Mist upon the Marsh: The Story of Nessa and Cassie (32 page)

“You are very wise,” Qiello remarked admiringly. “A very wise Endalin. You speak rightly – for I swear, that I have told only the truth.”

Ceir staggered, then, and began to fall; and she required the support of her mate to keep her upright.

“You look different,” said Dahro to Qiello; “different from the other Voranu. Who are you, really?”

“To explain that,” said Qiello, “I must tell you the whole of a rather long story. Will you listen?”

Dahro nodded miserably.

“Knowing as you do full well about the race of the Voranu,” said Qiello, “or, as you call them, the
Ziruk –
I am sure I have no need to speak of anything so far gone as the house of Ingen, or the unfortunate fate of Eparo. Instead, I will venture to begin some ten years ago: no doubt you will recall your breaking a Voranan safe-house, about that time.”

With an affirming nod from Dahro, Qiello went on.

“Of course we fled from you that night, under leadership of Arol. But I, you see, had long despised the nature of myself and my people – and did long heartily for a way to escape it. So I sought Arol’s leave to turn back from the path he was forging, and to return to the safe-house with my family, where we would beg the Endai’s mercy and assistance. But he would not grant it. Rather he condemned us to death, and ordered Gormov to round up several of his soldiers, and handle our executions while the main party moved on. Well, Gormov did mean to follow orders, and went so far as to usher us a little farther into the woods, so that the Voranan children would not witness the death of my own pups, only so recently their friends. Yet I broke my bonds before a single death-blow could be struck; and soon we all were free. We fled from the spot, and ventured many miles, till we came to the reeking Western marshland which seemed to offer us temporary safety.” He paused, and looked wonderingly up into the darkness that hovered below the ceiling; as if visualising, and considering intently, what misfortunes he had suffered.

“We have dwelt in that place,” he continued, “for all these ten years. There was a time, long ago, when I maintained some small amount of hope for our salvation. But that
hope is gone now; and the reason for it, is the reason also for this situation that we find now upon our hands. I went so far, once, as to seek for the assistance I so much craved –”

But here his words were cut short, as a dagger at Morachi’s belt was unsheathed, and driven deep into his ear. Wide as was his head, the tip of the long knife only went so far as to glimmer subtly at his opposite ear; and with nary a cry, nor a single drop of visible blood, he dropped down to the floor, and fell again to examining that great cloud of darkness there above him.

Now, it is only sensible that, throughout Qiello’s entire speech, Morachi had been growing more and more anxious – till it came to the point where he feared the immediate revelation of his conduct, ten years past. What he had considered so certain and evident then, he was now not entirely sure of; and he knew not how some of his own people would receive the fact, that he had once denied this creature’s plea for help.

Morachi’s face fell, as he looked down on the dying beast. For there was, of course, a much more direct matter at hand: and that was the murder of the guard, the guard who had witnessed that night the arrival of Qiello. Of course, the beast had known nothing of this; but the mere direction of his words started up such an abject panic in Morachi’s breast, so that there could be nothing for it but the silencing of those foul lips.

And so he stared down at the Ziruk, and could not for a moment or two manage to collect his thoughts. Rather he only kept still, save for his hands, which shook so very badly that the dagger fell down to the stone. There, now, was the sight of blood – staining the blade a bright and angry red, and splashing all across the floor, as it clattered coldly there. There, now, was a great and growing pool of the dark stuff, spreading slowly beneath the beast’s ugly head.

“Morachi!” cried Dahro. “What have you done? He held the answers, surely the only answers, to my daughter’s rescue!” He turned his face away, and covered it with a trembling hand.

“We had no need to hear the words of such a creature,” Morachi rejoined calmly. “They tell nothing but lies – you know that as well as I. And besides!” He turned his eyes from Dahro, and looked upon the congregation of his people. Their gaze was timid, but skeptical nonetheless. Morachi wished more than anything for that look to pass away – and so he relaxed his body, and composed his countenance. “He told us already all he would tell us, that was any good at all. If the beast spoke true, then Nessa is held prisoner in the Western marshland! If we do not find her, then, at Dog’s Hill, we shall scour the marshland tirelessly, until she is found, and brought home safely.”

