LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery Read online

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE DAYS AND NIGHTS PASSED. Imprisoned in my room and weeping over my blindness, I lost track of time. Memories played in colour, but the waking hours were like the sullen winter clouds. Heavy, gloomy, without pleasure; mired in darkness.

  As my courage increased and the blindness persisted, my hearing grew strong, my sense of smell more sensitive.

  Papa’s visits were but a few hours a day, for he couldn’t leave Mama running Mystoria alone. We spent our precious time together reading stories, singing songs, and jesting, but even in the joyful moments, I remembered how he had viciously attacked and murdered my uncle. I could never do anything so evil.

  ‘I might be going away,’ he blurted one day.

  Not wanting to misunderstand him, I turned my head to hear him clearer. ‘Why?’

  ‘Do you remember when Uncle Garrad and I had that fight?’

  ‘When you killed him,’ I said, angry that he’d avoided talking to me about it until now. He’d done a bad thing and I wanted an apology.

  ‘Yes.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I’m going to be punished for it. What I did was wrong. So I have to go.’

  ‘No, no, Papa. I saw them.’ I could hardly breathe. ‘Their feet twitch and swing outside the mayor’s building. Are they going to hang you, Papa?’

  ‘Promise me you’ll take care of your mama,’ he said. ‘Promise?’

  I nodded, and tried to be a good girl by fighting the need to wrap my arms around him and hold him forever. My cheeks were wet with tears, and I heard Papa sniffle.

  ‘Mama will miss me. A lot. But here is your special task, Adenine: you’re not to let her dwell on the past. Regret is a waste of time.’ He patted my head one last time and got up from the bed.

  I grabbed his wrist with both hands, screaming, ‘You can’t go! You can’t. Don’t leave me. It’s not your fault. It’s my fault!’

  He pried my fingers off him and held my arms at my sides. ‘It’s no one’s fault. Blame is a sure way to suffering. Accept, Adenine. Let go.’

  Heeding his own advice, he let go of me and walked away. I followed, but he spun me around so that I was disoriented and reaching into the darkness, stumbling towards nothing. Searching. Stringy cobwebs caught in my fingers and I yelped, imagining a spider biting me or running up my arm.

  Click. The door locked.

  I ran to it, and hearing Father’s fading footsteps brought on hysterics. I slammed my body into the oak door over and over screaming, ‘Papa! Papa!’

  Later that day, a chanting began outside our house. ‘Murderer, murderer, murderer…’ The voices blended into an unearthly chorus.

  A few years ago, I’d heard the same chanting, but I’d been too short to reach the window. Eventually I was big enough to drag the edge of my bed to it so I could look down into the commons. That was the first time I’d seen the dangling legs of dead men.

  ‘The evildoers,’ Mrs. Moferbury had said, confirming it. ‘Bad people do bad things, and they deserve punishment.’ Then they went to the next life to be happy or sad forever.

  There was banging in the bowels of my house. Then shouting.

  Mama’s cries were shrill. ‘No! Please, no!’

  I rushed to my door, concentrating on the placement of my feet to avoid stumbling. There were strangers in my home; their boots and shoes scuffed the floor. Their voices were demanding and angry.

  ‘He was protecting Adenine,’ Mama said.

  ‘Quiet, Capacia!’ Papa snapped.

  ‘Who’s Adenine, Capacia?’ a man asked.

  Mama didn’t respond.

  The stranger continued, ‘We don’t have all day.’

  Maybe if they knew I was here they’d take me instead of Papa. ‘I’m here!’ I said, banging loudly on the door. ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ the man asked. His heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. The lock turned, and I could smell saddle cleaner as he entered my room. ‘Are you Adenine?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered timidly.

  ‘Who are—?’

  ‘She’s Garrad’s daughter,’ Mama said. ‘It’s Garrad’s girl. She stays with us ‘cause she’s got no one.’

  ‘Why is she locked—?’

  ‘I killed Garrad,’ I said.

  The man burst out laughing. ‘Brave girl. You must love your uncle and aunt very much.’

  ‘She’s got the weeping pox like her papa,’ Capacia said.

