Canes and Scales

by S. A. Garcia

  “Lord Keith granted me permission.” My voice sounded firm. Encouraging. Could I flee into another room? I stepped forward like a pawn trying to escape an ill-conceived chess move.

  No luck. Father stepped closer. His powerful hand gripped my upper arm. “Did he now?” His glare focused on my wrist. To my horror I saw the light leather wristlet I wore to cover the Serpent Seal had partially slid off the shining metal. “Wait, cur, what decorates your wrist?”

  Fury built in majesty. “Leave me in peace. You never cared about me before so leave me alone.” I tugged my arm away but Father’s hand darted down. His long fingers choked my forearm. He shoved away the thin leather to fully reveal Linden’s gift.

  “You wear Linden’s royal Seal? How can this be?” Father yanked my wrist close to his drink-reddened face. His hard, blunt nails drove into my skin. I expected him to rake open my flesh. “Did you steal this heirloom when he departed in haste?”

  Proud desolation ruled my words. “Of course not. How could I steal his Seal? My Linden presented me his Seal as a mark of his true affection. He loves me.”

  The monster trapping me uttered a low snarl. “You lie. You stole this from him, although yes, you possess your mother’s wicked charms so you probably bewitched Linden into presenting this important gift to you. You feel secure in flaunting your spoils. You even dare call him by name. You dare to proclaim his love.” Father cocked his head in cold examination. His upper lip twisted in a sneer. “You look exactly like your Mother. You act like her, seducing nobles for your advancement. What a craven little slut. I hate that you look like Anadona; then again you probably use foul magic to hide your true face. Your true face cannot look so fair. Nothing from that hateful union can look so fair.” His eyes narrowed in loathing. “I should have ordered you strangled at birth. I hate you for breathing.”

  My stretched thin emotions snapped. My fury found a deserving target. My voice could have cut steel. “Murderer, I hate you for surviving.”

  Father snarled again. His hand whipped back, dashed forward and slammed his heavy whiskey glass into my cheek. Shimmering pain bit into my flesh. Blood and whiskey spewed into my eye. I choked in disbelief. He swung the shattered remains forward again.

  More sharp glass embedded into my skin.

  My head slammed into the wooden wall next to the window. At least my head didn’t crash through the wet pane.

  Another pain escalated into screaming agony. I needed to drop now! Father sensed my attempt and held me up to practice his aim. He swung again. This time my nose shattered. What an ugly sound. Blood gushed into my gasping mouth, the flood coppery and bitter from the whiskey’s taint. My shoulders ground into the wall and held me upright. No!

  His bloody hand swung back for another blow.

  He planned to kill me.

  No.

  Not while my Linden lived.

  My right hand darted up and grasped his wrist. My nails clamped into my Father’s hot flesh. Damaged words rasped through the blood saturating my face. The mere act of speaking raked pain through me but I needed to speak. I needed this monster to hear me. “I hate how we share blood. Take back your hatred of me. Ingest what you feel for me into your own black soul.” The pain tried swallowing me into blackness. Not yet. Please not yet. “Take it back. Eat it.”

  We stared at each other although the mammoth fiend appeared to me through a nimbus of life-blood and shattered pain. I needed to react before my pain conquered my reason. How dare he think to harm me during my lover’s memorial service? This beast never loved my Mother and he hated me. Could I perform such magic? I concentrated and released my power like a concentrated arrow, swirled it into Father, coaxed his hate into me, and then pushed the bitter emotion back at him in full force. The Catch pinched my neck but the controlling band did not spring into death.

  Father sputtered in surprise. His eyes widened in amazement. His body twitched and then he dropped to his knees like a rock hurled off a cliff. Retainers and pages clustered around us. My fingers twitched against vacant air until my body slid down the wall. I collapsed to the floor on my shattered cheek. My blood sprayed into the air.

  After all these years I finally achieved my revenge. I hoped my act didn’t seal my death.

  Pain conquered my mind and hauled me into nothingness. I did not object.

  Linden

  Resolution

  By the Powers, pain worked on my leg like a skilled sculptor. Master pain used dedicated precision to tap each nerve into searing agony—tap, prod, pinch. Even when I tried not to move my left leg, pain still radiated from my badly set bones. Over the years I endured plenty of battle-induced injury, but this relentless ache earned high marks for intensity.

  The village doctor performed the finest work of his career for his ailing Prince, but my smashed bones needed modern technology to help them heal correctly. Too bad. My bones needed to accept and heal the old fashioned way. But old bones are stubborn. At least as the days passed my shattered left arm felt less tormented. Yesterday despite the roaring pain my determined fingers flexed into a trembling fist until my fingers rejected the simple act. Painful but still encouraging. My near crippled left side told me my battle years were finished.

  The lingering desire for poppy tincture beckoned to me in brilliant need. No. Lying in my rough bed corrupted by drugs did not suit my stubborn nature. During my initial recovery I readily swallowed the tincture to prevent myself from screaming like a witless madman. Now I fought the pain, wrestled it down; yes, I felt determined to banish its foul rule from my limbs. Today it held the advantage over me. Horrible.

