The Dark Eye: Starless Sky E-Book

Eevie Demirtel

• Herausgeber: Ulisses Spiele
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: The Dark Eye
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 414

Beschreibung

The Dark Eye Short Story Anthology When stars fall from the sky, the peoples of Aventuria see visions of impending doom. The signs are clear to everyone, from simple farmers to clergy and even crowned heads of state. Whether these visions will prove true, or even possible, none can say. The Walls of Alveran tremble as the Nameless God rattles his chains, setting monumental events in motion. The Turn of Ages brings great change to Aventuria, and the fate of the entire world hangs in the balance. Will valiant heroes tip the scales of destiny? This collection of short stories gathers tales related to the fateful and ongoing event known as the Starfall. Within these pages you'll find 24 fantastical stories to transport you to the far corners of Aventuria and beyond, giving you a further glimpse into the richly detailed setting of The Dark Eye.

Leseprobe

Credits

ORIGINAL, GERMAN VERSION

EditorEevie Demirtel

AuthorsEevie Demirtel, Marco Findeisen, Mike Krzywik-Groß, Daniel Heßler, M. A. Lippert, Michael Masberg, Carolina Möbis, Marie Mönkemeyer, Daniel Simon Richter, Gudrun Schürer, Stefan Schweikert, Alex Spohr, Jens Ullrich, Judith C. Vogt, Christian Vogt, Josch K. Zahradnik, and Lena Zeferino

Cover IllustrationNadine Schäkel

Aventuria MapsDaniel Jödemann

Copy-EditingStephan Naguschewski, Marco Findeisen

IllustrationsNadine Schäkel

Layout & DesignMichael Mingers

Edited by Kevin MacGregor

Starless Sky

24 short stories from the world of The Dark Eye©

With special thanks to all our players and readers, who inspire us to continue writing every day.

“Great heroes need great sorrows and burdens, or half their greatness goes unnoticed. It is all part of the fairy-tale.”The Last Unicorn

—Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn

ENGLISH VERSION

Studio DirectorTimothy B. Brown

TranslationDaniel Mayer, Steven M. Fowler, BA, MH, DPhil

Managing EditorKevin MacGregor

EditingKevin MacGregor, Carolyn Steele, Dana Hagengruber, Greg Nagler

Aventuria MapsSteffen Brand, Eduard Lerperger

LayoutBen Acevedo, Emma Beltran

Copyright © 2017 by Ulisses Spiele GmbH, Waldems. THE DARK EYE, AVENTURIA, DERE, MYRANOR, RIESLAND, THARUN, and UTHURIA are trademarks of Ulisses Spiele GmbH. All rights reserved.

The contents of this publication are protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without prior written consent by Ulisses Spiele GmbH, Waldems.

ISBN: 9783957525444

Forward

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the fantasy world of The Dark Eye! This volume concerns the Starfall, a mythical event that heralds a new era of heroes in Aventuria. The 24 stories in this anthology, as told by 17 different authors, describe changes both great and small for the world and its many peoples.

Starless Sky brings together stories from the past, present, and future of Aventuria. A few occur beyond the borders of the continent, in faraway Gyldenland, and even in Limbo, the space between the Spheres of Reality.

But enough preamble! Let yourselves be transported to the magical Bornwood, the wide steppes of the Orclands, or the tallest peaks of the High Eternans. Witness the events surrounding the Starfall in the decaying, demon city of Yol-Ghurmak, the fairy-tale Lands of the Tulamydes, the grand arenas of Al’Anfa, or the alleys of the Imperial city of Gareth.

A sunny day in autumn, 2015

Eevie Demirtel

Duty—Part I

by Marie Mönkemeyer

Porta Yaquiris, 290 before the Fall of Bosparan

“We should have been there, at their side. They were our comrades. We let them down and now they are dead!” Cavalry Prefect Aradnus’ voice was a deep rumble, full of anger and desperation.

“And still the Lion Worshipers have not tired of spilling our blood. It is only a matter of time before they come at us again. We need a tactic that will work against them.” Centurio-Maga Cirania was practical to her core and always looked to the future. Only her unyielding grip on her walking staff gave any hint to the emotions that burned within her. I remained silent, even though I knew they were waiting for me to respond.

Two months ago, I was still assigned to the Divine Field Commander. For 36 years, my role as a priest was to serve on the battlefield with the legions. I had been deep in meditation over the nature of our god when my brothers and sisters mustered and marched off to the Battle of Bloodhills. What happened next is well known. It didn’t settle the question of which deity—Rahandra or Shinxir—deserved to be worshiped as the god of war, but given the results, it might as well have. The servants of the Lion Goddess had betrayed us, their comrades, and won. Of the many champions of Shinxir who fought that day, none survived.

I could not accept that these men and women had gone to their doom without me, but no matter how long I meditated or how many hours I devoted to practice with my weapons, I could not compensate for my injured left leg. The answer was plain for all to see—Shinxir called me to serve, but he did not call me to battle. Even so, he was still my god, my supreme commander. Whatever he asked of me, I would do gladly. And so I stayed with the legion.

Rahandra has reigned as the true goddess of war ever since. After the Battle of Bloodhills, fear began to spread through the tents. It was only a matter of time before belief in Shinxir would be proscribed, his priests executed, and his believers cast from society. Officers and soldiers alike learned quickly to keep their heads down. They adapted to the new order and swore allegiance to Rahandra (or at least to the belief that this really was the will of the gods).

