The Gorgon's Blood Solution

by Jeffrey Quyle

  Marco looked at him incredulously, then shrugged off the arm around his shoulder and turned to face Kilson.

  “There’s not a chance in Hell!” he said vehemently.

  “The witches are going to take you away from here any day now. You’re never going to see her again anyway. Why don’t you make it easier for her by letting her go, so that I can comfort her?” Kilson said. “You know Folence has a charter ship waiting at the dock to carry you away at any moment, don’t you?”

  Marco looked at Kilson, then looked through the doorway at Folence, who was watching him intently.

  Just then the door to the ballroom opened, and a servant stuck his head in. “We’re ready to announce the guests of honor,” he said. “It’s time to go.”

  Folence immediately stepped back into the anteroom and placed her arm through Marco’s. “We’re ready,” she replied to the servant.

  “We’ll get announced, we’ll mingle for a little while, and then we’ll get you back to the temple grounds. You don’t look well,” she commented as they stepped towards the door.

  Marco looked back over his shoulder, to see Mirra stepping next to Kilson. She waggled her fingers affectionately at Marco as he left the room.

  “Are you taking me to the chapel, or are you taking me to a charter ship to ship me back to the isle?” he demanded of Folence.

  The lady’s step almost faltered, but then they were at the top of a staircase, looking out across a vast room, the largest room he had ever seen. The space glittered with candles and crystals and mirrors that spread light widely and evenly, so that Marco could see individuals standing far and near, men and women wearing elaborate clothing that was worth more than Marco had even imagined.

  The ceiling was elaborately decorated with murals and gold leaf. There was a row of small windows, framed by ornate short columns, that raised the central ceiling from a surrounding lower level, and a balcony row was midway between the floor and the ceiling. An orchestra played music at the far end of the hall, in front of a nearly-empty dance floor. The sight was an extraordinary one that sent a thrill through Marco’s spirit.

  “The honored guest of the evening, the apprentice alchemist Marco, whose discovery of a cure for the plague saved the lives of thousands, and whose mortal combat with the Corsair sorcerer prevented a devastating raid on our fair city from succeeding. He has recovered from his wounds, and is here tonight, a Knight of the Palace and the champion of all who need help!” a herald’s voice boomed impossibly loudly, and set off a boisterous round of applause.

  “Now we descend the steps,” Folence cued him, and they began to slowly step down each step of the staircase.

  The energy in his arm moved so wildly that Marco jerked and winced while halfway down the stairs. Folence’s fingers dug into his left forearm, steadying him. “Is it the evil?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes,” Marco breathed heavily. “It’s active.”

  “You’ll only be here five minutes, then we go,” Folence reassured him.

  They reached the bottom of the stairs, where the Duke stood waiting for them.

  “Let everyone here know how pleased I am to be able to host this event in honor of Marco, whose heroics had saved our city from disasters. To show my gratitude, I bequeath upon him and his heirs the Marquisate of Sant Jeroni, an ancient hunting estate in the mountains that was a favorite place of my grandfather. I have very fond memories of hunting there with him when I was a child, and I give those memories to you with a smile,” the Duke graciously said. A hearty cheer rose in the surrounding throng, upon hearing word of the Duke’s generosity.

  Marco felt a stunned silliness that spread a wide smile across his face. Even through the distracting sound of the murmuring evil, which was growing louder and deeper in his ears, the thought of being made into a nobleman was beyond imagination.

  “Your grace is too kind to the boy,” he faintly heard Folence say. The murmuring was more than a distraction now; the sounds were evolving to become distinct words. They remained just a fraction of perception away from being understood.

  Folence squeezed his hand, redirecting his attention. He refocused his eyes, and looked at the grinning Duke. “I cannot tell you how surprised I am, your grace,” Marco stumbled to say. “I’m just a poor boy; I never dreamed of anything like this. I just wanted to help make people’s live better, and to fight the evil.”

  At his last phrase the lump in his arm grew warm with anger.

