Authors: L. M. Roth
On and on the
path wound, deeper into the heart of the forest. As they journeyed on they
gradually became aware of a heavy silence. No breeze penetrated this abundant
growth, and all but a few birds had flown away for the winter months. The
woodland seemed empty and lifeless in the absence of their song.
The snow
continued to fall lightly around them, hushing their steps in the quiet forest.
The sky had darkened from the pale hues of sunrise to a soft gray the color of
doves cooing in the mild air of spring.
Gradually,
Marcus felt a growing sense of uneasiness, like that on the River the previous
day. What was it that made him feel they were not alone in this wintry wood?
Was there a sound of snow disturbed from its branch where no bird perched nor
wind touched? Was it an impression of a downed limb trodden on where no
woodland creature scampered on the forest floor?
He looked
about him warily and met the eye of Dag, who silently nodded. So he sensed it
also! Dag shook his head in warning to Marcus, but moved a stealthy hand toward
his long spear strapped to his back. Without a sound he loosened the bonds and
gripped the spear in a sure grasp.
Marcus wished
he could use his sword, Logos. But he had been warned by Xenon to never use the
fabulous sword in violence, and to that end Marcus had vowed. Still, the
warrior in him wished for a weapon of his own to wield, should the need arise.
He glanced at
the others to detect whether they also sensed danger. Kyrene’s eyes had widened
and she peered from right to left as if to spy out hidden enemies. Felix slowly
stopped whistling as a frown creased his forehead, and his still puckered lips
ceased their song. Elena watched the path at her feet and trudged on, numb with
cold, oblivious to all else. Cort scampered along as though glad to be in a
northern land once more.
Suddenly,
Marcus’ attention was caught and held by a vision ahead of them. At first, he
thought a mound of snow had risen in the trees to the right. Once his eyes
focused through the snow still falling gently to the ground he realized what he
had mistaken for a snow bank was a cloak of white fur, covering a young woman
who peered out from under the hood at them with eyes of blazing green. They
were as deep as the emerald stone, and glittered with the same air of mystery.
Seeing that
Marcus had spotted her, the woman stepped out boldly on the path. She was tall,
easily as tall as Marcus, and she showed no fear at being alone on a forest
path encountering strangers who may prove to be enemies.
Indeed, Marcus
detected an air of challenge in her, as though she mutely dared them to proceed
on their way.
“Hvore ert
pue?” Dag asked her in his native tongue.
The woman
laughed in a deep voice that sounded like the dry rustling of autumn leaves
blowing in the wind, and evoked the smoky scent released from them when a
careless tread crushed them beneath the feet of a casual stroller.
She gave Dag a
sidelong glance from her lowered head and smiled at him with a mocking air, her
teeth of glistening white revealed through the cherry red of her full lips.
“It is
I
who should ask who
you
are, stranger,” she replied in the Common Tongue.
“For you are trespassing on the lands of Arvid, son of Arne, and he will brook
no intruders on our ancient grounds. You are now my prisoners, and I shall take
you to Arvid, who will decide your fate.”
Felix started
to chuckle, only to cut it off due to a swift jab of Kyrene’s elbow in his
side.
He cleared his
throat and wiped the smile from his face as if with an unseen hand instead.
“And pray tell
us,” he struggled to say with proper sobriety, “how you attempt to take so many
of us prisoner, when you are only one against half a dozen?”
The woman
fastened her green gaze on Felix, and smiled slowly at him with the air of one
who anticipates a tasty morsel. Her smile widened into an insolent grin. Then
she suddenly clapped her hands above her head.
At once in
answer to her signal, the trees around them revealed fur-clad figures, all of
them holding cross-shaped bows in their hands, each bow holding a sharp tipped
arrow. All of them were pointed at the little band of friends.
The strange
woman turned to Felix.
“I think I
will manage quite well,” she smiled coldly at Felix. “And my name,” she bowed
ironically to Dag, “is Ylva.”
They followed
Ylva and three of the fur-clad warriors. Around them on either side and behind
them were the rest of their captors. Surrounded on all sides by their enemies,
they knew a struggle would be in vain.
Kyrene’s lips
moved in silent prayer, while Cort moved closer to Dag, who placed a protective
hand on his shoulder. Elena followed with tightly clamped lips, her black eyes
flashing as she scowled at Ylva. Ylva herself glanced back at them
occasionally, a sneer visible on her partially hidden face.
Marcus and
Felix walked side by side, and risked whispering to one another in their own
tongue.
“If only you
could reach Logos to consult it on the best course of action!” Felix lamented.
“I feel the
same,” rued Marcus. “Yet, we
did
pray and ask Zoe to lead us to the
fulfillment of our quest. This must play a part in that somehow!”
