Amantius was staring out the window in the dining room when the main door opened, and a tall man entered the house without an invitation. He wore a priest’s robes, but to Amantius nothing seemed priestly about the man. He was older, a few years his mother’s senior, with a bald head. A large scar ran down the right side of his face, stretching from his temple to the corner of his mouth. His eyes were cold and calculating, his lips curled in a perpetual scowl.
Amantius immediately stepped in front of his mother, who was still lounging on the sofa in the living room. Ulam joined him, folding his arms and exposing his tusks a little more than normal. It was clear to him that Ulam had the same impression of the newcomer, and without a word spoken they agreed to defend their mother first and foremost if need be.
“What is the meaning of this?” Amantius croaked, unsettled by the man’s sudden appearance. He had hoped his voice would be more authoritative, but the pitch betrayed him. “Who are you? Why have you barged into our home?”
“Lady Pelecia.” The stranger said, his voice as harsh as his appearance. “Forgive my intrusion.” He then went to one knee and bowed his head, the glint of iron showing under his robe. The man was wearing chainmail, with a sword dangling at his hip.
Amantius instinctively retreated a step once he realized the man was armed. Uncertainty and fear spiked through his heart; he had nothing to defend himself with other than his fists, and he had never been much of a pugilist. But this man did not appear to be their enemy, for he called his mother by her first name as though they were old acquaintances, and even referred to her as “Lady Pelecia.” While Amantius was recovering from his confusion and gathering some semblance of courage, he heard his mother lean forward on the sofa and let out a defeated sigh. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, Pelecia stopped him by raising her hand.
“Master Marinius,” she said softly. “No need for apologies, these are troubling times. You may stand, at our age kneeling is not our friend. Take a seat, too, if you wish.” She gestured towards a chair on the opposite side of the room.
You may stand. Amantius thought those words sounded surprisingly regal, as though his mother was the Queen. To Amantius’ recollection, she had never spoken with such authority; even when scolding him during his childhood she still adopted a more balanced tone. He looked to Ulam, to see if his foster-brother had noticed the change in disposition. But Ulam’s face was as hard as stone, his expression utterly indiscernible. In his gray eyes there was an unspoken threat lingering, the gravity of his glare a warning to the newcomer to proceed with caution.
As Marinius sat down Pelecia asked Amantius to grab their guest a drink, which he did reluctantly. As he poured the glass of wine in the adjacent room he heard some of Pelecia and Marinius’ conversation, though he thought they were speaking in a secret language. He could make out full sentences at times, none of which made sense to him, however. When he returned he offered Marinius the wine, retreating to Ulam’s side immediately afterward.
“So that’s the lad, eh?” Marinius said as his calculating eyes sized up Amantius. For the first time in his life, he felt as though someone could peer directly into his very soul.
“Yes, Marinius, that is my son,” Pelecia replied with a glow in her eyes, though there was sadness too. Amantius attributed that to the King’s death, though he was beginning to wonder if more was happening without his knowledge. A sickening feeling hit his stomach as his thoughts ran amuck within the confines of his imagination.
“Does he know his weapons?” Marinius asked.
“Who would have taught him?” Pelecia replied, rather sternly. “Do you think the palace would have been the best place for him to be?”
What are they talking about? Palace? Weapons? Amantius thought. Now he was really confused and anxious. He knew something important was happening, or about to happen, but there were still too many pieces of the puzzle missing.
“Who are you?” Amantius blurted out. “And why are you incognito, armed, in our house, talking about my knowledge of weapons? I feel since I am the subject of this discussion then I am entitled to know!”
Marinius gave Pelecia a quick, searching look, as though nonverbally asking permission to continue. When she nodded, he stood and approached Amantius, the leather sheath of his sword thudding on his thigh.
“You really don’t know, do you?” Marinius said before turning to Pelecia again. “I am impressed that you were able to keep it a secret for…how many years? How old is he?”
