Death's Mistress

CHAPTER 34

After leaving the Lockridge villagers to pick up the pieces of their lives, Nicci, Nathan, and Bannon followed the dwindling old road deeper into the mountains. Though preoccupied with helping his people, Mayor Barre had confirmed for them that Kol Adair did indeed lie over the mountains and beyond a great valley. The ordeal with the Adjudicator had made Nathan even more determined to restore himself by any means necessary.

What had once been a wide thoroughfare traveled by commercial caravans was overgrown from disuse. Dark pines and thick oaks encroached with the slow intent of erasing the blemishes left by mankind.

Bannon was remarkably withdrawn, showing little interest in their journey. His usual eager conversation and positive outlook had vanished, still festering from what the Adjudicator had made him see and suffer. Nicci had faced the consequences of her dark past, and she had overcome that guilt long ago, but the young man had far less experience in turning raw, bleeding wounds into hard scars.

Nathan tried to cheer the young man up. “We’re making good time. Would you like to stop for a while, my boy? Spar a little with our swords?”

Bannon gave an unusually unenthusiastic reply. “No thank you. I’ve had enough real swordplay with the selka and the Norukai slavers.”

“That’s true, my boy,” he said with forced cheer, “but in a practice sparring session you can let yourself have fun.”

Nicci stepped around a moss-covered boulder in the trail, then looked over her shoulder. “Maybe he thinks the actual killing is fun, Wizard.”

Bannon looked stung. “I did what I had to do. People need to be protected. You might not get there in time, but when you do, you have to do your best.”

They reached a fast-flowing stream that bubbled over slick rocks. Nicci gathered her skirts and splashed across the shallow water, not worried about getting her boots wet. Nathan, though, picked his way downstream, where he found a fallen log to use as a bridge. He carefully balanced his way across and arrived on the other side, then turned to face Bannon, who crossed the log with barely a glance at his feet.

Nicci kept watching the young man, growing more troubled at his worsening inner pain. A companion so haunted, so preoccupied and listless, might be a liability if they encountered some threat, and she could not allow that.

She faced Bannon as he stepped off the log onto the soft mosses of the bank. “We need to address this, Bannon Farmer. A boil must be lanced before it festers. I know you’re not telling the truth—at least not the whole truth.”

Bannon was immediately wary, and a flash of fear crossed his face as he drew back. “The truth about what?”

“What did the Adjudicator show you? What guilt has been eating away inside you?”

“I already told you.” Bannon stepped away, looking as if he wanted to run. He turned pale. “I couldn’t stop a man from drowning a sack of kittens. Sweet Sea Mother, I know that may sound childish to you, but it’s not your place to judge how my guilt affects me!”

“I am not your judge,” Nicci said, “nor do I want to be. But I need to understand.”

Stepping up to them on the stream bank, Nathan interrupted. “You would not have us believe that the Adjudicator considers the loss of kittens to be more damning than losing your friend to slavers?” He gave a wistful smile, trying to be compassionate. “Although, truth be told, I do like kittens. The Sisters in the Palace of the Prophets let me have a kitten once—oh, four hundred years ago. I raised it and loved it, but the cat wandered away, happily hunting mice and rats in the palace, I suppose. It’s an enormous place. That was centuries ago.…” His voice degenerated into a wistful sigh. “The cat must be dead by now. I haven’t thought about it in a long time.”

Nicci tried to soften her stern voice, with only marginal success. “You are our companion, Bannon. Are you a criminal? I do not intend to punish you, but I need to know. You are a handicap to our mission and safety in the state you are in.”

He lashed out. “I’m not a criminal!” He strode away, following the stream and trying to avoid them. Nicci went after him, but Nathan put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head slightly.

She called after the young man. “Whatever it is, I would not judge you. I could spend months describing the people I’ve hurt. I once roasted one of my own generals alive in the middle of a village, just to show the villagers how ruthless I could be.”

Bannon turned to stare at her, looking both surprised and sickened.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You failed to prevent someone else from killing a sack of kittens. That may be true. But I don’t believe the Adjudicator would condemn you forever because of that.”

Bannon splashed cool water on his face, then left the stream and began climbing uphill through a patch of meadow lilies. “It’s a long story,” he sighed, without looking at her.

From behind, Nathan said, “Maybe it can wait until camp tonight, after we find some food.”

As Bannon moved through the brush, he startled a pair of grouse. The two plump birds clucked and waddled quickly for a few steps before they exploded into flight.

Nicci made an offhand gesture with her hand and released her magic. With barely a thought, she stopped the hearts of the two grouse, which dropped to the ground, dead. “There, now we have dinner, and this is as good a place to camp as any. Fresh water from the stream, wood for our fire—and time for a story.”

