The Song of Gaál - Fifteen

*** Warning ***
Picture Intense ^_^

Sensitive situations

Violence; Nudity;

Hard R Rating

Please do not read if you are easily disturbed.

(All characters, places and events reside solely in my imagination.)

The Song of Gaál

…....... Fifteen ….......

Kisertet's estate bordered the Suiken River. The Suiken River itself originated high in the mountains that towered over Castle Sotete, a seven days' ride from the estate. Slowly making its way through Kisertet's lands, the Suiken River lost its monstrous churning rapids this far from the falls. A small brook fed by the river tumbled lazily through the western yards. Cassava knew the land well, having lived in the manse and walked in the yards for nearly four years. The lands were lush and fertile, feeding orchards and willow trees, the kitchen garden and the simples garden. After a rain, the collective moisture would form into a low fog that crept along the river and brook, sweeping low across the grasses and circling the house. Cassava found that when the fogs wended through the trees and gardens, surrounding the manse itself, the cut stone manse appeared to be lifted from the grounds, floating to the heavens and the stars.

Tonight the grounds were clear. The fogs stayed wherever fogs stayed on dry days. Few lights flickered in the windows of the great house. A slow swirling stream of smoke from the chimney lifted to the sky, illuminated by the full moon. The light grey stones of the manse reflected moonlight where the stone cutters' work left a near glass surface on the rock. Years it would have taken to build this house, the age unknown and the original master long gone. Kisertet stayed here since the marriage of Malika to Levente. Cassava frowned and shook off the ghosts of his thoughts. He waited near the western side of the manse, watching the path from his place beneath a large hydrangea. Cassava saw Levente and his two men approach the manse and enter the stables. He waited for Levente and his men to enter the house. Only Levente made his way to the door, having left the two men to care for the horses.

Cassava grit his teeth, an angry gleam in his eye as he rubbed his left wrist to redness with his right hand. He could not go in now. He could not assure himself Mirriam was well. He could only trust that Kisertet would not deface his friends' memory, Mirriam's parents, by allowing Levente to take Mirriam. The thought caused Cassava's blood to chill and he shivered.

Levente mounted the stair and was received by the opened door. Cassava moved through the shrubs that nestled close to the stone walls. He made his way around to the eastern wall, crawling low until he reached the stone step of the back entrance. He glanced up at the small window that was in Mirriam's room. Dark. Let her be sleeping, he willed.

He continued along the edge of the house, he could hide under the stone bench Kisertet had brought in for Mirriam. She would sit and work her stitches or write her letters while he and Kisertet practiced swords in the yard. Until Eszerbet came. When Eszerbet came, Mirriam had no time for herself, rather, she would be chasing after the rebellious baby that Kisertet claimed was his own.

Looking in through the dark window pane, Cassava could see only the flickering fire from the center room, Levente and Kisertet were not in the hall as he had hoped. If the men were in the center room, he would have less chance to hear words spoken between them. Moving to the door, he gently pressed the latch, finding it unbarred from the inside. 

The great door swung in silently and Cassava stepped low and through, squeezing himself as small as possible to prevent drafts. He heard the voices. They were in the center room. Kisertet's slow smooth voice sounded to be placating an unruly child. Levente's rumbling voice was loud with his angry reply to words Kisertet spoke. 'Please, Ana, be safe,” Cassava wished, only thinking his silent name for her, the little girl he was told was his responsibility to keep well. He needed to get to the back stair. He needed to reach Mirriam's room to be certain she was there. The need to see her welled into his heart till it felt as though it would burst. The words from the center room tumbled one over the other and lost meaning. Cassava started to creep along the outer wall toward the kitchen stair when his name spoken in a spitting rage caused him to stop. He darted to the sideboard and hid in the shadow at its side, listening.

Levente raged on to Kisertet. “I saw him, Gaál! You show me where the body is. I saw the boy!”

“Listen to me,” came Kisertet's calm reply, spoken in his smooth, silken voice, “I burned the body so that it could not be found. There is naught left but ashes that I am sure have been consumed by fish. Perhaps were you to catch a salmon, you would have the boy again.” Cassava could hear the sarcastic smile adorning Kisertet's face. Levente stomped and growled, his reply not comprehensible.

“Calm down, Levente,” Kisertet continued, “even had I not burned it, it has been so many years, any remains would not be recognised. I assure you, brother, you did not see that boy. Cassava is dead.” He stated, his authoritative voice forcing finality.

Minutes passed during which Cassava only heard the faint crackle from the fire in the other room. The house was still. The long silence was broken by Kisertet, “Tell me truly what brings you here tonight, Levente? You left but a few days ago and I find you at my door at night speaking of ghosts.”

“It was not a ghost.” Levente stated in a defeated tone.

