Mordraud, Book One
Read Mordraud, Book One Online
Authors: Fabio Scalini
by Fabio Scalini
Translated from Italian by Helen Claudia Doyle
© Fabio Scalini/2008, Rampart/2014
1st edition
Illustrations by Maria Alice Gori
Revised and translated from Italian by Helen Claudia Doyle
www.mordraud.com
ISBN 978-88-99069-02-5
mobi
Edited by: Rampart
www.rampart.it
This is not a
book of fantasy,
but
purely the description of a different world
hidden within a flash of
our eyes.
The names journeying through this tale are not coincidental.
Several
belong to the moment, others to weighted premeditation.
F
ew have come from dreams. Many exist in nightmares.
Sometimes not mine
.
Contents
ue
Beril was playing in the sunny yard. The white shingle scrunched under his leather sandals. Hidden among the foliage of the chestnut trees, two squirrels chased each other along the branches. A little sandy-coloured dog followed his paces from the shade of a wooden kennel. It would get up occasionally and slowly limp to a bowl of water. It licked the boy’s hand greedily, without taking its eyes off the child. The hens flapped about when he plunged among them, swirling his arms energetically.
“
Your dad home?”
Beril
stopped near a large rosemary bush and peered inside. Rella had come to pay a visit.
“
Yeah, he’s out the back, with my uncle. Come out of there. You’ll get covered in spiders.”
“
And if I do?! They don’t scare me!”
Beril
crawled in under the rosemary and touched her chin. The girl drew back in revulsion and shoved him away. He sniggered and stuck his tongue out.
“
You know I hate that. Don’t touch my face.”
“
I know, but it’s funny watching you get annoyed.”
Rella
folded her arms in a huff. Small and scrawny, with dishevelled dirty blonde hair. Freckles on her nose. And a long gash from her forehead down across her left eye. She couldn’t keep it open properly. The other shone with the greens and blues of water.
“
Why d’you want to know if my dad’s home?”
“
He doesn’t want me hanging around here.”
“
That’s not true...”
“
It is!” whispered Rella. “And your mum doesn’t like me much either.”
“
That’s what you say, but you don’t really know my mum.”
“
Your parents are odd.”
Beril
’s face darkened and he looked away. Rella stared at him defiantly. Then, as if she’d said and done nothing, she pinched his arm as hard as she could. She enjoyed doing that – it felt like squeezing a bag of sand. Beril’s skin had an unusual consistency, one that made her want to bite it.
“
Come on, I’m only joking! But you have to admit your father’s a bit unsettling. Aren’t you ever frightened of him?”
“
Frightened?! Me?”
“
Well, he’s always got a sword on him...”
Beril
shrugged his shoulders and snorted in disdain. “My father’s a great warrior. He should always have his sword close at hand.”
“
Your mum told you that, didn’t she?”
“
Yes, she did.”
“
You can see they’re happy together. It’s nice,” she murmured.
Beril was crazy about
Rella, really hooked on her. Not just because she was the only girl he’d ever met. He looked on her as a sister. They were the same age. Beril’s hair was a peculiar, shimmering colour. A deep glossy black with striking copper highlights. His skin was pale and perfect, without a blemish. Instead, she was blonde and eternally suntanned. Their physical differences aside, they were similar in many of their passions. Rella liked playing with lizards and ants. Beril loved watching birds. He’d give each of them a name. He and his mother chose them together. A game enjoyed on many a lazy afternoon.
He
’d have liked Rella to spend more time with him and his family. It would have been good for her: she lived alone with her father. She never spoke about him. She said he wasn’t the one who’d given her that cut on her face, but Beril didn’t believe her. Rella would go berserk if he started talking about it.
“
Hey, tell me about when you saw the Sea of the North.”
Beril
cleared his throat. Rella sat with her legs folded beneath her and made herself comfortable under the dome of scented rosemary.
“
Well, I was with my mum and dad. We saw Telatias and then we went as far as Syl.”
“
Syl?! Really?”
“
I told you... My father’s a great warrior, he’s not afraid of anything,” Beril replied, puffing his chest out.
“
Did you go in?”
“
Not all of us, just him. Mum and I waited for him outside. Then we headed north, towards a remote village among huge mountains of rust.”
“
Mountains of rust?!”
“
Well, they were red, and when I touched them my hands got dirty... Like when you touch old iron...”
“
I see. And then?”
“
My dad took me to the beach, while my mum went to chat to some fishermen.”
“
What was it she wanted to know?!” Rella asked him.
“
Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t hear the conversation. I spent the whole day on the beach. It was cold... There were some huge shells, this long...” Beril drew an enormous cylinder in the air and pretended to speak with his hands. “I thought they’d yell something at me.
Put us down! Put us down!
”
“
Did you travel around a lot?”
“
I’ve already told you about it a thousand times...” Beril tried to say, but Rella hushed him with a finger to his lips.
“
We’ve nothing else to do, have we?”
Beril s
ighed and carried on talking and describing with his hands.
“
We went everywhere. To Calhann too. I lived there for almost a year. But I didn’t see much of it – I was always in the house. I had to study loads of books. I don’t know what my parents were doing, but I hardly saw them. They were always out.”
“
And who stayed with you?”
“
I was alone!” Beril replied. “I don’t need looking after. I can cope on my own.”
“
Sure!”
“
I can! I wasn’t even scared when I saw the Black Lake at Syl!”
“
And did you see
them
?!”
Beril
coughed slightly and made a sign with his hand to mean yes.
“
One or two...”
