To him. To him.
Every
second of every day, every moment of every year for countless years, the same
words drummed within his mind.
To him. To him.
And
that was Stalav’s purpose now, as it had ever been. He would serve his master
even when he could no longer hear the lord’s commands. The drumbeat remained,
but its beautiful harmony – the master’s voice – had vanished.
For
long ages, Stalav’s mind had resonated with the calming words of the master.
“You are of me,” he would say. “We are one.”
When
the faceless man took had taken hold of his arm, Stalav could no longer hear
the master. He heard only one thing – a refrain that threatened to drown out
even the drumbeat.
We are one in the machine. We are one in the
machine.
No
voice chanted these foul words – the words existed only in concept and theory,
and even those were faded and dim.
The
arm that had been his even when he walked the world a living man was no more.
It had been consumed entirely.
“The
flesh is weak,” he remembered the Icelord had said. “And blood will abandon you
in time.” Stalav cut the arm, flesh, blood and bone.
His
foot connected softly with the ground as he heard one of the women speak. Her
voice was light and feminine, yet there was a pain underneath it, and a
roughness that seemed to contradict what he had observed of her nature.
She
had been raised, of that he was certain, though someone had gone through great
care to preserve her. She was not of his master’s children.
The
other was deadly and strong. Hers was a lower voice, both in pitch and volume.
She barely left tracks, but the stench of life was strong from her. He had met
many of her kind in his days. Stalav himself had not been dissimilar in life.
His
people were long gone, the tribesmen who lived in the southern mountains. The
Icelord had been less concerned with conservation in those days.
The
rough one would fall eventually – this did not concern him. It was the other –
the dead one – that gave him pause.
She
did not seem physically dangerous. No, it was the implication of her. She might
obstruct him in his plan. He would have to warn the others, but he could never
come within five miles of Port O’James without being destroyed on sight.
The
first wave of exiles had made a mess of it for the rest of them, panicking and
killing the crews of those ships, only to be destroyed themselves. All that
they had accomplished was to warn the living, to put them on their guard.
Stalav
had been afforded his own intelligence. In fact, he had learned quite a lot
since his death. He could fight, he could track, and he could keep hidden. He
had served in the Icelord’s legion, and he had brought thousands of his
brethren to be raised and join in the Icelord’s dominion.
Memories
of glory. Of victories and success. But the memories were fading. Ever since
the faceless man touched his arm, he could feel details slipping away. Even
now, with the non-arm severed and discarded, the memories had not returned.
We are one in the machine. The chorus
continued, as if broadcast via radio across the entire forest.
At
their current pace, they would reach the town in two days. He would have to
decide what to do quickly. He had tracked them ever since they found his arm.
They were fleeing the faceless men just as he was. Their efforts against them
could prove valuable, but he could not imagine a scenario that would lead to an
alliance.
The
rough one would try to kill him on sight. It was not unthinkable that she could
succeed, so he would have to catch them unaware if that was how he wished to
proceed. The other one…
His
hearing cut out again, replaced by a dull whining sound. He stood there for a
moment, waiting for it to return.
Yes,
the other one was an unknown factor. It would be safer to butcher them in their
sleep. Start with the rough woman and then move on to the dead one. The inhabitants
of the town would merely think they were lost to the woods.
Or
perhaps he would be better off merely leaving them, letting them go. They had
seen the arm, but they did not seem to know what to make of it. They could not
have gleaned his intentions from his malformed arm alone.
Ana
took the first watch. Lisenrush only slept for three hours at a time, so it was not too bad. They stayed very close to the fire. The deerskin cloaks served as
their bedding. Ana kept her back to the flames. While having the heat radiate
onto her face would be more than welcome, she had an easier time seeing into
the woods.
Animals
would probably be frightened away by the fire, but it wasn’t the animals that
she was afraid of. There had been no sign of the faceless men since they had
escaped Far Watch. Had they managed to evade them? Was that even possible?
She
wore the cloak over the front of her, exposing her back to the fire. She felt
raw. She had not showered since the day she was shot. Or had she even done so
that morning? It could only have been a matter of days – two weeks, at most –
but time seemed to have elongated.
The
heat was isolated to only one surface of her body, but it called to mind
basking in the sun on a tropical beach. She could almost picture herself out
there on the sand, perhaps a nice cool drink, with lazy palm trees hanging over
her. People splashing in the water…
Her
eyes closed and her chin began to drop.
The
awareness of the cold forest around her remained, but it seemed to be pushed
into the background.
Not doing very well at the watch, now, are
you?
The
beach was bright and sunny, but the shade in which Ana was lying kept things
remarkably cool. She could feel goosebumps on her arms.
The
man sitting next to her adjusted his glasses and touched her lightly on the
arm.
“It’s
all right, Ana. You’re doing very well. You’ve been so brave.”
She
turned to him. He was short, with messy brown tufts on either side of his head
above the ears, and rosy red cheeks.
“I’m
trying to keep guard.”
“Well,
she’ll be up in a few minutes anyway. I need to talk to you briefly.”
The
man stood up and walked over to her. Even standing, he was only barely taller
than she was when seated in her beach chair.
“Do
you remember me, Ana?”
Ana
looked into his small, brown eyes. “I’ve seen you before. Not here.”
“Yes,
Ana.”
The
fact that his eyes looked so small even with the magnifying effect of his
glasses did not seem to make sense. She thought they should look bigger.
“This
is a dream, then,” said Ana.
“Yes,
for the most part.”
She
shrugged. She realized she would be in trouble with Lisenrush for falling
asleep while on watch duty, but she figured she would deal with that when she
woke up.
“Ana,
I’m Doctor Meldi. You remember me?”
“Yes.”
“You
started seeing me after your brother drowned.”
“I
remember that.”
“All
right, Ana. I need you to listen to me. It is important that you get back to
Port O’James safely. Your fellow citizens are operating under a false premise.
You have to make sure that Lisenrush gets there with you, or the people won’t
believe a word you say.”
“Yes,
I think I had thought of that.”
“Well,
there’s a hitch.”
“What
is it?”
“There
is a draugr following you.”
Suddenly,
the beach was gone, and the forest was back, the trees illuminated by the
orange flame and the dark shadows receding back into the distance, and…
“Lydia,”
said Ana. “Lydia, get up.”
The
Ranger-Captain was on her feet faster than Ana could have imagined. “What is
it?” she said, the rifle already in her hands.
“I…”
Ana scanned the forest. It was utterly still and silent. The pops and crackles
of the fire were the only thing she could hear. The forest stretched out into
the distance, still and unchanging.
But
for a split second, just as she had woken up, she could have sworn that in that
deep black darkness, she had seen a pair of pale blue eyes staring back at her.
(Copyright Daniel Szolovits 2013)
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