XVI – When the cat’s away #4

'Pokrak,' said Gregor, and once again his prodigious memory was laid bare.

They had managed to defuse the tension. They seized the moment to discuss their foray into the attic whilst placing the brass box containing the notebook, the red sapphire and the jasmine upon the table.

Arwel was the first to pick up Maltón’s notebook and leaf through it from cover to cover.

'By the sharp edge of Tyr’s sword,' he said, and flung it into Owin’s lap. ' Perkolon . What a surprise! In the end, the rumours were true; what he discovered made him lose his mind.'

With the full extent of what was happening and what they knew now laid bare, and amidst all the fruitless deductions, one hypothesis seemed to them to be the right one: Pokrak might be Tros’s murderer.

Cheas took up his father’s diary from his lap and set it with the rest of the objects. Once again, Arwel was the first to speak, and, with the bloodstained diary in one hand and the piece of tree bark in the other, he showed them the symbol imprinted on both.

'I am sure I have beheld it ere now,' quoth Gwion, and Arwel assented, holding the selfsame belief.

'My master may have carved it in divers places throughout the realm,' quoth Owin, holding the diary in his hands as he traced the carving with his fingertip.

The energy he sensed drew him in, but the invisible power was so intense that, feeling a twinge of pain, he handed it to Gwion so he might examine it.

'Perhaps it is a protective talisman—the four cardinal points with runes, and in the centre, the Vegvísir.'

'Tros gave his life to protect it; he said it belonged to me,' clarified Cheas, and requested it back.

Arwel felt how every thread of new discovery pounded against his temples and clouded his thoughts. With his hands clasped behind his back, he made his way to the window. Bartón’s absence was getting on his nerves, even more so than the betrayal he sensed in Gwion and Owin.

'Ye know that if I do not arrest them here and now, it is because I do not wish to render any justification to that winged pig from the east,' he said, and sat down again. 'I would rather die by the darkness Narg might unleash than have to serve a lout like him.'

The commander’s words sparked an idea, and in the hope that resolving it might untangle the intricate knots of uncertainty he faced, Cheas asked:

'How can any man transcend death?'

'Transcend,' said Gregor, drawing out each syllable to create suspense whilst gathering information.

'In Valhalla we transcend death and live eternally,' Arwel asserted.

'When you write a book, discover a place, conquer kingdoms, even when you have a child. You transcend because your memory remains,' said Gregor at last, in a poetic tone.

None of the answers pacified the raging storm that lashed his soul. Cheas pounded the table with his fists and hunched his back again as was his wont.

'Tros said my father had not abandoned me. That he helped him transcend,' he confessed, his voice breaking.

Gregor intended to inquire concerning the secret he had heard him mention unto the librarian, yet he did not. Undoubtedly, in private, perchance at some other hour, it would be more seemly.

'Perhaps he was referring to the book, dear friend,' said Gwion, drawing nearer to him. 'Perhaps you shall find something in his diary.'

Cheas nodded. He turned the first page, where his father’s name and signature appeared, and began to read aloud:

'Just as my master hath taught me—that which is not written is doomed to oblivion. No man is great enough to be remembered for eternity, nor any eternity powerful enough to forget the truth. I dedicated my life to finding the half-soul of…'

A soldier’s desperate cry interrupted him and sent a shiver down their spines.

'The prisoner hath escaped and doth threaten King Lerg.'

The discourse betwixt two ladies roused Bartón, who squinted that his eyes might accustom themselves to the twilight. One was his queen. From the side he recognised the light fabric gown gathered at the waist.

'She desireth to behold thee.'

The tone of the other voice sounded familiar, yet he was not certain.

'Aye, Windar, be not troubled. He is with them.'

It was Marzota, he had no doubt, though somewhat older than he remembered her and without the maiden’s headdress.

'Has he managed it?' asked Windar as she adjusted the stole covering her arms and smoothed the ruffles at the cuffs.

'He is wounded,' said Marzota after shaking her head.

'Useless! That damned sorcerer will be the ruin of us all.'

Bartón wasted no time; amidst Windar’s exasperation and the situation they faced, he rose, wrapped in his long tunic, seized his garments as he passed, and stood behind his beloved.

'Take the sword and go to the fountain,' Windar commanded, unaware of his presence.

'I am not going back to that place,' said Marzota, who changed the subject when she beheld him. 'They have captured Tregor, and Lerg hath arrived in the kingdom.'

Windar turned and placed a hand upon his lover’s breast.

'We must repair to the castle. Lerg’s early arrival can portend naught but ill.'