The Crystal Crux: Blue Grotto

by Allen Werner

  “I’ve told you a thousand times, Dato,” Druda scolded, “not to enter the house like that. We have guests. He might have still been asleep.” She placed her fists firmly on her hips, looked at Pero and then back at her spellbound son. “Yes,” she scoffed, “he is awake and he will not bite you. Now shut the door and get your things. It is time to study.”

  The boy didn’t move. His feet were rooted.

  She snapped a towel. “Now or I will wear out your backside!”

  Dato’s roots vanished in a flash and he got to moving. He closed the door and scooted over to the shelf of learning, his eyes never leaving Pero. He retrieved writing and reading material. Cautiously he approached the table and set them down on the other side and as far to the other end from Pero as he could place himself.

  Druda Fabbro returned to the table with a hint of disapproval. She patted and mussed up his mangy clump of hair. He didn’t offer any resistance. He seemed accustomed to this.

  “Dato has lived a very sheltered life, I’m afraid,” Druda explained to Pero. “He’s never met a knight before. He’s never met a whole man for that matter, none but his father and brother. He was born here. Many of the tales he’s heard concerning men, tend to evil. I fear he is less afraid of the deformed misfits that bring our supplies than he is of you.”

  Pero offered the boy a reassuring look. “That philosophy is not so unwise. From my experiences, many men are more monster than the monsters.”

  Druda placed the towel she had snapped back beneath the tie around her green dress. “Do you remember what chapter and verse you are on, Dato?” Druda asked.

  The boy stared at Pero, not so much with consternation now but curiosity.

  “Boy, I asked you a question. You best answer me quick.”

  “Yes, mother,” he squeaked. “I remember.” He fumbled through the pages of the biggest tome he had carried over. Druda busied herself with her domestic labors as Pero plucked a few grapes out of the fruit bowl.

  “Read it aloud,” Druda instructed.

  Dato sniffled a tad, wiped his nose with his bare arm and quietly obeyed his mother’s command.

  “But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves, for the wind was contrary.”

  Pero listened, curious as to what the boy was learning.

  “And what sea,” Druda inquired, “is this?”

  Dato answered quick, energized. He apparently enjoyed answering questions. “Mare di Galilea!”

  “Correct. Now keep reading.”

  “And in the fourth watch of the night, He went to them walking on the sea.” Druda returned to the table and gently placed her hand on her son’s shoulder as if a spirit of reverence had encapsulated her and she wanted to see the words for herself as he read them. “And when the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear.”

  Pero suddenly realized what the boy was reading from and who he was learning about. ‘My enemy.’ Pero pictured himself back in Anthea’s bower, pointing Miriam’s shiny tip towards the ceiling, declaring all-out war on his Creator. ‘God of light, my ass. I will never again take orders from anyone again, least of all, a god.’

  Dato glanced up towards his mother with curiosity in his eyes. “What were they afraid of?”

  Druda smiled. “They were afraid of the unknown, Dato. Men are often afraid of the things they can’t understand or reason.” She looked up at Pero as if he, being a knight, must believe the same as she. “But life is filled with mysteries and magic. There are spirits in the world we can never understand. Sometimes we must take things on faith.” She suddenly decided to draw Pero into the conversation, thinking he would substantiate her reasoning. “What about you, Pero? Do you believe a man can walk on water?”

  Pero rose suddenly from the bench causing Druda and Dato both to flinch. He realized he had startled them but he was irritated, and feeling judged. When Druda said those words, asked that foolish question, he felt an uncomfortable essence of some sort leave her lips and touch his soul. He couldn’t explain it for it was gone now.

  “I need some fresh air.”

  Druda nodded. “By all means. I don’t think Turstin and Tomas were venturing far in the wood today. You should be able to locate them easily enough. They’ll show you where you can clean up.”

  Pero bowed his head slightly, almost meekly before making for the door. He felt like a criminal anxious to escape. He didn’t want to hear any more of what the boy was reading.

  The boy continued, however, and Pero could not get far away fast enough. The next words stuck in his craw.

  “And Peter answered Him and said, Lord, if it be Thou, bid me to come unto thee on the water. And He said, Come.”

  Pero slammed the door.