  I sipped and sighed. My strong tea always lost its warmth before I finished the mug’s contents. The roaring fire tried dispelling the constant chill infecting this mountain hut, but the cruel weather was as relentless as my pain.

  I felt helpless and trapped. What an abysmal duo. Here sat mighty Prince Linden, battered, pain-filled and furious, yet above all still miraculously alive. Alive and impatiently waiting to announce his unexpected return to the world. Despite the gnawing pain devouring my leg I smiled. Dear depraved Edward deserved the finest and final surprise of his life. If the craven coward wanted me dead then he needed to try harder. Farmer Gavin told me everyone accepted that my body must have been incinerated when the military dirigible exploded in the so-called terrorist bombing. My brother proved to be a bigger fool than even I suspected. The uncanny luck that kept me alive in the battlefield served me well in the escape glider’s crash—well, that and loving determination gained from a gentle soul.

  I planned on using the same luck and supportive love to create tremendously nasty luck for Edward. Little did he know he already enjoyed his last living breaths. I hoped he enjoyed them as much as I knew I’d enjoy snuffing them out. My desire for revenge sickened me. Once upon a time I thought myself above such barbaric urges. No longer. The Serpent blood inflamed my soul to strike back at my blood enemy. An old proverb came to mind. Yes, if you struck a king, you needed to kill him. The same applied to old Princes.

  Outside the wind performed a particularly clichéd whistle. What a mournful sound. Sadly, striking back waited until my leg felt less like a screaming mass of agony. I also waited to hear the final word from General Arata. Ah, poor Edward forgot whom the military answered to in this country.

  Imagine, insane Edward finally threw a rock at the devious spider. His wild throw broke legs and web strands but the ill-fated rock forgot to deliver the crushing blow. Now this vengeful spider gathered potent venom. It amazed me how many nobles wanted me to kill Edward. Even at this high valley wheat farm the proud people hated Edward due to his disregard for their welfare. They readily agreed to keep my amazing appearance a secret. When the bleeding Jenkins carried my shattered body into their courtyard, the astounded farm owners dropped to their knees and swore fealty to me. The village doctor, smelling of raw whiskey and pipe smoke, never breathed a word to me. I think he felt if he ignored me, then I did not exist. His practical
approach to my appearance suited me.

  Farmer Gavin hid me in this snug barn-side cottage normally used for summer field hands. They wanted me to use their bedroom but I refused. No need to draw too much attention to the situation. He and his wife fed me, cared for me when infection shattered my comprehension and accepted my need for secrecy. Still, when the shrieking wind rattled an old shutter during a cold, miserable night, I expected members of Edward’s barbaric personal guard to charge in and complete the assassination attempt. I despised feeling so frightened and vulnerable. I despised flying into a trap.

  Now I understand how poor Alasdaire felt trapped by his Catch. I felt sure he grieved but surely he knew I lived. He of all creatures knew I survived the explosion. I wished I could let him know for sure. My mercurial Elf probably badgered Keith into personally leading a search party to find me. No, astute Alasdaire also understood secrecy. He knew not to tell the world about me.

  I wished I had listened to his urgent warning. Fey Alasdaire knew the danger.

  When cruel nightmares awoke me, I managed to drift back into sleep by remembering the unique taste of Alasdaire’s silken cane flesh. I reassured myself someday I would taste his copper flesh again. Tasting his flesh offered me a reward for the mayhem I planned on enduring until I claimed the throne. I needed my Elf’s sweet comfort beside me.

  I missed my Alasdaire. Powers on High, I missed his open comfort. Our days together told me I was capable of true love. All the years spent in battle and battling my brother hardened me toward the gentle emotion. No more. I needed my Elf’s cleansing love as much as I needed to love his wild spirit.

  The heavy door creaked open, then the weight wildly swung inward. Wood crashed into wood. I jerked up in alarm but the agony in my mending bones rendered me helpless. I sat and spasmed like a battered wreck. Instead of grim death, my Jenkins cursed as he struggled to shut the door against the screaming wind. Relief flooded me. The stubborn wood accepted his brute strength and slammed shut.

  “Sorry, Linden, for the noisy entrance. Gavin warned me this is a nasty storm. Since he fears the worst, he’s bringing us food for tonight and tomorrow morning. The snow flies in wicked force.” He shook off his snow coated outer garments and flung them over the empty hay wain we used as a clothing rack.

  I managed a warped smile. “Perhaps we will need to bed down with the warm cows.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. Their bulk certainly protects us from the cold.” My trusted guard held up his cold-reddened hands. Excitement lit his broad, scarred face. He was lucky he still could see; the worst scars removed his eyebrows. “But here is news that might defeat the ill weather; General Arata prepares your final assault against the royal palace.”

  What? My compromised nerves almost allowed me to weep. How improper. What did it matter? “Jenkins, at last! So the final pigeon survived the savage weather.”

  “Gavin tucked the poor exhausted bird in with his pigeons. The poor thing can barely coo. Here is the actual message.” Jenkins handed me the coded paper strip. How sad to realize my code experience was rusty. My pain-compromised brain managed to read the message. My loyal Arata asked me to wait for another two months until spring fully arrived in the capitol city. Yes, I welcomed the wait. Perhaps by then I could walk without falling. The notion of leading a brazen coup d'état crawling like a cripple did not appeal to me.

