Solstice 31: The Solstice 31 Saga, Books 1,2,3

by Martin Wilsey

  “Yes, my Lord.” He bowed his head slightly.

  “We need to see if we can find a decent razor.” He pulled a cork out with his teeth and spat it on the floor. “Had I known we were to be gone this long, I would have packed a proper one.” He was rubbing the quarter inch long hair on his head and the whiskers on his cheeks that were so much shorter than his goatee.

  “But who would you get to do it? I'd just cut your throat and have done with it,” Grady grumbled.

  It seemed like it was an old pattern with them.

  Grady had timed things well. There had been sufficient time to have enough to drink to make it possible to visit that barn again without drinking so much that it would do no good.

  Even though it was freezing cold out, they could smell the barn before they could see it. As they approached, they could tell by the hush, the feel, that it was the right place. Rounding the bend, they could see it. The first impression was that it was neat and tidy, a well loved and cared for place. There was a massive pile of logs there - a timber process at work. There was an open pavilion of some kind attached to the barn that was some kind of de-barking system. A log was in the roller jig, and half the bark had already been removed. Ulric knew that he was stalling by studying the machine.

  He flung open the latch and swung the door out. The smell crashed into them, sweet and full of horror.

  Bodies were piled halfway to the ceiling, villagers and soldiers intermixed.

  What really struck him was that the bodies were stacked in there with logs. The timbers were piled throughout, at several levels, with the bodies.

  “It's a funeral pyre.” He looked at Grady, over his shoulder, sleeve covering his mouth and nose. Stepping in farther, the cloth over his mouth and nose muffling his voice, he said, “I thought you said a beast, a monster, did this.”

  Ulric walked in to the edge of the pile, the pyre.

  “You didn't think to mention this?” Ulric leaned down and picked up a very high quality crossbow and then two full quivers.

  “What does that mean?” Grady asked.

  “It means they are coming back. They will light it when they have done doing their mischief.”

  Ulric handed Grady the crossbow and quivers, pushing them harder into his chest than he intended.

  “We've got to get out of here. We do not want to be here when it gets back. Do we?”

  The question broke Grady from his vapor lock. “No, my Lord.”

  “So much for my warm bed tonight,” Ulric said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Magic of Sleep

  “The Emergency Module had begun planning very long term. The psychological manipulation by the AI was very targeted and specific in nature.”

  --Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: Emergency Module Digital Forensics Report. Independent Tech Analysis Team.

  <<<>>>

  Ash walked by with a large, rolled rug under one arm and an overstuffed easy chair in the other. He had a large coil of rope as well.

  Po looked at Barcus with a look that said, “Now what?”

  “It takes too much wood to heat the Keeper’s room, so I am making the loft into a reading room.”

  “That's a good idea. I like to read,” she replied smiling, her pride seeping out. “When the snow really starts, it will make it much easier. Thankfully all the walkways are covered.”

  Ash was making another trip. Another chair and a bookcase this time.

  “Where is he getting all this furniture?” Barcus asked.

  “While you were gone Ash, Olias and I made several trips to that empty estate. The blacksmith shop is also full of items,” Po said.

  “Ash, if there is a small desk and chair that would fit up there, add that too please.” In his head, a window opened and indicated that there were three to choose from. As they rotated in a HUD window, he said, “yes, please” to the one he wanted.

  “Ash can hear you from here?” Po asked, more curious than frightened.

  “Both Ash and Par can hear me from very far away. Par can hear me all the way in Greenwarren.”

  “Why do you always deny that you are a Keeper?” She was serious and straight forward and looked him right in the face as she asked that.

  “Because I never was a Keeper in any way. I am...something else.”

  “Barcus, do you realize that the Keepers are going to try to kill us?” Po said.

  “They will try,” Barcus replied.

  She looked at him for a long moment before saying, “Okay, then.”

  “Ash tells me that he will be able to get water to the kitchen soon. If it's like the rest of the keep, that would be wonderful.”

  Barcus stepped out from the overhang and looked at the darkening sky. “Do you think it will snow?”

  Hugging herself she said, “My hip tells me it will snow soon. Why don't you know what the weather will do? Keepers always know.”

  “Really? They are good at predicting the weather?”

  “Yes. Very good. Some Keepers are called 'Weathercocks' for their ability to predict or control the weather.”

  “They claimed to control the weather?”

  “It's a grandfather’s tale that the bird, a Weathercock, controlled the weather. They were just very sensitive to it. I knew the Keepers didn't control it because I have seen years where the lack of rain cost them dearly. The Plates told them about the weather.”

  “That's right,” Barcus affirmed.

  “They can't tell you?” Po asked.

  “No, not yet,” was Barcus’s answer.

  Ash walked past with a desk and a chair and a small table.

  ***

  Olias was speechless for almost an hour. The HUD inside Pardosa made it look like the top was off and they were moving fast through a tunnel of trees. There were no sounds, no wind, only the sense of movement as if he were in a boat.

  “Par?”

  “Yes, Olias.”

  “Can I ask you questions?” Olias asked.

  She answered in perfect common tongue, “Barcus told me to answer any question you may have. Even tell you things I think you should know. Do you have questions now?”

