Chapter 24 -Memory

When we finally stopped for lunch, it was almost eight hours later, and the summer sun beat down on our heads. I felt the horse sagging beneath me, and I patted its neck in reassurance, but my hand came away covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Trees on either side of the road which had granted us shade during the earlier part of the day, were rendered useless by the wide road and midday sun.

I was happy to see that it was the princess who had called for our recess. For all her perfect riding, even she needed a break.

Garent helped me dismount, and Evelilas strengthen me, but I never wanted to get back up on that beast. The horses remained saddled, and I saw a few younger boys gathering them to be taken for watering and feeding. As we broke bread for lunch and stretched our legs, I asked him to continue, but he shook his head and looked around. I followed his lead and took in my surroundings. Ah, so that was his message. Too many people around us.

I had already waited a long time; I could stand to wait a little more. Besides, I needed to piss, and I wanted some privacy. With strained steps I stumbled over fallen branches, away from the convoy. I took a deep breath and let the fresh air slowly fill my lungs. Then even slower I let my chest deflate, exhaling from my nose with eyes closed and a relaxed jaw. It was good to be out. The shade of the trees, combined with the soft breeze over my sweaty garments chilled my skin and a shiver crawled its way up my spine. But after the heat from riding, I welcomed the coolness with open arms. And a moment later opened my pants too.

I took care of business and turned to head back to the crowd. Blood started flowing into my thighs and I could walk a little smoother now, but I still felt bow-legged. Its like the horse was still under me. Speaking of, where are the horses? They should have been just this way. I spun my head around. Where is everyone? Did they leave? No. Did I go the wrong way? Oh no…

Carefully, I retraced my steps until I reached the tree, still wet at the base. This is where I peed. Now, where did I come from? No clue. As my head swiveled and searched for the faintest trace of familiarity, I grew more lost. Nothing around me was memorable and worry gripped my neck.

This was not the time to get lost damn it.

“Hello?”

“Garent?”

“Garent!”

“Hello!”

“Hellooo!”

Desperation and urgency grew, as did the volume of my calls. For ten minutes I wandered, shouting and hollering. When that proved to be fruitless, I jumped up to one of the lower branches and climbed up the tree. The prickly leaves scratched my arms and left light red lines as I ascended. My hands, thick skinned as they were, grew tired from holding on to the rough bark. Clearing the treetops, I took a gander around for any indication of the caravan, and sure enough, my initiative had paid off. Light glinted off armor pieces down north-west, and I saw several others spread out through the forest. I shimmied down the tree, searching for places to stand on and rest when a particularly sharp branch snagged the folds of my cloak. The sudden shift threw me off balance. Twisting, I plummeted a heart-dropping few feet before crashing against a thicker branch beneath me. The sharp pain of stitches opening accompanied the dull thud from landing stomach first. Stars colored my vision as I slowly slid off the branch, gravity threatening to send me plummeting once more. In a panic I flailed about, wrapping my arms over the branch. My cloak was still stuck above me, and the ground was a sickening distance away. How the hell was I supposed to get out of this? As I wracked my brain trying to figure out an escape, I heaved myself upwards… and failed. Tired from climbing then hanging for so long, my arms had turned into lead. Any attempt at moving them was met with dreadful realization that I was stuck. Sweating like a pig, I strained up with my feet. I hoped that I could hold on with them and give my arms a rest, but they were too sore from riding. I swung back and forth, ignoring the blood dripping from my open stitches. This was my final attempt, counting on momentum to get me into a better position. One, swing, Two, sw- it backfired, and I slid. The rough bark broke away under my forearms and left me hanging from the edges of my hands.

“Help!” The shout burst from my lungs.

“Hold on a minute, I’ll go get help.”

“Who’s there?”

I did not dare turn to look, I only tilted my head back and to the right. I barely made out the shape of a man in the periphery as he left.

My arms trembled and a chill gripped my tired hands. Where was he? Come already damn you. I glanced down. The leaves below seemed farther than before. Why the hell did I climb so high?

I held on, waiting for what felt like an eternity. He was not going to come. The epiphany was reassuring in a way. As much I wanted to curse him, his parents, grandparent and great-grandparents. Somethings never change. Don’t rely on anyone. In that split second, my hands gave in, and I fell.