“
And what were they like?!” asked Rella in excitement.
“
Well, nothing special, I’d say...” he mumbled.
Rella
burst out laughing and pinched his arm again, and then his cheek. She was the only one brave enough to look him directly in the eye, Beril mused, distracted by the contact between her fingers and his skin.
“
Beril! Where are you?!”
“
My mum...” he whispered. He motioned to Rella to keep quiet and slid out from under the bush.
“
I was playing...”
“
...with Rella,” she finished for him. “You come out too! It’s teeming with spiders under there.”
“
I’m not afraid of spiders!” Rella exclaimed in indignation as she crawled out from underneath.
“
I know. You’re only scared of owls,” she replied, smiling. Beril looked at the girl in amazement, as she scuffed her feet on the ground and hotly denied it. How could his mother know, she asked herself in vexation. Owls were terrifying – she couldn’t sleep if she heard one nearby.
She was only thinking
it. How could she know, she wondered again.
“
Unless you fancy a glass of milk and some sweet bread... you should go back to the village.”
Rella
nodded meekly to accept. Sweet bread. The type she baked was so good. It wasn’t worth passing up on a childish whim.
“
Come inside now. Rella will come to the kitchen with me. You go find your father. Your uncle wants to see you.”
“
Really?!” Beril burst out in excitement. He adored his uncle. There was always a party when he stopped by to say hello to the family. He’d unfailingly bring Beril some new toy. He picked them up on his travels around
the
worlds
. That’s what he called them. The worlds. Far-off continents that were utterly astounding – at least in his imagination. His uncle often talked about them with his father, when he visited.
“
Does your mum always know everything?” Rella asked Beril, who confirmed with a small smile.
“
Yep, she misses nothing.”
Their home had been recently finished. His father had chosen a specific
spot, standing on the charred remains of another old house. He’d got some labourers from the village to help him. There were a lot of people willing to work for a few coins and a little food. All refugees, Beril thought. It was a tough period for the Empire’s population – his father had explained it to him. They were losing fields by the day. They were hounded off their family farms, hunted down and captured. And killed. It got worse every year. And Beril hadn’t yet been born when the troubles first started. His father said twenty years had gone by. But since what Beril did not know.
He liked the way they
’d constructed the rooms. He felt comfortable with all the woods they’d used for the floors and the roof. A cherry hue and a paler one, with gleaming bronze overtones. His father told him he and his mother had chosen to erect the house right there, inside the forest cloaking the crests of those remote hills. They’d built it in the lull between one trip and the next. Beril had lived in a real house only for a few years. He’d spent the rest of his childhood travelling around with them, roaming from one town to the next. West as far as Syl, south to Serana, and even beyond. They’d sailed the Inland Sea and even reached the Serpe Wilderness. But they hadn’t stayed in the area long – his father detested the place.
“
Keep some sweet bread for me too!” he urged his mother. She nodded and gave a seat to Rella, who carried on staring at her uncertainly. It was because she had no mother of her own, Beril told himself. She wasn’t used to it. He left them alone and headed for the door leading to the outhouse at the rear. He knocked, and waited patiently to be invited in. The door opened in silence and Beril found his uncle standing before him.
“
Hi, Gwern!”
“
Hey, Shortie, you’ve grown...”
“
Don’t call me that. You’re not that tall yourself!”
“
Taller than you though, aren’t I?” he replied with a cool smile.
He followed the man
into the room. On one side were tools: saws, hammers and long iron nails. On the other, three trunks towering one on top of the other. Beril wasn’t allowed to open them. He didn’t know what they contained. He’d always thought they held war treasures. The crowns of the kings his father had defeated. Who was sitting at the square table in the centre of the room. The large door leading to the farmyard was shut, and a rich yellow light filtered in through two small windows of opaque glass.
“
Have you been a good boy for your mum?”
“
Very good! Isn’t that right, Dad?”
His father
nodded with conviction. “See?!” insisted Beril. “Well, what have you brought me?!”
“
What a hurry you’re in! Okay then...” His uncle rummaged in a bag hanging from his belt. He drew out a curious glistening bright blue object. It was smooth and heavy. Beril took the mysterious item in his hand and turned it over with his fingers.
“
It’s a whirligig. And it’s that blue because it’s made of a very precious material.”
“
Really?!”
“
Of course!”
Beril
watched admiringly as his uncle twirled the small spinning top on the table. It glided over the wood with the pleasant hum of polished stone. He was always happy whenever his uncle managed to come home. He never stopped there for more than a few days at a time. He turned up, rested, and then set off again. Beril never stayed with him and his father when they spent their nights in the outhouse. They would chat until dawn with his mother, and he had to remain in the kitchen alone, by the fire. He didn’t get bored, since he could follow their conversations in any case. He wasn’t sure how though. An echo played along the corridors and in the rooms of the house. He didn’t succeed in understanding everything – only those long descriptions full of chaotic detail. Vivid scenes of wonderful battles and exciting massacres. Bloodbaths.
Beril turned the
spinning top in his hands. “Where’s it from?!”
“
I got it in Ankhar,” replied Uncle Gwern, smiling complacently. “In a town called Kharan. It’s on the coast of their Ocean of the West. The cliffs there are as tall as ten trees, and they’re all black.”
“
Black?!” exclaimed Beril. He could see them, down to the tiniest detail. He could taste that unusual flavour of the black in his gut and on his tongue. It was as if his uncle’s words were
dressed
in colour. He couldn’t work out exactly if they were sweet or savoury. He wasn’t sure about that.