Boots shuffled. Glass tinkled. The faint sound of liquid being poured carried to the hall. “Here, brother, you do look as though you have seen the dead.” A pause. A boot step on the wooden floor. “How is my dear sister these days, Tolvaj?” Cassava held his breath.

“Fine that you should ask now, where were you when the baby went missing? And Malika, barren as barren can be. Did you know that Gaál?”, Levente growled, “Did you know you left me no means for an heir?”

“What has that to do with me?”, came Kisertet's reply.

“You made the bargain!” Levente exclaimed. “You promised your sister in return for my agreement with your plan. You ...”

Kisertet cut off the words, his voice raised in timbre that indicated his anger, “I had no means of knowing Malika was barren, Levente. How would I have known that? If your precious heir is so important, have one on the maid, she is willing enough.”

Levente replied with biting anger, “Ursula swung from the tree in the yard the morning after the infant disappeared.” 


Cassava blinked. She wanted her child. She cried for her child. He caused her death. 


“The girl is too young, the villages have no others of an age suitable.” Levente's voice filled with loathing. “I will not molest a child, Gaál, unlike others on your sacred lands.”

Silence.

“Odd,” Levente continued, his rough voice taken to a deadly quiet tone, “the infant grew dark hair, Gaál, much like yours.” Cassava gripped his wrist until his fingers numbed. “Have you no care for the infant, Gaál? Was it yours? Did you take it? Kill it?”

“Why should I care for a pauper's child, Tolvaj?” Came Kisertet's silken, terse reply. Cassava heard an undertone of tension in the voice that he knew well.

“You cannot tell me you were not with her,” Levente stated. “You cannot say that the child was not yours. No one else was she with but you, you scoundrel!”

“It is of no importance to me,” came Kisertet's response.

“No! Nothing matters to you, Gaál,” Levente spit, “except your precious castle! Where is my return? You use my lands, my gold, my guard, when will this endeavor come to fruition, Gaál!?! I am anxious for the end! To be rid of your curse!”

Kisertet's response was gentle as though to coax a reluctant horse to obey. “You, Sir, have a landlocked castle. You, by my tolerance, will receive what was promised. Now go. Leave. This visit is over.” And Kisertet escorted an angry Levente to the front door.

An hour easily passed. Cassava stayed curled in the shadow against the sideboard in the hall. His ears and thoughts reverberated with the conversation he overheard. Nothing made sense.

“Come out now, Cassava,” Kisertet's voice called from the center room.

Cassava blanched. He should have known that Kisertet would not miss his arrival. He stood and allowed the blood to refill his legs. He walked the longer way to the room, allowing his legs to become steady after sitting curled for so long. Kisertet stood near the mantle, watching the entry to the room. Cassava rubbed his wrist and looked up at the man's menacing smile.

“Come in, by all means, come in, little ghost,” Kisertet sweetly invited. Cassava's throat worked and he stepped forward. Kisertet's patience ceased to exist and he crossed the floor in two steps, grabbing Cassava's left wrist and slapping his knuckles against Cassava's face.

“Do you have no regard for what I have taught you!?! You were seen! And by Levente of all men! What were you thinking?” Each line punctuated by the sound of hand to face as Kisertet slapped the left side with his knuckles and the right side with his palm. Cassava clenched his fist and averted his eyes, a grimace on his stinging face. “Remove yourself from my sight.” Kisertet growled, pushing Cassava so that he stumbled and fell back. “Go!”

Cassava stood and made his way to his room. His face burned painfully, his knuckles white from clenching his hands. He squinted with anger and punched the door with all of his might, doing nothing to calm his fury. Yes, he was seen. Yes, he was not careful. Yes, he called this punishment on himself.

He forced an exasperated breath. His hit to the door did not even give him the satisfaction of a dent in the heavy wood, just redness on his fingers. He shoved open the door and abruptly stopped. Ana... Mirriam. She stood in his room, her eyes wide and frightened, her hand to her mouth, slightly trembling. He watched her blue eyes quiver in their tear bath and hated himself for scaring her so. She was safe. He felt a lightening of his heart.

She tentatively approached him, raising her hand to his cheek, where Kisertet's knuckles had reddened and bruised the skin. 

Cassava flinched from the contact and she dropped her hand quickly, having seen the scowl on Cassava's face. “He hurt you,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

“No.”

“Your face,” she said, reaching her hand out again. Cassava turned his face away from her, his eyes fixed on her tiny toes. How does she walk?

“Cassava,” Mirriam sighed, “I was afraid for you. I was so,” her breath caught... Cassava looked up. She composed herself, biting her lip. Her tears fell, “... so afraid … that... that you would not come back. And they were... they were loud, and I heard... I heard... ” Cassava watched in a spellbound moment as she crumpled to the floor, sobbing quietly, all the while pangs of guilt slammed into him.

