That girl could make a fortune off the things she makes in that shed, Gladdas thought, picking up the soap and inhaling the delicious scent. She’d been presented with an assortment of creams, lotions, shampoo and perfume by Katrin upon her arrival at The Shadows. They were always on the dressing table in “Aunty Glad’s room” as Katrin and Borsen referred to her suite. So was a beautiful set of towels fashioned by Borsen and embroidered by Eiren.
One look in her mirror made Gladdas pick up her hairbrush. As always, straightening and smoothing the strands made her mind clear.
Within half an hour she was bathed and dressed. She was tying the lace of her left shoe when Lucen tapped at the door. He entered the room carrying a tray with two cups of tea and a platter of eggs, fried ham, sausage and pastries.
“I’m not one for breakfast most days, but I could do with a cup and a bite,” he said, going to her table as naturally as if he walked into her room all the time with food in hand. “Thought you’d be feeling pretty hollow by now.”
She’d been sure she wanted nothing, but the scent of the sausage was as enticing as Katrin’s lemon soap had been.
Gladdas found Lucen an excellent breakfast companion because he didn’t spend time in chitchat. She was able to eat and drink her tea in peace, watching the sunrise pale into daylight, golden sun shafts slanting through clouds.
“Now then, the gig should be ready,” Lucen announced when Gladdas turned down the offer of another pastry. “It’s a pretty morning, but cool, so best to wrap up.” He perused her outer garments, selecting a cape with a hood. He held it out for her.
Gladdas caught herself smiling when her back was turned to him, wondering if he was going to actually put the hood up on her head, as if she was three years old.
He didn’t, but escorted her to the front door where his patient horse waited, hitched to a comfortable, high-wheeled gig.
Gladdas felt a jolt of dread, fearful that Lucen would take the south curve of the oval drive, which would lead them near the spot where Alazaria was killed. The big man guided the horse along the northern curve instead. Soon they were on their way down the road that passed the Spaltz farm.
“I need to pick up something from Mister Spaltz on the way back, but we won’t drive around with a quarter pig now,” Lucen smiled as he waved to the red-haired farmer, Eiren’s father.
“And where are we going?” Gladdas asked.
“Outside of Artrim,” Lucen answered briefly. “Snowflowers are coming out, see them? Did you know Menders used to call Katrin Snowflower when they first came here? Gods, he was just a boy himself.”
“Not entirely,” Gladdas responded. “I knew him then.”
“Well, no. He did some very great things. He also went through some terrible misery when he was just a little lad. I had the nursing of him when we hadn’t been here long and he got his eyes infected. He was sick as a dog for weeks and once it looked like we’d lost him. He had terrible delirium and trying to keep him quiet and under control was like fighting with a threshing machine. Both Franz and I had black eyes and busted lips.” Lucen chuckled. “He got past it, however. Trot on, General.”
They were quiet for a while, but then Gladdas’ curiosity got the better of her.
“What miseries did Menders cope with as a child?” she asked.
“No secret really. Terrible father, had the nurses, governesses and tutors ‘toughen’ him. You know about that madness, of course.”
Gladdas did indeed.
“I’ve had girls at my school who were abused like that,” she sighed. “Broken children.”
“Aye. That’s what’s wrong with the Queen you know. They broke her spirit. I was a Palace Guard when she was just a girl. Beautiful young thing, but no spirit. Even then she was depending on drink to cope with things. Now, well, she’s just as weak a woman.” He shook his head. “But Menders – he had something that made him powerful, despite all that. He used his misery to become strong. The odd one can, but so many never recover from a childhood horror like that. Now then, here we are.”
He spoke gently to the horse while Gladdas looked around.
They were near the beautiful Temple of Galanth, patron goddess of mothers and children. It was a fairly new building, close to Artrim, but it had a centuries-old graveyard, full of strange tombstones and other sculptures marking the mortal remains of people long forgotten. It was still in use, with more modern memorials in evidence on the fringes furthest from the Temple.
Lucen helped Gladdas out of the gig in a courtly way and then tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
“The ground’s a bit uneven, what with the frost heaving it up,” he explained. “We’re not going far, but best not to twist an ankle.”
He was true to his word. Fewer than thirty steps brought them to a fresh grave with a brand new stone.
“I wanted you to know that we put her here,” Lucen said very gently, patting her hand on his arm. “I had the stone hurried along, so she wouldn’t be here without a marker.”
Gladdas read, “Alazaria Fentez – She Was Loved” before the tears finally flooded down for the first time since the young woman’s death.
***
“I was just so afraid she’d be put in that little corner graveyard at The Shadows,” Gladdas said, once she had regained her composure.
“We would never do that,” Lucen answered, taking out his pipe and tabak pouch. “Those there are people who didn’t deserve as much. One is Madame Holz, used to be the Royal Nurse. Wicked, loved toughening children. She treated poor Princess Aidelia cruelly and helped to drive her mad and she had charge of the Queen when she was small. She was sent out here to toughen Katrin but got very drunk one night, fell down the stairs and broke her neck.”
“Do you believe that’s what happened in a house where Menders watched over that child?” Gladdas asked, giving him a look.
