Mist upon the Marsh: The Story of Nessa and Cassie (31 page)

“No.”

Again, Nessa moved back; and in her moment of fright, changed her shape without quite meaning to. Niono seemed to take this as a threat, and so waved to his brothers, who stepped forward to claim her.

Nessa would have dashed away from them; but there came another group from either side of her, ordered forth by Xersha, and positioned as blockades. She could only turn her eyes towards the brothers, who approached her quickly – and she saw, dangling with a bright glimmer from one of their paws, a Turin upon a chain.

She looked wildly to Niono.

“You wonder where I obtained this?” he asked, reading her expression. “It was not so very great a feat. But what does it matter? Go quietly, and it will not be used.”

Quite the wisest thing to do, in that moment, would of course have been to change her shape – for then the Turin could have brought no harm. But, surrounded as she was on all sides, by huge black wolves, she could not but raise her hackles, and bare her teeth against them. In her anxiety, the change did not come as quickly as was its custom; and as a result she was overtaken, before she could revert to human form. Onelen raised up the Turin, and slipped the chain over her neck with the speed of lightning.

She fell instantly to the ground, and began to writhe. It seemed that every fibre of her being came to stand on end. Her blood seemed to boil, her muscles to soften; her eyeballs to turn to jelly, so that she could see nothing. She felt the foam dripping from her mouth, and had great cause to believe that it was mixed with blood. She shivered and shook as if electrocuted, and try as she might, could not still her limbs in their fury.

One of the Ziruk raised her up off the ground, carried her to a nearby hut (the very nearest to Cassie’s own), and tossed her inside, securing the door in her wake. When the seizing finally ceased, she lay quiet for a moment on the floor; but then threw back her head, and howled miserably.

Chapter XXXIX:

Pride Goeth B
efore

N
ow might perhaps be the best time to return to Dog’s Hill, and to the events which we left hanging there, for the greater importance of relating Nessa’s progress. For, as there will stretch some considerable amount of time between Nessa’s being thrown into the empty hut, and her finding a way out again, it is surely prudent to relay the outcome of the altercation between Faevin (or haply we should henceforth refer to him as Aramort) and Qiello.

The two wolves scrapped for a long while in the parlour (and then in the foyer; and then in the yard, where they unfortunately crushed and destroyed a great deal of the beauty of the wild garden which resided there). But once having emerged out-of-doors, Qiello let loose a long howl, which summoned two of his people whom he had commanded to linger nearby. They came to his aid, and quickly subdued Faevin.

So the wolves at last separated, and thrust themselves into opposite directions, whence they stood for several moments hunched and growling, and keeping an intent watch upon any coming treachery from their opponents. But there seemed none to be found, and finally they turned their backs reluctantly upon one another, and flew in their respective directions.

But, before this was done, Qiello gave a short message to Aramort. “You tell your father, now,” said he, “that his people were stolen away by one whom he thinks now to be dead – but shall soon learn to be otherwise. Tell him to come, to come with what ranks remain loyal to him – unless by this time they are none but women and children – to the boundary of what swampland reaches past the bayou. There he shall find his lost people, and a worthy opponent! Go, boy, and console him for the loss of that son who came to me! Surely, he will never again lay eyes upon he who was called Arod; but before his life is through, he shall doubtless see the war-light gleaming in the eyes of him named Xersha! Go, boy, and deliver this unfortunate news.”

And with this, they departed from Dog’s Hill: Aramort to Curu-ga, and Qiello to Mindren. The latter ordered his people to make haste to the marsh, and to assure his sons of his safety.

But you may wonder, what exactly Qiello could have intended to accomplish by travelling to Mindren? Well, he knew, you see, that Nessa would have flown already to the swamp; and so he went, to alert the Endai of her danger, in hopes that this would draw those people likewise to the marsh.

There is no way, of course, that he could not have understood his danger. But he seemed to consider the luring of Morachi (one of his two great foes of the moment) to his own sons, and to the wolfen warriors of Curu-ga – poised exactly for any and all acts of vengeance – of much higher import and merit. As he wished for no more delay, he deemed it fully necessary that he visit Mindren himself, and risk his own skin in attracting its King to the marshland. His soldiers had neither the preparation nor the skill to assault the fortress, and he did not trust that Nessa would fight with them; so he knew it to be integral, to call the victim to the attack.

Hence his great boldness.