I don’t quite know why, but I had expected the descent to be a graceful one. Of course, it was anything but that. First, my cloak yanked at my throat, choking me as I struggled to untie it. I gasped for air and pulled at the strings with quavering fingers. The strings were knotted and strangled me without mercy. Would somebody find my lifeless body one day? Hung by his stupid cloak. With two hands I tugged one end of the knot until it came free.

No longer held back, my elephantine descent through the whipping branches continued. I was knocked back and forth, flipped forwards once and landed face-down in the soft dirt. Not quite unconscious, but close. Too close to have any urgency to move. Like a dejected flag of surrender my cloak still graced the treetop. I wormed my way onto my back, spitting out bits of dirt I managed to inhale after I fell.

To think that I was on the verge of hanging myself.

A delirious giggle bubbled up in my stomach, but it did not quite manifest. I was too sore for that. A smile would have to do. I lay there like a fool, amused by my own idiocy. I offered a quick prayer of gratitude, thankful that I had not wet myself after falling. Still, there was the question of who had seen me and said they would call others.

Whoever it was, that scum had left me there after giving me a shred of hope.

When I finally stood up, bracing against my knee, then leaning against the tree, I grit my teeth and felt my body tense up. They would pay. Nothing boiled my blood quite like a liar, and at my own expense too. Did they have a death wish?

Stumbling through the sparse undergrowth, I made my way back towards where they were setting up camp. How long had I been gone? I don’t remember. Time acted funny in stressful situations.

Following increasing signs of recent travel, I eventually arrived at the road, and from there made it to what had been the resting location. But they were gone. Only one person was there, seated with his horse standing next to him. Garent. My dear brother.

I staggered towards him and once he caught sight of me, he rushed forwards.

“What happened?”

“Funny story that, went to pee, almost killed myself. I’m alright though, more importantly, where is everyone?”

“They left, you had taken too long. They had sent several people to look for you, but none of them had seen you so they assumed you had run away.”

I huffed and slowly shook my head, but he misinterpreted my reaction.

“I told them you wouldn’t have run, but they didn’t believe me. Almost two hours we waited.”

“Two hours?!” My jaw fell slack. I knew I had been gone for a time, but I never imagined I would have been lost for even an hour.

Garent looked me up and down, noting the scratches on my arms and face, as well as the blood seeping through my clothing around my torso.

“It’s not as bad as it looks… Quick question though, who had searched towards the south, do you have any idea?”

His eyes went wide as he answered, “Pirveli. Did he do something to you?”

Despite the hate that rekindled the rage towards that bastard, I grinned through dirt-stained lips and replied, “I’ll tell you on the way.”

-

“So let me get this straight, you got lost so you climbed a tree, he saw you and told you he would bring help, and you believed him?”

“Okay, first: I had no idea it was him. Second: Why would he deny me help. Third: He took my ear, not the other way around.”

I noticed him swallow his laughter, and I lightly punched him in the side. The two of us were riding his horse, with him in front and me holding on behind. My lips were dry and tongue felt swollen, but above everything I was frustrated. When we catch up to them, if I tell them about Pirveli seeing me but falsely reporting that he had not seen me, nothing would come of it. It was his testimony against mine. And unlike him, I had reason to want to convict him of something. Even if they believed my statement over his, I would most probably become a joke among the people. Hells, even my own brother found it amusing! And if I enacted my own revenge, hidden or not, fingers would point at me. I chewed the inside of my cheek, but ultimately shelved the matter for the moment. Oh, I would do something about it for sure. It just needed to be extremely subtle. Sadly, I currently lacked the energy to devise such a plan.

“You should relax.”

“What do you mean?”

“Brother, I feel how tense your body is through my back. The horse feels it too.”

“I am relaxed.”

I felt his chest expand as he began to laugh. “It’s just riding isn’t it? You do not notice, but even the young boy who had taken your horse had noticed. He was looking for you while you were gone. He said that they had to unsaddle and check the horse because it was no longer breathing properly. The poor beast was in much worse condition than the rest of the horses, apparently you almost broke its ribs.”

I had no answer to that, and he shook his head ruefully, “I had forgotten about that after seeing you hobble towards me.”

In response I did my best to loosen up, and I found that the ride began to feel more comfortable.

“You never did finish your story, why are you coming with me to Katentin?”

“Oh, well, to cut a long story short. Zana inherited the Fair Merchants and sent me a letter, an invite to work for her in their primary station, which happens to be in Katentin.”

