The Auric Insignia (20 page)

     Refaz looked at Ama, and seemed to see through the hostility, to the conflict below.

     - Ama, it’s the right thing to do.

     Feeling that the conversation was over, Refaz walked over to Roarke, who had taken out his spear, trying a few jabs in the air.

     - We probably should have taught you some moves.

     - Is it that obvious I wasn’t born spear in hand?

     - A little bit.

     - Aw shit, I thought I had everybody fooled.

     - Seriously though, I know Ama was just deflecting, but are you going to be okay?

     Roarke gave up trying to fight his invisible opponent, sitting down in the dry spot he had found.

     - I’m fine. Don’t get me wrong, I probably won’t be tomorrow, but hey, what can you do?

     - You could leave.

     - What?

     - I mean, nothing is forcing you to be here, this is not your fight, not really. Why choose to fight it?

     - Honor and glory, of course.

     - A poor reward for pain and death.

     Roarke looked off to where Ama was standing, trying to imagine what the Kappa of wolves was thinking about.

     - Somebody said it was the right thing to do.

***

The highest must be served

It was quiet, unnaturally so. In a forest, no matter how deserted it may seem at first glance, there is always movement. But this was no forest, and everything around him felt off. Beyond the slow, deep breaths of his sleeping companions, Ama barely heard anything. No birds, no rustling in some nearby leaves, there were not even any insects out in the night, making themselves heard. He felt like he was inside a corpse, a land that had once been alive, but that had died and that was currently decaying all around him. Nothing thrived, some of it managed to survive, bent shadows of what used to be, allowing no escape from the guilt he felt. As he rose, as silent as the quagmire surrounding him, Ama wondered if he was doing the right thing, if he was righteous in his line of action. Without waking anyone from their slumber, he started walking, and in the dead of night, he allowed himself some honesty, admitting that he didn’t care. Didn’t care if he would be hated, his name cursed when it was heard spoken out loud, at least he wouldn’t stoke the fires of his own self hatred that burned inside his chest, consuming him.

     He, the fuel, his peace of mind, his laughter, all of it kindling for the flames, leaving behind cinders as gray and lifeless as the hues of his coat, filling an almost empty husk. The only thing left, spared from the fire that had once kept him hot, angry, a fire that now, in the absence of substance, left him feeling cold and detached, was his wish, his wish to once more see that innocent smile. The smile that was the last remaining point of light in a sea of ash. Countering the darkness of his mind, the light from the braziers atop the walls encircling the courtyard shone in front of him, leading him to his destination. Not out to fight his way in, Ama stepped out on the road, walking with slow paces against the gate. Beside the biggest brazier, stood a sentry that had noticed Ama’s approach. Brandishing a crossbow, the guard yelled out in the night.

     - The gate of Fenmyere is closed at night! State your business or leave!

     Not answering, Ama continued to walk closer, so that the guard could see him for what he was. Almost jumping from shock, the man atop the wall  gripped his crossbow tighter and was just about to speak when Ama spoke first.

     - I am here for the lord of the keep, I am here for Racka.

     Confused and scared, the sentry understood that the nightly visitor wasn’t any old vagabond seeking shelter.

     - Who, eh, who shall I say is requesting an audience with our lord?

     - His brother.

     With eyes the size of saucers, the man ran off without a word, descending the ramparts, leaving Ama alone. In his wait, Ama looked out towards the small stilted houses that rose from the toxic void that dominated the landscape to the west. Looking, at first glance, as if they were empty, the dim lanterns shone no light om either man or beast. But Ama’s sight, like orbs cut from amber, saw deeper through the nocturnal cloak, to the pitch black interior of the small homes. Peering out of open doorways and staring from slanted windows, were orbs like his own, shaped out of quartz, in which muting fear was swimming in colors of brown, green and blue. He saw their pain, knew and understood it. Still, Ama didn’t feel the compassion he knew he should probably feel, an old, automatic response took its place, collective disdain.

     - Sir? Excuse me, sir?

     Leaving his wandering thoughts behind, Ama turned his attention to the man standing on the wall.

     - Yes?

     - You are allowed to enter, the lord will see you immediately.

