The Invisible Chains - Part 2: Bonds of Fear (15 page)

the nuts, so he will call the generals, all the generals, from the Army,

the Contingent, and the Militia, and he will kick
them
in
their
balls.

Generals don’t like that either. So, they will call their staff officers

and captains and — see where I’m going with this? — kick
them
in

their
balls. They, in their turn will call their sergeants... I’m afraid it’s

getting monotonous. Oh well, suffice it to say that by this evening

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quite a few balls are going to be smarting in Lorseth. And all their

many, many owners are going to want to know who they have to

thank for that.”

By now the men were silently listening. It just could be true,

what this loud mouthed youngster was saying. They understood his

language.

“I guess that before midnight they will have found out that it was

you guys who caused all this ball kicking. My guess would be, let’s

see... breach of discipline, five lashes, harassing nobility, another

five lashes, causing his highness to lose his appetite, twenty lashes...

that makes... an awful lot of lashes. Each. Have you ever witnessed

someone being whipped?”

The leader didn’t move, but remained silent. One of his cronies

shook his head.

“Not a pretty sight let me tell you. The leather and those cute

little iron nails really rend through the flesh. A word of advice. See

that you have a wooden stick to bite on, or you will have no teeth left

after your ordeal. Of course that will only be of any concern if you

survive. Not everybody does.”

He looked at the three men and at last fixed his stare on the

leader.

“You seem rather strong. You might make it. You’ll be crippled, of

course, but you’ll be alive. Sort of.”

“Oh yes,” he added, “and that jaunty, chipper voice you’ll be

hearing in the background, cheering the executioner on, that will be

me. Because, even if you break both my arms and both my legs, I will

have myself carried, sickbed and all, to the central square to witness

the flesh on your backs being turned into pâté.”

The three men looked at each other, not at all sure if this young

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man was just bluffing or if there could be some truth in what he said.

Doubt started to spread on their faces.

“So, shall we begin?” Obyann asked, needling them on and with

his free hand drawing his dagger, the only weapon pages were

permitted to wear. “You’re so big, I must be able to stab something,

don’t you think, if only by accident?”

The men weren’t at all sure anymore if they wanted any part of

this.

“Hold your horses, young sir,” the leader said, as dignified as he

could. “We meant no harm. Just a little bit of innocent fun, that’s all.”

He turned to his two companions. “Come, let’s go. They’re not that

pretty and they’re obviously not going to be good sports about it.”

The men nodded, relieved, in agreement. Without another word

they turned around and walked away. Rahendo followed them with

his eyes.

“Oh Obie, I was so afraid,” he said when they had turned a corner,

and his morose voice for the first time suited the occasion. “And you

were so brave.”

Retching sounds made him look back and he saw Obyann, almost

transparently white, with one hand leaning against the wall of the

barrack, bent over and vomiting. Rahendo’s mouth fell open.

“Are you all right, Obie? Are you sick?”

“I’ll live, you unbelievably stupid king of the obvious,” Obyann

fumed. “Have you any idea, any idea at all, any conception, any

understanding, any notion of what could have happened, you

miserable—”

Rahendo started crying.

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113

“Come, don’t cry, they’re gone now,” Obyann said, calmer, sorry

even, and in a softer tone. “I’m sure you didn’t go and seek out trouble

deliberately.”

He threw his arms around Rahendo, who sobbed his heart out

against his chest.

“I’ve never been more afraid in my life, Obie.”

“Neither have I, kid, neither have I.”

After a few minutes, Rahendo calmed down.

“Let’s go. I want us to be home before dark.”

Rahendo nodded.

“Thank you, Obie,” Rahendo whispered. “I’m sorry I made fun of

you.”

Obyann looked at him with an amused smile.

“Hey, I can dish it out and I can take it as well. No harm done.”

They started walking and Obyann set a brisk pace.

“I was thinking,” he said, “that after all this commotion neither of

us can be in the mood for a reading and writing lesson this evening.

What would you say if—”

“No,” Rahendo said.

“We could skip—”

“No.”

“Just for this once—”

“No.”

“By way of a very exceptional exception, we could—”

“No.”

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“You have no heart at all, do you?”

“No.”

When they met some militia men who came from the opposite

direction, Obyann grabbed Rahendo’s hand. He heard them

snickering, but he looked straight ahead and kept walking.

He didn’t let go until they were in sight of their barrack.

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“It will never be enough. I will never have done paying back. It’s

as if the amount left keeps augmenting, no matter how much or how

often I pay. Once in a while he looks at me as if I had some rare but

barely visible disease. What is he looking for? What does he want from

me? What more can I do to make him see that I love him? What more

can I give? What more can I let him do to me?