And so it came to pass that the three of us were sitting in my tent instead of in the officers’ mess, questions hanging unspoken in the air between us.

Aradnus and Cirania were more than good officers. They were my friends, and both would have given their lives for me without hesitation. They showed me consideration with their silence. Instead, they focused their anger on the servants of Rahandra and the officers, who were suddenly avoiding them. Yet they longed for answers. Should they have found a way to carry me into battle? Should they gather those who were still loyal to Shinxir and attack the servants of the Lioness, and by so doing, seek their own deaths as well? Was that Shinxir’s will? I had often asked myself these questions.

For most of my life, and especially these past few months, I had asked these questions of myself and my god. I meditated for hours, until the black and golden squares of the board filled my mind, pushing everything else aside. Twelve times twelve squares, black and gold like a hornet, orderly like a legion’s camp. The game requires tactics, planned moves, and quick countermoves against the unexpected strikes of the opponent. System and tactics, discipline and order, camaraderie and companionship.

Even now my gaze remained fixed on the board that sat on the table, flanked by Aradnus’ and Ciranias’ goblets. I had not put it aside for more than a year.

Twelve times twelve squares, twelve pieces for each player. Alone, a single piece is of little importance. Only together do they have meaning—just like a legion. To win, one need only employ them in the right way, systematically and prudently. When strengthened by its companions at just the right moment, an otherwise worthless piece can win the battle.

Shinxir is no hot-headed warrior who throws himself heedlessly into battle. He is a field commander who plans well in advance and does not send his reserves to the slaughter. And he is my god.

“By the way, I am keeping my fastest horse ready for you, in case they try to arrest you.” Aradnus’ words derailed my thoughts. He clapped my shoulder encouragingly, forcing my gaze from the black and golden squares. It would have to be a very good horse, I thought. As Prefect of the Cavalry he was very demanding, so of course it would be a strong animal. However, I did not need it.

“Thank you,” I said, “but that is not necessary.”

“If you say so.” Aradnus shrugged skeptically and reached for the wine. Then he seemed to come to a decision. “Yes. I am not going to flee, either,” he said. “This is the time for action.”

Aradnus and Cirania exchanged glances, and I could tell by their body language that they had been waiting for a moment like this. Officers never liked to sit around not knowing when or if new orders would arrive.

“If we die as martyrs,” I began, “who then shall serve Shinxir? Who will guard his sanctuaries? Who will honor the Champion? When you lose a battle, do you sit in the corner and cry? No! You retreat, you gather your forces, and you regroup. And that is exactly what we are going to do. The thundering Lioness might have beaten us this time, but that does not mean she will always win, or even that this war is over. The next battle will come, and people will sing Shinxir’s praises again.”

They found comfort and, I think, cautious, hesitating hope in my words.

“If the war is not over, should we not raise an army and lead it against Rahandra’s servants?” Cirania asked, ever eager for battle.

“No. We retreat. You two can remain in the legion, if you wish. I shall become a private citizen and settle down on my family’s land.”

“So, we’re to run away, after all,” Aradnus grumbled into his goblet. I gave him a chiding stare, and he snapped to attention, red-faced, like a scolded recruit. “Please forgive me!” he exclaimed.

I waved him aside before he could continue. Aradnus had served on the border, in Corania, and everywhere in between. His manners, even after all the drilling, were still as rugged and wild as his homeland. This would never change.

“Do you think you will be safe there?” Cirania asked.

“I think so. I am getting old and I am a cripple. How dangerous could I be?” I tapped my left leg, smiling.

“You are not a cripple!” Cirania yelled. She always objected strongly whenever I started talking like this. Another thing that would not change. She was tough on herself, and she would never give up on me.

I has been a young man, and she was still in training, when an enemy’s arrow struck my horse. The animal plunged and rolled, trapping me beneath its body. If not for Cirania, I would certainly have gone on to join Shinxir’s otherworldly legions. She pulled me from beneath my dying horse and treated the worst of my injuries at great risk to her own life. Eventually I was able to walk again, but slowly, and with a limp. I survived only because of her.

“Some may see me as one, if they like. You know that the most dangerous enemy is the one you underestimate.” How often had I uttered that ancient bit of wisdom?

“Yes,” she said, nodding to herself. After a few moments, she asked, “You said ‘retreat and wait.’ Until when?”

“Until Shinxir’s next battle.”

Aradnus frowned, his brows furrowing. Cirania rolled her eyes in mock exasperation at the obvious nature of my answer, but she remained confident that things would work out for the best.

The truth is not easily grasped by mortal minds, and my mind is no exception. Eventually I came to understand that if I remained alone, I was doomed to fail. I could make use of my authority as a priest for a time, but that authority would not survive beyond my death. I needed Aradnus and Cirania to join me in an important task. Therefore, I needed to explain something to them which even I had trouble putting into words.

“It might not happen for a very long time,” I began. “The Champion is a god, and gods...they...they think in different dimensions. To them, we are so small, like a game piece on the board. Time works differently for gods. Hundred of years seem like forever to us mortals, but to the gods, centuries rush past in the blink of an eye. There will come a day when Rahandra’s sword grows rusty, and Shinxir will be there to fight her once again. I know it. I have seen it! Yet I do not know when it will happen. We must not lose heart. We must do our part as loyal soldiers. The Champion will return, and it is our task to ensure that somebody still supports Shinxir’s fight here in the mortal world, on Dere, when that day arrives. Thus will the Divine Field Commander be victorious!”

