Scarlet From Gold (Book 3)

by Jeffrey Quyle

  “I can bring her back to life!” Marco shouted angrily, so loudly that it felt as though his words echoed off the walls of the alley, stunning his listeners.

  He had no idea what made him say anything so extraordinary, but it had clearly shocked the women, most of whom lowered their weapons.

  “What do you say?” one of them asked.

  “He may be right, my friends. Leave this to me,” a voice at the end of the alley caught the attention of them all.

  All heads turned to look at the source of the voice, a tall woman who had an armed escort standing behind her.

  “Come Marco, I’ve been waiting for you,” she spoke.

  “Are you Folence?” he asked.

  “The Lady Folence to you,” someone in the group nearest him corrected him with a growl.

  “Of course I am, boy. Now come to me,” she ordered, and there was a compulsion in her voice that made Marco’s feet involuntarily start.

  Marco checked himself from going, and watched carefully as the women around him shuffled into new positions.

  “If I go to her, are you going to try to attack me?” he asked the group.

  “We won’t try; we’ll either attack or we won’t,” someone said with bravado that made Marco grin in spite of himself.

  “I’ll trust you this time,” Marco said, and he lowered his sword, closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, then limped forward to the alley opening, waiting with each step to feel something strike him in the back.

  Folence’s entourage included two women who held blazing torches that provided illumination around her. As Marco approached her, he studied her looks by the flickering light; she looked regal, and determined. He wouldn’t want to be opposed to her in a test of wills he realized, even as he was possibly headed into just such a confrontation.

  “Why are you limping Marco?” she asked.

  “I want my memories back,” he said at the same time as they came face to face.

  “Bow to the Lady,” said one of the attendants, who placed a hand on Marco’s shoulder and shoved him down to the ground.

  And at that moment, his hand exploded forth a bursting shower of fragments of light.

  Chapter 8 – Folence’s Report

  As Marco’s hand struck the pavement, it throbbed with a release of energy. His hand blazed forth with brilliant light, and heat, and power. The paving stones it struck exploded into glowing fragments of stone that flew up in all directions, showering and wounding those closest to Marco’s hand, except for Folence and Marco himself, each of whom were spared from receiving any of the tiny missiles that made the other women in the alley cry out in fear and pain.

  Marco’s hand glowed brightly, and he cried out in astonishment.

  “Folence! What have you done to me?” he shouted. He held his hand up before his face to stare at it, and he felt a pounding, unbearable pain in his head.

  Marco pressed both hands against his forehead to try to ease the pain he felt, and as he did, his memories came pouring forth from the vaults they had been hidden in. He screamed in agony and astonishment as his mind and his soul struggled to integrate the memories of the recent weeks of his journey with all the memories of what had passed before. Marco dropped his head to the ground as he screamed with the intensity of the process that was leaving his body in spasms as his mind disengaged from all other voluntary and involuntary functions while he was consumed by the memory melding – memories of Pesino and Mirra jostled with one another, and the Echidna became a reality for him. Gawail flittered through his life once again, and event after event after event erupted into his awareness once more.

  Seconds after the explosion, as Marco lay on the ground, and Folence’s bodyguard also lay on the ground or leaned against the sides of the alley, while Folence stood tall and regal and untouched, the restoration of Marco’s memories ceased. He lay on the ground, gasping as he tried to recover from the traumatic experience.

  Marco?” Folence called softly, as she knelt next to him and placed a comforting hand upon his head. “Are you okay now Marco? What happened?” she asked.

  “Oh my lady,” Marco said as he rose to his knees. “Oh Ophiuchus! Oh Iasco!” he cried as he made sense of all that he had learned in the two phases of his experience. He combined his knowledge of Iasco, her power and energy and compassion and his knowledge of her personal past, with the knowledge that she was dead, killed in an attack that had been carried out on the very island that was supposed to be a refuge for women.

