Dayn armallah

7. White Darkness

I waited anxiously for another encounter between the old King and his wayward son, but it was slow in coming. Nobody took the topic up, not the prince, not his father, not the former priestesses, nor the villagers. I feared it, pondering every day when the inevitable explosion would finally come, but as days and more days passed and nothing happened, I realized that maybe it wasn't so inevitable after all. The prince continued to pointedly ignore the goings-on of the worshippers, the King continued to give him hard, accusing looks, the priestesses shunned him, and no one said a word. It was obviously a truce, an uneasy one but a truce nevertheless.

Not that I had too much time in my hands to think about it, anyway. The approaching autumn and winter kept all of us busy. There were crops to be harvested and stored, berries and mushrooms to pick and dry to preserve them for the long months to come. Boys fished eagerly from the brook. Women mended clothes. The few small children there were spent every daylight hour collecting grass and hay and bunches of leaves to be dried and used as fodder for the handful of animals that would be left alive to brave the hardships of winter.

I could well understand the prince's mounting fury and frustration at the priestesses who somehow still hadn't grasped the significance of all the hustle and bustle around them. They looked with slightly misty eyes at all the people toiling from dawn till dusk, hardly participating in anything, keeping themselves to themselves. Yes, they knew how to spin and weave and make clothes, but even those tasks seemed more of a pastime, something with which to occupy oneself between sleeping and worshipping, rather than something vital for survival. I could also understand the obvious gap that yawned between them and the village women who eyed their leisurely dabbling with the spindles and needles with increasingly visible disdain. I was not immune to the same feeling, and more than once I wondered what, if anything, went on in their carefully combed and coiffed heads during it all. They had lived here, in this village, for over two years now, being in essence just a pretty group of parasites to be fed and looked after, never raising a hand to give anything in return. They still didn't understand? How could anyone be so blind? And how in the Holy Mother's name could the old King continue to be so oblivious?

At last came the day of the slaughter, something everybody had been looking forward to with mixed feelings – a messy, gruesome affair that nevertheless offered us a brief chance to celebrate before winter was upon us. The animals to be spared were taken to the other side of the village, all vessels were brought out to receive the blood and meat, and the men stripped themselves naked to the waist and set to work. I helped where I could and the prince, too, came to aid in hanging the carcasses on a rack for cutting, although he let more experienced hands handle the large butcher's knives that separated flesh from skin and bones.

It didn't take long before we all were splattered with blood, its heavy taste filled my mouth and nostrils and I felt nauseous as I looked at the prince who pulled the ropes so that a fat calf was flung to hang by its hind legs. Blood had been smeared on his heavily scarred right forearm, making it look so freshly burned that I had to swallow a couple of times before I could convince myself that he was all right, that it was just the blood of pigs and cows, blood that was being collected in large vats that foamed and spewed their hot, overwhelming stench over us all. I resolutely pushed any unpleasantness aside and reminded myself how welcome a piece of sausage would be during the bleakest months of winter. How even a little scrap of dried meat in a stew would make all the difference towards the spring, when we'd be worn and weak after months of scouring the forest for prey that would inevitably be more elusive and more skinny than ever.

The couple of days following the slaughter were something of a festival for everybody, including us. For once the whole village had the chance to eat their fill, enjoy the still-warm black pudding that emerged from stoves and to sample the spicy, coarse sausages before they were carefully dried until they became hard as wood.

I was not surprised to see that none of the priestesses joined the celebration, instead choosing to stay by the fire they had made in front of the old King's cabin. They wrinkled their nose at the pudding and disapproved rather vocally of Alaish who gleefully left them without a backward glance and joined the others. The boy gorged on the pudding, laughed and played with the village kids who unfortunately were all quite a few years younger than he was, and even ran around with them, a piece of liver sausage in his hand and a dollop of grease decorating his nose. I noticed that even the prince seemed to lighten up a bit at the sight; a hint of smile hovered on his lips as he sat on the opposite side of the big fire, a bonfire really, that had been lit next to the slaughter grounds. I sucked with relish on my last piece of fried meat to extract every drop of greasy juice from it before swallowing, and sighed at seeing his gaze follow the boy.