  Chapter 14 – Beyond The Torches

  Pero had slammed the door when he exited the house. He had no intention of being so rude to these people who had treated him so kindly but the spirit of those seemingly innocent words infuriated the hell out of him. The way they weaved their way from the boy’s lips to his heart provoked him, enraged him. ‘Come to me.’ Pero shook his head in frustration. ‘I hope I did not offend Druda, although I probably did. But it was not my doing. I didn’t mean to do it.’ Pero formed a fist to feel his denial. ‘Why teach your children such nonsense? Surely there are better things to fill the boy’s head with. Can a man walk on water? Hell, no. No one can walk on water. What a foolish magic these people divine.’ And as Pero strived to assure himself of his hostility towards faith, the draw of the humungous bear’s summoning spirit tugged at his mind. Pero felt its cold shiver cascade all the way down his back as if to immobilize him. And then there was the inexplicable connection he made with the hot-blooded wolf, their yearning souls somehow bridging the distance between them, overcoming the gap between light and dark, two hearts becoming one, the cadence of life thumping in tandem, ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom.

  Pero could not shake the nostalgia pouring over him. He stood motionless in the clearing and drew back even further. He could see himself from a distance sitting on the drawbridge at Capua beside his estate steward and best friend. Francis Whitehall’s golden hair was all afire, the orange griffin emblem on his chest radiating so brightly, struggling to tear itself away from everything and fly. The Englishman whispered strange and wonderful utterances, comforting magic, a nurturing spell. “As divine beings, we must let go and allow ourselves to be caught up in the spirit of the moment and proceed by faith, not let fear motivate us.”

  Dato Fabbro was still inside the house but his squeaky little voice followed close behind, causing Pero to lurch and spin but see that nothing was there. “What were they afraid of?”

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ Pero thought in defense.

  “Pero!”

  Sweating a bit now, Pero shot up from the trance and spotted Turstin Fabbro standing out near the perimeter of the compound beside a tall unlit torch. The elderly man was waving one arm, bidding him come. It was midday and all the torches had been extinguished.

  Pero wiped at his brow. He was beginning to realize how sweltering hot the direct summer sun was.

  As Pero approached Turstin, Tomas Fabbro rose from a crouch he had been maintaining at the base of the torch. He was pointing at several footprints in the sand. “I’ve never seen so much activity,” the teen stated.

  Turstin turned towards his guest with a hearty smile. “There was a lot of commotion out here again last night. You’re a popular fellow, Pero.”

  A mixed bag of annoyance and guilt opened before Pero. He wasn’t sure which emotion he should choose. He had grown accustomed to rage, a bitter little pill indeed. ‘It’s not my fault, or perhaps it is. I don’t know.’ Pero was glad he didn’t speak those words aloud.

  “Why are the torches not burning?” Pero asked. “Will you lose whatever magic it is that protects you from the animals, the bears and wolves?”

  The teen threw Pero a condescending smirk before walki
ng out beyond the torches and touching a nearby tree.

  “I thought you could not leave,” Pero stated.

  “The light of the torches provides a barrier to protect us only at night,” Turstin replied. “From dusk to dawn, the animals are programmed to retreat and we are afforded a wider berth.”

  Turstin Fabbro was wearing a sweat-wet work shirt, his hands and pants dirty and stained by whatever labors he had been performing earlier that day. He slowly walked out to where his son already stood. “Sinibaldus has created two layers of refuge for us, one for the day and the other for the night. This is the yard in our prison. During the day, we can safely wander several hundred yards in all directions. We harvest what comes natural, dig for roots and truffles, forage for acorns and berries, gather firewood and kindling. To our east is a clear running stream where the boys and I sometimes trout fish.”

  Pero noticed they were currently facing north. He glanced to the west to where Capua may lay and imagined that direction being slightly darker than any other direction although it most surely was not. The sun was high over them and all ways were the same.

  “Do you know where we are in regards to Eagles Pass or how far from civilization we might be?” Pero asked.

  “No,” Turstin answered. “As I have said before, for nearly nine years, no one has ever come here and we have never left. The misfits enter by a trail on the southwest boundary. They tell us that it leads to the Pass, which leads back to Parthenope.”

