The Scrivener's Tale #1

FIFTEEN

Silent as a cloud, Gabe hovered within his own body and watched their progress into what looked to be a market town as he carried his dark companions. He had observed the large number of people on the road herding livestock or transporting their wares in wheeled barrows, while others carried produce on their shoulders. Gabe believed he, and his constant companions, blended in because he was now dressed as a countryman in Flek’s simple clothes. No-one asked any questions so he had to assume he had integrated well enough.
‘Now that we are together, we could just disappear,’ Aphra urged her lover.
‘We could. But I choose not to,’ Cyricus replied.
‘Why, my love?’ she asked sweetly. She still possessed the voice of Angelina and it irritated Gabe more than he cared to admit.
They were merging with an increasingly steady stream of people and animals forming a bottleneck at the main gate into the town.
‘What are you selling?’ he heard the toll-keeper ask the man in front.
‘Two bales of wool.’
‘Just two?’ the toll-keeper smirked.
‘Best quality,’ the farmer replied. He sounded tired. ‘Once they see it, these won’t last long and I’ll get a good price,’ he quipped. He was young. Next to him was an even younger woman, staring forlornly at the ground. She was carrying a small infant. The baby moaned in her arms. The couple looked lean and hungry.
‘That’ll be a duke.’
The seller baulked. ‘I’ll only make a few crowns apiece if I’m lucky.’
‘Take it or leave it. You know we have the best wool-dyeing in the region. You yourself believe you’re guaranteed a sale, young man, and you boasted of a high price. Now hurry up. There’s a lot of people trying to get through here.’
The man looked at the woman and she nodded wearily.
‘Robbery,’ he muttered, digging in his pocket and handing over the coin from the very few that Gabe could see in his palm.
‘Next,’ the gatekeeper called, his tone indifferent, already looking past the couple and child.
They shuffled forward and he cast his dour look at Gabe.
‘Buying presumably,’ he said, spitting to his right out of an opening in the toll-house.
‘I am,’ Cyricus said and Gabe hated that the invader was able to use his voice to answer.
The man’s stubby finger pointed them through and Gabe was aware of his body being walked beneath the stone arch that constituted the toll-gate into the town.
‘I don’t understand why you’re bothering with these tiresome people and this forsaken land,’ Aphra complained.
‘Well, because we have time and because these people bore me I shall give my full attention to explaining why, Aphra,’ Cyricus replied with forced patience. ‘A long time ago there walked a man by the name of Elysius. As an aside, I should mention that he fathered a woman by the name of Myrren. She was a gifted witch with powerful reserves of magic at her disposal although no-one knew it, for she lived a thoroughly unremarkable life until just before the start of her third decade. She had chosen not to use her magic, preferring the anonymity and pleasure of home and family life as these peasants around us might enjoy.’ He sighed. ‘What a strange little thing she was to make such a choice. She had untold power and yet her greatest joy of all was being given a puppy. Can you imagine that?
‘She never used her power?’ Aphra repeated, full of disdain.
‘Not “never”. She did use it once in her adult life. And when she did she cast out such a mighty and dark spell that it had the capacity to change the course of many lives. In fact, her curse — which it surely was — profoundly changed the course of the land we now walk upon.’
Gabe found himself hanging on the demon’s every word.
‘What happened?’ Aphra obliged him by asking.
Cyricus gave a small chuckle. ‘She turned out to be an amazing young woman. Such darkness but such control too. If she had been my daughter I’d have been very proud of her. Myrren offended a noble, choosing not to give up her virginity to the fumbles of a drunken duke who happened to take a fancy to her as he passed through her village. Her anonymity might have been preserved had her eyes not been two different colours. The scorned duke, who had the ear of the royals, was able to leverage that quirk of Myrren’s and have her arrested as a witch. This was a time when people were frightened of anything that might seem different or smacked of something they couldn’t understand.’ He sighed. ‘The Morgravians were a superstitious lot.’ Cyricus gave a sound of disgust. Gabe noticed they were leaving the main street, presumably leading into the central market square, and were veering off into a quieter part of the town.
