Aphrodite's Acolyte
Page 2
Methvas chimed in. “So how was your day, Dear? Anything fascinating and exciting happen at the shop today?”
Shar glanced over at Methvas. “Nothing really out of the normal. I did get a visitor from Puldechra,” she paused and glanced at Fidel. “He said he traveled through the desert in search of rarities. Regrettably, he had to witness the spectacle of Yardana's ordeal and left without purchasing anything. Which was very unfortunate as I think I could have made quite a few coins off him.”
It was Fidel's turn to continue the conversation. “I have heard the name Puldechra before, and your look at me when you mentioned the name has me wondering. What significance should this name carry with me?” Fidel looked to his mother as she took another bite of her stew. Methvas looked at Shar as well with a little concern in his eyes, not looking forward to the response she was about to provide, but knowing it was time to have this conversation.
Shar looked down at the table for a moment to consider her words before replying. “Well, Son, Puldechra is where you were born. It is the city where your life started over eighty years ago. You spent your first seven years in that city until your parents decided to...” she paused for a second trying to find the right words to describe his birth parents intentions. She began again. “It's the city you belonged to before your parents decided to send you on a lifelong learning mission amongst us humans. And now you are three days past due on your twenty-five years with us as your teachers.”
Fidel took the news stoically, at first. After his first two sets of parents, he figured out there was a pattern to his steady orphaning. Shar and Methvas both took another spoonful of their meal.
“So now it is time for you to push me away then?” Fidel said, with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Have you already chosen a new set of teachers for me? Are they a fine couple?”
Shar raised her palm to Fidel as she noticed his agitation growing. “No Son, now is the time we release you into the world to do as you feel fit. You have been a great student and child, even if you have been older than us the whole time. You have made us proud and your birth parent's wishes for you have been fulfilled.”
Fidel looked at his mother with confusion. Shar stared back, returning a look of awareness, “Ah, so every parent you have had over the past seventy plus years have kept the secret details from you? I'm impressed. Secrets are hard to keep.” Shar rose from the table. “Give me a few minutes to collect the scroll your birth parents created for you. It is time for you to read their words and decide what destiny you would like to pursue.” Shar left the room to collect the scroll.
Fidel looked at Methvas. He noticed a hint of moisture in his father's eyes, an oddity in his father's often tough facade. “What is wrong, Father? Do you not wish me to know my heritage?”
Methvas stared back and cleared his throat. “Not at all Son. I fear the end of this road. I do not want to lose you. But I know that is selfish of me. I have grown to love you with all my heart.” A clanking sound could be heard as Methvas dropped his spoon in his empty bowl. “Today is eventful for you. I hope you do not act rash and you take all into account. I will honor our previous arrangement with regards to Lord Ias and Yardana, despite what happens.” Methvas walked to the kitchen window and looked outside. “That reminds me, I must head out to the keep soon. Please promise me that you will honor your part of the agreement and meet with Yardana and Lord Ias tomorrow.”
Fidel sat back in his chair for a moment. He contemplated the meaning of Methvas' words, then leaned forward and rose up. “Father, I have already given you my word and I promise to keep it. No matter what words my birth parents have scribed for me, I will remain in Harlow's Hovel until at least dusk tomorrow.” Methvas nodded and a small smile crossed his lips as he collected the dishes from the evening meal.
Shar returned to the room with a scroll. Fidel noticed the end caps and seal were still intact. “Here's the scroll I spoke of. We will leave you be for a little while to read it.” Shar motioned to Methvas and they both left the house, leaving Fidel alone with the scroll and his thoughts. Fidel looked at the scroll and turned it over in his hand. He pulled the two caps off and broke the seal. He was anxious as he unrolled the three-quarter century old parchment out in front of him.
