The Crystal Crux - Betrayal (YA EDITION Book 1)

by A Werner

  Pero unsheathed Miriam from the scabbard. “Justice is what the sword bearer says it is. My sword shall do the talking. Without the fear of God, I can rule as justly as any other man. It is time I left this place and created my own domain.” Pero cocked his head upwards, the muscles in his neck tight and twisted. “You are not real, are you? Nobody hears me.” Pero’s head came back down. “Nobody has ever heard me because there are no gods. I am such a fool.”

  Pero’s blue eyes went black as he craned upwards again, this time pointing the sharp tip of the blade at the ceiling. “But if you are real and have been ignoring me, I will find you. I have tried by peace and I have tried by patience to learn of you. You seem content to stay hidden. No more. I declare war. I will cut and chew my way through Eagles Pass. And when I am reborn on the other side, I will not cease to commit violence. No, the bloodshed shall be great. I will continue destroying and conquering. I will never again take orders from anyone, least of all, a god. I will fashion my own world from the ashes of the fires I light. My kingdom! My will!”

  Pero sheathed Miriam. “And perhaps when I am filthy enough, bloodied with all these sins, I can forget I ever believed in you. Perhaps then I can live without shame and guilt.”

  Tempting himself one last time, Pero slowly extended his left hand towards Anthea’s bowed head but dared not touch her. She was hunched over, sobbing uncontrollably, and didn’t notice. “I am a man with nothing more to lose. I will never suffer such loss again. I do not care. I do not care.”

  As Pero headed for the door, the invisible barrier separating their worlds collapsed and Anthea realized he was leaving. Brushing aside the crumbs from her past, she crawled to him on hands and knees. “Parakalo Pero, do not do this. Remember who you are. You are a good man. You are a good man of God. Ask for His forgiveness. Repent. Repent.” She kissed his hand feverishly. “I forgive you. I forgive you everything. Take my hand, husband. I am your wife. Don’t you remember me? Look at my face. Touch my hair.” She held out a handful of hair for him to take. “I am your wife. We are to wed. I have material for a gown.” Tears washed down her face. He wasn’t taking her hair so she let it go. “Pero, you are the fairest man I have ever known. You know what happened to me before we met. Don’t do this to me again. Don’t do this. If I lose my hope in you, I will die.”

  Pero was ice inside out. He brushed her hands off his legs and marched to the door. He stared into the rustic grains. This door was death. He needed only to pass beyond it and he was free. There would be no return from the other side. Several grains in the wood door began to glow with a golden shine that seemed to be trapped inside the wood itself. The light continued to intensify as the sinewy grains wrapped themselves around one another like shimmering snakes until they formed two wiry letters, R and R. The door was too thick to have cracks deep enough to allow this kind of light through. Pero felt dizzy staring into the anomaly. His legs started shaking. There was utter silence for nearly a minute before the golden letters burned in the wood grain straightened themselves back out and the door went all dark. ‘It is time to just end this.’

  Anthea pressed her swollen face against the cool stone floor. She closed her eyes hoping the overt act of contrition might spur her hero to amend his stubborn mind. “You know it’s a trap,” she whispered loud enough for him to hear. “Why are you walking into a trap?”

  The words emerged too late. She never saw him leave. The door slammed shut on her heart. Pero was dead. He had gone to the other side.

  Sitting up slowly and turning to face the wreckage in her room, Anthea continued to pout, her heavy eyes still capable of generating tears. Weak and weary, blood drying on her fingers, she crawled back across the floor and retrieved the white silk she had just purchased in La Torre earlier that day. She clutched the torn fabric tight to her small breasts and stained it permanently with her pain.

  The wedding she envisioned would never take place. The gown she was fashioning would never be made. The clever enchantment Pero de Alava held over her had vanished. Without his integrity towards God, Pero was just another sword-wielding scoundrel, another wayward knight in a world sick with wayward knights; all of them lost and alone, endearing themselves to their faith in foolhardy quests, riding off towards doom and ruin. Anthea Manikos could no longer recognize her love, eyes closed, heart open. He had changed.

  “Pero, I asked you not to change.”