The demon’s voice turned cunning. ‘However, young Myrren was magical, as I’ve explained. She was taken to the dungeons of the great Stoneheart of Pearlis, where she was given to Witchsmeller Lymbert for his cruel pleasure. Lymbert put her through rigorous trial and torture — I could give you details, but suffice to say that brave Myrren gave them nothing, for she knew they would burn her come what may. There was, however, one individual who showed her an ounce of compassion during her witch trial. His name was Wyl Thirsk and he was the general of the Morgravian Legion — still very much a youngster. She gave him a special gift of thanks.’ Cyricus laughed inwardly and the sound of his amusement echoed horribly in Gabe’s mind. ‘She bestowed upon him a sinister magic, which he only learned about later, when it finally chose to manifest itself in the most harsh and gleeful manner. You see, Thirsk could not die although many tried to kill him. As they made their attempts Myrren’s magic would claim their lives instead, ensuring that Wyl Thirsk assumed their thoughts, their memories, but most importantly, the soul of Thirsk would assume their bodies. He moved through several people — men or women, the magic wasn’t choosy,’ Cyricus laughed, ‘and this was part of Myrren’s cunning to topple a kingdom. Her magic only stopped when it was satisfied that Wyl Thirsk, in whoever’s guise, had assumed sovereign control. Myrren’s only desire, I believe, was that Celimus, who had so enjoyed her torture, didn’t live long as King of Morgravia and never tasted life on the imperial throne he craved. He was her target all along.’ He sighed. ‘Marvellous story. I never tire of it.’
‘And this is the magic you are using?’ Aphra said.
To Gabe this sounded like a piece of a jigsaw fitting into place.
‘Well done, my beauty. That’s exactly what I’m doing. I was very impressed with Myrren’s gift and the dark magic it contained. It amused me, constantly kept my attention as I watched Thirsk on his journeying in that traumatic time; the magic was a dark shadow shifting the way Morgravia’s history unfolded.
‘But I began this tale about a man called Elysius, didn’t I? And it’s his story that is relevant here. He was the powerful warlock whose talents passed through to his daughter, Myrren. She never knew him and he remained very secretive. He lived in a place called the Wild.’
Gabe was surprised to feel his body shiver as though a cold wind had swept across it, but it had been a genuine tremble prompted by Cyricus’s mention of the Wild.
‘What’s wrong?’ Aphra asked.
‘You’ve forgotten, it seems. It was the Wild that divided us.’ He pointed Gabe’s arm toward a street. ‘We’re nearly at our destination so I’d better hurry my story.’
Gabe had been aware that they’d entered a far more salubrious part of the town. He was surprised that what had looked to be a small area from the other side of the toll-gate was a bustling town and, going by the size of the houses, it was home to wealthy residents.
Cyricus continued. ‘You never knew why you were cast out of our world, Aphra. You were too young, probably not interested in learning the history.’
‘You’re going to tell me that it was because of this mage Elysius,’ she said, leaping to her conclusion.
‘Indeed I am, and all our recent sufferings are due to him. I hadn’t meant to invade the Wild. It happened after one of the cyclical wars between Zarab and Lyana in the far east of Percheron. The goddess Lyana —’ he paused to spit, surprising Gabe — ‘had beaten our leader, Zarab, and not only reduced his powers for a long, long time, but hunted down his minions. I was one of them. I escaped her wrath but found myself weakened and cast into the oblivion of the Razors — a mountain range north of Morgravia and far from Percheron. I travelled without purpose or direction, drifting south on the winds, and that’s when I felt the magic of Myrren. I found it irresistible; I watched her death and marvelled at her dark legacy. I had no time for the battles of mortals, of course, but now that Thirsk carried this demon-magic, I was intrigued by its consequences. I went in search of its origins and that led me to the Wild. I was not on guard, not at all prepared for the fury of Elysius, his manic protection of what I realised was a supremely magical place.
‘It shrouded itself so well that even I did not pick up on its power until I passed through one of its great defences, known as the Thicket. My trespass was innocent — more one of fascination than anything else — but Elysius knew of my breach immediately. He hunted me as Lyana had, but he was relentless, as she was not. And when he cornered me, employing magic I was not familiar with, he used it to catapult me into a dark wilderness, where I have been for centuries, trying to find my way back through the planes. More than that, he also punished those who paid any form of homage to me. One by one he found those loyal to me and they never saw it coming. He was patient, cunning and ancient. He sent each of you into a void of your own. You were sent to another world —’
Aphra sounded indignant when she cut him off. ‘Where I too have roamed for centuries trying to find my way back to you.’
Cyricus remained silent.
‘But we are together now, Cyricus. We should —’
‘I want revenge,’ Cyricus said, and it was so quietly murmured that Gabe strained to hear, ‘and I will take it now that the opportunity presents.’
It was as though Aphra was fluttering around inside his body. Gabe felt dizzied by her sudden blaze of emotion.
‘How is this revenge?’ she demanded.
‘I know it’s hard for you to understand, Aphra, but my plan is taking shape. And you must not question me.’ He sighed. ‘If you wish to be with me, you must follow. Nothing else.’
‘I’ve done everything you’ve asked.’