  “It is because I so seldom hear of such goodness of heart that I wanted to reward you. And it may be that you will say I have done you no favor when you see the lodge in the mountains!” the Duke laughed. “My grandfather complained from September until May that that lodge could never be warm enough!” he laughed heartily enough to raise a chuckle from those around him. “And my grandmother complained that it was too far from the city.”

  “Now mingle about Marco, and all of you,” the Duke ordered. “Eat some food! Drink some wine! Chase some girls – oh, pardon that last,” he chuckled. “This ball is in your name, so enjoy.”

  “Here!” Marco suddenly understood the words that the evil was broadcasting. “He is here. Come and get him. The power is here,” the murmur was loud in his ears, louder than some of the voices of nearby partiers.

  “Can you hear it?” Marco pressed his mouth against Folence’s ear to softly ask, as they began to stroll through the crowd. “I can hear the evil calling. It’s telling other evil where I am, and to come get me.”

  “I don’t hear anything,” she answered.

  Hands were reaching out to pat him, to congratulate him. They were headed towards the empty space of the dance floor. The orchestra was on a break, and no dancers occupied the opening.

  Marco looked and saw a veiled lady watching him intently. Even though he could only see her eyes, he knew that they were familiar. And the veiled lady was very nearby, walking along in parallel to the path he and Folence were on.

  “Come now! Get him now! There is power here!” the evil voice was practically shrieking.

  “Someone’s following us,” Marco said urgently to Folence, as they reached the dance floor, trailing a small crowd of followers who wished to congratulate Marco, as well as Kilson and Mirra, and the veiled lady.

  Before Folence could reply, there was a crashing noise from above. All eyes in the room looked up at the unexpected sound. The entire perimeter set of windows around the ceiling were bursting inward, as flocks of raven came flying into the room, and a shower of glass shards fell down upon the crowd. The men and women in their finery screamed and scrambled in response to the unexpected catastrophe.

  Marco and Folence stumbled as they craned their necks upward to look at the sight above, and they fell to the floor. The birds circled together just below the ceiling, hundreds of them whirling around and around, making a cacophonous uproar of caws and shrieks. The birds were glowing faintly with a deep purple aura, and Marco knew that they had come to get him.

  “Run Folence!” he shouted. “Take Mirra to safety!” He rose to his knees, and pulled his sword free, then doubled over in pain as the evil tumor on his arm fought its way up to his shoulder.

  And then the ravens came swooping down at him. A black shaft of feathers and flesh came plummeting directly at him. Marco weakly raised his sword, and watched as the first of the birds came at him. The sword’s marvelous powers came to the fore, and the blade in his hand twisted and turned to knock away three birds simultaneously.

  But then a score of birds dove into his chest and his shoulders and his head, knocking him to the floor in a screaming volley of pain, as he heard the evil power start singing a victory song. “He is ours, he is mine. We control him!” the voice sang.

  “This shall cease!” a woman’s voice shouted.

  Marco had his good arm over his head, trying to protect his face as the birds continued to pummel him, then he suddenly felt a tension in the air, and a bright flash of light occurred. The assault of the ravens abrupt
ly stopped, and Marco heard a continual pummeling sound.

  He opened his eyes and looked up, where he saw that there was a small yellow dome, a magical construction, arched over him. A few ravens fluttered within the dome, along with Marco, and Folence, who was on the floor rising to her knees.

  And also inside the dome was the veiled lady, the one Marco had noted with such concern. Her veils were dropped, revealing the striped complexion of her face. It was Lady Iasco, somehow miraculously transported from the Isle to Barcelon, and exercising great powers of sorcery that Marco had not suspected she held.

  The ravens continued to throw themselves at the outside of the dome, and as each of them struck, there was a small explosion as the purple energy of each bird made contact with the dome’s yellow power.

  “Get him up, Folence!” Iasco shouted. “I can’t hold this for very long.”

  Marco shouted in pain just then, as the evil energy took another jump forward onto his chest.

