Marked (9 page)

Komir shook his head, a bit overwhelmed. “You are putting a great responsibility on my shoulders, Amtoko—a responsibility I did not ask for and do not wish.”

“I’m sure you will get through it. There is much strength and determination inside you. You will make it. Besides, we both know there is something more in you, something you’ve avoided talking about since you got here,” nudged the astute Witch, hoping to get him to open up.

“Please, I don’t want to talk about it. I want to bury it and forget about it.”

“Why? You possess the Gift and that is a great privilege, not something to be ashamed of. You should study it and learn to use it. Who knows what kind of power it is and what you will be able to achieve with it? Such a valuable gift from the Goddesses should not be despised. You insult the Goddesses with your contemptuous negativity and refusal to accept this divine and extremely rare ability. You know that Ikzuge and her sister Igrali are terribly capricious and can turn against you if you do not follow their plan... and you need them, and their protection,” scolded the Witch, pointing toward the sky with both hands raised. 

“I just want to be normal…” he said with regret in his tone. “Normal,” he lowered his voice, “average... like everyone else. I never wanted to be anything else. I don’t want this Gift…”

“You must not reject something you do not understand, young one, even if you and those around you are suspicious and fearful of it. But if that is your choice, I shall respect it—although I do not agree with it. I must tell you, though, that the mere fact that you want it to disappear from your life will not make it so. It will always be inside you; it is part of you, whether or not you want it.”

“Then I will bury it… until it disappears…”

“All right, now... If some day you should change your mind I will offer you my humble assistance. It is not much, but this crazy old lady has also been granted the Gift and could help you develop yours. So few of us are graced with it, so we must help one another. Who knows what we could discover inside you—the power you might possess, the abilities that power might bestow on you! You could develop skills that others can only dream of. You could control the elements: Fire, Water, Air—and, from them, create magic... acquire an overwhelming power like the most powerful magicians of the greatest kingdoms... develop the capacity to control the minds of others—make them obey your wishes—like the great Sorcerers and Shamans of faraway lands of the South, where the land is but sand and the sun scorches all it touches. You might cultivate the ability to connect with nature and animals or use it to improve your own physical skills for combat. You might even attempt to see the fine threads of destiny as does this humble servant. So much power to develop; so many abilities to discover...”

“Please you have to understand that none of that interests me… I do not want to know anything about this Gift or about any abilities. I just want to be a normal Norriel like anybody else…” He turned and stared at the entrance to the cave.

“All right, young warrior. I shall not force the matter any longer.” said Amtoko, looking at him warmly.

“Before you go I would like to ask a small favor of you,” requested the Witch, softening her voice so it almost sounded as if she were pleading with him.

Komir looked at her. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

“You may find this request a bit strange but I beg you to consider it for a moment before you answer me.”

“All right,” he agreed.

“I would like you to allow me to carry out a ritual of spiritual union. It is an ancient rite that unites like spirits through a joining of blood and allows them to establish a bond of communication between them. It is one of the abilities my Gift has granted me, and it is of great value. It will allow me to communicate with you even though you may be a great distance away from me. At the same time it will strengthen our bond, which in turn will allow me to more clearly and accurately perceive what surrounds you.”

“A rite... a rite of blood?” he questioned apprehensively.

“Calm down, my young friend, nothing bad shall befall you under my care. The blood is necessary for sealing the bond. It is just a slight bit uncomfortable, that’s all.”

“Well, all right then...” he hesitantly agreed, not entirely convinced.

Amtoko pulled an ornately decorated, curved dagger from beneath her sleeve. With a mischievous smile she whispered in his ear:

“Give me your hand. It won’t hurt... too much...”

He could not sleep.

Komir changed positions again on his rickety old bed but slumber was ever-elusive. Night had placidly descended on the small farm hours before. But his mind would not stop punishing him with countless images and thoughts. He felt tired, his eyes were heavy; he wanted to sleep. But rest would not come. He had spent the greater part of the day hunting and the rest doing chores around the farm, so his muscles were fatigued. But his mind was constantly jumping from one place to the next, from one thought to another. He concentrated on trying not to think about anything. But he could not keep the image of Akog lying dead in the town square from rushing back in. His heart was pounding in his chest as bile crept from his stomach to his mouth. He breathed in deeply, hoping to calm himself.

He tried to stifle the images by focusing on the blackness, the perfect darkness. Nothing else existed; only the night, the emptiness. The images would stop for an instant, replaced by a shadowy veil. But that suffocating feeling, the anxiety that stayed with him constantly, would not let sleep come. He began to doze for a moment once when his discomfort eased slightly, but a new image immediately surfaced, slipping past the protective veil and putting him right back in the middle of the square, hearing the accusatory shouts of the entire tribe. A thousand condemning eyes bore into him with disdain. His anxiety swelled; his stomach turned. He rolled over once again trying to find a more comfortable position, knowing that if the images continued he had become even more distraught and would never get to sleep. He had already spent many sleepless nights, haunted by his demons. The battle for a bit of rest went on in his mind for hours.

Finally, he fell asleep.

And he dreamed.