I was still puzzled at the evident distance between the prince and his son, though. Upon my arrival I had been under the impression that they were far closer to each other than they really seemed to be. For one thing, the boy actually still lived with the priestesses and didn't come to our fire nearly every night. For a while I had thought that it was somehow because of me, but I couldn't really believe it. Alaish was far too straightforward to just shun me – if he didn't like me, he certainly would have come and said so to my face. Instead, the boy always smiled or grinned to me whenever he saw me looking at him, always babbled eagerly with me, jumping from one topic to the next without any obvious connection, and more often than not gave me a quick hug before running away again. So what was the matter – the prince had said himself that the most valuable thing for him in the City, the one for whom he had risked his life, was his son? This just didn't make sense to me.

Apparently I had been either lost in my thoughts or staring at the boy too long without noticing it, because I was suddenly wrenched back to the here and now by two skinny arms that grabbed my shoulders from behind and squeezed, rather hard. I looked over my shoulder to see the familiar grin of the blond boy, his bright eyes twinkling merrily.

"Don't look so grim, Tarisha!" he chided. "This is a fun day, you shouldn't look like that!"

"I wasn't grim," I protested. "I was merely thinking."

"Then don't think, if it makes you look grim," Alaish retorted glibly and sat next to me. "What were you thinking about?"

I glanced around; we were definitely not alone, but there was nobody else right next to us, and besides, most of the people were currently interested mainly in the contents of an enormous pot that had just been hoisted out of the fire.

"You and your father," I said quietly.

Alaish cocked his head a little and looked into my eyes, a far too adult expression on his elvish face. "What about us?" he asked, lowering his voice as well.

"Why you don't live with him. Why you so seldom talk to each other." I gulped, afraid of the question that I simply had to ask now that I had the chance. "Is it because of me?"

He shook his head.

"No. I've always lived with the priestesses. I'm used to it."

"But why? When he so much dislikes them and everything they represent, why does he let you live with them? Why doesn't he insist that you have nothing to do with them?"

"Father is used to living alone," Alaish said. I tried hard to detect a hint of sadness in his voice but didn't really succeed. He continued to look at me, eyes calm and bright. "He never slept with my mother, either. Or anybody, I think. He stayed in his rooms, and only came to see me and play with me sometimes."

"What about the other children he had?" I asked, breathless and a little overwhelmed at this sudden opportunity to find out more about the prince. Why had it never occurred to me to ask Alaish like this? No beating about the bush, just asking? "Did he play with them, too?"

"Very little, I think," Alaish said and thoughtfully rubbed a palm on his knee. "I think the other priestesses were jealous to my mother because father did come to us. But he would only ever just greet mother, and then he came to be with me."

He chewed his lip for a while, a concentrated pout on his face, and then shrugged. "I don't think he really liked my mother very much. She didn't like him too much anyway. And she was always saying funny things about him."

"Funny things?" I could practically feel my ears growing bigger at this.

"Yeah, that he didn't like anybody, and always wanted to be alone, and was so quiet, and then if you asked him something, he would be rude or unfriendly." Alaish scratched his nose before raising his chin defiantly. "But he was not ever unfriendly to me! He would play with me as long as I wanted, unless it was the time to go to the Ceremonies. Then he always sighed and looked sad."

I nodded, filing every word carefully for the future. I should have realized it earlier, really I should have. Didn't I know already that Alaish was a very clever, very observant boy who loved his distant father dearly? Why had I overlooked such an obvious source of information, merely on the pretext that he was so young? As if I couldn't remember all the things I had been doing at his age...

"What did you talk about with him, back then?" I ventured and Alaish cracked a broad but wistful smile.