  Chapter 26 – On The Drawbridge

  Pero de Alava was hell-bent to begin his quest. ‘Bring forth the beasts of lore and legend. I will destroy them all. Aim for their hearts until there are no more hearts to aim for.’

  Determined to avoid human contact, he fixed his face with a cold hard gaze and worked his way down to the stables, his threatening manner certain to ward off pleasantries and courtesies.

  Sins were massing quickly. His engagement to Anthea Manikos had been officially terminated, the Cross of the Angels had been irreversibly broken, the antique flax wheel wholly demolished, a permanent wedge struck down between he and his Creator, angels and devils beware. There seemed to be little else left that could deter him from his reckless course or so he thought. His resolve hiccupped slightly when his estate steward suddenly emerged from a corner of the stables. Francis Whitehall had been waiting for him there. Pero steeled himself, cursed under his breath, and continued his march forward, his tenacity ignoring his friend.

  In one flawless move, Pero mounted Zaon. Stable hands had outfitted his grey-speckled palfrey for the journey. Zaon was Pero’s preferred riding horse, quick and agile, an athletic intelligent young lady he rode as often as time and life permitted.

  Before Pero could wheel Lady Zaon around and make this his final scene, Francis snatched hold of the bridle.

  “Niccolus and Arrigo have volunteered to accompany you,” Francis stated, his senses keen to his friend’s cold shoulder. “They are brave young men with stout hearts. They understand the risks they are taking. They are fine trackers and should serve you well.”

  Pero knew them well enough. Arrigo had already distinguished himself but not always in positive ways. He was combative and a bit undisciplined but a good soldier all the same. Niccolus had recently arrived at Capua with some newer recruits. He was a strong lad with broad shoulders and muscular arms. Few of his contemporaries could better him on the training ground. He had a gentler face than most, making a name for himself amongst the ladies.

  As he had done with Anthea, he intended to do with Francis. Pero offered no reply, not even eye contact. His face was wintry and his mind focused on the horror before him. He was ready to run to his doom.

  “Did you hear me, Pero?”

  Pero remained silent.

  “Pero, you don’t have to do this. We can appeal your case to Phillip and the Imperial Court. If the Emperor learns of your outspoken fealty, he may be persuaded to intervene and avert this madness.”

  Pero shook his head, his bright blue eyes still maintaining their stalwart center on the open gate. “Phillip is not the emperor yet and he has his own conspiracies to tend. Capua is nothing to him. There would be no strategic value in wasting assets here.”

  “So we do not resist? Rugerius wins? Gherardus wins?”

  Pero waned just enough to shift the direction of his gaze and meet that of Francis. “Of course they win. They always win. Was there any doubt they would win? The moment I bloodied Rugerius, I knew it was over. Right or wrong, I had sinned against the greater powers. I must carry that sin away from Capua.”

  “What rubbish. How can you speak of sins? Even at your impetuous worst you are more meritorious than those avaricious gremlins in Parthenope.”

  “Windbag.”

  “Puppet.”

  Pero had to snicker at that last exchange.

  Francis smiled. “Come down my friend. Talk with me, just for a little while. Surely the devil can wait an hour longer for your blood.”

  Pero gritted his teeth searching for a legitimate rebuttal. The only thing he fou
nd in his mouth was the salty flavor of the argument he had with Anthea; very bitter.

  Inside the vest pocket of his leather jerkin, beneath the sleeveless breastplate and mail, alongside the revered golden clasp, Pero had in his possession two hastily scribbled notes. It had been his intention to place these letters in the safe and capable hands of the sergeant-at-arms at the gatehouse before riding away from Capua forever. Confused by his own reluctance to proceed with his plans, Pero sighed and capitulated. He dismounted Zaon and handed the leash to a young stable hand.

  Niccolus and Arrigo, unsure what to do next, looked at one another with confused faces before climbing down from their mounts. They stood patiently beside their horses and waited.

  Pero and Francis strolled out of the stables and into the afternoon light of the open bailey. They proceeded slowly across the grounds, a walk they had shared a hundred times before. They continued on in this solemn manner to the gatehouse, passing beneath the raised portcullis and receiving salutes from the sentries standing their posts. Outside the castle, they sat down on the edge of the lowered drawbridge, their feet dangling over the side like a couple of schoolboys fishing from a bridge.