There went up a faint whisper through the crowd; but Morachi turned upon it, with madness in his eyes, and cried: “We shall search without pause! We shall do anything and everything in our power, to assure the well-being of your future Queen!” He looked tenderly towards his son, and added, “I shall not see the mate of my own flesh and blood, suffer such a horrid fate! No. She shall be saved!”

An even greater murmuring was begun, now, but Morkin only hung his head out of sight, while all proceeded to stare at him. Orin went even so far as to charge hotly towards Morachi; but Dahro flung out an arm, and stopped him full in his tracks, before any violence could be done.

“Peace, Orin,” he said. “What matters now is finding Nessa. Of all people, I would think, it is you who understands that.”

The blood ran down from Orin’s face, and he fell back a step, so as to look seriously at Dahro. But then he nodded resolutely, and took Ceir upon his arm. He led her swiftly from the hall.

“You and I shall head this affair,” said Dahro to Morachi. His words were not those of inquiry, however – but merely those of fact. “It must be organised with all due haste and alacrity. You understand this?”

“Of course I understand!” barked Morachi. “It was I who promised you ’twould be done.”

Dahro looked for a moment upon Morachi, with the utmost solemnity; and all could tell quite plainly by his countenance, that he thought nothing at all this night, for the promises of such a man.

Chapter XL:

Draw N
igh

P
erhaps we have not spoken so greatly, over the life of this account, of Arol: of his habits, his particular knowledge and understandings, or the details of whatever else may pertain to him. We have said, it seems, the very least that has proved absolutely necessary. But here is the explanation: and this is that, though the face of evil may be of many different masks, its heart is ever the same, and is black as night. What need have we to hear of what we already know so much? We know his name; his rank; his situation and past doings; and how depicted events related to himself (being most especially, the death of Arod; which proves, to a familiar but incomprehensible extent, how even the most evil of souls can be affected by love).

Yet it is only important, now, that we portray his entrance into what battle had been brewing there in the swampland; for surely, his contributions were not small.

While the murder scene unfolded at Mindren, and while Nessa lay helpless and unwitting in the swamp, with innumerable feet and voices buzzing all around her, Aramort sat with his father at Curu-ga, informing him of all that had come to pass thus far that night. Arol listened with still tongue and grim frown, growing inwards ever more furious and displeased (but likewise seemingly despondent and disconnected), as he learnt the true state of things.

Now, he had of course known all this time about the death of Dahro’s son; and had been made happy enough in it, for a while (perhaps even happy enough to forget about the irksome wound in his throat, which took such a very long time to heal). He was surprised not at all when Dog’s Hill was evacuated, with its contents sent directly to Mindren. This, too, served to brighten his dark disposition, by granting him free reign in those places where before he had been hunted. But then, one night, his son Xersha vanished; and he feared somehow the reciprocation of Dahro. What seemed immediately after that, however, nearly all of the fighting force of his stronghold disappeared, in a single fleeting instant.

And then Arol knew his betrayal.

His anger, then, had been insurmountable – or so he had thought. For it seemed that it truly was capable of growing; and exponentially, at that; or so he discovered, when his lastborn son delivered him the name of Qiello. Perhaps we recollect, here, Qiello’s claim of the earlier evening: that he who was considered dead and gone, and out of possibility of retribution, should soon be revealed to Arol as nothing of the sort, and entirely capable of a full and speedy reprisal. True as these words were, at the time they were spoken, Qiello would have been most displeased to learn that they had been rendered moot, by the time such knowledge had actually come upon Arol. Thoroughly enraged would he have been, had he known that his plots would not culminate in the physical facing of his old nemesis.

Father and son sat now before a crackling fire in Arol’s private chamber, silent after so many loaded words exchanged. And they did appear truly strange, in that moment, there so near to one another: such a pale and small-looking human form, seated across from such a dark and hulking monster.

There was scarcely anyone, then, left to them in the place. The greatest portion of the soldiers had marched off in Xersha’s wake, and left their High Prince desolate.
Presently there dwelt with him only females and pups – and a band of fifteen of his most loyal subjects, including his highest commanders. At the head of these, of course, was Gormov (who had not allowed the loss of his ear to send him running after Xersha; and so did prove indeed, that he was more loyal than any).

