Mordraud, Book One Read online

  ‘And she’s still so young...’ he thought, as he stared at her, excited by his exertion and the rain.

  He’d always liked Eglade, since she’d been a maid helping the elderly women.

  “Looking for shelter from the rain, Aris?”

  She was short of breath and red in the face. Her eyes revealed no sign of fear. Irises so blue as to make the sky look grey. Aris glanced about, sword still clenched in his fist, but found nothing.

  That Khartiar must have gone further on.

  “I saw the open door, and so...”

  He didn’t want to frighten her. If it were to emerge that a Khartiar had succeeded in coming so close to the village, it would be an unbearable disgrace for him.

  “I just wanted to check everything’s okay.”

  “I was bringing the wood in before it gets wet... you know. I cut it just this morning,” Eglade replied, pushing a lock of hair back off her face. Outside, the storm raged ferociously. She started at every thunder clap, clutching at the stack of wood at her back. She was drenched from head to toe, and shivered from cold.

  Aris was truly sorry he couldn’t stay.

  “Remember now, be careful!” he shouted to her as he ran towards the forest, once again hunting out his prey.

  Eglade didn’t answer.

  If he hadn’t been in such a hurry, Aris might have been unsettled by that detail.

  ***

  Varno was on the brink of death when Eglade freed him from beneath the pile of wood. She’d seen him crawl inside the woodshed, and at first leapt back in panic. Then she heard a strange voice, rasping and faint, like the sizzling of a fire, uttering something she couldn’t understand. She crept closer, a branch in her hand, ready to defend herself, but she froze in her step when she realised who was perishing before her eyes.

  A wounded Khartiar lay in the throes of death at her feet.

  Urged on by a sort of primeval instinct, she was about to smash him over the head with the stick. After all, the Khartiars didn’t deserve to live, that’s what she thought. The older women she’d served had taught her that. But she couldn’t find the courage to do it. She felt more curious than worried.

  She’d always wondered what was outside the forest they were forbidden to leave, except at the price of death. They’d always told her that nothing but death and misery lay beyond those trees. The remains of their ancient empire, ravaged and violated by the Khartiars.

  She was standing before an excellent opportunity to find out.

  When she heard the first raindrops splash down on the branches of the great oak, she’d already decided what to do. She ran outside, covered the blood streaks with a woodchip bed, and hid the Khartiar under a wood stack.

  Aris had burst into the small room just as she was placing the last piece on the Khartiar’s head.

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to save you...”

  Varno groaned something. A thank-you, or a prayer. Eglade didn’t know.

  That man was an immense mystery.

  Which was why she did everything she could to treat his wounds.

  II

  “Can you understand my words?”

  Varno had never seen a woman like her. Gorgeous, yet strange. He couldn’t find a better term to describe her. As tall as him, with molten copper hair flowing neatly down her back. Compact, as if heavier than normal. Deep blue eyes. Not sky blue, not light. A pure bottomless blue. Her skin was smooth, with no marks, no moles, no scars. Not a blemish. She looked as if she’d been sculpted and formed from a material that did not belong to her surroundings.

  A woman lacking in any flaw, like a dream with no fiction.

  “Your house is lovely, did you know?”

  She replied with a smile. In her hands was a pestle, which she twisted slowly while adding a small pungent-smelling leaf or two from time to time. Her attire was not unlike that of any young woman. A knee-length linen dress, simple, without embroidery and showing a modest neckline, paired with pale leather boots. The house was basically a single room, with a small earthenware stove. A table, a few rush-seat chairs and a bed – which he’d been lying on for days, in a silent stupor.

  Varno was unaware of exactly how long it had been. His wounds were almost all healed, even the one on his leg. What remained was a partially scarred hole where the arrow had gone in, and a gash on his thigh where the sharp tip had come out. He had only vague and fleeting memory bursts of what had happened after he’d hidden in the woodshed: just the noise of the rain on the wooden roof, the bandages secured around his body, and the strong smell of the concoctions the woman spread on his wounds daily, with relentless and patient devotion.