Bannon looked defeated. Without a word he began to gather dead branches, while Nathan dressed the birds and Nicci used her magic to ignite the fire. While the meal cooked, Nicci watched Bannon’s expression as he dredged through his memories like a miner shoveling loads of rock, sifting through the rubble and trying to decide what to keep.

At last, after he had picked part of the grouse carcass clean and wandered back to the stream to wash himself, Bannon returned. He lifted his chin and swallowed hard. Nicci could see he was ready.

“On Chiriya Island,” he began, and his voice cracked. He drew a deep breath, “Back home … I didn’t just run away because my life was too quiet and dull. It wasn’t a perfect life.”

“It rarely ever is, my boy,” Nathan said.

Nicci was more definitive. “It never is.”

“My parents weren’t as I’ve described them. Well, my mother was. I loved her, and she loved me, but my father … my father was—” His eyes darted back and forth as if searching for the right word and then daring to use it. “He was vile. He was reprehensible.” Bannon caught himself as if he feared the spirits might strike him down as he paced back and forth. Then that odd look came to his face again, as if he were trying to paint over the memories in his mind.

“My mother had a cat, a female tabby she loved very much. The cat would sleep on the hearth near a warm fire, but she preferred to curl up on my mother’s lap.” Bannon’s eyes narrowed. “My father was a drunken lout, a brutal man. If he had a miserable life, it was his own fault, and he made our lives miserable because he wanted us to bear the blame. He would beat me, sometimes with a stick, but usually with just his hands. I think he enjoyed the idea of hitting.

“I was always his second choice, though. I could outrun him, and my father never wanted to make much effort, so he hit my mother instead. He would corner her in our house. He would strike her whenever he lost a gambling game down at the tavern, or he would strike her when he ran out of money and couldn’t buy enough drink, or he would strike her because he didn’t like the food she cooked, or because she didn’t cook enough of it.

“He made my mother scream and then he punished her for screaming and for screaming so loudly that the neighbors might hear—although they had all known how he abused her for many years. But he liked it when she screamed too, and if she didn’t make enough sounds of pain, he would beat her some more. So she had to walk that narrow path of terror and hurt, just so she could survive—so we could both survive.”

Bannon lowered his head. “When I was young, I was too small to stand up to him. And when I grew older, when I might have defended myself against him, I simply couldn’t because that man had trained me to be terrified of him.” He sat so heavily on a fallen tree trunk that he seemed to collapse.

“The cat was my mother’s special treasure, her refuge. She would stroke the cat on her lap as she wept quietly when my father was gone. The cat seemed to absorb her pain and her sorrow. Somehow that restored her in a way that no one else could. It wasn’t magic,” Bannon said, “but it was its own kind of healing.”

Nathan finished eating his grouse and tossed the bones aside, then leaned forward, listening intently. Nicci hadn’t moved. She watched the young man’s expressions, his fidgeting movements, and she absorbed every word.

“The cat had a litter of five kittens, all mewling and helpless, all so cute. But the mama cat died giving birth. My mother and I found the kittens in a corner the next morning, trying to suckle on the cat’s cold, stiff carcass, trying to get warmth from their mama’s fur. They were so plaintive when they mewed.” He squeezed his fists together, and his gaze was directed deep into his memories. “When my mother picked up the dead tabby, she looked as if something had broken inside her.”

“How old were you then, my boy?”

Bannon looked up at the old wizard, as if trying to formulate an answer to the question. “That was less than a year ago.”

Nicci was surprised.

“I wanted to save the kittens, for my mother’s sake. They were all so tiny, with the softest fur—and needle-sharp claws. They squirmed when I held them. We had to give them milk from a thimble to take care of them. My mother and I both drew comfort from those kittens … but we didn’t have a chance to name them—not a single one—before my father found them.

“One night, he came home in a rage. I have no idea what had angered him. The reasons never really mattered anyway—my mother and I didn’t need to know, but in some dark corner of his alcohol-soured mind we were to blame. He knew how to hurt us—oh, he knew how to hurt us.

“My father stormed into the house, grabbed a sack full of onions hanging on the wall. He dumped the onions across the floor. Even though we tried to keep him away from the kittens, my father grabbed them and stuffed them into the empty sack one at a time. They mewed and mewed, crying out for help, but we couldn’t help. He wouldn’t let us.” Bannon’s face darkened, but he didn’t look at his listeners.

“I tried to hit my father, but he backhanded me. My mother begged him, but he just wanted the kittens. He knew that would be a far more painful blow to her than his fist. ‘Their mother’s dead,’ he growled, ‘and I won’t have you wasting any more milk.’” As he spoke, Bannon made a disgusted sound. “The idea of ‘wasting’ a few thimbles of milk was such an absurd comment that I could find no answer for it. And then he slammed open the door and stormed out into the night.

