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Tomorrow’s Enemy
By Mark Anthony Brennan
What is this place? Lord Yoran wondered. I must be crazy to have come.
He stood hesitating outside the humble hut. It was built from branches stacked together and bound with twine. At the top, there was a gap out of which smoke was billowing. There was simple sheep's hide strung across the entrance, which was barely as high as Lord Yoran's chest.
Striding through the village, he had encountered bewildered stares from the peasants. What was their Lord, usually not seen outside of the castle, doing here? They were even more surprised when he made his way to this, the filthiest corner of the village.
It was his council of advisors that had recommended this visit. "This battle is too important," they said. "You must seek guidance from the seer."
Yoran fumed. Idiots! They're just too scared and weak to make a decision themselves.
He angrily threw back the hide, and then stooping, he entered the seer's hut.
"Come in, my Lord. I've been expecting you."
The tiny hut was not tall enough for Yoran to stand upright. He had to bow his head as he surveyed the seer's home.
There was a large black pot boiling over the fire at the far side. All the walls were blackened from the smoke. The only furniture was a flat slab of wood in the middle of the room that was heaped with dirty wooden plates and bowls.
With her legs crossed, the seer sat on the floor behind the crude table. She wore a jumble of assorted small furs, most of which seemed to be rotting. Her head was a mass of tangled gray hair. Yoran could barely make out her face, but he could tell that she was an unattractive, elderly woman. Her eyes were closed.
"How did you know it was me?" demanded Yoran. "Aren't you blind?"
"I do not need my eyes to see, my lord," replied the old hag. "Will you sit?"
A lord of Yoran's stature did not sit on floors. "I will stand."
He gave a short cough. The air in the hut almost made him retch. It stank of rotten food, smoke and body odor.
"My advisors tell me you can see the future. Is this true?"
"It is, my lord."
"How?" demanded Yoran. With disgust, he noticed a mouse scurrying along the bottom of one wall. "Is it the work of the devil?"
"No, it is a curse," sighed the seer. "It is a curse that is passed down in our family to the first-born."
"But isn't it a gift? Can't you tell fortunes?"
"If I touch someone," said the old woman, "I can see all their paths. Each decision we make takes us down a different path. But I can see them all. I can see where all of the paths lead."
"And where do they lead?" asked Lord Yoran, now curious despite himself
The old woman gave a short cackle of laughter. "To death, of course. They always lead to death."
"So why do I need you then?"
"Ah, but I can tell you which path to take. It's true we all die, but what matters is how we die, and when we die, and what happens before we die."
Yoran shifted his stiffening neck. This is nonsense, he thought. I shouldn't have listened to those fools back at the castle. I shouldn't have come here.
"You hesitate, my lord," said the old hag, cocking her head to one side. "You don't believe, do you? But I can help you. I know you.
"You know me? How? What do you mean?"
"I know you are a hard, angry man. You have never known peace in your heart."
"How dare you? Do you know to whom you speak, you old…"
"And I know why your heart is so hard," said the old woman, cutting Yoran off
"It was the Lady Glynn. She never showed you the love you wanted. She was never there, was she? It was the nursemaids that raised you."
"Be silent, you old bitch!" bellowed Lord Yoran, reaching for the hilt of his sword. "So help me, if you mention my mother's name again—I'll kill you."
"But your father taught you well," continued the old seer, seemingly oblivious to Yoran's outburst. "You’re valiant fighter, feared by friend and foe alike. You have strengthened this land since your father's death, but that is still not enough for you. Now you plan to attack your cousin, the Lord Madyr."
"How do know of that, woman?" barked Yoran. He was unnerved. Only he and his advisors knew of his plans to march upon Madyr.
"That is why you are here," said the seer. "You have come to ask me whether or not you should proceed against Lord Madyr tomorrow."
"Well," growled Lord Yoran. "What say you? Should I attack tomorrow? Will I succeed?"
"You should attack, my Lord," replied the old woman quietly.
"I will be victorious, then?"
"Tomorrow your enemy will be killed," stated the seer.
"Good, good," said Yoran, relaxing slightly.
The pungent odor from the boiling pot wafted in his direction and made his stomach turn.
What is that she's cooking, he thought. It smells vile.
"Well, thank you, woman," he muttered, turning to leave. He hesitated before drawing back the sheep hide.
"If you are right, then this is a great gift you possess. Why call it a curse?"
The old seer let out a long sigh and hung her head. "For you life is a mystery. That is why it is worth living. But for me there is no mystery. I know all of my own paths. I know the consequences of everything I will ever do. There is no point in living when you know everything that lies before you.
"Is there no way to stop it?" growled Lord Yoran.
"My mother tried. Believe me, no parent would wish to have their child suffer this living Hell. But all she could do was delay it. You see, the curse does not pass until the parent dies. My mother lived as long as she could—to protect me. But it's no good. In the end it always passes to the first-born."
Uncertain how to respond, Yoran stood in silence for a few moments. Then without a word he bent down and left.
** **
As Yoran surveyed the scene before him, his horse beneath him whinnied and stomped impatiently in the muddy ground.
From the small rise upon which Yoran and his army stood, the land gently sloped downwards towards a large plain dotted with heather. At the far side of the plain arose the stony towers of Lord Madyr's castle.
Although it was mid-morning, the sky was dark with heavy, roiling clouds. Underneath the purple-tinged clouds, the plain was bathed in an eerie light. Every few minutes there would be a streak of bright light followed by the rumble of thunder. A bitter cold rain fell upon the shivering bodies of Yoran's soldiers.
A fitting day indeed, mused Lord Yoran darkly as the driving rain soaked his heavy beard and his bear pelt cloak.
Pulling his sword from its sheath, he turned his horse to face his army.
"Men," yelled Yoran, holding his sword high above his head, "this is a day which our people will always remember. Today is the day we face our enemy and…"
Yoran stopped short as his army was suddenly bathed in a flash of blinding light. Turning his head, Yoran saw that the lightning had hit a gnarled old tree just off to his left. The trunk exploded with a deafening crack sending splinters in all directions.
Yoran screamed in shock and agony as the left side of his head was suddenly racked with intense pain. For a brief, horrifying second, he was aware that a large shard of wood had pierced his eye. Then he fell to the ground. The soldiers closest to him could hear him utter the word "mother" as he dropped.
As the thunder rolled over them, Yoran's army stood in shock as they stared at their leader lying dead at their feet.
As the old seer sat sipping her hot cup of brew, she thought back to her encounter with Lord Yoran the day before.
In appearance Yoran was much like his father, large and burly, always a commanding presence. But Yoran's father was not hard and bitter. At least, not when he was young. Not in those distant days when he would steal away from the castle, away from the wife he did not love, to spend those special moments with his black-eyed beauty from the village.
You loved life then, thought the old woman, just as I did, my love. Together we dreamed of what wonders were yet to unfold before us.
The old hag caught her breath as she felt her muscles start to tighten. The brew had taken her two days to prepare. It was potent. It wouldn't be long now.
"Yoran, my dear son, you can rest now and be in peace," whispered the old woman hoarsely as tears rolled down her cheeks. "Just as I now can also be in peace."
THE END