Felix shot a
grimace at Ylva, who sauntered ahead of them with cocky assurance.
“I truly hope
you are right, Marcus,” he replied quietly.
Their path
began to widen, and the trees to thin out. They eventually came to a clearing
and at once felt warmer. It had been so cold in the forest, where the sun had
difficulty penetrating the denseness of the trees. Here in the clearing they
were able to lift their faces to the yellow orb that seemed as welcoming as an
old friend among the strangeness of the frozen landscape that surrounded them.
The vista
changed from forest to field, albeit laden with snow. A lake in a meadow
shimmered with a covering of ice. Around one edge rose tall pines only lightly
brushed with snow. Just beyond them they beheld barren trees with icy branches.
Between the pines and the ice-clad trees they glimpsed a path.
Ylva turned to
address them.
“Yonder lies
the dwelling of Arvid, Thene of this land. Your life will depend on his good
will. For invading his territory you must beg for his mercy. Or die. And none
have yet lived who have come uninvited.”
She smiled a
slow and frosty smile that chilled them all, as if she anticipated their
execution and eagerly hoped to witness it.
“And I thought
this
land
was cold,” Felix whispered to Marcus. “It would seem balmy
compared to this woman’s icy heart.”
Marcus agreed
with his friend, but steeled himself to meet with courage whatever fate awaited
him in this frozen land.
The path
between the pines and the icy trees broadened into a little grove. Here the
snow fell softly straight to the ground, with no wind to disturb it. The
towering pines enclosed it on three sides, creating a tranquil cathedral in the
frozen landscape.
Marcus felt a
peace steal slowly over him in the beauty of this place. Gradually his spirit
settled within him even in the midst of the uncertainty of their fate.
Have faith in
Dominio, he told himself. He permitted Zoe to lead us here, and surely He will
lead us safely home.
Ylva turned
sharply to the right, away from the pines. Marcus had been too absorbed in his
thoughts to notice that the path took a sudden turn.
They came out
of the grove of trees and looked down into a valley of surreal beauty. Here the
trees were clothed in ice, ice so heavy that the limbs were bowed by the weight
of it. Here and there were pools of ice that glistened over frozen ponds, and
reflected the trees in their austere glory. But most curious of all were
several spouts of what appeared to be steam dotting the landscape. The vapor
rose in the bitter air, giving the scene an ambiance of unreality, as of some
alien presence in their midst.
They descended
with care into the valley, walking slowly on the path that was now covered with
a light glaze of ice where the snow had partly melted in the midday sun, only
to freeze anew with the coming of sundown. As they proceeded they drew nearer
to the stream that gushed up through snow covered ground, creating little pools
of water around their opening vents.
Elena drew
back in alarm, but an arrow at her back stifled the cry that would have escaped
her lips. On drawing closer to them Marcus realized that the steam came from
hot springs deep underground. It was not unlike the hot water that was piped
into the baths that he loved to frequent in Valerium. But never before had he
set eyes on their source.
He thought the
upward gush of water into the winter sky was a sight to behold indeed! Vapor
spewed out into the air, only to fall to earth as tiny crystals of ice.
Ylva stopped
for a moment and frowned at Marcus.
“Stay back
from the skrells,” she warned him, “they are sacred to us, and we do not permit
strangers to venture too near.”
She quickly
turned back and led them on until they came to a broad glen in the valley where
there stood a structure of light blondish wood. It arose three stories high to
a peaked roof. On each level was a balcony that encircled the entire floor.
Letters of curious design were carved into the wooden door, in a language that
Marcus was unfamiliar with.
Ylva stood at
the door and rapped on it twice, then once, then twice more. An eye appeared in
a tiny slot that suddenly opened at the level of a man’s brow. The eye appeared
to recognize Ylva, and the door opened to reveal a tall young man with an air
of caution.
“I bring
prisoners for the Thene,” Ylva announced to the guard.
He permitted
them to enter; then abruptly left them.
They came into
a large hall of perhaps sixty feet long by twenty feet wide, with a ceiling that
rose some thirty feet above it. To the right and to the left staircases climbed
to interior landings on the second and third floors, from which rooms opened
off the landings. The only room on the lower level was the great hall, with
open fires scattered about to provide warmth.
Ylva turned to
face them with an air of menace. She drew down the hood of her furred cape, to
reveal a mane of red-gold waves that fell in profusion about her shoulders. Her
face now fully revealed, Marcus noted the wide brow, angular cheekbones, and
narrow jaw that tapered to a sharply chiseled chin. It was an arresting face
that drew one’s attention and held it. The flashing eyes, full red lips, and
creamy skin were attractive in a sensual way that made promises to those its
owner might wish to seduce to do her will. But it was a face that was neither
delicately pretty nor entrancingly beautiful. Marcus decided she would never
entice him, being accustomed as he was to the more refined beauties of
Valerium.