…to be continued in Duty—Part II on page 280.

Herbalism

by Gudrun Schürer

Somewhere on the edge of the Bornwood, Peraine, 1038 after the Fall of Bosparan…

“Yoline!” The loud but musical summons that issued from the hut was addressed to a young woman who stood but a stone’s throw away weeding around a hedge of whitethorn bushes.

“It has been like this since you died,” she grumbled as she plucked withered blossoms from a primrose.

“Yoli-i-ine!”

This time, a different voice called for her.

“People will hear her even in Gartimpen,” she sighed as she spread some soil around the ram’s horn sapling that was growing between the whitethorns.

“Yo-o-li-ine! It is ti-ime!” the two women in the hut sang in unison.

“No, not just in Gartimpen. They will hear that racket all the way on the other side of the Bornwood!” Yoline frowned at the nearby grave. “You were no different than those two. Silly, like Little Alrik at his third Tsa’s Day celebration. All of you should have been clowns, not Daughters of Satuaria.”

She rose and looked at the grave with affection in her eyes. Despite her harsh thoughts, she missed her old teacher.

“Whoever came up with that ridiculous name, that’s what I’d like to know. As if it was an official title to be passed down from teacher to disciple... Two Yolines are already more than enough!”

With these last words she turned to the next grave in line, the second of four. “I bet it was you,” she said, kicking a stone from the dirt.

She crouched down to pluck one last blade of grass from the earth when suddenly something prodded her backside. She spun around angrily. That something had been only a cooking spoon. It floated in front of her nose, swaying teasingly up and down.

“Yoline!” yelled the chorus once more. “It is time for the soup!”

Feeling indignant, she snatched the spoon out of the air and trudged back to the hut, where two old hags waited impatiently and waved her to the hearth. A large cauldron was set on the flame, its contents coming to a boil.

“I really wish you would stop!” she snapped at the two. “Yoline lies buried out there, under the whitethorn. Next to Yoline, Maline, and Zeline.”

The two hags seemed unimpressed. “Zeline gathers the herbs, Maline chops the herbs, Yoline stirs the soup,” they droned in a chorus, pointing at each person in turn as their name was mentioned. “It’s tradition.”

Yoline turned away, giving them the silent treatment.

“You need a small bowl of herb soup,” suggested Maline, the crone standing to her right.

“Or better yet, two,” giggled Zeline, to her left.

“All good things come in threes,” corrected Maline. “Like the three sisters of Gartimpen, whose herb soup banishes even the worst of distempers. Yoline, swing the spoon!”

Yoline gave a sigh and plunged the cooking spoon into the thick broth. While she stirred, three barn owls flew in, perched on the wooden chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and jostled for the best spot. Maline reached for a bundle of herbs, which were lying next to each other in orderly rows on the table near the hearth. With dexterous fingers, she quickly separated stems and stalks from the leaves. She drew out the largest, sharpest knife the witches owned, wiped it clean on Zeline’s apron, and chopped the herbs into tiny pieces. She then gathered the small pile in her hand and cast it evenly over the simmering cauldron.

“Mugwort,” she announced as she picked up the next bundle.

“Next comes the chervil,” said Yoline, stirring diligently.

“And plenty of that,” added Zeline.

“It makes the soup taste divine,” giggled Maline as she placed the next portion of chopped herbs into the pot.

“Sorrel,” demanded Yoline.

“Quickly, and followed by burnet,” Zeline added.

One herb after another went into the broth: cress (which was very wholesome); parsley (the whole bunch); sage (harvested at night); St. Gilborn’s Wort (which makes people merry); ram’s horn (just a little bit), and…and hadn’t they forgotten something?

“Chives!” sang the sisters. The last of the greens disappeared into the pot.

Six pairs of eyes followed the movements of the cooking spoon, which dragged a spiral of green speckles behind it. Yoline paused as the first tiny bubbles began appearing on the surface.

“Soup!” she said. “Show us what you’ve got!”

A large bubble rose from the soup and burst, blowing its steamy breath into the witches’ faces. A cloud of herbs swirled in its wake. They gathered in the middle of the cauldron as if following orders, and started to form an image.

“A sheep,” said Zeline.

“A cloud,” mused Maline.

One by one, pieces of chive detached themselves from the others in the center and swam in a jagged line to the rim of the pot.

“A thunderstorm!” the three sisters said in unison.

The soup answered with more bubbles of steam, and the image of the storm cloud dissolved.

“The big corn on my toe already told me about that,” Maline complained. “And it itches something fierce.” Reminded now of her discomfort, she removed her slipper and scratched her toe vigorously.

Yoline went back to stirring the pot with the spoon. Another large bubble brought more herbs to the surface. They assembled themselves as before, this time showing the outline of a human.

“A man,” Yoline declared.

The outline grew larger.

“A big man,” Zeline added.

The outline continued to grow and began sprouting a beard.

“A giant!” yelled Maline.

A little whirl formed itself on the image’s left cheek. It grew and shrank back again in a rhythmic way.

“He has his heart is on his cheek” Yoline assumed.

The pulsation grew in intensity and the figure hunched over.

“He is in pain,” said Zeline.

“He’s got a rotten tooth,” Maline concluded.

“Melzenis has a toothache!” the sisters shouted simultaneously.

More bubbles rose to the surface and the image vanished. Sounds of worried hooting came from the chandelier.

