Three years later.
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The passage was narrow. The air was damp and steeped with the smell of death and rot. Patches of blue glowing moss clung to the rough stone walls and ceilings forming eerie pockets of light in the unending darkness. The silence was so deafening one would not be judged for reaching out and touching their ears to make sure they were still intact. But Eren did not touch his ears, because this was not the first time he had found himself in this dream. As always he found himself repeating, “It’s just a dream! It’s just a dream!” inside his head. As always, the chant did little to soothe his fraught nerves or calm his pounding heart. And, as always, his legs moved forward on their own accord.
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The passage was moist and slippery beneath his bare feet. Eren’s palms, sweaty and clammy, were clenched tightly to his upper thighs. Rivulets of sweat ran from his forehead down to his face and onto his bare chest and back. Eren realized that he was naked, which further heightened his fear.
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The tunnel twisted and turned, sloping downwards. Frequently it would branch out into different directions but, somehow, Eren always knew which path to take. He walked for what felt like hours and eventually, found himself in front of an archway. Twice his height and equally wide, the structure was a haphazard assemblage of rough stone blocks stacked on top of one another and held together, as if by magic. Their front faces had been smoothed out till they shone in the flickering blue light of the two torches that hung on iron holders on either side of the arc. Twisted symbols and glyphs had been carved into the faces, further emphasizing the structure’s unnaturalness. Beyond the archway, pale blue light emanated through a darkened corridor, as if it was filtering through a dense fog.
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For a moment, Eren stood in front of the stone structure, taking in the grim sight. Then he was moving again, stepping through the gate and into the haunting blue light beyond. The sudden brightness momentarily blinded him. When he could finally see, Eren found himself in a broader passageway than he had just left behind, with walls covered from top to bottom with sculptures. The sculptures looked vaguely humanoid, and had been carved directly into the stone walls. There were hundreds of them, varying in size, cut side by side and on top of one another, heads, limbs and torso bent and contorted into grotesquely impossible poses. Glowing blue veins wrapped around the figures, like the roots of a tree, thin and spread out at the bottom while intersecting and joining into thicker branches towards the top, till they disappeared into the stone ceiling. Eren noted that the figures all looked in tremendous pain.
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A sculpture to his right caught Eren’s attention and his body turned towards it, like a puppet being pulled by invisible strings. His eyes traced the contours of a pair of pointed ear tips to a face contorted in a mask of pain. The creature's eyes were shut and its mouth twisted. Its head was bent at the neck and a mass of stone hair jutting out from the stone wall behind it kept it in its place. Spindly arms with wrists ensnared within the wall, a pair of arched shoulders and a slim waist strained against an invisible force that was trying to pull the creature back inside its stony tomb.
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At first, the creature was motionless, undisturbed by Eren’s intrusion in its space. Then suddenly, it opened its eyes. A shiver of horror trickled down Eren’s spine as he watched the terrifying creature come to life. It writhed and twisted, trying to escape. Stone hair fractured and skin peeled and crumbled, revealing decayed flesh underneath. Hollow eyes ignited with a green blaze as the creature lowered its head to meet Eren’s eyes. Arms broke free with resounding cracks and stumped wrists oozing green goo circled around to grip Eren’s arms. When the creature opened its mouth, a blast of warm putrid air hit Eren’s face. It tilted its head to regard Eren curiously. Then it shrieked, a blood curdling sound that made Eren’s ears throb in pain.
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The passage shook and started melting into a swirling pool of black, grey and green. The mouth grew larger encircling him. Rotten serrated teeth swung outward trapping him in a cage and forcing his body towards a wide gaping hole. All Eren could do was watch in desperation and horror as the darkness engulfed him. And then he was falling.
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Eren awoke gasping for breath. His heart was pounding and his nightshirt clung to his sweat drenched chest and back. It took a few moments for the nightmare to dissipate fully and the feelings of panic and fear to recede to a low thrum in his head. As the familiar surroundings of his small bedroom came into view, he found himself staring out the single open window into the night sky. A half moon stared back at him. Its light rays, made visible by swirling motes of dust, washed the wooden floor beneath the window with a soft silvery glow. Shadows danced on the surrounding walls, brought to life by the flickering light of the oil lamp on his bedside table. A sudden breeze blew in, cooling the sweat on his torso, making Eren shiver and breaking the spell.
