Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls (18 page)

And then, just as suddenly as it had materialised, it was gone. Not soundlessly, but almost so, like a rush of wind, which bent and rustled the trees with its passing, and with it the cold disappeared; but something of its presence lingered, like a mist of fear. Rema collapsed slowly to the ground where he sat for some time until the voice of Gymble Barger came faintly to him.

‘Rema, are you all right, can you hear me man? Rema?’

‘I’m just coming,’ he called out in a rather unsteady voice, ‘Be there in a moment.’ He stood shakily, and in less time than he imagined was back aboard the boat. The night fell, dark and uninterrupted, with no moon and no stars, and for some distance all around that humble craft, not a creature ventured out or made a sound, for the mist of fear was upon them all. Nothing stirred until the morning.

*

The barge, for that was what it was, moved grudgingly down river. It had a single mast upon which was lashed a simple lateen sail, enough to give the helmsman some control, for it was the current that took the vessel down stream; the wind would blow it back. For hundreds of years the
Bargers
of the Luminos River had plied their trade from the market villages a hundred leagues upstream to the royal city of Ramos and back. The barges of the Luminos River were long narrow craft, with a sensible beam allowing for the tricky maneuvering when berthing at the city wharves. The river current was constant, and the wind also, but in the opposite direction. Together they provided a free means of passage up and down the river to any who survived the long apprenticeship to be the master of a river barge. Apart from the tall mast and a range of sails, each barge was equipped with a long and heavy sculling oar set on a post right at the stern, but within easy reach of the wheel. The skillful
barger
was a master of steerage, sail handling and sculling, all at the same time, for only by the balancing of these three could a barge be made to go where it’s master desired.

Gymble Barger leant on the solid sculling oar, gently but powerfully keeping his vessel headed downstream, whilst using his bare feet to turn the ship’s wheel, as it was required, to keep the sail full and pulling, whilst the current did the rest.

Rema sat in the warm mid-afternoon sun feeling safe, and finally relaxed, enjoying the fact that he was travelling in the direction he wanted to go, and with no effort. After an uneasy night in which his mind would not settle, jumping from one thought to the next, worried about Sylvion and what had become of her, fearful of the shadow creature which had so nearly overcome him only hours before, trying to understand his encounter with
Mentor,
 and unsure of what he should be doing, meant he tossed and turned in the small cramped bunk until just before dawn.  Finally exhausted, he fell into a fitful sleep, which only ended when the motion of the boat upon the river roused him well after sunrise. He came on deck to find Gymble at the helm, smoking and generally at peace with the world.

‘Ah Rema, it would seem that my
tater
pie worked its magic, you seemed to have slept well.’ Rema decided not to disagree, since the pie had actually been the best he had ever had, so he nodded politely and stretched in the sun, and changed the subject.

‘I have never seen a boat with a garden before,’ he said indicating the rear decking covered in plants. Gymble smiled.

‘Not uncommon on the river, but mine’s the best of course. I’ve got me taters, and garrots
,
beans over there and wild onions. Plenty of herbs, and the watermelon over here, which never goes without a good drink each day. Plenty of free fertilizer from the hold, and there you have it. Welcome to Gymble’s little pieces of paradise.’ He smiled broadly holding the pipe in his yellowing teeth, and gesturing with both hands as though to introduce some act upon a stage.

‘Gives me something to do when the wind dies and I have to tie up somewhere. Meat I get when I can; a pig will die or a chicken,’ at this he smiled to himself, and Rema realised that the temptation of his cargo probably was too much to ignore at times. One less chicken or pig now and then could be covered up easily enough. ‘So I eat well, and I enjoy the cooking. Got a recipe book from my mother, now
she
could cook. Taught me all I know.’

 He smiled and went back to steering for a bit, happy with his thoughts.

Rema was struck by his quiet composure, and the mental picture of this large and brawny old man, gently weeding his waterborne vegetable garden, and cooking up a meal for one, each night by candle light, whilst following his mother’s old recipes, almost made him chuckle; something he realised that he had not done in long while.