"Oh, so many things! He told me stories, things he had read in the scrolls, such stories they were! About places along the Gold Road, and all that... I said to him that I would like to see the places some day, and then he really got angry. Or something. He stopped smiling and told me that I had better forget all that -"

Alaish fell silent all of a sudden and I started a little as I noticed that the prince's green gaze was unwaveringly boring into us from the other side of the fire. He couldn't possibly have heard what we were talking about, but something in the boy's animated telling had caught his attention. Alaish smiled to him a little uncertainly, and I put a hand on his thin arm.

"Maybe we'd better not talk about this now that he might hear," I said soothingly. "He doesn't want to remember."

"No he doesn't," Alaish admitted in shame. "But he does anyway. And he is always so unhappy."

I concentrated again on the bowl in front of me while Alaish jumped on his feet and skipped back to the other children. I didn't dare look at the prince, and was intensely grateful when he never asked me about what we had been talking about, although I doubted that he had forgotten it.

Too soon those few days of abundance and revelry were just a memory. It wasn't very much afterwards that the first snow chose to fall, casting a wet blanket over the village and forest. It soon melted away and left the ground miserably soggy and penetratingly cold, but a few more frosty nights and a couple of cloudy days later we got more snow, and this time it didn't vanish any more. Hunting became harder as the animals got warier, frightened by the way their every footprint shone out of the slightly snowy ground, and scared into stillness by the need to conserve energy. But we went on relentlessly, patrolling the surroundings for game as well as predators that were bound to draw nearer to us with the shortening days and ever harsher cold.

Snow, and then some more snow enveloped the landscape, and finally even the ground beneath the tall, dense trees of the forest was covered in white. White that made our lives doubly difficult by slowing our step, forcing us to push our way through its prickling cold mass, squeezing its way inside our clothing through any and all cracks and pores it could find, only to melt there into an icy puddle.

When we first heard the howling of wolves in the distance after nightfall, the night guard was doubled and nobody in their right minds stayed outside much beyond dusk. All animals we owned were gathered in a large, walled shelter in the middle of human dwellings, and there they listened with pricked ears and large, frightened eyes to the sounds of foes whose nagging hunger warred with their fear of humans and drew them inexorably closer. Our hunting trips got shorter too, we didn't venture far from the village any more, wanting to avoid meeting the wolves whose tracks we saw from time to time. We had been lucky, for no bears had wandered to wreak havoc in the village before withdrawing to their winter nests. The villagers told me that they hadn't always been so fortunate – the old hunter who had taught his skills to the prince had been maimed by one in his younger days. Luckily the large beasts seemed to have enough to eat deeper in the forest. But the wolves might yet prove a problem.

Days rolled into weeks and we gradually began to despair as our game still consisted of smaller prey. We hadn't seen a trace of any deer, no two-toed hoof prints, nothing, and the stock of meat was dwindling at an alarming rate. The wolves were waiting, too, there was a reason why they kept themselves in the vicinity: as the prince explained, the old hunter had told him that not too far away from the village there was a place that the deer usually favored as a wintering area. But like the wolves, we too were disappointed in our hopes for a long time, and truly began to fear that the gray-coated fiends would finally grow desperate enough to actually try and attack the livestock even inside the shelters. The bitterly cold winter made matters worse, draining our supply of firewood and making everyone hungry, weary, paranoid and snappy. Everybody was afraid and tired, and I knew that things would only get worse from here, for the darkest time of winter wasn't even over yet.

I stayed resolutely by the prince's side, day and night, but we spoke very little. By now we had already learned each other's routines, and it was so easy and rewarding to fall back to those. We got up in the morning, donned our clothes, grabbed some food from the previous night's leftovers – no use wasting firewood to cook anything in the morning – and headed out. Towards the evening we would return with whatever catch we had managed to make that day, surrendered it all to the village women, and retired to our cabin. I would make a fire in the stove and prepare some food while the prince meticulously hung our clothes to dry and to breathe in some warmth from the fire. After that, we would huddle together under some blankets and devour our meal like two ravenously hungry beasts, then scrub ourselves cleaner with the precious little hot water that we always heated once the food was ready, and finally crawl to bed. He would pull me tight in his arms and let me warm my freezing toes against his legs before falling to sleep. And many times I hoped drowsily that we could just stay like that and sleep, days on end, until the sun really came out again to make the snow and cold disappear.

