Marked (12 page)

“It is time, my young friend. Are you sure you want to go through with this? We still have time to forget all of it and let the threads of destiny go about their capricious way without our interference.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Komir quickly got up from the chair, walked toward the Witch, and stopped at the edge of the circle. He looked into her eyes.

“I am ready. Let’s do this.”

“Enter the circle and give me your hand,” she directed.

Komir went into the circle, nervous but secure in his decision to go through with it—to the very end, whatever the cost. Even if he were to lose his life.

Amtoko waited a few moments then began to speak strange verses in an unfamiliar tongue that was nothing like the Norriel language. Suddenly, a strong gust of cold wind burst through the door and windows, and a whirlwind of leaves swirled around the room, putting out the candles that had been lighting it. In an instant, the two were immersed in absolute darkness. Only the glimpses of light from the Goddess of the Moon that crept through the door lit their silhouettes. Amtoko, as if unaware of what was happening around her, continued reciting her mysterious chant. The three circles began to give off a whitish light that rose upward. The light remained trapped inside, as if confined in a mystical world from which it could not escape. The Witch opened the book she had been holding and read aloud a series of incomprehensible words. She looked into his eyes and gestured that he should show her his hands.

Komir did as she indicated.

He barely noticed when she cut his palm with the ceremonial dagger.

His blood began to flow.

Komir instinctively closed his fist but Amtoko shook her head. His blood dripped onto the floor inside the great circle, and the light began to turn yellow the moment it made contact with the precious fluid of life. Images began forming in the circle at their feet, images he recognized with an aching heart... images from that terrible, deadly night.

He started to move away but Amtoko grabbed his arm.

“Hold on.”

Komir took a deep breath and nodded.

The Witch moved to the next circle—the place where Ulis had perished. She repeated the ritual, and when Komir’s blood fell into the circle the image revealed was the scene from when his father had died. Komir closed his eyes, suffering an unendurable pain. Amtoko completed the ritual once more; Komir could no longer hold back the tears as he yet again witnessed the death of his beloved mother.

“The medallion, please,” the Witch requested.

Trembling, Komir handed it to her then returned to the middle circle. The Witch held the jewel of unknown powers by its golden chain and let it swing freely above the circle.

“Take it, and hold it just as I am,” she indicated as he dried his tears with his cuff.

He obeyed and Amtoko again began to recite the unusual verses. Blood trickled from his hand and began to run down the golden chain. A thin stream of the scarlet liquid reached the medallion’s round black gem.

A flash of golden light emerged from the object.

Komir jumped.

The blood washed over the gem and fell into the center of the circle on the floor. New images began to take shape. First, a vision of an infinite sea of blue. A few moments later, a scene filled with waves breaking forcefully against a high cliff. Komir watched; not recognizing the place, not understanding. A few seconds passed and the scene changed again. This time, it was night, and at the top of the cliff, an enormous lighthouse shone over the horizon. The vision remained fixed on the rectangular tower for several instants, then finally vanished.

Amtoko stopped her chanting and the circles of light instantly disappeared.

“What... was that place? What did those images mean?” he asked.

“Those images show you your path, the place where your mother’s medallion wishes to return... its origin, perhaps... or possibly its final destiny...”

“But what is that place? Do you know of it? Do you know where it is?” he pressed anxiously.

“Yes, young Norriel, I know of it. It is the Egia Lighthouse in Ocorum, the great port city in the kingdom of Rogdon. Our neighboring kingdom to the south.”

“Then that is where I will go. To the cliffs in the kingdom of Rogdon!”

The Silver Witch looked at him and, saddened, shook her head.

“May the three goddesses protect you, Komir. You are going to need them.”

The morning dew greeted him, tinging the vegetation with a radiant glow and, with each step, depositing droplets on Komir’s well-worn boots. He picked up the dampened satchel inside which he had packed a few warm items of clothing and enough provisions for two weeks and slung it over his back with a sigh. His spear was leaning beside the door. He picked it up and, slowly, carefully closed the door to his home.

