X
Thalo soon came to a small hamlet called Broensrok, not far over the boundary between Fawnavol and Syenavol. As he rode along, he passed a group of five or six burly men cooling off their chests.
‘Oy-oy, men,’ said Thalo. ‘Tell me, where might I find a bed for the night?’
Not one of the men answered him. Instead, they mumbled little jokes and jibes between themselves and chortled at him.
‘Did you hear me?’
‘That we did,’ said the backmost man. ‘That we did.’
‘And what do you say?’
‘What do I say? I say we did! Did you hear me?’
‘Useless.’
Thalo meant to ride along and bother someone else, but the five or six men would not allow it.
‘Hang on,’ said the frontmost man. ‘We can find a spot for you.’
‘Do not trouble yourselves,’ said Thalo. ‘I will go elsewhere.’
‘Will you?’
‘I will.’
The backmost man came to his fellow’s side, and he said, ‘This man here—if he can be so called—he seems hen-hearted, no? Ho! Run along then, little clucker boy.’
Thalo alighted from Ondayo and strode towards them. ‘Say that again.’
‘Or what?’
‘Or I will give you a sound fisting and be on my way.’
The other three or four men all stirred from their slump-spots and gathered behind the fronter two.
‘You what?’ said the frontmost man.
‘I what, or will, if only you say it again.’
‘Say what again?’
‘Call me a clucker boy.’
‘You are a clucker boy.’
Thalo threw the first punch. He struck the frontmost man squarely on his nose. The man staggered back into the arms of his four or five comrades, and they each let up their voices in sequence: ‘As one!’
Although Thalo was an eager foe, he stood alone against many. A barrage of fists and feet beset him, and once the five or six men had satisfied their urges, he lay spread upon the floor, bruised, bloodied, and soundly beaten. Ondayo came to nose at his face, but Thalo had not the strength to rise and quickly fell unconscious.
A certain fellow called Kwele happened to witness Thalo’s beating. He was a man of priestly occupation. Though he had considered intervening in the fight, he did not hold in his heart sufficient courage to put himself before the five or six men. Instead, he waited until they had all gone home before coming to Thalo’s side.
‘O horse!’ he said, kneeling before Ondayo. ‘Majestic and magnificent, I behold you! Tell me, is this mad man your master?’ He put his ear to Ondayo’s cheek. ‘I see. And would you let me heal his hurts?’ He waited a moment. ‘Very good. Truly, I envy your wisdom, noble one.’
Then Kwele took Thalo up in his arms, laid him in his cart, and ferried him away to his woodside shrine house. Ondayo went behind them. When they came to the shrine, Kwele brought Thalo to a bed, and there he healed him.
Thalo awoke from his pain-made slumber late the next morning, sore and heavy, and also terribly confused. He was not where he was, nor where he ever had been. He went outside to seek out any landmark by which he might locate himself, but he recognised neither the trees nor the sky, nor the ground beneath his feet, and there was nothing much else to see. He could, however, hear in the woods the gentle shuffling of leaves, quiet at first, but it soon grew louder, and louder still, and ever more vigorous, until it became apparent something was fast approaching.
Then, amid the trees, a flash of silver, striking in the gloom. Thalo moved to get a better look, to see what manner of beast was prowling, and after a moment of eager silence, he saw it. A dashing silver fox trotted out into the light and took a seat, brilliant at the edge of the woods. He had seen this fox before, and to see it again, to see its eyes of gold burning bright in the sun, he knew it to be the very same fiend. Thalo went towards it unthinking, driven not by head or heart, but as if by the will of deadly fate itself. Yet before he had taken even two steps, the fox was gone again, lost among the trees.
Kwele beset him from behind.
‘The man has risen!’ said Kwele.
‘Who are you?’ said Thalo, his hand upon his beltknife. ‘Where am I?’
‘Have no fear! There is no need for knifing here. I am Kwele, and this is Leygnos, my house and home. The brutes you met left you for dead, but I have very kindly remedied that. Now say, who is it I have brought into my shrine?’
‘Thalo.’
‘Good. I bid you come inside, Thalo man, and rest. Take what food and fire you need from me, and let your body be soothed.’
‘I should be on my way.’
This displeased Kwele, but he said nothing of it. ‘Of course. The sun will set before it rises. Ready yourself, and I will see you off.’
Once Kwele had gone inside, Thalo turned back to the woods, but the fox did not reappear. He went inside.
Thalo found his things near his bed—Kwele had piled it all in the corner of the room—then dressed himself and prepared to resume riding. As he did this, however, Kwele crept to Ondayo’s side and colluded with him.
‘Magnificent one,’ he whispered, his hand against Ondayo’s chest, ‘your friend is not fit for faring. If you wish to keep him well, keep him here.’
Ondayo lowered his head.
‘O standout steed, how I thank you. Know that your dignity is immense, and your wisdom unparallelled.’
