This was an excellent line to use on his sergeant, the boy as good as requested him to return to this duty at moonsleep, Sergeant Blackeley could not argue with a Prince. He walked towards the servants exit to head for the kitchens first and then he planned to go on to the barracks for a well-earned sleep.
Unexpectedly, a voice echoed in his head, his Master called to him and he listened intently to the Mindtalk of the Emperor.
Fool, you seek to go to your bed when I have trusted you with this task.
Master, Fedros Mindtalked defensively, I‘ve poisoned the old guard and I have gained the position of his posting to the human Prince. All moonsleep I have spied in his chambers so now I go and seek rest at the ...
Silence, there is more yet to be done, the Emperor had no interest in his needs. Follow the boy’s movements closely. I must know if he is the Changeling. My sources imply that he serves that bloodline, but they are not clear on how.
As you wish Master, his devotion to his Master quickly vanquished his own needs. Feeling the release of his Master’s Mindtalk, he wearily began to follow the trail of Prince Leon.
Chapter 7 Brotherly Bond
Leon crept quietly down the candle lit hallway outside his personal chambers, slender lines of white sunlight attempting to pierce through thinly slatted windows. He made his way to the end of the corridor where a yellow sandstone stairwell spiraled upwards. Still worried about capture by his grandmother, he quickly made his escape.
Reaching the top of the stairwell, he strolled down a corridor similar to the one he had just left. Heading towards the dining hall he planned to join his brothers in sharing the breaking of their fast. If his younger brother was too ill to join them then he would visit Raphael in his sleeping chambers later on, he liked to see Raphael at least once every moonwake. He was pleased to spot his elder brother Amos, seated with Raphael at a long dark wooden table.
‘Ah splendid, Leon has finally lifted his head from his soft pillow to honour us with his company.’ Amos threw up his arms in a friendly gesture to welcome his younger brother. ‘Tell me Leon, how does your neighbour, our Grandma Dahlia fare these days? Does she still pine your company young fellow?’
‘Ha, ha you can laugh Amos.’ They all knew perfectly well that Grandma Dahlia could pounce on any one of them, she did not just target him for her tender loving care. ‘I tell you, my legs move quickly once I leave my chamber. Anyway she much prefers the company of our little brother here,’ he pulled out a heavy wooden chair and seated himself next to Raphael.
‘What fine food are we to start our moonwake with Raphael?’ Leon wondered as he lifted a silver lid from a pot of steaming porridge. ‘Aah gruel for a change. I think this must make us all such big strong boys that the girls will be fighting over us, don’t you agree Amos?’
‘Most certainly I do brother,’ Amos replies teasingly, his mouth chewing on an Ensaimada yeast bun. ‘Just look at the flowers sent up with Raphael’s tray and these lovely sweet buns made by a fair maiden’s own pretty hands. I’ll wager a guess that our little brother here already has a few secret admirers,’ he finishes, pointing to a delightful little posy of pink and yellow sweet scented petals.
‘You two can laugh all you like,‘ Raphael smiles. ‘You know perfectly well that it‘s only Clara the cook who sends them. No girls are going to be running after me, not in my condition, unless they are old, bossy or a nurse of course.’
‘Raphael, you think far too old for your young age of only twelve suncircles,’ Leon said concerned at his little brother’s sad thoughts. ‘For every span that the sun reaches around the horizon, you age five suncircles, instead of one as do the rest of us. That makes you about sixty suncircles of age.’
‘I say my little brother is the handsomest of us all,’ Amos proudly announces. ‘Any girl who doesn’t swoon in his presence is surely half-witted.’
‘The pair of you are fools.’ Raphael bit back, trying desperately to keep a straight face. ‘You know perfectly well that in my unhealthy state I could never cope with any girls, pretty or not. I’m destined to enter into the Realm of the Dead chastened and pure.’ Raphael finished on a morbid note, all three brothers knowing the truth of his words, he was not expected to live a long life.
