Chapter 21: Intimacy

The trio rest at an inn, exhausted, not knowing Erinu is near their grasp.

Intimacy

The three travellers spent little time in Zuzi. As soon as they regained their strength and their courage, they loaded supplies into haversacks the innkeeper gave to them.

“Why not stay?” asked Tikvah, who stayed at the same inn.

“I must find my family.”

“Where are they?”

“They were sold as slaves.”

“By my kin?”

“Yes.”

“Are you not angry with me?”

“No. I know that each man is not bound by the choices of his kinsmen. You chose to leave Keturah, just as Shirin did. I think you are a good man.”

“Thank you.”

“So we leave to find my daughter and my wife.”

“Keep safe.”

“We will.”

The three journeyed northeast to Oeiras, across the border between the Kedemah and Hawr country.

“This is where the slave trader said Erinu was taken.”

Berin often thought at night about the man who had bought his daughter back in Akola. The image burned in his mind, far more than the image of a well-crafted boat or sunset across the Vergaran plains. The image in Berin’s mind was a shifty character, having the look of a thief or dishonest marketeer.

“I worry what the man who bought Erinu will do.”

“To who? Erinu?”

“Yes. I keep having these dreams of her screaming. Every time I reach out to her, I am unable to help her. Then I wake up.”

“Is that why you yelled last night?”

“Yes.”

Rini came over to the fire they had lit.

“Are you talking about Papa’s yell last night that woke us up?”

“Yes.”

“Is all in fine fettle?” Rini turned to Berin.

“Yes, it is fine. I am in pain, that is all,” lied Berin.

“Because you did the same on the ship across the Midran Passage.”

Berin said no more. Neither did Glavino. The very words, Midran Passage, sent a chill through both of the men.

Is Glavino right? Should we be at the bottom of the ocean? No, we are safe.

Everything was not in fine fettle, as Rini put it. He was greatly sorrowed, for often his night visions had come true, or at least were, in part, the truth. Once on his home island, he had dreamt that he was about to be captured by his foes, the dreaded prisoner guards. When he woke, voices were approaching him. He speedily hurried in the opposite direction, later finding they came to kill him to save the need for paperwork of an escaped prisoner. So, Berin thought, these latest dreams of his daughter may possess some element of truth. He dearly hoped not.

Many veros passed before they reached Oeiras. It was difficult terrain to journey, and both Glavino and Rini held them up on many occasions. Berin was anxious to get to Oeiras, and was frustrated at Rini.

He is but a youngster, Berin scolded himself. Rini was struggling, giving his utmost. The journey was harsh, and there was little food to sustain their energy. They were rapidly losing their body bulk as they grew thinner and thinner, with gaunt faces and sunken eyes alert for anything untoward or unforeseen.

“I hope there are no more beasts to thwart our journey,” he whispered to Glavino. Further adversity was more than he could handle.

In time their journey brought them to Oeiras, a large town in Hawr, full of houses not dissimilar to Hakkas. Here they found refuge in a small lodge owned by a boisterous and burly man. He was most welcoming, almost excessively, and ensured the three travellers were at ease after their lengthy travelling. They were unnerved, though. The man’s probing questions were discomforting.

“That man needs to stop opening the door and peering in on us,” said Glavino one evening as they were eating a hearty meal of venison, the best they had eaten since leaving Vergara. Or at least since Grasio had prepared a meal for them.

“Agreed,” responded Rini as he attempted to drink out of the rhyton only common in these parts. These drinking vessels, never before seen by the Vergarans, took the form of an elongated rhebok horn, with holes at the bottom for drinking. The boy found it extremely difficult, that even Glavino chuckled at the sight.

Berin nodded his affirmation. He wondered oddly if they had said something, and the innkeeper was scrutinising them to ensure they were not criminals of any kind.

“Show them kindness and they will reveal their insides,” the proverb his mother used to say.

Perhaps the innkeeper hoped they would mention something while indulging in the simple pleasures, pleasures that reminded Berin of home.

These rhyton do not remind me of Vergara, thought Berin as he gulped the last portion of his ale.

It was purely accidental the way the innkeeper discovered their intentions. On the third afternoon, Rini was alone in the front room, feasting on a delicious roast lamb.

“I wish Erinu was in our company so she could enjoy this with us.”

“Who is Erinu?” asked the innkeeper with a wry smile.

“Erinu is my sister. She was sold as a slave, like me. Papa came to rescue us.”

Soon the innkeeper was informed of the entire story. Berin’s eyes shot open in alarm when he found out the innkeeper knew. No one, except perhaps Grasio and Shirin and the jovial Dagger giants, were to know the true story.

“You should not have told him.”

“Why not?”

“I wanted to procure information from him without giving too much away.”

“Procure?”

“Find out.”