  “Marco,” Folence and he were at the same eye level now as she spoke. “What is this all about?”

  “Lady Iasco – the spirit of the island has told me that I can revive her,” Marco’s words shot out in a torrent of emotional release. “I was visited by the spirit – she spoke to me in person at the cathedral at Compostela, and she told me that there was great evil at loose in the world, and that all the good powers were united together to battle it, and I was to play a role in the battle.”

  “There is evil in the world, and this boy is that evil!” one of the women from the alley had arisen from the shock of Marco’s explosive recollection of his memories. “Kill him now; get revenge for the Lady Iasco.”

  “No!” Folence cried out. “We will not murder Marco. We will hear his story before we judge him. The Lady Iasco was very fond of Marco, and very hopeful about his place in the future.”

  “Then he betrayed her! She is dead,” another voice responded.

  “We will take him to the Council and have a full hearing of his story. There is more to come from Marco, I’m sure,” Folence answered. “As long as I am in control of the Council, he will not be harmed.”

  “Then you may not be in control much longer, my lady,” one of her own supporters growled softly.

  Folence stood up, and offered her hand to Marco, who ignored the gesture as he stood too.

  “This is crazy!” he said. “The spirit of the island spoke to me! I am going to be sent on another journey; I’m going to help revive the Lady Iasco,” he said insistently, causing the women around him to shake their heads.

  “She is dead because of you. The prophecy warned that the Lady would die when a man set foot on the island,” one of Folence’s guards exclaimed.

  “We don’t need to go to the Council to know what to do,” someone else said. “We can take care of this right now.”

  Marco abruptly pushed a guard out of the way and placed his back against a wall, then held up his right hand. His memories of using the hand, of exercising its powers, were within his awareness again, and he made the hand light up, casting a lurid red hue over the scene, astonishing those around him.

  “All of you put your weapons down now!” he shouted.

  In response there was the sound of boots running in the street outside the alley, as more guards came to intervene in the disruption.

  “You can’t fight us all,” someone in the alley said.

  “Stop this now! All of you put your weapons down!” Folence thundered. “Marco lower your hand! Everyone, step back from the brink of senseless destruction.”

  Marco stood still, watching the women around him, and as some of them started to lower their weapons, he unconsciously faded the color of his hand from red to yellow to white, and let it grow dimmer and dimmer, then he lowered his hand as the last of those around him put their weapons down.

  “Now, Marco, come with me to my home,” Folence’s words drew a murmur. “You’ll spend the night there, and tomorrow we’ll convene a Council meeting to hear your tale after breakfast.

  “Come along,” she spoke as though everything was settled, and without a further look at the others in the alley, she turned and swept back down the road. Her guards paused for a moment to eye Marco, and when he fell into step behind her, they also departed from the nearly deadly scene.

  The house they walked to was the pink building that Marco had previously met Iasco in, on the occasion of his first visit to the Island of Ophiuchus. He thought of Porenn as
he passed through the hall where he had fought off the first ambush he had faced on the island, and then he followed Folence upstairs to the upper floor.

  “This will be our guest’s room,” Folence indicated to her trailing guards as they passed a door. “Have a guard placed at the door immediately, and allow no one except Marco to enter or leave.”

  She walked on, and stood at another door, waiting for several seconds until Marco realized he was expected to open the door for her.

  “Have a seat, Marco,” she waved at a table and chairs inside the room they entered. “I’ll be back in a minute. Would you like some dinner?”

  “Yes, please,” Marco answered quietly, though he wanted to shout his answer as he realized he was starving as soon as he heard the question. He waited until Folence and her guard left the room, then he lifted his foot and looked at the painful bottom. There was a clearly visible jagged cut from whatever debris he had stepped on in the alley.

  He suddenly remembered the alchemy items he had carried as a gift from Algornia, the gift that had been given to him so many months earlier. He opened the ragged, tattered bag that he still carried, and he paused as he marveled at the notion that the rips that shredded the bag were the result of the battle he had survived when he had faced the awful creature – the mother of all monsters.