Our Dearest Fidel,
If you are reading this, seventy-five years have passed since we said our farewell to you. On your seventh birthday, your mother and I made one of the toughest decisions of our lives. We decided your destiny should vary from most of our kind. We wanted you to grow fast and strong, unlike our kind who choose to take things slow and steady. We wanted more for you. We placed you in the care of humans, with the caveat that you could not remain with any single human for more than twenty-five years. We hope the humans, with their short lifespans driving their impatience and passion, would be able to teach you more in a much faster time than the elven people could have taught you in five centuries.
We love you Fidel. We hope you return to us as soon as you are able. We will be anxiously awaiting your return. When you arrive in the city of Puldechra, look for the house with a window lined completely in candles. You will know that is our home. Do not delay in knocking, no matter what time you may arrive.
With Our Deepest Love,
Grelin and Asante Fidel
Fidel lifted his head and stared straight ahead, his eyes brimming lightly with tears by the meaning of the note. He rolled up the scroll and re-attached the caps. He moved toward the settle couch in the family room and sat down, placing the scroll on the table before him. He leaned back in the settle, his long black hair dangling over the hardwood backing. He closed his eyes and relaxed. Time seemed to stand still as he traversed the depths of his mind. He hoped that a long forgotten memory of his birth parents would arise.
Memories returned to Fidel, none of Puldechra though. First entered the memory of his first set of human parents, a huge blue-eyed male blacksmith and a brown-eyed female shopkeeper. Then came the second set of parents, his father was a brown-eyed farmer with his mother being a green-eyed and blond-haired thief. Then came the memory of the red-haired wizard and his shopkeeper wife, Methvas and Shar.
One memory of so long ago did return, not of his birth parents though. The memory filled his mind of leaving a forest with lights that gleamed all over. The forest faded away as carriage wheels made grinding sounds, trekking toward the horizon. He remembered the voice of a woman, his first human mother, Atina Zemerus, as she promised riches of knowledge and wealth.
About an hour later, the front door thudded shut, and tore Fidel from his contemplation. Shar entered the house, pounding her boots clear of the dirt from the road. Fidel opened his eyes and looked at his mother. “Where's Father?”
“He had to join Lord Ias at the keep." Shar noticed the scroll, neatly placed on the table with the seal broken. She hung up her light coat and walked over to sit on the couch with her son. “How are you feeling, Son?”
"I'm torn between the excitement of meeting my birth parents and the guilt of abandoning the people who have cared for me for so long. What would you do, Mother?"
Shar took hold of Fidel's hand and peered into his deep green eyes. “I would do what my heart told me to do. Your father would tell you to listen to your mind. I am telling you to listen to your heart. What is the strongest desire? Follow that which pulls the hardest.”
Fidel took his mother's words under consideration and nodded his head at her advice. Shar stood up and tossed another log in the fireplace, poking at the remaining embers to spark the flames to life. They both sat there for a few hours watching the fire crackle and pop. Neither of them said a word. Both of them recalled the past years of their meaningful lives together as the fire danced before them.
The front door creaked open when Methvas returned home. He hung up his coat and stomped his boots, then glanced at his wife and child as they sat on the settle couch peacefully. He sat down on the other side of Fidel and took in the serenity of the crackling fire.
Fidel sat up straight, and rose from the settle. He stood tall in front of his mother and father to announce his decision. “I will be leaving after my meeting with Lord Ias. My heart tells me to seek out my heritage and learn what I have not learned over the past seventy-five years amongst the humans. This does not mean I do not love you. You have been my parents for years and my love for you will not diminish.”
Methvas smiled wide with pride at his son taking a stance. “Son, we know you will love us even after we are gone from this mortal coil. We will love you as long as well.” Methvas stood up and opened his arms in a wide semi-circle, inviting a hug from his son. Shar rose up as well, her eyes brimmed with tears. The three embraced in a family hug in the middle of the living room.
