†
Carla and her mother, Betty, helped organize the celebration. The wedding ceremony was to be held in the new Stonegate church and solemnized by the lore-master. Only the closest of friends and family were to be invited to the nuptials, due to lack of room, but the reception was open to the entire community of Stonegate. By all indications, hundreds were planning to attend. Apparently, the people, if not the politicians, were beginning to give Don credit for the victory against the False Prophet.
“Don,” said Rachel, her brow furrowed, “I don’t know how we will pay for this reception. We should have limited the invitations.”
“Don’t worry,” said Don. “I have plenty of money now. I will tell you all about it later.” But Rachel was not to be denied, so he explained that Wesley had given him a reward for Amber’s rescue, and Ariel had rewarded him for his services there. “Stonegate has not been overly generous, but I was grudgingly given a share of the captured coin. So don’t be concerned. Let’s make this something to remember.”
The date was set for a week from the proposal, as Rachel felt that they had already wasted so much time being separated. Invitations went out immediately, asking people to attend a glorious celebration of love by attending a reception dinner at the Quill and Sword Inn. The overflow would be hosted in the square between the inn and the lore-house. Betty spent four whole days with Rachel and her closest friends shopping for silken fabrics for the wedding dress, organizing flowers and a wedding menu, and then sewing the material they’d purchased into a flowing creation, a gown fit for a queen.
Happiness filled the air, a much needed remedy for the tragedy of war. The community rejoiced, everyone getting involved somehow to do their bit to make it a success. Stonegate was healing, and memories of bloodshed and horror were replaced with thoughts about Rachel and Don’s wedding.
“This is the best thing that has happened in Stonegate for a long while,” conceded the lore-master. “God knows that the people need something to look forward to.”
He was talking to Gray John, who now insisted that it truly was Don who had led Stonegate to victory. They were busy preparing the church for an afternoon wedding. They brought in extra candles to light up the room with brilliance and warmth and a harp player to provide some angelic music for this special occasion.
“You know; I always saw great potential in Donald. I’m truly sorry I over-reacted to his early mistakes. He has proven himself to be a true leader and a great general.”
“Perhaps he is the one, Gray John,” said Duncan the Lore-master, “the one prophesied by Carl the Elder…the key of Stonegate.”
“The evidence certainly points that way,” admitted Gray John. “But Don is too humble to accept that…so it may always remain a mystery.”
“Yes…a mystery. God has his mysteries, but through faith we still believe.”
Gray John nodded, glancing at the sun to judge the time. It was now mid-afternoon and people were arriving at the church. Donald entered the room looking dapper in a black suit with long coat-tails and high laced-up boots. He wore a pure white shirt with frills around the collar and sleeves as was the high fashion. A look of contentment rested on his face, as he waited for Rachel’s arrival and for the ceremony to begin. Samuel accompanied him as his best man, looking smart and distinguished.
The harp player started playing once the church was full. After what seemed an eternal wait, Rachel entered the room, looking like an angel from heaven. A band of white roses crowned her hair which fell over her shoulders in soft waves. A sheer veil of fine netting fell to the floor from the headband, and her dress was adorned with pale pink gemstones and lace. Her face was glowing with love and happiness as she approached Don at the altar.
Alongside her were two bridesmaids, Carla and Deborah, complementing the bride with pale pink dresses and bouquets of white roses. Don was breathless, as he watched the woman of his dreams move closer towards him. The aroma of fine perfume filled the air as she took her place alongside him. Howard, leg bandaged, was able to stand and give the bride away.
Duncan read from the Holy Book:
Colossians 3:12-17
Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God.
Then he took the plain gold band that Donald had bought as a wedding ring and asked, “Do you, Donald of Fisher, take Rachel of Westerly to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, now and forever till death do you part?”
“I do,” said Don, gazing into the blueness of Rachel’s eyes.
“And do you, Rachel of Westerly, take this man, Donald of Fisher, to be your husband, to have and to hold, now and forever till death do you part?”
“I do,” whispered Rachel, tears of happiness forming in her eyes.
As Donald slipped on the band which had been sized to fit, Duncan said, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Cheering came from the crowd who threw copious amounts of confetti over the joyful couple. Donald kissed Rachel fully on the lips, holding his wife to him as though he would never let her go. Then he picked her up and gallantly carried her down the stairs to a waiting horse and carriage, a loan from Aunt Florence for the wedding couple.
Arriving at the reception, they were greeted by a jovial crowd who welcomed them with shouts and congratulations. A band began to play, as Don led Rachel to the dance floor for the traditional wedding dance. It was a waltz, which enabled Rachel to twirl around in her wedding dress, showing off the lovely fullness of the long silk skirt. Tight in each other’s arms, Don whispered, “I love you.”
Rachel leaned into his strong shoulders and whispered, “I love you too.”
