Simon Blackfyre and the Enemy Within

by A J Callen

  Soon, he thought, all the undeserving and ungrateful across the land would kneel before him or join the rest in the bowels of the great worm, as pleased the infinite majesty of the risen King.

  The stabbing sensation passed and the High Priest unfastened the coat of arms insignia from his jacket.

  He scratched the surface with his long, sharp nail until, returning home, the very star of Miradora itself was nothing more than a pitted ruin in a tarnished and blackened field of silver.

  Chapter 16

  A Most Mysterious Stranger

  The frosty night wind swirled past, ruffling Simon’s hair. He shivered and pulled on the ropes drawing a water bucket from the large stone well house at the far end of the main courtyard.

  He didn’t like being forced to ride in the same party with Mr. Kovoth in the morning, so to keep his misgivings at bay, he kept himself busy preparing for the journey and thinking about the precious time he’d later have with Rachel away from the prying eyes of the other protectors. It would be a pleasure, too, riding Jesamine again in the open country along with Byrch and Shamus. Rachel and Jack had picked fine steeds, and the chestnut stallion, Aramis, was every inch the noble horse, well suited to Lord Lionsbury’s character.

  Esther swooped down out of the night and alighted on the arm of the statue of Saint Kaja of Palamor, just inside the open front entrance. Somehow it seemed proper that a bird of prey should perch near the hand holding a sword, while a small child slept obliviously and peacefully in the statue’s other arm.

  Simon lowered the bucket and reached into his pocket. He tossed Esther a dried bacon end. She caught it in her beak and gobbled it down. Cocking her head to one side, she seemed to study him for a few moments then flew away, quickly disappearing into the darkness.

  “Do you see why people will always envy you and your kind, Esther? You can just fly away and leave all your troubles behind.” Simon turned away and filled an empty bucket with the stale-tasting water. “And who would be the worse for it?”

  “I dare say the brood in her nest if she has one,” came the lone voice of a female.

  Simon spun on his heel. A woman stood concealed in the shadows and darkness behind the saint’s statue. He stepped closer, trying to discern if it was one of the female protectors or perhaps a servant sent to fetch him.

  By the faint outline of her body she appeared unclothed, yet not completely naked—more as though her body was covered by a soft, downy and feathery cloak. “Who goes there? Identify yourself or I’ll call for the guards.”

  “Am I to take it, then, that you won’t call for the guards if I tell you my name?”

  She took a step closer yet remained in the darkness behind the stone. Simon glanced up at the battlements; the guards were all positioned at their stations, looking out across the fields toward the eerie quiet of the Roamligor Forest.

  “That depends. Is it the name of a friend I should know?”

  “I only pray yet if you call to them I’m afraid you’ll not see me again for a long time, if at all. I have not regained my full strength as I hoped after my long journey across the sea. I suffer standing before you as I am, but must be certain of who you are.”

  The strange woman wrapped her arms around her shoulders and bent forward as though suddenly racked with chest pains.

  “If you are injured, ma’am, then let me bring you to see the physician in the infirmary? But, again, I must know who you are,” Simon insisted.

  “Are you a sworn protector of the realm, Simon Blackfyre, one initiated in the sacred rites?”

  If this was one of the demon’s deceptions he did not sense it, though he would have preferred that Esther had not flown away unannounced. What good were his training and intuition if he could not discern the difference between the innocent and the cursed? Intrigued and strangely at ease the longer he remained in her presence, Simon relaxed his guard and took a step closer. “Ma’am, I am indeed a protector of the realm, yet you have me at quite the disadvantage, my lady, for you already know who I am. Pray, tell me, who are you, if I may be so bold?”

  “Euriel Glanduer. But you do know my name, do you not?”

  Simon tried to recall any mention of Euriel in one of Lord Dowrick’s boring history lectures about the noble families of Miradora and its neighboring kingdoms.

  “Forgive me, my lady; I do not, and again I ask you plainly the reason for your presence. Are you a guest of one of the nobles?”