A pleasant, peaceful feeling enveloped him and he let it pull him into the depths of restfulness, guided by the promise of the much-needed repose. He dreamed he was lying on a blanket of wildflowers, sleeping. He was at the edge of the forest in the high prairies. A feeling of well-being came over him. A light, warm breeze that smelled of springtime flowers caressed his hair. Carried along by such pleasant feelings, he fell into an even deeper sleep.

Slowly, a mysterious silhouette began to take shape at his side. Dressed in a long, black, wool tunic, its head was covered with a hood of the same color. The stranger’s shape eclipsed the sun which was bathing his body in light and blocking the pleasing sensation Komir had been feeling. Komir struggled to open one eye and looked at the visitor. He could not see the figure’s face; the only thing he could make out was a shadow beneath the hood. But he felt no fear in its presence; he instinctively knew the figure did not pose any threat. Though the shape was unfamiliar to him, it was not completely foreign. He was beginning to feel it was even somewhat recognizable.

The enigmatic figure showed him its hands. They were a woman’s hands—thin, and punished by the difficulties of life and the passage of time. Komir observed them carefully but could not recognize them. Even so, the feeling of familiarity was increasing. The figure turned and moved toward a nearby stream that came down from the forest toward the pastures. When she got to the brook she knelt down, cupped both hands and dipped them in the water. Then she stood and, carrying the water, came closer to Komir without saying a word.

Komir sat up and looked at the water she was carrying, confused. He strained to look at the face under the hood but it was impossible. He tried to ask the woman what it was she wanted but could not get a single word out; it was as if for some unknown reason he had been robbed of the ability to speak. His lips formed the words that his mind devised but no sounds sprang forth from his mouth. He brought his hand to his throat and, feeling the vibration of his vocal chords, was startled to discover that he was indeed speaking but the sound emitted had been erased by the air itself the moment it left his mouth.

A fleeting but intense silvery glimmer grabbed his attention. It was coming from the water the mysterious figure was carrying in her hands. The water, completely still, was sparkling with great intensity. After a few seconds, it gleamed again. The liquid surface had been transformed into a small mirror. Komir could see himself reflected with complete clarity. He watched as his face began to disappear and then was replaced by a different, hazier image. The image began to take shape, slowly revealing itself like sunlight at the break of day. As the scene was gradually revealed, it was quite familiar to Komir, yet he could not place it. It appeared to be nighttime and a thick fog covered the landscape, preventing his mind from defining the details.

Intrigued, he continued watching, trying to make sense of it all. He could make out a forest under the star-filled night; in it, several figures dressed in the skins of some wild animal were moving with silent stealth, like the mist at dawn. Alarmed, he focused even more closely. Covering their faces were masks with fierce teeth, traces of blood coating the jaws. They were dressed all in black with red embellishments. They were wearing... tiger pelts. Their movements were those of agile warriors. An urgent sense of fear overwhelmed Komir; he was suddenly battered by violent feelings of danger and unrest. Carefully peering into the woods they were running through, he quickly knew it was more than familiar to him; this was a place he knew... but still could not divine what it was. The sensation of alarm swelled within him; his trepidation burst forth like an arrow from a powerful bow.

At the head of the group of masked figures, the leader pushed onward at a crushing pace. The mask that covered his face revealed sinister teeth with atrocious fangs, and on his head and back he wore the pelt of a great white tiger. His tall, muscular body was protected by a reinforced leather suit of armor that had been dyed black. The chest was decorated with red symbols and the shoulder pads and black pants were covered by the same pelt. He marched forward, armed with an extremely sharp black spear, the tip of which was painted red. Suddenly he stopped and signaled to his party; they dispersed in several directions. Seeing them move with such trained synchrony, Komir’s sense of alarm intensified; his heart began pounding so wildly he thought it might beat right out of his chest.

Who were these sinister figures? What were they searching for? Why did he have such an ominous sense of danger? He tried to calm himself by breathing deeply. For a moment the image changed, exposing more than what his vision initially had revealed. In the midst of the fog, the sacred Norriel monolith appeared before his eyes—the monument to Ikzuge, the Goddess of the Sun! Komir felt a pang of terror in his chest as a chilling sense of evil coursed through his body. The warriors were arriving at the monolith...  

The monolith that was located dreadfully close to his home!

His heart stood still then began to beat like a runaway stallion. The image of his parents sleeping, unaware of any danger, seized his mind.

I have to warn them! They’re coming for us! I have to save them!

And he awakened.

Startled, he sat up in bed, soaked in a sea of cold sweat. He opened his eyes wide and frantically took in his surroundings. He was in his room. Jumping to his feet, he waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He quickly looked for his pants and boots and got dressed, then rushed to his sword that was hanging in its sheath on the wall. In one swift motion he pulled it out and headed for his parents’ room with just one thought in his mind: to warn them of the imminent danger. Silently, he entered their room, went to his father and, covering his father’s mouth with his hand, whispered in his ear:

“Wake up, Father. We are in danger. Wake up!”

Ulis opened his eyes, alarmed. He looked at Komir and, after taking a brief moment to awaken and clear his mind, he nodded. Immediately, they gently awakened Mirta. She gazed at them with frightened eyes.