  Pero knew he didn’t want to return to the Pass but the thought of going to Parthenope and hunting his enemies before they hunted him was intriguing. With a sniff and a blink and a little hesitation, Pero cautiously stepped beyond the torches half expecting to hear some ominous sound echo forth from the woods, wolves baying or bears snarling. He remembered what had happened the last time he passed beyond something that served as a barrier of sorts.

  “As I approached the hollow, I passed a structure, a large, white piece of canvas with a big blue eye. It was enormous, at least ten-feet high, ten-feet wide. Have you seen this?”

  Turstin nodded and sighed. “There is more than one. There are hundreds, thousands of them. They serve as the second wall. That is where the animals all retreat to and as far as we are permitted to forage. You will find them in any direction you travel.” He started pointing. “Even to the southeast or just the other side of the eastern stream. Just don’t attempt to go beyond them.” Turstin grabbed his chin and massaged it, as he was apt to do. “You are free to roam and explore. You won’t encounter a single hare or deer, not even a bird. Nothing.”

  “Nothing but snakes and lizards,” Tomas added.

  Turstin nodded in agreement.

  It was at that precise moment Pero remembered where he had seen the strange, electric-blue-eye symbol before. While he had never traveled out on the ashen plains of Herculaneum to witness the debauchery of Sin Circus for himself, he had witnessed several performances by some of their company, both on the street corners of Parthenope and at the infamous banquet held in his honor. This was the standard that accompanied them, the mark on their clothing. He remembered also having seen several placards for Sin Circus posted on walls and gates of the taverns and hostelries he and Francis Whitehall visited during their tour of Parthenope. They had the blue eye plastered on them as well.

  “I would very much like to see one of these semaphores close up.”

  “Can’t miss them,” Tomas arrogantly quipped pointing north. “Just get walking.”

  Turstin wore his frustration. “That will be enough rudeness from you today.” The old man seemed to be formulating a punishment. “Tomas, escort our guest to a banner and lead him back. He doesn’t know the wood like you and I. You can answer any other questions he has along the way.”

  It was quite evident Tomas was not pleased by this demand. Scowling and huffing, he snatched up the long stick he had been using to stir coals in the fire the other night from where it had been propped against a tall torch. Wielding it like a staff, he started to march north. “Fine. Follow me, Sir Pero.”

  The teen set a brisk pace.

  Pero was still recovering from his wounds and a whole day of oversleeping. His muscles were tight and he felt a bit weak and lightheaded but accepted the challenge without grumbling. ‘This one thinks himself heroic but he has no idea what the world outside his prison is really like. I’ve endured far worse than he can give.’

  The yard, as Turstin had referred to it, was far more extensive than Pero had first imagined but he managed the walk all the same.

  When they reached a marker, Pero grimaced. His heart was racing, his blood boiling, the nasty gash in his right arm starting to flare. He was nearly regretting his curiosity to come out this far. A quick peek to his rear reminded him how wearisome the walk back to the homestead would be.

  Chapter 15 – If It Be You

  Turstin Fabbro said there would be no animals in Ithaca’s extended yard and he was correct. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. No creatures skittering through the brush, hopping through the grass, or roosting in the trees. Pero experienced a similar peace and emptiness just after Zaon died. His own divine fire had seemingly purged the forest of all beasts and magic. It riled his heart then. It riled it now.

  ‘Miriam and I were anxious for action, eager for blood,’ Pero thought considering his faithful sword. He glanced down at his side where his sheath should be and immediately felt vulnerable. Miriam had not made this journey, not this time. She was still dozing in a loose pile of straw with his armor and boots. Pero was wearing a black, short-sleeved, padded jerkin, tight brown trousers and the pair of cozy, homemade house shoes Druda Fabbro had gifted him. They weren’t constructed to tolerate the outside world for long. Luckily for him, he wouldn’t be going any further than these markers today.

  Pero touched the backside of the white leather semaphore partly to assure himself it was real. He was astonished. There was no moss or mold growing on it. It appeared to be resistant to anything nature threw at it. The steel poles were not corroded either, looking as if they had just been erected today.

  “You’ve not gone beyond this point?” Pero questioned Tomas.

