The Crystal Crux: Blue Grotto

by Allen Werner

  THE CRYSTAL CRUX

  BLUE GROTTO

  VOLUME TWO

  ALLEN

  M

  WERNER

  I once again wish to thank my wife, Susan Marie Werner.

  Without her constant reassurance and love,

  this entire series, would never become a reality.

  Thanks also to my entire family

  and supporters of the first book - BETRAYAL.

  Special shout outs to Chad & Daniel for all their encouragement.

  You guys have been nothing short of fantastic.

  Also, much love for my Uncle Leo and Aunt Donna Marie who have been supportive in more ways than I can possibly ever acknowledge.

  I sincerely hope you enjoy the second book.

  I look forward to writing the third.

  Stay current on all news concerning the author

  and THE CRYSTAL CRUX series at …

  AMWERNER.COM

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  Fan art is welcome!

  Copyright ©2016 by Allen M Werner : All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction.

  All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  ISBN –

  Cover design by: Allen M Werner

  PROLOGUE

  Sir Pero of Penafiel, Lord of Capua, Master of all the lands and cities appertaining thus,

  My Lord, grave news has come to us from Benevento. While on holiday at Melfi, a lady of their distinguished court named Meliore was taken captive by political brigands near the Basento River. The kidnappers are demanding a ransom and the city of Melfi is demanding a neutral arbiter.

  Pero de Alava, you are hereby commanded to take immediate leave of your post at Capua and marshal the exchange in Melfi. You will not return to your post at Capua until this matter is fully resolved.

  Additionally, increased tensions between the cities of Melfi and Benevento have ushered in an unstable atmosphere giving us cause for concern for your safety. While there is no evidence yet to establish a correlation between the kidnapping and the political upheaval, discretion at all points is a priority.

  Therefore, surreptitious necessity compels me to command the following. You will avoid Benevento and travel directly to Melfi utilizing a remote and ancient trail known as Eagles Pass. No one outside your trusted inner circle must know of this. You will take every precaution necessary to complete this mission efficiently. You may secure the aid of two scouts. Do your duty soldier and may God be with you.

  Lord Gherardus, Commander of Parthenope

  THE PLAYERS

  Pero de Alava (Per-o day Ä-lava)

  A Spanish caballero who recklessly cursed God and abandoned his Imperial post for a suicidal quest in The Eagles Forest. Attacked by mystically creatures, Pero managed to escape to Ithaca, a sanctuary prison lost deep in the wood. Confused, betrayed, alone, Pero inadvertently stumbles upon Turstin Fabbro in the prison. Dark secrets are revealed but Pero is unsure what good this information will do him. He is trapped and in no position to use it.

  Anthea Manikos (An-thē-ä Man-i-kōs)

  Pero de Alava’s former bride. Pero broke off their engagement just before riding off on his quest, leaving her hurt and bewildered. When the forces of Parthenope siege the castle at Capua, Anthea falls prey to Pero’s bitter rival, Rugerius Fabbro.

  Rugerius Fabbro (Ra-ger-ē-us Fab-rō)

  Rugerius is the eldest son of Gherardus Fabbro, and heir to the throne of Parthenope. The Castellan is cruel, vindictive and unmerciful and he has just seized the keep at Capua, destroying and killing everyone inside. This brutal assault was a calculated act of vengeance.

  Gherardus Fabbro (Her-är-dus Fab-rō)

  Gherardus is the Lord of Parthenope and father of Rugerius and Talento Fabbro. Bound to the past and the Catholic Church, he must war with Philip of Swabia and all who support him. Pero de Alava foolishly announces his support for Philip. The attack on Capua, the letter sending Pero on the suicidal quest, were all authorized by Gherardus’ hand.

  Talento Fabbro (Ta-len-tō Fab-rō)

  Talento is the youngest son of Gherardus Fabbro. He is ambitious and conniving, doing most of his machinations in the shadows where few strings lead back to him.