“I had a vision,” whispered Komir. “We are in grave danger. Several warriors wearing tiger pelts are closing in. They are coming for us,” he cautioned, unable to mask the anxiety in his voice.

“A vision? Couldn’t it have been just a nightmare, Son?” asked an incredulous Ulis.

“No! It was more than just a dream—I’m sure of it—but I can’t explain it. It is a warning, a foreboding that we are in danger.”

“Who are they and why would they want to harm us?” his mother urgently questioned.

“They appear to be foreign warriors, Mother, or at least they are not from any tribe I recognize. They are very close. I think they are coming to kill me... why, I don’t know but I’m positive that I am the one they are searching for. Amtoko already warned me about this.”

“How many are there, Son?” asked Ulis, now completely convinced.

“About six or seven, but I’m not sure. There could be more.”

“All right. Whoever they are it will be better if we are prepared for them. We will defend ourselves from here, inside. Out in the open we have less of a chance,” stated Ulis.

“Quickly, Father. They must be almost here by now.”

Ulis pointed at the door of the room. “Mirta, get the bow and cover the entrance from here. We will wait for them next to the front door.”

She agreed. Not wasting a moment, she immediately took down the bow and quiver from the wall.

Swords in hand, father and son silently moved toward the front of the house. They positioned themselves on both sides of the entryway, simultaneously covering the windows that flanked it. Doors, windows, and shutters were all bolted shut. They crouched down and waited in silence. Komir looked at his father who was trying to cautiously peer into the darkness through the cracks in the shutters. Komir did the same. Everything was pitch black; clouds covered the moon, allowing only a faint silvery light to descend from the nocturnal clouds.

They continued to wait quietly. Mirta had the bow armed and steadily pointed at the door. Not a sound could be heard. His mother’s face reflected the increasing tension of the moment.

Komir noticed a slight movement and turned his head. As he watched in astonishment, two thin metal lances emerged between the wooden slats of the door and silently raised the plank that had been securing it. The two lances dropped the plank to the floor.

Komir looked at his father. His father gave him a nod.

The moment of confrontation had arrived.

Making absolutely no sound, the door opened slightly. As if appearing out of a nightmare, in total silence, they glimpsed a masked man covered in a tiger pelt. The warrior looked around, turning his head, his unusual almond-shaped eyes gleaming beneath the terrifying mask. Ulis, still crouching at the other side of the door, delivered a well-aimed blow to the intruder’s throat. His body collapsed against the door. Mirta released an arrow into the darkness that found its way through the half-opened door. A muffled scream of pain was heard from outside. Suddenly, with a feline agility a dark figure jumped over the fallen attacker and rolled across the floor. Mirta took another shot; the attacker moved quickly to avoid the arrow but it struck him in the arm.

Komir instantly jumped on the tiger warrior to protect his mother. The assailant was grasping a strange, sharp, single-bladed sword—nothing like a Norriel weapon. Behind him he could hear his father fighting with another of the enemies. Komir slashed at the attacker’s head but was blocked by a wickedly quick flick of a knife and, as he spun around, he threw a backhand at Komir’s neck. Komir pulled his head back but felt a stabbing pain in his neck. The blade had grazed his jugular. Fear shot through his body.

He had nearly been killed!

That savage had nearly slit his throat. He regained his balance and, enraged, thrust furiously with his sword. His opponent deflected the strike with his own sword and counterattacked with his knife. Komir jumped to one side to dodge it but felt a sharp pain in his shoulder; he had been cut. He was preparing to again defend himself when his enemy’s body arched in pain and spun around. An arrow was protruding from the middle of his back. Without hesitating, Komir finished him off with a powerful thrust then, looking toward his mother, silently signaled his appreciation for her help.

He turned and saw his father defending himself against two attackers near the door. He was in serious trouble and a bloody cut on his forehead was bathing his face in red. Abject fear struck Komir’s heart when he saw his father desperately fighting for his life.  He cringed at the possibility of a tragedy. His own life mattered not in the least; he was completely prepared to die while defending his home and his family. But the prospect of losing his loved ones was unthinkable. With his heart in a knot he rushed to his father’s aid.

With a loud crash, the windows on both sides of the door shattered into a thousand pieces. Komir instinctively covered his head as wood and glass rained down on them. Following the explosion, two warriors burst in, agilely rolled across the floor and launched themselves at Komir. He dodged them and positioned himself
en garde
. He quickly slashed at the neck of the enemy on his left who retreated and avoided the strike. The second attacker leaped through the air and kicked Komir in the chest. The impact sent him tumbling backwards until he collided with the oak table behind him. He tried to stand up but, before he could, the first attacker thrust his sword toward Komir’s face; Komir threw himself sideways and, miraculously, the blade missed him at the last moment. The second attacker jumped on Komir and raised his arm to deliver the fatal blow. At that exact moment he heard a hollow thud and watched as an arrow pierced the savage’s heart. The tiger warrior grabbed the arrow with one hand, took two steps back, and dropped to floor, dead.