Scarlet From Gold (Book 3)

by Jeffrey Quyle

  Minutes later he reached the gateway to the cathedral grounds, and saw Mitment standing unobtrusively off to the side, watching the flow of pilgrims entering the grounds.

  “I spoke to the spirit of the Island, Ophiuchus,” Marco told her. “She says that you will be allowed on the island.”

  “Really Marco? You’re not making that up? This isn’t some kind of joke? If it is, I’ll teach you who not to joke with,” she questioned and threatened.

  “It’s no joke,” Marco said with his hands protectively raised in front of his chest.

  “Good,” Mitment said, “and thank you.

  “How is the Lady doing?” she asked.

  “I haven’t seen her,” Marco responded. “We weren’t together.”

  “Speak of the Lady, here she comes now,” Mitment said, observing Iasco crossing the yard of the cathedral, accompanied by several men in church vestments.

  “Gentlemen, I wish to introduce Golden Hand, my ally and friend,” Iasco said as her group reached the gateway, startling several pilgrims who had not expected to see high holy officials at the entryway. “He is the anointed hero who used alchemy to reunite my body and soul in the underworld, so that I could return to fight this battle.”

  The holy men bowed deeply to Marco, who stood in embarrassed confusion.

  “Thank you,” Marco said awkwardly.

  “The fathers have agreed to provide us with horses and funds so that we can be on our way,” Iasco told Marco and Mitment. “And they will send out messages to the church hierarchy informing them that we must be prepared for the coming battles.”

  “The fall of Athens was a warning that has rattled us all,” one of the men said. “Your message will fall upon fertile ground.”

  “Are we all together and ready to move on?” Iasco asked Marco, looking around as she obliquely asked about Mitment.

  “We’re ready to go,” Marco agreed, looking off to the side at where Mitment stood.

  They began their ride across the mountainous land that lay between Compostela and Barcelon, riding for long days and brief stops, with the exception of an inn that Marco insisted they stop at early in the afternoon one day well into their journey.

  He was interested to learn if Kaitelyn the cook and Haran the shepherd had established the relationship he hoped he had pushed forward during his last visit.

  “You played matchmaker?” Mitment asked as Marco tried to explain his interest in stopping at the inn.

  “My lord Marco!” Kaitelyn’s eyes grew wide, then she greeted him with a deep curtsey when he entered the kitchen. “It’s so good to see you again!”

  “It’s good to see you again too, Kaitelyn. How are you and Haran getting along?” he immediately asked.

  “You had something to do with that, didn’t you?” she cried. “I thought as much! He came to visit me just a day after you left, and said a traveler had dreamed about he and I as a couple, so he came to visit me, and we’ve been very close ever since,” she blushed.

  Marco reflected. Had he had his memories at the time, and if he had the right materials, he might have produced a love philter for the couple. But instead, with a little ingenuity, he had found a different way to help bring together – at least for the time being – a couple that hadn’t needed any magical intrusion.

  “I only said a word or two,” Marco conceded. “He was all but ready to woo you himself, but he just needed a little outside encouragement!”

  The proposal to spend the afternoon and evening resting at the inn was well-received by all the members of the traveling party.

  Marco was laying on his bed, drowsy and napping, when he watched in surprise as Mitment walked through the door and entered his room.

  “You could knock or give some warning, you know,” he said crossly. His relationship with Mitment had improved since he had told her at the cathedral about his conversation with Ophiuchus, but there were still moments when the two did not see eye-to-eye.

  “Why, were you in here with some chambermaid? I don’t see any,” Mitment commented.

  “No, but when we get to Sant Jeroni,” he started to say, then bit his words off. He hadn’t yet brought up to Iasco or Mitment his hope that there would be another stop on their journey, a visit to see Mirra once again, at a time when he would have all his memories intact, and would be able to appreciate Mirra’s beauty and kindness and goodness as fully as he should. And hopefully the visit would end on a happier note than the last one had.

  “What about Sant Jeroni?” Mitment asked. “Is there a chambermaid there?”