Now, on this night, he did not even think of approaching Mindren’s main entrance, but made instead for the secret and rear passage of which the intelligence of his sons, in the preparedness of past weeks, had made him aware. His great strength, of course, rendered the necessity of a key utterly moot; and he pulled up with all his might on the trap-door, afterwards severing the chains which bound it to the head of the passage. He then laid the door aside, and slipped, with some difficulty due to his size, into the passage.

When he reached the end, and peered cautiously out into the hall, he was of course completely ignorant as to which direction he should take. Never had either Arol’s or his own people managed to obtain a plan of the fortress; and on his own brief visit to the place, all those years before, he had only followed Morachi to what chamber in which they had held their short conversation. So now, positioned on entirely the opposite side of the enormous labyrinth of stone corridors, he was oblivious as to his path.

But even as he made his way warily out of the passage, glancing frequently and furtively about, he took a moment to reflect upon the ease with which he had broken into the fortress. None of Arol’s soldiers had ever been able to locate the trap-door (yet another cause for Qiello’s limitless pride as to the cunning of his own sons); and, even had they managed to accomplish such a thing, their descending forces (which would need be considerable) would surely be spotted long before they could do significant damage; and would no doubt be driven back up the passage, and out into the field, which would become a hasty battleground on which the Endai would surely prevail.

Surely, Qiello himself would never before have attempted such a thing as this; but now his marshland was filled with allies, strong and brave; and he was currently alone in his sneaking, so that his presence had good chance of going unnoticed, till the exact moment when he wished for it to be otherwise.

Yet still he wondered, and still he marvelled, that there had not been a pack of sentries there to greet him, and to rip out his throat without thought.

But then he seemed to forget, that it was only hours before that Nessa had flown from the fortress (and, at that, through the very same door by which he had entered); and therefore could only have been a very short time ago, that her disappearance was learnt of.

Though of course Qiello could not have known this, it was Morachi himself who discovered her absence. Morkin kept to his chamber intentionally late (for his and Nessa’s training was always begun long before the dawn), so great was his cowardice in facing his father’s rage, when he learnt that Nessa would not be what he had wished her to be. And so he cowered there behind his door, and beneath his blanket, with a pillow wrapped round his ears.

So riled was Morachi, at being left so long to himself in the training chamber, that he went on his own to Nessa’s room, and forbore to send Rolphin, who was his customary voice in such trivial matters. He knocked long upon Nessa’s door, first softly, and then roughly; and then forgot all manners and civility in his impatience, and thrust open the door.

As we already know, he saw nothing there but a dark and empty bed; for the candle on the table had gone out, and not even Caramon’s ghost lingered to be seen. And so, slamming the door so very hard that it split into two separate pieces, he took again to the hall, and rushed to Morkin’s chamber; and found him hiding there, whimpering like a small boy.

His next visit was to Dahro. He found him sitting in an armchair beside the bed, staring blankly into the flickering flame of a candle, while Ceir lay there upon the coverlet, twitching occasionally, and muttering to herself.

“And where is your daughter?” he demanded of them.

Ceir only groaned, as if in pain; but Dahro turned his eyes immediately towards the doorway, and smiled thinly.

“She is gone,” he said simply.

“Gone?” cried Morachi. “Gone where?”

Dahro raised a hand, and waved it gently through the air. “Gone,” he repeated.

It was at this time that Morachi flew from that chamber – seeming to realise that he would gain no more from either of the afflicted parents – and off to fetch his own children, so that he might discuss with more fervour and detail this unfavourable situation.

It was in the dining hall that they gathered. And their voices were so exceedingly loud, that it was not long before others began to flock to the location, seeking answers to their inquiries as to what was the matter. A goodly number congregated there, while the remainder of the fortress (namely those corridors positioned farthest from the hall) slept on.

This was the state of things, when Qiello slipped through the trap-door. It was for this reason, mainly, that none observed his coming, or even put a halt to it, during the time that he wandered the halls alone. Finally, however, his ears caught the sounds of the small crowd in the dining hall; and he began immediately to stalk in that general direction.

He came to the place quickly enough. He stood for a little outside the great doors of the hall, each of which was deeply carven with an image of a beautiful wolfen form. Above these, with a single word written enormously on each door, was scrolled “Na Endai.” Qiello looked with mixed feelings upon the images; and then could not help but to glance down at himself, and note the horrid discrepancy between.