“My mother wailed and sobbed. I wanted to run after him and fight him, but I stayed to comfort her instead. She wrapped her arms around me and we rocked back and forth. She sobbed into my shoulder. My father had taken away the last thing my mother loved, the last memory of her beloved cat.” He swallowed hard.

“But I decided to do something, right away. I knew where he was going. There was a deep stream nearby, and he would throw the sack there. The kittens would drown, wet and cold and helpless—unless I saved them.

“No matter what I did, I knew I’d get a beating, but I had suffered beatings before, and I had never had a chance to save something I loved, to save something my mother loved. So I ran out into the night, following my father. I wanted to chase after him, shouting and cursing, to call him a lout and a monster. But I was smart enough to remain silent. I didn’t dare let him know I was coming.

“The cloudy night was dark, but he was drunk enough that he didn’t notice anything else around him. He wouldn’t dream that I might stand up to him. I had never done it before.

“He reached the streamside, and I saw the sack squirm and sway in his grip. He didn’t gloat, didn’t even seem to think about what he was doing. Without any apparent remorse, he simply tossed the knotted onion sack into the swift water. He had weighted it with rocks, and after bobbing a few times as it flowed along in the current, the sack dunked beneath the water. I thought sure I could hear the kittens crying. Sweet Sea Mother…” His voice hitched.

“I did not have much time. The kittens would drown in a minute or two. I didn’t dare let my father catch me, and if I went too close he would reach out and grab me with those awful hands. He would seize my shirt or my arm, and he would slap me until I collapsed. He might even break a bone or two—and worse, he would prevent me from saving the kittens! I hid in the dark for an agonized minute. My heart was pounding.

“He didn’t even pause to savor his murderous handiwork. He stood at the streamside for a dozen breaths, then lurched away into the night, back in the direction he had come.

“I bounded as fast as I could run along the stream, stumbling and tripping on the rocks and low willows. I followed the cold current and tried to see in the dim moonlight, searching for any sign of the bobbing sack. I scrabbled along the banks of the stream, splashing and stumbling, but I had to hurry.

“After the spring rains, the water ran high, and the current was swifter than I remembered it. I couldn’t see how far the kittens had drifted, but up ahead around a curve in the stream, I spotted just a flash of the onion sack bobbing up before it sank down again. I tripped on the mossy rocks and slick mud, and I fell into the water, but I didn’t care. I splashed deeper, wading along, sweeping my hands back and forth ahead of me as I tried to grab the sack. I caught weeds, cut myself on a tangled branch, but the sack had drifted along, still under the water. I couldn’t hear the kittens anymore, and I knew it was too long, but I kept trying. I sloshed forward and dove ahead until finally I caught the sack, wrapped my fingers around the folds of rough cloth. I had it!

“Laughing and crying, I yanked it out of the water and held it up, dripping. It was waterlogged and heavy. Rivulets of stream water ran out of it, but I stumbled to the shore and sprawled up on the bank. With my numb, bleeding fingers I couldn’t pull open the wet knot closing the sack. I tore at it with my fingernails, and finally I ripped the fabric. More water gushed out, and I dumped the kittens out onto the streamside.

“I remember saying ‘No, no, no!’ over and over again. Those poor, fragile kittens flopped out, slick and wet, like fish from a net. And they weren’t moving. Not a one of them.

“I picked them up, pressed gently on them, blew on their tiny faces, trying to get them to respond. Their perfect little tongues lolled out. I couldn’t stop imagining them mewing for help, trying to breathe, dragged under the cold water. They were so young and hadn’t even known their own mama, so I knew they had been crying out for me and my mother. And we hadn’t saved them—we hadn’t saved them!”

Bannon hunched his shoulders and sobbed. “I ran as fast as I could. I tried to get the sack from the water—I really tried! But all the kittens were dead, all five of them.”

Nathan listened with a compassionate frown. He stroked his chin as he sat on his rock next to the campfire. “You tried your best. There was nothing else you could have done. You can’t carry that guilt around with you forever. It’ll kill you.”

As Bannon wept, Nicci watched him intently. In a low voice, she said, “That’s not what he feels guilty about.”

The old wizard was surprised, but Bannon looked up at Nicci with remarkably old eyes. “No,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Not that at all.”

He laced his fingers together, then unraveled them again as he found the courage to go on. “I found a soft spot under a willow near the stream, and I dug out a hole with my bare hands. I buried the kittens and placed the wet sack on top of them, like a blanket that might keep them warm in the cold night. I piled rocks on top of the grave, so that I could show my mother where I had buried them, but I never wanted my father to find out where they were or what I had done.