“Will there ever come a day when he will say ‘Come, it has been

enough. It is over. I know you’re sorry, more than words can say. I

know you love me, more than life itself. Let’s forget the past, my love,

there’s a whole future awaiting us.’ But he will never call me ‘my love’. I

must have said it to him dozens, hundreds of time and he never said it

back. Not once. Not a single time. Should I have known? Should I have

known that he was still in pain? And if I had known, could I have done

something to soften it, to prevent all this?

“If only he would keep me like this. I think I could live with that. I’m

almost used to it. I still die a little within when he looks at me. Inside

I cringe when he touches me casually and I have to let him. I feel the

urge to yell at him when he orders me around and I’m too slow to his

liking. ‘Sit, Tarno, here, come here, here, sit beside the chair. Sit. Sit.

Good so. Now stay and be quiet.’ But I don’t yell. I stay and I am quiet.

Sometimes I feel like throwing everything to the ground and I want to

shout at him ‘Enough is enough. I won’t do it anymore. I won’t. I won’t.’

But I never shout and I always do as he says. Yesterday I wanted to say

to him ‘Do it yourself then’ when he noticed I had forgotten to polish

his boots. But I didn’t. He had already put them on, though he must

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have seen they were not cleaned before he did. Then he ordered me

to polish them, while he was standing in them. I had to lie flat out on

the floor to do it. Crawl around his legs on hands and knees with my

brush, while he glanced at some maps he had drawn the night before.

When I was almost done, but not quite yet, he looked down on me. ‘I

hope you’re happy. Your total lack of consideration is making me late.’

What could I do but stammer that I was sorry, so sorry. And I am. I am

so, so sorry.

“I can’t even be certain that this is it. That this will be it for the

rest of my life. I try to settle in a routine. To accommodate him and

his wishes and his... his urges. I could get used to it and with time, I’m

certain, the rough edges would wear off and become harmless. I would

take such good care of him and learn to discern his smallest needs even

before he himself becomes aware of them. In time he would grow to

appreciate that, I’m sure.

“It is as if every time I grow used to his treatment of me, he puts

more pressure upon me. Every time I think I’m almost there, he has

moved the beacons. Each time it makes me want to act foolishly and

irresponsibly by standing up to him. And always, always there is that

looming threat. The Royal Farms. Sometimes I wake up at night,

thinking I heard boots upon the stairs, fearing they are coming for me,

that they will drag me from my straw sack, out of my small room, naked

and crying out in terror. Struggling and yelling his name, begging him

to come and put a stop to this. Loudly pleading while the soldiers are

mocking me and touching me everywhere. In my dreams he never

comes and they shove me into an open cage upon a cart like an animal.

There is nothing to cover myself with, and I shiver in the cool air of

the early morning, while passersby stare at me at their leisure. ‘Didn’t

he use to be...?’ And he never comes. He never comes. Then I wake up,

sweating, but smelling the sweet straw that tells me I am safe in my

little cell, and I lie still, waiting until my heart stops beating so hard.

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“Maybe it is time to put an end to this sad, never ending comedy.

He hurts me, and I know that is hurting him. So, again I am hurt in

a continuous downward spiral. Whatever I do or don’t do, always, it

seems, I am the cause of more pain for him. Maybe it really is time to

end it all. I couldn’t do it last time, but maybe... if I could find a way for

us to go together, I could. I wouldn’t have to look upon his lifeless body.

“If only I could take him in my arms. He likes my strong arms. Tell

him one last time that I am sorry. That I love him. And jump.”

It was almost completely dark and he stood, leaning on the

balustrade, looking out over the raging sea. The waning moon was

still big enough to cast dancing lights upon the crests of the waves.

He never heard the door open through the boisterous swash of the

rollers crashing against the rocks, deep, deep down there. Nor were

the steps of the bare feet on the stones audible.

Purely by accident he turned around and saw him coming

towards him, only feet away.

His lord smiled.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly. “Go inside. It’s much too

cold for you here.”

He stood still and didn’t move.

“Go on, go inside,” his lord repeated, his voice caressing and

caring. “I don’t want you to get sick. Go inside, where it is warm. I’ll

be there in a moment and we’ll sit by the fire. You like that, don’t you,

boy? Yes, I know you like that. So, be good and go inside, Tarno.”

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The high king paced up and down his large work room. Things

weren’t going well in the south. The defenses were in a more