The sadness of losing their mother, while she gave birth to him, hung heavily over his young shoulders. Their blood had intermingled, whilst he nestled in his mother’s womb, causing toxins to enter her bloodstream and resulting in his premature birth. He was born with many health problems that he could not overcome without the gentleness of a mother to feed his strength. With weakened twisted bones, he had never been able to walk unsupported. His blood was thinned and he bruised and bled easily, only able to watch as other children played at rough and tumble. The Healing Mages could do nothing for his deformities and each suncircle saw him grow ever weaker. With so much time to pass alone, he had become an avid reader and very well learned in the art of literature. To some this appeared that he was a wise young man for only twelve suncircles. Although he never appeared in the public eye, many of the staff at the palace know him well and love his bright personality.
Clara the cook truly has a very special fondness for Raphael. She had proudly delivered him into the world, in her role as midwife. In happier times, she had performed these duties to many a noble birth, but the three Princes were always the closest to her heart. Having lived in the palace all her fifty suncircles she had been a daily playmate with the King, as a boy, in her own childhood. Her loving father had been the best palace cook ever and once she had reached apprenticeship age, she had gained the respectful position of palace nursemaid. King Alfred’s wife had cherished her friendship, but upon her death, the King had refused to speak with the midwife ever again, blaming her skills for his loss. She had quietly retreated to the kitchens mortified, and away from his wrath.
Raphael cheerfully received her modest token of flowers with the breaking of every fast every moonwake, knowing that the King’s rejection had taken its toll on her and led to her demise. Rumour had it that the pitiable cook was habitually inebriated, following the Queen’s death. The young Raphael could do nothing to aid the old nursemaid because his influence on his father was so insignificant. He wearily sighed at the thought of the troubles his birth had wrought upon all.
‘You look tired Raphael. Do you think we should go back to your room?’ Amos asked, affectionately draping an arm gently over his younger brother’s frail shoulder.
‘I’m fine brother, and aren’t you needed anyway, to do more important things this moonwake?’ Raphael retorted. He hated pity, even from the people he loved.
Hmph! I think we’re quite free of any major troubles at this point in time, young man,’ Amos happily announced. ‘So, I will be spending the first part of this moonwake in your talented and witty company. That is if you’ll have me?’
‘I suppose I can put up with you,’ Raphael mockingly replied. ‘But only if we you’re willing to do military strategy with wooden soldiers on my battlefield?’ he demanded, excitedly. ‘You have to see the new barracks that I’ve added to the castle. All I need now are some horses and then I’ll have my cavalry,’ he eagerly explained, this truly was his favourite pastime.
‘Done,’ said Amos, ‘but first we have to go into the gardens for a bit, little brother. Your nurse Abby says that you’ve been refusing to go out into this glorious warm sunshine. Is this true?’
‘I just find my room’s cooler, but in your company I’m happy to put up with the heat of the sun,’ Raphael compromised, ‘and we can sit in the shade where it’s cooler. Is it an agreement then?’
‘Indeed it is.’ Amos would have stayed indoors if Raphael had insisted but he was relieved that his brother had agreed to go outside. ‘We can sit in the shade by the dome in the upper gardens, and take your wooden army with us. We’ll see you later brother Leon, young Raphs and I are to fight a battle this very moonwake. Care to join us in our brave endeavour?’ Amos enquired of Leon.
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br /> ‘Whoa, I don’t want you to consider me cowardly for not joining in this manly combat thing, but I’ve got other plans with a fair maiden named Heather,’ he smiled affectionately. ‘I’ll look in on Raphael later to find out who won the glory,’ Leon promised.
Amos winked agreement, offering little Raphael a ride on his back.
‘Tally-ho then you seductive young charmer,’ Amos teased as he galloped away with his precious load, suspecting Raphael got lighter every time he carried him. He promised himself he would spend more time with this spindly mite. His love was strong for all of his kin but Raphael held a special place in his heart. Aware of how much it pained his father to accept this tender young son of his, who was a constant reminder of his gentle wife’s death. He was not angry with his father and tried to understand the King’s broken heart. Yet, for this, he loved Raphael all the more, due to the absent love of a father and mother.
The two brothers hurtled out of the dining hall whooping and wailing with all the noise of a whole herd of horses. They headed to the upper gardens to determine a suitable spot for their impending battle.