“Not you, Milzenis,” said Maline, trying to calm her familiar. “You don’t have teeth. I said Melzenis. The giant. He has a rotten tooth. We should visit soon and cheer up the poor fellow.”

Yoline kept stirring. Another bubble rose to the surface, and an image of three women appeared in the broth.

“Three women,” said Maline.

One of the women in the image raised her arm and waved.

“It’s us,” Zeline giggled, waving back.

The middle of the three women in the image carried something in her arms.

“What has she got there?” asked Yoline. “A bundle, maybe?”

The bundle stretched out two little arms.

“A baby!” Maline exclaimed in surprise. She looked at the third sister, as did Zeline. “You don’t happen to have a sweet little secret?” she asked eagerly.

Yoline turned beet red. “I do not!” she uttered indignantly. “What nonsense!”

“We saw it!” exclaimed the two crones.

“But we didn’t say it,” reminded the young woman.

Zeline took the spoon out of her sister’s hand and continued stirring the broth. The image returned momentarily. Yoline stared intently at the wriggling bundle. It squirmed out of the herb-arms of its mother and crawled on all fours to the edge of the cauldron. A curly tail sprouted from its backside.

“Stupid hags,” Yoline grumbled as she snatched the spoon back into her own hands. “Full of laughs. As if this is all just fun and games! One day something bad will come from your pranks, and then there will be moaning and groaning.”

The two hags giggled mischievously and poked her in the ribs. “Oh yes, moaning and groaning,” they confirmed.

The steam bubble rose up yet again, and a hut appeared. A small creature approached, its wings flapping, followed by a four-legged bandit with a pointed muzzle and a bushy tail.

“Our hen house!” the three witches yelled, horrified, but the soup wasn’t finished delivering messages yet. A shadow shot from the rim of the cauldron, swift as an arrow, and flew towards the fox. It grabbed the fox up in its claws, pecked it with its beak, and shook it until the fox was sent fleeing with its tail between its legs.

“An owl,” Maline sighed with relief.

The owls on the chandelier craned their necks. They did not want to miss this very significant message.

“My owls,” Yoline whispered with delight.

“Mim chases the chicken thief away!” the sisters recited as they looked up at the birds. The smallest of the three owls ruffled its feathers with satisfaction, while the other two looked with newfound respect at their companion. Milzenis hopped a bit to the side, to give the future heroine the best vantage point.

With a loud “bloop,” the soup once more drew the attention of the sisters. Yoline continued stirring and a new bubble welled up. This time the herbs seemed to arrange themselves randomly on the surface. The sisters gazed wonderingly into the cauldron.

“You don’t have more to say?” Zeline asked.

A group of green speckles coalesced into a head and a long body that meandered to the rim of the pot, whereupon it vanished slowly into the deep. Moments later, the same image reappeared at the same spot.

“A snake?” Maline asked. She seemed uncertain this time.

“The constellation!” Yoline yelled. She clapped her hands, obviously pleased at her cleverness. “Look, the Fox is there, too, with its pointy ears.”

“The entire Circle of Gods. And here is the Dragon, and next to it, the Hero.” Zeline pointed excitedly at the herb-star patterns. The soup made a warning, gurgling sound and she quickly withdrew her hand. The herbs swirled again, and the Snake reappeared. It wriggled and curled upon itself, and then formed a circle.

“What is it doing?” Maline asked, bewildered.

Again the constellation came into view, forming the head and long body, its tail now set where the jaws of the snake would have been.

“The Snake bites its own tail!” the sisters chanted.

The starry sky image faded, leaving the witches puzzled.

“The Snake bites its own tail,” Maline repeated. “That cannot be.”

“But we said so,” Zeline declared.

“So it must be true,” confirmed Yoline.

The witches glanced around worriedly, trying to remember if they had ever been wrong before. The birds seemed anxious, too, even though that last message had not depicted any owls. But these night hunters preyed upon snakes, and they watched the cauldron with interest.

Their ruminations were interrupted by the impatient soup. A loud gurgle reminded Yoline to get back to her task, and she continued stirring. A bubble of steam rose up, and the starry sky appeared once again. The sisters remained silent, concern etched in their brows.

They almost missed a single roll of chive turning around itself with incredible speed and then disappearing.

“The Eye of the Dragon,” Zeline mentioned. “It closed.”

“The Dragon falls asleep,” the sisters intoned together.

A new bubble formed, and the star-studded sky appeared again.

“If we don’t say it, maybe it won’t come true this time,” Maline whispered, as if she was afraid the soup would hear her.

“You think so?” Yoline asked, doubt in her voice.

“We should try,” said Zeline with determination.

The sisters looked at each other and nodded.

Yoline stirred energetically, scattering the images. When she stopped, the starry image appeared in front of them again, this time just as it looked in the real night sky. The witches sighed with relief but waited, watching intently for any new messages. Only Yoline’s young eyes noticed that the point of the Sword was missing. She stirred vigorously once more. This time, all the stars appeared in their proper places. Then, in the area of the Horns, five new stars appeared.

“A new constellation!” Zeline said with surprise.

“Is that a bowl?” Maline asked.

“A go…,” the sisters began to say, but they stopped before the word could pass their lips.

Yoline stirred up the strange constellation with her cooking spoon, dispersing it back into the soup. Next she dispersed the Raven, which had pushed itself between the Fox and the Stork as it chased the Dog back to its place. Yoline stirred frantically, but the images kept reforming.

“The starry sky has gone mad,” gasped Zeline.

“Madder than the sisters of Gartimpen!” hooted Maline.