  After a deep breath as he recollected the battle, the first moment he had had to reflect on the restored memories that were swirling about within his mind, he reached into the bag and pulled out an object. It was one of the scales of the monster, one of the very artifacts he had traveled so very far to find. The scale was beautiful, in its own way – deep, deep black, and a luster that was so shiny he could see his own reflection in it.

  “What are you looking at, my problem child?” Folence re-entered the room, followed by a servant carrying a tray of food.

  Marco wordlessly handed the object to the leader of the Order of Ophiuchus.

  “This is what I was sent to gather. The spirit of the island,” he paused, as he suddenly connected the mysterious voice he had heard in the caverns of the island with the beautiful woman who had stepped out of the tapestry in the holy cathedral at Compostela. “The spirit sent me out months ago to get a scale from the Echidna, to be able to use it to undo the evil of the prophecy.

  “And I’m going to use this scale to revive Iasco,” he finished telling Folence, as he repacked the scale into the bag.

  She sat in stunned silence.

  “How did she die?” Marco asked. “I saw her in the fall, when I was here having my back healed.” Folence nodded as she remembered his terrible injury.

  “She was attacked by men who were disguised as women. They arrived on a boat of pilgrims, and came into the city, no weapons visible; they had them hidden in their luggage. There were a dozen of them, and they rushed her in the streets. They overwhelmed her guards, and they butchered her in a matter of moments.”

  “Who were they? Why did they do it? How did men manage to fool the women of the island?” Marco asked sorrowfully as he reached for a piece of bread.

  “We don’t know,” Folence answered. “The village was outraged, and slaughtered them all, so there was no one to question. But they fulfilled the prophecy, which told that the Lady at the head of the cult would be killed after a man first stepped on the island, and her death would foretell the beginning of a terrible conflict.”

  “How did so many men sneak onto the island?” Marco repeated in astonishment.

  “Someone went to a lot of trouble to make them appear to be women,” Folence answered. “Of course I was in Barcelon when it all happened, but I’m told that they had their male organ removed, and things stuffed under the flesh of their chests, just to make them appear feminine enough to infiltrate the island and carry out their suicide mission.

  “Can you imagine?” she asked.

  “So how do you think you can revive a dead woman, a woman who’s been in her crypt for weeks and weeks?” Folence asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” Marco answered. “But the spirit said that I would find out.”

  “This spirit, do you have regular chats? Share a cup of tea every morning?” Folence asked sarcastically as Marco took another bite of food. “Tell me how this works.”

  And so Marco told the story of what happened in the cathedral, mesmerizing Folence as he told the tale.

  “You actually talked to the embodiment of the island?” Folence asked as Marco ate.

  “That’s how it happened,” Marco closed his eyes as he tried to remember the stunning beauty of the spirit. Instead, there came to his mind a memory of Mirra as he had seen her during his short, amnesiac visit to the castle at Sant Jeroni. She had been confused and hurt by his behavior, and he let out a great sigh at the recollection. He had seen her, and he hadn’t been able to tell her how much he loved her.

  “What else has happened to you?” Folence asked. “You fought an invincible monster, and you met a living spirit?”

  “I visited a secret valley of pixies, I found the way to the library at Clovis, and I walked through the underworld,” Marco said. “I drank the water of Lethe and lost all my memories until I came back here and found you.”

  Folence shook her head, as Marco started rooting around through his bag again, pulling out a few of the random alchemical items he found. There was enough to create a salve to heal his foot and prevent infection, he was glad to discover.

  “Go to your room and rest. We’ll have a big day tomorrow,” Folence told him as she stood up. Marco gathered up his items.

  “Thank you, my lady,” he said as he turned to go to the door.