After a few long breaths, the family slowly pulled apart and stared at each other. Each one in the room felt a loss with Fidel's announcement. Yet, each one was full of pride with Fidel's decision to pursue the truth of his existence. Many moments passed. The family finally agreed it was time for bed as the following day would be a long one. Fidel put out the fire and the sorrow-filled family walked slowly to their respectful rooms for a restless night's sleep.
Chapter III
Meeting With the King
A knock at the front door woke Fidel from his dream state. The break of dawn was evident by the low rays of light shining into his small bedroom. He tumbled out of bed, put on his long robe, and stumbled to the front door. When Fidel opened the front door, a chubby and smiling man greeted him.
“Mr. Fidel, I presume?” the jubilant man asked.
“Yes,” Fidel answered with a contorted expression on his face as the sun shone brightly into his eyes.
“I am here to take you to Harlow's Keep. Do you need more time to make yourself more, um...” The man glanced up and down, “presentable?”
“Yes please,” Fidel said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Could you give me twenty minutes? Would you like to come in to make your wait more tolerable?”
“No Sir. I need to run another errand. I will be back in about thirty minutes. Please take your time. Since you are meeting Lord Ias, may I suggest you spend a few extra minutes bathing?” The chubby man pinched his fingers over his nose and smiled.
Fidel chuckled at the carriage driver's remark. “Thank you good sir. I will see you in thirty minutes.” The man waddled back to his horse-drawn carriage, hopped in, and started away.
Fidel cleaned himself up then put on his finest blue and red robe, sporting the colors of the kingdom. He knocked on his parents door to advise them of his departure. He didn't get a response so he opened the door. His parents were not home, not unusual considering their professions. He picked up his rucksack and headed out the front door.
The carriage driver motioned for Fidel to get in as he slowed to a stop. Fidel hopped in the back of the carriage and the driver carried on his way, turning several times through the city, then finally up the path to the keep, a path Fidel crossed less than a day ago.
As they approached the front gates of the keep, Fidel requested the driver to stop. Confused, the driver halted the carriage and turned to question Fidel, only to see the elf jumping out of the carriage and running into the dense forest along the road. A few moments later, Fidel returned with his seven-foot long staff.
Fidel smiled at the driver as he walked up, “I left this here yesterday. Thank you for stopping!” Fidel hopped into the carriage, chuckling at the confused driver's expression. The carriage started forward toward the keep.
Once the large walled doors of the outer perimeter of the keep opened, Fidel was awestruck by how large the castle complex appeared. The forest surrounding the castle did a very good job at hiding the size of the walled structure, roughly the size of a small town. The carriage continued on through the gates. As the carriage rolled on, they passed a half-dozen iron workers and their forges. Fidel found the loud and rhythmic clangs of the blacksmiths at work quite relaxing. Memories of his first father's labors bounced into his mind with every clang.
Lined along the dirt street, shortly beyond the blacksmiths, a very large barrack stood tall, no doubt housing at least ten score of soldiers at all times. Guards lined the wall on platforms built for patrol, just high enough for a soldier of normal stature to look over the barrier with minimal effort.
After the barracks, rows of small cottages dotted the landscape. A library of sorts and a stable resided immediately before the tallest central building, a single large circular building made of stone, four times as wide as Fidel's own house and at least five times as tall. The wagon stopped immediately in front of the draw bridge of the keep.
“This is your stop!” The driver shouted. Fidel hopped out of the carriage and thanked the driver. The driver advised Fidel he would return when summoned and rode off toward the stable. The drawbridge lowered over the small moat surrounding the keep, inviting Fidel to enter the castle. Fidel complied and strolled into the keep, his attitude hopeful at the outcome with the meetings he was about to attend.
Chairs lined the walls, no doubt for visitors to sit down and wait for their audience with the Lord of Harlow's Hovel. The entire first floor was painted with a mural depicting a human slamming his fist into the ground and a large spout of water shooting into the air. The trees immediately surrounding the wall of water were bent over to the ground, almost perpendicular, and the timbers further out showed all their leaves torn from their branches. Further in the distance, a fire appeared to roar, burning down all the vegetation.