Thalo came outside as they were parting. He hung his bag from Ondayo’s saddle and clambered up.
‘Kwele,’ he said, ‘I thank you for your healing. Ondayo, away!’
Ondayo did not away. Thalo tried to spur him on once more, but the horse would not so much as lift a hoof. He dismounted and came to meet Ondayo eye-to-eye.
‘Why so stubborn?’
He received no reply.
‘Would you rather I walked? Let us be off, then.’
Thalo took the reins and tried to lead Ondayo away on foot, but still, he would not budge. After another little tug, Ondayo lay down on his side.
‘Ondayo boy? Are you hurt?’
‘Not him,’ said Kwele. ‘The horse I see before me is sage and generous. Do not doubt his instincts. He will not lead you to harm, and nor will he be so led. Let him rest a while, and perhaps you will take some yourself.’
Thalo looked between Ondayo on the floor and Kwele grinning beside him. His sighting of the silver fox had lit within him a tremendous need to leave that place—whether to find the fox or flee it, he could not be sure—but though he was eager enough to move along, he was unwilling to force Ondayo onwards.
‘Perhaps I will,’ he said, ‘if you will have me.’
‘Gladly.’
Thalo spent five days at Leygnos with Kwele and his household. He tried to leave each morning, and each time, Ondayo refused to move. This left Thalo increasingly worried for his friend, fearing some illness was festering within him and depriving him of all his spunk. He spent as much time as he could at Ondayo’s side, checking him daily for any sign of ill health, but he showed no symptoms besides stubbornness. Kwele tended to Thalo just as closely, his every need met with such wholehearted dedication that it was as if none of the three ever left the others’ sides.
After Thalo had been at Leygnos for three days since his awakening, a man called Dalbono came to the shrine for priestly counsel. He was the son of one of Kwele’s cousins, but their bond was faster than that of many brothers. Kwele invited Dalbono to stay the night and share a meal with the household, an offer he graciously accepted. As they sat for dinner, Dalbono found himself next to Thalo.
‘Who are you?’ said Dalbono. ‘I do not know you.’
‘Nor need you,’ said Thalo. ‘I should not be here much longer.’
‘Crooked! What are you hiding? Are you a criminal?’
‘Yes.’
‘What was your crime?’
‘Murder.’
‘Whom did you murder?’
‘I have performed two killings. Which name would you like to hear first?’
‘Which name will most astound me?’
‘Gaylodho, I suppose. He was once an earl.’
‘An earl? Why did you murder him?’
‘He deserved it.’
‘How so?’
Thalo listed all the reasons for which he had condemned Gaylodho. Among them, he cited the murder of his birth parents, the attempted murder of himself, and most importantly, the disrespect with which he ever regarded Asfoa.
‘You seem much aggrieved by this man,’ said Dalbono. ‘Are you pleased to have murdered him?’
‘I do not regret it,’ said Thalo, ‘but that I did it so swiftly. I wish to try again, to make him suffer as fully as he should have.’
‘Those are harsh words. Tell me, what brings you here? You speak like no priest I have ever met.’
Thalo told Dalbono how he had come to Leygnos.
‘I see,’ said Dalbono. ‘Having said all this, murder man, will you tell me who you are?’
‘I am Thalo.’
‘And I am Dalbono.’
Dalbono had no more questions.
In the evening, once the sun had set and the stars were all alight, Dalbono went outside to speak with Kwele.
‘O Dalbono,’ said Kwele, ‘my magnanimous mate! Why do you meet me so, and before the mighty moon?’
‘I have spoken,’ said Dalbono, ‘to the Thalo man.’
‘Ah, my Thalo. I have tended him well, have I not? Say, why do you bring his name to my ear?’
‘I spoke with him over dinner, and I was hard stricken. He reminds me very much of the man I once was, young and wrathful. He speaks of such terrible violence. I have known my share of that.’
‘I am well aware.’
‘And alas that it should be so! I know what becomes of the blood-sower. It is a thrilling thing to kill, but it is harrowing all the same. Yet such fates can be averted. With some hard work, I think, and good company, he can make a finer man of himself than the swinging of swords ever could. I mean to invite him into my household, for I could do with an extra pair of hands, and he could do with a kindly ear to hear him. It is my duty as a man of means to share them.’
‘That sounds just swell, but he will not accept such a gift. He would not still be here at all, were it not for his horse’s stubbornness. What if he declines?’
‘That would be his right, but I cannot withhold an offer simply because he might refuse it. If he does accept, would you let me take him from your home?’
‘It is not my place to let you.’
‘Is he not your boy?’
‘No. He is a guest in my house. A welcome one, yes, but an unwilling one. I could not deprive you, my friend, of this chance for good-doing.’
‘O Kwele! Hearty is the heart within your breast, so full of love and grace. You truly are the envy of all well minded men.’
‘No, Dalbono, do not spend such words on me when there is no man your equal in virtue.’