  “The noble I seek is the same that seeks you, though the time is not at hand to reveal ourselves to our enemies in Avidene.”

  “Then why not travel to the Capitol and seek this mysterious lord for yourself?”

  “But I have told you already. I have neither power nor strength to do what must be done, and I fear I may not when the time arises.” She extended her slender, trembling hand toward him. “So, do you bear the mark or not? If you do, then show me.”

  Simon rubbed his suddenly irritated skin over his chest brand.

  “You speak in riddles, my lady, and I cannot puzzle the truth of anything you say. Why do you remain so, there in the shadows?”

  A benevolent smile graced her shadowy face. “It is true then. My mother and her own mother before her said it would come to be, yet I never had their faith. So few of us remain and more will perish before it’s over.”

  Simon didn’t want to hear any more it. More would perish before it was over?

  “Come out and let me see your face or I will call for the guards this time.”

  “All depends on you, Simon. The time remaining is short and we must gather all your kindred to face the encircling horror that draws ever closer.” With each word, her voice dropped in a raspy whisper as though she was losing the power of speech. “Do not forsake your vows by thoughts of running away. Do not leave your brother alone to face our enemy.” His patience at its end, Simon stepped toward her, angry that he was barely able to discern a single word she was saying.

  “Brothers? Is that what you said? You, who know nothing of who I am and how I’ve suffered, call me a coward and accuse me of wanting to desert my friends when—”

  “To whom are you speaking, child?”

  Simon, startled by the brusque and stern voice, jerked around to espy the rear entrance of the well house. Her Holiness stood there in a flowing white robe, her frail hands clasped in front of her. “Holy Seer.” Simon bowed. “Forgive me. I didn’t hear you approach. But there is a woman here, a stranger. Do you know who she is?”

  Yet when he looked back, the woman was gone. Simon ran to the statue and searched the immediate area around the well house. “She—she was standing right here speaking to me most strangely, I swear it. Surely the guards on the battlements would have seen her flee.”

  “And why would she do that? Did she threaten you or try to deceive you?”

  Simon shook his head. “No. I sensed no menace from her at all. I was quite at ease in her presence. Even if I did not comprehend her words.”

  The Holy Seer hobbled toward the base of the statue and sat on the square stone. “And… did this mysterious woman tell you her name?”

  “Euriel… Glanduer, if I am not mistaken. Do you know her?”

  The Holy Seer smiled and looked up to the stars, her careworn face appearing suddenly brighter than only moments before. “By name, yes, though I did not think it was possible.”

  “Forgive me. I do not understand, your Holiness.”

  “Neither do I, Simon, for my faith is being tested in ways I did not expect, as is yours, I’ll wager.”

  “Then you do know her?”

  She placed her trembling hand on his and Simon adjusted his stance to take a hold of her wrist and help her to her feet. “Not as I know you and your friends, but in quite another fashion. If she speaks the truth, she is closer and dearer to my soul than any standing without fear before us.”

  “Should I call for your monks and the guards to find her?”

  “She is gone until next you meet, a
nd you will see her again if destiny favors those with compassionate and courageous hearts. That is why you cannot for a moment believe that none will suffer if you forsake this quest.”

  Simon stepped back to the well. Am I to be accused by all who believe they can read my thoughts so clearly? he wondered, slightly irritated. He picked up a bucket. “I mean no disrespect, your Holiness, but that was not my intention when I accepted.”

  “I know that you care deeply for Rachel and would not see her and Jack fend for themselves against the unknown threats outside these walls.”

  “I would not, and to allay your suspicions it would only be my neck in the noose when I’m caught, isn’t that true?” Simon stared at the wavering reflection of the stars in the dark water.

  “You mean if you are captured. Your skills are coming into full bloom, Simon. Like the emerging stars, you have more power that has yet to reveal itself.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “When time and circumstance demand the utmost, that is when you will draw the purest water from the deepest depths of who you truly are… and I hope then that you will forgive me.”

