“Who are you?” Ollor demanded. “I have already said, I am the friend. I am the friend who can help in many different ways. Naming isn’t necessary for the friend to help you.”
“Have you done it before?” Ollor wanted to know.
“How can you be certain I am not right now? I could be controlling this body with my own thoughts. But oh, no, no, for the man who sees through other eyes may go blind to his own. Risks are certain and nothing comes with any guarantee. Higher powers than you could possibly imagine have sent me to help you. You are a special man with a special purpose. You are meant for more than just delivering the children to the School,” he added with a wink. “The thoughts you have run through my head too. You think on our talk. I will return at dusk and if you need the friend to help, the friend will help,” the little man said.
The friend used his hands to aid his talking and Ollor noticed some strange markings on the man’s hands. He didn’t recognize the symbol the man had branded on both hands. It looked like a capital A with a straight horizontal line over the top and a circle around the whole A. The friend dragged his feet as he walked away and disappeared.
Sundown arrived true as always and so did the man from earlier. Ollor followed him about a mile west on the star-lit path and into his one-room hut. An aromatic buzz hit Ollor’s nose and he saw storage units marked in a foreign language. A tiny, square table up to Ollor’s calves in height sat in the middle of the room. The man invaded some of the units and pulled items out. Two small braziers lit the simple room that had walls lined with packed straw. He put the items on the table and pushed them off to one side. He went to the corner of the room and grabbed a marble mortar and pestle and put them on the table.
“Sit,” the man invited Ollor, who sat at the tiny table even though it quickly became extremely uncomfortable.
“First, we must be sure your blood runs pure. Give to me your hand.”
Ollor held out his right hand and the little guy picked up a dagger blade without a handle from the floor. He pricked Ollor’s thumb and blood dripped onto the wooden table. The man got up, walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a glass jar with some cheesecloth covering the opening. Ollor saw two mosquitos through the thin cloth, darting around the jar. The man removed the tie from the cheesecloth, pulled it away and waited. The mosquitos instantly came out and circled the blood on the table. They hovered over it but did not land and drink the fresh liquid. The mosquitos quickly became disinterested and flew out a small opening in the hut.
“Your blood is pure. The mosquito respects your blood. He doesn’t devour it like his first instinct would tell him. Now I respect your blood. To see through man, you must first see through an animal. The weaker the mind, the better. What is this?” he pointed to Ollor’s shoulder scar. Ollor had stopped wearing a shirt and only sported cut-off pants above the knee to deal with the intense heat of Gama Traka.
“An old resting spot for my falcon friend, a black falcon,” Ollor explained.
“You have a connection with animals. It will give you an aid but you still must truly believe. The animal or person will never let you in if you don’t believe. You must see it and be it. See it and be it,” he instructed.
“No words need said?” Ollor asked. “This is no spell or conjuring. No songs need be sung. You are sharing the soul with a living creature of the Gods. If that creature senses dark intentions it could expel you from its soul causing grave damage to both sides involved. The friend will mix the special blend for you,” the serious friend said.
He pulled the mortar closer. “Bloody fingers,” he said and threw some of the aforementioned item into the marble mortar and ground it up with the pestle. It released a sweet, flowery scent and Ollor recognized it as foxglove. He kept adding ingredients gradually and grinding them into his concoction. He listed the parts as he went, “Herb of grace.” Ollor knew this as common rue.
“Cow slip, belladonna,” the man said quickly and quietly. Ollor had been taught another name for belladonna, deadly nightshade. Too much would easily kill a man faster than the sharpest sword in any kingdom.
“Red poppy flower,” the man nonchalantly stated. Another deadly ingredient.
He mixed it up with the pestle, staining the white marble. The mashed mix turned bright orange and red until he poured wild white beet juice into the mortar. He stirred it in to the dry ingredients and mixed it until he looked satisfied. It had the consistency of the liquid mortar they used to set castle stones.
I don’t want to drink this. There are too many toxic elements in this potion.
The little man took a small vial and uncorked the top. He poured the pumpkin colored sludge in, sealed the cap and handed it to Ollor.