“I turned eighteen last month,” Amantius stuttered, his voice failing him. If he had been asked by anyone else, he might have sounded more of a man, but in front of Marinius, he felt he was still a child.
“For eighteen, almost nineteen years then.” Marinius continued, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “That’s impressive.” He returned to his chair but did not sit down.
What is impressive? I’m utterly confused.
“I am afraid I have kept a great secret from you, my child,” Pelecia said, sitting up, “about your father.”
“My father?” Amantius said. “What about him? He was a sailor from a faraway land who promised you the world and then disappeared. You have told me this many times.”
Pelecia took a deep breath, her mouth a tight line. “I am sorry, Amantius, but that was all a lie.”
“A lie?” Amantius felt a twinge of betrayal in his gut, taken aback by his mother’s revelation. While he figured this was not the first time she had lied to him, he was still a little shocked she had hidden the truth about his father for his whole life. Why would she lie to me about who my father is?
Pelecia sighed and looked out a nearby window, a worried expression written on her face. She remained like that for a few minutes, appearing as though she was unearthing memories like ancient artifacts buried deep underground. Amantius thought the moment would last forever, every second causing his impatience to grow tenfold. He had always wanted to know more about the man who had sired him, and now it seemed as though he was about to have some questions answered.
“I do not like talking about my past, about my roots,” Pelecia said, “but now I feel I must, because, for you to understand, you will need some background.”
“I was born in a fishing village outside of Accaria, on the other side of Mount Meganthus, named Toron.” Pelecia started, still looking out the window, “It was small, five hundred people at the most. I lived in a hut with my mother, my father having died in stormy seas before my ninth birthday. Without him, my mother and I were forced to learn his trade. Every day we went to the docks and fished, hoping to catch enough for the both of us. Most of the time we had enough, but there were days when we went to bed hungry. Sometimes weeks.”
“We had four walls, a roof with holes, and one bed. We slept in the same bed most nights, using each other’s warmth in place of blankets. Eventually, we had scraped together enough money to afford a blanket.” Pelecia smiled. “I felt like a queen; no more cold nights. I cannot tell you how exciting it was.”
I never knew any of this. Amantius looked at Ulam, who was sitting on the floor, his entire attention directed towards their mother. Apparently, he didn’t know either.
“But the feeling was short-lived,” Pelecia continued, her expression darkening. “My mother had contracted some foul illness, a plague of sorts that had swept the island. I witnessed as, one by one, our neighbors died; their bodies withering away until they could no longer function. My mother was no different. I watched as this proud woman who spent every day hauling monstrous fish out of the ocean became so feeble she could not even get out of the bed. From then on all the responsibilities of the house fell on my shoulders: cleaning, cooking, fishing, trading, and so on.”
“That year was a particularly good year for fishing, or perhaps because there were fewer people fishing I was able to catch more. Day after day I caught more fish than I needed, selling the excess to local merchants who smoked and salted the meat before taking it to the city. I had coll
ected quite a bit of coin during that time; I planned to move to the city after my mother recovered because even during the darkest of times I still had hope for her. Unfortunately, she died months later, leaving me alone in the world.”
Pelecia muttered something under her breath, a tear slipped down her face. “After she died I packed all I could carry and moved, unaware the city was infected with the same plague as well. I moved into a house near the docks, slightly bigger than the home I had shared with my mother. I then went to work fishing, since it was all I knew how to do. Day after day I toiled in the sun, hoping to catch dinner. I constantly reeked of fish guts, sweat, and sea salt, but after some time I no longer noticed the odor. It was not the only smell that no longer registered in my mind; the plague had claimed so many lives that I no longer smelled death. I accepted that death was coming for me too; it was nothing short of miraculous that I avoided it for as long as I did.”