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He sighed and looked around himself, trying to regain his bearings. He was sitting in his bed, clutching the sheets. His pillow was propped behind him to cushion him against the headboard. A tattered edition of Voyages of Garoth the Grim, which he had been reading before he fell asleep, lay open in his lap. Unclenching his fists, he used the back of his hand to wipe the dribble of saliva running down from the corner of his mouth and waited for his breath and heart to recover their natural rhythm. He closed the book and set it on his bedside table. Extinguishing the lamp, he laid down in a worried silence.
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The dreams were back. They had been back for a month now, but it was the first time he had them twice in a week. They seemed to be getting more vivid each time, like a faded painting revealing a new detail every time he looked at it. Eren could envision the cracked rotting face of the creature with its blazing green eyes. He could feel the grip of its torn oozing forearms on his biceps and smell its warm fetid breath. Shuddering, he tried to push the image out of his mind. Old Barthy always said he had too fertile of an imagination for his own good and maybe he was right. But who has ever heard of a dream where you can smell and feel and sweat.
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The dreams worried him. Not so much what he saw in them, but what they represented. They started three years ago, on his sixteenth birthday. It had been an emotionally tumultuous time for him. He had been confused, scared and hurt and he attributed the dreams to that. Eventually, the dreams stopped and Eren thought it a sign he was ready to move on. Now, they were back and he had no idea why.
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Maybe it is the betrothal, a voice in his head suggested.
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Eren's upcoming engagement to Mara, the inn keeper’s daughter, was the talk of the town. They were to be officially betrothed to each other in two days' time. Eren tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress the voice in his head. Instead, he felt the familiar pit of guilt and shame start to form in his stomach.
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It’s not like I’m getting married yet. It’s just an engagement.
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It’s just an engagement!, the voice teased nastily. Poor girl. She doesn't know what you are, does she?
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There is nothing to know. Eren fought back. I am just as normal as any other man! It was a battle he had already lost countless times before.
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As if on queue, an unbidden face resurfaced from his memory. Tam, his best friend, the boy he had unwittingly fallen for, the boy who used him and then left him. He had run away without even saying goodbye, leaving Eren, alone and stranded in the middle of nowhere, to nurse a broken heart in secret and shame. Eren wondered what Tam was doing at that moment.
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Probably taking advantage of another poor stupid sod, he thought vehemently.
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Ah! But you were the one who threw yourself at him, the voice reminded him. “I am an adult Tam! I can make my own decisions!”
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Shut up! Eren's face burned with shame and humiliation at the memory. The voice snickered in the background.
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Oh Tam!, the voice mocked him. I love you Tam!
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SHUT UP!
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Eren groaned and grabbed his head, turning on his side to bury his face in the pillow.
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You could just leave, run away! The voice suggested.
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It was not the first time that Eren had considered that option. Bale did it. Tam had done it. And for a moment Eren was so tempted by the suggestion, he almost got up and started packing. But then he remembered Bale Wynhurst was an outcast who would probably be imprisoned or worse if he ever showed his face in the town again. After all, he left the chief of the town guard’s daughter standing at the altar. Wynhursts’ reputation was left in the mud. No one would even look at them, let alone buy meat from their butcher shop. As for Tam. After Tam’s disappearance, his father went mad, accusing demons of spiriting his son away, just like they had his wife. Once he even blamed Eren for sacrificing Tam to the demons, before Eren’s father put an end to his rant. Six months later he also left town. Mad with worry and grief, he went in search of his son. Eren couldn’t do that to his own father. Besides, where would he go? What would he do? He did not have any other family other than his da.
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And what happens when your da finds out what you are?
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Eren refused to think about that. He had no idea what would actually happen if he was found out. But the way Priest Juegen talked about it, it would probably be worse than the nightmare.
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There is nothing to find out!
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That you are sheather?
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Eren gritted his teeth. I am not a sheather! It was just one time. And it won’t ever happen again! Eren knew it wouldn’t. He had made a mistake, trusting in Tam and he would never make that mistake again.
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What about Mara? Why ruin that poor girl’s life?
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I am not ruining her life!