‘True, and if you want to remain with me then you must continue following. I will have my revenge. This is the land that Elysius loved, that he worked hard to protect. Now I’m going to have my fun with it. The best place to begin is with the Crown — exactly the way his daughter did. She didn’t waste her skill or energy on the noble who began her downfall. He was nothing. Myrren levelled her fury at Celimus, who had laughed at her and conspicuously enjoyed her suffering. I might add, she didn’t even bother with Celimus at the time. She possessed patience like no other. And she used a “mule”, poor Wyl Thirsk, to carry her magic and unleash her vengeance long after her death, when Celimus reached the throne. She went after only what mattered to Celimus — his reign, his lands, his title, and ultimately his life. I will mimic Myrren, but the Imperial Crown of Morgravia, Briavel and the Razors is not enough for me. I want the Wild.’
‘But what about Elysius?’ Aphra asked, sounding awed.
Cyricus laughed. ‘Elysius is dust by now; he was mortal, after all. And, while I’m sure it’s still magical, the Wild can be tamed. I will find a safe way to return to it and I will raze whatever I find. I will fell its forests, drain its waters. I will kill its animals and I will destroy everything — especially and including its Thicket, which I will watch burn. And in Myrren’s honour I will destroy the crown of Morgravia in the bargain.’
‘Oh, what a wonderful revenge you will wreak, my lord. Are you sure no-one inherited the crown of that warlock?’
‘Elysius was a freak. No-one could replace him. No mortal could wield that magic again. The Wild might scream its rage at my re-entering its region but this time it won’t have its warlock. I have watched for decades, since I found my way back to this plane, and no mortal walks its paths. Only beasts have access and they are no threat to me. I will use the magic of his daughter to lay waste to the land Elysius held so dear.’
Gabe was astonished. The story he’d just heard was terrifying. It didn’t matter how or why, but he was now mixed up in this battle and likely to be the only soul in this world who knew of this sinister plan … possibly the only one who knew of the existence of Cyricus and Aphra. Excitement had begun to build in him that he could play his part in not only bringing them down, but helping to warn the unsuspecting people of this world of the vengeance being levelled against them. But he must make no move yet. He had learned plenty by keeping his own counsel, hiding completely, but he must continue to learn everything he could about the demon’s motive and plans.
‘And then you will be content and we can leave this place?’
‘Yes, Aphra. My hunger will be sated.’
‘Where are we, my lord? I am yours to command.’
‘Indeed, to the business at hand, the next stage of our journey. If we are going to behave as mortal — and reach the Crown — then I need the wealth to move freely and the standing to mingle with the right people. Behind these doors lives a man with just these attributes.’
Aphra laughed. ‘Who is this man?’
‘A wealthy merchant but he lives as a recluse. Few in the capital could claim to have met him.’
‘No family? No wife?’
‘Tentrell’s tastes do not run to the female form.’
Aphra giggled. ‘Ah, I see. And you think he will enjoy the look of Gabriel?’
Gabe’s senses went onto full alert.
‘I like that you catch on fast, Aphra. Yes, I think the body you brought us is precisely what Tentrell craves. Shall we?’
She laughed again. ‘You’re in control, my lord.’
Gabe watched his fist bang on the door, feeling helpless.
The small peephole hatch swung open. ‘Yes?’
‘Someone told me that Merchant Tentrell might have some work for a fit man,’ Cyricus replied, a soft plea in his tone.
‘Thank you, no,’ the man said and began to close the hatch.
‘Oh, please wait,’ Cyricus said, even more pitifully. ‘I was sent by a man called Easov.’ Clearly Cyricus knew this would win the attention of the person behind the door.
Easov is powerful in a neighbouring town, he explained inwardly to Aphra. I’m sure we’ll get entry now.
Cyricus waited. The door opened a short while later and a man stood before them wearing pale robes with the striped edging that attested he was a slave. He was young, almost feminine in his movement.
‘Master Tentrell said you are to go around to the back,’ he said in a light, breathy voice, nodding his head in the direction of the side of the house. ‘He will speak to you in the grounds.’ The door closed without another word.
Cyricus chuckled and walked Gabe’s body down the side pathway until it opened up into a neat, formal garden. It was, in the main, a beautifully manicured small orchard. Miniature pear trees had been strung against lines so their branches acted as climbers and framed one side of the garden. Gabe noticed there was no fruit, but there were signs it had been a good crop. On the other side, citrus trees had enjoyed similar treatment, with limes and oranges hanging plump and ripe.
In between the trees, herbs and spices mixed with highly coloured flowers while small benches were strategically placed to enjoy maximum sun, or shade, or simply to revel within a cloud of perfume.
Cyricus inhaled and Gabe recognised the look and scent of lavender and mint, rosemary and thyme. There were other plants he didn’t know but he could smell clove and aniseed. There was also a dark, arrow-shaped herb with a bouquet that was akin to crushed berries, but he had no idea what it was or how it might be used.