They spoke of little things, and let the long silences sit comfortably. Neither felt the need to talk, but were happy to speak in answer to a question or to remark on some sight as the world on the river’s edge travelled slowly by. Before turning in the night before Rema had told Gymble of his desire to travel to Ramos, to which he had received a warm invitation from the
barger
to accompany him, for the vessel was headed there, and should arrive in the next day or so, depending on the current and the wind. And so it was agreed.

‘And I won’t make you go down to the pigs again,’ Gymble had chuckled loudly, ‘I need a few left alive for market!’ Rema had forced a rueful smile. It was not easy for him to admit failure in anything, but with the pigs, he knew he was beaten.

As the day went by Rema found himself increasingly entranced by the lazy pace of life on the river. They saw two other barges heading in their direction, and three went by travelling ponderously upriver, but so wide was the waterway that there was no contact save for a distant wave and the ringing of a gong, which it seemed all the barges had handy for night work, or when a fog came up and made visibility a problem. The conversation continued every now and then, and after a time, lulled by the river and warm sun, Rema shared his hopes for a life with his love, Sylvion Greyfeld. Gymble seemed to enjoy the talk of marriage and family, so it was not without reason that Rema finally asked the rough old barger whether he too was married, or had a family. The old barger’s response caught him by surprise, for Gymble Barger started to cry. It was a soundless grief, but genuine and deep, without shame, and it moved Rema most powerfully.

‘I am sorry to have asked what is none of my business Gymble’ he said, sincerely sorry for his new friend. ‘I intended no harm.’

‘And no harm have you done lad,’ replied Gymble, wiping his eyes on the old sleeve of his tunic, ‘but there is a story there which I cannot tell without grief, for I have been sorely tested these past years on this matter.’ Rema sat quietly, looking out towards the nearest bank, allowing Gymble to speak, or not, as he wished. After a time the older man spoke, his every word wrapped in sorrow. His voice was gentle and distant, and he seemed to speak to no one in particular, but Rema heard every word.

‘I was married late in life you see. I never thought I was the type and never thought another person, let alone a pretty woman would think to take a second look at me. But my Gracelin; ah she was so pretty, and could charm me with a word so easily. We met in the spring and married before summer. She had an old mother who needed care and so I was on the river without her, which was best, as it is a hard life, rough, and not so clean as a woman would like. Ah she was lovely, was my Gracelin; a soul mate.’

 He was silent for quite some time and Rema had no wish to intrude, as the man was clearly lost in his thoughts. After a time he went on.

‘We had a boy. I cannot tell you Rema Bowman what it is to have a child. I never imagined it. Never thought anything could be so fine. We named him Lumen, after the river, for he was the light of our lives. The joy that boy gave me and my Gracelin could not be measured.’ Rema glanced across and saw that Gymble’s face was wet with tears, and he wondered what misfortune could have fallen upon this gentle man that he should be so distraught.

‘Ten years of joy beyond belief we had. Gracelin and the boy, and me the rough old father away for days on the river, always to return home to a wife and young boy who welcomed me like I was the most important person in all of Revelyn.’ Gymble wiped his eyes and sniffed a little. He spoke no more for such a time that Rema finally dared to gently prompt him.

‘What happened Gymble? What sad story do you have to tell, for I can see you are deeply troubled by what came to pass.’

Gymble looked at Rema then, as though suddenly remembering that there was another close by. He smiled weakly, and gathered himself for the final painful telling.

‘Ten years of joy, then my Gracelin caught the disease. Leprosy it was. Everyone shunned her. The fear of it drove them away. My boy caught it from his mother and the officers reported it to the City officials and one day when I returned from the river they were gone.’ His voice hardened in anger and he spat over the side. ‘Lord Petros Luminos, that evil king; that poison filled maggot of a man declared that all those with Leprosy were to be put to death or transported. It took me days to find out where they had been taken, all the while thinking that they were likely dead.’ He stopped suddenly, and after a time Rema inquired once more.

‘They are alive?’

Gymble took a deep breath, ignored the question and finished his sorry tale.

