The Girl with No Name Ch. 24

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In one way Danka was fortunate for an educated woman at the time, because she had married a man who was intellectually compatible with her. He respected her experience and opinions on professional matters, so her submissiveness as a wife did not affect her freedom to think as an alchemist and medical practitioner. She helped Ilmátarkt and the assistants in the alchemy lab, preparing medicines and talking at length about inoculations, operating procedures, and disease prevention. She talked about her surgical training at the Followers' compound and the brutal custom of injuring pigs and then operating on them for practice. They went over Ilmátarkt's notes and field observations. Over the rest of the winter, Danka made numerous corrections, ignoring the custom of a good wife always deferring to her husband's "wisdom". If she could improve his knowledge on a medical topic, he gave her the freedom to do so.

The couple spent many hours chatting in bed. Ilmátarkt had formal education and had done some reading before fleeing Nagorónkti-Serífkti, although he had not attended a university. His knowledge of biology exceeded hers, but his knowledge of botany was more limited and he knew nothing about geology. He realized that he had the opportunity to fill in some of gaps simply by talking to his wife about her university studies during her year in Sebérnekt Ris. They talked extensively about her readings about religion and philosophy and the competing sects of Christianity. Danka still considered herself a Follower of the Ancients more than anything else, but admitted the events over the past year had badly undermined her beliefs.

"I don't know anymore. Maybe we really do live in the Realm of the Destroyer. Maybe the Creator and the Ancients really have departed our world, and the Destroyer took over."

Ilmátarkt's response totally shocked her.

"I don't think we live in the Realm of the Destroyer, nor anyone else's Realm. I've never seen the Ancients, or the Creator, or the Destroyer. I've not seen Jesus or Mohammed. If I've not seen it, as far as I'm concerned it doesn't exist."

Danka sat up.

"You... don't think the Ancients exist?"

"I suppose they existed as real people at some point. Then they died and someone else came along and made up stories about them. The same with Abraham, Jesus, and Mohammed. I'm sure they were real men at some point, but they died just like anyone else. Then, people who needed to use their names to justify themselves, or their place in the world, or assume control over others, made up stories and convinced themselves their heroes were still alive."

"But you don't believe there was anything special about them..."

"Not really. The must have had strong personalities and loyal followers, but you could say the same about the Grand Duke, or even about Commander Sáupeckt. Who knows? Maybe when they die, enough people will make up stories about them and they'll be the next divine beings. There's really no reason why that couldn't happen."

The conversation continued for a while, before Danka's husband revealed another blasphemous idea; that he did not believe the Realm of the Creator, or "Heaven", as the True Believers called it, existed.

"But... what do you think happens when our souls separate from our bodies?"

"I don't think there's anything to separate. We die and our bodies rot, just like an animal's body rots. We're no different from animals. They are born, they live, and they die. We are born, we live, and we die. There's no difference in the pattern of life and there is no soul. You cut open an animal or a human, and the insides are exactly the same. You should know that better than anyone else. You practiced operating on pigs so you could operate on men. The organs and bones are the same. The life-cycle is the same. So, what evidence is there that we are different from animals at all? To me, the evidence points in the other direction. We're just animals, but don't want to admit it. So... we come up with stories about men who don't die, who can fly through the air and control the weather and control worlds we've never seen. And in the end, we think these friends of our imagination can help us. But what difference does it make, what we choose to believe? Has a god or a prophet or an Ancient ever added a single minute to anyone's life? I'm convinced it's all wishful thinking."

"It's not wishful thinking, Ilmátarkt. I wish it was."

"So, you've seen an Ancient? In real life? Not just in your imagination?"

"Not an Ancient, but I've seen the Destroyer. The Destroyer... visits me every so often... to taunt me, or to tell me what's about to happen. And it's not something I want. It's always something bad."

"And how do you know that's not just your fantasy or a bad dream? How would you know that? What makes you so important the Destroyer would only want to talk to you?"

"It's not fantasy. It isn't. It's real... more real to me than anything in the Realm of the Living."

"Listen. You've endured a lot of bad experiences, some of which you've shared with me and some of which you've chosen to keep secret. These are unpleasant times and we've all endured bad events in our lives. The memories affect our perception of the world. I have no doubt the Destroyer visions are real to you. But I've never seen anything like that, and until I do, I'm not convinced."

"Then I hope you don't. I hope you don't ever have to know what I know..."

"You're very knowledgeable about a lot of things. But on what's real and what's imaginary, I don't think you know anything at all. The only place the Destroyer exists is in your thoughts. If the Destroyer wishes to convince me otherwise, let the Destroyer talk to me. Or the Creator, for that matter. Or the Ancients. I'm not going to believe in any of that just because someone else wants me to. I'd have to see it for myself."

