COTTONCROW'S CRY
Chapter six
Ooooooo
The chirping birds outside announced the sun's appearance above the eastern horizon, greeting the new day with an enthusiasm and joy that few shared.
Gimli had not slept and his mood was far from appealing. The sounds of agony and sickness around him had given him no peace during the night and, in the end, he had figured that the few hours of dark before the sun rose would be better spent helping those he could.
At high sun, someone had come to bring food and drink at the door. When the guards unlocked it, Gimli went to collect the buckets and pots left outside. The guards stood away, keeping a close watch upon his every move, nervously gripping their scabbard swords.
Once inside, others busied themselves dividing the food and water in to equal portions, even if few were able to keep the cold stew in their stomachs. Water, however, was welcomed by all, their throats parched by fever and anxious to quench the fires that burned within.
Gimli forced the food inside, more out of need to feed his body than to satisfy his hunger. Legolas still slept, and for a second the dwarf envied him. All day he had waited for someone to come and take them to Samuel, or for his friend to wake, so that they could plan their escape. But neither had happened.
During the day, people came and went, the newly dead departing to the fires and their cots filled with others that arrived.
When darkness returned, the door was unlocked once more.
"Samuel wishes to speak with the dwarf!" One of the guards called out.
Gimli's deep snores ended abruptly when someone kicked him awake. He pushed the door open, his eyes still closed, and stepped outside, glad to feel the fresh air on his face once more.
"And the elf?" He asked, barely awake.
"Leave him," the guard replied. "Samuel asks for you alone!"
Gimli looked back, into the gloomy house filled with death. He had no wish to leave his friend in that place, but at this moment, their best chance of leaving rested with Samuel, and so it was with him that the dwarf knew he had to talk. He closed the door behind himself, feeling like it weighed a ton, and made his way towards the waiting guards.
"Stop there!" The same man ordered when Gimli was six feet away from them. "Show us your arms!"
The dwarf frowned.
"What for?"
"Bruisenbite," the man simply answered.
"And if I refuse?" Gimli asked in defiance.
"Then you have it."
Gimli swore in dwarfish, complaining about the thickness of these people's heads, and pushed his sleeves up, revealing a hairy surface but free of any marks.
"Satisfied?"
"Come."
They led him back to Cottoncrow. The night was a bit chilly, so much so that Gimli was actually glad for the guards' swift strides, as the walk warmed him. On the downside, it also gave him little time to prepare himself for the verbal battle he knew he was about to face.
The village' streets were little more than the space between one house and the one in front, making their path claustrophobic at best, with the constructions, not very tall, seeming to lean forward to touch each other.
The hour was growing late and the lack of a moon to brighten the night called everyone home early. Few could Gimli see walking the streets, but his passage, flanked by two guards, called the attention of those he met, eliciting whispers and odd looks. Some even opened their closed doors or came to their windows, to see what was happening.
Soon Gimli realized that, unlike Bomieth, Samuel lived in a better-looking part of the village, and the house was the complete opposite of the dilapidated one he had visited before. Two storeys high, it had pots decorated with colourful flowers and scented plants near the door. A light hung above it, giving the house a warm and cared for appearance.
One of the guards knocked on the wooden door and a woman came to open it.
"Come," she motioned for the dwarf to enter. "Samuel is waiting."
Gimli followed her. The woman, tall and lithe of limbs, had surely been a beauty in her youth, but a hard life and too much grief had brought the weight of years too soon and too heavily onto her face. The dwarf wondered if she was Samuel's wife, but no introductions were made.
The house was larger than it looked from the outside, with a common area below and a set of stairs leading to another portion. But, like all things around there, the inside was sparse and practical. Some cupboards and wooden cabinets, a table, a few chairs and fire to cook were all that could be seen about. At the end of the room, another door led either to the street again, or to a closed room.
Samuel was seated at the head of the wooden table and the woman busied herself by the hearth, leaving them to talk.
"Come," Samuel called, offering a chair, "sit by my side."
The dwarf reluctantly did so, his eyes captured by the stones in the healer's hands. Before Samuel put them away, wrapped in a black cloth, Gimli caught the dwarfish runes carved on them.
"I was told that you spent the night in the house of the sick."
Gimli nodded.
"It was a foolish risk."
"And yet you sent Legolas there."
Samuel shrugged.
"He is an elf. The Bruisenbite won't touch him."
"And of the ones it has touched? Those people need assistance. Why do you abandon them?" The dwarf asked tersely.
"We must protect ourselves," the man replied, leaving the table and moving to small closet. He returned with a jar and two cups. "Besides, what little we could do for them, would only delay the inevitable."
"My kind doesn't treat those who are sick like stray dogs!" Gimli said acidly.
Anger flared openly in Samuel's eyes. And then it was gone, as he poured the wine into the cups, handing one to his guest.
"Our people are not that different, master dwarf," he said, sipping his wine. "Let us leave perfection for those who crave for it."
Gimli eyed his cup with contempt, wishing for the dark purple drink to turn in to the amber tones of good ale. He took it to his lips, tasting the fresh and slightly fruity flavour. He hated that.