  “It’s my home,” Marco answered. “It’s where my fiancée lives. It’s where I would have gotten married this spring if all this hadn’t happened.” As he said it he realized that it sounded full of self-pity, and he didn’t really feel self-pity, for he knew that he was doing important work. But his claims were all true, nonetheless.

  “I’m sorry,” Mitment said contritely. “I heard you telling Lady Iasco about your love life, but I didn’t realize we’d pass so close to your home.”

  “It’s right on the road,” Marco said, sitting up, no longer drowsy.

  “Can you pass through any door or wall like that?” Marco asked.

  “I think so; I’ve tried it a few times and it works. I just usually prefer not to spy on people, but this time I thought it’d be funny to surprise you,” Mitment answered.

  Marco and Iasco ate supper together in the common room that night, as the innkeeper and Kaitelyn came by to regale Iasco with stories about Marco’s local celebrity status for his heroic battle against the robbers who had attacked the Barcelon noblemen in the spring. “All by himself, practically,” the innkeeper declared.

  “Kaitelyn helped me when I needed it,” Marco said gallantly, making the girl blush.

  “You’re quite the hero here, aren’t you?” Mitment asked as she stood nearby.

  Marco looked at her and rolled his eyes, just as Kaitelyn passed by.

  “Yes, my lord?” she asked, mis-interpreting his expression that had been meant for his invisible companion.

  “I’m sorry Kaitelyn, it was nothing,” he stammered.

  “Were you flirting with the cook?” Iasco asked, making Marco blush.

  “No, my lady,” Marco protested, until he saw her grin at his discomfort.

  Approximately ten days later, they arrived at the entry to the lands of Sant Jeroni. The gates came into sight shortly after noon.

  “My lady?” Marco began. “This is my home. May we stop here and spend the night, so that I may see that all is well?” he asked.

  “Certainly Marco. After all you’ve been through, if you want to spend two nights here we will certainly understand. I can ride on into Barcelon and stay at the temple there while I wait for you,” she said.

  With a nod of appreciation, Marco rode to the gate, then bent and placed his hand against the lock, remembering the very first time he had exercised the power of his hand, without even realizing what he had done at the time. There was a spark and a click, and the gate swung open, allowing the three horses to pass through.

  “You live out in the country?” Mitment asked as they rode through the motionless air, trapped along the drive by the forests on both sides.

  “I just moved to this home last fall, after the Duke gave it to me,” Marco said.

  Just then they moved around the curve in the drive and the castle came into view.

  “Wow!” Mitment said.

  “This is your home, Golden Hand? You’ve been holding out on me, it seems,” Lady Iasco said at the same time.

  “The Duke Siplin gave me this estate after I fought the Corsairs and the plague. I never lived anywhere like this before,” he apologized.

  The front door opened, and a servant studied the two visible people riding the three horses that approached, he ducked back into the house after moments of observation. By the time the horses walked up to the front steps, Mirra and Perago came out of the door, as a pair of groomsmen came from
the back of the house.

  “My lord,” Mirra said formally. “Welcome home.”

  “She is a beauty. Why is she with you?” Mitment asked, as Marco descended from his horse. He help Iasco down, then turned to the waiting couple.

  “Mirra, I’m back, and I remember who I am this time. I’ve brought the Lady Iasco, high priestess of the Temple of Ophiuchus, to be our guest tonight,” he said.

  Mirra’s eyes appeared to soften, though Perago maintained an impassive expression.

  “Come inside, please,” she said, and motioned to the door.

  “Do you come back from the island then?” Perago asked.

  “No,” Marco grinned. “We’re coming from the west again.”

  “Did you sneak past us recently?” Mirra asked as they stood in the hall.

  “No, we traveled through the underworld,” Iasco spoke for the first time, her rich voice resonating in the hallway. “I had been assassinated, and Marco traveled to the underworld to bring me back to life.”

  Perago gave a laugh at the joke he thought was being told, then grew silent when he saw no smile on Iasco’s or Marco’s face.