Ilmátarkt abruptly changed the subject.

"We both need to get to sleep. Tomorrow morning I want three eggs cooked with cheese and onions when I get up. The bread is stale, so you'll need to cook it and burn off the mold. Might as well cook all of it, because I don't think the scraps will be any good past tomorrow. Make sure you cook an extra portion (of eggs and bread) for yourself and your apprentice."

"Yes, my love."

Ilmátarkt fell asleep. Danka remained awake, studying his bare shoulders and the hair which had grown out on his head. She'd have to shave him: it would not do to have her husband looking unkempt. She tried to push aside her worries about his blasphemous musings that would have caused his execution almost anywhere in Europe if he ever shared them in public.

He was a strange man, but Danka was convinced that, as a partner in the Realm of the Living, he was the best she could hope for. She wondered how much longer the war would continue, and whether or not she and her husband would survive it. They'd have to think about leading a respectable life somewhere... and even think about children. After-all, that was one of Danka's duties as a wife, to bear her husband children. Whether or not she wanted children didn't matter. As a wife, she was expected to have them as part of her Path in Life.

She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Perhaps she did not swoon with romance every time she was near her husband, but she did care for him. That was actually good, because her feelings were not the sort that would quickly fade. She was not infatuated: what she wanted was to have a partner with whom she could build a real life.

She reflected about her previous loves and smiled at the naive craziness she had felt the first time. She would never feel that again: Bagatúrckt destroyed that part of her soul when he assaulted her in "the Graveyard of Virtue." Well, now it didn't matter. That was a long time ago and Bagatúrckt was long-dead.

Her thoughts drifted to Elder Ermin. She had been much less naive around Ermin and had other lovers at the time she knew him. However, in a quiet and sub-conscious way she had been infatuated with him. Ermin had treated her as an inferior because of the difference between their ages, but he never betrayed or disappointed her. It seemed Ilmátarkt was a lot like Ermin in many ways, except that he was much younger, maybe around 26. Danka was 22, so the difference in age would not affect how they treated each other.

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Danka drifted off to sleep, but did not sleep very long. She woke up in the darkness and groped her way towards the main medical area, where a single lantern was always lit. Shivering in the cold, she lit a second lantern and returned to Ilmátarkt's bed to retrieve her clothing. She had woken up early, but that was just as well. It would take her a while to prepare the breakfast and summon Isauria.

As she glanced at her still-sleeping husband, a troubling premonition swept through her, that she would not have the opportunity to bear children with him after-all. She worried about the curse that she carried: that because of her, his life would end shortly and end badly. Was he destined to die and was she destined to live without him?

She pushed aside that thought and made her way to the tunnel that led outside. The clear pre-dawn air was brutally cold, but a full moon illuminated the snow, making it easy to find the path leading towards the kitchen cabin.

Suddenly she stopped. Her feet no longer moved; they were firmly anchored to the ground. She took a deep breath before the world vanished into pitch black darkness. Two yellow eyes, starting out as mere dots in the distance, slowly approached her, growing until they filled her entire range of vision.

"Danka... Defender Danka... Danka Síluckt..."

Danka tried to push the image out of her mind. It was her imagination. It was her imagination. Those eyes weren't real... just her over-active imagination. She needed to pick up her feet and keep walking and get those eyes out of her sight. She tried to move forward, but her feet wouldn't budge.

"Danka Síluckt, don't try that with me. You know it won't work. You can't wish me out of your life."

"Then how can Ilmátarkt do it?"

"Because he's a fool, that's why. I don't bother with fools. I let fools think whatever they want, because it doesn't matter. In the end, everyone comes to me, whether they want to or not."

"...and you can't let me live with the same illusion as my husband?"

"I could, but I choose not to."

"So, what do you want from me?"

"Right now, just to remind you I'm still here. Your husband can prattle on about how my Realm doesn't exist, but you know that's not true. And if you try to forget, I'll return to remind you."

"Then... what about the question he asked? Why am I so important that you'd only want to talk to me? What makes me so special?"

"You're my witness. When everyone around you lives no more, you're the one who will walk away unscathed. You're the one who will carry the memories."

"Memories of what?"

There was no answer. The darkness vanished and the moonlit night returned. Danka was able to pick up her feet. She was chilled to the bones and sick with horror and fear, but at least she could move again. She caught her breath and continued her trek to the kitchen. Regardless of the fate eventually awaiting him, for the moment Ilmátarkt was still alive and still needed his breakfast.