The Affinity III

Recap: Michael Collington, having inherited his grandfather's house, finds a letter that tells him where to find a sword with the power to propel him into another world, where he rediscovers his other identity: Lord Astavar. But soon after reacquainting himself with his other life, he is attacked by oruks and, after loosing conciousness, is transported back to the 'real world'.

The Affinity III

©2008 Ian Hobson

5 – Unanswered Questions

For two nights I had been unable to sleep; my head filled with images of Layana, Magalo, and Durabel, and the fight with the Oruks. There were so many unanswered questions: Were Magalo and Durabel dead? Did the Oruks kill me, Lord Astavar? If not, would I, Michael Collington, have to return?

I'd put the sword back into its hiding place and said nothing to Jennifer, but she kept asking me if I was alright, as did some of my colleagues at work; I must have been wandering about the office like a zombie. I wanted to tell someone, but how could I? It was all just too incredible. I said that I was fine, just a little tired with the house renovations. Jennifer said I should take the next weekend off, just relax.

As the week went by, the images faded a little and I began to wonder if I had imagined the whole thing. Twice I had sat at the desk in my grandfather's old study and started to remove the drawer, but closed it again. By the weekend I'd got back into a routine. I was sleeping again, though not without dreams: some incomprehensible, and some where I was once again Lord Astavar, drinking in Rumba's waterfront tavern with Magalo, or surrounded by the ugly Oruk creatures.

It was Saturday afternoon when I found the courage to touch the sword again, and exactly a week since I had read my grandfather's letter and then opened the secret compartment in his desk. Jennifer had suggested I come shopping with her and Helen. I said I'd rather stay at home, put my feet up and read, or watch the sport on TV. It was an excuse, of course. I could no longer resist taking the sword out from its hiding place and once more grasping its hilt, though this time I sat on the floor of the study and leaned against the wall, so as not to be thrown backwards.

Nothing happened. I tried kissing the blade but still nothing. Perhaps it was the wrong time. Or perhaps I had failed Lord Astavar, and the Oruk's had killed him; there was no way of knowing. I sat for several minutes, with the sword on my lap, trying to remember the details of the incredible adventure I'd had just one week before, but the images were becoming confused. The only clear picture I had in my mind was of Magalo's bearded face, as he stood before me in the underground vault of his ancestors.

It was then that his voice reached across the void that separated me from my other life.

'You must always stand and kiss the blade, Master, or the sword gods may desert you. You must always stand and kiss the blade.'

Keeping my back to the wall, I grasped the sword by the hilt and got to my feet, and then it happened again: I rested the blade on my left hand and, raising it to my lips, I kissed it. The sparks were fewer this time, but again I was thrown violently backwards, through a wall that was no longer there, and then down and down through a noiseless blackness, until I woke, as though from a dream.

I thought I could smell fish, but also a familiar perfume. There were voices nearby, and as I moved I felt pain in the left side of my back and must have gasped or cried out.

'Master!'

It was the sponge girl, Layana, who had spoken, and her perfume that I could smell. I was lying on a sleeping couch on the floor of a small storeroom of some kind. Bright sunlight streamed in through a tiny window set high in one wall, and Layana was leaning over me, sponging my brow, and looking every bit as beautiful as I recalled.

Once again I was Lord Astavar, but disoriented and weak. 'Where am I?' I asked.

'Rumba's,' she replied. 'The room where my brother sleeps.'

'Rumba's bar?'

'Yes. When Rumba heard that you had been wounded fighting the Oruka-men, he came for you and carried you here. My master is Bralg, Rumba's nephew. He gave permission for me to nurse you, after Manselte cut out the arrowhead.'

'Manselte?' I knew no physicians of that name.

'The midwife. Rumba thought that the arrowhead might be poisoned; there was no time to find a doctor. Someone suggested Manselte; she is skilled in more than just the birthing of children. She cut out the arrowhead and found no sign of poison. I prayed to the Gods that you would survive.'

Talk of Gods made me think of Magalo. I knew for sure then that he was dead; he would have allowed no other but himself or Durabel to nurse me.

Layana must have read my thoughts. 'The Oruka-men killed them both; Magalo and Durabel.'

'How long since?' I asked.

'Nine days. Rumba built their funeral pyre after two days, as is the custom, and paid twenty women to weep for them.' Layana took my hands in hers and I wept before falling asleep.

6 – Miglio

When I awoke, the room was in darkness and I could hear the soft rhythm of someone sleeping close by. I thought it must be Layana, but somewhere outside a cock crowed and then, as light began to filter into the room through the tiny window, I saw that it was Miglio, Rumba's bar-slave, sleeping on the floor beside me. He woke and stretched, cat-like, before turning to look at me.

'Master?'