Komir stood there for a long moment, contemplating in silence, lost in thoughts about the past. He had lived so many happy moments in this house with his beloved parents! He wondered if he would someday return here. No... it was likely he would not. But the thought of that did not frighten him. He would go forward, fearlessly, to find the answers to all the unknowns that tormented him. Without waiting another instant, he turned and began to walk toward the town, leaving behind the home he’d held so dear. His stomach churned with conflicting feelings of sadness about giving up everything he knew and loved and bittersweet joy about beginning the hunt. He had to find rest for his soul; he had to impart justice.

“Are we leaving without saying goodbye?” boomed a familiar voice behind him.

Komir instantly recognized it.

“I wanted to avoid having to see your ugly face one last time,” replied Komir, turning to face his giant of a friend.

Hartz smiled from ear to ear.

“Well then today is not your lucky day.”

“I see you aren’t going to make this easy for me.”

“When have I ever done anything to make your life simpler?” laughed Hartz.

“Never... I don’t remember a single time when you helped me with anything important. You always got us into trouble—that’s your greatest gift. Helping? Not so much.”

“We all have our talents. Mine is very special...”

“Yes, of course, getting into messes and cracking skulls... nice little talent, that one of yours.”

“Really special—lots of people would love to have it,” joked Hartz, laughing.

“Why did you come here, big guy? It would have been easier not to say goodbye... I wanted to avoid it.”

“After taking care of you all those months like a lovesick maiden, now that you’ve recuperated you’re going to leave me without so much as a goodbye?”

“I know, it’s not right or honorable... and you know I deeply appreciate all the help you gave me during that... difficult time.”

“I know, calm down—I was kidding. You’ve turned serious on me all of a sudden,” said Hartz, smiling.

“There’s no way to have a serious conversation with you.” Komir looked into his good friend’s big brown eyes. “I’m going to miss you, that’s for sure,” he said, choking up a bit as he gave Hartz a heartfelt pat on the shoulder.

“Well, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” responded Hartz, turning around and heading for a nearby oak. Komir followed him with his eyes, intrigued. From behind the tree, his friend took out a huge satchel, his war spear and his bearskin cape.

“You can’t come with me, Hartz. We’ve already talked about this.”

“Yes, we have talked. And you made your decision. Now it’s time for me to make mine.”

“I don’t want you to get mixed up in my problems. If you came with me and something happened to you I would never forgive myself.”

“I understand, friend, but my life is mine to live however I decide. I am not going to let you walk into danger alone. We are friends and wherever you go, I’ll go with you.”

“You are so stubborn! Your head is harder than a rock! I already lost my parents—I don’t want anyone else to die because of me.”

“I know. And I don’t want you to die alone in some distant land. I won’t allow it.”

“Please, I’m begging you; turn around, go back to your father and live the life of a Norriel, here in your land, with your people.”

Hartz shook his head. “It’s time to see the world—to go out and explore. Experience new places and live great adventures. If I stay here, I’ll die of boredom. The pirate attacks are few and far between and hunting bears holds no excitement for me anymore.”

Komir tried to dissuade him. “If you come with me you will probably die.”

Hartz burst out laughing. “Thanks for trying to scare me, but it’s not going to work. Whether I stay here or go with you, the only sure thing is I’ll end up mixed up in some kind of deadly mess... and I’d rather it be with you.”

“I don’t want you to come with me. I don’t want you to die and I don’t want to hear anything more about it!”

“And I won’t let you die alone in some far-off land without being able to help you. So I’m going with you and I don’t want to hear anything more about it!”

“Damn it! You are more stubborn than a mule—the most pig-headed guy on the face of the Earth. A rock full of nothing but air—that’s what you have for a head!” Komir was shouting, furious with him. He turned and started walking down the path. After taking several more steps, he calmed down a bit then looked back at his friend, who was still standing there expectantly.

“For the sake of the Sun and the Moon! Let’s go... we have a long trip ahead of us...” surrendered Komir, resigned to his defeat.