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Keep telling yourself that Eren Millstrem. But the truth will out, one way or another.
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And the image of the monster from his nightmare flashed through his head again. Every child and adult of Airaat who had ever attended a temple sermon knew it was the demons that had opened the cauldron of sins and infected the world. Eren didn’t believe in those myths and fairy tales. But he was sure it was a demon he saw in his dreams and he couldn’t deny the symbolism.
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You are stuck, Eren Millstrem. Neither of the pasture nor of the flock, spat the voice as a recurring dread filled Eren. And poor Mara! She has no idea her husband-to-be is a heraadhin.
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Shut up! Eren begged. Please just shut up!
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The voice, having his fill of tormenting Eren for the night, did not answer back. It creeped back into the crevices of his mind where it resided. Eren lay where he was, in the pool of his own sweat, breathing heavily. He knew it would be back again, the voice and the gnawing pit of shame and guilt that followed it. Most of the time, he forgot that it was there, drowned in the chaos of his daily life. It was only during the night, when he was lying alone in his bed with nothing else to occupy his mind, that it emerged from its lair to torment him.
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“By Joha’s grace, get a grip Eren!”, he muttered to himself. “You can’t go mad just yet.”
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He yawned, remembering his da would be waking him up at the crack of dawn and closed his eyes to try and go back to sleep. But the sleep was fleeting and when it came, the dreams that followed did little to calm his troubled mind.
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Eren woke to the sound of pounding on his bedroom door.
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“Up boy! How long ya gonna sleep?” Myron Millstrem’s loud gravelly voice thundered through the wooden slabs.
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Dawn was just breaking outside his window and the sky still clung to the cold and the dark hues of the night. Aren groaned, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.
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“UP!”
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“I’m up! I’m up”, Eren hollered back, throwing off his covers, half annoyed at being woken so rudely, half ashamed he had managed to sleep this late. Most of the time he managed to get up earlier than his father, if not for the nightmares that had started plaguing his sleep recently.
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“Make it snappy then.” His father called before moving away.
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Eren heard the rickety staircase groan under his da’s receding footsteps as he scrambled into his shirt and breeches. He splashed his face with cold water from the basin and checked himself in the small mirror hanging above it. A gaunt brown face with puffy black eyes stared back at him, telltale signs of his disturbed night. He raked his hands through the mass of unruly black hair in a futile attempt to tame it and sighed. He wished he could’ve gotten a few more hours of sleep. It was going to be a busy day at the mill and Eren doubted he would find any free time to steal a nap. Instead, he was going to spend the early morning uselessly swinging wooden swords at invisible foes.
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Myron was a soldier before he had decided to settle down as a mill owner in the isolated backwater town of Silver Peak that they called home; a fact Eren had only come to know recently. Three years ago, Myron suddenly decided that Eren needed to learn how to fight.
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“It’s a skill every young man ought to know.” Myron explained solemnly when Eren had inquired why. “You never know when you may have to protect your family or business.”
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Back then, Eren had jumped at the idea of any distraction that would allow him to channel his pain and frustration. But the early hours, Myron’s impatient training, and the realization that he would never get to hold an actual sword, quickly dulled his enthusiasm.
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“In Meyrin, it is forbidden for peasants to carry a real sword, let alone wield it.” Myron clarified when Eren found out he would never get to own a sword of his own.
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“What is the point of training in sword forms if you can’t even own a sword?” Eren asked incredulously.
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“Because, it instils discipline and keeps the body and mind fit. Besides, just because you can’t use a sword does not mean you can’t apply the same techniques to another weapon.”
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Eren did not see the point. He got plenty of back-breaking exercise working at the mill. And he could not foresee a possible future where he would need to actually use a weapon. But he held his tongue. When Myron got an idea lodged in his head, it was impossible to change his mind.
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When Eren finally made his way down to the kitchen, a mug of tea waited for him on the small wooden dining table. Myron was already outside working through his warm-up. Eren could see his father’s large frame, spinning, ducking and dodging, through the kitchen window. He gulped down the lukewarm drink in a single swig, the tea clearing the last shreds of the sleep-fog from his mind, and hurried outside to join his father.
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Myron halted his movement to watch his son approach.
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“You sleep well?” He asked, not to miss Eren’s puffy eyes and bedraggled expression.