  Turstin Fabbro (Térs-tin Fab-rō)

  Turstin is Gherardus Fabbro’s younger brother. He is imprisoned with his family in Ithaca, a sanctuary prison deep in The Eagles Forest. Turstin has been spared his brother’s full wrath, being kept alive and provided for by monthly trains of misfits, drones and slaves of Sinibaldus.

  Sinibaldus (Sin-i-bôl-dus)

  Sinibaldus is an albino giant wielding a Bellerophon Crystal. Ruling Sin Circus, Sinibaldus uses his magical abilities to destroy the enemies of the Fabbro family. Sinibaldus has not told anyone that Pero de Alava slipped through his fingers and made it to Ithaca.

  Francis Whitehall

  Francis is an English knight and Pero’s best friend. He was left to defend Capua during the assault from Parthenope and lost his family during the siege. With Guidus Salvatore, the Griffin escaped, crawling down a stinking privy pipe and trudging through the moat.

  Viridian (Vir-id-e-an)

  Rugerius Fabbro’s cousin and lover. A sexually spirited creature living her life in comfort and ease, awaiting the day Rugerius proposes and she becomes an acceptable member of the Court.

  Meliore Fabbro

  The matriarch of the Fabbro clan who dies in the year 1170, accidently assassinated by her wicked sons who were plotting to kill their father, Tancred. Tancred, unable to bear the loss of his wife, died of a heart attack at her feet just before she expired.

  Chapter 1 – I Need Your Help

  Meliore Fabbro was exhausted. They’d been dancing for an hour now and her feet were sore. Her hips and back weren’t doing much better. She faked a laugh, forced a smile and released her energetic partner, whirling back swiftly to the small chair beside the vanity stand. For a flash, she thought to spin around and check her appearance in the mirror, the flushed cheeks and tousled hair. The thought, however, vanished immediately. No need to look behind her. The mirror was broken more than a month previous, shattered in a fit of rage by the young woman who lived in this apartment, Meliore’s spirited dance partner, Bertina Fabbro.

  Bertina Fabbro had no desire to ever look at herself in a mirror again. Her reflection was hideous, filling her with loathing. Whenever she accidently caught even the slightest glimpse of her likeness in any reflective surface, the life expectancy of that object, be it a window or a spoon, was in serious jeopardy. She had thrown, broken and destroyed so many things, it was difficult to surround her with anything that was foolproof.

  This aversion to her reflection began immediately after The Healing. “Damn little bitches,” Bertina Fabbro would mutter between gritted teeth, her fist clenching up tight and forming a fist, her memory shuffling off to the day when the Foolish Six, as they were now referred, were executed. “Damn little bitches.”

  It was critical she avoided any reflections.

  Not two days after The Healing occurred and Lady Bertina could walk again, were The Foolish Six summarily arrested, tried and beheaded for injuries committed against the lady’s person while she lay in an invalid state. The petite, pretty skulls of the young girls, none older than twelve, were stabbed multiple times, eyes removed, hair shaved off, displayed on rusty iron pikes for nearly a month in the courtyard before the parents were finally permit
ted to recover them and give them proper burials.

  Bertina Fabbro was barmy. The wife of Gherardus Fabbro, Bertina had suffered a debilitating stroke while giving birth to their second son, Talento. For nearly ten months, Bertina was bedridden with little hope of recovery. No one ever envisioned her walking again, nevertheless dancing. It was a miracle she was up and about.

  Bertina looked to be the older of the two women but most assuredly was not.

  In her prime, Bertina Fabbro was beautiful and had turned many heads with her graceful form and shapely figure. Her angelic features far surpassed the artistry of the erotically sculpted forms adorning the palace gardens. But all that had changed. It had been a difficult labor and she was lucky to have survived it.

  Ten months of bleakness passed slowly and Bertina Fabbro remained incapacitated, unable to sit, stand or walk, powerless to lift her arms or even wiggle her fingers and toes. She could not turn her head to the left or right. Her eyes remained active and she could move her lips, although she could produce no sounds with them, just an occasional grunt when she was truly frustrated or furious.

