The Lord of the Crows

Part 5 - Words of an Ill Man

I hurried as much as my crippled feet would let me and almost fell into the dust next to them. I grabbed the old man by the shoulder, leaning perhaps a little too much on him, and turned him towards me.

"Father ...", I barely whispered.

He turned and looked at me without even a shred of recognition, angry that I had interrupted him. He slipped away and ripped my hand off his shoulder. Icy eyes looked at me once more, this time with clear contempt. His hand moved to his side, as if to draw an imaginary sword, but the young man was faster.

"Don't, my lord, can't you see he has clearly lost his mind. It is a bad luck to execute a poor fool before an important battle! Let him be, the guards will take care of him."

I was shaking with fever. It was him but he did not recognize me at all. Why? What did they do to him? I tried to approach him again:

"Father ..."

This time, he just waved his hand off and continued down the road:

"Take him away from me. Guard! Take away this tramp posing as my son. I'll have to tell him when I see him what kind of jerks are trying to present themselves as commanders of the Third Regiment!"

I tried to follow, but the caregiver stood in front of me and gently pushed me aside.

"Please, sir," he murmured, "not now. You're upsetting him. "

I broke away.

"What did you do to him? He is my father! He ...! "

I felt someone's hands on my muscles pulling me backwards, and I stumbled, waving widely with my arms, as I twisted oddly and fell face down in the dust.

Someone knelt on my back, and I heard a familiar whisper.

"Calm down, you'll only make things worse."

I tried to get up, but in vain. I used to be able easily throw someone off myself, but I was unable to move, pinned down to the dusty road. Tears filled my eyes:

"My father ... what did you do to him?"

She slid off my back and straightened up.

"We did nothing to him. Your father... he suffers from senile madness."

I turned to my side. She held out her hand to help me up, but I shook my head.

"Sometimes he knows who he is, but those moments are becoming rarer and rarer", she continued. "He mostly thinks he's in one of the wars and that his son ... that you just got your regiment."

I nodded and tried to sit down.

"The Mount Strife Wars. That's when I got my regiment. A little after the Day of the Fall."

I noticed that she froze and looked up. Her face said nothing, but I was more than sure she did belong to the army defending the Stone City on the Day of the Fall. Why was she here?

"You must have been very young back then, no wonder he didn't recognize you."

"I was the youngest warrior in the unit I was in charge of, a real hell for me as a commander, but it made my father extremely proud."

I managed to get up. She nodded:

"That explains why he's returning back to that period; it has a very special meaning to him."

I clenched my jaw, more instinctively than out of anger or pain. The only thing I did not want to remember were the wars at Mount Strife. The damn mountain made me an executioner and a murderer.

"I want to see him."

She shook her head.

"Not now. Once he comes around, I'll send for you. I think he'll be glad to see you. "

I smiled sourly.

"I doubt it," I muttered. "You heard him. He wants the son who's a hero, not some useless jerk."

"It's his illness speaking...", her voice was soft and full of compassion, but I did not want compassion.

I turned and headed for my hut, letting her speak to my back again. I did not care. I somehow dragged myself to the house, to the bed and threw myself on it.

There was no reason to get up, no reason why I would ever wish to get up again. My father was blessed in his illness, to live in the happy memories completely oblivious of the ruined present.

And I'm nothing but a tramp, a useless jerk ... a local madman. A useless freak cursed to live in his own ruined present, aware of all his memories and all his losses and failures.

Did the illness speak for me, too? Or was it just my reality.

"We haven't finished our conversation about hands and usefulness," she said as she rushed inside, without knocking.

I started to protest, when the pleasant smell of rare, sweet beer and freshly baked dough reached me. I raised an eyebrow but stayed lying down.

"Is that what I think it is?"

She dropped things near my headboard.

"Yes, and you will keep quiet about it. I would bring wine or something stronger – yeah, we have that here as well - but that would make you unconscious after the first sip or two. "

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad," I snorted. "I don't feel like being conscious anyway."

"Don't squeal. You would not rejoice waking up from such unconsciousness. The herbal syrups that Lela gives you are cooked to forcibly expel toxins from a poisoned person. One way or another. It's not nice to look at or smell."

These words, accompanied by a mischievous half-smile and grimace, sounded vicious enough to make me sigh defeated and laugh.

"How did I deserve the treat?"

"My hands can also pour beer without spilling. Yours will be able too if you visit our training house." I raised my eyebrows and accepted the tin mug with both hands. The beer smelled so tempting that I did not want to take any chances spilling it.

"The training house?"

She nodded and sat down on the tripod by the fire.

"They will show you special exercises to regain control of your body."

"And if that happens, then what? Or if it doesn't happen? What exactly is my destiny? Nobody tells me anything about it. What will happen to me in a few days, in a week, a month... I guess you can tell me about that, since it's up to you, Lady Daina. "

She smiled and set her beer back on the small table next to my headboard. She rested her elbows on her knees and rubbed her fists. Like a man.

"Nope, it's up to you. In both cases, when Lela says there is nothing more she can do and that it is time to go on, you will have a choice. To stay and contribute to the community or to leave it and forget that you have ever been here. It's as simple as that."

I sighed and stared at my beer. No, it wasn't as simple as that. To stay and contribute to the community ... How?

"I can bring a bucket of water with three stops along the way, I eat by holding one hand with the other, and today I did not manage to throw off a woman who is half my size off my back. So, I can't work, I can't take care of the wounds or cook, I can't defend us. How could I possibly contribute?"

She sighed and stood up.

"Come on," she offered me her hand. "Leave the beer for later but bring the cookies."

"Where are we going?"

"To try to visit your father."