Part Five - Beginnings and Endings
Tula eyed the Muck Witch.
“I’ve told you my entire story. All that I know and understand of it. My grandmother found me lying in an alley where the man had left me. She saw the cage that took the place of my heart and knew right away that I had to come to you. She told me the rules that I must follow to seek your aid.”
“Your grandmother gave good counsel,” said the Witch.
“So you can help me?” You can restore my heart like you did my voice? Make me whole again?”
“No," said the Witch.
“But, Muck Witch, please! I beg. I will repay you any way I can. I have no coin but I will work for you! I can cook, and tend to your animals!”
“I do not need those services,” the Witch began, “but more importantly I cannot fix this curse. This wicked man has taken what is yours. You do not know where to find him. You do not know where he has absconded with the core of you. Even if you could find him, the only way to repair the damage done is if he willingly returns your heart.”
“Then I am lost?” cried Tula.
“No,” said the Witch. “You have lost something. You have lost something essential to you. But you have not lost yourself. Even though you are changed by this ordeal, you still have your life. That is more than many get to keep after having the heart of them removed.”
“My life? What good is that? The wicked man took my life as well as my heart. He claims the world will soon end, I with it. You as well, I suppose.”
“That does concern me.” said the Witch, flipping her braided hair over one shoulder. “The world happens to be where I make my home. Ending it would cause me great distress.”
“What does that even mean?” asked Tula. “How does one end the world? And what does this have to do with me and my heart?”
The Witch gathered all of the scattered bottles and carried them back inside her hut.
“Come girl.” She said, “We will put tea on and I will tell you a story about the making and breaking of the world.”
The Witch put a kettle on the wood-burning stove and produced a tin box from the massive collection of junk that lined every surface in her hut. Tula didn’t see her light the stove, but felt the heat emanating from it the moment the kettle was placed upon it. The Witch opened the tin box to pull out a handful of aromatic leaves and flowers which she placed into a porcelain bowl on the table.
“Which story have you been told?” she asked Tula.
“I’m sorry, ma’am?”
“Let us start with the beginning.” said the Witch as she poured hot water from the kettle into the bowl then placed a lid atop it. “What tale are you told about the origin of the world and all things in it? There are many stories and I am asking which is yours.”
“I see.” said Tula, “I suppose that the story I have heard most is that of Maj the Shaper. He stood in the firmament surrounded by void. I forget how, but he built a fire. From that fire he forged the world.”
“That is the essence of the story, yes.” said the Witch. “Have you been told others?”
“Yes,” Tula said, “my grandmother told me that the world always was. That one day people emerged from a hole in the ground or a cave and we have spread upon it ever since. And once I saw a man in the market preaching that the world is an egg laid by a giant waterbird and when it hatches we will all be food for the baby bird.”
“That is one of my favorites,” said the Witch. “So. If you have been taught that Maj created the world have you also been told of Mur the Destroyer?”
“Oh yes! He is to come after the final war of mankind and suck the life out of every living thing. Then he will wipe the world clean with the sacred fire. Then it all starts anew I think.” Tula was unsure about that last part.
“So, there are many different stories regarding the beginning and the end, no?” asked the Witch.
Tula nodded.
“In Arodem,” continued the red-haired woman, “they claim that the world was squeezed out of the udders of a colossal she-goat. In the Red Valley it is said that the world is formed by the music of a piper and if she ever stops playing, we will all cease to be.”
Tula laughed at that one and the Witch glanced sideways at her.
“Is that any more silly than a giant egg or a man forging the world on a vast fire?” asked the Witch.
“I guess not.” said Tula, “But tell me, Ma’am, which of these stories is the right one? Which is true?”
“They all are.” said the Witch as she poured the tea into a pair of mismatched and chipped cups.
“Are you saying that all are equally true or that they are all equally false?” asked Tula.
“That is an excellent question,” said the Witch. “It is one I cannot answer.”
“What is the point of asking me all this anyway?” Tula asked. “What does it have to do with the wicked man and my heart? Is he planning to start the final war so that Mur will come to draw our souls into his black lungs? Or will he crack the massive egg or interrupt the piper? How do all these stories help me become whole once more?”
“I already told you, child. There is no making you whole again. Not in the way that you mean. And if that man means to end the world he may well succeed. Even if he fails and you somehow convince him to return your heart there is a chance that...” she looked down at her tea as she trailed off.
“A chance of what?” asked Tula.
“There is a chance that you may no longer want it back.”
Part Six - The Sorcerer’s Bird
“Fool!” Enin said, “Damn old fool! That’s what you are!”
Shouting at himself in the pitch blackness; this is what the wicked and mighty Enin had become- a withering husk of a man, a grey skeleton crying in the shadows.