  As I grinned in triumph I waved the paper in the cold air. “Grand news indeed. I hope Gavin brings us his nasty home brew. I need a celebratory swig.”

  “My Prince, trust me, I asked him to provide something strong enough to push this relentless cold from our bones. He promised to fill a jug for us.” Jenkins cocked his head in concern. “I saw your pain when I entered. Forgive me; I feel so bad for letting the door blow open.”

  Dear Jenkins did not know a Lordship loomed in his future. Of course our possible defeat altered the circumstances, but I felt confident in our success. Colm and Laswell sent reports from the capitol, reassuring me my existence remained a secret. All my loyal guards would be elevated in status, except for poor Jasper. At least his family would be regally compensated for their tragedy. “My old bones dislike their splintered state. They will heal. In fact this news makes them feel better.”

  Jenkins grinned in agreement. He sat on the second battered chair and rubbed his hands together. “In celebration, how about another game of Challenge to pass the time?”

  I laughed in chagrin. “You do realize this inept player owes you around ten years’ salary?”

  “I am trying to make it twelve, Linden.”

  “Impertinent pup! Deal the cards already.”

  That night I fell asleep courtesy of a bellyful of Gavin’s foul homebrew. The stinging wind howled in high drama. As I snuggled down in my hay ticking, I imagined holding cane-marked flesh close against my body. My lips kissed warm copper flesh. My fingers caressed heavy black hair.

  I vowed to make my imagination into reality.

  Alasdaire

  Security

  Hmm, no, not quite right. I pushed the bloom-laden blueberry bush over three more inches and nodded in satisfaction. Its new position guaranteed the bush the proper sun ratio. For some reason my normally vigorous bush failed me. My evil imagination whispered that was the only bush my Linden had touched. What nonsense. The ailing plant merely needed more sun. I kept telling myself that.

  Boisterous shouts echoed outside the greenhouse. I leaned over and moved three other bushes to better positions under the sun’s early bounty. Cheers echoed to me. What caused all the turmoil?

  The grand tower clock rang in sonorous summon. My body jerked in surprise. Only a momentous event tolled the main tower clock in such off-hour repetition. The last time I remember it tolling was to announce the war’s end.

  Time to hear the news. Concern for my plants forced me to slow down and securely lock the greenhouse door. I didn’t mind sharing the berry bounty with my fellow workers, but the estate’s children could not be trusted around the sensitive plants. Grasping little fingers resulted in broken limbs and disrupted blossoms.

  The clock’s haunting peal rolled forth, driven by the huge gears. The sound brought a strange thrill to my heart. What happened? I maneuvered the dew-slick slate path toward the commanding sound.

  Two field workers crowded next to me. A sweaty Halbert stared at me in excitement. “What is going on, Ala?”

  I shrugged in confusion. “I don’t know. I was working in the greenhouse when I heard the chimes.”

  “When you enter the house can you let us know?”

  My rebellious streak reared free. I patted Halbert’s sweat-wet back. “Why not sneak into the kitchen and listen for the news? If anyone complains, tell them to find me.”

  Halbert’s gap-toothed grin rivaled the morning sun’s bright glow. “Sounds good, Ala.” His hearty backslap stung my skin. He almost tumbled me into the path-side plants.

  Over the past months I had occupied a strange place in the manor’s household. I moved back to my small room in the servant’s wing, but Keith sheltered me from any unsavory encounters. Under his protection I spent my days playing in the winery and greenhouses, more like a forgotten guest than slave. Since I spent so much time outdoors I grew to know the field boys, a rough, boisterous bunch who ignored my canes and scars. In the evening they invited me to play card games and sip their appalling brew. I contributed by supplying snacks and finer brew smuggled from the manor. Their acceptance brightened my days. Having friends made me feel almost normal.

  Normality ended in my bedroom. No matter how much I drank or laughed with the boys, once I curled into my lonely bed, each night felt like raw torment. Linden’s memory haunted my evenings. Each night I urged my damaged lover to return to me. For him to hide for so long meant he suffered grievous injuries. I knew he still lived. The Serpent Seal maintained our bond.

  Halbert and Aner slipped in with me. I stood at the door and beckoned other curious field workers into the house. The maids
and kitchen staff had already departed for the ballroom, so no one remained to complain.

  My curiosity overwhelmed me. “Hal, I leave you in charge of the door. I need to find the cause for all the excitement.”

  Halbert grinned in delight. “Will do, Ala!” He leaned out and shouted encouragement to arriving workers. The kitchen smelled of virile workingman sweat. Cook would be livid!

  My strange life at the manor granted me skills akin to a ghost. I roamed the outer fringes, murmuring apologies as I pushed into the crowded ballroom. Ah, there, someone I trusted hovered near the ballroom’s archway. “Aida, have you heard news?”

  The young maid widened her eyes in excitement. “Now only rumors since Master Adrian hasn’t completed his transcripts. But the grand news is Prince Linden is alive!” She gasped in sudden fear. “Ala, what is wrong with you?”