  “Do not listen to her, boy. The cursed hag lies. They all do.” Anthor Koldrin’s voice assaulted his mind with a vengeance, grating and scraping against the very walls of his skull. “They send you to your death because you are nothing but a worthless slave to them and that is all you will ever be. We are not the ones who kill your kind. They are. You can never defeat what is already a part of you. Join with your true brethren and slaughter the old witch, now.”

  Simon rubbed his aching temples. “I, forgive you, your Holiness?” he asked. “For having Lord Lionsbury take me away from Grimsby? When the King is chosen I will be a freeman before winter is done.”

  “I fear you must journey yet farther and longer than that, Simon, as I am only now beginning to see.”

  Simon dropped the bucket. The water poured over his feet as he slumped forward. He clutched at his forehead. “If this is your meaning, your Holiness, then I have gone too far already. Where is the skill or charm to drown out the demon’s voice in my head?”

  She raised her hand to his sweating brow. “Why did you not tell me this when you returned from the Corridor of Shadows?”

  “I thought they were only voices from nightmares and exhaustion, but it comes upon me when I’m awake. Sometimes, I feel that I am going mad.”

  “And so you would during the journey, and fall prey to his unholy influence. You will never reach The Eye of the Overseer as long as Koldrin’s voice lives within you. None of you will.” She withdrew her gold-handled dagger from beneath the folds of her gown and pointed the serpent-like blade toward him.

  “You are familiar to him now and he will not let go, neither in life nor in death. Our enemy attacks us from all sides, Simon. Some we can see, some we cannot,” the Holy Seer said. But the coarse and intimidating voice cut in again.

  “Oh, but she means to kill you with her witch’s dagger. Take it from her hand and cut out her lying, deceiving tongue forever! And leave her drowning in a sea of her own blood.” Simon trembled, cold and nauseous, uncertain of what to do next.

  “Show me that mark on your chest,” the Holy Seer urged, pitted now against the voice of the one that sought to cut her down.

  “No! She is not what she appears,” it said, low and raspy. “She will cut out your heart and sacrifice it to her false god and gain power over us!” Simon tensed and stepped back.

  The Holy Seer closed her eyes. “I hear what you hear and know how you suffer his hateful scourge.” She smiled and lowered the dagger. “Do you think I want to cut out your heart with what little strength remains in these old bones? I could not so much as gut a pigeon. But if it were so, then I could have thrown this at your heart the moment you told me of the demon trying to corrupt and possess your will. My monks stand close behind you in the shadows with their swords drawn; I am here to help you, Simon. If you will let me.”

  “Don’t let her touch you,” Koldrin’s voice screamed in Simon’s befuddled head. “Grab the blade when she steps close and finish it!”

  Simon rubbed the mark under his tunic. His flesh burned as though being branded anew. “Then, what is it, Holy Seer? What does it mean?”

  “There is much I need to tell you but cannot, for all is not as it must be. Trust me, child, when I say it is to protect your life and those you love most. If I am correct, you have been visited this night because of that mark and the difficult, painful decisions made years ago now bearing down upon us all.”

  Simon didn’t care about the past for the only one he knew was filled with degradation and suffering. His eye was only on the glittering reward of the future—his own freedom. “The woman?” His mind reeled in torrents of confusion. “Speak plainly, your Holiness, I beg of you. What does she want with me?”

  “The same as we all. Your solemn promise you will see this journey through to the end no matter where it may lead you.” A white radiance shimmered along the edge of the blade. The tip was red hot as if it had just been removed from an angry fire.

  “See how she lies? You hear it don’t you? But you can make her pay. A step closer, that is all, then take the dagger and cut out the witch’s heart!” A great squeezing pressure coiled around Simon’s head as though his skull might be crushed at any moment. He dropped to his knees before the Holy Seer, his throat dry, his resistance waning. Tears slid down his hot cheeks and his vision blurred. “I swear to you. I will honor my vow if you but free me from this torment. I cannot bear it a moment longer.”

