seymoure

(A Brotherhood of the Twisted Iron Story)

Midnight at the Castle Mesastan was, as many of the peasants had routinely said, “Darker than Death’s own heart.” No one was within the place, though the outside, in the daylight, was majestic.

Bizjon was crouched in the hollow beneath the out buildings. He looked down at the bow that was nearly as long as he was tall, “Well, Bow, another chance to show that black and ugly I may be, but I am still the best bowman in this or any other country.”

The sound of someone holding back a laugh and nearly sounding like a muffled sneeze coming from a goat was right behind him.

Bizjon glared in that direction to see Grath covering his mouth and leaning back, away from the wrath that was surely coming from his smaller ally.

“Am I not a great archer?” he spit.

Grath shook his head, then whispered, “I forgot that when you named your bow you named it ‘Bow!’”

Now Antac joined in the muffled laugh. The swordsman laughed more at Grath’s fear of reprisal from the diminutive Malintinain than from the battle awaiting them.

“I will be at the head of this small hill if you need me,” was the Littleman’s disgusted reaction.

Grath was trying to apologize, while Meri-am was coaxing him to translate what the conversation was about. Bizjon stopped and signed to her, “Our comrades are buffoons. Only you and I are adults, good Sorceress.”

After that he scurried up the wall to road level and soon was gone.

Meri-am was scolding them as he went, but as soon as he was out of sight she asked Grath what the real problem was. His hands flew as he explained. She restrained the urge to chuckle as he told her.

From the darkest recesses of the castle eyes took in every movement from the strangers. Anything new was a song to his heart. He had been alone for most of his life, he had lived with his decision for years. His name was Caliban and he had once been the son of a knight in this kingdom. But when he was three things changed.

His nurse admitted that she could no longer stand to hold this hideous creature to her bosom. This fell in with the opinion of all those who came in contact with the ugly little boy. They could barely bring themselves to call him boy.

“Thing!” was the most common appellation put on the little one. He had promised himself he would forget the worst of the names they put on his head. But he knew that all those names forever peopled his dreams.

He soon receded into the background forever. Never was there a portrait that included him. No words were scribed about him. By the time he had lived a score years, no one knew he had ever lived. In the night he scrubbed the walls and floors of the castle, by candle light he plowed and planted the fields. The keep was spotless and embroidered with the most magnificent flower gardens. He could create beauty, but no one must ever know who was the source. They might be frightened, and might look badly on those things he loved to give the world.

Meri-am stopped Grath in the midst of his charge toward Castle Mesastan. “This is not deserted, as we thought!” she signed to him.

“But, no one has lived in this castle for longer than you have lived,” he replied through his hands.

“I sense a sadness,” she told him, “A loneliness. Something so sad that the walls cry out to it, but it will not listen. A soul that hates itself.”

Antac was watching the two of them talking and understood more than most would. His loves were forbidden, so his sadness was all that most would accept. The swordsman was a kindred spirit to all who were told to hate themselves.

He came to Meri-am, and asked, “Can you sense a name?” She shook her head. “He hates himself so much even his own face is a stranger to him. When he took himself from public view he also erased his own identity from himself. He became nothing. All that is left was his shame and tears.”

Caliban was shocked. He could feel something like soft, caressing hands within his mind. These were of someone seeking him. Not like the occasional local searching fearfully for the “Monster of Mesastan.” Those who sought only to end his fearful existence.

“What is your name, silent one?” came the mind searching for him.

“Go away. I am not alive. I am not a man,” he stammered aloud.

Antac’s powerful hearing brought him in the monster’s direction. “We do not seek to harm you. We had no idea anyone lived in the Castle.”

Caliban ran. He ran in panic and fear. They might find him, or worse see him!

“Hey big guy,” a new voice called, from nearby, “We are not after you. We are like you.”

His eyes saw the little black man with a huge smile. He turned to flee and ran right into the giant, who put his arms about the terror-stricken man in the dark.

Grath said in the calming tones one might use with a crying, fearful child, “Now, now. We have no wish to harm you.”

Meri-am cast a serenity spell to bring him to peace, and it worked quicker than even she had hoped. But such magicks can only work for a short time, then they fall away like the autumn leaves.

“Who are you people,” Caliban asked, with tearful eyes closed to them, “Leave me alone. Alone is what I am. Alone is what I deserve.”

“Deserve?” Bizjon looked up at him, “No one deserves to be alone. The world has sought to throw all of us away, but together we have made our world.”

“But I am a monster,” Caliban sobbed as he fell to his knees, “No one should have to look on my face.”

“But I am your face,” said Antac, as his hand touched the crier’s face and lifted him to meet his gaze.

“And I am your face,” said Bizjon as Antac gentle hand turned Calban’s face to see the ugly little man.

“And she is your face,” Said Antac as Meri-am came into sight.

Grath released him and stood.

“And I am your face,” the grotesque giant said.

Meri-am created a floating pool to reflect his features to him. Caliban instantly recoiled, but after a moment he focused on his image.

He was not hideous.

He had not seen that face in decades. There was no mirror in the castle and he would never have allowed one.

He looked around this entry room. These smiling strangers, who came to conquer, but could not harm one so longer harmed by the world.

Caliban came to a realization he had never thought could be.

He was not handsome, but compared to these strangers he was….acceptable.

He did not stop crying, no he began sobbing harder. Bizjon was perplexed, but Antac touched him and smiled. Meri-am signed that these were tears of joy and relief. Grath put out his hand for the other to help him stand.

Caliban took the giant’s hand and stood.

“We still don’t know your name. Let me start the introductions. She, the Lady Sorcerer - Meri-am. The swordsman is Antac, and the bowman, the LITTLE bowman is Bizjon.”

“And the big, UGLY thing,” the acerbic Bizjon said, with a loving smile on his face, “Is Grath. How could anyone else look at the two of us and think himself less handsome?”

Caliban felt something he hadn’t felt in longer than he could remember. He felt laughter erupting from his soul.

“I am Caliban,” he said as he took the hands of all the group, “Caliban.”

That evening was spent in the dining hall of the castle, as the master of the keep served them like royalty.

The next morning Caliban walked about the village, with no one noticing him, as he walked among those strangers who were indeed strange. When he was introduced as the “New” resident of Castle Mesastan he was greeted with enthusiasm. He assured all that the treasury of the generations of knights would be used to help all, and his new friends would be an order of knights who would protect all. That brought cheers and suddenly better treatment of the Brotherhood.

Ever after when he brought flowers to give all in the village they would say, “How could such a good and noble man as he still be single?”

It was not a year before that than that was no longer true.

And when his child was born, it was not lovely. But no child ever was so loved.

As should be true for all.

THE END