“Then one evening, on my way home from the docks, a man offered to carry my day’s catch home for me. I refused, mostly because I did not need the help, but also because I did not know his motives. He politely accepted my refusal and disappeared, only to offer again the next evening. I refused again, and again the next day as well. I cannot recall how many days in a row this man offered to help me before I finally conceded. I made some stew for him, like my mother had made, as a way of thanking him.” Pelecia chuckled. “The stew was awful, but he was very polite. To this day I do not know how he ate so many bowls.”
“We spent the night talking about everything. History, philosophy, the different types of fishing nets, different types of metals. He told me about what was happening in the city, rumors and the like. He knew a lot about the palace, telling me he had family that worked within the palace and they routinely passed along gossip. Among his stories was one about one of the princes, who was looking for a wife now that he was of age. All the most beautiful maidens of the kingdom had been brought before him, but the prince was not interested in any of them. I asked him why, and he replied, ‘because the Prince wants a woman with intelligence, one that can hold a conversation with him.’ It made sense to me; if I had been searching for a husband I would have wanted someone like that as well.”
“He visited me many times over the next few weeks, each time I tried to cook something different for him, each time he ate two helpings regardless of how detestable the food was. Everything was going great, but then one day we got into a fight.” Pelecia looked annoyed, as though the fight had happened only hours ago. “It was a stupid quarrel; I do not even remember what it was about. But it was bad, really bad. A day went by, then two, then three. Then a week. Then a second week. He was gone.”
Pelecia frowned. “A huge hole opened in my life. He was a lone sliver of light in my otherwise dark world. Without his visits, everything slipped back into the same, monotonous routine. Fish, cook, clean, repeat. I had not truly realized how important he had become or how much our friendship mattered to me. But just when I thought things could not get any worse, they did.”
“I got sick.” A dark cloud passed over Pelecia’s face. “Really sick. At first, I thought it was just a cold I got from being on the water too long. But then a few days went by and I realized it was much worse. I lost my appetite, and then my strength. Within a week I could not even get out of bed. My whole body ached; I coughed up blood. At first, I was in denial, but deep inside I knew it was the same plague that killed my mother. Of course it was, the symptoms were exactly the same; I had the same rashes, the same sores. I thought I was going to die. And honestly, I was in so much pain I was ready to die.” Pelecia shivered at the memory.
Amantius was shocked; he never knew his mother had come so near to death. He thought it was almost unbelievable since Pelecia had always been so healthy, so strong. Whenever he or Ulam would contract some sort of illness she would be spared of its wrath, her health seemingly impenetrable. What is even more remarkable is that she doesn’t have any scars, at least I don’t think she does. Everyone I have ever met that survived that plague has some kind of blemishes.
“I will never forget those dark moments when my life was hanging in the balance.” Though Pelecia was staring at a small maroon and gold rug in the center of the floor, her mind was decades in the past. “I will never forget the thousands of knives stabbing my lungs and throat when I coughed. Or the feeling of my skin burning from the rashes on my arms, legs, back, everywhere. The cold sweat that soaked my face, the shivering, the chattering of my teeth. Childbirth may be the single most painful event of my life, but at least it did not last for weeks on end.”
Pelecia then looked at Marinius, then Ulam, and lastly Amantius. A smile slowly replaced the grave expression on her face, her eyes began to sparkle again. She cleared her throat and then checked her hand, a strange habit Amantius had always noticed but dismissed as nothing more than one of his mother’s quirks. But now that he knew she was a plague survivor, the ritual made complete sense to him. So that’s why she does that; she has been looking for blood, even after all this time. I guess she wears her scars on the inside.
“Just when I thought my life was over, he came back,” Pelecia continued, “At first I thought he was a spirit, coming to take my soul to the Otherworld. But then when my eyes focused, I saw it was him. I tried to warn him not to come near; I was mortified that I would pass that wretched disease to him. But I could not gather the strength to form whole sentences, the pain in my throat was too overwhelming.”