“Ah.”

“Now it is too late. I mean, look at the innkeeper. Does he care about us anymore? Does he feed us with wondrous food?”

“No, not anymore.”

“Exactly. I do not trust the man.”

“That is strange,” entered Glavino into the front room of the lodge, collecting a bowl of dry meal of goat.

“What?” asked Rini.

“Worst meal we have eaten here. I wonder why.”

“Foolish Rini told the innkeeper about our quest.”

“Papa!”

“Well, it was foolish,’ seethed Berin. ‘Once he found out about Erinu, he stopped showing elkin to us.”

“Perhaps he knows something.”

Berin muttered something under his breath.

Glavino ignored it and continued. “Knowledge of Erinu? He must.”

The three pondered the thought for a time, but their minds were at a loss of the next course of action.

“I say, let us remove ourselves from here,’ said Berin. ‘We can find no help here.”

“But I have not eaten my goat yet!”

They decided to retire for the night before moving to another location. Berin, despite his mind rolling about restlessly, managed to fall into a dark, deep dream. He was wandering through a valley with tall, overhanging trees. The types of trees were foreign to him.

Suddenly, his daughter’s upper body peeked out of the overgrowth ahead. She had a sullen, distant look on her face, as though she was not aware of his presence. Even though Berin cried out to her, there was no response, no sign of consciousness.

As Berin approached her, she then screamed so loudly, as though dwelt by an evil demon, that the leaves on the tree rustled with every breath.

At that moment Berin woke, perspiring profusely.

This is different from any nightmare I have witnessed. Even worse than all the others about Erinu.

Out of breath, he shook off the vision still feathering in his mind and rose to collect water from the well. As he returned into the lodging, he noticed a figure loitering in the front area near the barrels of mead. The man was clearly intoxicated; he was softly singing in an uncommon tongue and swishing his upper body to and fro to the beat. As Berin took a step, the man noticed him and beckoned him.

“Come here and drink with me,” he slurred in the Akolan tongue.

Berin walked over, cautiously, but knew he would not sleep if he returned to bed. A chat with a drunken man was a better idea, something to take his mind off the dream.

“I will not drink, but I will sit here with you.”

“Fine.”

“Why are you still here?”

“I am enjoying my last night of freedom before I go to fight off the Bacana.”

“The Bacana?”

“You know, the Keturah army. Them and the blasted Orguein islanders. They have joined forces.”

“No!”

“Yes, that is correct. Where have you been? Behind a rock?” The drunken man did not wait for an answer, but proceeded to tell Berin the rest of the story.

“The Bacana armies, together with the Orguein principality, have overrun all the ships in the Midran Passage. They landed on the Kedemah coast two veros ago. In readiness for war, the Hawr elders have conscripted all able-bodied men to train and gather weaponry to defend our fields.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am serious!’ the man swished his whole body before pausing his swaying. ‘Did you not receive the scroll telling you this?” asked the intoxicated man.

“What scroll?”

“All men of Hawr received the scroll yesterday.”

“No, I am not from Hawr.”

“Where are you from?”

“Org...I mean, Vergara.”

“That was the first land invaded!”

“Correct.”

“Have you heard what they have done to Vergara?”

“Only a little, witnessed by my countrymen back in Manas Hu.”

“It is now where they keep their captured slaves, to work the farms to supply the army.”

“Really?” Berin felt homesickness awash him, for though he was not a native Vergaran, he had created a new life there with Juolo and his family. It was home. Now it was a prison, something Berin knew all too well.

“Do you have a wife?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Those Vergaran women must be stunningly beautiful, like goddesses.”

“They are.”

“I know. I just made my way with one tonight. She was...”

Berin interrupted. “I am sorry, did you say you were intimate with a Vergaran woman tonight?”

“Yes, that is what I singing about when you came in. Oh she was...”

“Where?”

“Upstairs.”

“Show me!”

“Fancy a bit of home flesh, do we?”

“Be quiet, fool. Show me where she is.”

The intoxicated man stopped talking and began swaggering up the stairs. Berin followed, his muscles suddenly surging with angst and pent up anger. He was not sure why. A Vergaran woman abused in that way; he shuddered at the images and whisked them away to the rear of his thoughts.

The man stopped outside a door.

“I remember this door when we first came to the lodging,’ said Berin more to himself than to the man. ‘It is different from the rest.”

Now he could see a dim light coming from the room, a deep red not unlike the colour of the Bacana armour.

“She is in there, but you...”

“Quiet!” Berin repeated with authority. He attempted to open the door, only to find it was locked. Instead, he began kicking the door until the lock broke and the door swung open. There, lying on a bed, catatonic, near-naked, was Erinu. Her face was exactly like in Berin’s dream, as though her mind was in another world.

“You were intimate with HER?” demanded Berin.

