by Allen Werner
Rugerius Fabbro watched intently as strains of apparent tension contorted the giant’s shriveled head. He hated the magician, hated everything about him, his magic and his countenance, his bald little head which glowed blue but was turning gradually darker. A part of Rugerius wished to see the fucker explode, bits and pieces of brain matter scattered all over the walls. The other part of him, however, was concerned that something had gone wrong. This procedure was taking far too long. Sinibaldus had assured him it was a quick and simple exercise, in and out in no time. It had been an hour.
And then Sinibaldus went rigid. His eyelids flitted madly. His head started quivering vigorously.
Rugerius suddenly believed it was possible the giant’s head might explode.
Sinibaldus continued to shudder and quake as if suffering a seizure. He snapped out of the meditation violently and nearly dropped the Crystal, falling hard to his knees to catch it. The whole cave went black. The fire inside the Stone died and the kaleidoscope was reabsorbed.
There was still plenty of light in the grotto. The sun shone brightly through the only hole in the wall, the only way in and out of the grotto located at water level. The intensity of the rainbow light, however, had been so utterly brilliant, it had blinded them to the sun. It took Rugerius and Sinibaldus some time to recover their sight.
“What happened?” Rugerius asked impetuously, his fingers rubbing his blindness.
Sinibaldus had to recuperate. Inhaling slowly, methodically, he had difficulty finding his cadence. “Her soul is gorgeous.”
“What?” Rugerius heard him but didn’t understand what it meant. He also didn’t care. “Who gives a fuck how her soul looks? I can’t see her soul. I don’t want her soul. You know what I want. Is it done? Will she fuck me now?”
Smirking, amused, down on both knees, both men almost equal in height now, Sinibaldus gazed back at the Castellan. “No, Rugerius. She’s not going to fuck you now. She’s not going to do a damn thing to you.”
Rugerius didn’t appreciate hearing that and struggled visibly to maintain his patience. Wholly unsure what the next step was, wanting to grab the magician by the collar and demand answers, he kicked a nearby skull off the landing and into the blue waters. A host of lizards scurried up the nearby wall and out of sight.
The theatrics and brilliant light show had done their job. Rugerius Fabbro was effectively hesitant to resort to violence to solve his problems with the giant. “What happened. Tell me everything.”
His powder blue eyes brimming with admiration, Sinibaldus turned back to gaze upon Anthea. She sat motionless, barely conscious in the stone chair.
“She is not alone. There is someone else in there, with her.”
Rugerius ran his hands through his long dark hair before pulling on his scraggly beard. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means she is possessed. Devil? Demon? An angel for all I know. Whatever it is, I can’t get to her. Not yet. I may have to study some more ancient text and find a way to battle this being, before I can reach her. She’s being protected.”
“Protected? Study more text?” Rugerius detested all this supernatural intrigue. He had had more than enough of this spirituality at home with his barmy mother. Rugerius preferred to deal with things that were real, tangible, things he could pummel, stab and kill if they provoked him enough. He was having a great deal of trouble grasping this situation fully. It shone on his face.
Sinibaldus decided he would attempt the impossible and try to clear it up, vain as that seemed to be.
“Rugerius, imagine a treasure, a trove of priceless gems sealed away in a far-flung tower, perhaps even a girl.” Sinibaldus looked at Anthea again and smiled clumsily. “A beautiful girl with a pure and virtuous heart.” He regained his composure and turned back to Rugerius, his fatigued, giant body still resting awkwardly on his knees. “You can’t just waltz in through the front door and take the prize. It is protected. Great treasures are always protected. An army stands in the way. There is a barbican and portcullis. There are numerous bartizans and turrets manned by archers, firing projectiles through arrow slits. The drawbridge is raised and the gates closed; battlements packed with knights. There are traps. Traps everywhere. Anthea is similarly protected. Someone or something stands the watch. I have to go back in there and confront it, destroy this powerful entity before I can steal her away.”
Anxious, restless, Rugerius stared and stared at Anthea and her placid, semi-conscious expression, his rage doing flips and intensifying incrementally. When it finally peaked, he balled up his fist, pushed past the giant and punched Anthea square in the mouth, same as he would punch a man, an enemy. Anthea didn’t make a sound as her lip split and her head fell back, blood spraying everywhere.