  ‘Did he abuse the girl?’

  Silence.

  ‘He used her to satisfy his carnal needs,’ Mama said.

  ‘Hrmm, disgusting,’ said the man. ‘She’s lucky to have you. Abuse of a child is a serious and grave crime, but it doesn’t warrant murder. Ardonian is still guilty.’

  The door was closed and locked, and they all went back down to the second floor.

  I pressed my ear up against the door and listened again.

  ‘I’m sorry, Capacia. You’re both respected citizens of this town. This is the law.’

  ‘Take me instead, then,’ Mama pleaded.

  I heard the clang of metal and something smash against the floor.

  ‘It’ll be all right, my love,’ said Papa. ‘Look after her.’

  The voices quietened, and the fading footsteps meant the men were leaving. In their place were Mama’s sobs that echoed so clearly off our stone walls it was like the house mourned with her.

  The chanting outside turned to curses and hateful slander. I ran to my attic window and pressed my ear to the icy glass.

  ‘Murderer, coward, bloodthirsty viper…’ The cries grew louder and louder, and then the crowd hushed.

  A man spoke. ‘By decree of King Erageo, Captain Festral, and overseen by Mayor Vawdon, we hereby charge Ardonian of Mystoria with the murder of his brother, Garrad. Ardonian is to be hanged at sunset.’

  ‘No!’ I screamed and banged against the window. ‘No. No. No.’ But then I stopped. If that man came back and touched me, he’d catch my disease and die. Then they’d punish Mama. The plague would flourish, and spread, and kill the entire country. But I had to find a way to help Papa. I was so useless and small.

  Why had Mama told him I had the weeping pox? Maybe if he’d known I carried the plague, he’d have killed me. Then I wondered if Papa had washed his hands before they’d arrested him. He could infect the entire town.

  I collapsed to the floor, sobbing, and curled my legs up to my chest. Papa would stand before the judging eyes of Borrelia’s townspeople. I remembered Mrs. Moferbury describing what happened when a grown man was hanged. Thinking about that made me stand up again and resume my shouting.

  ‘Stop it! Let him go!’ I shouted, and then I slumped down again, holding my breath, waiting for what I knew came next…

  ‘Release!’ the man yelled at last.

  A gasp from the crowd was followed by an eerie silence. I crawled towards my bed, pulled myself onto the linen sheets, and wept.

  The next day, I awoke to the town crier giving the midday news.

  ‘Hear ye! Hear ye! Ardonian, patriarch of Mystoria, has been hung for committing the crime of murder on his brother, Garrad of Borrelia.’

  Winter took hold of the lands and the nights howled with their freezing winds. I could almost feel the snow falling outside, and the icy gusts pushed their way through unsealed cracks about the window.

  A week after Papa’s death, I turned eleven, but there was no celebration. Mama wished me a happy birthday, fed me sweetbreads and strawberry preserve as a present, and lit my small bedroom hearth.

  ‘Mama,’ I said. ‘Mama, don’t go.’

  She was cunning and crept for the door, but to me her movements were loud. Being blind had strengthened my hearing to such a degree that I often went to sleep listening to the mice preening themselves behind the wall.

  I sprung out of bed to catch her, but as my fingers entangled in her dress, she stepped aside and pulled the door shut on my hand.

  ‘Argh,’ I cried and yanked my hand back.

/>   ‘I’m sorry, Adenine. You must stay here. I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you.’

  Nursing my injured fingers, I said, ‘Mama, don’t leave me alone.’

  The door locked, and I collapsed to the floor, crying, wondering why she’d abandoned me. Mama blames me for losing Papa.

  It was the only thing that made sense. I’d been a naughty girl. If my uncle had not loved me so much, if I had not been born, my papa and uncle would be alive. My parents’ kindness had protected me, but I was their mistake, not their daughter. I was worthless.

  I stopped eating, sleeping, and crying.

  As I withdrew into daydreams, Mama’s visits became more frequent.

  ‘Adenine, why won’t you speak to me?’ she always asked.

  She read me stories, fed me, bathed me, but my darkness was a shield I hid behind, protecting her from me. If people didn’t love me then they couldn’t get hurt.