“He did everything for me. He fed me and brought fresh water every day. He fished, he cooked, and he cleaned my little home. He stitched up the holes in the blanket, he fixed my leaking ceiling. He changed my bedsheets and washed my clothes. He even spread herbs he bought from local healers, hoping they would help in some way.” Pelecia was beaming now. It was so infectious even Ulam and Amantius were smiling as well.
“But what I appreciated more than anything,” Pelecia continued, “was he never spent a night elsewhere. He was with me every night while I was sick, remaining ever vigilant by my bedside. And every night he would pull out a book of fairy tales and read them to me, stories of knights and dames, kings and queens, dragons and giants. When I had recovered enough he even taught me how to read, and we spent countless nights reading to one another.”
“I probably do not have to tell you,” Pelecia blushed a little, a sly smirk gracing her face, “but I was in love, and thankfully he was too. I cannot believe I did not see it at the time, because it is so obvious now. What man risks catching the plague for a woman he does not love?” Pelecia chuckled.
“So this man is my father?” Amantius said, “Does he still live?” He looked at Marinius, a sudden thought passing through his mind. Is he my father? He does have scars on his body…
Pelecia held up a hand. “Patience, my child. He asked my hand in marriage shortly after I had recovered, and I accepted without hesitation. I had no doubt in my mind this was the man I wanted to live with the rest of my life, to raise children with…” she stopped and looked at Amantius. “But that was not our fate.”
“Why not? Did he catch the same plague as you?” Amantius immediately regretted asking, not only because his mother had begged for patience, but also because he realized he may have stumbled onto a raw wound.
Pelecia sighed. “It was much more difficult than simply saying yes or no. When he told his parents they outright objected to our union.”
“Why?”
Pelecia squeezed her hands together, releasing years of pent up frustration. “Because I was a fisherman’s daughter. I had no advantage, financially or politically. I was a plague survivor who lived in a shanty down by the docks, who was far more likely to smell of fish guts than rose petals. I would have been an embarrassment to his family.”
“So you gave up?” Amantius asked in disappointment. That doesn’t sound like my mother.
“We almost ran away. We were going to pay for passage to the mainland and start our lives together, where
ver we thought we would not be followed. But it never happened. On the night we were supposed to sail away together, his father and two brothers perished. The plague had touched their home too, killing his whole family and only sparing him.”
“So if his whole family had died then what was there to stop him from marrying you?”
Pelecia straightened her back, her posture radiating pride.
“Because Amantius,” she began, “the man I had fallen in love with, the man I promised to marry, was no ordinary commoner. His name was Roderic, third son of Demos, King of Accaria.”
“The King!” Amantius and Ulam yelled in unison. “You can’t be serious!”
“Yes, the King,” Pelecia repeated. Amantius could not believe what he was hearing, that the man who had nursed her back to health was the late King. He suddenly became amused, breaking out into a fit of laughter, thinking the story a well thought out joke. But as he looked around the room he noticed no one else was laughing.
“By the Gods,” Amantius whispered, feeling the air being sucked from his lungs. “The King?”
“When I had met him he was a prince, the third in line for the throne.” Pelecia continued, staring at her child. “Growing tired of the maidens being paraded in front of him he ran away from the palace and found me. When he asked for my hand I did not know who he was, I only knew he had a gentle soul, a kind heart. I also knew I loved him, and he loved me too, and that was all that mattered to me.”
“But unfortunately, the world is not always so black and white. As King, he had new responsibilities, ones he rejected at first. We continued our romance for quite some time after his coronation, but deep inside we both knew it was not going to last forever. He needed a wife and children for the good of the kingdom, because if he suddenly died without an heir, Accaria would be engulfed in chaos. I did not like it, and to this day I still have not entirely accepted his decision, but I understand its merit. Roderic then married Verona of House Cassia, who you simply know as Queen Verona. At first, I held onto a lover’s hope thinking that he would eventually leave her, and he and I would sail away as we had planned, but over time I realized how foolish that was. So I faded away, to live here. Before our relationship ended, though, there was one last gift Roderic gave me. You.”
The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) Page 4