Ylva stood
grinning at them and drew her tongue slowly over her lips.
“I have sent
word by the guard to Arvid. Soon you will see why it is not wise to enter our
land as an uninvited guest.”
They waited a
full twenty minutes before the guard reappeared. During that time Marcus took
note of their surroundings. The pale blondish wood of the exterior was
prevalent throughout, with here and there scattered about on the walls
tapestries of blue that seemed to reflect the same theme over and over: water.
Water depicted as bubbling streams, gushing skrells, and cascading fountains.
Indeed, the central focus of the hall was a fountain carved out of sleek gray
granite, filled with small stones of black and gray over which a steady stream
of water gently flowed.
Marcus
pondered on the significance of these depictions, and caught the eye of Felix,
who little by little crept closer to Marcus, wary of catching the eye of Ylva.
“What do you
think is behind this water portrayed over and over?” Marcus whispered.
“I know not,”
Felix muttered in response, “but it stokes my thirst!”
Marcus grinned
but shook his head ruefully at his friend. It was just like Felix to find the
humor in even a dangerous situation!
Just then Ylva
whipped around toward them, and he quickly assumed a more sober mien. Ylva
opened her lips as if to speak, but the reappearance of the guard quenched
whatever she was about to say.
“The prisoners
will now be taken to the Thene, to give account of their trespassing before he
conducts their execution,” he announced with a tone of gravity unmatched by the
grin of malice that lighted his surly face.
Up the
staircase they ascended to the highest level. Through a heavy door carved of
the same light wood they entered, their hearts pounding with trepidation. When
they entered the room it was with surprise that Marcus surveyed the same
tapestries with the water themes portrayed in the lower hall. Once again a
fountain bubbled, but in this room it flowed from a statue carved from some translucent
whitish stone tinged with a pale icy blue that Marcus did not recognize. The
statue rose to a height of a tall man, although Dag towered above it by some
five or six inches.
The face was
that of a woman with strong features: a straight nose, high cheekbones, and a
mouth curved in a benevolent smile. She was clad in flowing robes carved with
such precision from the stone that they had the effect of falling regally about
her. Out of her hanging sleeves stretched hands held out as though in blessing,
and it was from her hands that the water streamed into the fountain.
But they had
only a moment to perceive the statue for the Thene was waiting for them, and it
was to him they must give their account.
Seated on a
high-backed chair of the prevalent light wood set on a slightly raised dais,
the Thene was a man of about fifty winters. He sat erect and proud in his
chair, like some ancient king faced with the peasants of his realm, his face
impassive. It was a face heavily lined and weather-worn, as though the harsh
climate had imprinted itself upon him. His heavy lidded eyes were as small and
bright as a bird’s, and gave the impression that, like an eagle’s they saw far
and wide and missed little. Like a bird’s beak was his nose, large and sharp at
the end, and his small mouth looked as if it had been many years since it had
broken into a smile.
When he spoke,
it was in a deep voice graveled with age, yet strong and inflexible as an
eagle’s talons.
“Who are you,
and how do you dare to enter Jytte’s Land uninvited?” he thundered as he glared
at the little band of travelers.
Elena gasped,
only to be quickly hushed by Kyrene’s soothing voice, and Cort moved closer to
Dag. But Marcus stared unflinchingly at the Thene. He dared to address him.
“My name is
Marcus Maximus, the son of Valerius Maximus, the great General who led the
Imperial Army of Valerium to many great victories. My companions and I were led
here on the current of the sea and took shelter from the harshness of the
winter clime. In my great country of Valerium, whose realm extends far and
wide, it is considered only right and noble for hapless strangers to be
extended the utmost in gracious hospitality. Who are
you
, may I ask, and
what manner of barbarian are you, to detain innocent travelers in this way?”
The guard and
Ylva gasped in astonished outrage that any would dare address the Thene in such
a manner. Elena cast shining eyes at Marcus, and Kyrene smiled her proud
approval. He heard a snicker escape from Felix, not suppressed this time, as
though he openly applauded the courage of his friend.
But the Thene
merely blinked at Marcus, while his face remained impassive. For a moment he
seemed at a loss for words. Then he spoke.
“Boldly
spoken, stranger,” the Thene pronounced gravely. “My name is Arvid, son of
Arne. I am no barbarian, but the protector of the sacred realm of Jytte. This
is her land, and few are permitted to enter it, and none are permitted to leave
it, lest her secret be made known and our world overrun by strangers treading
on her holy ground.”
Marcus
digested this statement with a sickening heart. What the Thene left unsaid was
that he intended to have them executed, just as Ylva had threatened.