He seemed surprised that I was awake, but he returned my gaze with unusual confidence for a slave, before hurrying out of the room. Moments later he returned carrying my sheathed sword, which he presented to me as though I was a great lord, and he a lowly servant. True, I carried the title of Lord, having been granted it by a grateful king many years before, and Miglio was just a slave; but the way he knelt before me, with arms outstretched and head bowed, revealed to me that the gods were once again weaving my fate, and the boy's too.

'Thank you,' I said, taking my sword from his hands and sliding it out of the sheath. It is said that to be a true warrior you must have an affinity with your weapon of choice, and I most certainly had an affinity with my sword. The newly sharpened blade shone brightly and carried no trace of Oruk blood. 'Is this your work?' I asked.

'It was an honour, master.' He smiled then, and with the strengthening daylight entering the room there was a glint in his eye that made me certain that I was right.

Most people believe that one incarnation must follow another, and that there could not possibly be an overlap; but this is often untrue. When first I walked amongst mortals, lording it over them as their god-king, my most loyal servant was Tokk. I had promoted him to head bodyguard, above others who might have been more worthy, and he had shown me great loyalty. It was Tokk who had railed at the gods after my banishment and forfeited his current life for doing so. And now, once more, he knelt before me.

I nodded at Miglio and put a hand on his shoulder as I got shakily to my feet, before raising the sword to my lips and kissing the blade. Immediately I felt revitalised, and the pain in my back became just a dull ache. 'What of the Oruks?' I asked.

He looked up at me and frowned before getting to his feet. 'Oruka-men? I did not see them, master. Layana told me that they were few, and that they ran back into their tunnel after she raised the alarm and brought men onto the streets. They left only the one that you killed, and the other that had lost a hand to your sword.'

'He lives?'

Miglio shook his head. 'The men questioned him. He did not live long. Like the other, his body was cut open and left on the hillside for the dogs and the gulls.'

Magalo would have approved, I thought, for a moment forgetting that this boy who knelt before me was Magalo, and my faithful Tokk, in yet another incarnation. 'And the tunnel?' I asked.

'They say it was in one of the older cave dwellings. An old woman called Murug lived there. She was found in her bed with her throat cut, and at the back, in her cold-store, there was a hole in the wall and a tunnel beyond. By now it will have been sealed. Some say that...' Miglio looked unsure then, as though he might be saying too much.

'Go on.' I encouraged him.

'Some say that you are to blame; that like your father, you will always find trouble, or that trouble will find you.'

I was forgetting that I too had undergone a reincarnation of sorts, and that I was a young man again. 'True enough,' I said, 'and I suppose that some are demanding that I leave?'

Miglio nodded. 'You must excuse me, master. I have work. I will tell my sister that you are awake.'

***

'I will sell you the boy if you wish,' said Rumba, as he poured me more wine and then selected a green olive from amongst the food on the table. 'He is a slave and will have no say in the matter; but a willing slave is better than a reluctant one, and he will be reluctant to leave his sister.' He bit into the olive and then spat the stone into the street.

'He will come as a free man,' I replied, lifting my cup and sipping a little of the wine. 'As will Layana, as I mean to buy her freedom too.'

My host raised his eyebrows. 'My nephew may not wish to sell. I can train another bar-slave in a couple of days, but a sponge-girl with Layana's talents will not be so easy to replace. How will you pay? The gold I took from the two Oruks will not be enough.'

'They did not find all the gold,' I answered. 'Magalo had more than one hiding place.' When, two days before, I had retuned to Magalo's cave-dwelling, it still had the stink of the Oruks, and they had obviously searched thoroughly, smashing every stick of furniture and delving deep into any likely crack or crevice in the walls and floor. They had also smashed every one of the stone and terracotta pots in the ancestral chamber, spilling the ashes of Magalo's ancestors across the floor. Though, thankfully, they had not discovered that the stone plinth, on which I had lain for almost four years, had a secret, and seamless, compartment that I myself had fashioned. It was in there that I had stashed a small hoard of gold and silver coin.

'By all the gods!' exclaimed Rumba, with anger that hinted at his feelings of guilt. 'To think that the sons of witches were able to kill Magalo. Had he not been the worse for drink that night, they would never have got the better of him.'

'I share the blame,' I said. 'If I had had my wits about me and not gone in search of pleasure...'

'You are young,' said Rumba, 'you think with your balls. It was ever so. Even now, you intend taking the wench with you.' He grinned at me before draining his cup and getting up from the table, shading his eyes against the bright sunlight as he looked towards the harbour. 'She is an old ship, the Kerree, but a good one. Don't let that old bastard, Maffrai, cheat you.'

'I won't,' I promised.

7 – A Sea Voyage

There was a storm on the way and strong south-westerly winds had begun to whip the sea into a fury, sending all three of us below and out of the way of the crew as they climbed the shrouds, or hauled on ropes, to take in some of the sails. Miglio was not a good sailor, but he had come with me willingly, as I knew he would.

