SEVEN
The cave was as bad as Marius had hoped: shallow and damp, with a thin layer of lichen over every surface. He had taken barely three steps inside when his foot slid out from under him and he almost tumbled over onto his backside. He allowed himself a tight smile, and called back over his shoulder.
“Find some wood.”
“What?” Gerd stopped crashing through the underbrush long enough to reply. Marius smiled again, a hateful little thing that utterly failed to find his eyes.
“Get some wood. And something for tinder.”
They remained silent for almost a minute before he heard Gerd lumber away, moving along the rise away from the cave. Marius slid towards a small protuberance at the rear of the cave, winced as he settled his backside down on the slick, wet rock, and settled in to wait.
Slowly, the pool of light outside the cave entrance grew dim, then dark. Night crept in slowly, as if delivering an apology. Already in shadow, the space became deeply gloomy, then black. Marius let his eyes adjust. Even in this utter darkness, with light only a memory, he retained some small measure of sight, just enough to make out shapes, blurred silhouettes slightly lighter than the air. A part of him noted it, filed it away for future reference. Being dead may have advantages, should he ever escape his present predicament. The part of him that was always searching for an advantage, always hoping for the one angle to set him on the road to luxury, paid attention for a moment, then receded into the background once more. Marius waited until the sounds of Gerd’s clumsy passage drew closer.
“In here,” he called out.
“Coming.” Gerd huffed up the final incline and appeared in the cave opening, his profile deformed by the armful of branches he held before his chest. He took a step into the cave, then another. On the third step his leg slid a foot further than he intended. He wavered, attempted to right himself. The branches went one way. Gerd went the other. He hit the rock floor with a shout, scrabbled for purchase, managed to right himself. Marius waited in silence. Gerd drew his legs beneath himself, slowly tested his weight then, carefully, drew himself up to his full height.
“You dropped your bundle,” Marius said, no trace of amusement in his voice.
“You could have warned me.”
“Terribly sorry. I was sitting here, trying to come to terms with all that has happened, and my mind just plain slipped away from me. It’s a symptom of old age. Only,” he slapped his thighs, “I plumb forgot. I’m not going to have an old age, am I? Funny how some things don’t occur to you until too late.” He stood, slid one foot forward as if walking across a frozen lake. “Pick up the branches. I want a fire.”
“Then why don’t you make it yourself?”
“Because,” Marius slid another step forward, and another, “I’ve been entrusted with a holy task by the will of the dead community you call home now, whereas all you’re good for is to be a camp follower.” He slithered up to Gerd and placed a hand on his chest. “Now do it.”
He pushed. Gerd took a step backwards to steady himself. His foot found purchase on the lichen, then half a moment later, betrayed him. With a look of shock, he fell to the rock floor. His head hit the stone with a hollow thud. Marius watched him slip about, trying to right himself, then slid back to his stone seat and sat.
It took him longer than Marius would have thought necessary, but eventually Gerd piled the branches in the centre of the cave and sparked a fire into life. Slowly the air in the cave began to dry out. Gerd crawled haltingly around on his hands and knees, scraping lichen away from the floor as best he could, until a dry circle was viewable, with the crackling fire at its centre. Only then did Marius leave his perch, stepping forward until he was between the fire and the cave opening.
“I’m going to sleep here,” he said, sitting down. “You can have the other side.”
Gerd edged away from him until he was as far away as he could be and still be within reach of the heat.
“How can you be trusted?”
Marius lay down, rolled over so the fire warmed his back. He gazed out of the entrance at the sky. A few stars were visible, but not as many as there should have been. As he watched, another blinked out of existence. Marius frowned in sudden alarm. What was going on? Another unnatural trick? Were the dead about to manifest some new, greater, way of controlling his existence? Then he saw the edge of the clouds, and heard the first roll of distant thunder, and relaxed.
“I like to sleep with the window open,” he said. “Besides, where would I go?”
Gerd offered no answer. They lay in silence, listening to the night time sounds of the forest below. Somewhere in the distance, a stream of light smoke rose into the blackness. The villagers, Marius guessed as he watched the tiny thread rise. With no shelter against the night they would have to build a fire, sleep underneath the trees as best they could. The night was cold, he supposed. Now he paid attention to it, he couldn’t actually tell. He could feel the heat of the fire but he knew that was there. If he didn’t think about it, would he forget what that felt like, too? He drew his arms harder around himself, focusing upon the distant smoke. The night was no friend to humans. Too many predators hunted by night, too many creatures better equipped for the dark. Ironic, he thought, having to rely for protection upon the thing that destroyed your life.
No, something inside him replied. The fire did not destroy their lives. That was you.
Marius rolled away from the voice, but the fire was too close, hot and painful upon eyes that had grown used to the dark. He turned back, and the smoke was still there, like a finger thrust upwards, searching for something to point at, someone to blame. He watched it gesture aimlessly at the sky, blaming the Gods, then closed his eyes.
“Marius?”
Marius sighed, then opened his eyes again and stared out of the cave.
“What?”
Gerd was silent. Marius could feel him gathering his courage. Oh no, he thought. Don’t ask.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
Marius wanted to slap the ground, or slap Gerd. Instead he settled for another long sigh. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the close-crowded trees against each other. The sound of rain stalked closer. A flash of lightning illuminated the landscape for an instant. He gazed into the night, and saw images he’d long since shuffled to the back of his mind.
“When I was a child, maybe six or seven – we didn’t count birthdays – my father came home one evening and announced that he’d had enough of my face, and he picked me up and carried me to the end of our street and threw me into the mud. And just to make sure I got the message, he kicked me until I lost consciousness. And when I woke up, he and my mother had gone. So I had to fend for myself. I stole what I could, begged what I could. When I was nine, I killed a man. I thought he was a man. He was probably fifteen or sixteen, really, but he looked like a man to me. Killed him for a tenpenny and a tankard of cider. After that, there was no turning back.”
“Oh, my God. You mean it?”
“No, of course not. I grew up in a loving family. I had five brothers and two sisters and my father was a silk trader.”
“Oh.”
“My parents live in a nice house in a nice district of V’Ellos. I visit them any time I’m near. They think I’m an actor. I even pay a printer in Tarek fifty riner every few months to print up fake play bills so I can take them home and show my parents how well I’m doing.”
“But why…”
“Because you thought it would be true, didn’t you?”
There was a long pause. The rain walked up to the front of the cave and over. Marius felt the spray against his face, but made no move to wipe his eyes. Let it wet him. Let it see what it could wash away. When Gerd spoke again it was in a voice rich with guilt, and Marius shook his head.