  “There is a great battle coming, as evil forces seek to destroy the lives we have. I have been chosen to lead the fight against the evil, and this is my right hand man, the indispensable ally I will rely on to fight the evil,” Iasco’s voice rose in a theatrical tone. “I declare this man to be Golden Hand, the weapon I will use to help slay the leader of the evil forces.

  “I thank you for sharing him with me,” she spoke directly to Mirra, using a softer voice now. “As a woman, I regret that I must take your mate from you for now, but I promise that when this war is won, if the spirits and God are willing, he will return to you to marry you at last.

  “May I have your permission to take him?” she asked.

  Mirra looked at Marco, confusion and fear in her eyes. “Marco, what’s happening? What is she saying?”

  Marco took a deep breath, and looked from Mirra to Iasco to Mitment. “She’s told you the truth. The spirits have told me that it is my duty to help the Lady Iasco. They went to great lengths to send me to the underworld,” he said.

  “I could have done it simply,” Mitment told him, making him turn to her momentarily and struggle to hold in a grin.

  “I used alchemy to bring her back to life,” he recited.

  “Holy Spirit!” Perago swore.

  “And we’re on our way from the underworld back to the Island of Ophiuchus before we take our next steps, whatever they may be,” he finished.

  “So you’re just stopping by?” Perago asked.

  “For a day or two, and then I’ll have to leave again,” Marco agreed. “But I wanted to see Mirra again. I know you now; I have my memories back, and I wanted to see you and talk to you and hold you once again,” he spoke directly to her.

  “Perago, will you show the Lady Iasco to a room?” Mirra spoke, still pale.

  “If you wish, my lady,” Perago answered without making any move.

  “Yes, we wish,” Marco spoke up, irritated by the presence of the steward in the intimate conversation. “And have her bag sent up to her room from the horses as well,” he added.

  “I’ll talk to you soon, my lady,” he turned and bowed to Iasco, then held his hand out to Mirra.

  His hand hung in midair, alone for a long second, before Mirra raised her own hand and laid it tentatively atop his. He smiled at her and breathed a sigh of relief, then squeezed her hand gently, and began to lead her towards the tower where their rooms were situated.

  “Mirra,” he said as they walked. He stopped speaking and turned to see if Mitment was following him, but he saw her still in the hallway, trailing after Iasco and Perago. She turned and winked at him as they drew apart.

  “Is there something amiss?” Mirra asked, looking back over her shoulder as well.

  “It’s,” he paused, wondering how to explain that he was looking at a spirit that only he could see. “I’ll tell you later,” he finished, then felt discouraged as he saw the disappointment on Mirra’s face.

  “Can we go to your room to talk?” he asked as they climbed the steps up the tower.

  “Sybele is sleeping. We can go to your chambers,” she answered, and they said no more until Marco closed the door.

  “Do you wish to dispose of me?” Mirra asked when the door was closed.

  “Dispose of you? Good Lord, I want to marry you!” Marco exclaimed.

  “I’m just a simple girl from the city streets, and you’ve become something extraordinary, Marco. I thought you were just a kind-hearted boy, an apprentice when we met, and you were so good to me, but ever since then, you’ve done things and gone places I can’t imagine. Was it true; did you really go to the underworld?” she asked tentatively.

  “Mirra, I’m not a hero,” he said sincerely. “I’m just who you thought I was, an apprentice. And then things happened, and it feels like I’ve been trying to dance on a tilted marble floor covered in oil ever since. I just want it all to be over, and I want to come back here and marry you and live with you forever,” he told her.

  “Then do it Marco,” she cried. “Just stay here, and let the world take care of itself.”

  “I can’t do that; I just can’t. Lady Iasco wouldn’t be alive today if I hadn’t followed the spirit’s orders,” he said. “Glaze would have died of the plague, and Sybele would have died from food poisoning if I had let the world take care of itself.

  “I never would have met you, if I had just let the world take care of itself,” he said in a soft voice.

  “I know,” Mirra held his hands tightly, all their hands grasped together between them. She reached out and put her arms around his neck. “But I know that even if you deny it, you are a hero.

