the friend of Marcus Maximus, now held prisoner in the
Palace dungeon. He recalled the words his wife Silvia had spoken to him before
he left their villa.
“Remember, you
must not let it slip that this Dag is an Alexandrian,” she urged him. “Only
last week an old man was tortured and imprisoned because he refused to bow in
reverence to the Emperor. Can you believe it? The man was sixty-two years old,
and they broke his knees so that he may never bow to anyone again! And the
Emperor decided to let him rot in prison rather than put him to death. He said
death would be too easy a sentence, that it was better to let him suffer for
his disobedience…”
Justus had
been appalled at the recital of such gross injustice. All the man was guilty of
was common sense, as far as Justus was concerned. After all, why should he bow
to one who was not divine? Whether the man pledged allegiance to a deity was
beside the point: Iacomus was not a god and no amount of delusional belief on
his part would ever make him one.
Now as he
crossed the rose-red and black marble tiles of the Palace, he recalled the days
when Emperor Urbanus reigned. Good years they had been, full of mercy and
benevolence, as the Emperor had pledged himself to improve the lives of those
he governed when he advanced to the throne upon the death of the ruthless
Aurora.
And so he had:
new roads were built that expedited travel, making it easier to journey through
the vast environs of the Empire. The poor were relieved of some of the heavy
taxes that had been introduced when Empress Aurora sat on the throne. And a
medical institution had been founded, with the desire for the availability of
more doctors to heal the sick. The increase of these medical miracle men was
invaluable to the Army, where those who had been wounded in service to the
Empire were treated by the doctors who now could travel with the military and
be on call as needed.
But what good
could come out of the new regime, where a cruel and arrogant man now held
absolute sway? Justus knew the answer only too well: only evil could arise out
of the reign of Iacomus Cornelius, the snake who had slithered his way into the
good graces of the childless Emperor who had been so sadly deceived by the
viper’s charm as to make him his heir.
The golden
diadem studded with rubies that had once seemed to Marcus Maximus too heavy for
the fragile beauty of the Empress Aurora now crowned the head of Iacomus. It
was all wrong for him, Justus decided. The color was too warm for the cold ruler.
It should have been silver with black onyx: silver to symbolize his icy heart,
and black for the deaths that Justus sensed would result from his reign.
Iacomus sat on
the throne as cocksure as if he truly belonged on it. To Justus and so many in
the Empire, he would never be more than a pretender, and one who had
manipulated his way to power at that!
Iacomus idly
draped his robes about him and flicked a hand at Justus with the detachment of
one who no interest in the company that has been forced upon him.
“Well, Lucius?
To what do I owe the pleasure of this audience? State your business, for I have
many matters that require my attention.”
Justus forced
himself to speak in polite and civil tones to the man he despised so greatly.
“It is just
this, Your Grace: it has been brought to my attention that you have in the
Imperial dungeon a man who is known to me. He is an old acquaintance of my
family, although I have not seen him for many years. He was entering Valerium
and was arrested by the Guards at the border. He is no threat to the Empire,
merely an innocent traveler who was passing through. I request his immediate
release if it so please Your Grace.”
Justus
swallowed the spittle that had risen without warning in his throat. He must
under no account let the Emperor know Dag’s status as an Alexandrian. He had
sent Dag a message through Odelius the Palace Guard, alerting him to the
persecution of Alexandrians and the need to hide his identity. But the stakes
were so high that remaining calm was difficult under the glacial eye of
Iacomus.
“And what was
his business in Valerium?” the Emperor inquired.
“None at all,
Your Grace,” Justus answered, fighting a tremor that attacked his voice. “He
was enroute to book passage on a ship that would take him to Lycenium, where he
has family that he wished to visit.”
The attention
of Iacomus was caught at last by the words of Justus. He suddenly narrowed his
eyes and stared at the other man intensely. He drummed his fingers idly on the
arm of the golden throne on which he sat.
“Lycenium?” he
queried. “Where is the man from? You say he wished to travel through Valerium
to reach his destination, but from whence did he come initially?”
Justus
hastened to reply without giving the appearance of haste. Clearly something had
aroused the Emperor’s suspicions, and he must dissipate those suspicions at
once.