  “Why me?” he asked.

  “That is a very good question,” Par answered.

  “Barcus may not admit it, but he is the most powerful Keeper the world has ever seen, now or ever. He needs an apprentice. I don't really know, but I think he has chosen you.”

  “Me? Really?” Olias asked.

  “He has kept you alive on more occasions than you actually know. Why would he do that? Why would he give you a Plate? Why would he command that you learn to read? Why feed you like a Keeper? Why did the High Keeper’s men try to kill you? Twice? Why would Barcus do any of this? Because he can see in you what you cannot see in yourself.”

  “He says I can leave whenever I want,” Olias mused.

  “True. And where would you go?” Par said.

  Olias fell silent.

  “All right then. What's on the list?” Par asked and Olias sat up.

  ***

  Barcus climbed the steps to the new den loft. The first thing that struck him was a question – where do they keep finding these beautiful rugs?

  Immediately to his left, on the end wall as he entered the loft, was a set of dark, oak shelves that were about rib height. An open, empty trunk was just beyond it. The only thing on the bookcase was a glass oil lamp that was already lit. To his right was a desk that was about two meters wide with lots of slots and small drawers set in a shelf towards its back. Another oil lamp was its only item. It had a leather desk chair. Directly opposite the desk was a table the same size, but bare topped except for another larger lamp. Beyond these, two overstuffed chairs with a small table and lamp between them backed up to the loft railing that overlooked the room below. There was even a single, heavy looking, footstool that these chairs could share.

  He sat in a chair and put his feet up. He laid his head back so he could examine the be
autiful stonework of the arches above. He had not had a close look since the power washing.

  He had no intention of falling asleep, but he still did. When he woke, he didn't know how long he had been asleep. All the lamps had been put out except the one by the stairs. Glancing to the left, he saw that it was dark below as well, except for the fire.

  He also saw Po, curled up like a cat, in the other overstuffed chair next to him, fast asleep. She was already wearing her night dress, her feet were tucked under her, she was hugging her knees to her chest, and her head was resting on the arm of the overstuffed chair. Her braid was falling apart and a wisp had fallen across her face. She was so tiny.

  He noticed his freshly laundered nightshirt was folded on the table.

  He silently slipped off his boots and socks. He loosened his belt and left it behind in the chair as he stood. The thick carpet ensured the only sound was the crackling of the fire from below as he crossed the room to his nightshirt. He quietly drew his tunic over his head, leaving only the light draw string pants, hanging low from his hips.

  Through slitted eyes she watched him in the firelight without moving. He didn't look like a real man. He looked like he was carved from stone. His stomach and chest were muscled and ridged more than any blacksmith she had ever seen. He lifted the nightshirt and untied the draw string at the same time. As he put the nightshirt over his head, his body stretched.

  This felt like it was more magic.

  His nightshirt fell to his knees and then he stepped out of the pants and blew out the remaining lamp. In the dim firelight, he approached her. Po expected a small shake to wake her for bed, but instead he lifted her as easily as a sleeping child. She felt so light in his arms.

  “I'm awake,” she said sleepily. “I can walk.”

  “And I can carry you.” He proceeded down the spiral of stairs into their bedroom. The bed was already drawn down. Smoothly, he laid her down and the carry never released. She was held with her back to him in the arc of his chest. She felt him bury his face into the nape of her neck and breathe deeply. His left bicep was her pillow. She hugged his right forearm to her chest and she felt his fingers trace her collar bone and rest on her chest, just below her throat. His hand was so big and warm. He breathed in deeply again.

  “Goodnight, Po.”

  “Hmmm...” she hummed.

  She felt him relax and his breathing become deep and regular. She smiled at his twitching as his arm became heavy upon her. Stirring slightly, his right hand absently cupped her left breast. It was the first time he had touched her in that way. She felt the unintentional wakening of his manhood against her bottom.

  She had known many men in the past, but this was the first time she had felt this without dread. With a deep sigh she fell asleep herself.

  ***

  The room was cold when Po came awake. The blankets were heavy and very warm. Barcus, with his back to her, radiated heat. Po had slept all the way through the night. She could not remember ever doing that in her entire life. The light in the window revealed it was well past dawn. She knew all the fires here and in the kitchen had already burned low with Olias being gone. Instead of jumping out of bed and dressing, she gently wrapped her arm around Barcus and moved closer.

  Both of their nightshirts had hiked up in the night. The fronts of her bare thighs had found the bare backs of his thighs. She felt an unfamiliar flush, a moist heat between her legs. She could even feel her own heartbeat there. She fell back asleep wondering if it would be different to touch him in the way men wanted. Every man she had been to bed with wanted sex. For the first time she was curious, even interested in what it would be like with this man. She dozed again, beginning dreams of skin.

  When Po woke the next time, she was alone. The room was warm, the fire built up in the fireplace. She panicked.