Sinibaldus rose to his feet quickly. He straightened himself all the way up, an expression of sheer disgust accompanying his knowing nod. “You blind fool. You may have killed her.” The magician placed his cold hand on Anthea’s head and checked her heartbeat and respiration. She was alive but badly injured, unconscious and had most likely sustained a concussion. “This is not a war you can wage with your brutish hands. You can’t beat a possession out of her. It is otherworldly. If you kill her, what have you gained?”
Grumbling, Rugerius strutted away, long strides carrying him to the other side of the grotto. Once over there, on the narrow walkway, he started flailing mad at several deceased soldiers who’s skeletal remains still littered the cave, breaking off arms, snapping off legs.
Sinibaldus didn’t know why but he felt a bit protective of Anthea now. She was a challenge and now he had two, Anthea and Pero.
He produced a scarlet cloth from his pocket and dipped it in the sloshing blue waters. He got down on one knee beside her and slowly lifted her head, still admiring her fortitude. As he began to dab the wet cloth on the open wound, trying to soak up some of the blood from her damaged lip, something truly remarkable occurred. The bleeding stopped instantly and the cut healed, right there, right before his eyes. Sinibaldus had never seen anything like it. He leapt to his feet, his gaping mouth filled with awe and fear. He dropped the cloth and stepped away nervously from the girl, amazed and shocked, almost backing off the ledge and into the water.
Still in a fit, Rugerius Fabbro strutted back on the landing as Anthea’s awareness returned and she lifted her head. She grinned at her captors, no more bruises on her face. Sinibaldus was the only one looking at her and he found her smile unnerving.
“Merde.”
“You said,” Rugerius Fabbro started, his dull mind wholly oblivious to Sinibaldus’ disconcerted expression and Anthea’s swift awakening. “You said this war of possession is like a siege.” He now noted that the magician wasn’t paying him any mind, so he grabbed hastily at the giant’s sleeve.
This action caused Sinibaldus to overlook Anthea and the healing. He pulled back on his sleeve, his eyes filled with rage. He didn’t care to be touched any more than Rugerius did.
“Easy now, giant. I may have a solution to our problem.”
Sinibaldus’ nostrils flared. It took all the patience he had in his seven-foot frame not to punish the hirsute bastard for his incorrigible manhandling. His temper waned but the thought of vengeance did not. “Ton temps viendra, bête sauvage,” he said with a smile. Your time will come, wild beast.
Rugerius continued, not understanding a word of it.
“There are many ways to lay siege. It sounds as if you are only considering a direct assault.”
Sinibaldus was listening now. He agreed that this was true, his first and only instinct. Why shouldn’t it be. He had gone toe-to-toe with demonic possessions before, all sorts of proud, repressive little demons and spirits. He soundly defeated each and every one of them. ‘Soulless little fuckers.’
“What if we run back door on this watcher? Think. Is there a way we might outmaneuver this thing, sneak in, slip something by it? We just did this at Capua. A Trojan horse. We sent unassuming agents into their camp. Wh
en they let their guard down, the boys murdered their way to the gates and we, as you so fittingly put it, waltzed right in the front door.”
Dispirited, Sinibaldus inhaled a deep breath of sea air as he scanned the blue grotto in search of an elusive answer. He didn’t expect to find one. The stalactites and stalagmites did not speak to him. There was no special magic, not now. There were no solutions.
And then Anthea spoke. Her words were fortunate.
“Pero loves me. He’s alive and he’s going to kill the both of you.”
Rugerius despised Pero de Alava’s name. Since the Spaniard broke his jaw, it had become a habit to thump anyone who spoke it, especially if stated with reverence. The Castellan charged up on Anthea with another tight fist, this time holding it in an intimidating manner but not using it. “I told you, Anthea, Pero is dead. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
Anthea smiled at him. “You’re wrong. Pero is alive. I saw him.”
Sinibaldus was suddenly standing beside Rugerius. “I think I found your Trojan horse.”
Rugerius relented and listened.