  Folence rose and lifted him with a strength that surprised him, then heedlessly pulled his shirt off of him, rubbing the white fabric across his face to wipe away the streaming blood from the many cuts there. She looked at the location of the lump, then her eyes narrowed.

  “I’m doing this for you, Marco,” she inexplicable told him, as he knelt in a daze of pain and confusion.

  Folence reached into a fold of her dress, and pulled out the container of gorgon’s blood. She took a deep breath, then opened the container, and to Marco’s horror, she stuck her fingertip directly into the flakes within, then began to scream as she rapidly moved the finger to press it against the evil tumor that was on Marco’s chest.

  The evil energy immediately began to retreat, and Marco’s soul was filled with the sound of its screaming fury and pain. He closed his eyes and began to collapse in pain and horror as he felt Folence’s finger shepherd the energy back to his shoulder, then down his arm, and past his elbow. Folence was screaming in pain even as she maintained her assault on his parasitic attacker.

  Marco opened his eyes to see Folence collapse in pain on the ground, her hand covered in blood, whether it was her own or his, he couldn’t tell. The lump of evil was pressed clear down to his wrist, a gruesome distension of his flesh in that area.

  “The shield is failing!” Iasco screamed. “Get rid of the energy Marco!” She screamed. “Cut your hand off!”

  Marco blinked in horror at the thought, but he saw the yellow light of the shield flickering as Iasco’s effort to protect him began to falter under the ceaseless torrent of possessed birds, each striking it and exploding, fragmenting it further.

  A hole appeared on the side of the collapsing dome, and a raven flew in, striking Marco on the very wrist where the evil had retreated to. Folence was sprawled on the ground unconscious, and Iasco was sinking to her knees as she drained herself of energy.

  He had to do it, Marco realized sadly. He wheeled the enchanted sword in his left hand and started the blade on its path. The less he thought about it the better. He closed his eyes, and then felt the shock of contact. His arm reacted, and he felt no pain for two seconds.

  In disbelief he opened his eyes, and watched as multiple things seemed to all occur simultaneously. His hand lay on the ground beside him, and the stump of his wrist was pouring out blood. The yellow shield collapsed, and Iasco fell to the floor. The ravens reacted to the severing of the hand and wrist by wheeling about in the air, circling overhead in confusion.

  Worst of all – impossibly, it seemed worse than losing the hand – Marco watched in sickened fear as the remnant of the evil energy oozed out of the end of his severed hand. It still had a will to carry out some evil deed, and with incomprehensible speed, it shot from the floor towards the closest next victim it wished to control.

  Standing in horrified fascination near the scene of the unearthly battle were Mirra and Kilson. Kilson, who had his sword out, received the impact of the evil energy in the center of his chest.

  “Staunch the blood loss!” Iasco whispered.

  Marco fell to his knees, and cradled the wounded appendage against his chest, moaning in pain.

  “Touch the gorgon’s blood flake to his wound, quickly!” Iasco shouted at the inert Folence.

  Marco vaguely heard the comments as he tried to grasp how much pain was washing over him.

  Folence rose to her knees.

  Kilson stood still, his face a mask of terror, as Mirra grasped his arm. “Are you alright my lord? Someone help us!” she shouted.

  Kilson’s whole body shuddered, and then a look of cunning came over his face. “I’ve never felt better my pretty,” he told Mirra, as he encircled her in his arm and passionately kissed her unexpectedly.

  She struggled, and he raised his face from her, keeping his hand grasping the back of her neck in a firm grip.

  “See what I’ve got boy!” Kilson’s voice roared. “Once you’re dead, she’ll be mine!” As soon as the officer saw that he had Marco’s attention, he carelessly hurled Mirra to the floor, and focused his attention on Marco. An unhealthy glow began to form around his body; it was the same dark glow of the malevolent energy, as it took control of the guardsman.

  Folence raised herself up and reached into Marco’s tightly curled body. “I’m sorry, again, boy,” she said, and she grabbed his stump and thrust it against the open container of the magical, deadly crystalline flakes of gorgon’s blood. Marco screamed, a light flashed from the contact, and Folence fell to the ground again.