“That’s the official story, on the death certificate and all,” Lucen answered blandly, lighting his pipe. “Then there’s the one called Mister Enigma – some fellow dressed as an Ephraemite jumped up out of t he bushes one night and went after young Kaymar with a knife. Kaymar killed him in a brace of shakes.”
“How odd,” Gladdas remarked. “Did you ever find out who he was?”
Lucen shook his head. “He had nothing to identify him except an Ephraemite pendant. We have no idea who he was looking for or why he attacked Kaymar.”
“Wrong man to attack.”
Lucen nodded and puffed in silence for a while.
“Sometimes there are no answers,” he finally said. “Like young Alazaria here. I saw the look on her face when I was swinging the axe around. She looked like she admired what I was doing. Sometimes people want to be stopped, Gladdy. She was not just being professional. She was like a stalking animal. I’ve lived for years among men who used to be assassins. They didn’t stalk their targets like prey.”
Gladdas said nothing for a long time. When she did speak, she looked out across the gravestones and kept her voice unnaturally neutral.
“When Alazaria came to our school, she never showed emotion, but that wasn’t unusual. Very often the girls who were traumatized kept that sort of cover. After time and beginning to understand that they are safe and protected, they come out of their shells. Then we can help them.
“Alazaria never came out of her shell. No matter how much care, love and attention was given her, she always stayed locked away. I was a fool. I’ve known for a long time that I was, but what was I to do, turn her out on the streets? So I excused things, explained things.
“We always had pets at the school, because it’s the girls’ home. Taking care of the animals and playing with them helped so many of them. The girls loved their pets. But after Alazaria came, from time to time there would be a dead puppy or kitten, usually suffocated. She was the only child who didn’t play with the animals.
“I made myself believe the animals died naturally, but deep down, I knew. I just kept believing she co
uld be helped. I tried. Gods, how I tried.”
When Lucen knew she was finished, he gestured toward the gravestone.
“You gave all you could,” he said. “She couldn’t take it, for reasons we will never know. Still – she was loved.”
They drove back to The Shadows in almost complete silence, broken only by their brief stop at the Spaltz farm to pick up the meat Lucen had mentioned on the way out. At the house, Lucen left the horse and gig at the stable and then turned to Gladdas.
“I think you should check on those chatterbirds and their nest,” he said. “I’ll come along with you.”
She hesitated for a moment and then took his arm.
Walking to the nest was not as terrible as she thought it would be. At first she refused to look toward the place where Alazaria died, but then she allowed herself to be curious – and turned her head that way.
It was just part of The Shadows’ woodlot. Something tragic had happened there, but it held no curse and hosted no ghost.
“There’s the mama,” Lucen said quietly. “Let her feed the little devils first.” He indicated the nest, where the female chatterbird was busily stuffing squawking chicks.
“She hadn’t even laid eggs the last time I looked!” Gladdas said in surprise.
“Life went on,” Lucen answered. The chatterbird doled out the last of the worms she had brought and looked toward Lucen and Gladdas. She cocked her head to one side cheekily and gave voice to the talky sounds that had earned chatterbirds their name. Then she flitted away after more provender for her brood.
They drew close to the nest, which provoked a sudden upthrust of pointy, gaping little beaks, accompanied by frantic squawking.
“We have nothing for you, little gluttons!” Gladdas laughed – and was surprised that she could laugh.
“Ah, my prescription has worked,” Lucen said with gratification. “Now I suggest my next one. When you have your feet a little better under you, I think it’s time you went home. You need to get back to your school. Menders and the family will be along to Samorsa quite soon, just in case those people send anyone else after you.”
“I might ask him to lend me Kaymar or another Menders’ Man for a while,” Gladdas said. Then she looked around.
“Yes,” she said. “I would like to go home.”
She turned back to him.
“Thank you, my friend. You are a brilliant man.”
Lucen chuckled quietly.
“Just an old soldier who’s been through many campaigns and nursed a lot of hurt men back up onto their feet,” he answered. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll set up one of my men to accompany you to Samorsa. Now, I’m going to go and see if Zelia needs help turning the mattresses today.”
He began to ramble toward the house, but then turned.
“Meant to let you know – Menders has offered for you to come here with the school. They could help you get set up here if you want. And we all want you to know that we love you and you’ll always have a home here.”
“Don’t make me cry,” Gladdas answered crisply, though she smiled. “I want the school in Samorsa because there are much better opportunities for women there. It’s best for the girls. But it’s nice to know I have another home here as well.”
Lucen bowed elegantly to her, his ultimate compliment and then went to turn the mattresses.
Portos, Barambos
19
That Shining Stone
B
orsen and Katrin were hanging out of the train carriage window, agog at the spectacular landscape of southern Barambos and the exquisite ruins of temples built entirely from white marble.
“Just another pile of white rocks,” Hemmett teased from his seat, gently tapping Borsen’s backside with his foot.
“I want so much to see them close up!” Katrin said, turning and swatting at him. “Just because you’ve been here before doesn’t mean we have to act bored!”
