Chapter XLII
A grievous, misshapen beast emerged from over a surreal landscape. Topped by a ridiculously small, featureless head, black as coal, his grotesquely massive shoulders grew into fearsome arms, dragging upon the ground or perhaps aiding his stride. He bore down on pitifully stubby legs as thick as columns. The eyes, the nose, a snarl — all bandied for position; then the face belonged to Mog, and he held fire in one hand and grain in the other. With a great booming sound he brought his hands together, and shards like missiles flew from between his fingers and shot through the air. Suddenly his legs grew long as he lifted his tremendous feet high into the air and brought them crashing to the ground. Then the head turned black again, and, bending over, the figure extended his massive reach and embraced great armfuls of earth. Drawing the two farthest points together, he pulled a broad blanket of soil and rock over the sun. Artur snorted and tried to stand as the light dimmed, but he fell back and felt his head hit the hard, flat stone below. The creature’s missing face made a sound of wailing triumph, then faded into oblivion. The dim light returned, and a single flame burned above Artur like an idea. He caught dusky visions of a man standing over him.
“Lo, will ye be joining us now?”
Artur squinted, as even the single candle’s flickering made his head hurt. His legs felt stiff when he tried to move, and his knees would not bend. “Wyllem?” he asked.
“Nay, not any Woolen here. Will ye want some dew water?”
“No questions, if not Wyllem,” groaned Artur.
“Aye, then, your own damn choice. Ye have entered the city. I am Linus, minister to the Raspars. Ye have been brought inside for your safety.” He reached around behind him and produced a small vile. “Lo, take a drink of this; it is your treatment.”
Linus handed him the container, carved from stone, and as Artur took it he heard the clank of metal. There on his wrists hung shackles, with chains leading to rings embedded in the stone walls.
“Lo, just a precaution,” said Linus. “We had to use leg irons to fit your devilish arms.”
The chains were heavy, but the metal light, probably copper or tin. Artur took one link in his fingers and twisted it open, then again with the other chain, freeing his arms.
“Lo. Aye. Damn,” said Linus, trying not to sound concerned.
“Strong enough for this as well,” grumbled Artur, defying his suspicions and lifting the vile in a toast before drinking down its contents. The redness of his anger returned to his face; he was feeling better. He glanced at his knees and saw the bandages wound tightly around them; only then did he become aware that milling people filled the room. He saw too that Kylie had gone missing.
“Lo, ye have nothing to fear. For hours ye have lain asleep, and Bryn nursed ye back to health, blinking tenderly, too.”
“Who?”
“Lo, Bryn,” said Linus, as though Artur should understand, and he gestured toward the area behind him again. Deep within the shadows, Artur could make out a forlorn, delicate face, appearing like a portrait hanging upon the wall. The light glowed softly off her dark eyes and velvet skin.
“Lo, Bryn is wife to me, and shaman to our clan,” Linus continued in a distracted manner as he stacked empty cups scattered about Artur’s rigid bed. “Though Raspar women are allowed a single child, Bryn cannot bear children at all. Bloody barren she is, so our clan honors her most highly, because Gryphon has so used her to benefit all the city. Her sacrifice causes the clan not to spill over the walls’ protection. Symbolic for us; damn real to her. As well, her service to the health of all Raspars requires time and ability that might otherwise have been granted to only a son or daughter. So she receives much honor within the city, my lovely cow. She has nursed ye.”
“Thanks to you, then,” said Artur toward the wall.
Bryn did not respond, except to lower her eyes. “Aye, she has the sadness,” said Linus, stopping his activity to look upon his wife. “The shadows are her realm, she feels less hell in hiding, and she seldom speaks. Many hours she spends polishing the carvings of the city, silent and lost within the melancholy of her heart.”
“Lo, ye talk too much,” a woman’s voice said.
“Aye,” and Linus gathered up the implements and left.
Artur silently gazed into the shadows of Bryn’s corner; her eyes met only the floor. Her faint figure seemed to blend and disappear into the pattern of the stone construction behind her. Raspars came and left without comment nor notice.
“I have felt the sadness, too,” said Artur, not knowing what to say.
Bryn remained silent and sank deeper into the darkness.
Artur lay on his back and considered his situation. He wondered what the outcome of the battle had been, and if he alone among the travelers had been injured or perhaps alone had survived. He wondered if he would see his fellows again, dead or alive, and if he would return to the Rufoux village. For a moment he thought of Andreia, and Lauræl, and wondered if returning mattered. Thinking of Geoffrey, he felt sure the old man probably had finally found a way to die. He eventually slipped into thinking he knew not what. Raspars came in and went out of the room, looking at him only from the corners of their eyes, trying to appear disinterested. Suddenly he was aware of a light grasp upon his arm, and he lurched toward it, grimacing at the pain in his legs.
Bryn pulled away with a slight gasp, retreating halfway into her shadows.