Leon remained alone, finishing the rest of his meal he recalled the many fierce battles he had staged with Raphael and his wooden soldiers, his little brother always victorious. Pangs of sorrow wrenched at his heart for his brother’s illness, he would have made a fine officer and an excellent strategist in the real field of battle.
Gulping down the last dregs of his milky drink, he turned his head attempting to listen to a shuffling noise from the rear of the large hall, which was now empty of diners. He stood up and stretched his legs into a slow wide stride to see through the opened doorway, in case someone was trying to get his attention. The door was still open since his brothers had left. Glimpsing through it and peering down the hall, he could see no sign of activity. Ignoring the imaginary disturbance, he continued walking towards the descending stairway where he planned to head towards the busy kitchens. If he left the palace through one of the servants’ doorways, no one would notice him. Dashing down the spiraling stairway, he very nearly sent a young maid falling as she carried a wicker basket filled with brightly coloured peppers and fruits to a guest’s room. He inhaled the tangy aroma of oranges as his nose brushed with the sharp edges of the basket. Bending his middle in a most peculiar manner, he managed to allow her to pass without any further mishap. Laughing at his clumsy dilemma, the maid gave him a cheeky wink. His cheeks flushed as the pretty girl continued up the steps to do her day’s duty.
Slowing his pace a little, he approached the busy kitchens where many young maids balanced pots and trays, he did not want to draw any more attention to himself. Cleverly, he sneaked by Clara the cook who was brashly instructing a poor frail girl on how to knead bread dough correctly as none of her previous batches had risen. The savoury aromas of sage gravy and garlic-roasted meats caused the insides of his mouth to salivate pleasurably. Unable to resist pinching a small freshly baked warm bread roll, from a tray that stood on a table to cool by the doorway, he quickened his pace aware that he still had to pass through the lower gardens and the courtyard.
He had every intention of meeting with Heather. He also had every intention of trying to talk her out of the foolish activity she was about to attempt. She was always one to seek a challenge and he knew full well that she would insist on completing the entire task and would thoroughly enjoy all the dangers it entailed. He knew his attempts to stop her would be futile.
Chapter 8 A Young Lady’s Rituals
‘Every wakening is the same,’ Heather muttered miserably. ‘I am expected to sit in absolute silence while you pull every hair out of my scalp. Ouch!’
‘Ah me lady, I brush at your hair for your own good.’ Gloria had been Heather’s nursemaid since she was a babe and simply would not listen to any complaints that the young girl chose to throw at her. ‘It doesn’t do to have a head full of tugs and knots. Who knows what little creatures may take residence in there,’ she explained whilst lovingly but thoroughly brushing the top of Heather’s beautiful golden, shiny head. Gradually it would become a harder tug as she made her way down the long wavy strands that curled to a finish at Heather’s waist.
Goodness knows what this girl must get up to every moonwake to have such a head full of tangles, when with each turn of the moons, tidy plaits were lovingly created by Gloria’s own gentle hands.
‘The devil be at work in your hair me girl, to bring you home at the end of every moonwake in such chaos and disarray,’ this was Gloria’s favourite chorus that she would sing daily during this agonising ritual.
‘I’m famished Gloria,’ Heather pleaded. ‘Now please, do hurry so I can go, then my insides will stop from churning from hunger so much. Even my dog Frizzle has gone off to feed without me this moonwake!’
Heather had a vision of her beautiful long haired white dog enjoying whatever tidbits he could muster out of the Academy kitchens and not even giving her one thought. He was so disloyal, leaving her to suffer alone while he filled his belly.
‘You’re the Head Mage’s daughter, with certain responsibilities me lady,’ Gloria reminded her. ‘That means your hair must shine from moonwake until moonsleep. As we cannot see your belly then that will have to take second place to those bits that we can see’.
‘You’re a hard woman Gloria,’ Heather retorted sulkily. ‘I love you dearly but you are a thorn in my side. I have no memory in my life of when you were not tugging at my hair or puffing up my sleeves. Are you to be my lifetime of punishment?’