“No abuse of the military,” Hemmett laughed. “I promise I will take you to every fallen down temple you want to see.”
“It’s not only that – the way the cliffs and mountains are split in half and tumbling down into boulders is incredible! I wonder why it’s like that here.”
“That’s a topic to research,” Menders answered her, coming back from where he had been reading to Eiren at the other end of the carriage. “There are a number of theories. My favorite is the postulation that this part of the Middle Continent was covered with glaciers eons ago. When they retreated toward the southern pole, they carved out this landscape.”
He joined the two young people at the window, pointing out how the cliffs were split in many places, as if ice had formed in a crevice, expanding and breaking the mountain into spectacular rifts and clefts.
“That’s how the Baramban people came upon marble – it is exposed in thousands of natural quarries, easily accessible. Nowhere else is marble used so much in building,” Menders told them.
He saw Borsen smile delightedly. He had been entranced by marble ever since he’d written a touching little essay during his year at Eiren’s school, while he was still living with his abusive father and indifferent stepmother. Borsen had described sheltering from rain with his mother at the foot of a large statue of a “lady hero” when he was a tiny child. His badly spelled, nearly illegible description of the statue being made from “shining stone” identified it to Menders as the monument to Glorantha, the first Queen and unifier of Mordania, which stood in the capital city, Erdahn.
It was not long after Borsen had written that essay that he had come to The Shadows as a tailor’s apprentice – and within a couple of months, Menders realized that the boy was his nephew. A trip to Erdstrom for Borsen to be fitted for glasses to correct his terrible vision had also introduced him to marble used in building, as the lobby and bathrooms of the hotel they stayed in were lined with it. Borsen had fallen in love with the stone and could study its patterns for hours.
Now he was in the place where most of the marble used on Eirdon was quarried. All his artistic sensibilities were alerted as he gazed at the ancient temples reflecting the late afternoon sun.
Menders smiled and put a hand on Borsen’s shoulder.
“It will be too late by the time we reach Portos, but I think a visit to the Temple of Fiora and a stop by one of the quarries would be a good way to spend tomorrow,” he said. “The Temple is unusual because it isn’t constructed from the white marble you’ve been seeing today, but is a combination of pink, black and gold-veined stone. The quarry I’m thinking of is green veined white marble. A small town overlooks it, with viewing areas where you can look right down and see the work going on.”
“That really is a sight,” Hemmett said, rising and standing by Katrin. “Sir made a point of taking us there. There’s a good restaurant there too.”
Borsen smiled and said nothing, wringing his hands a little as was his habit when he was overwhelmed with emotion.
***
Borsen moved quietly away from Hemmett, Katrin and Varnia, who were exclaiming over a particularly beautiful wall of yellow marble with veins of gold. The afternoon sun had touched it, making it radiate light.
Menders watched as Borsen reached out to touch a gold marble pillar, then slowly walked into the next room. A small shift of position gave him an unbroken view of his nephew as he began exploring on his own.
Menders was aware that Borsen was immensely moved by the beauty of the Temple of Fiora and the marble used to construct it. He was nearly speechless and seemed frustrated by the chatter of the others.
Borsen approached a wall of lustrous pink marble lining the sanctuary of the goddess Fiora. He reached out slowly and ran his fingers over the polished surface. Then, to Menders’ surprise, he removed his glasses and leaned over to press his cheek against the stone.
Borsen never took off his glasses unless he was sleeping. His childhood had been spent in a state of virtual blindness as well as extreme poverty. Once his vision was corrected wi
th spectacles, his response to being without them was panic, as if he was immediately rendered small and helpless when they were not on his nose.
Now he leaned against the wall as if he was listening to the stone. He was perfectly still.
Menders sensed Varnia behind him and turned slightly, motioning to her for quiet. Her forehead was wrinkled with concern.
“What?” she mouthed soundlessly.
“I’m not sure,” Menders mouthed back. He reached out and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. He had come to understand the depth of this young woman’s devotion to Borsen – any perceived threat to him upset her terribly.
They waited until Borsen stood upright and slid his glasses back onto his nose. He turned, saw them and smiled, in no way discomfited that they had seen his odd behavior.
Katrin and Hemmett had joined them.
“What’s wrong?” Katrin asked, her voice tight.
“Nothing,” Borsen said, laughing a little. “Did I look so very strange?”
“I thought you might feel ill,” Varnia said worriedly.
“No. I felt… I had an urge to lean against the marble, to listen to it. I was trying to call up an old memory.”
Menders smiled, remembering Borsen’s essay.
Always quick, Borsen grinned at him.
“Uncle knows,” he said. “When I was a tiny little fellow, my mother and I were in Erdahn and saw the statue of Queen Glorantha. I was fascinated by the stone. When I took off my glasses and leaned against the marble just now, the memory came back to me. I can remember what my mother looked like. My memory of her had faded over time. While I was leaning against the marble, I could almost hear her voice. I was close to something infinite for just a moment.”
He and Menders exchanged a smile.
“I don’t want her to fade, my lovely mother,” Menders said gently, quoting from Borsen’s essay.
“She’ll never fade again,” Borsen answered.
Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series Page 18