“Too crazy for us!” they all agreed. Yoline put the lid on the cauldron just as the Lizard seemed to be growing two new legs. The soup started to boil, as soups usually do.

“Time for supper,” Zeline declared.

The owls glided majestically down from the chandelier and alighted on the backrests of the three chairs around the table. Zeline set bowls on the table, three large and three small, while Maline pulled the cauldron from the hearth and Yoline swapped the cooking spoon for a ladle.

After the first bowl of soup, their anxieties faded. After their second bowl, they had almost forgotten the images of that mad, starry sky. After the third bowl, even Yoline was giggling. The owls clacked along merrily with their beaks.

“I am in the mood for egg pancakes,” Maline declared.

“With honey,” Zeline agreed.

“And lard,” Yoline added.

“I’ll fetch the eggs,” Maline declared.

“I’ll break them,” Zeline agreed.

“I’ll stir them,” Yoline added.

Soon afterwards, the flour was measured and lard was melting in the pan, filling the hut with a delicious aroma. Maline placed the large pot of honey on the table and Zeline broke the first egg on the edge of a wooden bowl. Yoline, who was fetching another spoon, suddenly raised a frightful cry. Instead of yolk, she saw a white, egg-shaped form made of cotton-like gossamer fall into the bowl. The owls, which had been looking forward to egg pancakes, jumped down to the table and gazed curiously into the bowl. Milzenis tore a large scrap from the cotton and swallowed it hungrily. Sitting in the bowl was something black that jerked and twitched.

This time, it was Zeline’s high-pitched cry that startled everyone. The birds fled back up to the chandelier, knocking the bowl off the table in their haste. It fell with a clatter to the floor and the thing inside rolled to the center of the room. Maline grabbed a frying pan from the hearth and swung it down onto the cottony egg like a sledgehammer. It flattened out, spreading surprisingly far over the floor of the parlor. Torn between horror and curiosity, the sisters peered over the table at what lay before them on the floor.

“Is that a head?” asked Maline, pointing at a black spot that was as large as an apple.

“Or is that the head?” wondered Yoline, gesturing at a pear-shaped outline at the other end of the image.

“It has too many heads,” Zeline concluded.

“Or too many bodies,” Maline suggested.

“And too many legs,” counted Yoline. “Or is that a tail?”

From the chandelier they heard a clacking and retching sound as Milzenis coughed up a slimy cotton-like lump. It landed at the sisters’ feet. A black and hairy insect leg protruded from the mass.

“Not a tail,” said Zeline. “Six legs. Does it have wings, too?”

There was no way to tell.

“Or a stinger?” Maline asked, worriedly.

That, too, was hidden from the sisters.

“Let us see what’s in the others,” suggested Zeline. She retrieved the bowl from the floor and proceeded to break open the other two eggs, which, she remembered, Maline had carried in with the strange one from the henhouse. The other eggs contained only golden yellow yolks and clear egg whites. Relieved, the witches turned back to the thing lying on their parlor floor.

“What sort of creature is that? An ant? A beetle? A hornet?” whispered Yoline.

“It’s so big!” marveled the three witches in unison.

“In any case, it’s not a chicken,” Maline eventually decided. Then her practical sense won out. “Do we still want egg pancakes?”

The owls, growing impatient, had fluttered onto the backrests of the three chairs again.

“I’ll stir the eggs,” offered Yoline.

“I’ll heat up the pan,” said Zeline.

“I’ll clean up this mess,” added Maline. With a wave of her hand, she sent the bucket to fetch some water from the well.

March of the Hundred

by Stefan Schweikert

Imperial City of Gareth, middle of Peraine, 1038 after the Fall of Bosparan

“Your Grace! Wake up!”

Junivera could see the young girl’s shape through her sleep-heavy lids. She hopped nervously from foot to foot.

“Emer? What is it?” Junivera murmured.

“Apologies, Your Grace! I didn’t want to wake you. But I cannot calm him down, and he didn’t want to wait until morning, Your Grace. I am sorry, Your Grace.”

“Stop calling me Your Grace,” Junivera mumbled. “And who are you talking about? Is Geronius here?”

Her twitching suddenly stopped. The novice blushed. She lowered her head and replied, “No, Your Grace. It isn’t your...it isn’t the Master Lawkeeper.”

Junivera smiled. Barely a year ago, the little novice stood in fear of the grim man who sometimes came to the infirmary in Sunground to visit its leader, the Servant of the Corn, Junivera Algerein. This had changed, and now Emer made moon-eyes at Geronius Bosko whenever he stopped by. But didn’t girls sometimes secretly dream of a mysterious stranger who would whisk them away on a romantic adventure?

I have to take care of her. She is still a child, Junivera thought. Not every man is as blind and obstinate as Geronius, and fewer still would ignore the obvious advances of a young girl. Junivera shook off the dark thought. “Who is it, then?” she asked.

“He didn’t give his name, Your... um, Junivera. But he is desperate and cannot be dissuaded.”

“Well, well. I’ll be along shortly.”

Junivera pulled her green robes over her nightgown, wiped the sleep from her eyes, and followed Emer outside.

The late-night visitor waited at the infirmary’s threshold. When he saw the Blessed One of Peraine, he knelt down, trembling, and lowered his gaze.

Junivera didn’t know him, but she thought that he must be a local His clothes were simple, clean, and patched, as if he had put on his Praiosday garb before seeking the infirmary in the middle of the night.