‘You’ll not be rid of me that easy girl,’ her maid sternly chimed. ‘Tis my job to see that a young lady is properly dressed and well presented for the world to witness her beauty. There will never be a moonwake in your life when I’m not involved in ensuring that this task is completed.’ She sighed impatiently at a clump of hair that would not go into place. Every which way she plaited, the strands just insisted on trying to escape her attentions. She was convinced that Heather’s hair was as mischievous as the girl herself.
Heather sat staring at her own reflection in the oval shaped mirror. A young girl of seventeen suncircles with freckles all over the bridge of her small pert nose, stared back at her. Her rosy cheeks always shone to match her cherry lips. The lines of her lips were clear-cut, almost as if drawn by a loving artist. A small flat forehead boasted light brown eyebrows that protected her impish emerald green eyes. Long black lashes flickered as she blinked and often she squeezed them tightly shut when sulking for her father. Pouting her bottom lip, she imitated brooding features into the mirror. Well, she did feel utterly miserable and would continue with this exhibition until Gloria announced she could go.
In her dreamy daze a memory stirred of why she had awoken with a thrill of excitement this moonwake. Leon had better keep his promise or she would never speak to him again.
Gloria finally finished the arduous ceremony of pampering her head with pins and things. Once Gloria had made the momentous decision of what clothing she should wear for the moonwake, she would promptly hasten after Frizzle to grab some porridge. Then she planned to dart out of the Scholarship Academy, where she lived, as quickly as her long legs would carry her. She had a date to keep and Leon had a promise to keep.
Chapter 9 Sea Whistle
Leon just knew he was captured good and proper.
‘Which one of my grandsons is not wishing his grandmother a good moonwake?’ a croaky female voice strained to be heard within the Lower Gardens.
He would have to plan a quick escape as soon as he was able.
‘Good moonwake Grandma Dahlia,’ he politely replied to his grandmother’s request. ‘Tis only me, Leon. But Amos and Raphael are in the Upper Gardens if you wish to join them,’ he dared to suggest, hopeful that she would fall for his little ploy.
‘Nonsense child,’ a rumbling reply came from the little old lady. ‘Come. Come. You know perfectly well I am happy for any of my grandchildren to join me in my garden strolls. You can keep me co
mpany for a short while. Now do come here child and let us talk awhile.’
There was no escape. Providing she did not keep him too long, he would still make it in time to meet with Heather, he may as well accept his fate. He took pleasure in the knowledge that Grandma Dahlia did indeed love the company of her grandchildren and his love for her far outweighed his need for haste. He walked over to his grandmother and her maid and joined them, heading for a seat in the gardens.
‘I’ll bet that you’re headed for a secret rendezvous with your little friend Heather, aren’t you?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know how you do it grandma, but you seem to know everything.’
‘Indeed I do. I make it my business to know what my grandchildren are up to.’ She was very protective of them, all the more since their mother had died. They had not wanted for female love as she had plenty in her heart to share.
‘Now then, come and sit beside me whilst I tell you a tale of when your mother and Heather’s mother used to get up to mischief together. And they were not children you know, just impudent young women with nothing better to do, than create havoc.’
Grandma Dahlia loved nothing better than to recall the days when his mother Elma had first married her son, King Alfred. The Head Mage Heimarl’s wife Minnah had befriended his mother and they became inseparable friends.
‘Your mother had somehow managed to sneak off with Alfred’s Huphin sea whistle. You know the Shankhall whistle that we all hold a great secret.’
Settling himself on the grass in front of his Grandma Dahlia and her maid he readied himself for her memories that he held so very dear.
‘Well, your mother Elma and Minnah ran off to the coastline and made up a tune on the magic whistle.’ Grandma Dahlia threw up her arms as she told the story with her usual dramatic vigour. ‘They called up the biggest octopus the sea has ever known.’ She also tended to exaggerate all the details delightfully. ‘They were absolutely petrified. The octopus was furious that they had stirred him from his sleep. Told them exactly what he thought of them, playing with such an important instrument. Then he promptly sprayed them with a magic ink and they both became totally invisible. Panicking, they dared not return home as they knew their husbands would discover their mischievous deed.’
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