     And with that, the gates began to open, folding up to reveal its insides to their guest. Waiting inside, an armed escort of guards proceeded to position themselves on either side of Ama, their expressions a mixture of fear and steeled vacancy. Ama had not expected any less and made no protest to their advances. If it would come to a fight between him and the guards, the outcome was not in doubt, but Ama had not come to fight guards and so, he allowed their presence. Led by what he assumed was some sort of leader, their procession started crossing the yard, heading for the main entrance of the keep. As dictated by the hour of Ama’s arrival, the yard was empty save for a handful of guards that were stationed at strategic locations. If any servants had been present prior to his entrance, they had been cleared away before before the gates had been opened. To his left, Ama saw a large metal structure taking the shape of a cage. Inside, he could see the beasts that had, the way he saw it,led him to his one last chance, however morbid and crass, at redemption. The hounds, as any other beasts, were slaves to their internal rhythms, rhythms that now existed in the dormant phase. As such, Ama paid them little attention, he was after the head of the snake.

     Ascending to the doors, Ama and the soldiers around him climbed the small stone steps up to the keep, looming above like a dark giant in the night, promising horrors on any who dared to enter. They entered a conservatively lit entrance hall, illuminated by lamps sprouting from the walls. Not stopping there, the procession moved on in an almost ceremonial pace, each and everyone one of them walking with the weight of the situation on their shoulders. Moving through hallways indiscernible to one another, they arrived at a door, where they stopped. The leader, the stony faced woman who had led their cortege, opened the door and signaled with a lame hand for Ama to enter.

     - The lord awaits below.

     Ama looked at her scarred face, a face of someone who had learned through tough lessons not to show any emotions. Having experienced more battles than most, Ama could see that these old wounds had not come from combat, but he didn’t comment on his observation. He walked through the open doorway, the door closing behind him with the soldiers on the other side. Standing at the top of a staircase leading down into the earth, Ama could feel the slightest breeze, like fingers going through his fur. Passed the point of no return, both physically and mentally, he walked down the stairs until he reached another door which he opened to the subtle sound of air whistling as it was allowed passage through. Ama noted that even down here, the smell of the swamps lingered, clinging to everything everything and everyone it came into contact with. Standing in a natural cave, covered in what could have been the fangs of  some ancient monstrosity, fangs upon which some unlucky few had met their end.

     - Brother! Come in, come in!

     As it echoed against the roof, at first Ama couldn’t pinpoint from where the voice was coming from, but just the sound of his lost kin made Ama’s heart beat faster.

     - Racka?

     - Can you imagine my surprise when I was disturbed by a measly guard, saying someone claiming to be my brother is standing at the doorstep of the keep?

     A moving silhouette drew Ama’s attention to a hill some distance into the cave. Atop the hill stood poles between which cloth had been strung up, creating a sort of blurry depiction of someone moving behind it. Sealing up the sides of the taut cloth, was a large mirror on one side, with a bulky dressing cabinet facing it on the other side. Both of them fine pieces that looked out of place amidst the dirt and muck. Walking past the grim scenes on display around him, Ama was transfixed.

     - Racka?

     - I asked “where is he now?”, “He’s standing outside, my lord.”, he said, he said that, to me!

     The voice sounded strange, not like Ama remembered it. Its tones jumped up and down in unstable shifts, and it had an edge, an edge that had not been there when last they spoke to each other. Ama however, did not care, he had come here this night, wishful thinking driving him beyond reason, hoping for a change. What determination he had felt going in, felt like iron in comparison with what he felt now.

     - “Let him in”, I said! Off he went, scurrying like a rat on fire! I have to hurry, I said to myself, I have to be ready to show my new self to big brother when he comes.

     A demented giggle came from behind the cover, a sound that felt malicious. Ama’s vision began to blur as tears flooded his eyes, pouring down his furry cheeks. Feeling more than he had in a long time, he took a shaky breath as he started the small climb up the hill.

     - Racka?

     - Soon!

     Ama reached the top where he stopped, barely managing to stand, both terrified and happy at the prospect of seeing his fallen brother emerge from behind the drapes.

     - You see, brother, I have moved up in this world, no longer the runt of the litter, now the packmaster. And despite what some fucking cunts might say, I am the right hand of the highest! Fucking bitch!

     And as he stepped from the dressing screen, Racka continued.

     - I am Racka, and I am the master’s most loyal!

     Standing atop the hill, in front of his brother, was the lord Racka. Clad completely in the flayed skins of the victims of his sick obsession. The dead skin stretching and bulging to fit his inhuman frame, a quilt showing the different colors and complexions of the original wearers. Racka raised his arms and spun around as the echo of his hysterical laughter rose to new extremes. Finally, he started to slow down, slightly out of breath as he stopped to face Ama.