"I have consulted the runes, concerning your friend's fate," Samuel finally said. "They ask for his blood."
Gimli controlled his anger, the grip around the cup tightening to the point of almost turning it in to shatters. The wine trembled inside it, as if shaken by a quake.
"Of course they did," he managed to growl out the words, showing no real surprise. This was, after all, what he knew would happen. The wine had left a bad taste in his mouth, a sickening sweetness that threatened to make his stomach turn. The man's words didn't help matters either.
"Even if he, clearly, has only one head above his shoulders, unlike this creature you look for."
"The runes' meaning isn't always clear, and never are they easy to interpret," the healer patiently explained. "Two heads, two faces, two sides of the same surface... all can easily be applied to the race of Elves."
Gimli's face was as red as his beard, so violent was the tension inside him. He pushed and pressed his temper down, preventing his fists to taste the man's face.
"So, any elf would do, is that what you're telling?"
"The fathers of our fathers, and their fathers before, have no memory of an elf ever returning to these parts. Shall we blame fate, that this one has come right now, or shall we see it for what it really is, a small piece of a much larger painting, that we have yet to understand?"
"Or you could be wrong," Gimli offered.
"The signs can't be ignored!" Samuel put in vehemently.
"Nor are they to be blindly followed!"
The woman let out a yelp, startled by the raise of their voices. A pot of steaming soup had fallen to the floor, missing her feet by a nail.
"Foolish woman!" The man yelled, frightening her even further. "Clean that mess and leave us!" He commanded.
Gimli shifted uncomfortably in his chair, hearing the woman's sobs. His eyes eventually landed on the cloth covered stones, still on the table.
"You said you have met my father?" He asked, the anger gone from his voice.
Samuel nodded, refilling both cups. His nose flared, as the man took deep breaths to regain his calm.
"He gave you those carved stones?"
Samuel blinked.
"They were a gift, yes," he said. "You are familiar with them?"
"Aye, I am," Gimli offered with a smile. "These stones you use for telling the future," he laughed, "my father crafted a set of them, to teach me how to spell and write when I was young and beardless."
The healer raised one eyebrow, judging the dwarf's words. However, if he felt any sort of embarrassment by learning that his magic stones where a child's toy, none of it showed in his features.
"A fish is only a fish, until it's cooked and turned into a meal," he simply said.
The amused look failed to leave the dwarf's eyes even so. The healer could think and say whatever he liked, it wouldn't changed the fact that Gimli had found a weak spot in the smoke-curtain that the man used to enhanced his powers. And fool these people.
A silent agreement was settled between the two opponents.
"None the less, you have raised some interesting questions that can not be ignored," Samuel said, his tone making sure that this was in no way related with Gimli's statement. The true meaning of his words, however, was not lost to his guest.
The healer pondered about what to do. His decision didn't take long to arrive.
"I will give you three days, to prove to me and the rest of Cottoncrow that this elf is not whom we think. That he is not the same creature I saw in the runes," he said, the last word spoken carefully, so that Gimli understood that the matter of the stones' special properties was not open to debate. "Three days, master dwarf. Come that time, if you fail your quest, the elf dies."
"Three days!?" Gimli protested, the shouted words resulting in a rain of spit that landed on Samuel's carefully cleaned table. "Have the runes told you that as well?" Gimli snared.
The healer rose from his chair, his face showing Gimli that he wasn't a welcomed guest anymore.
"Three days, master dwarf, is how long I can keep the others from killing your friend with their own hands," he explained coldly.
As if to give his dooming words reason, both heard the noise of protesting voices outside the healer's home.
Word, that Samuel had summoned the dwarf, had spread like fire on a dry field though the small village, causing the same kind of damage. Soon, many had gathered at the healer's door, searching for news, demanding it.
And what had begun as whispers to this and that ear, easily turned into loud noise, finally bringing the source of all talks to open his door.
"What are you all doing here?" Samuel asked, annoyed.
"We want to know!" A voice said.
"Aye, we have that right!" Said another.
There was no need to ask of what they were talking about. Since the elf's arrival, there had been no other topic.
Samuel opened his hands in front of his chest, quietening the voices that had started to rise in volume again with the palms of his hands.
"The runes have spoken to me again," he said. "In three days time, the blood of the two headed creature is to be spilled upon our land, to purge it of the curse of the Bruisenbite!"
A collective sigh of relief and hope ran throughout all, content to know that their trials were finally reaching an end.
The only one not feeling much relief was Gimli. The dwarf found disturbing the way in which Samuel managed to mould the truth. With such ease and lack of care, he manipulated it and made it serve his own purposes, as if truth was a slave of his.
In a way, Gimli understood that this man was giving him three days so that his mouth remained shut, but neither he nor the healer had any illusions about Gimli's ability to produce believable proof of Legolas innocence. To Gimli, three days were slightly better than no time, and time that would not go wasted, searching for a way to escape, as he knew Samuel was well aware of. And would be prepared for that.
The sound of his name startled Gimli out of his running thoughts.