We hardly saw a glimpse of the priestesses and the old King for weeks. They mostly spent the cold days inside the large cabin reserved for the women of the Temple, most probably singing hymns and talking about the golden times in the City. Alaish sometimes stayed with them but he was about much more, his movement mainly limited by the less than adequate clothing that could be spared for him. Everything warm and even remotely cozy was self-evidently reserved for those who worked all days outside, including me and the prince. The others, especially the ones not really doing anything, had to make do with what was left. However, it irked me beyond all measure to see the smoke almost constantly rising from the chimneys of the two cabins, especially as I knew that the King could very well have stayed all the time with the priestesses if it hadn't been for their ridiculous insistence on proper forms. The High Priestess was dead, so there was no one worthy of sleeping even in the same room with the man. But his cabin was kept warm nevertheless, and I found it really remarkable that not a single person in the village ever questioned the necessity of it. Such was the esteem in which they still held the old man who had been the highest of high in Dayn Armallah.

On one of his rare late-night visits to our cabin, Alaish told something that made my winter-wearied body tremble with fury – wisely picking a moment when his father had gone out for a moment.

"You know what, Tarisha?" The boy was sitting on the bed, fingers twirling a corner of a blanket, eyes downcast. He shot me a quick glance, and once again I was reminded of the squirrels that sometimes watched our movements from the trees and made agitated chirping noises to each other.

"What then?"

"This is such a hard winter;" he said quietly. "Grandfather and the priestesses say it's so hard and cold because Holy Mother is angry. They say that father has angered Her by his irreverence."

I stared at him dumbly, mouth hanging open, for a while totally unable to comprehend what he was saying. Alaish peered at me pleadingly.

"You don't think so, do you?" he asked. "Because I don't. I don't think Holy Mother has anything to do with this."

"That's – that's outrageous!" I spluttered at last, choking on hatred. "How dare they? After everything he goes through every day to protect their -"

I bit my tongue and swallowed the rest of the sentence. Their worthless lives. Truly, that was how I felt, but I was still enough in my senses not to say it aloud. Alaish looked at me, for once in silence, but on his face I read the same infuriated indignation, combined with a quiet fear that the words just might be true after all.

"Of course it is not true," I said in a more controlled tone. "If that were true, then why have the winters been growing so much colder for such a long time already?"

Alaish nodded eagerly. "That's what I think too," he said, face lighting up again. "I mean, father and you are working so hard for us. And it's not as if there hadn't been cold and snow in the City, too. I remember how cold it got in mother's rooms that last winter there."

I nodded. "Don't you believe those things they say," I said forcefully. "I believe that all this is something that the Holy Mother cannot do anything about. That she was powerless to avert what was beginning to happen years ago."

"Do the Foresters have stronger gods then?" Alaish asked seriously. "Do they have gods who didn't like Holy Mother and wanted to destroy her?"

"I – honestly don't know," I said weakly. "Maybe they have. Or maybe this is something that their gods couldn't do anything about, either. Maybe that is why they came close to the City in the first place. You know, Alaish, I remember hearing, as a kid, how older people said that the weathers were changing. That there hadn't been such cold winters when they were younger, and there had been no Foresters either."

Alaish tugged his long hair thoughtfully and opened his mouth to ask something when noises from outside froze us both motionless. There were shouts, screaming, then a blood-curdling screech.

"Father!" Alaish cried and dashed into my arms. "Oh, where is he? What is happening?"

I held his thin, trembling body close and tried to find something to say, even though anything that would come out of my mouth was sure to be belied by my wildly beating heart. The sound had been inhuman, horrible, and I knew I could not make myself go out and investigate, no matter how worried I was.

"Shh, Alaish, he'll come soon to tell us what happened," I murmured quietly to the boy who was now sobbing reluctantly. "Shh, it's going to be all right..."

