Marked (11 page)

Dusk was descending over the village of Orrio and its inhabitants were preparing for a much deserved rest after a day of hard work. Komir arrived at the hillside, covered with tall grasses and flanked by oaks, where the stone tombs had been erected. This had been one of his parents’ favorite spots. He tried unsuccessfully to hold back the tears. He sought to find some peace, to think about happy times gone by... and for a few brief moments, he experienced the joy he had lost.

The death of his parents had changed him. Never again would he be the same; he was painfully aware of that. It was almost impossible to withstand this agonizing pain; it was so intense he felt as though he was suffering from within the very depths of his being, as if part of his chest had suddenly been ripped out and he now was left with just a bleeding emptiness that could never be filled. He sat down in the grass and tried to breathe slowly, to calm the suffering that was devouring him. For several moments he could not fill his lungs; he needed air. He inhaled deeply, struggling to bring air into his lungs, then slowly exhaled, prolonging the release of his breath. He repeated this several times in an attempt to relax, but it was in vain. As he remembered his mother’s face, tears flooded his eyes once again. 

And he cried.

He tried not to allow himself to be carried away by emotion. But at that moment, his very soul was collapsing under the weight of the aching void left by the horrifying murder of his parents. He sobbed, unable to ease the overwhelming sense of pain and loss. Suddenly, anger invaded his soul. An immeasurable, violent fury—as if a demon had taken possession of him. He could see the attackers in his mind; just the memory of them inflamed him so that he almost completely lost control. He forcefully clenched his fists. He wanted to kill them all, especially the one behind the attack—the one who had given the order. The motive was secondary to him. He would find every last one of those responsible.

“Why me? Why? Answer me, Igrali!” he cried out to the heavens. “I just wanted to be a Bikia, a Norriel warrior, like everyone else! Just another... normal...”

He was startled by a sound coming from behind him.

“Already saying goodbye? Leaving so soon, young Komir?”

Komir recognized the voice.

Amtoko had approached him so silently that he had not even sensed her presence.

“The sooner I am on my way, the better for everyone,” he answered, looking back toward his loved ones’ graves.

“The path on which you embark is full of dangers. The mistress of the eternal night is pursuing you, my young friend. If you go off and leave your land, the axis of destiny will begin to turn and you will find yourself irremediably involved in events that will have grave repercussions. This is a moment of great significance in your life and in the lives of many others, even if, at this moment, you cannot comprehend this.”

“I know your intentions are good but nothing you say will make me change my mind.”

“And if I tell you that you will die without fulfilling your desire for vengeance?” retorted the old Witch. “If I can assure you that you will never get the revenge that you so long for?”

“Then so be it… But I will not change my decision. Whatever my final destiny may be I shall go forward—nothing will divert me from this path.”

“Vengeance is a powerful feeling, but the most foolish of counselors. Life teaches you to confront unjust and painful situations; such is the nature of man’s existence. Pain touches each of us in one way or another; there is no escaping that. We are human; we must endure the heartaches of life. But in our hands lies the choice to select the correct path and not allow our judgment to be clouded by powerful yet irrational feelings.”

“My decision is final, Silver Witch.”

“You still have time to change your direction. You are a Norriel in your own right. Stay here; live, fight, and die like a Norriel and I assure you your life will be full, long, and overflowing with good fortune. If you go off in search of vengeance only pain and death await y—”

“I am not some child you can frighten with your arcane arts. I will not change my mind, no matter what you say.”

“My heart is saddened to hear you speak such misguided words. But being that this is your will, I can do nothing more than offer you a bit of advice.”

“Rest assured you have already done that. I appreciate it”

“In that case I can only wish you luck on your journey. May Ikzuge, the Goddess of the Sun, protect your way by day and Igrali, the Goddess of the silvery star, protect your dreams by night,” said the Witch, her voice steeped in regret.

“Thank you... and thank you for warning me that night,” said Komir, softening his tone. “It was you, wasn’t it? You visited me in my dreams and warned me of the arrival of the tiger warriors.”

“Yes, my young friend, it was I, with the help of our mother Iram. My abilities depend in great measure on her designs. I am sorry I was not able to warn you sooner; I did not sense their vile presence until they were already very close. Too close. I truly and deeply regret it.”

Komir looked at his parents’ graves and nodded.

“Will you continue to help me?” Komir inquired hopefully.

“I shall try, but I cannot guarantee anything. Outside of these lands it will be much more difficult for me to communicate with you. Our goddess Iram protects these lands, and her children within them. Outside of Norriel territory, outside of our beloved mountains and valleys, her influence dissipates. However, I will continue to try if that is what you ask of me.”

“Thank you. Any help—however small—you can give me will be more than welcome.”

“Do not thank me yet. Someday it will be I who need a favor and will turn to you; I hope that when I do so, you will be so good as to honor my request.”

“You have my word, as long as whatever you ask of me does not go against my honor.”

“Oh, yes, honor and principles. Morality and its two faces. Let us hope they do not stand in the way of our friendship, young warrior.”

“Yes, let us hope...”

“Do you know where you will go?”

“Well, I’m not sure...”

“Did you find anything in your parents’ house that sheds any light on what happened or the path on which you must set forth?”

Komir hesitated, thinking, but decided to take a chance and confide in the Witch.

“I did find something... but I don’t know what it could mean. Perhaps you can tell me something more. I found... a rare medallion... hidden in a double bottom of my mother’s chest. I’d never seen it before; I never saw her wear it—which seemed very strange to me since it appeared so valuable.”