     - So, big brother, what do you think?

     Ama looked at his former kin, at the rotten smile, and at the twitching mannerisms. He looked into the eyes that had, once upon a time, been like a mirror of his own looking back at him. He looked long and hard, trying to pierce through the madness in hope of seeing something familiar lying underneath. Wondering how something could become so twisted, Ama realized that he no longer recognized the reflection staring him in the face.

     - Well, brother?

     - I am sorry.

     - Sorry?

     - I am sorry if I failed you, that I allowed this to happen to you, I am sorry.

     - Brother!?

     - You’re no brother of mine, you have taken him from me and given me a ghoul in his stead. When I look at you, I don’t see the happy Racka I once knew and loved, I see a stranger, a monster.

     Like from one heartbeat to the next, Racka’s mien changed. Going from that of bubbling madness to that of brewing insanity.

     - Well I’m sorry you feel that way, Ama, but then my orders are clear. The highest must be served, and I’ll prove myself the most capable servant, Racka will prove himself!

     - Do what you will, I am spent.

     Closing his eyes one last time, a final tear ran down Ama’s slick cheek and into his mouth. As he tasted the salt, Racka’s scream seemed distant, like from another world. Ama was in a happier place, a place where a wolf, standing on two legs, was watching his baby brother playing in the warm rays of the sun. And as his throat was slashed, and the salt mixed with drops of warm metal, Ama, the Kappa of wolves, cried no more.

***

I trust you

In the yard below, the wolf was leading his own funeral procession across the damp gravel. He was already dead, his sentence decided, now a shell waiting for the axe to fall. The small party moved on, going outside of the narrow slit that Marielle could see from where she was standing. Ever the survivor, she analyzed the situation, factoring in the events unfolding below her. Coming to the conclusion that the changes were inconsequential, she left the window, following the plan she had set up. The hour of the wolf was closing in fast, in more ways than one, and Marielle was moving to the next phase in the scheme. She moved in the shadows, slinking past the guards posted in the keep with ease. Her knives remaining sheathed, every soldier she passed was given a grace from her cold blades, saved by their own nescience. Off to see if her outsourcing had carried fruit, her sights were set on bigger game.

     As the carer for the hounds, Offa slept in the stables so that she could tend to them at any hour, if the need arose, something that wasn’t even required of the actual stableboy. Exiting through a small side door, she moved alongside the wall leading to the stable entrance, unseen by the guards on the ramparts, who had their focus directed out towards enemies unknown. Arriving at the door, Marielle could see the faint light of a candle coming from inside. Slowly opening the heavy door, she entered a deeper darkness, away from the pale moon above. Every latch and door closed for the night, the flustered breaths of the horses felt close, like they were breathing down her bare neck. Walking on soft hay, she moved closer to the light, the light that she now could see was coming from an empty box, from where a small voice was starting to be heard.

     - I did it, mum, I did it. I did like the nice lady said I should. I think its going to work, some of them even started to turn ill before I had left.

     The voice went quiet and Marielle stopped, waiting to hear if it would resume, after a pause, Offa’s one sided dialogue continued, her voice on the verge of breaking.

     - I miss you.

     Marielle had now gotten so close that she could see Offa sitting on a blanket laid out in the soft hay. Remaining unnoticed, she observed the child talking to a crude drawing made on the nearby wall, depicting a woman.

     - I miss you, mum, I’m all alone and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.

     - You’re not alone.

     Offa jerked around, fear in her eyes, fear that she had been overheard in her solitary confession.

     - It’s okay, Offa, it’s just me, Marielle.

     Offa relaxed a bit and wiped her cheeks for signs of weakness.

     - I did it, I did it just like you asked.

     - I know, honey, I know you did, and I’m proud of you.

     Like the child she was, Offa’s face lit up when she was given praise.

     - I’m leaving Fenmyere tonight, and I wanted to ask you a question before I left.

     - What, my lady?

     - Please, call me Marielle. I wanted to ask, and please don’t feel pressured to say yes, the choice is yours, if you wanted to come with me?

     Offa jumped to her feet and ran to Marielle, throwing her short arms around her deliverer.

     - Yes, yes, yes! Oh thank you, my lady, thank you!

     Marielle freed herself from the embrace and bent down to one knee.

     - Okay, great, I was hoping you would say yes. Now listen carefully, we have to be quiet and remain unseen, the gate is closed so we will have to go over the wall, okay?