  Mrs. Moferbury never visited either, and that made me glad because I was fond of her and didn’t wish her ill.

  As time passed, Mama changed. She seemed sadder, angrier, and one day she’d pulled me into her arms and hysterically screamed, ‘Forgive me! You must forgive me, I love you. Come back, Adenine.’

  It was strange how much she needed me.

  Winter passed. I ate enough to live. I obeyed many of Mama’s instructions: stand, undress, bathe, drink. But I never spoke and was always happy to get back to my bed, where I became absorbed in my imagination.

  One night, Mama brought me the usual evening dinner, but instead of turning to leave, she shouted at me and punched the bed. Her outbursts frightened me, and I wondered if she’d hurt me like Uncle Garrad had. I deserved nothing less.

  ‘Adenine,’ she cried in dismay, ‘if you do not speak, I will die. I will kill myself. I-I can’t go on without you.’ Her voice seemed miles beyond my reach—nothing mattered anymore.

  Except… a spark flared. One of her words left a mark on my soul, and I focused on it. Die? Its meaning awoke me; I didn’t understand it, but the nothingness turned to something. I can’t let her die. Papa made me promise to take care of her, to not let her dwell on the past. I wouldn’t fail his last wish.

  The smell of the hot wheat bread and spiced stew wafting up from the food tray on the bed triggered my hunger. My stomach ached, and my mouth was as dry as salt. Feelings and thoughts flooded me; they twirled and danced like spring maidens. One thought came steady and sure, and its glow put the others into shadow: Mama wants me to live.

  Her happiness was everything. I was no more precious than a piece of waste rotting in the streets, swarmed by flies and looked upon with disgust. I wouldn’t live for myself, but I could do it for her.

  She’d buried her head deep into the bedclothes, her sobs all muffled. One of her plaits was within reach, so I touched it.

  She jerked up. ‘Adenine. Adenine. Talk to me.’

  ‘Mama,’ I tried to say, but it sounded like an exhale.

  She knocked the tray over as she scrambled up onto the bed and scooped me up into her arms, saying, ‘I love you. You’re all I have. I love you.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  MAMA MADE REGULAR VISITS TO entertain and nurture me. She brought me toys and told stories from the past. Learning of her adventures as a young, daring merchant thrilled me, but having grown used to my room, I no longer desired the outside world. I gave no thought to washing my hands, for no one cared enough to visit me.

  Across the Senya mountains were deserts that took months of travel to reach. Beyond the seas were other lands, too, although Mama said they were not well documented. She did know that one of the lands contained hairy people with skin like black lace. They lived in homes built into the side of mountains.

  While my curiosity of the other cultures grew, I was mostly interested in the healers, mainly because of the way people hated them, and because Mama grew tense at their mention.

  On the odd occasion, though, she would accidentally relay something new, and that knowledge would keep me up all night. When she’d mentioned the healer temples, I didn’t sleep for two whole days and hassled her with more questions.

  While Mama ran Mystoria, my obsession with other cultures and people—those across the sea, or even the southern Bivinians—distracted me from my loneliness. Mama constantly sourced new books for her to read to me, and we talked into the nights. Some of them were fables, mythical histories told around campfires that developed into tradition. Others were like journals, documented accounts from travellers.

  I imagined rainbow-coloured animals with six pairs of wings and seven legs, or the strange colouring of tall, gaunt monsters that ate only beetles by moonlight.

  Over time, the bustling of the town square grew louder, and when I asked Mama, she said my ears were getting stronger. But I still wanted my sight back. I missed my picture books.

  The longer I stayed in my room, the smaller my world became. Mama did her best to colour the darkness and enrich the nothingness, but it wasn’t enough to revive my dimming spirit. My silly fantasies became my life, and interest in anything else faded.

  This room is my home. This will always be my home.

  One day, three months into my thirteenth year, Mother didn’t visit me. When two more days passed, I began to starve, and was forced from the safety of my room which Mother usually forbid me from doing alone. My heart pounded, and my legs trembled. I desperately tried to remember the layout of my house.