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Eren only grunted in response, not feeling quite self-aware enough yet to give a proper answer. Besides, what would he say?
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No da. I did not sleep well. I am being kept awake by this nightmare you see, which probably has something to with the fact that your son is actually a degenerate.
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So instead, he picked up the wooden sword his father had left for him on the broad tree stump in the center of their yard, and walked up to join him in the exercise, grateful when Myron decided not to ask more questions.
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They worked through the forms side-by-side in silence. By now, Eren knew them by heart and he fell into a comfortable rhythm, pushing and pulling his arms in broad swipes and shorter thrusts and crouching and extending his legs for low sweeps and overhead strikes. He was soon drenched in sweat and welcomed the familiar burn of exerted muscles which took his mind off his morose thoughts. He finished with apanther stalks a deer in the meadow, a complicated form with contrasting movements of arms and legs that called for both precision and agility. It was the most difficult of the forms from Myron’s repertoire and Eren got it wrong as many times he got it right. Myron, who had finished his set, watched his son critically from his perch on the tree stump. Eren couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride when Myron indicated with a nod that he had executed the form correctly.
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They rested in silence for a while, catching their breaths. Myron was a man of few words and Eren had learned to accept the long silences that were characteristic of his relationship with his father. However, their relationship had strained in the last few years, not in the least due to the secrets between them, and the silences were becoming too awkward to bear. Eren was glad when Myron finally knocked his sword against his to signal the start of their daily bout.
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They faced off against each other across the small yard. Wooden hilts clasped in both hands, legs bent and knees apart, they stalked each other, alert for an opening to strike. Myron Millstrem was a large muscular man, at least three hands taller than Eren’s eight hands and twice as wide. With his long grey streaked ginger hair worn loose over his shoulders and wrinkles of his nearly fifty cycles peeking from beneath thick bushy eyebrows, moustache and scraggly beard that covered most of his face, he looked like an old ginger mountain bear. However, his blue eyes were sharp and alert like a soldier’s. The scar that ran down his right eye to a crooked nose, that seemed to have broken several times, reaffirmed that he was a seasoned one. Any other man would have thought twice before attacking this giant. But Eren had fought him every day for three years and even managed to throw him down on his ass a few times.
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Eren lunged forward, swinging the sword from left for a swipe but switching half way into a forward thrust. He grinned to see his father’s eyes widen in surprise as the older man spun around to dodge the attack. Myron had not expected him to start with a feint. Eren pressed his advantage, swinging his arms around for a broad swipe against Myron’s exposed back. But Myron, expecting Eren’s next move, ducked and pivoted out of the way. Eren, who had put too much force behind the attack, stumbled as his sword cut uselessly through the air. Not to miss an opening, Myron hooked an ankle around his left calf, sending his son sprawling to the ground on his behind.
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“That was a good feint”, Myron said, the tip of his sword at Eren’s face. “But you got too confident. Remember what I taught you. Don’t ever put all your power into a single strike unless you are sure it will be your last. It makes you inflexible and unable to adapt to your opponent's movements.”
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Eren felt a flicker of annoyance at his father’s word. It was a rookie mistake, and he thought he had graduated beyond those by now. He propelled himself back up to face Myron again and tried a different tactic. This time, he came in from the right for a low sweep. When Myron plunged his sword down to block, Eren pivoted to his left and thrust up, glancing Myron’s shoulder with the tip of his sword. Eren suppressed a smug smile at Myron’s grunt of discomfort. His momentary pride, however, quickly soured. In the brief moment that he dropped his guard to savor his success, Myron wasted no time in smacking him along both his shins with his sword. Eren fell flat on his face as a sharp pain lanced through his lower legs. Dust swirled up his nose and mouth making him sputter and cough.
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“Good follow up,” Myron said, standing above him with a hand on his waist. “But too cocky. You forgot to press your advantage. How many times have I told you? You need to think three-four steps ahead. If this sword was real, you would have lost both your feet and died in a puddle of your own blood.”
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Eren gritted his teeth in frustration. It did not seem like today was going to be his day after all. He reigned in his temper as he scrambled up to face his father a third time.