     - Okay.

     - Gather your things, we leave when you’re done.

     - Okay!

     Offa immediately started packing up her bedroll, along with a broken comb and some other trinkets that were lying in the hay. She didn’t know where they were going, she didn’t ask because she didn’t care, any place had to be better than her current home. In the meantime, Marielle retrieved some rope hanging on the wall, rope they would need for their covert escape.

     - I’m done.

     Having packed her modest possessions into a burlap bag that she had swung across her back, Offa seemed eager to leave for greener pastures.

     - Great, then let’s go.

     Pinching  Offa’s cheek, Marielle gave her a warm smile before they headed for the stable’s exit. Opening a small crack in the door, Marielle, standing in front, made sure their path was clear before they continued.

     - Okay, Offa, we’re going to go over where the guards don’t patrol, we’re going to climb the cage.

     Filled with fear, happiness and adrenaline, Offa just nodded her head vigorously. They opened the door and ran back the way Marielle had come, until they came to the wall of the keep. Hugging the corner, Marielle waited for the pattern of the patrolling guards to turn in their favor, and when it did, they started crossing the open courtyard. Coming up on the kennel, they entered the area devoid of humans with a choice, including the guards, which meant that in this night of canine quietus, they would be able to climb the wall, away from searching eyes and alarming hounds.

     Up close, it was obvious that something was wrong in the cage, dog after dog lay still in unnatural positions, some early demises the victims of cannibalism carried out by the stronger members of the pack before they as well, met their end. The ground was covered in watery excrement and vomit, brought on by the poison that had killed them. As Marielle hoisted Offa up in front of her, she saw, in her wait for the child to get a head start, two large hounds, one black as coal, and the other tan in color. Dogs that had, in their prime, struck fear and respect in any and all who had laid eyes upon them, or panic and pain in those who had been unlucky enough to feel the ferocity of their vicious bite.

     Now, like two lumps of fur, drenched in shit and retch, a scene with an odor that would have demanded the attention of anyone close by, had it not occurred where it did. Climbing after Offa, Marielle soon got to the top where they could easily jump to the nearby rampart. Going up to the brink, Offa looked over the edge to the swamp below, looking worried.

     - Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.

     Realizing her worry had been plain, Offa smiled towards her savior.

     - I know, I trust you.

     Making sure that one end of the rope was tightly secured, they let the rest fall to the ground underneath, after which they started rappelling down the side until they felt some somewhat solid ground beneath their feet. Far out on the peninsula, on the opposite side of the clays huts, the already soggy ground was melting away in the open waters that expanded to the west.

     - I have a boat tied up just over there.

     Marielle pointed over to some reedmace further off and started walking away from the keep. Her comparably long legs gave her an increasing distance to Offa who hurried behind her, trying to keep up.

     - My lady, wait up.

     Marielle didn’t stop but instead increased her stride, traversing around the hidden sinkholes until she vanished in the area with tall grass, swaying ever so slightly in the night breeze coming in over the water. Offa started running, her feet sinking down in the dark before her struggling momentum managed to pull them back up again. Plunging in between the Typha plants, she stopped, frantically searching for the kind lady who had promised her another life. Her fear of being alone demanding that she scream, fighting her fear of being caught, forcing her to whisper, a hushed plea was heard from her lips.

     - My lady?

     No words answered her begging request, in their place, suddenly, were hands of greater strength than she could deny, pushing her down. In an attempt to regain her balance, her feet unconsciously tried to reposition, only to find that they had sunk down into the bog. Unable to avail herself from the assault, her head was pushed down under the surface by hands gripping her matted hair. She screamed but her drowned voice served no purpose other than to fill her lungs with water as she reflexively tried to draw breath. Clawing at anything she could find in her desperation, the gloved hands of her attacker only tightened their grip around her life. Her chest was burning and with every gulp of water, the fire in her lungs was stoked. She shook and fought, wishing to be anywhere else but finding it impossible to escape the now. Finally, her pleading got a cruel answer, and she was no longer anywhere, she was nowhere, and she was nothing. Pushing off the limp body of the child, Marielle saw the waters slowly envelop it, along with the small burlap bag containing a broken comb, some trinkets and the lost dreams of a girl, until finally, the black mirror that was the surface once again became whole. Standing up, she turned around and started walking back towards the dark keep. What was still intact of the body once the acidic decay had taken its toll, would rise to the surface again telling of her deed, but by then, she would gone.

***