My eyebrows climbed up my forehead. I should have seen that coming.

-

Gregor looked away from the pages and ran his fingers through his hair. Why did the man have to write so much? He was tempted to skip to the end, just to see what happens. Then he remembered, and he slowly put the book down. He rubbed his face and held his head in his hands, whispering to himself, “he is the tyrant of tell, he killed thousands with no remorse, he ended bloodlines and devastated lives.”

But his whispers lacked conviction. He wished to pick up the black journal, however he had enough of reading the man’s words. There comes a time, he realized, that if you spend enough hours inside another person’s head, you begin to forget yourself. Gregor had thought himself to be immune, and he was. To an extent. The more he read, the more he watered a suspicion hidden inside him. He got to know his great-uncle, and in the process, a seed of doubt was planted within the furthest reaches of his mind. Somewhere there was an inconsistency in what he had learned. He would get to the bottom of it.

First order of business was to give himself more time. His father wanted to read the book, and like an idiot he had cornered himself. He couldn’t have kept it generic. No, instead he described a book so specific he would never be able to find an equivalent to give his father.

He fell back on his pillow and sighed heavily. What a blunder. But that was tomorrow’s problem. With a wide yawn, he closed his eyes and let sleep wash over him.

The next day as he donned his fencing attire, a wide grin split his face. His eyes sparkled and he started to move faster. He was going to have to try something, but it was going to be a lot of work. Still, the prospect did not dampen his mood, and he walked to the fencing grounds with a spring in his step. Jerand was already there. Perfect.

“Good morning!” Gregor announced cheerily.

Jerand raised his eyebrows. There were no traces of his heavier conversation with the boy. Unless his attitude was simply a façade. Peering at the young prince while the boy performed his stretches, Jerand shook his head. He stepped up next to Gregor and joined him. Standing next to Gregor, he stopped and watched him, waiting for a moment before slipping into stride beside him. Their movements synchronized as they warmed up.

The prince’s cheery mood spread, and for the first time in weeks, Jerand found himself enjoying sparring with Gregor. The boy was present. The last sessions Gregor had been distracted and Jerand did not need to put in any effort, but now Jerand was sweating profusely. They tagged each other, delivering hard-earned welts, and earning them in response. This is what sparring should be like! He sprung, shooting his arm forwards faster than a snake. Gregor deflected the jab and flicked his rapier back at Jerand. But the experienced warrior was already moving backwards. Their match continued in intense bouts followed by lulls of gauging each other before pouncing. Back and forth it went on until both were too tired and sore to continue.

They sat on the step that led into the shaded corridors surrounding their training ground. Gregor dried himself with the soft towel before folding it and leaving it to the side.

“Jerand, you fought at the siege of Letalona didn’t you?” Gregor asked, his soft words echoing through the courtyard.

The weapon master lowered his head, peeking past his hair at the prince. He hesitated, then replied, “I had.”

“Did you get a chance to see the Tyrant?” The follow-up question was immediate, again catching Jerand off guard.

Why the questions.. Jerand thought to himself, but he did not ask, instead he continued to answer Gregor. Looking away from the boy, he said, “I did…” his breath came out as a whisper, and inside he cursed. He should have been over that.

“What was he like? Did he really parade his wife’s head around after killing her?”

Jerand’s jaw began to ache under the pressure of grinding his teeth, was the boy testing me? Does he know? Is he going to finish what his father had started? His eyes flicked around the private training grounds, looking for any sign of soldiers or guards, but it was only him and the boy. Gregor stood up and Jerand tensed, but the boy only walked over to the table that held pitchers of water and juice. Grabbing two cups in one hand and the pitcher in the other, Gregor returned and poured them both some water. Jerand bowed his head in thanks, but despite his dry lips, he could not bring the cup to his mouth until he watched Gregor drink his own.

He froze then. What was he doing? Suspecting this child that he had watched grow up. He remembered their conversation from the other day. He saw the boy when he had first held a sword, and after he began to grow fond of books. He traveled with him for over a year. And now he began to doubt? Foolish. He took two sips from the water, then another two before finish the glass.

“Gregor, what do you know of my role in the army?”

He thought for a moment, he could have guessed, but instead he chose to confess, “Very little. I mean, I know of your capabilities, but not of what had been your responsibility.”

“I was an Etohokya.”