  “That stuff’s worked wonders... Never seen anyone survive the injuries I had...” he remarked in amazement. He was hoping she’d say something. No, nothing. She didn’t answer and, above all, seemed not to understand a word he said. He tried in his valley’s dialect, then strained out some Cambrian – a tongue known all over the world and used in every school. No reaction. Varno slumped back onto the bed in fatigue, sinking into the large white pillow she’d plumped up not much earlier.

  He’d never been so comfortable in all his life.

  “Whoever you may be, I thank you from the bottom of my heart...”

  “Tha... Thank...”

  Varno pulled himself up abruptly, but the movement caused him such a sharp stabbing pain in his back that it took his breath away. The woman helped him settle back again, her face taut in wrinkle-free concern.

  “Were you trying to say... thank you?”

  “Thank you,” she repeated, with a little effort. She had a lovely deep and warm voice. Yes, deep. Unexpectedly so.

  “What’s... you... name?” Varno asked slowly. “My... name’s... Varno. Varno...” he repeated, pointing to himself several times.

  “Eglade,” she answered promptly. Her face melted into a smile. Varno looked in astonishment at the compactness of her skin. Her pores were practically invisible. Not even a hair on her arms. Her expression of joy was pure emotion, translated onto lips he’d never before seen.

  “Hey, you learn fast! Well, I’ll say... thank you again!”

  “Thank you... again!”

  ***

  Eglade didn’t only learn swiftly, was the conclusion Varno came to in utter amazement. She was also quick to pick up what he tried to teach her. He simply had to point something out and name it, and she managed to connect it with the other words at disarming speed. In just a few hours, they were able to exchange a few sentences that made sense. And after a mere couple of days she was managing to guess words’ meanings before he explained them. As if she’d already fully grasped the reasoning behind the Cambrian language. Varno couldn’t figure out how it was possible. She seemed far more intelligent than any other person he’d ever met.

  “What’s your language like?”

  “Difficult... much more difficult than Khartian,” Eglade replied as she completed the bandaging on his leg. It was evening, the light of the sunset was filtering in through the small windows prettied with delicate white lace. They’d just finished eating a slightly sweet vegetable soup, which Varno had found delicious.

  “Khartian... that sounds vaguely familiar...” he mumbled, trying to sift through jumbled memories. He’d heard the word at least once before. “Yes, when I tumbled down that ravine! I heard one of the archers use it... but it was slightly different.”

  “Perhaps you mean Khartiars?”

  “That’s it!” Varno burst out. “But what does it mean?!”

  Eglade lowered her gaze in embarrassment. She looked as if she didn’t want to talk about it. Only when he insisted did she try to explain to him what that word really meant.

  “You’re a Khartian... You say... simply man. Human being. But for us it means people who came across the sea.”

  “And what does Khartiar mean?” asked Varno, puzzled and disoriented.

  “It’s an insult. It means people who invaded,” she murmured.
<
br />   “I don’t get it! What are you talking about? What have we invaded? And who are... you?!”

  “I’m an Aelian.”

  Varno stretched out his arms in disbelief. “I’ve never heard of you...”

  “Really?!”

  Varno had never studied. He barely knew how to read and write his own name. The greatest example of culture in the village where he was born and grew up was the collection of songs about the triumphs of the Imperial Lances of Cambria. He knew a few queer stories about peoples of the forests – children’s fairytales brimming with tiny green-clad beings armed with miniature catapults. But he’d never heard talk about the Aelians. Eglade was stunningly beautiful, unsettling in her perfection, but when it came down to it, she could pass for an ordinary woman, if details – such as her copper hair and intense blue eyes – were not lingered on.

  “There are few, extremely few of us. But we’re not a fairytale,” Eglade replied, with a hint of pride in her glum voice. “We were very important many years ago. Centuries ago, as you would say.”

