The Echidna's Scale (Alchemy's Apprentice)

by Quyle, Jeffrey

  Marco looked up at a dim corner shelf, where a small dark box held an even smaller container of gorgon’s blood. Gabrielle had given the rare element to him, asserting that he would be able to use it better than anyone she knew. He had placed the exotic material in his small laboratory, not sure when he might ever have to use its extraordinary characteristics; he held it mostly to keep it safe from others who might be looking for it, those who might seek to use it in nefarious ways.

  There were faint noises coming down the staircase, and he realized that the cooks must be in the kitchen, starting their morning routine. He felt full of restless energy, with the horror of the nightmare receding in the background, and he felt hungry too. He extinguished the lanterns and bounded up the stairs, opening the door to the kitchen and producing a shriek from the cook who was bent over the wood pile.

  “Lord Marco!” she exclaimed. “You frightened me so! I apologize for shouting. I’m still not used to having someone down in the root cellar, I’m sure, my lord. And you shouldn’t be out of bed before sunrise anyway. You’ve got that nice big mattress to sleep on, beside which,” she added with a smile.

  “I’m hardly a lord, you know, Sweetness,” he told the cook, restraining a smile at the nickname by which the cook was universally referred. “Can I bring in some firewood for you?”

  “Gracious me, Lord Marco! You can’t be doing that kind of work, just because that lazy Nathin can’t get in here early to do his chores,” Sweetness protested.

  “I surely can,” Marco assured her, heading towards the door. “I’ve been doing chores most of my life,” he said as he went outside, much to her consternation, and carried in several armloads of firewood that she nonetheless promptly used to heat up the fireplace and the ovens.

  He met Mirra at breakfast, and chatted amiably with her as they ate their breakfast. The staff served them attentively; Marco had noticed that the staff members of both sexes doted on Mirra. The men were drawn by her tremendous beauty, while the women were charmed by her amiable personality and her lack of airs, as she still failed to appreciate how extraordinary her appearance was, even after weeks of enjoying the benefits of the salve that Marco had applied to her.

  “Marco, I never did understand exactly who that lady was at the palace ball,” Mirra spoke up that morning, as he stared at her. She was truly curious, Marco could tell by the reference, because he knew that the horrific events at the ball had terrorized Mirra, and made the dance something that his lady preferred not to discuss. “The one with the odd,” she trailed off momentarily, “the one who seemed to be Lady Folence’s superior,” she explained. Mirra’s manners were too delicate to mention the exotic, striped complexion that Iasco wore.

  “That was Lady Iasco, who is the leader of the whole Order of Ophiuchus,” Marco answered. “She’s in control of the whole Order, so she is Folence’s boss. She told us she came from a land far, far to the south, where I guess everyone has stripes like that. Her brother did,” he added sadly, thinking of the sorcerer Iago.

  They spoke further about the Lady, as Marco recounted some of his experiences with her, before he finally decided to tell Mirra what was on his mind. “I’d like to go to Barcelon to do some shopping for some supplies for my alchemy workshop,” he informed her.

  “Glaze was telling me he’d like to go back to the city for a visit. Will you take him with you?” Mirra asked complacently. She felt little desire to go to the city herself; the good life she lived at the castle was far, far better than any way of life she had ever experienced before, though like Marco, she tended to scandalize the staff by offering to help to do menial chores when she saw an extra pair of hands was needed.

  “Sure, why not take Glaze?” Marco responded. He had enjoyed getting to know Mirra’s older brother during the time they had spent together at Sant Jeroni. Glaze had become enamored of the life of a huntsman, and Sheafeld, the incumbent huntsman at the estate, had generously spent much time with the younger man, showing him a great deal about the duties and responsibilities as well as the pleasures of the position. But Glaze would also enjoy time back in the hustle and busy atmosphere of the city as well.

  “We’re going hunting this afternoon, so I’ll ask him then, if I don’t see him before,” Marco promised.