‘They were transported with others to
Soris
on the western coast, and shipped out to
Blight
on Leper Island. The whole island is one huge colony for lepers, or anyone with a skin disease which so terrifies our noble king.’ He spat once more into the river. ‘I found they were there after many days, but was not allowed to visit. Two years it took before any word came, and another year before I was given permission to travel to the Island. You cannot believe the vileness of that place. Death and corruption is everywhere. I used all my money in bribes to find my Gracelin and my poor boy.’ Gymble sobbed loudly for a time, and Rema looked away.

‘I could not recognise my Gracelin for the disease had eaten her away. She made me promise never to return. My boy, my dear Lumen was overjoyed to see me, and begged that I take him with me. He was desperate to get away, and he was not too badly affected by the sickness. If I could have done it, I would have taken him. I promised him I would return with more money and work out a plan. I asked him to be strong, and wait, but it had been three years, and he knew that I would not return.’ Gymble’s face was so contorted in pain and grief that he could not speak further for a time, but Rema knew he had to finish his story.

‘I heard that shortly after I left, he took his life. He jumped off a high cliff into the sea. He was only thirteen years old. I do not know what has become of my Gracelin.’ He paused, and with a final effort spoke his last words on the matter.

‘And if I ever have the chance to meet with our mighty King, he will die at my hand. And that, my friend Rema Bowman, is all I can say about my married state and family life, such as it was, except perhaps that yesterday would have been my boy Lumen’s sixteenth birthday. He always loved my tater pie. I always cook a tater pie on his birthday.’

He turned once more to the river and for a long time the two men shared company, but no words could be found to break the silence, until after what seemed an age, the gentle giant spoke one last time, in a hoarse whisper, which underlined the depth of feeling which allowed it.

‘I thank you for listening, my friend, for I have never spoken of this before, and I doubt I ever will again.’ All Rema could do was to nod his head in acknowledgement for he knew he could not trust his voice.

*

They moored that first night on the southern bank under clear skies and surrounded by an abundance of wildlife, so different from the deathly stillness of the night before. As it was warm, they both lay on deck, and fell asleep watching the brilliance of the stars above, and listening to the chirp of crickets and frogs, and the occasional hooting of an owl. The stars seemed so close that Rema felt he might reach out and pluck one out of the sky. He felt a desperation about Sylvia creep once more into his heart, but he fought against it, knowing that she was beyond his help and he needed all his energy to survive the next few days, for his return to Petros was both foolhardy and dangerous.

Despite the hard deck, they both slept soundly and woke to the first rays of sun filtering eerily through a blue mist which sat deeply on the river, and the happy quaking of the wild ducks as they too began their day.

Rema left Gymble on board making the vessel ready for another day’s travel, and took his bow and arrows and went looking for game for their evening meal. They had finished the tater pie the night before, and Rema had a yearning for some meat, a hare, or small deer, and the thin woods above the steep bank seemed a promising place. Once ashore he felt immediately at home in the open forest. The thick dew glistened and dripped from every leaf and blade of grass, and everywhere drops sparkled like diamonds in the early morning sun. The wet ground made tracking animals an easy task for Rema who had grown up hunting in the high mountains, learning to follow a spore over even the rockiest ground. Here in the damp forest, tracks of all kinds were easily visible. He noticed the solid impressions of a lynzcat, a sizeable predator but not worth the eating. Rabbits were everywhere, but the hunter in Rema refused to take such an easy target; besides he had a taste for the larger and swift running Revel-Hare, and as he moved silently deeper into the woods he picked up the unmistakable tracks of a pair. At one point, he stopped and felt their droppings, which were still warm and steaming in the early sun.

‘Not far I’ll wager,’ he whispered contentedly, confident that he would eat well that night. Sure enough, just as he was about to step out into a clearing, he caught sight of them, about fifty paces distant, sitting upright and sniffing the air, ears erect and twitching. They were nervous creatures, and they had need to be, for they had no burrows and slept in the open, often in pairs, and relied on their amazingly swift bounding motion to elude a host of predators. Rema notched and arrow and took a pace back into the shadow of a tree so that he was better hidden. The barest of breezes was wafting from him towards the hares, but he knew he would be smelt out at any moment. He was aware that the land dropped away behind his quarry, which meant they formed an easy target, silhouetted against a distant hillside.