  The teen had wandered a few paces away from Pero, his keen eyes scouring the forest floor for summer truffles. He had not been out this far north in quite some time and as a true trifolau, he was always on the hunt. This was the season of the blacks. They required an expert touch to locate.

  Tomas did not respond. He had heard Pero’s inquiry clear enough but refused to answer the obvious.

  Pero got the message and moved beside the structure believing he could almost sense the invisible demarcation that existed here, imaging that the air was somehow different one step away. The last time he walked across this line, this exact line, entering the indiscernible prison, wolves began to howl.

  The Spaniard glanced left and then right. He noted how the tree line had been shaved back to provide a clear track for the all the other spaced out structures tailing off east and west. Turstin Fabbro had told him how these things went on for miles, hundreds, perhaps thousands of these banners encircling all of Ithaca.

  “Tempting, is it not?” Tomas added, his head still down, perusing the earth for mushrooms. “I’ve stood where you are standing a hundred times before. How I wanted to step over the line and see what would happen.”

  Pero stared northward. The land was flat, filled with staggered oaks and maples, their fidgety leaves rustling ever so slightly in the warm summer breeze. It was still hot as hell but there was plenty of shade here, improving conditions immeasurably.

  In the leafy debris beneath Pero’s feet, something stirred. He spotted a long brown snake slithering swiftly in and out of view.

  ‘Constrained,’ he mused. The thought of how snakes generally operated and hunted came to mind. There were generally three accepted practices. Some snakes paralyzed their victims with venom. Pero remembered how he felt when the possessed bear used its cold magic to pi
nch his spirit, the poison bidding him toward darkness. Second, there was constriction. These types of snake kept tightening their hold on their prey until it could no longer breathe, breaking bones, a slow crushing death. Pero couldn’t count the number of times he had felt this confinement, the paranoia and panic of being enclosed, unable to move, the weight of the world breaking him. Thirdly, there were the snakes who simply ate their adversaries alive because they were that much more superior in strength and size. Their reach was wide and gaping, covering so much territory. The prey would get lodged inside the reptile’s jaws with no hope for escape. Tiny serrated teeth facing backwards kept the prey pinned inside the mouth, rending it more and more if it pulled contrary to the direction the beast wanted it to go. The victim had to go further into hell. There were no other options.

  ‘That’s how I feel right now,’ Pero surmised. ‘Reason is telling me to stay inside this prison, go back to that little house, deeper into the belly of the snake and wait.’ The Spaniard felt the hopelessness. ‘Every time I resist the Fabbros, the cuts get more severe.’ Pero touched the bandage on his right forearm as a wave of paranoia washed over him. He shivered. ‘Did that stupid snake just cast a spell on me?’ Pero had to shake his head at that stupid thought. ‘What the fuck? Why would I even think something like that? I’ve never believed in magic or the casting of spells before. Now I’m scared of my own shadow, every little noise and sound, what I eat and what I drink, who is out to get me, even a common snake sliding across the ground, a kind woman and a little boy. I don’t trust anyone or anything.’ He grabbed at his long black hair as if to pull it from his head. ‘Stop reading too much into all of this. This is life, normal, everyday events that just happen. This is reality.’ And then his head drooped a nod. ‘Or is it? Am I truly going mad? What is happening to me is not rational, is it? Look where I am. I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere. These people have me believing enchanted creatures hold me at bay.’ He looked at the mysterious structure again, touching the metal pole once more because everything else seemed to unreal. ‘I’m tired of being hunted by these bastards. I’m tired of running to ground, waiting for the worse to occur.’ Pero pushed his long black locks behind his ears and steeled himself. ‘If I stay here and wait for Gherardus to come, I know what will happen.’ Pero thought on Turstin Fabbro’s words the night he arrived. ‘The old man is Gherardus’ brother and he assures me they will come for me. They don’t play nice. They don’t play nice with anyone. They will bring a militia with them. I can’t fight them all. And the magician, a giant who can control wolves. That bastard will tear my mind apart. I got a taste of that from the enormous bear. I will be sentenced to rot in a dungeon cell, eventually becoming fodder and folly for the crowds at Sin Circus.’ Pero was more resolved than ever now. ‘Listen to yourself, Pero. There is no magic keeping you here. There are no creatures conditioned to kill us. I can leave anytime I want. I must have faith.’