To see her on the floor crying for him thickened his throat. He leaned down toward her, taking her arms and lifted her up, guiding her to the bed. 

His face reflected the anguish his mind felt and he swallowed hard to push back the growl that threatened to erupt. Kneeling before her, he took her hand. “Mirriam, I am here, I am not hurt, do not cry.” She sniffled and rubbed her eyes with her free hand, leaving the other in the gentle cradle of Cassava's own.

He did not know how to help her, to reassure her, to have her stop crying. The only thing he knew to do was cause hurt. He only knew to make others angry, to upset them. He could surrender to her punishment if she hit him, but the tears, he could not withstand. This small girl had not a wicked thought about her. She accepted what was before her as truth and promise.

A flash of Eszerbet's angry, jealous, spoiled habits came to him, so opposite Mirriam. Mirriam coddled the child, and he understood now, because Eszerbet was really just a baby, tossed to the world. And he did that to her. He himself. Three years to his eleven, she was, barely weaned. Mirriam, Ana, she was a baby as well. Seven years only. A little girl who never asked for herself, whose family was taken from her, and who was tossed into his life carelessly. He failed. She cried.

Mirriam's eyes were watching him while his thoughts wandered too many paths on their own. “Will you sing to me, Cassava?” He blinked. Dark eyes dropped to a hand, a dark hand, holding small pale fingers loosely. He stared at the two hands and sang quietly, soft words meant to guide safe journeys in dreams. Wrapping Mirriam in song, he bid her to sleep there on his bed. “You as well.” She told him. And who was he to refuse this girl who cried her tender tears for him.

The Song of Gaál - Fourteen

*** Warning ***

Sensitive situations

Violence; Nudity;

Hard R Rating

Please do not read if you are easily disturbed.

(All characters, places and events reside solely in my imagination.)

The Song of Gaál

…....... Fourteen ….......

Four days' walk from the traveler's hut, Cassava met the Suiken River. He crossed the small wooden bridge and walked along the bank, leaving the path. He had passed by the small clearing where he and Eszerbet spent their last night and had quickly decided he wanted to follow the river north once he reached it. He often clenched his fists as he continued toward Kisertet's estate, trying to shut Eszerbet's permeating cries from his mind.

Remembering the husband and wife who had her in their charge eased his conscience some. From the brief meeting with Ubrin and Riata, he felt that Eszerbet would be well cared for. His mind wandered to thoughts of Eszerbet in the hands of Andronios. That thought led to Kisertet and his desire to end a two hundred years' grudge, with the same people who took the life of Kisertet's own father.

A father. Cassava chewed his lower lip, his thoughts down that path blank. He had no father. Certainly, a man at some time knew his mother, or he would not be here. And there; that word. Another word that brought nothing to him. No face. No voice. No smell. No feeling. Unwanted. A mother surely at least wants her child. Ursula's tear stained face and wrenching sobs filled his mind. The night Mistress took the baby from her, Ursula had cried and begged and pleaded for the infant. Ursula wanted her child. And Kisertet. How could he not know that he fathered the baby? Kisertet waited for its hair to grow, to see the colour. Perhaps that was what his father did, waited for the hair, and seeing it was wrong, never came for him. And his mother, knowing that the hair was wrong, left him. Cassava felt a bug crawling down his cheek and brushed it away, the backs of his fingertips coming away slightly damp.

Ten days into his journey back to Kisertet's estate, Cassava's eyes caught sight of prints in the mud at the edge of the river. The slow, twisting water path seemed to ebb, filling the shallow prints before emptying, only to fill again. He looked closer at the print that resembled a horse hoof. Perhaps a deer, for he saw deer at times, drinking at the water's edge. It was difficult for him to tell, it seemed large for a deer, but it was not a very new impression and the water may have washed the edges out. He expected that it would disappear by the night, with the river circling through it as it did. On the chance that there was another traveler on the road, Cassava moved a bit away from the river, taking caution and staying to the brush and bracken that grew along the banks.

His sleep that night was uneasy and not restful. The smallest sounds set him on edge and alert. In the predawn, he gave up trying to sleep, rose and quickly forced pemmican from Riata's food pack into his stomach. He washed his face and hands in the cold river and made sure the leather straps on his arms and torso were secure and his knives at easy access. He replaced the knife at his right hip and the small file at his ankle in his left boot.

Breezes swept gently through the trees and Cassava walked upon the dappled light that danced on the ground. Birds twitted and chirped around him. The river murmured below him. If he could just dismiss the uneasy feeling, he would find the walk enjoyable, but his every nerve was teased to awareness. He tried to keep his thoughts focused on his return to Kisertet's estate, being sure Mirriam was safe and listening to Kisertet's music. Even seeing the stubborn horse Bence would be nice, he thought.

