Heart of Hythea

Chapter two-3

In a moment, the boy returned with an older man, whose sour expression indicated he did not appreciate the interruption of his evening meal. After wiping his mouth on his uniform sleeve, he said, “Well? What can I do for you, Captain?”

“I wish to travel the Yoke in the company of this young lady, who does not have a pass. She represents no threat to the City. Will you allow her to cross, or must I call for your superior officer?”

The Sergeant scratched his head. “Well now, Captain. Rightly speaking I ought not to.”

Tomas swore impatiently and said, “Did you serve with Major General Charles de Vigny in the campaign against the Mardonne?” The Sergeant nodded warily. The Captain continued, “He is now the Lord of Havenwood. A very powerful man. He is also my father. Surely you can trust my judgment in the matter of one small girl?” Katkin colored at this dismissive description, but said nothing.

The Sergeant considered this for a moment then said gruffly, “Very well, I will allow her to proceed in your company. But go carefully — the stones on the Yoke are slick with frost. You should lead your mounts across.”

The young gatekeeper produced a ring of large brass keys from his pocket. He opened the inner gates and waved them through. Katkin turned back as they continued on to the Yoke, to see the Guardsman staring after them, shaking his head and muttering before he slammed the inner gate shut.

Katkin paused while Tomas retrieved his crutches from their strap on the saddle. Brinna stamped restively on the narrow Yoke, obviously eager to get back to her stable. Katkin felt the same way, despite the trouble she knew waited for her at the Infirmarie. Though the Captain had promised to plead her case with the Maitress, she decided to leave him and travel the rest of the way alone. Grasping Brinna’s bridle, she urged her pony forward into the darkness and listened for the ringing sound of his horse’s iron-shod hooves on the stones to show he followed.

After a moment, Tomas called out tiredly, “Katrione, please. Do not proceed so quickly. I am unable to keep up with you.”

Perhaps the sound of Brinna’s feet on the cobbles drowned out his voice, for Katkin did not slow her pace, nor did she look back.

* * * *

Tomas forlornly watched her disappear into the darkness, as he struggled along with a single crutch, gripping the bridle of his horse with his free hand. Despair at the hopelessness of his injury overwhelmed him. His glorious career had effectively ended the moment he took a musket ball in the kneecap, plunging him into a daily grinding battle with pain that he could never win. Alcohol deadened the worst of it, but only for a little while. He began thinking how easy it would be to slip over the edge of the Yoke into the sanctuary of the Mere, away from the agony of his shattered knee and the pity of his comrades. If he could not die in battle, would that not be an honorable end? As Katkin made her way across the Yoke without him, he left the side of his horse and staggered to the edge. He clung to the railing as a wave of nausea left him chilled and sweating.

“Come to me...” The water called to him now, in a cold and terrifying voice that froze him to the marrow. “I will take away the pain for you in no time at all...”

As he stared down into the blackness of the Mere, Tomas unaccountably began to think about his childhood — winters in the City and golden summers at the country estate, with servants to wait on his every whim. His parents seldom saw him, of course, being always busy with the social whirl of the privileged. Tomas’ father, a highly decorated General, took a young, foreign-born bride after his retirement from the King’s Guard. His mother, although kind enough, did not seem to want to have much of anything to do with her son and he grew up with a succession of nannies and governesses. The General had a stormy relationship with his beautiful, blond wife, and when a jealous rage overtook him, he would often strike her. When she died suddenly, giving birth to a stillborn son, he had almost gone mad. He drank to excess and lashed out at everyone around him. Tomas grieved deeply, but unobtrusively, and avoided the old man as much as he could. He matured quickly after that, fiercely independent, spoiled by his wealth and neglected by his father. A stint in military school hammered much of the independence out of him, but he gained something much more valuable — a fanatical devotion to the King’s Guard that pleased his father immensely. He still spoke proudly of Tomas’ field promotion to Captain, after a particularly long and bloody campaign against Reynard’s soldiers.

Now, as he felt tears well up and spill over onto his cheeks, Tomas knew just what his old man would say.“Tears are for the women, boy; we men have to show discipline, keep up the side. Stop this damned self-pity.” But his father didn’t understand him — no one did, really.Tomas could see the hazy form of his father on the bridge now, striding towards him, shouting something. Suddenly he realized that all he had to do was fall forward over the railing and the water would do the rest. His father would no longer be able to see him, would not be able to mock his despondency and pain. Slowly, he removed the dragoon’s helmet from his head and placed it on the railing. As the black horsehair plume stirred in the wind, he let himself pitch head first into the water.

* * * *

Katkin hurried along the Yoke until she reached the stone-walled bay in the middle. She paused there and listened again for the sound of Pollux’s hooves, but heard only the slapping of the waves on the breakwater. Katkin left Brinna and walked back to look for the Captain, guiltily regretting her angry impulse to leave him behind. She spied the larger, dark form of his horse first, and then, more vaguely, Tomas leaning dangerously far over the railing. Katkin broke into a run, heedless of the icy stones, anxiously calling his name. While she was still some distance away, he fell forward and hit the rocks of the breakwater, then sank, silently, into the inky blackness.

Once she reached the place where his helmet lay, she anxiously scanned the water, praying he would surface, but he did not. Katkin threw off her cloak and climbed over the railing. She jumped wide to clear the rocks, praying none lurked beneath the surface. The freezing water hit her like a physical blow and drove the breath from her lungs, temporarily disorienting her. She surfaced and began to tread water, trying to decide where to dive down, knowing she had little time to spare. Already her extremities felt almost numb. Doggedly she dived, using her hands to grope blindly in the water for any trace of him. She found nothing.

Katkin went under again and again, without success, until her strength was almost gone. It felt as though the water became thicker with each dive — until it was like syrup she could barely push her way through. As she kicked furiously to try and bring some feeling back into her frozen legs, her foot struck something in the water. Steeling herself, she plunged down and cast about for the thing she had touched. She found the Captain! Wrapping her arms around his middle, she tried to raise him to the surface, but his boot seemed to be caught in something close to the bottom of the lake. Her lungs and heart exploded with pain and she began to see stars swimming in the blackness around her. Katkin realized dizzily she would likely perish if she stayed under much longer. Just as she felt she must to let go and surface again, he floated free. With a reserve she did not know she possessed, Katkin forced her way to the surface with Tomas in tow, exploding from the water and gulping great breaths of air. Her head cleared immediately.

In the almost pitch darkness, Katkin could just make out the vague line of the Yoke in the distance, lit at intervals by dim lanterns. She felt her strength fading rapidly and called out for help, though she did not believe the gatekeeper would be able to hear her. Tomas felt like a thousand pound weight in her arms. She decided she had better swim for the breakwater, but each time she tried to close the distance it seemed to move further away. The water was growing warmer and now felt so comforting she felt as though she could sleep in its embrace forever.

Katkin called out again, although this time it sounded like a whisper. She sent a desperate prayer to the Goddess Lalluna, and to Ancamma, Goddess of the Mere, and then closed her eyes for a few seconds to rest. She woke with a start when her head slipped under the water. Coughing and choking, she struggled to the surface, but could no longer keep moving her legs. Katkin knew she must be close to death as an unearthly, glowing mist began to dance in front of her eyes. Her conscious thoughts began to glide away from her, like beads from a broken necklace. As her face sank once more below the surface of the Mere, the last thing she saw was the insubstantial figure of a winged woman emerging from the formless mist.