  Marco raised his wounded arm in the air, feeling the effect of the gorgon’s blood as it cauterized his wrist and then entered his blood stream. He felt pain and anger. The sight of Kilson’s kiss with Mirra was unacceptable, and all thought left his mind as rage drove through his crippled body.

  “Kilson!” he screamed. “You go too far!”

  “Boy, you’re about to meet your death!” the guard officer roared in response, and advanced rapidly towards Marco, swinging his sword with an ability and agility that seemed inhuman in its speed and dexterity.

  Marco’s own magical sword responded, blocking and parrying Kilson’s attack, and the two antagonists circled around one another, one driven by an evil sorcerer’s curse, the other driven by the gorgon’s blood and enchanted sword, thrusting and defending with abilities beyond those of mortal talents. Marco was distantly aware of the screams going on around him, though only the sobs of Mirra penetrated his awareness. Others in the ballroom were fleeing from the vicinity of the swordplay, and the ravens were beating their wings and circling rapidly in a low orbit directly above the conflict.

  Kilson pressed hard against Marco, who began to step backwards slowly as he fought to protect himself from the officer’s ferocious onslaught. “Do you want to know what I’m going to do with your pretty little friend?” Kilson asked in a taunting tone.

  And just as he prepared to attack Kilson over that question, Marco took a step back onto the unseen slumping Iasco, and tripped backwards.

  Kilson saw Marco go down and shouted with glee, then began to thrust his blade forward at the falling boy.

  Marco’s blade wretched him backwards over Iasco, in a complete flip, that left him momentarily dizzy, then the blade drew his arm and entire body forward in a counter thrust that skewered the unprepared Kilson, entering his chest at the base of his neck, and shooting far down into his torso.

  Kilson reacted by standing upright and staggering backward, pulling the sword out of Marco’s hand as Marco fell onto the ground and landed on top of Iasco. He looked up in horror at Kilson.

  The weapon was still sticking in his body, and people were screaming once again in renewed horror at the sight. Marco awkwardly scrambled up to his feet, using his only hand to press himself upward.

  Kilson sneered at him in a voice that was not his own. “Your trials are just beginning young champion; you will not survive all that is to come,” he snarled, and then his body collapsed to the ground, rolling over on his back.

  Marco ju
mped forward and removed his blade, seeking the reassurance that its strength and ability provided as he held it. He raised the blade in a sign of celebration for the impossible victory, and felt the handle of the sword grow hot; the metal blade glowed for a second of preparation, and then discharged a forked lightning bolt of energy upward into the air of the ballroom.

  The lightning forked and forked and split and multiplied itself over and over again in the blink of an eye, so that it struck every one of the ravens that was flying overhead, vaporizing them so thoroughly that only a few black feathers floated to the ground.

  And then Marco fell to his knees, in pain and shock and triumph and confusion and sorrow. His eyes found Mirra, who was still on the floor, and stared back at him. He heard someone moving behind him, but he had no energy left to even turn, and he too crumpled to the floor unconscious.

  Chapter 21 – Aboard Iasco’s Ship

  He heard voices. They were all feminine voices, though he did not recognize that at first. Marco felt incredible pain that stretched across every portion of his body it seemed, except when one of the voices told him to swallow a liquid that brought brief but blessed relief from the pain.

  He was lying in a bed, and it was moving. “Where am I?” he asked at last. He tried to open his eyes, but bright sunshine gave him a headache.

  “Where does it smell like you are?” a voice asked. Marco recognized it as Lady Iasco.

  Memories, dreams, and nightmares came crashing into the forefront of his thoughts at the sound of her voice; she was a trigger to release all the things that had occurred when he had last been aware.

  He held his left hand up over his eyes for shade, then squinted. There was sunlight shining directly in his eyes through an open port. He was on board a ship. The sea smell, the motion, the sounds that he had ignored – all were confirmation.

  “Can you shade that window?” he asked, as he held up the bandaged stump of his right arm in a futile attempt to further block the sun’s rays.