Levente's face flashed in his mind and he tensed, stumbled to a stop. Was he gone? Would he have left already? He will need to be cautious when he reached the estate. He would have to watch the grounds and see if any other horses were in the stables for he doubted that Levente would have made the journey on foot. Would he have men with him? Waiting for evening before approaching the manse would be best, he concluded. Cassava moved under a thick copse of trees and sat. Evening arrived faster than he expected and his stomach grumbled; he had forgotten to eat since morning, so caught up in his ruminations. Leaning back against a tree, his belly settled with an apple, he dozed. Dreams of Mirriam in the harsh, damp cellars of Castle Sotete tore away at his rest. He gave up trying to sleep. Growling to himself, he got up and resumed his walk, in the damp early morning.

The song of the forest abruptly changed to a cacophony of crashes through the underbrush. Cassava ducked below the thickest growth he could find near him. The animal's run continued and passed him where he lie. Moments after the animal ran by, heavier steps sounded and the voices of men carried along the path. “This direction!” a man's voice called out. Cassava stilled. “Overtake it, Tomas, go south.”, the voice called again. “Aye!” came the response and a rider moved away. Closer they came, but slower in the ride, the brush was thick and overgrown, hindering their movement. “Damn animal! Leave it!” Another man bellows, his loud, gravely voice echoing in Cassava's head. “Night will come faster in this gods' forsaken place. We go!”

Cassava's blood went cold. He curled closely to himself on his knees and elbows, sinking slightly into the loamy ground under the forest growth. The horses moved closer to where he hid. He kept his eyes low, peeking up under his brow to watch the man. Cassava tightly gripped the knife that seemed to have miraculously appeared in his hand, so subconscious was the action to the threat before him. “Water the horses here, there is a path leading down. We leave for Sotete tonight.” said the gravely voice that set Cassava's skin crawling with chill. Anger and fright soured his stomach.

The men dismounted and moved along with the horses, taking them to the water's edge. Each step brought them near Cassava's small niche in the brushwood. He mightily hoped the horses would follow the men and step around, not try to push through, where he hid. Cassava ducked his head to prevent any chance of his eyes reflecting light.

Three, there were three men. They carried swords and bows. They carried large daggers on their hips. The filtered sunlight glimmered on their mail shirts. His thoughts whirled with strategies. He could follow when they moved and cut their throats while they rested. But if they did not rest, the horses could alert the men of his presence. He could move silently, he was certain, but would the horses become uneasy being trailed? The creatures were more aware of their surroundings than the men who claimed to be their masters. All within a moment, ideas and actions and outcomes were born and died.

It seemed hours, but in truth, in minutes, the men started to move back to the traveler's path. Cassava watched through the foliage until they disappeared from his sight, his dark eyes storming, boring into the back of the man who left him for dead a lifetime past. Silently he crept, toe to heel, following the small party. The men spoke of the deer that ran from them after being hit with their arrow. They carelessly laughed that the deer could still run. Cassava snarled, feeling as though his blood was on fire. The idea of an injured animal so easily left to suffer infuriated him, and distracted him. His foot set down on a dry limb that snapped loudly in the forest hush, and Levente spun around, his cold blue eyes wide and fixed on Cassava.

“Halt!” Levente's voice boomed. He spun the horse and pointed to where Cassava stayed still as a stone, half hidden in the trees. “The boy! Get that boy!” Levente ordered, each word articulated with crisp precision. Cassava ducked back into the bracken, tightened himself into a crawl and forced himself through the underbrush away from the path. Two men rushed down the path in his direction. He watched their booted legs hurry by, neither noticing the slight movement of the small branches as he delved deeper into the forest growth.

“There is no boy, Sir!”, one man shouts, quite near to Cassava.

Levente's reply was angry and shaken, “I saw the boy! Find him!”

The man near Cassava emitted a short, harsh sigh and moved away, his foot falls loud to Cassava's heightened hearing. A short distance away, the second man also informed Levente that there was no boy. Levente growled more words and the two men searching stepped closer to Cassava, disagreeing with Levente as gently as they could; a boy was not here at all and would not be walking so far away from the village on his own.

“Addled, he is, going on about boys, haunts and shadows,” one of Levente's men commented to the other. Cassava held his breath until they moved back to Levente and the horses.

The men convinced Levente, after a time, that the forest behind them was not hiding a boy of any sort. Fools, Cassava thought, foolish men. Their search was halfhearted. Had they taken Levente seriously, they would have seen Cassava's flight for cover. His tracks were surely there for anyone with a care to find and follow. He had to be better. He had to move beyond sight, leave no traces. His racing pulse gradually slowed and he shivered with the draining of the adrenaline from his blood. The men seemed to have searched only to pacify Levente. This gave him much to think about during the hours he stayed hidden in the brush.