Pockets of resistance continued to surface and were dealt with swiftly, but quietly. The newly planted crops were starting to take root. Ash’s army worked hand-in-hand with the townspeople as a show of good will. The sound of laughter and children playing echoed through the castle halls – something that had been missing under Lord Zebadiah’s reign.
Rosalie still hadn’t recovered. Each night she screamed out in her sleep. When she awoke, she was covered in sweat. She’d never revealed to Ash what the nightmares were about, and he’d long since stopped asking about them. He told himself she’d reveal them when the time was right.
Talon had come to see Rosalie, at Ash’s request. His hope was, upon seeing her old friend, Rosalie would cheer up, but Talon’s presence did little to brighten her mood or improve her condition. He stuck around for a few days but couldn’t stomach the drastic change in Rosalie and soon made excuses to return to Mabel Village.
Ash feared Rosalie would see Talon’s quick departure as another betrayal, but she remained indifferent. She may not have noticed, but Ash vowed to never forget. Talon may have saved Rosalie in their youth, but in Ash’s mind, the man lacked character in adulthood. He regretted his decision to invite him back, and hoped he’d never return.
“You’re looking lovely this morning,” Ash told Rosalie when she joined him for breakfast on the veranda. She wore a terrycloth robe. It was her standard wardrobe these days.
She forced a smile. “I feel much better.” Her pale skin and dark circles under her eyes suggested her good health was exaggerated, but he didn’t call her out on it.
“I sent some men out to find Lexis,” he said, hoping it would spark some sort of emotion – curiosity, anger, he didn’t care which at this point. “They found her at a nearby village. I’ve invited her to come back.”
She sat up straighter in her chair. “And?”
“We’ll see. She’s still ashamed of the way she betrayed us. I let her know there were no hard feelings.”
“Speak for yourself,” Rosalie retorted, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
Ash grinned, happy to see some fire back in her. “Well, I figured if she came back you can give her a piece of your mind.”
She nodded, then pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “I don’t know why I don’t feel right,” she admitted. A tear rolled down her cheek. “When I first woke up after being shot…”
Wincing at the memory, Ash reached his hand across the table and gave hers a squeeze.
“…I felt pretty good. I mean, obviously I wasn’t ready to jump up and do cartwheels, but I felt better than I’ve been feeling lately.”
“The doctor said he can’t find anything wrong.” After Rosalie started to confine herself to her room, Ash had seen to it that a doctor checked in on her at least daily.
“But I know something’s wrong,” she said, frustrated and admitting it aloud for the first time, even to herself.
He squeezed her hand again. “Should I bring the doctor back in?”
“No,” she shook her head and pulled her hand away. “I’m sick of doctors. I want to see Marx.”
Ash squared his shoulders. He hadn’t forgiven his old friend for letting Rosalie go into battle. But seeing her in this condition, he knew he’d need to mask any anger he held towards Marx – for her sake. He cleared his throat. “I’ll send for him.”
“You’re going to do more than that,” she said. “You’re going to forgive him.”
Marx came straight away. It came as a shock to him to see Rosalie in such poor shape. He’d heard rumors she hadn’t been feeling well, but he was unprepared for the hollowness in her eyes and the lack of coloring in her cheeks and lips. She was perched in a chair, a blanket covering her legs. He bent down and hugged her, gently, as if she was a fragile doll, then stood and directed his attention towards Ash. The tension between the two men was almost palpable, and Rosalie rolled her tired eyes in frustration.
She rose slowly from her chair. When Ash tried to help her to her feet, she waived him off. “I am capable of standing by myself,” she said. She looked rail thin and Ash wasn’t so sure. Her body swayed and she rested a hand on the table to steady herself. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a shower while you two talk. When I get out, I want a private word with Marx.” She shot both men a warning look – a look that said they’d better sort their issues out or they would have to deal with her.
Marx watched her walk away. “Still has spitfire,” he offered.
“Yeah, but she’s not the same.”
“Many people who’ve been in battle never are.”
“This is different.” Ash raked his hands through his hair. “She’s not as strong physically. She’s pale, she’s lost weight. It’s as if something is slowly draining her.”
“Has the doctor been in to see her?”
“Only about twice a day.”
Marx sighed heavily and a grave silence fell over the two men. Surprising them both, Ash was the first to speak.
“Marx, you’re one of my oldest friends. I may not like what you did, but I respect it. I also respect that Rosalie had a choice.”
They stared at each other, neither knowing what came next.
“I guess what I’m trying to say,” Ash continued, “is that I forgive you. I want things to be right between us.”
Eyes flooding with tears, Marx stepped towards his friend. Without warning, he pulled him into a fierce hug. “Thank you,” he said, the weight of Orthron lifting from his shoulders. “You don’t know what that means to me.”
When Rosalie returned from her shower, the two men were seated on the veranda, swapping stories and laughing. There was a peace between them.
“This is what I hoped to see,” she said. “Now, if you don’t mind,” she told Ash, “I’d like a few words with Marx.”
Marx raised an eyebrow. Ash opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it, then nodded in agreement. “I’ll just go check on a few things,” he said. He kissed her forehead, then made his exit.