  After breakfast Marco and Mirra went for a ride with the steward of the estate, as Marco asked to visit the villages that bore fealty to his estate, and after lunch Mirra remained at the castle with Sybele as Marco moved out to the find the huntsmen.

  Early in the afternoon, Marco further practiced his archery, then joined the dozen other men who were along with Glaze and he on the hunting expedition. Just behind the St. Jeroni castle, the mountain landscape began to grow rugged as the elevation of the land rose rapidly, cut by numerous ravines and valleys. The hunters split up into two parties, and Marco found that the men of the palace were expected to drive game out into the relatively open spaces for him and Glaze to shoot at. It was meant to be as easy as possible for Marco and Glaze to shoot some game.

  And then they came upon a wild boar sow with a litter of nearly mature piglets.

  Marco and Glaze were walking along a game trail, with the others out in front driving the game, when there was a shout, and then a scream, and then a warning. And then the angry sow was visible and charging directly at Glaze and Marco, with a portion of her litter running behind her.

  Marco fired off two arrows, both of which missed the angry creature, while Glaze struck her shoulder with an arrow that only raised her attitude from anger to viciousness.

  With her speed, she reached them before they realized, and she sank a tusk into Marco’s calf, then turned on Glaze as Marco fell backwards, and she began to attack him. Glaze screamed in pain and fear as Marco pulled his sword free while still on the ground.

  He felt the confidence that the sword inspired in him when he held it going into conflict, and he ignored the pain in his leg to rise to his knees and – holding his weapon in his golden hand – he thrust the great shining blade forward into the ribs of the boar. The animal’s angry squeals changed to sounds of pain and fear, and it turned away from the badly battered Glaze to fight against Marco.

  Marco pulled his sword free as the sow swung around, but he took a tusk in his gut as he stabbed straight down through the animal’s shoulder, and his enchanted sword found a path through the flesh of the boar so that it could stab directly into the heart of the beast, as the half dozen piglets in its wake scattered into the wildness around the scene of the fight in response to their mother’s sounds of pain and fear.

  The boar collapsed, dead. Marco collapsed, seriously injured, and Glaze lay on the ground in great pain, only semi-conscious when the rest of the hunting party hastily arrived at the bloody spot in the forest. The men immediately hoisted Glaze and Marco on their shoulders and carried the two men back towards the castle in a hurry, fearful that their lord might have taken a fatal wound.

  Chapter 2 – The Fall

  Marco awoke the next morning in considerable pain, with a high fever. Mirra sat at his bedside, holding his hand and looking anxious and worn.

  “Did you spend the night here?” he asked faintly.

  “I did, dear. You didn’t rest well,” she answered.

  “And you swore to me that you wouldn’t come to my bedroom until we were married,” he teased her, reminding her of one of the conditions they had agreed upon when they reunited and decided to live in the castle.

  “Marco, be serious!” she exclaimed, lightly smacking his shoulder in exasperation. “You are badly injured. There’s a doctor on the way from Barcelon right now to look at you.”

  “How is Glaze?” Marco asked.

  “He’s walking with a limp. The boar got him in both legs with its tusks, but not deeply. You apparently distracted it. It’s a monstrously huge animal! The huntsmen all marvel that you’re alive, let alone that you managed to kill it with just a sword. They use spears when they’re hunting boars, they mentioned.”
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br />   Marco closed his eyes and rested. “Would you go down to my workshop and bring me certain things?” he asked, and gave Mirra a list of the items he would need to create the healing powder that he suspected he needed as a result of his wounds.

  Mirra returned ten minutes later. “Marco, there are no labels on your jars. I don’t know which is which,” she told him apologetically.

  He momentarily cursed himself for not having labeled the containers. He had told himself he’d wait until he had them all filled, and then label them all at once. Which hadn’t happened yet.

  “Do you need them right now? Is this something that can wait until you heal?” Mirra asked.