“Greetings to Peraine, good man. How may we help you?” Junivera asked.

The man stared at the ground as he mumbled, “Greetings to Peraine, Your Grace. Please, Your Grace, my wife, Ilke, she’s acting so strangely. She is not well at all. I don’t know what to do. Poor Ilke!”

“Your wife is sick? You know that this House is for those who are almost beyond help. If things are this bad, you must bring your Ilke here at once, so she doesn’t spread her sickness to others.”

“No, no, Your Grace! It isn’t... something like that. No. Not like that. Ilke is well but also unwell! She isn’t herself. She’s… Oh, I don’t know how to explain. She’s just not the same!” He stumbled over his words, his voice almost breaking.

“My good man,” Junivera said patiently. “Stand up and look at me.”

The fearful man jumped to his feet as if kicked. Junivera and Emer had to catch him, or he would have fallen over.

“I am sorry,” he mumbled bashfully, avoiding Junivera’s gaze.

She put her hand under his chin and forced him to look at her. “Breathe calmly. Better? Good. Now, tell me your name. I already know your wife’s.”

“You know Ilke’s name?”

“You have mentioned it at least three times.” Junivera’s attention was drawn to Emer, who was holding her hand over her mouth and trying hard not to laugh. Junivera had to struggle to keep herself from reprimanding the girl in front of their guest. The man stared at Junivera with a dull gaze. She waited for him to respond.

“Fredo!” he shouted suddenly, as if a long buried memory had just returned. “My name is Fredo. And Ilke is my wife.”

Emer quietly stepped back and disappeared down the dark corridor. A moment later, sounds of furtive laughter could be heard.

I will have serious words with her, Junivera thought as she turned back toward her hesitant visitor. “So. Fredo. Start from the beginning. What has happened to your wife? You say she isn’t sick, yet she is different. Different, how? Have you asked her if she is worried about something? Is she afraid? Is she sad?”

“Yes and no. I can’t really explain. Please come with me and look at her!” Junivera gave no sign of following him, so he continued. “At first, Ilke said that she had been having strange dreams...”

“Everybody has nightmares, good man. It will pass. Is the household facing any troubles? This can lead to bad dreams.”

“She said strange, not bad. And not nightmares, no. Ilke even found them beautiful, she said. But when I asked her to tell me about them, she said that she couldn’t really remember, they were so strange. I was worried at first that maybe she was dreaming of another man and wouldn’t want to tell me. But, aside from that...she was as kind as always, Your Grace. And, then,...the dreams weren’t important anymore. Slowly, so slowly that I didn’t realize it at first, she not only quit talking about her dreams, she talked less and less... and, then,… Oh please, Your Grace, come with me and take a look!”

***

Ilke looked to be in her early twenties. She stood by the window of the small bedroom, staring out at the night. A slight curve to her body showed that she was pregnant. That could account for the strange dreams and personality changes, Junivera concluded. She asked, “Is this your first child?”

Fredo shook his head. “We have three. I have sent them to the neighbors. They don’t want to be with their mother, anyway. She scares them. She scares me, too, Your Grace. I love her, but she scares me! Please, Your Grace! By merciful Peraine, and all the Twelve, make her well again! I want my Ilke back! The right one! The real one!” Fredo started shaking, and he rushed out of the room before he began to cry.

Junivera turned toward the young woman. She hadn’t moved and hadn’t even looked at her husband or the Blessed One. Junivera put a hand on her shoulder, expecting a reaction. None came.

“Ilke?” she asked.

No response.

“What’s so interesting out there?” Junivera stepped between the woman and the window and looked her in the eyes. Still no reaction. Ilke seemed to look right through her. Her face was peaceful, and a light smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She exhibited no signs of disease, either physical or mental. But Junivera knew that not all illnesses left traces in the features of the face. There was a third possibility, but Junivera didn’t want to think about it.

Fredo calmed down a little and returned to the room. “It’s not always like this,” he said.

“How is it, then?”

“Usually it’s worse.”

“How do you mean?”

“I told you, Your Grace, that this started suddenly one day. She just stands or sits there, staring, saying nothing but sometimes babbling nonsense I don’t understand. In the beginning, it would not last long. And, when she was herself again, she said all is fine, nothing is wrong. But it got worse, and soon she wouldn’t answer me at all. A few weeks later she suddenly started screaming and raging like a beast caught in a cage. Since then, the little ones are afraid of their mother and don’t want to be near her. Yesterday... Ilke suddenly ran away! Just ran out of the house, in the middle of the night! In her nightgown! I had to look for her all over the Quarter. I found her down by the old tenements, where not even the poorest of the poor want to be after dark. She wanted to keep walking, but I grabbed her. But all there is...and I wouldn’t have... By all Twelve, I wouldn’t have....”

Fredo’s voice faltered.

Beyond that Quarter lay the Demon Fallows, and not even the most loyal husband would be mad enough to follow his wife there, Junivera thought.

“What did she want there?” she asked. Fredo shrugged.

Ilke suddenly began to sing in a thin voice: “They follow the stars, they follow their spark, they follow the clouds, they walk in the dark. Hundreds will walk, thousands will stay. Hundreds will see, and one will...”

“Ilke?” Fredo called to his wife, “Ilke! Come back to me!”

Junivera gently took the woman’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Ilke? What do you mean?”

But the young woman didn’t pay any attention to the Blessed One. She just continued to stare out of the window.

“What is out there?” Junivera asked her. “What do you see?”