“We need her to let us in and she’s not going to do that unless we prove to her that Pero is dead.”
“Well, how the fuck are we going to do that. Your goddamn bears mauled the fucker to pieces, probably ate him too.”
Sinibaldus hesitated as he gazed up at the ceiling that nearly touched his head. “That might not be completely true.”
Rugerius rage was returning, slowly.
“We all have our little secrets now don’t we, Rugerius.” He motioned towards Anthea. “There are some things Gherardus Fabbro doesn’t know about.”
“And what,” Rugerius growled, “does Gherardus Fabbro not know about Pero?”
“He does not know that Pero lives.”
“Ha! I knew it!” Anthea was ecstatic. She was sitting fully upright now, pulling against her ropes again, struggling and brimming with confidence. Her strength had returned. Her face was fully healed. She held a scarlet handkerchief in her left hand. She had caught the wet cloth when Sinibaldus dropped it. “I saw him. I swear I saw him. Pero is alive. He is going to …” She wanted to say the words, utter some outstanding curses but even now, decency restrained her. She knew she had gotten her point across. She could see it in Rugerius’ troubled expression.
Sinibaldus had not seen Pero when Anthea had seen him. He had not seen Pero face down the wolves either. As far the giant magician was concerned, Pero de Alava was still trapped in Ithaca with the imprisoned Fabbro family, the one he provided the supplies for.
“Pero,” Sinibaldus continued, “managed to elude and escape, temporarily. But I know exactly where he is. He ran and is trapped in the sanctuary prison with your Uncle.”
Rugerius had to think a minute. He hadn’t thought about his Uncle Turstin or the sanctuary prison in years. He had hadn’t laid eyes on Uncle Turstin since the day the old man was sentenced and sent there nine years ago. Rugerius wasn’t even the Castellan of Parthenope yet. Pero hadn’t been stationed at Capua. The world was a much different place back then.
The moments ticked by and Rugerius said nothing more. It was taking him some time to process the plot.
Sinibaldus made a fist to show him that this was something the brute could physically do. “Go to Eagles Pass, Rugerius. Find Pero and bring him back. Let Anthea watch you kill him, slowly, painfully.” Sinibaldus wanted to be witness to this as well. “When she sees that her one true love is dead, the Spaniard is gone, her grip on hope will end. It is obvious her wyrd is tied tightly to his. His death will be devastating. That is where her faith is. I’m sure of it. That is where her strength flows from. Pero must be the guardian.”
Rugerius Fabbro hated smiling for it hurt but there was no preventing it now. “Yes, you are correct. I’m going to Eagles Pass immediately and bring that fucker back here.” He stopped and hesitated. “No. Wait. Not here. Not again. I’ve had enough of this shaman’s paradise, all this dampness and blue light. Take Anthea back to Parthenope. Take her to the palace and set her up in my room. I hardly ever use it anyway. Spare no expense. Give the place a woman’s touch, something Anthea will find appealing.” The Castellan seemed utterly euphoric. He glanced over at Anthea. Her countenance was sure and proud, defiant. He didn’t care. “If Pero proves to be as uncooperative as I expect him to be, I will kill him where he stands and deliver his head to you in a bag. We’ll lay it on the pillow beside us as we fuck in our marriage bed.”
Rugerius untied the line restraining one of the two small boats to the pier. He stepped heavy inside. The frightened oarsmen didn’t say a word.
“I’m going to Parthenope and will inform my brother concerning all that has occurred, including your little slip up with Pero. He, in turn, will inform my father and they will prepare a celebration. This story has finally come full circle and Gherardus will be pleased with me. I’m going to honor my father’s wishes and wed Anthea.”
Rugerius continued to stand in the boat as the oarsman slowly edged the craft back. “Call off your hounds, Giant, and clear the trail.” The Castellan sat down because seated was the only way to be in the boat when it followed the currents out of the grotto and into the light. Rugerius then realized the measure of trust he was placing in the deceitful, enigmatic magician.
“And Sinibaldus! You better call off those creatures like I said. I mean it. Do not cross me. You may weave your charms and cast your spells but I’m quite formidable in my own right and as unmerciful as Anthea fears. Don’t make me prove it.”