Hartz’s face lit up, his enormous smile a perfect reflection of his enormous joy. He immediately bounded toward Komir.

“So many adventures to live! So many skulls to crush!” he exclaimed.

Komir dolefully shook his head. Once again, his good friend had beaten him.

He looked ahead and sighed. It was time to leave the lands of the Norriel behind, to head south, to the kingdom of Rogdon, in search of his destiny and, most probably, never to return.

“Onward! Rogdon awaits,” he said, setting off on his path and leaving his home behind.

Aliana’s lithe body bent to pick one of the medicinal plants that was ready to harvest. It was a warm day, and a soft breeze was whispering over the cliff, gently swaying the flowers that decorated it. From these heights she could see the coast of the kingdom of Rogdon, and admired its savage beauty, a glow of satisfaction on her face. She picked several dandelions and slipped them into the tattered leather bag she wore tied to her waist. When she straightened up, she looked for another plant to harvest but did not see any. The delicate breeze, coming from the infinite ocean behind her, caressed her face and hair. She stretched out her arms and let her body sway to the sound of the sighing of the gods, enjoying this pleasurable sensation.

Lagging behind a bit, Gena watched Aliana and smiled at her tutor’s obvious delight. She warmly remembered how, since her arrival at the Temple of Tirsar to become an apprentice, the beautiful Aliana had taken her under her protective wing. In almost the same moment, Gena recalled with great sadness how her parents had sent her to the temple as soon as they discovered she possessed the Gift. Her parents’ astonishment and subsequent rejection had caused her unspeakable pain. It seemed paradoxical that an act of kindness, of love, on her part would have had such horrendous repercussions for her. Having just turned sixteen, Gena had healed an ugly gash on her brother Bilon’s arm after he’d fallen from a tree. Not knowing how or why or understanding what was happening, a small miracle had taken place, born of her worry and sincere desire to help relieve her loved one’s pain. She had cured him—had healed her brother with that incredible bluish glimmer that she had never before experienced.

Her dear parents, however—humble Rogdon farmers with good hearts but very superstitious in their ignorance, and fearful of anything mystical—had been completely horrified. Their negative reaction had broken Gena’s once-cheerful heart. She was well aware of the fact that, just like the majority of the townsfolk and people of the region, her parents both feared and abhorred anything unknown or mysterious. So after consulting with the leaders of their small village, they had decided to send her to the Temple of Tirsar, home of the Healers, on the westernmost coast of the kingdom where they would take care of her and deal with the special needs her “situation” demanded.

The sadness and pain she had experienced after her loved ones abandoned her had been horrific.

Gena had been at the temple a year already and, contrary to what she had thought in the beginning, she was happy. Very happy. Now she walked cheerfully toward Aliana, thinking to herself that she could not have asked for a better tutor. In spite of her young age, Aliana was a very gifted teacher and, precisely because of that youth, an excellent companion.

When Aliana saw Gena waving at her she returned the greeting, wielding that enchanting smile of hers. Gena, putting her analytical mind to good use, studied Aliana for a moment. The Healer had just turned nineteen; she was tall and slender, with long hair as golden as summer wheat that trailed halfway down her back. Her enormous eyes were the color of the sea and shone with a captivating tranquility and harmony. Her skin was pale though somewhat tanned from the constant exposure to the gentle sun in that region. The peaceful beauty of that face, so serene and harmonious, had an exceedingly calming effect—like balm for unsettled souls. 

According to what the sisters had told her, Aliana had spent her whole life at the temple. That would also be the honorable destiny in store for Gena since she, too, possessed the Gift. She accepted it willingly and, what’s more, gave thanks to the gods for it. She followed her teacher with her eyes as she walked briskly toward the temple, allowing herself to be drawn in by the majestic landscape before her.