“I’m happy to see you two getting along again,” Rosalie told Marx once they were alone.
“Me too. It’s been weighing heavily on me.”
“I know, that’s why I knew you needed to talk. I need your focus, and I knew I couldn’t have it if you were all twisted up about where you stood with Ash.”
“What do you need from me?”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I need you to see what’s wrong with me.” Her slender shoulders began to shake. She no longer had the strength to pretend she was okay.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry. You’re going to be fine.”
“Do you know that … or do you hope that?” She sniffed and looked up at him, pleading for a solid answer.
Marx took her hand in his, trying to hide his shock at its frailty. He closed his eyes, straining to focus. It had been a while since he’d used his gifts. Ever since the battle, he’d been too twisted up inside to concentrate. As he held her hand, a chilling sensation ran through his palm and up his fingertips. With his eyelids closed, he saw waves of colors, deep reds and blacks, but nothing more.
“I don’t see anything,” he admitted.
She dipped her head. “That almost worries me more.”
“What do you say you and I go for a walk? Clear our heads.”
He stood from his chair, offered her his hand, and helped her up. He hooked his arm through hers, supporting her, and the pair walked down the steps of the veranda and towards the orchard. As they walked, Marx kept the conversation light. He needed Rosalie’s mind off her troubles.
“I hear Ash is experimenting with a new berry crop this year,” he said. “People are pretty excited about it. It’s in high demand and expected to turn a large profit.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard him mention that a time or two.”
The further they walked away from the castle, the more Rosalie started to perk up. She began to joke around. Marx was laughing. The dark mood he’d carried over the
past month had lifted. He turned to Rosalie and patted her cheek. When he did so, he felt a wave of energy. And finally, finally, he could see clearly.
“Sorcery,” he said excitedly once he, Ash, and Rosalie were back behind closed doors.
“Pardon?” Rosalie asked. She took a seat, drained from her walk and worried her legs would no longer support her.
“Lord Zebadiah had been using sorcery. He must have used it on Rosalie before he died.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” she said, her excitement dissipating. “I was fine for a while. I only started feeling poorly a few weeks ago.”
Ash and Marx were silent, contemplating.
“Did anything strange happen before you fell ill. Anything at all, even the slightest thing?” Marx asked.
She started to shake her head, no, but then a memory from her time working in the fields popped into her head. “There was this elderly lady,” she said, shuddering at the horrible words the woman had spoken.
“Roe, she was just crazy,” Ash said.
“No. I think it was more than that.” She turned towards him and took his hand. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you; and I also know you don’t believe in that sort of thing, but what she said to me … I think she was trying to put a curse on me.”
“What did she say?” Marx asked. “Try to recall exactly.”
“I’ll never forget it. She said, ‘Damanius won’t be gentle with you.’”
Marx frowned. “Did she touch you?”
“Yes, she was squeezing my hand while she said it.”
“That has to be it. She put a dark spell on you. Her curse may also be what’s now blocking my visions from seeing your future.”
“What makes you so sure?” Ash asked, feeling a sliver of hope despite not being a believer.
“Most dark spells are centralized to one location. This one seems localized to Castle Druin. Once Rosalie and I got away from here, she started to feel better and my visions returned. This place is stained with evil.”
“Then we leave,” Ash said, matter-of-fact.
Rosalie shook her head. “Ash, we can’t. The people need us. We can’t abandon them after we promised to help them.”
“Rosalie’s right,” Marx said. “We don’t leave.”
“Then what?”
“We find a counter spell to reverse the curse, use it on Rosalie. Then. Then we cleanse this place.”
Ash was readily on board with taking any measure to lift the curse that plagued the woman he loved. But convincing him of the merits of a cleanse for the entire castle proved harder than Marx anticipated. Rosalie, on the other hand, was willing to try anything. Ash eventually agreed to go along with the plan, mostly for Rosalie’s sake, but it wasn’t without a great deal of sarcastic comments and eye rolling.
Marx brought in a few trusted men to assist. Kipser, who had been with Rosalie when she was shot, was among them. Kipser didn’t have a lot of experience with dark magic, and what he did know warned him to stay clear. But Rosalie was counting on him, and that was enough for him to swallow his reservations and do whatever was necessary to keep her safe. And healthy.
While Rosalie rested, Ash, Marx and his volunteers scouted out the castle library until they came across several dusty boxes in the back room. The boxes were jam-packed with old scrolls and spell books.
The men set the boxes out on the center library table. They emptied each box and worked feverishly to read through its contents.
“We start with finding a reversal spell for Rosalie,” Marx said. “First one who finds it gets a beer on me.”
Each man took a pile of scrolls and books and spread out. It would have been comical to see so many grown men astutely reading had the situation not been so dire. Hours passed without much progress. Then, as hope was fading, Kipser jumped up from the table, yelling excitedly. “I’ve got it.”
Marx motioned him over to his table, clearing a spot for the large, leather bound book Kipser held open in his arms. Kipser placed it on the table, pointing to the open page. “Right here. That’s it, right?”