The oarsman and the waves continued to lead the boat further away until they dipped down and out.
Sinibaldus breathed a sigh of relief as he began to undo the ropes that bound Anthea to the stone chair. He wasn’t scared of her making a run for there was nowhere she could go. And anyway, his thoughts were not on her. They were on Rugerius Fabbro and his threat. “You are not the only one who is unmerciful. Do I prove it?”
When Anthea was released, she stood immediately and stretched. She was feeling as strong and chipper as ever, not a wound or ache anywhere on her body. She dropped the red handkerchief at Sinibaldus’ feet.
It was his handkerchief and he thought to pick it up but a shiver of dread ran through his seven-foot frame. He examined Anthea Manikos more closely in the blue light. She had been healed, entirely and completely. It defied explanation. Even the rope burns were gone. This was a kind of magic the magician had never encountered. There was no healing in the caves. Every magic he knew from his earliest recollections were destructive and evil, working to the detriment of life. If people sought healings, they had to depend on herbs and roots, concoctions and remedies. There were no shortcuts to healing. And yet, there she stood, sound as the day is long.
Sinibaldus thought on his extensive maladies, the arthritis and soreness that buffeted and abused him every day. He thought to touch the scarlet cloth just once, entreat its healing powers. ‘But this is the catharsis of my enemy, the one possessing Anthea’s soul; the one I must battle and defeat. I cannot become party to his magic. I must destroy it.”
He kicked the red cloth in the blue waters.
Anthea watched him as he did it. She could tell he was scared. Without hesitation, she shot him one of those unnerving smiles. “Are you fearful of me, Giant? A girl? What did you see in my head that frightens you so?”
With confidence, Anthea reached out and touched Sinibaldus’ sleeve. His powder blue eyes grew wide. He couldn’t believe the audacity but he could not pull away either.
“You don’t understand, do you? You cannot defeat my guardian. Not now. Not ever.”
Anthea calmly stepped down into the remaining boat and took a seat. She gave the terrified oarsman a reassuring grin before turning her attention back to Sinibaldus.
“Come now, Giant. Don’t dawdle. Let us be on our way. I’m famished.”
Anthea straightened her tattered blue dress, completely ignoring the fact that the left side was torn away and her
breast was still exposed.
“Surely you will not permit me to starve. You heard your Master. He’s going to bring Pero to me. I have much to live for. I’m getting married, right?” She started laughing, the mocking sound reverberating off the grotto walls. Sinibaldus felt an uncomfortable chill and Sinibaldus had never got chills before today.
Wait, that was not completely true. He did get chills one other time. When he warred against the elementist, Herophile, and was driven into exile by a powerful storm. ‘Is this girl, a crone?’
Chapter 20 – Lady Karah
“Come, little man. Don’t be afraid. I won’t bite.” Viridian bent and flexed a coaxing finger, tempting an uninvited guest to join her. The fingernail on the flexing finger matched all the other fingernails on both hands, as well as her eyelids and her toenails, everything painted in glittering gold.
Her friend was not responding.
Viridian licked her already moist lips and brushed back her long black mane. She patted her knees before making another subtle gesture, another attempt to lure her guest in. “Come now, little fellow. I have the sweetest nectar in the garden”
Without a stich of clothing, as usual, Viridian reclined on a white daybed, her short but shapely legs stretched out before her.
A small, green lizard had shimmied up on the end of the bed, making his way between her legs. He seemed quite content to sunbathe, one webbed-foot casually resting on her left ankle. The creature flicked out its tongue several times, testing and tasting the air, occasionally blinking his bulbous white eyes.
The sudden appearance of the lizard on her daybed was the first distraction Viridian had had all day. The sun over Capri had reached the noon hour and she had accomplished nothing more today than any other day, seven self-induced climaxes.
She was hoping to make it eight.
“Come now, little man,” she purred, the index finger still coaxing. “Come closer.”
The creature finally dropped its foot and scurried silently up the sheets, passing swiftly through the broad valley between her thighs. Her knees drifted gradually apart. She tapped the arrow-shaven patch of black hair just above her moistened ‘freshness.’