The smell of a fine banquet filled the room where tables were decorated with lace tablecloths and vases of pale pink and blue flowers. The menu featured venison as the main course for the bridal party. Carla’s hunt had been successful. Two entire roast oxen were served to the crowd outside. The entrees also included hot steaming bowls of chicken and vegetable soup, accompanied with cheese bread and crisp savory biscuits. Dessert was an abundance of fresh fruit, various cakes and cream, and flavored pudding.
Don noticed that Carla was sitting with Howard, and he could see the fondness between them. Good for Howard. He was also pleased to see that Deborah was accompanied by Colin, much to Jarrad’s displeasure. Amber and Crispin had eyes only for each other, and Don suspected that Stonegate would be seeing other weddings soon.
He chatted for a moment with some of his companions, who offered congratulations. He suddenly thought of the severed head of Balek Brown and asked Colin if it had been decently disposed of. “Don’t worry, sir,” Colin replied. “Rowan and the lads took care of that.”
As the celebrations continued, and the community of Stonegate reveled in the occasion, Don felt a sense of peace come over him. A page of his life had turned, and he could finally look toward the future.
“I think that Stonegate and the cities of the East will prosper from here on in,” said Gray John, sitting on the other side of Don as dessert was served. “The enemy is defeated…they have lost heavily. The False Prophet can do no more…for now.”
Don nodded as he sipped on a black ale, a special wedding brew, “Yes, you’re right…he has lost power…for now.”
“Let’s celebrate our victory over evil and your happy union
in marriage. Here’s a toast to Donald of Fisher and Rachel of Westerly,” announced Gray John in a loud voice.
“To Donald of Fisher and Rachel of Westerly!” cheered the people of Stonegate.
Chapter 35
†
Prophet City
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
From Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Prophet City lay silent as if in mourning for the defeat of the army It was a cool early autumn morning when Martin Abaddon, the Prophet, returned to town from his secluded retreat. The defeated troops were beginning to straggle in. No one knew where Balek Brown was or what had happened to him. Generals Logan and Roundy were not among the returning troops; they were being held to be tried for their crimes.
Cold, ominous winds blew over them as they arrived at the gates of the city. The sun was obscured by dark grayish-blue clouds, promising rain sometime today. The trees were losing their leaves as the seasons changed in readiness for a bleak, depressing winter. The gardens of the palace looked lost and neglected, as even the gardeners had been called to war. Flowers were dying, and a feeling of melancholy pervaded the atmosphere.
Martin Abaddon dismissed his honor guard and told General Blacklock to accompany him to his private chambers. A meeting was imperative.
General Blacklock had expected arrest and court-martial, summary execution, or possibly torture and the headsman. But not this. The Prophet had greeted him warmly, like a long-lost friend there to comfort him for a setback. Perhaps it was because he was the only surviving general. But Blacklock feared the man’s mood could turn ugly at any moment.
“I am defeated…but not destroyed,” Martin mumbled under his breath as they entered the palace. Ringing the bells, he called for Isabella. Refreshments were the first thing they needed. It was almost lunch time, and Martin’s anger at his losses was aggravated by hunger.
Isabella arrived as quickly as she could, knowing full well the extent of the Prophet’s wrath when he was kept waiting.
“Bring us some food,” snapped Martin, displaying his irritation openly. “And something substantial, not your usual snack food suitable for a cat!”
“Yes, sire,” she curtseyed and was about to leave the room when Martin gave another order. “Oh…and summon the jesters and dancing girls. This place feels like a morgue! Let’s have some music and women…and lots of ale!”
Isabella nodded, parted the curtains, and vanished.
The dancing girls arrived just before the food did, lifting Martin’s mood a little.
“Eat, General Blacklock…eat. Let us drink and be merry. And once we are rested, I will return to the usual business…how to destroy the East!”
General Blacklock took a hefty swig of ale, glad for any semblance of normalcy. “The food is extremely flavorsome,” he said with a smile. He knew that the Prophet had ordered an endless supply of ale, cider and wines, as if determined to entice the exotic dancing girls into a night of drunken debauchery. This way he could temporarily forget the humiliation of defeat. Blacklock hoped he could join him for no more than a few hours, then steal away to his home and family
Music filled the room as, one by one, the women came, scantily clad to perform some wild private dancing for the men. The jester told his usual jokes, which after a few too many ales Martin found funny once again.
†
“More ale,” he roared to the submissive Isabella.
“Yes, sire…at once,” she responded, thinking she ought to lace it with sleeping potion so that she could have a rest. More and more she detested that man. He was the epitome of evil, she thought. Other women may be fooled by his good looks and charm, but Isabella knew his true character, and it was ugly.
The girls were all sitting around enjoying elderberry wine and fine cheeses. The room was filled with the aroma of their exotic perfumes—lavender, roses, gardenia, and musk. Martin had Selena sitting in his lap soothing his fragile and shattered ego. General Blacklock was accosted by several dancers who sat around taking turns to bathe and massage his aching feet.