  “The lady called you Golden Hand. I had a dream that I was at the Duke’s court, and everyone was talking about a great hero, one named Golden Hand,” she told him.

  “You’re not going to stay long, are you?” she whispered.

  “Tonight and tomorrow night,” he admitted. “And then someday I really will come back. And I’ll go get Glaze off the island of the mermaids, and bring him home.”

  “Mermaids?” Mirra grew tense. “At the island where you met that Pesino?”

  “That’s where I met her,” Marco admitted, internally cursing himself. “But I don’t think she lives there anymore. She’s not a mermaid any more. She grew legs instead of a tail, and I think she has a new lover,” he told Mirra, thinking of Asterion, and the hints that Pesino had dropped about the minotaur.

  “Because you’re her old lover?” Mirra asked quietly, breaking the clinch she had held Marco in, and pulling away to study his face.

  “No – we were never lovers!” Marco insisted.

  “That’s not what your wedding torq says,” Mirra told him.

  “I’d take it off if I could,” Marco told her. “But it’s fitted so tightly around my neck I haven’t bothered to try in a while. When I have time to visit a blacksmith, maybe he’ll be able to cut it loose.”

  Marco gave a sigh, deeply stressed by the chasm that existed between Mirra and he.

  Mirra gave a sigh as well. “No Marco, you don’t have to take it off right away. I know you wouldn’t have cheated and lied to me; you’re too good for that. It’s just such a reminder of how you’ve changed.

  “It’s actually very handsome,” she added after a pause. “It’s the most attractive jewelry I’ve ever see a man wear,” she told him, then stood up and bent close to him to look at it closely.

  “There’s something written back here inside the collar,” she told him, as she placed her hands on his head and shifted it forward, so that his chin was suddenly on his chest. “It has three words: Pesino, Mirra, Ellersbine.

  “I know who Pesino is. Is Ellersbine the name of another girl?” Mirra’s hands wrenched Marco’s head up so that he stared straight up, into her eyes.

  “Oh no,” he moaned, suddenly remember
ing a dream.

  “What is it now?” Mirra cried in exasperation. Marco saw pain in her eyes. “Is she your lover?”

  “I just remembered, but it was just a dream,” Marco told her. His eyes pleaded with her to believe him. “I’ve never met Ellersbine, but when I was on the pilgrimage, I dreamed one night that Pesino came to me and told me she would put her name and the name of my beloved on the collar, and she’d add,” he faltered.

  “Add? Add what?” Mirra sat down again.

  “In the dream, Pesino said the third name was my destiny. But it was only a dream,” Marco hastened to add. “I don’t know anyone with that name.

  “You’re the one I want to marry, Mirra!” he cried aloud. “I swear, that name means nothing to me!” He felt his eyes watering, upset by the unfairness that had managed to misdirect his reunion with Mirra.

  There was a faint knock at the door.

  “Not now!” Marco shouted.

  Mitment stuck her head and upper torso through the door and into the room. “Her ladyship is going to sit down to dinner now, Marco,” the spirit informed him.

  “Not now, Mitment,” Marco said. “We’ll be down in a little while.”

  The spirit looked at the serious expressions on their faces, and abruptly withdrew.

  “Sorry about that,” Marco turned to Mirra.

  “Who were you talking to?” she asked with a puzzled expression on her face.

  “Oh,” Marco uttered softly.

  “When we were in the underworld, the Lady Iasco and I, there was another spirit, the spirit of a former guard from the Island of Ophiuchus named Mitment. She was our companion around the underworld – she was my guide once before – and so when we came back to the land of the living, she came with us,” he knew the story sounded unbelievable.

  “But I’m the only one who can see her or hear her,” he stumbled to a conclusion.

  “Oh Marco,” Mirra exclaimed softly, “really?”

  “Mirra, I know how all this sounds, but it’s all true! It’s just so unbelievable that all these things are the things we’re talking about. I wanted to come home and have a wonderful reunion with you, and instead,” he trailed off.