Layana too had come, surprised and grateful that I had bought her freedom as well as her brother's. I spent my days on deck, teaching Miglio to use a sword, and my nights in the cramped cabin I shared with Layana. She had told me of how, on a sea voyage such as this one, her father, a wealthy merchant, had been murdered by the captain and crew, and how she, at the age of seven had been sold into slavery along with her brother.

'What happened to your mother?' I had asked. Tears formed in Layana's eyes as she explained that her mother had agreed to become the wife of the ship's captain, under the threat of death to her two children. Over ten years had passed since then, and she had no idea if her mother was still alive, as they had been separated from her and sold into slavery soon after. This explained how Layana, at only seventeen, seemed older than her years. So it was in Layana that I put my trust, telling her the truth about my real age, and warning her that at any time I might fall into a deep, death-like sleep which could last for many days, even years, though that the latter was unlikely.

We were twelve days into our voyage and well on our way to Litanlia, a peninsula that thrust south from the great continent of Elluperra. It was a country I knew well and longed to return to. Lying well to the north and west of Elgypta, the climate there was more tolerable, and the countryside more verdant. Maffrai, the captain of the Kerree, the two-masted cargo ship in which we were passengers, had told me he expected to reach our destination within three more days. It would not be soon enough for Miglio. One of the crew had slipped in his vomit in the passageway where he slept and then handed him a bucket and threatened to throw him overboard if it happened again.

With the cabin lit by a single candle, I stretched out as best I could on the cramped bunk, peeling the last of the bananas we had brought from Curab and sharing it with Layana. 'What if you were to fall asleep now?' she asked. 'Into one of your deep sleeps that lasts for days?'

'Then you would have to say that I had a fever, and pay porters to carry me off the ship. Find a room for us, nothing too expensive. Miglio would help. I have told him that if ever I am wounded or ill, he must take good care of my sword and always stay close. Do not worry, the gods may treat me cruelly at times, but they also watch over me.' The Kerree rolled then as she was hit by a wave and, above the sound of the sea, we could hear rain beating against the side of the ship, and orders shouted above on deck.

'Do they watch over you now, master?' If Layana was frightened by the storm, she did not show it and, in the candlelight, she looked truly beautiful.

'Always,' I answered, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her down onto the bunk. 'How many times do I have to tell you that you need not call me master? If you cannot call me Astavar, then call me Asar. It is the name my sister called me. You remind me of her.'

'I do?'

'Yes, she was very beautiful.' Layana kissed me then and, as the storm raged about the ship, she undressed us both and reminded me that she wanted to be much more than a sister to me.

***

As Layana shook me awake I saw that she was dressed and that Miglio, looking pale and gaunt, stood beside her. 'What is it?' I asked, sleepily. 'Is the storm over?'

'It is morning, master,' Miglio answered. 'The storm has passed, but Captain Maffrai says you must come on deck at once; there is another ship.'

I dressed quickly and hurried on deck into bright sunshine, stopping only to relieve myself over the leeward side. The air smelt fresh and salty, and a south-westerly wind still blew. Above, on the aft mast, three of the ship's crew were struggling to untangle rigging and replace a broken spar, while Captain Maffrai stood beside the helmsman, with a telescope to his eye. Following his line of sight, over the stern, I could clearly make out sail.

'Two points to starboard!' As the helmsman adjusted the Kerree's course, Maffrai lowered his telescope and turned towards me. 'Lord Astavar.' He handed me the telescope and I put it to my eye. I had captained a ship myself once, a long time ago, but had not had the use of one of these ingenious devices. It took a little time to find the ship in the lens, and to focus upon it, but as I did so the vessel leapt at me with surprising clarity; as did the flag that flew from the taller of its two masts.

'Tirukshi?' I was surprised. The Tirukshi, though not warlike, were used to defending themselves, and their flag flew from many castles in their lands, but at sea they were not usually a force to be reckoned with.

'Privateers,' Captain Maffrai answered my puzzled expression. 'Since the death of King Schtriku much has changed. He had no male heir and his daughter, Schtelana, is now queen. She has a lust for gold and other treasures, and has cobbled together a force of eight or ten ships. They are all captained by scum, but in return for a share in their loot, Queen Schtelana allows them to fly her flag and gives them a safe port.'

'Can we outrun them?' I handed the telescope back to Captain Maffrai. He looked aloft at the three crewmembers as one of them shouted a warning and then kicked the remains of the broken spar free, allowing it to fall towards the deck in a mass of tangled ropes.

'With more sail, maybe, but the storm has already blown us off course and we must tack soon or be blown too far north. So be ready for a fight.' Maffrai turned away to give more orders to his crew. There were eighteen in all, not counting the cook; though if it came to a fight, every man would be needed. So with Miglio, and myself, that was twenty-one; a number that Elgyptans considered to be lucky – but luck is a fickle companion.

TO BE CONTINUED