“Do you see? Don’t you see?” Ilke answered, still singing, “What do you see when you close your eyes? What don’t you see? What do you see...?”

Acting on intuition, Junivera stood next to Ilke and tried to follow her gaze to the horizon. It was the month of Peraine, and the goddess’ constellation, the Stork, was in its zenith. The window faced east, and Ilke’s gaze seemed fixed on the horizon, where the constellation of the Mare was just rising above the rooftops of the city. Junivera was confused.

“My child has no name. My child has no face. My child has no father. And neither does his mother,” Ilke continued singing.

“Dear!” Fredo called. “What are you trying to say? You’re hurting me. Stop it, please stop it!”

Ilke turned toward her husband. In a soft voice, she asked him: “Fredo? Dear? What is it when darkness goes, but light does not come?” Then, she closed her eyes and fell to the ground like a withered leaf.

***

Junivera had the unconscious woman brought to the infirmary by Fred and a neighbor. Morning was dawning, and the Blessed Ones and serving laymen had begun their daily work.

“Is that Ilke? What’s wrong with her?” Emer asked.

“Don’t be a curious cat, Emm!” Junivera chided the girl with her old nickname. “Prepare a bed in one of the empty rooms. Choose a room with a lock.”

“Why is that, Your Grace?”

“Because I don’t want her to run away.”

On their way to the infirmary, Fredo told Junivera that Ilke always wanted to leave again whenever he brought her back. Each time he would lock her up in her room where she raged until evening came. At nightfall she would stare silently, just like Junivera had witnessed. Junivera was not sure if she could help the woman. If this was a failing of the mind, the Noionites would take care of her, as it was their duty to tend to those thus afflicted. Perhaps an experienced Blessed One could look for signs of possession. But Fredo’s report about strange dreams reminded Junivera of another incident, and Ilke’s strange, sing-song outbursts only strengthened the association. She was sure that Ilke’s changes had some meaning, and not just for the unlucky family.

“What work are you supposed to do today, Emer?” Junivera asked the waiting novice.

“Her Grace Bernika told me to scrub the floors in the upper rooms,” Emer said, obviously disappointed by the prospect.

Bernika had lived almost seventy paths of the gods and was the only Blessed One to return to the infirmary in Sunground after the fire five years ago. Besides Junivera, that was; but she hadn’t been a Blessed One back then. Bernika had raised six children of her own and countless foundlings besides, and even though Junivera assisted her as best she could, Bernika found it difficult to leave the daily management of the infirmary to the younger woman. It also, was problematic that Bernika had instructed Emer to scrub the floors in the upper rooms.

These rooms weren’t being used at the moment, which meant that the task was meant as some kind of punishment. Bernika believed that Junivera dealt with her novices too leniently, and tried to counter this with her own strict policies. Junivera would have liked to revoke Bernika’s authority, because she needed Emer; but she also knew that this would reflect badly on the novice, who tried hard not to bewail the injustice.

Bernika was something of a mother figure to Junivera, one she loved and one of whom she sometimes despaired.

Junivera said, “Good. Do that when you finish with Ilke’s room. Who knows how quickly we might need these rooms.” Emer nodded, pouting, but said nothing.

“And tell Janka to help you.”

Emer’s face lit up at once.

“When you are done, see me at once. I have a special task for you. But, now, let us tend to our new guest.”

Junivera helped Emer prepare the room. Then she dressed the unconscious woman in a simple nightgown and put her into bed. Emer worked in silence the whole time, but Junivera could tell that she had several burning questions.

“I must go... scrub the floors now,” Emer said when they had finished.

“Wait a moment,” Junivera requested. She sat down beside Ilke’s bed and motioned for Emer to do the same before continuing. “Are you certain you want to know what kind of task I have in mind for you?”

Emer nodded.

“Look at her. What do you see?”

Emer looked at the unconscious woman. “She’s sleeping. Is she sick? I mean, she must be sick to be admitted here. But she looks healthy.”

Junivera nodded. “Not every disease is obvious from the start. Sometimes it just takes time to recognize symptoms. Then there are diseases of the mind and of the soul that show no outward signs at all.”

“If she is mad, how can we help her? Isn’t that the specialty of the Noionites? They have experience dealing with those afflictions.”

“I don’t think she’s mad. Listen. I will tell you all I have heard and seen tonight. Then, while you scrub the floors, think about what this might mean. Just tell me what comes to mind. Tomorrow you will take over her care. You will stay by her bedside until she gets well again or it becomes plain that we cannot help her.”

Emer left the room, deep in thought.

Junivera stayed with the sick woman. Simple work aids in thinking through difficult things. At such times, she found that tending the plants in the garden helped her to think, but she didn’t want to leave Ilke alone. While she watched the sleeping woman, she tried to perceive the message hidden in Ilke’s words and actions. There was a message. She was sure of it.

Ilke had stared to the eastern horizon as if in a trance. What was the message hidden in the Mare, Rahja’s constellation? Rahja, beautiful goddess. Goddess of lust and of wine. Did Ilke have a lover? Was she afraid that he was the father of her unborn child? A line from her song seemed to fit that hypothesis. The child had no name… Why? Because Fredo wouldn’t give a bastard a name? That the child had no real father because it wasn’t his? But why had the song’s words sounded so threatening? Why didn’t the darkness end?

***

“‘Hundreds will walk. Thousands will stay. Hundreds will see, and one will...’” Emer finished reciting what she had heard.