"...li believes us to be wrong. That the elf and the fated creature are not the same," Samuel was saying, turning everyone's attention to the embarrassed dwarf. "I have given him enough time to prove his claims... or to be away from our path when the elf meets his end!"
ooooooooo
Gimli still couldn't believe his ears as they neared the house of the sick again, mumbling unrepeatable things about Samuel, his breeding in particular and of the whole village in general. The sickening smell of burned flesh reached his nose as soon as he neared the house and fires in front of it were in sight.
The ones inside seemed to have grown accustomed to the acrid scent, but Gimli couldn't stop the gagging reaction in his throat, made only worse as he got nearer.
His eyes searched the main room, noticing a few new faces. Legolas still slept against the far wall. It irked his pride and stubbornness not being able to do a single thing to change their situation, short of a desperate measure. Everywhere he turned, he met either a stonewall or a closed door. He couldn't even succeed in a simple task, like freeing Legolas from his bonds.
Gimli neared his friend, clinging to the knowledge that, by now, the elf's arms and hands had probably grown numb.
"Bollocks!"
Gimli searched the house again for something sharp to cut those ropes, thinking that maybe he had missed aught all those other times he had looked. But the place was bare of anything that wasn't as blunt as a spoon. Defeated by circumstances, his eyes landed on his own belt, and Gimli cursed his lack of attention, for not having thought of that sooner.
His fingers worked with haste, undoing the belt and using its sharp edge. Reaching around, Gimli patiently started to cut away the thick ropes.
He was almost done when Legolas begun to stir.
"About time," Gimli breathed, both on account of the opening eyelids and the stubborn rope, which had finally been severed.
Legolas' face contorted in pain as his arms returned to a more natural position, alongside his body. An unpleasant tingling sensation filled his fingertips as blood returned to them.
"Good morning!" The dwarf cheered, truly glad to have his friend back.
"Tis morning?" Legolas asked, his senses still not all together.
"No, the sun has long set," Gimli admitted. "You've missed it."
When he felt his arms could obey him again, Legolas used them to push himself straighter.
"How do you feel?" Gimli asked.
The elf paused, trying to judge from where his discomfort came the most. His head pained him, and he could feel a number of bruises forming all over his body.
"Thirsty," he confessed. "Can I have some water?"
"Aye, for that, we can do something," Gimli rose and disappeared into another room.
Legolas looked around, noticing for the first time the other faces, looking back at him. And on each one, the elf could feel the feeble candle of life flickering out.
Gimli returned, baring a flask of water.
"What is this place?" Legolas whispered, taking the water to his lips.
"The house of the damned... or so I've been told by th..." the dwarf stopped, surprised to see the elf spitting the water on the floor. "What?"
"This water is foul!" Legolas said, the sour look on his face mirroring the taste in his mouth.
"Tasted like water when I drank it," Gimli said, smelling the rest of the liquid. It appeared quite normal.
"You've drunk it?"
Gimli nodded.
"Aye... it's the only one we have."
"You mustn't," the elf warned, his eyes going from the dwarf to the sick. "They mustn't drink it either."
Gimli shook his head sadly.
"I'm afraid that, however foul this water might be, it can't harm them any further."
"Yes," Legolas agreed absent minded, his gaze held by a young girl to his right. Her eyes held the unmistakable glassed look of high fever, but still curiosity and wonder managed to shine in them.
"I can feel their illness," he said after a pause. "You shouldn't be here."
Legolas knew this mortal ailment, terrible as it might be, could not affect him. But he was afraid for Gimli. There was so much pain in this room, so much suffering. He would not see his friend succumb to it as well. "You should leave."
Gimli avoided his intense gaze.
"We dwarfs are hard like stone, fear not for me," he said with pride. "Besides, we are prisoners," Gimli lied.
"For what reason?"
Gimli told him what he had learnt so far.
"So, if you ask me, I'd say they're all fools!" He finished, punctuating the air with a fist.
"They think I am this creature," Legolas concluded, removing the remains of his tunic from his wrists. He shuddered at the memory of how that had happened.
Gimli saw the shiver that run through the elf's skin and thought him cold. He handed him the ragged tunic he had savaged from one of the dead villagers.
"It's a bit smelly, but it's in larger pieces than yours," he explained.
The elf didn't look too pleased about putting it on, but it was either that or nothing. Legolas got up and walked to a window. Wooden planks covered it, hiding from view if it was dark or clear outside. Not even a small breeze managed to pass through those tight slits and the elf felt the air catching inside his chest.
He knew he should be angry about the villagers' actions, but right now, looking at the half-dead faces around him, he couldn't find it in his heart the will to do so. The man lying on the cot near his feet had long since stopped breathing, his passing going unnoticed and unmourned. And the children... barely at the spring of their lives...
"Where is the healer? Why aren't these people being helped?"
"You've met him before," Gimli told. "Samuel, the one in charge when we arrived. He does little of healing, from what I've seen so far, but rather occupies his time with being the biggest fool of them all!"
Legolas raised one eyebrow, questioning.
"He plans to murder you, and has managed to convince all of them that in doing so, this disease will disappear."
If the elf was surprised, he did not show it.
"Then he is no healer... just a fool," he said calmly.
The sound of the door being unlocked ended their conversation.
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