The flowers were a riot of purples and deep reds, rich pinks and chocolatey yellows. His attention was dragged from the garden beds by the arrival of a heavily built man.
‘Master Tentrell?’ Gabe heard his voice ask.
‘Am I supposed to know you?’ the man queried. He may have been handsome once, Gabe thought, but he had run to fat. Clearly his life was prosperous and sedentary.
‘No, sir,’ Cyricus continued, ‘but Master Easov told me of your lovely garden and said you may have some manual work for me.’ Cyricus made a show of looking around. ‘I can see that he told me no lie of its beauty, Master Tentrell.’
‘Easov said that?’ Tentrell said with a smirk. ‘The man despises me.’
Cyricus shrugged Gabe’s shoulders. ‘I don’t know anything about that, sir. I can tell you that he doesn’t despise your garden.’
Tentrell’s hooded eyes seemed to shrink back further into the layer of flesh above his cheeks, in which was a network of broken red veins. ‘And you want some work?’
‘I can’t remember the last time I ate, sir. I will give an honest day’s work for a bowl of food and a half flagon of watered wine.’
‘A very modest wage, indeed,’ Tentrell remarked. ‘Take off your shirt.’
‘Pardon?’ Cyricus said, putting on a startled tone. Gabe could tell the demon was amused, as though expecting a request such as this.
‘You heard me. What’s your name by the way?’
‘Gabriel.’
‘Well, Gabriel, I need to see that you have the, er … loins, shall we say, and a strong chest to do my work.’
Gabe could hear the innuendo in the man’s words and feel the amusement from Cyricus at the same.
‘So you have some work?’
‘Always. This garden does not tend itself. Over there,’ he pointed, ‘I am keen to plant a new vegetable bed.’
‘I can help with that, Master Tentrell.’
‘I’m waiting to see some proof.’
Cyricus began to peel off his leather jerkin and the shirt beneath. Gabe knew the demon was relieved he’d taken the precaution of bathing Gabe’s body and stealing a shirt, for Flek’s had been ruined. He knew he hardly looked like a strong labourer, but it was true that he took care of himself and had worked on staying physically fit. He had nothing to be ashamed of.
He watched Tentrell’s gaze alight on his torso and observe it hungrily.
‘Do I look up to the task?’ Cyricus deliberately baited, layering his words with innuendo as well.
‘You’ll do,’ Tentrell said, turning away, trying to sound as though Gabe was of no further interest, but he betrayed his intention by turning back. ‘You will present yourself to me at the end of your day’s toil.’
Gabe could feel the pleasure that Cyricus felt warm his body at having achieved his aim.
‘Of course, Master Tentrell,’ Cyricus replied, nonetheless humbly. ‘Should I come to the back door?’
‘No, Ash will show you upstairs. I shall be spending the afternoon resting. You can come and get your coin at sunset.’
‘But a meal is more than —’
‘I like to pay my workers, Gabriel. You can certainly have a meal on the back porch.’ He pointed to where a stool and table were. ‘Then clean yourself up and present yourself … Ash will show you where.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’ll find all the tools you’ll need in that small enclosure.’ He pointed again. ‘Ask Ash if you’re unsure. He will bring you some water to drink and show you where you can clean up at the end of the day. Make sure you prepare my bed properly.’ He stopped just short of winking, Gabe was sure. Tentrell gave a final languorous smile before waddling off on swollen ankles into the house.
‘Surely you’re not going to do this manual work, my lord?’ Aphra asked, sounding disturbed.
‘I am, because I know he will be watching from his upstairs window. We might as well go through the motions and get his excitement levels to the right peak.’
Aphra laughed. ‘Gabe has a fine body.’
‘I hope you didn’t enjoy it too much.’
‘I thought of myself as a whore when I was with him. It disgusted me to feel his touch, my lord. I am for you alone. And I permitted his slobberings only in order to reach you.’
As Cyricus’s laughter boomed around his mind, Gabe felt sickened by her insult and felt it stoke the fire of his rage. He had to be especially careful. If he allowed his emotions to rise any further, his unwelcome guests might feel his fists clench against their will or sense his blood warming in anger. No, he must use all of his psychologist’s skills to remain calm and silent under any insults.
He took his mind away from their conversation and focused purely on the work that soon got underway. Gabe kept himself deliberately distracted, revelling in the physical exercise, sensing the building fatigue in his shoulders and arms. He was glad of the weights he had used regularly in his apartment back in Paris and it was obvious that Cyricus was not only making very good use of that training but was now exerting his own strength somehow. The memory cut into the bubble of distance he’d managed to wrap around himself and he had to control the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. He must not allow himself to experience any rushes of emotion.
Memories of Paris, the apartment, his former life, must be banished if he was going to survive this entrapment.