  “Don’t thank me yet, Marco. The Council is still in a bloodthirsty mood. I’m not completely sure how tomorrow morning will go,” Folence spoiled any peace of mind Marco felt.

  He left the room, and returned to his own room, where the door remained guarded, said good night to the stony-faced guard, and went inside for the night.

  Chapter 9 – The Trial

  Once he was in his room, Marco sat on the bed and concocted a healing balm with the items he found mixed among the contents of his pack. He found the items he needed, and slowly ground them together into a fine powder as he thought about all that his memories revealed.

  He thought about Mirra. She would have enjoyed making the pilgrimage from Lacarona to Compostela in the company of Saul, whose humor had made the trip more enjoyable than it would have been, though it would have been fun with Dex and Pivot, no matter what. There was so much he wished he could have said to her about where he had been and what he had done, and why. Especially about Pesino.

  He thought about Pesino a great deal as well. He sprinkled his powder into the wound on his foot, then blew out his candle and lay down on the bed. Pesino had started their epic journey, in his mind, as a liability and a burden. By the end of the long journey together she had been his closest companion and confidante. And the strange results of his treatment of her blindness had given her abilities and a depth that enhanced her appeal beyond her attractive appearance and her irresistible siren abilities.

  He wondered and he worried as his memories and thoughts moved on. He hoped that his companions had made it safely to Persephone’s Gate and had exited from the underworld. Kate and Cassius – he thought of them, and he felt on the floor for his bag of possessions. Through the leather cover he felt the two remaining jars, the formulae that were meant to allow the two former merfolks to reconvert back to their original form. He wasn’t likely to be able to supply the transformational potion back to his companions for a long time to come, but he wasn’t sure that they were in any hurry to change their forms. Cassius was unlikely to become a merman if Kate remained a human.

  And Pesino – he had a sense of intuition that she saw her own future being involved with Asterion; something in her manner and voice at the end of the time they had been together told him that she had a vision of her future. Neither she nor the former minotaur were likely to change their forms.<
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  In any event, Pesino and the others were in places unknown. By the time his duties allowed him to have the free time to go in search of the location of the gateway to the underworld, the others were likely to be long gone.

  And he would – should – follow up on the end of his adventures by finally returning to Mirra and Sant Jeroni. He thought about the letter she had shown him, the letter that he vaguely remembered writing while he had been under the influence of Sty’s truth serum, and he gave a sigh. Between the words of the letter and the appearance of his marriage torq, he could imagine what a heartless impression he had left at the castle when he hurried away from the people who were supposed to be his loved ones.

  Fretting and worried, Marco fell asleep slowly, and awoke too early, before dawn. He opened his door and found a guard on duty, who looked at him enquiringly.

  “Will breakfast be available soon?” he asked.

  “When her ladyship commands,” the guard answered.

  Sensing that the guard had no desire to be personable, Marco shut the door and remained quietly in his room. Time passed, and the sun rose, but no summons to breakfast occurred. He waited as the morning passed, and began to grow fidgety, until mid-morning, when there was a harsh knock on the door, and it immediately swung open.

  A quartet of guards waited out in the hall. “You have been summoned to appear before the Council for immediate judgment,” the officer of the group pronounced in an emotionless tone.

  “Shall I meet the Lady Folence there?” Marco asked, his senses alert to some tension among the guards.

  “You shall,” the officer affirmed.

  Marco acceded to the command, and walked with the guards through the building, and out into the street. It was drizzling a light rain outside, but Marco and the guards took on no protection as they walked down the lane. Nor did many of the observers, who stood silently along the road and stared coldly at him as he passed.

  He felt like a prisoner being escorted to the gallows. He reached to his hip to feel the reassurance of his enchanted sword, then felt a horrifying churning in the pit of his stomach as he realized that he had not strapped the scabbard belt on after awakening. He did not have his weapon, and he felt a sense of panic, even though he tried to reassure himself that he still had the sorcery of his golden right hand as a means of protection.