“So certain of yourself, old man. So full of hubris. You sought to make yourself a god. Now look at you. You’re too dried and ancient to even produce a single tear.”
He held the heart in front of his face. He could not see it the way one sees in the light, but still he sensed it before his own eyes. The heart felt warm and bright in his hands, as did the girl from whom he’d stolen it. It had been a great sin to take it from her. Not his greatest sin by far, but a terrible thing nonetheless. She screamed and squirmed as he held her down to do his hideous work upon her. Enin apologized to her as he cut out the core of her being for his own needs.
“It is the only way.” he had said to her. “I am sorry for the pain I must cause you, but I need this and can not stop myself.”
Shutting out the memory of how he won this prize, Enin felt it pulse in his hands. Even now far removed from its host the heart beat strong and full of life. Still, the pure heart did not light the way as expected. He saw no Door. Just darkness.
“Idiot.” came a voice not his own. It startled the old man before he remembered he was not exactly alone in this cave.
“You’re doing it wrong, you decrepit turd!”
Enin glanced down at his chest reflexively in spite of his blindness in the utter dark.
“What would you have done differently, feather brain?” he retorted in the direction of the voice.
The voice came from Enin’s own heart, or what passed for one. An iron cage rested in a hollow cavity in his chest, much like the one he had forced upon Tula Petek. Within it sat a starling. Had there been even a mote of light it would have reflected iridescently off the bird’s black feathers.
“You read the scroll of Aina. One must have a pure heart to see the Door.”
“I DO have one.” boomed the old man, waving the heart around blindly.
“You can’t just hold it out like a candle, you dullard. The heart must be a part of you.”
“But...”
“I may be a birdbrain, but I’ve seen a thing or two in the centuries I’ve lived within your chest, old man. The only way you can find what you want is if you tear your heart out. Again.”
“But to do so would-”
“Kill you?” finished the bird, “No, I’m sure it wouldn’t. Besides, isn’t that the whole point?”
“It may merely disable me.” said Enin, “Make me unable to move. Trapped in this cavern, frozen for eternity.”
“That it just might,” said the bird, “but maybe not. What have you to lose at this point? You’re trapped here either way.”
“But if I release you, what will you do?”
“Fly away!” squawked the bird, “Far away from you!”
“At least you are honest with me.” said Enin, “I suspect you are correct. I have no other option, do I?”
“None that I can see, but even I can’t see in this pit.”
Enin covered the heart in leaves once more. He set it gently down and began reciting a very ancient incantation. Strange syllables unheard for aeons poured from his mouth. The metal in his chest grew warm, then hot, very hot, creating light in the pit of darkness for the first time in living memory.
The pain grew immense as the cage went from red to white hot. Within the bird fluttered and hopped and screeched in pain.
“I don’t like this!” the bird howled.
“It will be over soon.” replied Enin. It was a phrase he’d spoken many times. In another life as a surgeon he’d said it to soothe his patients. As a killer to silence his victims. Today he played both roles at once.
With a brilliant flash the door of the cage burst open. Instantly the bird popped out, singed but not permanently harmed. It stretched its wings for a moment, glanced at Enin in the fading light of the heated metal and flew off the way they had come. It did not say goodbye to the man that had held it captive for centuries. Even if it had wanted to, Enin was certain the power of speech left the creature the moment it exited his body.
The next step of the operation would be the difficult part. Enin’s entire body burned with pain. Without a living heart his corporeal form would soon cease to function. He fumbled for the vital organ of Tula Petek, but between the darkness and pain he could no longer locate it. With great effort the old man managed to flip over to his knees and felt around the cavern floor for the precious object. He knew it must only be a few inches away from him.
He tried to curse in frustration but no words escaped his mouth, his very breath absent. Frantically Enin swept around the pit with his hands, each movement stiffer than the previous. His arms and legs began to feel like rusty hinges. If he had a tear to cry it would have poured out of him, but Enin sacrificed his ability to weep long long ago. The old sorcerer truly had nothing now. Even the bird he’d exchanged for his heart had abandoned him.
Falling on his face, the old man gasped dryly, unable to catch a single breath. This was his end for certain, paralyzed on the cold stone, trapped within himself for all eternity. Having given up his mortality in ages past, Enin would reside here, motionless until his mind snapped.
Something brushed against his neck. A leaf, one he’d used to wrap the heart, had fallen near him on the cavern floor. With intense effort, Enin turned his face toward it. His right arm had lost all motion, but his left still inched along. Using his fingers like the legs of a spider he managed to crawl his dying hand along the floor toward his face. Every inch of ground covered by his hand sent stabbing pain along his chest and spine, but Enin continued.