“Yes, and she was sweet...”

“She is my daughter!” screamed Berin as he backhanded the drunkard, knocking him to the ground. He turned towards his daughter. Ignoring the noises of open doors from behind him, he ran inside the room and picked up the feeble Erinu in his arms.

“I am here, daughter, listen to my voice. I am here to liberate you.”

There was no response from Erinu, as though her senses were phased out from reality. Her eyes sunk deep into their sockets to the point where, similar to Glavino back in Skarbor, only her whites were shown. Berin wondered if she would have any eyesight.

Is she blind?

“What are you doing?” Berin heard from the doorway. It was the innkeeper.

“You! You evil, vile, disgraceful man! How could you?”

“What do you mean?”

“This is my daughter.”

Berin saw, despite the murky red light, the innkeeper’s face turn pale.

“Sir, if I can explain...”

But Berin was on the move. He slung Erinu’s limp body over one shoulder, drove the other into the innkeeper to move him aside, and strode in the direction of his own room. Glavino and Rini were nearby; the commotion had awoken them.

“Erinu!” cried her brother as he rushed towards them. Glavino followed, gleefully cheering that the second lost soul of Berin’s family was found. Berin passed Erinu’s feeble body over to Glavino to cradle. He strode into their room with purpose, before returning with his sword. He walked up to the innkeeper, all his rage charging like starlight from every sinew and muscle into the sword’s hilt. Before the innkeeper could react, Berin raised the sword above his head, ready to strike. The innkeeper dropped to his knees, tears welling in his eyes.

“Let me explain,’ he blubbered. ‘I bought her from a merchant. I am poor, for we do not receive many travellers from outside Oeiras. I have to feed my family.”

“Feed your family? By degrading mine?”

“I am sorry...”

“Apologies are not sufficient,” Berin said before uttering phrases that shall not be written, for they are violent to the ears. At the end of his rant, he began swinging the sword. The innkeeper prostrated to the ground, expecting his life to end.

And with that, as though the forces of the gods interjected, Berin stopped the sword next to the innkeeper’s neck, drawing the slightest blood. He suddenly knew, against his better judgement, this man’s death would bring far greater consequences than Berin could fathom.

“I want to slice you into little pieces and throw you into a fiery furnace!”

“Please! No!”

Something awashed Berin and rescinded his anger. He was still breathing heavily, but for the moment he was stilled.

“Death from this sword is not for you. It is meant for a higher purpose,” he finally said after a long pause, waiting for the anger in his voice to ease.

“Thank you!” gasped the innkeeper.

“Do not thank me. You are the scum of the earth. May the gods haunt you with their worst visions for the remainder of your life.”

“Kill him!” yelled Rini from behind, the indignation raging clear in his voice.

“No.”

“Why not? He has hurt Erinu!”

“His life is not mine to take. Let him live in his anguish. That is far worse.”

And at that Berin turned, sheathed the sword, clasped his daughter and walked out of the lodge. Glavino dodged the gasping onlookers into the room and emerged with their possessions. Lastly Rini turned to walk away.

“Papa! Kill him!” he cried chasing the three out of the lodge and into the street.

“No!”

“Cut out his innards!”

“No.”

“Papa! Why not?”

Berin ignored his son. As he walked out into the full moonlight, he clutched his daughter closely, the twisted pain inside him screaming to be released. Instead of violence, he burst into wailing. Erinu’s innocence was stripped away. She was violated. Tears began the journey down his cheek.

“I should have done something.”

“Like what?” asked Glavino.

“If only we interceded back at Akola. If only I stormed the slave market and retrieved her. None of this dreadfulness would have occurred!”

“What, you would have been killed. Berin, this is not your fault.”

Berin looked into the moon, seeking answers. He tugged Erinu close to his chest.

“Erinu,” Berin repeatedly whispered into his daughter’s ear, between sobs. The two others joined them, embracing Erinu, whispering her name. After some time, she finally responded. It was faint, but Berin knew the exact word, for he had heard it many times from her lips, from the first time she could speak, to every time she fell over. Or the first moment her arrow pierced wild game, or the squeals of delight when he tickled her.

“Papa.”

“Oh, Erinu!”

“Father!” she gasped, breathing fresh air for the first time, as though she was exiting the womb and taking in reality’s surroundings.

“Erinu!”

The four remained intertwined for a long time, allowing their love to free Erinu’s mind from her catatonic state. It seemed to work, for soon she recognised Rini, and even pinched him the way she used to in Vergara. Rini let out a giggle, and soon Berin joined in, knowing that she was returning to herself. 

Reviews

[Stan Lee]

:) Said it before and I'll say it again. You have an incredible imagination Stephen. I honestly don't know how you come up with all these characters and their fantasy settings. Amazing!