But here was a turn – and in light of his father’s recent violence of temper, Aramort was thoroughly astonished to witness the aloof response which was now offered him.

Arol finally turned his face from the fire, and said tonelessly, “I care no more, son. Since the death of Arod, I have cared very little – but this is the final blow. I have nothing left in me for the fight. I would rather linger in these caves, with all of these many females about, to service me in quite every way I wish, and to make me good meals. My pride is gone, Aramort! And you, my boy – only think of it. Never before has my heart possessed such desperation, that it would allow me to speak as such: but I compel you now to flee this place, and to return to the Endai, where you can live a life of respectable days! All those to whom you revealed your true identity, are doubtless either dead or vanished. You killed one for yourself! The other has surely already flown to the swamp, where she will be slaughtered; and Qiello can only have returned alongside her. He has not the courage to face Morachi alone – and by the time he marches upon him (if indeed he marches at all), I am sure that you will be the very last thing upon his mind.”

“We cannot be sure of that, Father,” protested Aramort. “There are any number of ways in which the concession I made this night can be delivered to Mindren. It seems, really, more likely than not.”

But Arol only raised his arms, and spread his paws. Truly, the blazing hubris that dwelt ever before in his dark and shining eye, seemed now to have gone forever. His limbs quivered as he moved them, weakened by so very much of the strain that had been placed upon him.

It was in this state of weakness, that he looked upon his son. “It is well worth the risk, Aramort!” he exclaimed. “What sort of life can you have here? Oh, true enough, we could push our shoulders to the stone, and begin work on the replenishment of our house. The rightful house of Ingen! But we should first have to flee, and settle somewhere new, and begin again all those things which we deemed long ago to be beneath us. And what is the point of it all? No, my son – I think I shall remain here, and wait for the armies of your brother to sweep down upon me. It is better that way!”

Aramort stared uncomprehendingly into his father’s face, for he saw nothing there of the fearless warrior he had always known. He saw nothing to assure him, or to comfort him, and so fell instead to a fit of fierce fretting.

“But Father!” he cried. “Surely there is something we can do! Surely these females are good for more than preparing your meals! They are strong, admittedly strong – and we can bring them with us to the swamp, to rush upon our deserters! You and Gormov shall lead us, and we shall prevail.”

Arol laughed heartily. “Do not be foolish, Aramort. An army of women cannot overtake the likes of what forces have abandoned me. And have you forgotten? – surely the hosts of Morachi will attend to those who took up in their claws the daughter of Dahro. It is a crime that will not go unpunished. How, then, are we to prevail, with an enemy army on either side of us? And we, a band of only nineteen, with a long tail of women at our heels!”

Behind a partition of stone lay Arol’s mate, and his two remaining sons. There came now a response from the former, viciously indignant even in the face of the recent loss of her lofty title.

“You would do well to keep such comments out of your mouth, and away from my ears,” she growled. “I have saved your miserable hide more times than I would wish to recall, over all these long years.”

“Ah, be damned with you, Ferahla,” muttered Arol. “Be damned with all of you! I’ll hear no more of any of it. The stronghold of Curu-ga shall fall.”

“They shall laugh at you, Father!” Aramort screamed. “They shall all simply howl with laughter! Your own son will join hands with he who eluded your grasp, and made already once a fool of you. Yes, he will join hands with him, and will shriek joyfully for your cowardice, your weakness, and your idiocy. They will congratulate themselves on having been so very much cleverer than you – and they will spit upon your grave, in hatred of the power you once wielded over them!”

Arol balked considerably at this. A small measure of pride surged back into that dark eye of his; and he straightened up a little, to peer more carefully at Aramort.

“Do you see, Father?” demanded Aramort, grown finally breathless. “Do you see?”

“At least one of you seems to have some amount of sense left in his head,” put in Ferahla, exposing her face now from behind the partition. “A wise wolf, my last son grew to be.”

Aramort turned his fair and beaming face towards his mother, and found great comfort in her own misshapen and hideous countenance.

“Perhaps this deserves some thinking, after all,” said Arol. “Perhaps, perhaps . . .”

Aramort ran to the mouth of the chamber, and cried out into the main cave, “The High Prince wants supper! The High Prince wants a great, grand supper – so that he might nourish himself, and begin on his plans!”