“He lives in
Eirinia, Your Grace, one of our remote outposts. But he has a son in Lycenium,
and wished to pass through Valerium to book a ship for his voyage.”
Justus felt
his pulse begin to throb, and hoped that the rapid beating of his heart was not
audible to Iacomus. He made every effort to steady his breathing, which
threatened to come in small gasps as a fit of panic assailed him out of the
blue.
Iacomus placed
his fingers together and peered through them as if hoping to find guidance
there. He took his time answering Justus, prolonging the agony of suspense that
beset the older man. It was at least a full minute before he addressed Justus,
and when he at last did so, it was not with the reply that was expected.
“Hmmm,” he
murmured. “Very well: we shall send for this prisoner at once. I am curious to
meet a rustic provincial who has family in the most refined city of our
Empire.”
They did not
have long to wait. The Emperor had dispatched one of the Palace Guards to bring
Dag from his prison. Justus felt the palms of his hands grow wet and fought the
impulse to wipe them on his robe, thus betraying his anxiety to Iacomus.
Dag seemed to
fill the room with his great height and vast shoulders. Even though he had seen
close to fifty winters, he was still an impressive specimen of manhood, and the
eyes of the Emperor blinked in astonishment before he quickly recovered his icy
composure. Dag stood silent, waiting for the Emperor to address him.
He was careful
not to look directly at Justus.
“Come
forward,” Iacomus commanded.
Dag took three
long strides that brought him within touching range of the Emperor. Iacomus
studied him carefully.
“Tell me,” he
said softly in tones of honeyed velvet. “What business brings you to Valerium?”
Dag did not
blink, but looked Iacomus directly in the eye.
“I wished to
travel and your land was in my path,” he said simply.
Justus noticed
that he did not address the Emperor with any titles of courtesy. The omission
worried him: it worried him greatly.
Justus was not
the only one who noticed the lack of courtesy.
“What was
that?” Iacomus snapped with the rapidity of a lurking lizard devouring an
unwary fly hapless enough to cross its territory.
“I said, I wished
to travel and your land was in my path,” Dag repeated firmly.
He fastened
his gaze on Iacomus once more. At no time did he bow or incline his head. And
yet, Justus was sure that Dag knew better, and understood what was required
when addressing a ruler…
“You will call
me ‘Your Grace’ when you address me,” Iacomus barked as he rose abruptly from
his throne.
He took one
step toward Dag.
“And you will
bow your knee to me when you come into my presence. Is that understood?”
“Why should I
bow my knee to you?” Dag inquired with an air of innocence that Justus was
certain was affected.
Inwardly, he
groaned.
“You shall bow
to me because I am divine!” Iacomus shouted as he at last lost patience with
his thick-headed prisoner.
For a long
moment Dag studied the Emperor in a manner that was completely detached. So
calm was he that he might have been the ruler and Iacomus his prisoner, Justus
pondered in amazement.
When he
finally addressed the Emperor the result was not to the liking of Iacomus, nor
did it appease Justus’ fears.
“What,” Dag
drawled almost lazily, “gives you such a deluded notion as to believe such
nonsense?”
Justus gasped
in horror, and Iacomus erupted in howls of fury.
“I believe
that, you fool, because I have the power of life and death over my people! And
I have the power of life and death over
you
!”
So enraged was
the Emperor that his face had turned an ugly shade of purple, the hue of grapes
that are over-ripe from being left in the sun too long.
“No one has
the power of life and death except Dominio!” Dag thundered in the voice of a
bellowing bull had it the power of speech.
Iacomus and
Justus were both beyond the power of speech: they stared open-mouthed at Dag in
disbelief that one could be so bold as to contradict the Emperor.
Dag himself was
unfazed.
“You should
repent of your blasphemy,” he stated calmly as looked Iacomus directly in the
eye.
Iacomus was
now beyond rage: froth foamed from his mouth and he stood with clenched fists
at the insolent man who dared to defy him.
“
You
are an Alexandrian!” he shrieked.
At the same
instant he turned an accusing glance on Justus, who nevertheless, remained
stoic under his wrath.
“Yes, I am,”
Dag admitted with a shrug of his massive shoulders.
“Well,
Alexandrian, you who are so bold as to defy your Emperor: I am sending you back
to the Imperial dungeon. There you will remain until I, who have the power of
life and death, determine your fate.”