“When you see the animal, first look, then be one in mind and spirit. Embrace the soul of the animal. See it and be it. See it and be it. Then close your eyes and rub a dab in each eye. When you open, you will be it,” he told Ollor.
“In my eyes?” he questioned in disbelief. “People think it to be mad but the friend is only here to help. You have a higher calling, your soul is pure. It is the friend’s pleasure to help a man with honorable intentions.”
HE SAID MY SOUL IS PURE.
JON
Jon pressed forward in the face of sheer exhaustion and finally saw the castle, his castle. His thighs and back burned in agony from only stopping a few short times after crossing the Mattingly border. Ali-Ster had left a pouch of dried beef strapped to the courser’s saddle, which had helped him get to his region. Seven armored men rode alongside the Duke to make sure he arrived safely in Riverfront. Each man held a black banner with the golden bull, and Jon’s spirits rose a bit.
Along the way, Jon had noticed that everyone’s reaction was shock and horror. It seemed like they had seen a ghost. Unfortunately, that was exactly what Jon Colbert looked like. He felt like a mere shadow of his former self.
He thought back to the first time he had seen the sunrise after being imprisoned. Tears flowed from Jon’s eyes when he spied that reddish-purple sky with sleepy clouds allowing the golden sun to break out and play. Being imprisoned in complete darkness caused him to fully appreciate the value of a simple sunrise.
His body had threatened to quit on him countless times during the journey. He stopped at a few of his loyal flag bearers’ homes for a quick bite and drink before jumping back on the fast horse. While riding, he kept checking behind and seeing Camelle riding a beautiful white palfrey and smiling gently at him before fading into yet another false vision of his late wife.
His body received a sudden jolt of energy when he saw a familiar face from his family. Jasper ran at Jon, barking. The bulldog rushed over to Jon’s horse and trotted with him to the front gate. Ruxin, Ordrid and Count Sproul waited for his return. This is all that remains of my once robust family?
The gaunt, sickly Jon Colbert looked starkly different from the last time these men had seen him. As they gazed at Jon, their faces bore the same look as all the other Mattingly men and women he had encountered on the trip. He looked skinnier than an old sword post and just as battered. His long golden hair and bushy beard to his chest had started to take on a snowy look. Jon had never heard Camelle mention a gray hair before he was plunged into the darkness.
He jumped down and hugged the concerned-looking men who gingerly hugged back the emaciated man. Count Sproul focused on the Duke’s injuries with concern in his elderly eyes. Jon looked upon Ruxin and saw a grown man. Only months ago, he had looked like a kid. Jon had tried to keep his homecoming quiet but men had sped ahead to alert his family that their patriarch was on the way. They helped the Duke back into his castle.
For the next several days, Jon only ate, slept and let Count Sproul tend to his wounds. Jon remembered Riceros had loved learning about aiding the injured. The young boy had talked to Jon about the healing lessons Count Sproul taught him for hours on end. Jon smiled with the fond memory in his head but still dealt with mental and physical pain. Count Sproul had cleaned
and burned shut the stumps where Jon’s pinkie fingers and toes used to be. Jon thought that was the worst pain of all, when his heart tightened and he saw flying stars. He had to constantly fight his body’s demand to lose consciousness. When Count Sproul had pressed the glowing hot metal to shut the wounds, Jon thought death couldn’t possibly hurt as much.
His body started to resemble that of an actual human again. Jon was still extremely thin but the sucked-in skin around his face had slowly started to flesh out toward normality. He didn’t look like a ghost anymore. When Jon awakened in the darkness, he had to feverishly scramble to light a candle or stoke the fire. He had become frightened of the dark and going back to that black hole again.
A few days later, Jon was lounging in bed when Count Sproul entered his chambers. They had barely spoken since Jon arrived. All the medicines the count had Duke Colbert on made him see colorful visions and his mind drifted into fantasy as reality became distorted. His confused mind understood Count Sproul as he stood over the bed and asked, “My Duke, how are we feeling this morn?”
“Much better. How long have I been in bed?”