Then the pair hugged one another before retiring to bed.
During breakfast the following morning, Dalbono sat beside Thalo to make his offer. ‘You told me last night, Thalo, that you have been wandering awhile. I happen to find myself in need of extra farmhands. How would you like to be put up in my household?’
‘I need to be on my way,’ said Thalo.
‘To where, may I ask?’
But Thalo had no destination at all, besides that which all men share. ‘I do not yet know. Wherever my way leads me.’
‘I see. Perhaps, then, your way will lead you into my home?’
Thalo had no good reason to decline. ‘Very well, but I will need to see what my horse has to say about it first. He is unwilling to walk, and I will not be parted from him.’
‘Of course.’
They spent the rest of the day at Leygnos while Thalo prepared to move along. Early the next morning, they were ready to set off. Thalo took hold of Ondayo’s reins and gave them a little tug, but the horse remained in place. Thalo tried a few more times, with no success. When he was just about ready to give up, to accept that he would be living at Leygnos forevermore, Kwele came forth and gave Ondayo one slow, solemn nod.
‘Farewell, my venerable friends,’ he said. ‘May we meet once more with much mirth and merriment!’
Ondayo walked on, and Thalo beside him, and Dalbono just the same.
Thalo spent the rest of the winter at Dalbono’s farm, Gawslad. He earnt his keep doing whatever sad, cold work that needed doing over winter, but he was well kept for it. Dalbono worked him hard and fed him well, and he always had warm words to spare and a willing ear, though it heard little.
At Gawslad, Thalo met Dalbono’s son, Ommeo, with whom he became very well acquainted. This would have been all well and good, if only Ommeo were not already married. Ommeo’s wife was a young woman called Rewna—she was at that time only a bit older than Thalo—and she neither knew nor approved of Ommeo’s new plaything. He did not intend to change that.
‘Do you not think,’ said Thalo, ‘she ought to have some say in the matter? You are her husband, after all.’
‘Silly Thalo!’ said Ommeo. ‘Words unspoken never wrought a wound.’
That was convincing enough for Thalo, and they had at it. Yet Ommeo was the sillier, for words unspoken can be heard all the same, and oft cut deeper than those softly said.
Rewna went out one evening into the countryside to watch the spring sun’s final setting from a local hillock, as was her forebears’ tradition. As she went, she heard a muffled voice coming from a nearby gully. Fearing someone may have fallen in and hurt themself, she went to see who might await her. The only thing hurt, however, was her soon-to-be-sundered heart, for there in the dirt lay Ommeo, Thalo astride him, each awash with ecstasy.
‘Treachery!’ she howled, and she scrambled into the gully, tore the pair apart, and gave them each a sharp knock on the head.
‘Rewna! Rewna!’ cried Ommeo, his words otherwise failing him.
‘You layabout! You prickard! You he-whoring ass!’
‘O Rewna! Rewna, Rewna!’
This went on for a little while, Rewna loosing a whole flood of curses, and Ommeo doing precisely nothing to allay her. While they bickered, Thalo got himself dressed and tried to sneak away, but Rewna would not let him escape. She seized Ommeo by his arm and dragged him back to Gawslad in pursuit, her tirade not letting up once all the while. Upon their return, everyone came outside to see what all the uproar was about, and Rewna professed the whole truth, or all she had seen of it. It was all too much for poor Dalbono.
‘Ommeo, my son,’ he said, ‘I did not raise you to be a man of deceit. How my fatherly honour is shaken! Hang your head in shame, boy, for I will so hang mine. This will cast a grim shadow upon our house. And you, Thalo, who will weep for you? Who will weep for you when your life yields up your death, and your friends are all besmirched? I have shown you all manner of kindnesses, and this is the gratitude you show for it? You would repay my hospitality by adulterating my son and defiling his marriage? How appalling! There can be no reconciliation here. No, I bid you leave this place at once, lest the spring’s last moon should awaken in me a deadliest foe.’
Then Dalbono went inside to weep.
Thalo heeded him. He left Gawslad that evening, taking to the road once more, but not before Ommeo, that shameless man, stole one last secret kiss.
Rewna divorced Ommeo the next day and left Gawslad to live with her eldest brother, Greyo, at a farm called Breyrmol. The moment Greyo learnt about Ommeo’s faithlessness, he summoned his brothers to his side, and they all marched over to Gawslad, forced their way into the house, dragged Ommeo from his bench, and drowned him in a nearby lake. This moved Dalbono to such wrath that he took up an axe and went alone to Breyrmol, where he hacked each of Rewna’s brothers to death. Rewna was stricken with grief, a grief she could not bear, and blaming herself for her brothers’ deaths, she hanged herself from the rafters.
As for Dalbono, he could not bring himself to return to Gawslad. He left the farm in a niece’s hands and spent the rest of his days living with Kwele at Leygnos. There he died a bitter, broken man.