  A team of skilled nurses were employed to provide for the infant’s care. The only maintenance Bertina Fabbro could participate in was the feedings. Bertina had lost the use of both her arms, so the nurses bore Talento to her and lay him against the breasts. Standing at the bedside, they would wait, eventually moving him to the other side when the first was emptied.

  Bertina cried during every feeding. She lacked the strength to coddle her son, pull him tight to her and feel his breath and heartbeat. She couldn’t even enjoy the smell of his clean and powdered head, for her sense of smell had been destroyed completely by the stroke. The left side of Bertina’s body was especially hard hit, the face drooping, her mouth drooling constantly. During feedings, a nurse toweled off the babe’s wet head when it was cuddled up beneath that arm.

  Weary and aching, Meliore Fabbro stretched a bit, using the right hand to massage her sore left shoulder. She was fifty-eight years old now and her muscles tended to cramp up and throb all the time. The activity did not matter. Whatever she was doing, be it dancing or sitting for hours at chapel, it all seemed to work against her. Her greatest pleasures came during simple, quiet strolls through the gardens, acres and acres of lush landscapes, engaging the gardeners in lengthy conversations concerning the current health of the florae.

  Meliore Fabbro was intrigued by the science of it all, how ingenious the gods had been in their planning, crafting the plants in a manner whereby they could be trimmed of all their beauty and rottenness, cut down to the very core of their being, sliced to thin and empty stalks, only to reemerge. When the seasons and cycles of life had reached spring again, they would burst anew, the paltry stalks bringing forth life and seed, blossoming and producing fruit.

  ‘Amazing.’

  With wonder and admiration, Meliore slouched back and watched Bertina continue to dance. The energetic woman spun about the room in a multi-colored floral dress. Meliore remembered gifting Bertina the gown two years ago. She hadn’t seen her wear it in such a long time. Of course, the woman had been bedridden and there was no reason to wear a dress, always shrouded beneath sheets, wearing nothing but the minimum sum of clothing necessary for modesty sake, long undershirts generally.

  The woman’s recovery from the stroke, The Healing, had been astonishing and unforeseen. There was simply no accounting for the sudden resurrection. It defied explanation. Bertina Fabbro, if not dead, should still be laid up in the bed. But there she was now, twirling, chortling and embracing life once again. A stalk blossomed.

  There was, however, a notable difference about Bertina Fabbro now, something no one could fail to see. Bertina was barmy. Her spirit had been transformed during The Healing. She was far more adventurous, facetious and giddy - insane by some reckonings. There was no routine to her day for she refused to have one. Her actions and words, even her sleeping habits were all predicated on impulse.

  The people of the Court were never a sympathetic lot. Even before The Healing, most of them had written Bertina Fabbro off, never taking the time to visit her in her time of crisis. They still had not made amends for their coldness and Bertina did not forget it.

  Bertina’s mind had been curiously elevated in a manner no one dared define. She was privy to secret knowledge of things happening all around the palace. It was eerie. She spoke of spirits and sprites, fairies and ghosts, shadows breathing in every corner. They talked to her and informed on everyone. When she got to talking with the living, it was as if she could see right through them, into their souls, into the darkest, blackest inner workings of their minds. Bertina could read them. They swore she could. She knew things about them and their habits she simply should not know. And worst for her enemies at Court, Bertina had no filter or objectivity. Now that the power of speech had returned to her, she spoke all the time. She never shut up. Her tongue was fire, talking loud and proud of whatever embarrassing confidences had been revealed to her. It was highly unnerving.

  Meliore Fabbro, however, was not disturbed by her daughter-in-law’s newly awakened gift. Being a Christian, a good daughter of the Roman Catholic Church, she saw it as a refreshing honesty. She also didn’t believe she harbored any deceits or conceits herself. The threat of being ‘read’ didn’t intimidate her.