“Hmmm...  Interesting... a medallion, you say. May I see it?”

“How do you know I have it with me? How do you know I haven’t hidden it somewhere, or buried it?”

The old Witch burst out laughing, cackling as she held her hands over her stomach.

“The same way I know when it is going to rain, dear friend. What silly things you ask! I perceive it; I sense it inside me. Right now I can feel its presence.”

Komir looked at her, perplexed. “You perceive it? But it is nothing more than a pendant with a large precious stone.”

“Yes, my young friend, but this is no ordinary object...”

“I don’t understand... but, all right—here it is.”

Komir pulled out the medallion he was wearing around his neck under his doublet and showed it to the Witch. It was beautiful; a perfectly round gem, as black as the night, the size of a large plum with more than one hundred fifty facets and set in a ring of pure gold on a long, gold link chain. Komir didn’t know if the stone was a sapphire, a ruby, a diamond, or some other precious stone. He knew nothing of jewels and riches beyond what he’d learned from Norriel legends and children’s stories, but he suspected the gem was unique and shrouded in some kind of mystery.

Amtoko examined it closely. She took her time, studying it in detail. After considering it for some time she closed her eyes and murmured some mystical words while extending her arms, as if praying to the sun and the moon. Absorbed, the Witch exhaled and her whole body lit up, bathed in a beam of intense light. Then as quickly as it had washed over her, it vanished.

Several long moments passed as Komir waited, unsure of what to do, uncomfortable with what he was witnessing—though he was sure it was witchcraft of some kind.

Finally, Amtoko opened her eyes.

“Magnificent!” she suddenly exclaimed, startling Komir, who automatically took a step back.

“For the sake of the Moon! You scared me!”

“And I’m about to scare you even more,” smiled the Witch.

Komir watched her expectantly, not sure he wanted to hear what she was going to say next. He crossed his arms and prepared himself for the news.

“This medallion, your mother’s medallion, is an Object of Power.”

“A what?” asked Komir, utterly baffled.

“Listen to me and pay careful attention, my young friend, because this will prove very useful to you in the future. On our great continent of Tremia, and in other faraway, unknown lands, there exist objects that have been created—or imbued—with great power.” Amtoko shook her head at Komir’s look of incredulity and went on. “Magical objects, just to be clear. Objects that have been created from the very same energy as that which feeds the Power, or have been infused with it for some purpose... what you might think of as ‘enchanted.’
Do you understand, dear bear cub?”

“I think so... You’re telling me that my mother’s medallion has power... it’s magical. Is that right?”

“That’s right! But more than that, this medallion has an ancient power.”

“I see. And that’s why you sensed its presence, felt its power, right?”

“I see that, besides muscles, you have been blessed with brains, my young warrior, and that is a rare combination in these lands,” the Witch smiled warmly. “This object, this gem, has been imbued with great power by a very powerful Mage.”

“Can you figure out what kind of enchantment it has or what it’s for? Is it dangerous?”

“No, it is well protected with a distant, terribly old, almost simple magic. Truly extraordinary,” commented the Witch, examining the black gem again.

“If it is an Object of Power it is probably related to the attack. That makes it a clue that could lead me to the assassins and, from them, to those responsible
—
the ones who ordered it.”

“Quite possibly, Komir, quite possibly...”

“Then you have to help me, Amtoko. Can’t you use your magic to break the medallion’s protection, to get information? Everyone says your magic is very powerful.”

The Witch looked at him empathetically and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“It will be difficult but I could try.”

“Go ahead, then!” exclaimed Komir, suddenly feeling hopeful.

“Not here. We should go somewhere else. Somewhere where I can enter into contact with the essence of what happened, with objects, with the room...”

Komir had already decided he would do whatever necessary to achieve his goal. He knew perfectly well the place Amtoko was referring to before she said anything else.

“We must go to your house. We must perform a ritual, tonight, at midnight. A ritual of blood for Igrali, the Goddess of the Moon, so that she might bless us with her wisdom and help us find what we seek.”

It was now almost midnight in the seemingly ageless Ampar Mountains and in the shelter of their silent wake the Bikia were sleeping peacefully, like babes
in the protective bosom of an immortal mother. The waning
moon bathed the valley in its silvery splendor, casting an aura of
beauty over the pastoral
landscape.

Komir sat next to the fireplace of his home, watching as Amtoko drew a circle in the middle of the common room. She was carefully scattering ashes; Komir preferred not to ask what exactly they were or where they came from. The Witch’s magical arts greatly intimidated him. He’d always had misgivings about them, so much so that he—like the majority of the Norriel people—loathed magic and sorcery. Using the same ashes, Amtoko had drawn two other smaller circles in the exact places where Mirta and Ulis had died. Just thinking of them, a tormenting, abysmal pain consumed him once again, crushing his chest and then his throat, taking his breath away. He fought back the tears welling up in his eyes and sat down on a chair. Focusing on Amtoko, he struggled to inhale deeply, fighting for air.

“Settle down; I need you to stay calm. This incantation has to work.”

The Witch hadn’t even looked in his direction. She had spoken with her back to him, which did not surprise Komir. That woman sensed so much more than she ever said, or saw. 

An owl hooted somewhere outside the hut.

It sent a chill up his spine.

Amtoko stood in the middle of the main circle. In her left hand she held a worn-out tome with an old leather cover Komir hoped was not made of human skin. In her other hand was a dagger with disconcerting engravings on its blade that gleamed menacingly.