“Three days, my Duke,” the count replied. “I have to get up and move around,” Jon made a feeble attempt to rise. “My Duke, you must first get well before moving. It was necessary to clean your infected wounds with heavy medication. You should be ready on the morrow as I see. Your injuries will be healed enough to go outdoors, my Duke,” the count dutifully informed Jon.
Jon Colbert had forgotten how it felt to be called Duke. In the cell, he was only a stinking, rotting piece of meat. He found slight solace in thoughts of looking after the region and kingdom with Ruxin but the thoughts ultimately rang hollow. He could never replace the blood of his blood. His children were a piece of him.
“In the meanwhile, you may slowly move about the room. Make certain you have someone to aid you while you walk. My Duke, do you remember much of the ambush?” the count asked.
“I remember it vividly. Arrows and bolts flying by, the clanking sounds of the swords, the blood, the screams, the dust, the spineless King, I remember it all. I remember seeing that crown on his head and only those damned archers could stop me before I got to him. I saw my dead men, their dead men and thought I was sure to join them. Then Sir Penrose Ellsworth smashed my forehead with his pommel and the next I remembered was the darkness and stink of the dungeon.” He showed the count the scar on his head. “After that, King Ali-Ster told me a few stories about his father’s fear to kill me so I rotted away in that hole.”
“I cannot believe the secrecy of your incarceration. Everyone believed you were dead. There were weeks of ceremonies throughout Mattingly in your honor. Every family has named their newborn sons Jon out of respect to you, my Duke. I knew the citizens respected you but I didn’t know they loved you. They truly do and I cannot argue the matter,” Count Sproul said.
“I let them all down. How could I not have seen that trap? My eleven-year-old son knew enough to warn me. Ali-Ster didn’t give me many details on the rest of the family. What do you know?” Jon asked.
“What I hear and know can be two different things. I hear that…” he softened his tone, “that Camelle was killed in quite a gruesome way. The king’s men took the unborn child from her body. Such savagery I thought unimaginable, even by a mad king. To do what they did to a pregnant woman is positively reprehensible.”
Jon lowered his head. A familiar feeling swept in. Jon realized that anger was the only emotion he had experienced in that cell. Now he became angry at himself for not killing Ali-Ster before leaving Falconhurst. The new King talked pretty to me and made promises just like his father. He is more than likely a typical Wamhoff. Conveniently leaves out the details of mutilating my wife. He will try to use me for gold, just like his father did.
The count said, “Krys and Ryno were kidnapped in Androsi by Duchess Camelle’s brother, Edburgh Etburn.” “What? Why?” Jon tried to understand.
“It should seem as though this egg was hatched by Ali-Stanley. I have been told he put Edburgh up to it with the promise of Ali-Gare’s hand in marriage. No one has been able to locate them on the island. Riceros and Brehan were headed for Gama Traka but we haven’t received word from them yet,” Count Sproul reported.
“I wish I had explained to Riceros the true story of his birth before I left,” Jon lamented. “Now, now, my Duke. You could never have known the King would betray you,” the count reassured Jon. “No, I should have had better sense. Did Mariah come back with Brehan?” Jon asked.
“My Duke, she is believed dead in the ambush and its aftermath. Sir Brehan said Mariah left the bush he had asked her to wait in while he tried to defend you. He didn’t see her again,” the count delicately stated.
The air of life that had rushed into Jon floated out after this staggering news. I always have said, kill my father, kill me, but I will not let you kill my sons. I let my sons die at the hands of the Clumsy King. I am responsible for killing my entire family except Ruxin. How do you rebuild a broken castle? One stone at a time, I suppose.