  “I need to prepare some solutions that will help me heal,” he replied. He paused, and tried to sit up, then collapsed back in his bed, gasping from the pain that the movement had caused. “Can you arrange to have me carried down to the workshop?”

  She looked at him with a worried expression. “Your wounds look severe, my love. I don’t think you should move any more than necessary.”

  “I can mix the necessary ingredients to treat the fever and the infection,” he told her. “It’s what I need,” he added.

  “I’ll go ask Perago,” Mirra said with resignation, rising from her seat. “He’s very resourceful; he’ll come up with a solution.” She bent to give Marco a kiss on the cheek, and then she was off to find the steward of the estate.

  Marco grimaced in pain and lay back quietly then waited for an hour, dozing, until he heard the sound of several sets of feet approach. Mirra led the way into his room, looking strangely pale, Marco thought.

  Perago came in behind her – a man who stood out on the estate because he was inches taller than any other man, and a quartet of men followed, holding a wide wooden plank and a coiled rope.

  “My lord, we understand that Lady Mirra has not been able to persuade you to remain quietly here in your bed and wait for the doctor to arrive,” the steward, a portly man of middle age spoke. Marco nodded agreement.

  “If that is the case, we can try to take you out on a plank,” Perago promptly answered. “If we go down the stairs, we’ll have to turn and twist the plank to get around the curve in the staircase; it won’t be a pleasant journey for someone in your condition,” he said, and Marco tried to envision the contortions the impromptu stretcher would have to make. It wouldn’t be easy, he realized.

  “Or, we could tie you to the plank and lower you out the window, then carry you around to the back of the castle,” Perago offered, “if you don’t mind dangling in midair far above the ground.”

  “Marco, it sounds too dangerous,” Mirra warned him.

  “I have to have some compounds,” he answered gently, feeling the pain in his stomach from the damage the boar’s tusks had done. “And I need to do it quickly,” he added. “Take me out the window,” he told Perago.

  “As you wish, my lord,” the steward agreed.

  Ten minutes later the stout wooden plank had been tied beneath him and the coil of rope had been wrapped around him. The four workmen cautiously lifted him atop the plank from the bed and moved to the window, where Perago opened the curtains and the glass, letting a cold breeze blow in through the wide window.

  Marco lay with his eyes open, watching the ceiling of his room cross above him as the plank was lifted and moved, until he was set down next to the window, and the ropes were adjusted for the men to use to lower him outside, and a pulley was erected on a makeshift arm that extended past the wall. The plank was lifted again, and Marco heard Mirra murmur, “Be careful,” as the cold air swept around him, and the blue sky appeared overhead outside the window frame as the plank was pressed out, then turned, and stopped in position hanging in midair.

  “Larue, Hardes, you two go downstairs now to receive him,” Perago ordered two men, as the other two men still in the room began to slowly allow the plank to begin to descend.

  Marco looked upward and saw the window frame come in to view above him, as Mirra’s head and shoulders projected out, looking down at him as her hair hung around her face in a curtain on the outward side, the wind blowing it across in front of her. She looked down at him as he descended in one small step after another, each small jerk of the rope inducing pains that made him flinch.

  “I love you,” she mouthed the words as he stared up at her, and he smiled in return. Then he heard a cracking sound, and a look of horror crossed Mirra’s face as she held the hair away from her face and turned her head to look over at the wooden arm that held the rope carrying Marco in midair.

  The wooden arm fell, and the plank Marco was riding on fell rapidly, then he faintly heard the sound of men shouting. And he remembered nothing else.

  Chapter 3 – The Temple on the Isle

  “Is he ever going to wake up?” Glaze asked.

  “His body needs to accept the healing we offer,” Folence answered.

  Those were the first words Marco heard.

  He opened his eyes and looked upward. He recognized the ceiling overhead, the ceiling of the temple of Ophiuchus in Barcelon.

  “He’s awake!” Glaze shouted.

  “Sssh, for the love of God!” Folence angrily silenced the boy.