“I stayed there for a long time, just crying, and then I made my way home. I knew I could never hide my tears or my wet clothes from my father. He would probably beat me for it, or maybe just look at me with smug satisfaction. At the time, with the kittens all dead, I didn’t think he could hurt me any more and I was tired of running.” The young man gulped. “But I came home to find something far worse.”

Nicci felt her shoulder muscles tense, and she braced herself. Bannon spoke in a bleak voice, as if he no longer had any emotion in the memory. “After he drowned the kittens and came back to our cottage, my mother was ready for him. She’d had enough. After all the pain and suffering and fear he had inflicted on her, the murder of those poor innocent kittens was the last straw for her. When he staggered through the door, my mother was waiting.

“I saw the scene afterward, and I guessed what happened. As soon as he entered the house, she held a loose oak axe handle like a warrior’s mace. She attacked my father, struck him in the head, screaming at him. She nearly succeeded, but it was only a glancing blow, enough to draw blood, perhaps crack his skull—and certainly enough to make his anger erupt.

“In a futile effort, she tried to hurt him, maybe even kill him. But my father snatched the oak handle from her hands, tore it right out of her grip, whirled around—” Bannon swallowed. “And he beat her to death with it.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

“By the time I came home from burying the kittens, she was already dead. He had smashed her face so that I couldn’t recognize her, couldn’t even see the usual parts of a face at all. Her left eye had been pulped, and broken shards of skull protruded upward, exposing brain. Her mouth was just a ragged hole, and teeth lay scattered around, some of them pounded into the soft meat of her face, like decorations.…”

His voice grew softer, shakier. “My father came for me with the bloody, splintered axe handle, but I had nothing to defend myself with, not even a sword. I threw myself on him nevertheless, howling. I … I don’t even remember it. I hit him, clawed at him, pounded at his chest.

“This time the neighbors had heard my mother’s screams, worse than ever before, and they rushed in only moments after I arrived. They saved me, or else my father would have killed me, too. I was screaming, trying to fight, trying to hurt him. But they pulled me away and subdued him. By that time, most of the fight had gone out of my father. Blood covered his face, his clothes, and his hands. Some from the gash on his scalp where my mother had struck him, but most of the blood belonged to her.

“Someone had raised the alarm, and one goodwife sent her little boy running to town to get the magistrate.” Bannon sucked in a succession of breaths and kneaded his fingers as he stared like a lost soul into the small campfire before he could continue. Overhead, a night bird cried out and took flight from one of the pine trees.

“I couldn’t save the sack of kittens. I couldn’t prevent my father from drowning them, but I ran after him, nevertheless. I waded into the stream and tried to catch them before it was too late. But I always knew it would be too late, and when they were dead I wasted precious time burying them and crying over them … when I could have been there to save my mother.”

He looked up at his listeners, and the empty pain in his hazel eyes struck a deep chill even in Nicci’s heart.

“If I had stayed with my mother, maybe I could have protected her. If I hadn’t gone chasing after the kittens, I would have been there. I would have stood up to him. I would have saved her. She and I would have faced him together. The two of us could have driven him off somehow. After that night, my father never would have hurt me again. Or her.

“But I went to save the kittens instead. I left my mother behind to face that monster all by herself.”

Bannon stood up again, brushed off his pants. He spoke as if he were merely delivering a scout’s report. “I stayed at Chiriya long enough to see my father hanged for murder. By then, I had a few coins, and out of sympathy other villagers gave me money to live on. I could have had a little cottage, started a family, worked the cabbage fields. But the house smelled too much like blood and nightmares, and Chiriya held nothing for me.

“So I signed aboard the next ship that came into our little harbor—the Wavewalker. I left my home, never intending to go back. What I wanted was to find a better place. I wanted a life the way I imagined it.”

Nathan said, “So you’ve been changing your memories, covering up the darkness with fantasies of how you thought your life should be.”

“With lies,” Nicci said.

“Yes, they’re lies,” Bannon said. “The real truth is … poison. I was just trying to make everything better. Was that wrong?”

Nicci was sure now that Bannon Farmer had a good heart. In his mind, and in the way he described his old lie to others, the young man was struggling to make the world into a place it would never be.

When the wizard placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, Bannon flinched as if in a sudden flashback of his father striking him. Nathan didn’t remove his hand, but tightened his grip, like an anchor. “You’re with us now, my boy.”

Nodding, Bannon smeared the back of his hand across his face, wiping away the tears. He straightened his shoulders and responded with a weak smile. “I agree. That’s good enough.”

Even Nicci rewarded him with an appreciative nod. “You may have more steel in you than I thought.”