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The objective of these bouts was always to get Myron in a prone position. What that meant exactly was determined by Myron himself. But from experience, Eren knew that if he could get Myron to either throw his sword, or, on the ground, in a vulnerable position from which he couldn’t escape in more than a single move, he would win. He tried again and again to achieve this goal but Myron was always just a little quicker. He would sneak out of the way just in time and then exploit some hole in Eren’s defense to send him sprawling to the ground instead. He would then proceed to point out exactly what Eren had done wrong in the matter-of-fact tone that grated at Eren’s nerves.
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It should be impossible for such a large man to move so quickly, Eren thought with vexationas once again Myron shifted out of the reach of his attack just in time. Myron Millstream's sizable stature suggested a man who favored strength over speed. But in reality, Myron was as quick and nimble as a fu. Eren felt clumsy in front of the man’s gracefulness with the sword, and that only served to flare his frustration more.
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If it had been any other day, if he had not had that nightmare, and spent the rest of the previous night arguing with himself, Eren would’ve remembered the most important lesson that his da had taught him. Always remain calm and in control of your emotions. But the previous night had left his nerves more frayed than he realized. With each failure, Eren became more and more agitated, which in turn led to more and more mistakes, until finally, Myron held out a hand for them to stop.
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“Where is your mind at today?” His father demanded impatiently. “You are attacking with no care for strategy or defense. You are not paying attention to what I am saying and making the types of clumsy mistakes you haven’t made in a long time.”
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“I am sorry, da” Eren said through gritted teeth, his face red with frustration and exhaustion. “I’m just not feelin’ it today.” He hoped Myron would get the hint and just let him go. But Myron rarely did.
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“Not feelin’ it? Is that what you are going to say to the man who’s holding a sword to your throat?” His father scoffed.
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“Who is going to be holding a sword at my throat da?” Eren shook his head. The man was getting more and more paranoid the older he got. “Why would anyone want to kill me? What would anyone with a sword want with me anyway? I am not a noble or a soldier or have riches to my name. I am just a miller’s son in the most backwater little town in all of Airaat.”
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“You are just a kid. You know nothing about the world, how dangerous and unforgiving it can be.”
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It was the same vague reply Eren got every time and he was fed up with being treated like a child. He was fed up with the secrets between them and fed up with being expected to just follow his father’s wishes unquestioned. After all it was his father who had promised him to Mara’s parents when he had been too young to understand or consent to it. Now, as always he was expected to fulfil that promise regardless of his own wishes.
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“You know what? This is pointless.” Eren shouted, letting his temper get the best of him. “I’m done playing soldier with you everyday just so that you can relive your old days of glory by rubbing me into the dirt.”
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Eren regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. He watched his father’s face tighten to stone.
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“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Myron asked in a low growl. “Reliving some old fantasy?”
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“I don’t know what to think da.” Eren felt conflicted after the outburst. For that one single moment, it had felt good to voice his anger at someone, however unjust it had been. He couldn’t broach the true subject of his frustration without feeling a tinge of apprehension and shame. So he stuck to the more comfortable argument. “I’m sorry for saying that. But I don’t understand the point of a miller’s son learning to fight with a sword like a soldier. You keep saying I need to learn to protect myself. And I reckon I’m good enough now to save myself in a pinch if I need to. But you still insist I’m not good enough. So who is it I’m learnin’ to protect myself from?”
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Myron didn’t reply and father and son stared at each from across the yard in silence. For a moment, Eren thought he saw a flicker of something in Myron’s expression. Understanding? Respect? Eren’s heart lit with hope at the thought. Maybe now, he would learn the secrets that his father had been hiding from him. About his past, and about Eren’s mother. And then, maybe Eren could open up to him too, tell him his own secrets. And, just maybe, his father would understand. Then the chatter of the mill workers coming in for their morning shift drifted over their front gate and the moment passed. Myron turned away from him to watch them approach.
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“Go on then. We are done for today.” His father, dismissing him.
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Eren’s hope faltered and his shoulders dropped in resignation. He kicked a pebble with his foot, stalling for time to see if his father changed his mind. But Myron had already started towards the gate to let the workers in. Today was not the day the walls between them would be coming down, if they ever did. Eren turned around and trudged back into the house to wash, change and get ready for the day’s work120Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyrg04Eujby