“What is it?” Artur barked. “Don’t startle me like that!”
“Lo, do not grow angry at me,” Bryn returned.
“I don’t grow angry, I am angry.”
“Aye, your anger remains too long. Ye will heal better if ye are at peace.”
“You will not keep me here that long.”
“Nay, ye will not stay long here. Your wounds are not such as to lay ye out. We found this caught in the crease of your neck; some kind of great bug.”
Bryn held out her hand and revealed the crumpled form of a hummingbird, its still delicacy caught like a painting by its utter death.
“Lo, so beautiful. So pitiful in its beauty, never to breathe again. Its life denied,” Bryn said softly.
“What did that fellow say about you? You serve your clan as healer?”
“Aye, though little sickness ever curses us here. No injury within the city, for the law forbids any to strike out against another within the walls. It is our first law.”
“Sounds like you have trouble keeping busy, then.”
“Lo, an occasional accident occurs. Odd accidents. Lo, even Linus, my husband, wears his collar high to hide the scars of such an injury. He walked the ramparts of the high towers one day, and falling he caught the sharp edge of the stones with his throat. Vicious cuts, cuts from stones. Odd accident. I see little sickness, but much death.”
“Yes. What?” said Artur, distracted and stretching uncomfortably. “These bandages on my knees bind too tightly.”
“Aye, but we must keep them tight for now. If bones are broken, we must force your joints to remain still. Now that ye awaken enough to stand, we can test for pain.”
“Well, that can wait,” said Artur. “My head’s too woozy to stand now anyway.”
“Aye. Ye show medical wisdom.”
“Sure I do.”
“Lo, ye had best heal in haste that ye make your escape quickly. These walls will devour your soul if not your life.”
“Escape?” said Artur with renewed irritation.
“Nay, no danger hangs over ye here. But the walls stand not as a fortress so much as a prison.” Bryn looked about, her features painted with anguish, and she rubbed her palms down the front of her torso and loins.
“Why do you say prison? Do you speak of yourself? You feel safe here, and held in high honor, don’t you? Isn’t that what your husband said?”
“Aye, I receive their honor. I sit upon their pedestal, a sacrifice to their gods of empty survival. Every couple to keep only one child, but Gryphon decrees I am to bear none. A great and wonderful honor.” Her voice trembled as she seemed to fade further from sight.
“I am sorry. Still, it is not your people’s doing.”
“Lo, isn’t it? For the dead cry out for their mothers, and there is none to hear but the executioner! My people’s honor mocks my tears, drains the blood from my heart! Oh, that they would simply drive their arrows into me, and not celebrate the denial that tortures me! My voice alone cries for mercy, and yet there is not even one to listen,” and she flung a hand toward her passing clansmen.
Bryn fell to gentle weeping in the corner, Artur struck mute in confused silence.
“Lo, would I not take one?!” Bryn suddenly cried out. “Would I not take one innocent child? Must they all go down to death, when I would take any one offered to me? These little ones, innocents sacrificed to the whims of the past! But these my people, oh, they so honor me! They worship their law, their first law, and prefer the strictness of their habit over healing one broken heart!”
Artur lay in silence, watching the encroaching gloom fold over Bryn. Soon her sobbing offered the only hint of her presence, and Raspars came and went.
Rhodan approached Mercedi in the council room.
“Lo, regent,” he said with a bow.
“Aye, Rhodan,” she replied.
“Lo, how do you judge in this matter?”
“Lo, the outsiders pose no threat to us. We will let them rest and heal, then send them away.”
“Aye, I agree. Will ye counsel with them before that time?”
“Lo, that remains for me to decide. They come from barbaric tribes far to the west. What can they do to add to Raspar fortunes?”
“Lo, but did ye not see what the giants have done to destroy the tower?”
“Lo, indeed.”
“Aye, and they might have thrown down many more towers, if the outsiders had not known how to throw rocks through the air.”
“Lo, what do ye mean to say?”
“Lo, the one called Theodoric, he speaks with wisdom I do not understand. I fear to answer him. And the woman of the Bedoua, she makes marks with an artist’s tool, and by them her leader knows what resides in her head. We can not call these barbaric tribes. They are not inferior to us; they are only different.”
“Lo, now ye it is who speaks wisdom,” said Mercedi, smiling slightly. “I fear to answer.”
“Nay, say not that,” said Rhodan. “But I believe it wise at least to talk with these men, before ye send them on their way.”
“Lo, the Raspars do not know this tradition. For generations we have remained inside these walls, safely hidden from the world.”
“Lo, indeed.”
“Aye, our forefathers always claimed Gryphon did bless us with the safety of these walls, alone inside, forever shielded from the wildness of the outside. How now shall Gryphon reward this breach of trust, this lack of faith?”
“Lo, Gryphon does not see us,” said Rhodan.
“Aye. Gryphon does not see us,” said Mercedi.