There started up instantly a great scurry of movement, and footsteps flurrying in every direction, in search of a great, grand supper – sufficiently great and grand enough, for such plans as should need to be made.

~

While Arol sat pondering, however (and while the battle formations were being drawn still beneath the earth, in the hidden halls of Mindren), events proceeded to unfold in the marsh – doubtless the location of greatest frenzy and activity.

By now, the wolves who had been with Qiello at Dog’s Hill, had brought to his sons the news that he was alive, and that he had gone on to Mindren. Of course, his sons’ worst fear had indeed come to be; though of course not in the way that they initially believed it to have done. Yet they were relieved in their suspicion of Nessa, and so abandoned for the moment all ideas of reciprocation against her. They merely kept on in their plans, and awaited anxiously their father’s return.

Nessa herself had lain unconscious, all this time, in the hut. But now she began to come awake. Upon first setting foot in the forest beyond the marshland, she had been ignorant to any cold or wind that may have existed. There had been nothing but heat and fire to rage around her, while she ran with the purpose of saving Cassie. Yet now the
coldness of the air pervaded, as she lay alone, and in pain, with the greater majority of her fervour drained away. What could be done now – for either of them?

Yet still, she was determined to try. She snatched the Turin from around her neck, and cast it into a far corner of the dark little hut. And we must credit her, now, with a valiant attempt at crawling towards the door – but what could she really have done, in such a pitiful state, against one such as Niono? It was the very best of fortune, then, that things came to pass exactly as they did.

Nessa was propping herself up against the door, preparing to slam into it with all her weight, quite as forcefully as she could manage; when there came a sound in the distance that made her pause. Her ears pricked up, and she listened intently.

It was the sound of howling, still at present some distance away from the small settlement. But it was rushing quickly onwards, issued from what seemed many mouths.

Not the Endai, certainly. That would have been entirely too much to hope for. Nessa recognised in them the voices of the Ziruk; and knew without doubt that Arol was approaching.

There started up an instantaneous ruckus outside the hut. Feet ran in every direction, thoroughly nonplussed at the moment of their enemy’s descent.

Nessa listened ardently. It was obvious after a little that the majority of wolves in her closest proximity had run Northward; for the land all about seemed utterly free of inhabitants.

And so, supposing that this opportunity might not last forever, Nessa completed her intention of forcing the door. Sapped of strength as she was, it was no small feat; but she managed it nonetheless, and afterwards poked her head out of the hut, to survey the surrounding area.

It seemed that she had judged rightly; or rightly enough, with what glimpses she caught through the thick fog. It seemed to cover all the ground around, moving as if of its own volition, and not the wind’s. Yet ever and anon it separated, and allowed Nessa a peek at the true state of what performance was beginning in its midst. It appeared that Nessa had missed the initial opening of the curtain; for now the nearest stage was empty, and void of players. They had all rushed away – without thoughts of their prisoners, she supposed – upon hearing the warning sounded by Arol’s party. There was nothing left of them, now, but the sound of their distant cries.

Which left Nessa, of course, free to creep quietly from the hut. She knew, from the wolves’ previous guarding of it, that the adjacent hut held Cassie. So she went directly to it, having by now gained her feet; and moved very slowly upon her legs, for her muscles burnt and seized so violently, she felt ever in danger of collapsing in defeat. Yet she would not, could not squander this benison offered down from what hands dwelt behind the clouds.

She came with gasping breath to the door of the hut. She looked despairingly on the strong reeds wrapped round the rude door handle (there cannot be mightier found, than those which grow in the darkest and dankest places on earth, and which solidify themselves all the more on account of their loneliness and misery). Cassie would never have had even a prayer of loosing them, no matter how long her captors remained away; but the mad desperation in Nessa’s heart to reach her, growing by the moment into what seemed a malignant venom, which might indeed sully all her blood if not appeased presently – rendered Nessa’s strength for a moment intact, and enabled her to wrench open the door.

Cassie was positioned with wide, watching eyes at the back of the hut; but she could do no more than slump, with rattling breath, against the wall. Any power she may have known before, was vanished now; and she could only inhale sharply, and raise a shaking hand towards Nessa, as the door of her prison swung open.