But he shook himself firmly; took a very deep breath; and pushed his way into the hall. The doors banged behind him, and every head turned to see.

But Qiello had eyes only for Morachi. He strolled gravely towards him on two legs, and stopped only a little before the group huddled round him; and allowed a sneering smile to curl his lips, as the crowd gathered protectively round their King, and prepared themselves to lunge.

As Morachi’s eyes lighted upon him, he revelled for a moment in the sheer astonishment, and the boundless confusion, which were writ across his face. It was quite good for Morachi, however, that he did not stammer any question such as, “What do you do here?” or, “Why have you come?” or any sort of thing at all which would allude to the fact that he was aware of the identity of his visitor. Instead he allowed his mouth to fall open, and his countenance to adopt the self-same abhorrence which painted those of his fellows, and he said:

“What is the meaning of this?”

(There could perhaps have been certain inquiries more fitting, in at least the respect of his supposed ignorance; but seeing as he said none of them, really it matters very little.)

The people looked fearfully towards their King. But then they allowed their eyes to swivel back towards Qiello, as if afraid that to leave him unwatched would be to risk his pouncing instantly upon them, and ripping their very hearts from their breasts.

“Morachi?” said one. “What is this beast?”

“I know not, Rolphin,” lied the King. “Rather make yourself useful, and send for the guards!”

“No!” shouted Qiello.

His voice boomed so loudly between the stone walls, and upwards into the cavernous ceiling, that Rolphin was stopped in his tracks, and convinced that the only sensible action in such a situation was to dash backwards, and crouch in cowardice behind his King.

“No,” Qiello repeated, more calmly now. “I have no wish to fight against you. Not at this moment, at any rate. No – rather I only came to tell you, that your future Queen is now mine. Doubtless she has arrived by now in my domain; and my sons will have done as they were bid. She will not return to you, now. You must go to her aid.”

“You lie!” exclaimed Morachi. He looked to his people, and said, “Kill this beast!”

Several of his sons went immediately forward, and began with an attempt to bring Qiello to the floor; but their adversary swept them roughly away with one of his long arms, and emitted a deep roar.

“You will hear me,” said he; “or your Queen Nessa will die.”

“Liar!” Morachi repeated. “You lie to stave off your own death. It is my order – that this creature be put to death!”

The remainder of the small crowd rallied forth, and prepared to strike; but at this moment there came the sound of the hall doors swinging forth, followed by that of many footsteps upon the stone. Qiello looked back, and saw a great line of Endai streaming in – some seeming only wary, but others absolutely terrified. It appeared that his strident tones had brought all the rest of the fortress surging into the hall. Most lingered back near the doors, frightened by his exceptional ugliness, while several of the older and more composed-looking males stepped directly to the place where he stood with Morachi. They looked appraisingly at him, and obediently to Morachi; and then fell back a step or two.

“Who are you?” asked one of them; perhaps the very tallest, and with perhaps the most noble visage; and perhaps the single exception in a sea of faces filled with shock and revulsion. Of course this was Dahro. Qiello looked upon him curiously, and gave his name.

“He is no one,” Morachi insisted. “He is a filthy Ziruk! He has broken into this fortress – and he will be slain.”

Again, Qiello directed his words to Dahro. He knew, both from days long gone, and recent reconnaissance, well enough that he was the head of Dog’s Hill – and that he was the father of Nessa. Therefore, there could have been none better for him to converse with. “I assure you,” said he, “that you will be greatly interested in what I have to say. It would be to your benefit to let me speak.”

But of course Morachi was not willing to let this come to pass. “He speaks lies, Dahro,” said he. “There is nothing of the truth in what he says. Do not listen.” He looked round at the many faces in the hall, and set his own like stone. “I command that the beast be slain!”

“I, for one,” said Dahro, “would like to hear what this beast has to say. No one move against him!”

“How dare you?” Morachi demanded. “You have no right –”

“He has spoken of Nessa!” said a fellow named Gearin, who had been present at Qiello’s arrival. “He claims to have captured her, Dahro.”

Dahro looked incredulously to Morachi. “You were aware that such a claim was made – and still you would have allowed this creature to be killed?”

“They are only lies,” said Morachi irritably. “Think, man! How can what he says be true?”

“Oh,” said Dahro, with voice now beginning to quake in fear. “Oh, Morachi – I believe it very likely that what he says is true. For what other reason would he have risked his life to come here? He wishes to make us fight.”