  Maybe Mama wants me to starve. If that was what she truly wanted, I’d never eat again, but first I had to make sure. A good daughter wouldn’t starve herself on a hunch. A good daughter wouldn’t upset her mama.

  A crippling trembe started in my legs and spread throughout my body, knocking loose tears. Finding my way down the stairs felt strange without mother’s guidance. At the bottom, my thoughts screamed for me to go back upstairs, but I ignored them.

  Mama needs me.

  Only a few memories of the living area remained strong, the ones of that awful night when my uncle had died, but I used their vividness to calculate where my parents’ room was in relation to the attic stairs.

  Being in the living room reminded me of the bathing tub; it was like a demon in my head, teasing me, mocking me. Since that night, Mother only used a bucket of warm water and a washcloth.

  The smell and sight of blood, the knife, my uncle attacking me. I stopped, clutching myself, my legs wobbling. I couldn’t stop the horrible scenes.

  I sank a little, fighting complete collapse by placing one hand on the floor. The stones were freezing and dirty. The fire hadn’t been lit for some time.

  Without food, I’d grown weak, and tired, and my skin crawled; my forehead cooled. Eventually, the memories stopped their badgering and I got to my feet again and leaned against the wall.

  I followed it left, into the kitchen, and when I found the kitchen cabinets, a missing piece of puzzle slid into place. My parents’ room, the barricade door—their locations crisped.

  Mama’s bedroom door was closed, but not locked, so I swung it open. I felt the heat of the afternoon sun streaming through a window. She’d taken down the boards.

  My eyelids glowed red as the light hit them, and I fondly remembered the exotic furniture and brilliant decorations that once lined the room. The green clothes cupboard would be…

  ‘To my left,’ I said and put my hand out to check. I felt the scratchy hardwood. And the bed would be in front. I shuffled forward until my knees touched solid wood. I leaned down and ran my hands along the surface until my fingers traced individual toes covered by a thin layer of cotton.

  ‘Adenine. Adenine, is that you?’ Mother sounded weak.

  ‘Y-yes, Mama.’

  ‘Adenine, I cannot get up.’

  ‘Why not, Mama? You have to get up.’

  ‘My precious girl, you must fetch the doctor for me. You can do it.’

  A doctor? That meant she was sick and not starving me on purpose. ‘But I can’t see. What if I get l
ost?’

  ‘It’s a small building by the council hall.’

  ‘I can’t remember, Mama.’ I started to cry.

  ‘Yes, you do. Do not rest until you see him. His name is Varago. Ask someone to help you. Tell him Capacia of Mystoria needs his help, desperately.’

  ‘I need to wash, Mama. What if someone touches me?’

  ‘You won’t hurt anyone. I promise.’

  I hesitated. At one time, I had wanted to explore Borrelia, to walk the streets and listen to the sounds, but now that I had the chance, I found I was not as brave as I first thought. What if I got lost?

  ‘You’ll need to wear this,’ she added, and handed me a scrap of material. ‘Tie it around your eyes.’

  I fastened the ends of the cloth at the back of my head.

  ‘Good. Keep it on at all times. Now, the big door is already unlocked and open. Quickly, go before the day ends.’

  The guilt I felt for having cursed the people who loved me, for having been the cause of my parents’ misery, overtook my fear, and I clumsily made my way downstairs and into Mystoria. I banged my knees and broke several ceramic vases as I felt my way around. I followed the sounds of outside as a guide and eventually found the front door, undid the latch, and ventured into Borrelia.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  OUTSIDE, A COLLECTION OF LOUD noises mingled into one trumpeting assault on my ears. My drumming heart made my ribs ache and I clutched my chest, trying to smother the pain. The cooling afternoon air and the clanging and banging of people packing up their wares meant dusk approached.

  The ground was rough, and the undersides of my feet were bruised by rocks and debris that had fallen off carts. Having lived inside my whole life, I’d never owned or worn shoes, but I wished I had a pair now.

  Afraid to bump into something or someone, I raised my hands in front of me, continuing forward cautiously.

  ‘Look at that pretty girl. Have you ever seen her before?’

  ‘Nah, she ain’t from ’ere, that’s for sure.’