  “I severed my engagement to Anthea.”

  Francis cringed at the news. He had not expected this. “Pero, why would you do such a thing?”

  “Come now Francis, we both recognize the futility in my orders. I will not return from this mission. If the goblins terrorizing Eagles Pass do not devour me, then surely Parthenope’s finest will. Anthea is right. It’s a trap.”

  “So why are you doing this?”

  Pero slouched, his eyes peering down into the churning brown sludge of the moat. He identified his dirty reflection wavering over the surface, the ripples distorting his likeness, the image accurately defining his vacillating spirit.

  “I am cursed Francis. I never should have struck him. Striking Rugerius was the most foolish thing I have ever done.” Pero made a fist. It was becoming a habit. “Pride blinded me, filling me with rage. I couldn’t restrain myself anymore. His spittle was dangling from my face. I had been pushed too far. And now that one reckless act has destroyed the future I wanted for Anthea.” He gazed at the walls of the fortress. “When others look at Capua, they see strength and security. I see evil shades descending down from the sky, climbing down the battlements. I see thousands of soulless beasts hiding in dark corners, murdering people in their sleep. I see the faces of devils yawning in the masonry, their piercing eyes breathing dragon fire, torching the barracks and stables.” Pero stared at Francis in terror. “I can see flesh flayed and blood splashed against doors and floors. It is death and it is everywhere. I can’t stand the sight of the splatter any longer. The visions are just too powerful and worsening every day. I must get away.” He hesitated and turned his eyes to the sludge in the moat again. “A great gloom covers Capua and I am the only one who sees it. I must be the cause of it.”

  For the first time, Francis fully sensed his friend’s vexation. Pero had never shared so candidly the morose images his mind had been conjuring. The Spaniard had merely eluded to the darkness during his disengagements from reality, nothing more. Francis trembled as he suddenly remembered his father, and the madness that stole him away.

  “Francis, I have thought it through and I don’t find it is inconceivable that Parthenope could send agents to harm the people we love most. Gherardus could strike against you, against your family, against Anthea, against any number of innocent people simply to get to me. This is my fight and my fight alone. I am the one who struck Rugerius. I am the sinner. I must remove myself and grant whatever spirits exist in the world the opportunity to pass judgment on me. I will no longer stand idle and live passively with these fears. I am done waiting.” Pero started growling as if these next few words had been chained inside him for decades. “And if there be a God in heaven, it is time He revealed Himself to me. I’m weary of his secret shepherding. The Old Man needs to make his presence known, perform a miracle or two in my favor and protect me on Eagles Pass. And, maybe, just maybe, if He does this thing and I return to better senses and better days, I may forgive Him.” Pero snapped out of that thought quickly. “But I will accept nothing less from Him.”

  A band of peddlers with rickety handcarts stepped up on the drawbridge behind them. The brothers let the moment pass in silence. When the peddlers had moved on, Pero continued his rant. “Right now I am consumed by doubt. When I was young, I didn’t doubt. I was impulsive and reckless, often irrational and headstrong. It mattered not. The smell of horses and hay was always in my clothing, in my hair. We jested of these times earlier today, my brother.” Pero flashed his fist, not in anger but triumph. “But the times we spoke of, the vitality and passion of our youth made us men, made us free. To hunt and to fish, not for days but for weeks. Never thinking about the future or the direction of nations. We were alive and nothing else mattered. You recall those days, do you not, Francis? That is how you found me at Whitsuntide. A rootless spirit, adrift in the world. Zor handled most of my personal affairs in Spain.” Pero stroked his long black mane. “And then I fell in love with Anthea. There were times I wanted to brush her off, but alas, I could not. Anthea proved to be uncommon. Her sunny disposition transformed my whole world. I could not resist such magnificence. I knew at once I wanted to be her champion. She awakened in me the idiot who wanted to be accountable. But the realm of man is evil and their rules are not fair. There are so many double-standards. I’m going mad. I don’t know who I am. And this nobody that I have become is the kingdoms chief rival and adversary. An adversary to what? I don’t even know myself? What can they know of me to call me such? I am trapped by my circumstances, by my titles, by my Imperial appointment. I have all these resources at my disposal and yet I fear employing them.” He hesitated, almost afraid to speak. “The thought of raising a family here scares the heck out of me.”