Fidel came to realize the mural was a depiction of the legend of Harlow's Hovel. The legend stated the god Heracles, disguised as a beggar named Harlow, responded to the prayers of Zeus' faithful followers to send water for the people of the town.
From directly behind, Fidel heard somebody clear their throat, bringing him from his concentration on the legendary scene. Fidel turned around to see his father standing behind him.
“I thought I said we would get you a new walking stick?” Methvas questioned with feigned annoyance.
“Would you give up such a fine stalk of wood, Father?” Fidel asked.
“No, I suppose not,” Methvas replied.
Methvas motioned for Fidel's staff and pack. Fidel handed them over and Methvas quickly handed them to the caretaker of the keep.
“Whom do you want to speak to first?” Methvas asked.
Fidel thought for a second, “I would prefer to talk with Yardana first.”
Methvas motioned Fidel to the stairway and they headed up the stone steps. The father and son duo stopped shortly at the second level of the complex, a large room full of weapons and armor spread out wide before them. Methvas showed Fidel around the armory.
Fidel examined the various weapons and armor on the level, paying much favor to the blunt weapons like the staffs, maces, and morning stars. He picked up a one inch thick plain-looking staff and noticed it was solid metal. He started to twirl it end over end, surprised at the weapons balance, but noting the weight slowed his movements significantly.
Methvas admired his son's ability to use a staff so effectively, so perfectly, a skill Fidel possessed upon his arrival in Harlow's Hovel. Methvas observed as Fidel executed a few routines. Then the elf put the staff back on the weapon rack.
“What do you think?” Methvas inquired.
“A very solid and balanced weapon. But too slow to wield for an elf like myself. Perhaps best suited for a barbarian with quite a bit more meat on their bones.” Fidel responded lightheartedly.
They continued on up the next flight of stairs. The third level of the keep contained a series of chambers, eight by Fidel's count. Methvas led Fidel down the hall and stopped in front of one of the chamber doors. Methvas lightly tapped on the door.
“Come in,” called a soft voice from the other side of the door.
Methvas entered the chamber first, followed closely by Fidel. Fidel watched as Yardana put her arms around Methvas in a hug, her brown eyes glowing and her blond hair radiating against the gray castle walls. She was the cleanest Fidel had ever seen this young child in her entire life. Not a sign of dirt on her exposed skin and not a single stain on her red dress. Methvas pulled away from Yardana and motioned to Fidel.
“Do you remember my son, Fidel?”
She nodded. “Yes, Fidel and I have always been friends,” she responded in her youthful voice. She walked over and embraced Fidel in a tight and exuberant hug. He returned in kind, not sure what to make of her overly friendly greeting.
“Yardana, Fidel has a few questions for you regarding why you are here. Would you be comfortable sharing your story with him?” Methvas asked.
She pulled away from Fidel and held him at arm's length. She stared deep into his eyes as-if judging his worthiness to hear her tale.
“I can trust Fidel. I will tell him.”
She turned around and walked over to her bed. She sat down and stared at the ground for a few moments. Fidel saw a tear fall from her face to the ground, breaking into a dozen facets as it hit the stone floor. Fidel swallowed hard. He could imagine how difficult the story was for her. His throat tensing up and guilt racing through his mind on how he brought this child back to whatever painful memory that was stuck in her head. Yardana looked up slowly and locked her tearful gaze into Fidel's eyes.
“Fidel, my papa is a bad man,” her voice cracked as she continued, “He would touch me like a papa shouldn't touch a daughter. He touched me like a papa would touch a mama.”
Fidel considered her words for a minute, a sudden clarity overcame him as he realized the meaning behind her words. Fidel's face turned bright red with anger. He could feel the heat on his face and his body started to tremor with pure fury, ready to explode.