  She jumped out of bed and peeked into the other room, and the fire was built up there too. On the table there was a place setting laid out with bread and cheese, butter and honey, fresh fruits already sliced and cold ham. There was another place setting that was just crumbs and a knife with butter still evident. The mug from that place setting was missing. The kettle returned to the fire hook. Barcus’s nightshirt hung on its peg, and there was no sign of him. She dressed rapidly and went into the other room, heading to the door.

  “Good morning, Po. It snowed again last night.” She froze, turning. Barcus was in the loft. She looked up, and he had a book open in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other, raised in greeting.

  “I am so sorry, my Lord.” She had fallen to her knees and her face was down turned.

  “Po, don't you ever do that again.” For the first time she heard anger slip into his voice.

  “I won't, my Lord.” She placed her hands at the small of her back in complete supplication. She cringed when she heard his tea cup slam down on the table.

  “I don't mean sleep late! I meant calling me 'my Lord'! I mean groveling on your knees! I won't have it!” His last word was punctuated with his boots landing on the floor in front of her face. He had jumped from the loft! Suddenly there were hands on her arms, lifting her like a child's doll.

  “Do you understand me? I have told you before. I. Won't. Have. It.” His voice was quiet now. Serious. He set her down onto her feet gently.

  It was then that she realized her hair was not braided. It was falling around her face and shoulders. His hand released his grip on her arms and she felt his right hand trace a line from the center of her brow to behind her ear, tucking the hair there. His hand cupped the back of her head making her look up into his eyes.

  She saw no anger there.

  She did see something she had never seen before. She didn't know what it was. But she knew he could see her. She feared he could see her so well that he knew her thoughts. No one had ever looked at her like that. It felt like no one in her whole life had actually seen her at all. Until now.

  Quietly he said, “I made you breakfast. It was the best I could do. I am kind of at a loss in the kitchen, especially here.”

  What magic is this, she thought, confused. It was electric where his hand touched her cheek. She flushed again.

  He didn't let her go.

  “Remember when you told me why you had to sleep with me?”

  “Y-yes.” She was trembling, but was not afraid.

  What magic was this, again?

  “I think you're right. It helps healing. But I think I'm healing you...” He released her. “Please, I don't want you to do that again. Not ever. It's important to me. All right?” Barcus was very serious.

  She nodded.

  “Now eat your breakfast, or you will cut me to the quick.”

  His magic had taken the strength from her legs. “I will get you some warm cider.” He turned to get the kettle as she sat.

  She squirmed a little. His magic made her throb down there. She could feel that she was damp from longing in her sex. She had never felt this before. Her mind was swirling inside. Her breasts ached. She rubbed her wet palms on her tunic over the tops her thighs to dry them, but it only reminded her of the feel of his skin on her skin there.

  He was close then while he poured the fragrant cider and at the same time, saying in almost a whisper, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”

  “I'm not afraid.” She surprised herself saying, “I'm sorry too. I did know. It's a lifetime of habits. I've had masters that would simply kill me if I overslept. Or ate their food. Or spoke to them.”

  “I want you to be healthy, rested. I slept in as well. I think we both needed it. It was nice to not think about anything for a while.” His face darkened a bit as he looked out the window above the table, staring at nothing.

  Barcus turned.

  “I left my tea in the loft.” He stood, but his smile was weaker, haunted somehow, as he went to retrieve his mug.

  She dug into the food. It seemed the more she ate, the more she needed to eat. He wanted her to eat. So she would eat.

  Whe
n she was finished, she placed everything in the basket tray that Barcus obviously carried everything in with and carried it out to the kitchen pavilion. It looked like they had about eight or ten inches of snow already overnight. It was falling straight down in enormous flakes. She was thankful again for the wide covered walkways.

  When she got to the kitchen, water was running in the large sink there. It was more like a trough, about eight feet long and a foot-and-a-half deep at the far end. It was already full. The overflow disappeared down a grate at the far end.

  She thought to herself that one of these fires would make this water hot. She would have to find out which.

  Another smaller sink was also running in the indoor kitchen. She would need to scrub them both. She got the cook fires back to her satisfaction and then started one in the main fireplace of the indoor kitchen, hoping it would heat the water of the sinks. Then she followed the covered walkways across the courtyard to the stables to feed the horses and add wood to the tack room fireplace. Before she got there, she noticed the fountain was running. Water flowed from gargoyles’ mouths into the huge basin.

  When she got to the tack room, the fire was already built up. She added one more log and found the horses were already fed.

  Returning, she called to the loft, “Barcus there is water in the kitchen.”

  “Yes. And the midden is flowing properly. And the horse trough is full and even the fountain is running, but I have no idea why it isn't freezing.”

  “How?” Po asked.

  “Ash has been repairing the wall, and with it, the aqueduct.”

  “Aqueduct?” she asked, pronouncing each syllable carefully.

  “It is the way water feeds the keep. He says we are now getting 206 liters per minute flowing to the southern half of the keep. He will likely have the wall enclosing the aqueduct completely repaired today. The battlements above will be done tomorrow.”

  “I also discovered that there is some sort of air flow activated. This morning, when I went to get a bag of feed, I heard an odd sound and discovered there was air blowing into the cold forge from the back. It was blowing dust out, so I left it for later. Olias can look at it when he gets back in a few days.”