Marx bent over to read the passage. The ink was faded, but he could still make out the words and rough sketches. His fingers skimmed over the crinkled page. “This is it,” he said grinning. “Kipser, you come with me to see Rosalie. The rest of you,” he said, looking around, “keep reading. Next we need to find the spell for cleansing the castle.”
“We need her in the bath,” Marx explained to Ash, showing him the page for the spell that he had ripped from the book.
“Over my dead body.”
“Relax, she doesn’t have to be naked. Although it might help…” he said, trying to cut the tension with indelicate humor.
Ash glared in his direction and Kipser cleared his throat, uncomfortable.
“We actually need her dressed in a white gown,” Marx said more seriously. “We’ll step out for a few moments so you can wake her up and she can get prepared.”
Ash started a warm bath then gently nudged Rosalie awake. She looked so peaceful lying there. But with her ashen skin tone and diminishing frame, she was a pale reflection of her old self. He tucked a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear, the way he’d done a thousand times before. “I love you,” he whispered before she awoke.
After getting out of bed and washing her face to wipe the sleep from her eyes, Rosalie dressed in the white gown she’d worn the day she’d regained consciousness. Ash helped her into the tub. “I feel sort of weird getting in fully clothed,” she admitted.
He wanted to tease her that he’d feel sort of weird if she wasn’t fully clothed, given she was about to be surrounded by other men, but he kept the sentiment to himself. It didn’t seem the appropriate time for humor. Once she was in the bath, he opened the bedroom door and let Marx and Kipser back in. Marx headed straight for the vanity, opening the drawers and medicine cabinet, pulling out items, and inspecting them.
“Well there goes my privacy,” Rosalie joked weakly.
“Sorry,” Marx told her. “I’m looking for something with lavender in it.” Once he found what he needed, he approached Rosalie and knelt beside her. He placed the back of his hand to her cheek. “We’re going to make you better, okay?”
He sent Kipser to the kitchen to find olive oil while he sprinkled the lavender-infused shampoo into the water. When Kipser returned from the kitchen, Marx took the oil from him. He dumped most of it into the bath, but smeared part of it over Rosalie’s forehead and atop her head. Then he retrieved the spell page from his left pants pocket and began to recite the words.
Cleansing water, cleansing oil
Purify the darkened soul
We stand united with courage bold
Release, release, the poisonous hold
Tainted blood and impure thralls
Fade away with our desperate calls
Powers vanquished; evil clutches rendered
Return this vessel to its former splendor
The spell was a half-chant, half-song. It required two people to perform in harmony, a role that Kipser was happy to fill. He’d always been a believer and had taken quite a liking to Rosalie. He’d been shocked to see how withdrawn and gaunt she was compared to the day she’d freed him from his cell in the lab.
Once the two men finished reciting the spell, Marx read from the page he was using as an instruction manual. “That first part was an external purification. This next part requires you to drink a liquid to purify you from the inside.” He shot her an apologetic look.
“Bring it on,” Rosalie said.
Alone with her thoughts and soaked gown, Rosalie changed into warm, dry clothes and began to brush out her hair. The oil hadn’t been fully rinsed out and she sighed at the realization she’d be living with greasy hair for a week. Better than living under an evil curse, she supposed.
Marx returned soon after with a goblet full of an orange elixir that looked as thick as blood and smelled like rotting fish. He handed her th
e goblet, his unspoken apologies written on his face.
“What’s in it?” she asked, taking a whiff, then holding the cup at a distance.
“It’s best that you don’t know.”
“A new wine from our grape harvest?” she teased.
“Yeah, we’ll go with that.”
Rosalie closed her eyes and pressed the goblet to her lips. The smell was putrid – but the taste was worse. When the bitter liquid touched her tongue, she made a face and withdrew the glass. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted.
“Roe, you have to,” Ash spoke up.
“We can share it,” she offered, shooting him a wink. She moved the glass to her lips once more. This time she didn’t sip. She tossed the goblet back and began to chug. Her eyes were closed as she gulped down the shockingly revolting substance and did her best not to spit it back into the cup. Mind over matter. Mind over matter.
“I don’t feel any different,” Rosalie admitted once the ritual was over. Disappointment clouded her pretty face as her eyes brimmed with tears.
“We still need to cleanse this place,” Marx assured her. He cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t lose hope. This is going to work.”
When Marx and Kipser returned to the library, they were pleased that the volunteers found a scroll that seemed to contain the cleanse they’d been searching for.
“Okay,” Marx said to one of the men as he unrolled the scroll and studied it. “It says here that you have to sprinkle the perimeter with a mixture of salt and Trantilla oil. What the heck is Trantilla oil?”
“It’s a plant oil,” Kipser said. “Smells awful, but you can usually find it in a pharmacy. I wonder if there’s any in the lab.”
“I’ll go check,” Samtuana, one of the men offered.
He returned moments later with a bag of salt, a large bottle labeled Trantilla, an even larger, empty bottle, and a scientist from the lab. “He’s here to help,” he explained.
Normally Marx would object to inviting a stranger into his plans, but these were desperate times. “It’s one-part salt, two-parts Trantilla oil,” he said instead.
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