Count Sproul gave Jon a dose of medicine and left. Despite the warning, Jon wanted to walk around. He didn’t want anyone to see him in a weakened state. His body felt like a stranger’s and even the sense of touch felt strange. He pushed the light, cream-colored sheet aside, sat up and placed his feet on the stone ground. A tingling feeling swirled through his toes and the floor seemed to attach itself to his feet. He tried to stand but fell back. Three days of being bedridden after spending three months in a tiny cell made normal body functions foreign to the once mighty Duke. He started to move around and felt like he was weightless, as if he walked around on clouds. Stardust glittered in front of his eyes as he walked unsteadily in circles around his room. He felt as if someone was operating his rigid movements with strings or pulleys. Jon looked to his left and saw her. Camelle stood there in her wedding dress, tears streaking down her cheeks. Jon wondered why she was crying. He staggered over to comfort Camelle but she disappeared again. Jon used his remaining strength to get back to the bed and collapse.
He awoke to see Count Sproul and Ruxin next to his bed. Ruxin spoke, “Are you ready to go outside, father?” “Aye,” the groggy man responded.
Aided by his only remaining son, Jon Colbert left his castle. The direct sunshine made his eyes water on the clear summer day. They made it onto the grass outside the main gate and Jon blurted, “I am proud of you, son.”
This was acknowledged with a quick smirk from his son. “Thank you, father. I wish the rest of the family had stayed. Everyone thought it would be safer to leave Mattingly. I was ready to die defending my family and Mattingly.”
“Well, what’s done is done. Our family is gone. We must move on and do our best now,” Jon relayed in a somber tone.
“I thought the same. I have worried about how close our family came to losing its proud name. Do you remember Lord Fritz’ rebellion?” “Aye,” Jon nodded. “By chance do you remember the girl I assisted with her wounds?” Ruxin asked. “Aye.”
“She was only there out of duty for her family that supported the Fritz’. She honored her duty and I offered her my hand in marriage. She accepted,” Ruxin said.
A pulse of happiness trickled through the pain and misery circulating inside Jon Colbert.
“Her name is Haley Kaling Colbert and I did this thinking you would approve. I felt it was up to me to carry on the family line,” his son stated. “Of course, my boy.”
They walked up to the street where storefronts started to emerge. Jon was already tired and Ruxin supported more and more of his weight as they walked on. A pretty girl stood in front of an assorted teacart with flowers in her hands. Ruxin pulled his father up to the cart and put his right arm around the girl. Hazel eyes glinted and sandy brown hair danced around her shoulders in the sudden breeze. Her dark skin was partially covered with a white summer dress affixed with the golden bull pin.
“Father, this is Haley Colbert. Haley,
my father, Duke Jon Colbert,” Ruxin announced. “Simply Jon will suffice, my darling. This brings happiness I haven’t felt in ages.”
“Father, I also tried to make certain our family line was carried on,” Ruxin said as he rubbed the little bump on his wife’s belly. Jon’s pride in his son swelled even more. Ruxin explained to his father that he had hastened the marriage and pregnancy due to the dire situation. He swore he would have never gone through with the union if he had known his father was still alive. His son had consulted with Count Sproul and the wise old man had lectured him about the importance of keeping House Colbert alive. The count instructed the young man to get married after only two months of knowing Haley and gave fatherly consent in the stead of Jon Colbert. With both sets of parents believed to be dead, the young lovers had felt a responsibility to carry on their family names and traditions. Jon had always insisted his children wait until eighteen to marry but the events of the spring had inexorably changed everything, and he agreed with his son’s decision to further the family line.
MARIAH
AMBUSH. AMBUSH. Mariah sat up with a start in her plush, goose feather bed. She felt around her neck and found the golden bull she hadn’t taken off since she’d received it. A cold sweat clung to her body on this sultry morning. She rolled around the bed trying to forget the nightmare. The handmaiden assigned to her, Izzirrat, entered the room holding a gown.
“Your presence is requested, my lady,” Izzirrat said. “Where?” Mariah questioned.
“I cannot say but I will help you dress and take you to where they want you, my lady,” the soft-spoken girl said.
Her mind wandered while Izzirrat helped her put on a nice linen shift, underskirts and then a bell sleeved purple chemise. The handmaiden lifted the side-less gown and Mariah helped hold it in place while she tied the sides with silver lace. Izzirrat stepped back, “Beautiful, my lady.”
Fractured Families (The Pearl of Wisdom Saga Book 2) Page 6