  “Quickly then. Show me the mark.”

  The darkness outside threatened to collapse inward, stealing all sight and sound. His mind was a whirlpool of flashing memories, the vile and unrelenting screams tearing his skull in half. Simon stumbled forward. The Holy Seer caught him with surprisingly strong hands. He turned his head to the side and was ill. Simon gasped and opened his tunic.

  “Trust when I say the smaller pain will relieve the greater.” She gently placed the red-hot tip above the mark. In a sudden flash of panic, he raised his trembling hand to stop the touch of hers upon his skin. “No, no. What are you doing?”

  “I cannot stop the demon from attacking you physically in this world but I can protect you in another.” She closed her eyes and intoned what sounded like ancient Asharru, although these words were different and unfamiliar to his ears.

  Simon grimaced from the singeing of hot steel, yet the searing of his flesh was nothing compared to the scorching words trying to burn their mark into his skull. “Take it now before it’s too late or she will cut out your heart instead!”

  Simon released his grip and surrendered, spellbound. He watched as she skillfully seared a circle in his chest around the eye-shaped brand, progressing gently with a skinny hand that no longer trembled.

  “Stop her! Stop her now! Kill the witch. Kill her before—” The pain ebbed away in a great wave, and so, too, the roaring in his head until the only sound remaining was the beating of his own heart in the surrounding stillness.

  The circle completed, she dropped the dagger and staggered back to the base of the statue. Two monks emerged from the darkness. Gasping for breath, the Holy Seer raised her hand. The monks both stopped and bowed.

  Simon placed his hand on the mark. What little blood there was had already dried. “Holy Seer, pray, what’s wrong?”

  “Do not fret. It will pass. Have you some measure of peace now, child?”

  “All… yes, all is quiet now except for my own thoughts.” Simon bowed. “I am forever in your debt for your kindness and great skill.”

  “You must listen to me, Simon. These weapons you seek will exact a price if you find them. You will need all your strength of body and soul to wield them, and more importantly, to know when you must lay them down or cast them aside.”

  Simon was too exhausted to question her warning. Great and powerful swords like those of Callor and Lord Lionsbury awaited him. That wa
s all that mattered now. Who would not accept any peril demanded in order to find them? Simon buttoned his tunic. “Though I do not know how I came to bear this mark, I will no longer fear it; you have freed me from the demon’s hold and for that, I am eternally grateful.”

  The Holy Seer stepped closer and hushed her voice. “Then promise me this. Do not tell the other protectors yet of what I have told you, nor of the ordeal you have suffered. It will only cause more suspicions and mistrust. All have witnessed what happened to Tanca Nakasian and Elric Skobb and you cannot risk being falsely accused of the same unholy treachery.” She moved stiffly, hobbling in the darkness toward her waiting monks.

  “The blood of fallen heroes flows through your veins but you must still learn a lesson that they did not,” she said. “Follow the wise example of our matron saint, Saint Kaja of Palamor.” She pointed at the statue. “Know when to raise your sword, and when to cast it aside if you ever hope to hold a child again.”

  Simon gazed upon the infant boy cradled in Saint Kaja’s arm. There was something in the child’s small hand. He hadn’t noticed it before when Byrch had spoken of the statue. “What is the child holding?”

  “Seraphon berries. Said to glow as white as the moon, delicious to eat, and with many extraordinary properties.”

  “I’ve never heard of them. Where can they be found?”

  “Many say they do not exist anymore, but it is also said that one may find them near the place you seek. It is as a riddle.”

  Simon watched the monks guiding the bony old woman back toward her residence at the opposite end of Farrhaven. And whatever was this mark upon his chest? If the Holy Seer knew, she seemed more concerned with concealing the truth for now. Simon and the other protectors had gained great skills, that was true, and these could be shown to any who doubted. But claiming a bloodline from the greatest heroes of old? That was another thing altogether. How could it possibly be proved?