  “You don’t... your people don’t seem very different to us Khartians,” Varno remarked, perplexed.

  “I’m also... what’s the word? I’m surprised. I thought you Khartiars... well, Khartians... were hairy all over, short and ugly, and blood-thirsty.”

  Varno burst out into roaring laughter. He wasn’t particularly handsome, but that description was rather unfair. Dark wavy hair, eyes as black as coal, and the unkempt beard of a few weeks, which luckily didn’t grow that profusely. A stocky build, of a person who’d spent most of his life with a hoe or plough in hand. His nose was a little squint, after it had been broken a couple of times in boyhood tussles.

  “Why is it you live in this forest? We’re almost on the border with the desolate mountains of the North,” he inquired.

  “You Khartians never come up here. Or rather, hardly ever. There’s nothing behind us except icy mountains and bleak heathland, as far as the Sea of the North. Your first town and villages are many days’ away, and no road used by your people passes through here. It was a painful choice. Before our downfall, we lived in cities, and built roads and ports. We’ve got used to the woods with the passing of the years. They protect us from you. We’re forbidden from contact with... humans. We’re not allowed to leave the forest. Our guards would even kill an Aelian, if necessary.”

  “Why?! I don’t see!” Varno blurted out.

  “It all started a long time ago. Many, many generations ago for you – fewer for us. Aelians, like me, live much longer than Khartians.”

  “How long?”

  “Well, much longer... At least I think so.”

  Varno collapsed onto the bed, mouth gaping. It was absurd, he thought. An increasingly delirious dream.

  “Once, the Aelians dominated the entire continent of Cambria. The city of Cambia itself was ours, as was the whole of the West and the South. You Khartians arrived across the Sea of the North and you made homes for yourselves on our coasts. There were few of you – none of us ever protested at your settling. We also travelled as far as your lands...”

  “Where?!” Varno asked.

  “Ankhar, in the north. Many days’ voyage away, or at least that’s what they say. I’ve never been.”

  “Is there a continent even further north?!”

  “Yes. Your native land. And the Aelians knew how to reach it. Back then we traded with you, swapped stories and sciences. Until you landed in great number here, where we lived. Then...”

  “Then what?”

  “The Endless Night began.”

  “The Endless... Night?!”

  “That’s right. But I know nothing else. We’re not allowed to remember those years. Merely talking about them is forbidden,” Eglade admitted hastily, terrified at her own words.

  “I would imagine we Khartians took advantage of this... Endless Night, right? To usurp your homes.”

  “I don’t know. More or less, I think. They also say...” Eglade’s voice shrank to a whisper, as if she were afraid someone might hear her talking about those memories. “They say a single Khartian was to blame. Since then, we’ve all been exiles in the lands that were once ours. We loathe your people.”

  “One single man?! And what was his name?”

  “No, I don’t know,” she hurried a reply.

  “Why didn’t you try to seize back what was yours?!” Varno asked in amazement.

  “You became stronger, and we weaker. We tried. But we lost. Now we just endeavour to live peacefully far away from you. We’re banned from even contemplating the idea of leaving our village. We don’t even know if other communities like ours exist, somewhere else. Some say they’ve seen these places, like Cambiryon... but few of us believe him.”

  “Who is this... Cambiryon?”

  “The direct descendant of Cambirian, the last King of the Aelians. The one who guided our people through the Endless Night. Little is known of his life. Just as practically nothing is known of what happened back then.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “To be honest, even I don’t understand,” whispered Eglade. “But all my fellow villagers see it the same way as the elders. Something horrific must have happened during the Endless Night.”

  “Not that the world outside this forest is particularly inviting!” Varno burst out, with a sarcastic grin. “Cambria, the city that was once yours, is now the capital of the East. It’s become the heart of an empire. Certainly not the first. After taking your city, I fear my people acquired a taste for it. We Khartians love fighting wars...” he chuckled.