  Pero fought against the erratic wind, wrapping some of the long curls around his ears. “Retribution is coming. Rugerius is not the type who will forgive or allow this offense to pass without bloodshed, even if Gherardus were to command it. Anthea must be protected. You and your family must not be caught in the crossfire.” Pero cracked his knuckles and cupped his hands together. “There are too many Fabbros in the world, men who kill children to avenge a fault of their parent.” Pero massaged his thighs vigorously as if they were cold, but they weren’t. “It seems so much easier not to love anyone, not to care. It is best that I leave this life behind me. Capua and Anthea simply never existed.”

  Francis knew this was an opportunity to finally get a word in edgewise but he hesitated. There was so much doom and gloom in Pero’s discourse to address; he didn’t know where to begin.

  Pero didn’t wait long for him to reply and the window to address it closed. “How well do you remember that day we met at Whitsuntide?” Pero asked Francis.

  Francis grinned and nodded. “I can never forget it. You saved me that day.”

  Pero chuckled, “I saved you? No, it was you that did the saving, my friend. I was doing the dying. Those assassins had bloodied me good. I had no strength left to fight with. A knight from England rode in and saved the day. My life here at Capua and my betrothal to Anthea is all on account of you. You, Francis Whitehall, are the crux to all that is decent in my life.” Pero rose up from the slouch he had been maintaining and patted Francis vigorously on the shoulder before thumping a hearty fist against his friend’s chest, square on the orange insignia. “My mighty Griffin.”

  They shared a warm smile as a burst of hot wind caught hold of Pero’s long hair, the blackness flowing magnificently out behind him. “I need to know, Francis. Why did you hazard so much for me that day? You were a poor man with a wife and child to tend. You were living in a tent. I was a complete stranger to you, and an arrogant stranger to be sure. You knew nothing about me. Was there any reluctance, any thought at all for Midonia and Anne’s sake? What if you had been wounded or killed?”

&n
bsp; Francis didn’t have to consider his response. What he had done for Pero of Penafiel at Whitsuntide was as natural as breathing. “Pero,” Francis preached, “my wife and my child are in the hands of the Lord, as are we all. As divine beings, we must let go and allow ourselves to be caught up in the spirit of the moment. We must proceed by faith, not let fear motivate us. When I rushed into that battle on your behalf, I wasn’t thinking about living and dying or how my actions would affect my family in the long term. I wasn’t even thinking about good and evil. I simply saw six men attacking one man and that did not balance, and the balance is all that matters. I believe in the balance. I preach the balance. In fact, if I were to examine the events of that day truthfully, I would have to say that I did what I did because of my daughter.”

  “I do not understand the logic in that,” Pero conceded.

  “No logic needed. I am Anne’s father and I must be an example to her of the words I preach. If I had failed to give you aide, then faith and justice would have died inside me. Never again could I moralize my beliefs. Leaving you to die would have been inexcusable. I owed it to my daughter to behave exactly the way I did; and rewrite the balance.” Francis smiled, his brown eyes reaching deep into Pero’s soul. “And through your deliverance, my contest for fairness and faith worked a miracle and saved us all.”

  Pero could sense his friend’s goodly spirit rooting around inside of him. The grand words were comforting. The things that seemed impossible to other men were apparently not impossible to Francis. He had more faith than a cathedral of popes. He could endure nearly anything. Pero wanted to make sure he never had too.

  “That is all kind of sanctimonious of you, is it not?”

  Francis busted out in laughter. “Well, being knights of the cross is not always easy. We must endure what others will not endure for the sake of justice. That is the old way.”

  “Si, but as we know, there are plenty of caballeros that hold titles without integrity. It is their exploits that disturb the balance. But I suppose I cannot blame them. I, for one, never thought my faith would sour like it has. I fear I am becoming like them. I know I think like them more often than not. Everything in my mind betrays my spirit. It is embarrassing to be so unstable.” He grimaced as his eyes began to glow. “I feel hunted, a hare run to ground. I have nowhere else to go. I’ve run out of ideas. My heart beats too fast. I must chance it. I must dart out and face the dogs, quickly, foolishly.”