Isabella returned with several flasks of ale and cider, curious that anyone could consume so much intoxicating liquid and still be conscious. Martin roared out, “Please, Isabella…join us.”
Daring not to disobey him, Isabella approached the Prophet, who instructed Selena to dance for him and allow Isabella to sit on his lap. A feeling of revulsion crept over her as she lowered herself down in the place where Selena had been.
“Come, let me pour you some elderberry wine, my dearest Isabella,” slurred Martin.
Isabella took the golden goblet full of wine and sipped. “Thank you,” she whispered, to which he responded with a kiss on her cheek. Terrified, Isabella tried to stay calm. I’ll drink this slowly…very slowly, she thought, knowing that this would slow down the effects of the drink.
The afternoon passed without further incident, and Isabella was greatly relieved when Martin asked for Shakti to sit with him. But her relief was short-lived when Martin ordered Selena to take Isabella under her wing.
“Selena, take Isabella to your dressing room and find her something appropriate to wear. A nice revealing harem suit. She looks out of place in that old maid’s uniform….and besides I want to see her dance.”
Isabella stuttered, “B-b-b-but I-I-I c-c-can’t dance! I don’t know how!”
“Then Selena shall teach you. We can all watch a dancing lesson!” Martin roared with laughter as Selena led a quivering Isabella to the changing rooms.
“Please, Selena…I can’t wear that…it’s impossible,” cried Isabella, as Selena chose a see-through purple harem top and golden-colored harem pants.
“It is the orders of the Prophet,” sighed Selena. “There’s nothing I can do…but wait, let me put this floral necklace over your bodice. It will help cover you up a little.”
Isabella reluctantly followed Selena back to the chamber room. Shakti was dancing now, and Martin was amusing himself with another dancer while two girls bathed and pampered his feet. Isabella hoped he had forgotten her, but he saw her behind Selena as she tried to become invisible.
“Come, Isabella, you must learn to dance. Selena will show you…and as a reward for your good behavior, you may stay with me tonight in my private rooms.”
Isabella almost fainted with disgust. The thought of being with him, alone, all night, sent shivers of revulsion down her spine. Suddenly, Selena intervened.
“Oh, Martin, my sweetheart…I have been so longing for your return that I planned a special surprise for us tonight. I want you all to myself…and you know how jealous I can get,” she flashed her most irresistible, seductive smile.
“Of course, my darling, how can I possibly say no to you…you’ve always been my favorite,” smirked Martin. “Unfortunately for you, my dear Isabella, your turn will have to wait.”
A sigh of relief escaped Isabella, as she thought of ways that she could escape from the palace of the False Prophet. I know. The next time that young courier arrives with a delivery for the palace, I will beg him to take me with him. I am sure I saw a look of kindness in his eyes.
As the music resumed, Isabella slowly followed Selena onto the dance floor. Selena’s dancing was more restrained than usual, allowing for the fact that Isabella had never danced before and was by nature extremely shy, conservative, and nervous. Feeling the effects of the wine take over, Isabella managed to pull herself together, her plan of escape uppermost in her mind. Soon she would escape at the first available opportunity. If only the courier would arrive soon…he was her only chance out of here.
After a few more attempts at following Selena’s dance movements, the Prophet motioned for Isabell
a to sit down. “Come, have another wine with me, my new little love,” he said, smiling as he winked at her.
Sitting on his knee once again, Isabella drank the wine, this time more quickly, just so that her mind could escape the reality of her situation. Outside, night was falling quickly, bringing renewed hope that soon Martin would tire of being entertained and take Selena with him to his rooms. Isabella sighed as she consumed her fourth glass of wine which made her feel dizzy but a little more relaxed. If only this night would end.
Suddenly, a firm knock disturbed the laughter and gaiety of the party. Isabella was glad for the interruption.
“I’ll get the door,” she said, before anyone else could respond. Sliding off Martin’s knee she ran eagerly out of the room and a guard directed her to the front entrance of the palace. As if in answer to her dearest desires and deepest wishes, it was the young, handsome courier.
“Is that really you, Isabella?” he asked, “You look so different…like one of the dancers.”
“Shhh…quick, listen to me, I need help. I have to leave here at once,” Then she burst into tears as the courier took her in his arms to comfort her. “The Prophet means to make me a dancer…as well as one of his concubines. I can’t do it…please help me, I beg you. Take me with you…take me with you when you leave.”
The courier hesitated for only a moment. “My horse is tethered by the gate. Race down there at once and wait for me. As soon as I deliver this parcel, I will meet you, and you shall ride with me to the East. I have relatives there. Hurry…go at once.”
Isabella needed no further encouragement. She ran back to the dressing room, as the courier disappeared inside the front door.
The courier entered, carrying a wooden box. There was a note for the Prophet, which read: Is this the head you wanted?
The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2) Page 39