  Bertina Fabbro was ever grateful for Meliore’s company and apparently never found anything harmful to say about her. If she did, she kept it to herself.

  Meliore Fabbro’s reputation far outshone that of her stern and disciplined husband, Tancred Fabbro. Tancred was the Lord of Parthenope, Grand Duke of Campania. Together, they had three fine sons, Avenel, Gherardus and Turstin.

  Meliore’s relationship with her daughter-in-law matured directly after Bertina made her a grandmother, giving birth to her first child, a son, Rugerius Fabbro.

  Meliore and Bertina became fast friends after that, confidants. They were both so excited by the prospect of a second child. No one could have envisioned the stroke to come. And in the wake of that horrible event, Bertina’s relationship with all other members of Court staled, including her own husband, Gherardus Fabbro. Gherardus lost all interest in his wife, never came to visit. Besides the servant girls obliged to wait on her, and the weekly visits from Meliore, Bertina had no one.

  The affinity the public had reserved for Avenel Fabbro, Tancred and Meliore’s eldest son, had waned. The heir apparent to Parthenope’s throne had become cold and detached in recent months, nearly always brooding. No one could rightly blame him though. Avenel had lost his wife and two daughters to serious illnesses and found it nearly impossible to smile anymore. There was an enormous hole in his heart and he could not disguise it.

  With Avenel Fabbro avoiding the crowds and fanfare, becoming more and more inaccessible, everyone’s attention inevitably turned to the brave Castellan of the city, the second son, Gherardus Fabbro. Gherardus Fabbro was a warrior and an honored defender of the Campania kingdom. He had stood up and opposed the imperialistic intentions of Barbarossa when the Emperor thought to lay siege to Italy.

  Gherardus’ devotion to his wife Bertina had been inspiring. People even wrote songs and performed plays about them, all the entertainment glorifying the couple as the epitome of happiness and courtliness. And they never hid their fondness, their affection for one another. It was always on open display, exchanging tender pecks on the cheeks, giggling and laughing while strutting down the vias. It was all sort of racy and taboo by some accounts. They were star-crossed lovers and eternity apparently could not contain them.

  And then the stroke wasted Bertina. Her beauty faded and her wits vanished. Her physical health evaporated. It was as if she had died that day. Gherardus Fabbro treated her as such. She was no one to him anymore, not even human. The flesh paled and her hair fell out. It was a lonely, difficult time.

  ‘Where is my husband?’

  Bertina Fabbro clung jealousy to the memories, to the laughter, the fun, the hol
ding of hands and sweet kisses. Lying motionless in her sick bed, she recalled her zealous doting over him when he laid injured. This happened on two separate occasion. First there was the near-blinding during the war against Barbarossa in 1162. Poor Gherardus went without his sight for two months. Bertina was right there the entire time. She walked him through it, providing for his every need. And then there was the concussion Gherardus sustained in Egypt while on Crusade in 1167. For three months, he was bedridden. Bertina swore she would never leave his side and she didn’t.

  ‘I was there for him,’ she cried day by day. ‘I changed his linens, washed his broken body, massaged his limbs with healing salts. I treated his sores with liniments. I sang to him, sweet songs of encouragement and love. I prayed and encouraged Gherardus to find his way out of the darkness. I never failed in my duty as a wife.’ Her thoughts were always despairing at this point. ‘I need him now. I need my husband. Why isn’t he here? Why hasn’t he come for me? Doesn’t he want me to recover? Does he want to leave me in darkness forever?’

  ‘I have sad news,” Meliore quietly shared.

  Bertina continued to dance.

  “My sons have arranged for me to go on holiday. I ride for Melfi in the morning.”

  Bertina finally stopped twirling, a small look of concern gradually overtaking her portly face. Her skin was already pale but it became even whiter, matching the few loose strands of hair clinging desperately to the top of her head. During her illness, Bertina had lost most of it.

  “When will you return, Iris.”