  Marco’s eyes drifted to his left, where he saw Folence’s familiar face, next to Glaze’s face, only Glaze had long hair and a habit draped over his head.

  He was puzzled, and tried to raise his hands to his face, only to find that his left hand would not move at all, while his right hand, the golden hand, fingers wiggled, but little else happened.

  “What is happening?” he asked, unable to make any sense of the situation.

  “Marco,” Folence said gently, “I’m so glad you’re awake. We’ll do everything we can to help you,” she said with a sincerity and compassion that he had never heard from her before.

  “Why am I here?” he asked.

  “Do you remember the boar hunt?” Glaze asked.

  Marco closed his eyes, and let his vague memories drift to the forefront of his attention. “The boar gored us; it got me in the stomach,” he murmured.

  “And then they tried to move you out of your room, but the pulley broke, and you fell to the ground,” Glaze explained.

  “Your back was broken when you hit the ground,” Folence stepped in. “You were brought here immediately and have been here several days.

  “We’ve healed the wounds the boar inflicted; you’re getting over that,” she told him. “But a broken back is serious, Marco. We want to send you directly to Lady Iasco for treatment,” she explained.

  “I can’t move,” Marco suddenly understood why he hadn’t raised his hand. He tried to move his extremities, but felt no response, felt nothing at all.

  “The break in your back was very high up, and you are paralyzed,” Folence gently confirmed. “But there is hope. As you know – as you’ve experienced – the Lady Iasco can accomplish great things in the temple. If you’ll agree to let us send you, we’ll have a ship ready to take you as quickly as possible.”

  Marco said nothing, stunned by the enormity of the injury that had befallen him.

  “Let’s get you to this island and healed up as fast as possible, Marco,” Glaze urged. “The snows will be falling soon, and I know you want to be back there with Mirra before the roads are impassable.”

  “What other choices do I have?” Marco asked Folence.

  She gently shook her head. “None that I know of, Marco. The lady and the island are your only hope,” the priestess said quietly.

  “Can Glaze go with me?” he asked. He wanted another male along on the trip; despite the openness Lady Iasco had shown, despite the protection Albany had given him, despite the care that the attendants at his last healing had given him, he desperately wanted to have another male along, to relieve his sense of isolation on the island of women.

  “Marco!” Folence answered sharply.

  “You’ve already got him dressed as a girl to come here,” Marco spoke immediately, then paused to g
asp. Breathing was harder than he realized.

  “I’ll go with Marco,” Glaze spoke up.

  Folence’s dark eyes shifted from one to the other, and she said nothing.

  Two days later, they were aboard a special ship commissioned by Folence, carrying a female crew and the two passengers, and four days later the ship pulled into the harbor at Ophiuchus.

  “You need to shave before we disembark,” Folence told Glaze sternly. The young man’s beard was scraggly, but apparent enough that Marco agreed there was no way he could pass as a female on the island that so jealously guarded against any intrusion by men.

  Grumbling, Glaze acquiesced, and by the time the ship pulled up to the dock, he was ready to demurely pass as a female nurse, and helped to carry Marco’s stretcher off the ship and onto the enchanted island that was the home and focus of the healing cult of Ophiuchus. The small group passed without notice through the streets of the village, appearing similar to so many other pilgrims who had come to the island for extraordinary healing over the years.

  Marco rode silently, staring straight up at the gauzy material that concealed him from the view of those on the streets.

  He felt the stretcher travel and turn, and then it came to a stop, and he heard a knock on a door.

  “How may we help you?” a voice – feminine, obviously – answered the knock. “The pilgrims seeking healing should go to the hospice upon the hill,” the voice announced in a kindly tone.

  The voice was familiar. Marco recognized it, and tried to remember whose it was. It was a younger voice, not a mature one like Albany’s.

  “This is no ordinary pilgrim,” Folence answered. “I am the Lady Folence of the Barcelon Temple, and I bring a special pilgrim that Lady Iasco will want to see, and tend to personally.”