The Temple of Tirsar, both headquarters and refuge of the venerated Order of Healers, had been erected on an extraordinarily beautiful, triangular-shaped peninsula situated on the far western edge of the powerful kingdom of Rogdon. A long stone bridge with nearly one hundred arches, built on an irregular isthmus, united the independent peninsula to the territory of the prosperous kingdom. The peninsula constituted a veritable natural fortress, surrounded almost completely by the sea. A walled gate and two regal towers protected the entrance to the peninsula from the prominent bridge. Gena was enchanted by the bridge, constructed partly on the narrow isthmus and partly over the sea. Whenever her obligations would allow, she would take walks on this well-built structure to enjoy the spectacular vistas. Impassable cliffs surrounded the entire length of the peninsula with the exception of a small bowl-shaped area in the South where a tiny port with a charming beach interrupted the predominance of the enormous precipices. Gena approached one of the cliffs to the south and, from that impressive height, looked out over the little beach.

She continued to look down over the northeast side of the peninsula. A vast, dense forest spread to the bare base of the cliffs. The expanse to the west had been converted into large fields for crops. The building in the center, a sturdily constructed tower that had been an old military fortification, had had a large wing added on each side where the majority of the residents lived. Since she possessed the Gift and had been initiated into the Order as an apprentice Healer, Gena stayed with her sisters in the east wing. The Protectress Sisters, on the other hand, had not been blessed with the Gift but they were wholly dedicated to the Order. Their duty was simple yet essential: to protect the temple and all its members. Instructed in the art of warfare and in the handling of weapons, they made up an elite sentry of soldiers.

As she went down the hill, not a care in the world, Gena reviewed in her mind all the knowledge she had gained about the Order and its origins, lessons she had learned from the stories Aliana and other teachers had shared with her over time. The Order’s mission and purpose was to promote the study and practice of healing as well as all the curative arts. In turn, those blessed with the Gift had to be protected so they might help those in need and ease the pain caused both by the sicknesses and the villainy of mankind which were ravaging the world. Founded by Helaun, the first known Healer with the Gift in the kingdom of Rogdon, the Order had been in existence for several centuries.

According to legend, Helaun had pursued just one altruistic objective all her life: to create a benevolent corps of people dedicated in body and soul to eradicating sickness and pain from the face of Tremia. With great perseverance and determination, Helaun founded the Order of Tirsar with just two Healers in a time when they were being hunted and accused of witchcraft. Although no portraits or written accounts existed of the Founding Mother of the Order, Gena had always imagined that she had an ethereal, almost divine appearance because of her noble ideals and achievements. She had begun alone, with just her Gift, and after many years of self-directed study based on trials and experimentation she had come to understand the basic principles that guided them still.

In a bygone era when the existence of the Gift was scarcely known, the few who possessed it specialized in the art of destruction. The existence of Magi of Power had been confirmed; Magi capable of manipulating the elements—Fire, Earth, Air, and Water—to create enchantments with great destructive power. They laid waste to cities and armies, these Sorcerers who penetrated and corrupted the minds of men with horrible visions of excruciating pain, death and abomination. But Helaun, who could herself have become an incredibly powerful Mage or Witch considering the intensity of her Gift, refused to follow the paths of dominance and death and chose instead to dedicate her life to the magnanimous task of healing her fellow man. With no one to help her and relentlessly pursued by the ignorant masses, Helaun created with her own hands the first treatises on healing.

With many years of arduous work and constant training she developed her talent, but it went far beyond that; she founded an order to guarantee the continuation of her work so that, in the future, other Healers would be able to follow the path she had undertaken. All that in an era when they were hunted, marginalized, and tormented by the ignorance and lack of worldliness of simple-minded people who were easily frightened by what they did not understand. Several Healers were brutally murdered—burned at the stake by these ignorant peasants and their religious leaders trying to uphold their misguided truths. That is what compelled Helaun to found the Protectress Sisters. It was the only way to prevent more murders, lynching, and rapes of the defenseless Healers.

Tremia was a hard and cruel world, and the vileness of some of its men reached unthinkable heights.

For all those reasons, in Gena’s eyes Helaun represented all the virtues and goodness she aspired to one day emulate. With a sigh, she looked toward the endless horizon over the immense blue sea and, in a whisper, thus vowed:

“Someday I will be deserving of the Gift with which I have been blessed. Some day you shall feel proud of this humble daughter, Founding Mother.”