The hand soon felt warmth. The soft and beating heart of Tula Petek had rolled loose of the leaves, but had not broken. Grasping it in his wicked left hand gave Enin a miniscule spark of life. Just enough vitality surged through his veins to scoop the organ toward his sunken chest.
As he pushed the heart into the broken wreckage of the small cage it began to beat faster and faster. The pain subsided a fraction and Enin managed to press the broken cage door shut over the heart and roll onto his back. The fire in his muscles ebbed and his lungs began pumping the stale and musty cavern air. Nothing in his long life had ever tasted as sweet.
Glancing upward, Enin saw a light. It glowed blue, no yellow, no...not any color he’d ever witnessed. The light took the shape of a ring floating just a yard or two above his face. Enin sat up and reached out to it.
He reached out with his fingers to touch the light of the end of the world.
Part Seven - Tula’s Tale
“Tell me, Tula,” said the Muck Witch, “how did you meet the man who did this to you? How did he dress, what did he look like?”
“I sold fish and oysters at the market in Kara Lys to the south. Mine is a fishing village a half a day from there. My grandmother and I have sold there for years. We have our own stall. She tends to it while I carry baskets of our wares about the square.”
Tula took a sip of the tea the Witch had given her. It was hot and aromatic with a hint of spice. She admired the cup for its sea-foam color and deep blue rim as she held it in both hands to feel its warmth as if she could draw strength from the vessel.
“On market day the man approached me. I cannot picture his face. It is as if he used some trick or glamor to make me forget it. He wore fine and colorful, but rather flamboyant, clothing. He had the bearing of a nobleman, but his attire did not resemble that of the refined folk I would sometimes see in the square. He wore a coat of crimson with gold trim and a tall black hat. He had pale skin, even whiter than yours. He resembled the men from the islands to the north, in the Bay of White Whales.
“The Kasrae Islands?” offered the Witch.
“Yes, that’s it. One of the sailors my father fished with came from there. He had skin the color of snow...as did the man who did...this.” she pointed to her chest.
“So the man who stole your heart was a
thaumaturge from Kasrae?” asked the Witch. “I have known a few from that region. They have usually proven to be fine and joyful people. But as with all folk, some among them are rotten, I suppose.”
Tula continued, “The man said he wanted to purchase an entire basket of fish- all I had been carrying. He offered me an extra lion coin for myself if I carried the fish to his home.”
“And you did not question this?” the Witch asked her, “A strange man offering you a coin to follow him home?”
The girl set her cup down and looked the Witch in the eye. “What choice would a child such as I have, Muck Witch? Had I refused the man, he could have struck me for such insolence. Perhaps it is different wherever you hail from, but here in Vatrus people know their place.”
The Witch turned her head away as if looking out a window, but her tiny hut had none.
Tula continued, “He led me to a narrow street I’d never walked upon and instructed me to set the basket down. I did so. Then I looked up as he fell upon me.”
“I’m sorry,” said the Witch. “I meant not to blame you for his actions. What that madman did was terrible and his fault alone.”
“I tried to scream but could not make a sound. I did not speak again until today. The worst part was the look in his eyes.”
“The wild gaze of a madman can be horrifying.”
“No,” Tula said, “it wasn’t like that. His face was full of remorse. He apologized as he cut me open. He seemed as if he were to fall to tears as he explained to me that in thirteen days the world would end. I lost consciousness while he spoke of the ritual he would perform. I don’t even know why he was telling me. It felt as if he simply wanted someone to talk to.”
“This man has committed a horrible violent act upon you, girl.” said the Muck Witch. “He is not worthy of your empathy.”
“Thirteen days until the world ends,” said Tula. “That was five days ago. Could it be true? And if so, how? And please, no more stories.”
“The man you have described sounds familiar to me,” said the Witch. “I cannot be certain, but many years ago I met a man in Kudrakai. He was Kasrae by birth and his style of dress was similar to the man who stole your heart.”
“That means nothing.” Tula said. “There could be any number of men in the world who fit that description. Pale white skin and a coat of red?”
“That is not the part which got my attention,” said the Muck Witch. “But I know of a man whose eyes are full of sorrow even as he ends your life. They call him The Baneful Surgeon or The Kind Killer. You never knew which you would find until he came upon you.”
Tula sipped her spiced tea. She held the cup in both hands once more and asked, “Who is this man? Is he a warlock?”
“Among other things, yes. He has walked the lands of this world longer than I have. At times he has been viewed as a savior, and others a destroyer. If he is the one who harmed you, then I admit I am in fear.”
Tula reached out and placed her hand over the Witch’s.
“Who is this man?” she asked.
“His name is Enin.”