“One will…?” Junivera asked. “One will what?”

“Ilke didn’t say,” Emer replied. “She was murmuring very quietly. I barely caught her words. She didn’t even wake up.”

“Or was it you who didn’t wake up?”

“I was awake the whole time! I thought that this was important! But all she does is sleep! She has been asleep for a week!”

“Yes. But have you been sleeping for a week, too?” Junivera said angrily. She regretted her harshness immediately, but she was just as disappointed as Emer.

The girl looked at the man standing next to Junivera, jumped up, and ran out of the room, her face growing redder by the second. “Emer!” Junivera called after her. She didn’t answer. Junivera sighed.

“What is so important about this woman, Junivera?” asked Geronius Bosko. He stepped closer and wrapped an arm around her waist. “What is so important that it makes you chide your novice for trivial reasons? What is so important that you don’t have any time for me?”

“I don’t know, Geronius,” Junivera frowned. “I only know that it is important. I sense that something is, I don’t know, coming toward us, maybe?”

“Haven’t your visions and dreams failed you before?”

“Only because I misinterpreted them!” Junivera shouted. Once again, she withheld one important fact from Geronius. She had experienced visions and clairvoyant dreams practically from the day she was born. She hadn’t understood all of them, hadn’t correctly interpreted them all, but they had always been a part of her life.

Suddenly, a few months ago, they simply disappeared. At first she thought it was because she simply hadn’t had a good night’s sleep, but it became apparent that her regular dreams had vanished along with her sights and visions, leaving a void that turned her nights into a bleak abyss.

Soon other people in Sunground began to complain about strange dreams. Not nightmares per se, but enough to fill people’s lives with restlessness and a feeling of menace. None of them experienced what Ilka had. Or maybe they couldn’t talk about it, thought Junivera. Was it possible that there were more people like Ilka whose families had never sought help? The infirmary wasn’t the first destination for those with such problems. Had they been sent to the Noionites? Had they been led astray by dubious charlatans and exorcists? Were they, too, mumbling cryptic words somewhere, locked away in dark chambers? Or had they all escaped and hurried off toward some unknown goal beyond the eastern horizon?

***

Three days later, Junivera and Geronius sat in the Garden of Peraine beneath a blossoming apple tree.

It was a sunny afternoon. Junivera knew that Geronius would have preferred to be alone with her, somewhere else. She could feel his desire. She didn’t share it today, but she found his presence comforting.

She awoke suddenly, startled by a shout. She had obviously been asleep for a long time, as it was the middle of the night. Geronius was nowhere at hand. She tried to stand up, but her limbs were numb. Then she saw Geronius appear from behind the bramble bush by the garden wall. He had heard the scream, as well.

She wanted to shout “Geronius, what is happening?” but her voice failed her, for there behind Geronius stood a small shape, her hair disheveled, her eyes dreamy, her arms around him, her body pressed against his, her gaze full of meaning. “You see,” the girl said, “you didn’t want him, so he found another. He has taken me, Junivera.”

“Emer!” Junivera shouted.

Then, shooting stars streaked across the sky. Dozens, then hundreds, and then the sky was full of falling stars.

“Junivera! Junivera, wake up. Has something happened?” It was Geronius’ voice, but he was still standing wordlessly in the blazing light of the falling stars, his face a grimace of lust. “Junivera!” the voice called once more.

She opened her eyes again. Geronius’ face was above hers, and the light wasn’t coming from falling stars. It was the bright light of the sun.

“What have you done!” she shouted at him. “She’s still a child!” Geronius looked at her without understanding.

“How could you!” she continued, then she began to wake fully. “Geronius? I was dreaming!”

Someone far away, Junivera couldn’t tell who, yelled, “Come quickly, she needs help!”

Excited voices echoed through the house. Geronius helped Junivera out of bed. “I dreamed!” she said again, finding the idea as relieving as it was scary.

Everyone in the infirmary was on their feet. Junivera entered the hallway and quickly found the source of their excitement. The door to Ilke’s room was open, and Bernika was kneeling on the ground, supporting Emer’s bleeding head in her lap.

Junivera rushed to her side. “Emm!” she yelled.

To her relief, Emer opened her eyes and mumbled, “I fell asleep. I am sorry, Your Grace…uh, Junivera. I fell asleep, and Ilke woke up.”

“It’s all right, Emer. You needn’t be sorry. I should have taken better care of you.” She looked at Bernika. The older woman nodded and smiled.

“It’s just a cut, nothing serious. Your patient hit her hard, but the little one will survive.”

“Where is Ilke?”

Bernika shrugged. “She can’t have gone far. The scuffle woke us up, but we deemed it more important to take care of Emer rather than run after Ilke. Best if that one stays away.”

“I must find her,” Junivera said with determination.

Bernika looked at her indignantly but said nothing. Instead, Geronius observed, “Wouldn’t it be better if you looked after your assistant? I can search for this Ilke. Stay and take care of Emer.”

“Wouldn’t you rather stay here with Emer?” she snarled at him.

“What are you talking about?” he asked her, obviously shocked. “What’s wrong with you? You aren’t yourself!”

Junivera turned to leave.

“Junivera! Where are you going? You don’t know where she went!”

“I know where she’s heading.” Junivera avoided the others’ gazes and swept past them to the door. She needed answers, and she wouldn’t find them in this room.

Geronius caught up to her quickly. “Junivera, what was that all about?” he asked as they walked with a quick step through the alleys of the Southern Quarter.