With that one wish in mind, she watched her tutor descend toward the temple.

Aliana arrived at the great central plaza in front of the temple. As was typical for that hour of the day, the plaza was full of Sisters carrying out their daily tasks. The plaza was divided into three areas where all the Order’s principal activities took place.  The eastern section was dedicated to trade and agriculture and had tables and posts set up for the preparation and storage of the products to be used both for internal consumption and for trading with the neighboring kingdom. The western section was dedicated to healing and all the work related to that complex art, with different posts where scores of Sisters completed their work. Aliana walked toward them and greeted her sisters. She gave them the medicinal plants she had collected so they could be dried and later used as medicines or ointments. With her usual cheerfulness, she walked to the southern section of the plaza where the Protectress Sisters were working on their archery, sword, and spear skills. Some thirty women—one quarter of the total armed forces of the temple—were rigorously training for war. The rest remained at their stations in the towers, in the temple, or on patrol.

As she watched the training, Aliana was suddenly overcome by a desire to join in, so she asked the official instructing them if she might be permitted to take a few practice shots with the bow. It was the law of the Order that all the women—whether Healers or Protectress—be instructed in using the bow as soon as they entered the Order. And even though Aliana was a Healer because the Gift was so strong in her, she handled the bow quite well. She took five shots from a considerable distance and every one of them hit the bull’s-eye. Pleased with her skill, she broke into a smile. She loved archery and could not resist taking a few shots now and then. She decided to try a shot with a moving target; she actually preferred that due to the added difficulty it entailed. She signaled to one of her sisters who, dressed in a full, heavy suit of armor complete with visored helmet, was next to a tree holding a rope with hoists. The Sister pulled the rope and a round, white wooden disk with a bull’s-eye on it was released from one of the tree’s branches and began swinging back and forth. At that distance, hitting the mark on a moving target was only within the reach of the most expert markswomen.

She concentrated, measured the wind, studied the movement of the target, calculated the shot and the angle necessary and readied herself. She cleared her mind, letting it go blank and into a state of complete harmony; the only thing that existed for her was the swinging movement of the bull’s-eye. She felt the light breeze on her face, breathed deeply, drew the bow string back to her cheek, and let go. The arrow shot like a beam of light, making a measured ellipse and driving square into the center of the bull’s-eye.

Aliana, celebratory fist in the air, jumped for joy.

“Excellent shot, Aliana,” came a familiar voice at her back.

Aliana spun around, a huge, satisfied smile on her face, and saw Sorundi, leader and counselor and the Order’s Master Healer. She had a kind face and, though she was more than sixty springs old, she looked twenty springs younger—due no doubt to her great inner power. Her blond hair was lightly speckled with gray, and her pale complexion was surprisingly lacking in discernible wrinkles. Aliana looked into her indulgent brown eyes and bowed in a gesture of respect.

“Thank you, Master Healer. I am trying to keep my aim fine-tuned.”

“And you do that so very well, child,” said the highest ranking Sister of the Order of Tirsar, taking Aliana’s hand between hers. “Thanks be to the Light I found you here. I was afraid you might be distracted for hours in the forest, collecting roots and mushrooms—as you usually are.”

“I just returned from the northern cliffs. I was gathering dandelions.”

“I need to speak with you... in private. It is urgent. Let’s walk to the beach,” said the leader, her voice sounding worried.

“Of course, Mother Healer,” answered Aliana, intrigued. She felt a slight pinch of concern in the pit of her stomach.

They walked arm in arm, like mother and daughter, strolling along until they were sufficiently removed from the rest of the Sisters.

Sorundi stopped walking and looked into Aliana’s eyes. With a tone of great urgency, she explained, “A messenger from Rogdon arrived with grave news.” She breathed deeply and continued, taking Aliana by the arm. “Something tragic has happened and King Solin has ordered us to call on him at once.”