Gregor bit down a smile. Jerand noticed and Gregor shook his head hurriedly stammering, “Sorry, I wasn’t grinning at that, it was just that, I was going to guess Etohokya given your weapon proficiency and charisma.”

Jerand grinned, “So you think I’m charismatic?”

“Of course, have you not seen yourself? Who better to be leading charges from the front lines?”

“Thank you,” Jerand continued to smile, but it slowly began to fade. “You make it out as a compliment. But once you’ve taken part in a fight, no matter how small… being an Etohokya is nothing but a burden. Everyone is looking at you. They want to hear your voice and see you in front of them. If you fall, you’d be lucky to have someone else don your helmet and continue the fight, because if no one else takes up that role, the rest of your soldiers will scatter. Being at the front you always need to be the most prepared, but you cannot die, because lives aside from your own rest on your shoulders. Do you know the survival rate of Etohokyas?”

With a hushed voice, Gregor replied, “impossibly low…”

“Impossibly low. I am over forty years old now… It’s no boast when I say I was one of the best. Despite shitting myself with the rest of them before a clash, I survived. That’s more than can be said for most. I never faltered. Even when breath escaped me and fear rattled my gut, I was at the front. When my spear broke I fought with sword, and if that broke I took a corpses. I’ve fought back four opponents at once and come out with no more than a single scar. I was faster and stronger than all. I was able to lead my company through deathly odds, only to emerge victorious. And after a time, I believed myself to be immortal.”

He stared at his hands as Gregor poured another glass of water for them both.

“Call me a fool if you would like, but when a man goes through the hell of war, over, and over, and over… they begin to change. Friends have gone mad, others have quit from grief. Many hide it, and very few emerge unscathed. I used to think I was one of those. That I was blessed from above. I would not go mad and I could not die in battle. When a person survived for so long, they begin to think it is their right. I was younger than you when I had started fighting, and by the time the siege took place, I had been an Etohokya for nine long years. I survived so long that I began to see my ‘blessing from above’ as a curse. People I ate with, and fought with would inevitably die, but I would survive… Little did I know, madness has many forms. Fear became foreign to me. As did any sort of human connection. I became insufferably cocky, but still people kept me around. Because I never faltered. Because I was the best and because I forgot fear…”

“You asked me what the Tyrant was like? Know that he rekindled my fear and reminded me of my mortal soul…”

He paused to gulp down his glass, wishing it was something other than plain water.

“It is true that he wandered the battlefield with his wife’s head in his arms. However, his walk was not one of madness or pride, but of grief.”

Gregor stayed quiet, glass of water forgotten. He had not expected the conversation to go the way it had. But it at least confirmed a few things in the journal. Still, he wanted to be certain.

“Did you see him kill his wife?”

Jerand froze then, remembering as the head was raised on the end of a spear for all to see. The circlet held the hair away from the face. Bile rose in his throat as he questioned who would do such a thing, and why. But his disgust was interrupted by a guttural cry that rose above the shout of the battlefield. Pure agony emanated for the barest of seconds before it was cut off. Jerand watched as the company carrying the severed head began to charge, then break. One hundred soldiers had stormed forth, attacking. Jerand circled around, to gauge whether he would need to provide aid through a flanking charge. Facing the company of one hundred, was barely fifteen men, so why were they stopped? Then he saw, deep within the ranks of the army of Letalona, a fountain of limbs and blood. And in the center of that fountain, a man. No, a demon. Hell incarnate as he tore through armored soldiers like they were nothing but wet parchment. But even demons must fall, or so Jerand had believed. Then he saw a sword glance off its neck, and the point of a spear break when it hit his back. The veteran of countless battles could not move his arms or his legs, and when the horse underneath him began to flee, he did not stop it.

Later when the Etohokyas were all gathered to form an elite force to take down the man, he was not at the front. But by then, the storm had passed. He watched as the Tyrant stumbled through the battlefield, cradling the head in his arms. No one stopped him. His army was scattered, and he was not attacking. They all watched as he fell over her blood stained dress, and with shaking hands tried to stitch her head back onto her body. The wracking sobs shook the earth as he knelt across her chest. For two days and nights he did not move, and none dared to approach. Eventually exhaustion took over, and as he slept, they shackled him.

For years, Jerand struggled to forget. But now he was reminded. With a heavy sigh, he gazed off into the empty sky and answered Gregor, “No, I did not see him kill her.”