  “Emperor Loren, the patriarch of the most powerful family in Cambria, has control of most of the East, as far as Telatias, and stretching south until Calhann. But Elder and his rebel allies of the East are unexpectedly holding their own. They’re defending the territories along the eastern ocean – the lands of their ancestors. I fought in one of these battles...”

  “Whose side were you on?”

  “Cambria’s. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Wars are useful merely to us mercenaries. They bring troubles and hunger to all other people.”

  “A mercenary? What’s that?” Eglade inquired with curiosity.

  “A man who fights a war for money,” Varno explained.

  “It sounds very sad...”

  “Perhaps,” he shrugged his shoulders. “But there’s worse.”

  “Such as?”

  “Dying in a war fought for money...” replied Varno with a cheerless smile.

  ***

  The weeks went by. Varno’s wounds had fully healed. He spent his time telling Eglade stories of his people, and she reciprocated with those of her own folk. He soon realised the human and Aelian worlds were as distant as the clouds from the wells, although the two races were physically very similar. The Aelians lived on memory alone, desperately clinging to the old laws of their people. They found it hard coming to terms with life in the woods, yet they had created a sort of balance, albeit with great effort. The Khartians were always pursuing a future of wealth, comfort and, above all, power. Males and females had the same standing among the Aelians. Each had the right to an adequate amount of food, a roof for shelter and an education. Instead, among the humans, those with the most money could afford anything they desired. And women had very little say.

  Eglade had studied with the female elders, assisting them as handmaid. She could read and count well, and make complex calculations on scales Varno couldn’t even vaguely grasp. He could barely read, and his writing skills were even poorer. She’d learnt his language, she’d saved him from certain death, she knew how to make marvellous healing potions, and she could feel the coming of a storm a day before it struck. The most Varno could do was channel his might into handling a sword.

  Eglade told him lots of other less appealing details. The Aelians could be iron-resolute in their rules, to the point of calculated and intentional cruelty without hesitation. Their minds were far more rational than they seemed, contrastin
g with their houses snuggled beneath the trees and their vegetable patches overrun with colour. They possessed a true passion for cataloguing, and for the inherent elegance of laws. They lived in an eternal state of creeping dissatisfaction that never left them in peace.

  The more she spoke, the less Varno felt in harmony with the framework of her mind. An ocean of differences stood between them.

  Yet all the seas of the world couldn’t quench the sense of wonder they felt when together. They were two eras, two realities, two mentalities meeting, as had happened perhaps very few times before.

  It wasn’t long before the wonder evolved into affection.

  All the stories Varno managed to narrate were, for Eglade, a window onto a secret that had always been concealed, debarred to her and to her fellow creatures. For his part, he found the purest and most crystalline perfection in the Aelian – a quality no other woman could ever possess. A beauty, grace and sensitivity unfathomable, to him. A sophistication of thought that left him speechless. It was not merely a question of appealing features, of sensuality. He’d seen many beautiful and attractive women in his lifetime. Eglade had something more, and something less. Her body’s colours went beyond the vivid, beyond the saturated. She conveyed the impression of a woman above the concept itself of woman. He could stay listening to her, gazing at her, for hours. Asking himself why the Aelians, and Khartians like himself, existed. Understanding utterly nothing of it.

  The only problem was he couldn’t leave the house. Not for an instant.

  “If one of the guards were to see you, you’d be killed instantly, without a moment’s hesitation. And they’d kill me too, for helping you.”

  Varno knew Eglade was not exaggerating. She lived alone, outside the village, against the will of her parents and her people. Her choice made no sense to them. What enabled the Aelians to tolerate that undermining condition of exile – the consequence of reasons they themselves found hard to recall – was precisely their firm bond with the merciless sense of law. Instead, Eglade had never been able to stand that process of slow corrosion, of imperceptible death, that her people dragged behind them. As soon as she gained the power to choose, she opted to live alone, in the forest. Rather than see her relatives and friends accept in silence that small world they’d created around themselves with their own hands.