After a tense silence that felt like an eternity, I heard voices outside the door and jumped on my feet. Somebody banged on the door shouting for me to open it, and when I began to push it open it was wrenched from my grip. Two men squeezed their way in, the one who came in first turning as soon as he was inside to talk urgently to the other one.

"Here, his bed is here, careful now!"

The other, shorter man was half carrying the prince whose long hair fell over his face and chest, nearly hiding his right hand that was clasped across his chest, fingers grasping the front of his jacket that was dark with blood. I stared as they managed the last stumbling steps to the bed from which Alaish, too, had jumped up, his eyes dark and wide as saucers.

"Father?"

The men gingerly lowered the prince on the bed and he rolled on his back, deathly pale face blood-stained as well. Before either of the men had time to turn and glare at me, I recovered my senses enough to grab a pot, fill it with water and place it on the fire. The shorter man sat on the edge of the bed, pulled the prince's hand aside and began to pry his clothing open. The hand began to move back to his hurt, but before I got one step forward I saw Alaish grab his father's hand with both of his.

"Father, don't touch it now, we'll help you," he said with such confidence and determination that the men obviously didn't even think twice about trying to make him leave. He clasped the bloody hand tight and held it out of the way, while I knelt between the men and helped them remove the clothes.

Once I had washed away all the blood, the wounds luckily didn't look as ghastly as I had feared. The thick clothing had protected him, refusing to be torn completely, but there were a couple of nasty-looking bruised gashes and one deeper, round hole. A fang, then.

"What happened?" I asked, looking at the grimace on the prince's face when I dripped warm water into the wounds.

"A wolf," the taller man standing behind me said dazedly. "A wolf was attacking my little girl... he saw it coming and ran to grab her, just as it pounced..."

The shorter man glanced up to his companion. "You had better go back to your family to make sure she's all right," he said gruffly. "We can take care of the prince now."

"Was she hurt?" I asked.

"I don't think, not too badly." The taller man blinked a couple of times, then turned and left.

"You be careful out there, Dovin!" the other one said sharply before his friend had time to close the door behind him. We heard a grunt of assent and then retreating steps that creaked in the snow.

"It knocked him squarely down," said the shorter man – Melish, I remembered at last. "Must've hit his head, and I'd like to know how he still managed to put that knife in between its ribs. It happened so quickly..." He cursed and shook his head. "I barely had time to notice it coming, and then I couldn't shoot any more 'cause it was on them. Going for his throat, by the looks of it."

"Is she all right?" The prince opened his eyes with a groan and Melish smiled a little.

"I think so, just frightened out of her mind. Thanks to you, my Lord."

The prince grunted and then blinked at Alaish who was still grabbing his hand, now with a watery smile on his face.

"You are so brave, father," the boy said and sniffled a little. "You'll be all right too, soon, I promise."

It took me a while to get all the blood washed away, the wounds treated and covered and the clothes scrubbed clean as well. Melish finally managed to persuade Alaish to come with him and return to the priestesses' house – they were probably frantic for him anyway, the man said, and my promise to take extra good care of his father at last made him give in.

When the door closed after them, I heard a quiet snort from the man on the bed.

"We could feed those Holy Mother serving geese to the wolves, maybe then they wouldn't attack honest people's children," he said disdainfully.

I couldn't help shivering at the coldness and pain in his voice, unable to think of anything to say. Silence swirled around me for a moment, I listened to the prince's heavy breathing and then he spoke again, sounding far too resigned to my liking.

"They are truly getting desperate now. The wolves."

"Yes," I breathed. Just like we are. We are after the same prey, and it still has not come. What are we going to do now that you are hurt, my Lord?

I got out of my clothes and crawled next to the man who lay on his back, shivering a little, his breathing ragged. I knew his wounds were beginning to hurt and probably his head was aching, too, from the knock he'd taken, but there was nothing I could do about them. Just be there, help him endure, and pray that he would soon be well again.

The only problem was that I didn't have any idea what gods I should be praying to.