Marysvale

by Jared Southwick

  I didn’t think my hope of escape could sink any lower, but after seeing this, it plummeted. I had even less of a chance to open these doors than the main ones leading out of the town. There was no way out.

  A jagged flash of light caught my attention. In the distance, dark clouds were building, as lightning danced through black puffy masses, followed moments later by the sound of rolling thunder. The air sat heavy and still, as if holding its breath in baited anticipation for the pending storm.

  On the air, a sound floated by—a whinny that I’d recognize anywhere.

  Smoke.

  My eyes darted around the courtyard, noticing my surroundings for the first time. There were six large buildings, more like castles, of various shapes and sizes. They were all made of the same smooth stone; and evenly laid out in a manner that made it possible to see every building at once. Cobblestone pathways ran between them through groomed, lush green grass. Goats grazed on the grass, thereby keeping it short. Large trees were judiciously placed, giving it a balanced look and feel.

  Situated near the walls, much like in the town, were other various wooden structures. However, unlike the town, they were uniform in appearance and neatly maintained. Among them, I identified a blacksmith and a gunsmith, lumber and grist mills, a butcher shop, and corrals full of livestock. Soldiers drilled and practiced maneuvers on the grounds. Men trained horses. Women and children walked the paths, going about their daily business. Everyone here was well fed and clothed.

  I didn’t linger long on most of the buildings; I searched for one in particular and finally found it situated amongst the other wooden buildings…stables. Parked in front sat the coach that had carried Jane and Hannah away. Again, Smoke’s whinny drifted on the wind, like he was calling me. I longed to ride him and felt that if I could just get on his back, everything would be all right. I couldn’t see him, but perhaps he could see or smell me; or maybe it was just that special sense that some animals seem to possess.

  The soldier with the broken arm studied me. I forced my eyes away from where Smoke was and back onto the cobblestone path.

  Curiously, the back wall of the fortress rose to only about chest high. It wasn’t nearly tall enough to keep anything out, except perhaps the smallest of forest creatures. How strange, when considering the impenetrable front wall. It ran up to, but not around, the sides of the last and largest of the castles, which appeared to be our destination.

  We drew up in front of a stone stairway, which led to massive double wooden doors where two soldiers stood guard.

  “You,” barked Lyman to one of the guards. “Let his lordship know that I have arrived with his guest.”

  The soldier snapped his heals together, gave a salute, and retreated through the door.

  We waited, but not for long. A moment later, the soldier returned, followed by an elegantly dressed, older gentleman. The man wasted no time announcing, in a most flat and bored sounding voice, “Lord Wright.”

  Out strode the lord.

  “Ah, John, how good of you to come.” He stopped, and his eyes fell on my bound wrists and then moved onto the rest of the company. He looked at the various wounded men with their scratches, bruises, and broken arm. He hesitated a bit longer on one soldier in particular, not entirely able to figure out what was wrong with him. His pallor was pale green, and he perpetually shifted in his saddle on account of Jane’s kick.

  Finally, he asked Lyman, with a bit of amusement, “Have a little trouble did we?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” replied an irritated Lyman.

  “Clearly,” said Lord Wright. “You and a half dozen of your finest is all it took.”

  A few of the men winced at the rebuke. Lyman simply looked sour.

  “Well, don’t sit there like idiots; get him off that horse,” ordered the lord.

  Two of the more mobile men slid off their mounts and unceremoniously drug me off mine and onto my feet.

  Lord Wright walked over to Lyman and motioned for him to hand over the jewel-encrusted dagger sheathed in his belt.

  Lyman withdrew it and gave it to him.

  Taking it in his hands, Lord Wright played with it for a moment and tested its sharpness with his thumb. “I do hope your restraints are no longer needed?” he asked questioningly, his sharp eyes studying my face.

  It was pointless to resist, there was nowhere to go, and making trouble would only cause me, or the girls, harm.

  I shook my head.

  “Good.” Then walking around to my back, he cut the cords binding me.

  The blood rushed back into my hands and created a tingling sensation. I rubbed my sore wrists, trying to get feeling to return.

  Lord Wright, with an impatient wave to the soldiers, said, “That will be all.”

  They started to turn.

  “Not you, Lyman,” he called. “Our other guests will be arriving shortly. You will make yourself presentable and greet them as they come.” He then gave him a dismissive wave, too.

  “Yes, my lord,” said Lyman, looking disgruntled. He slid off his saddle, snapped his fingers for one of the door guards to take his horse, and then disappeared into the castle.

  When Lyman was gone, Wright smiled at me in his feigned, fatherly way. However, his cold eyes betrayed the monster lying in wait.

  “Walk with me.”

  He turned, and I followed, keeping a respectful half-step behind. We ascended the stone steps and entered the magnificent castle. Lyman was nowhere to be seen.

  The inside entrance was huge. The walls were smooth and the floor even smoother, with a polished shine. I could see no mortar anywhere—every stone had been cut to perfection and laid upon each other. The ceiling rose up higher than any I’d seen before; and I wondered how many cottages you could fit into this one room alone—easily six or seven long, if they were the same size as my last one in Syre, and more if you could stack them. At the very top were fixed stained glass windows that let in light. Along the walls hung unlit lamps mounted in iron brackets. Off to the right and left stretched wide arched corridors; and in front of us loomed a massive door.

  “Come,” said Wright. “We shall wait on the balcony while my other guests arrive.”

  “There are others coming?” I inquired, as we pushed open the great door and walked through another arched passageway. Several tall and wide portals lined the hall; and staircases, leading to the upper regions of the castle, twisted off every so often.

  “Oh, yes. I do hope you will oblige. You see, it is so rare a treat that we get strangers and news of the outside world here. I know the others will be as fascinated to hear your tale as I.”

  “Do all new arrivals get the same reception?” I asked, unsure what his reaction would be.

  He laughed condescendingly, “My dear boy, we are always interested in outsiders.”

  There was no further explanation and I didn’t press.

  We continued to walk along corridors until we pushed through a door at the far end of the castle and emerged into a spacious sitting room. It was about half the size as the entryway. Unlike the entrance and passageways that bore no decorations, this one boasted large tapestries and paintings on its walls. Beautiful rugs adorned the floor. A huge fireplace, with an ornate stone mantle, was located to our left; and a fire burned brightly in the cavernous opening. It warmed the room, dissipating the cool dampness that filled the rest of the building. Large, comfortable chairs were dispersed all around it. A beautiful desk and a bookcase full of manuscripts were positioned not far away. Tall, thick windows lined the back wall. Lord Wright stretched his arms wide and asked, “Well, what do you think?”

  He was obviously pleased with his creation; and I had to admit it was very impressive.

  “I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. It’s very comfortable and warm for a room this size.”

  “Ah, that is my own special design. The room is warm because of the iron work in the chimney and walls. Once hot, it radiates heat throughout the room, even afte
r the fire is extinguished,” he explained with pride. “And for the finest part, at least when it is warm enough to enjoy it…” He walked over to the windows and unlatched a small iron bar. Two of the panes swung inward on a wooden frame, giving access to the balcony beyond.

  He stepped through and I followed.

  The terrace was grand and semicircular in shape. An ornate stone banister extended up nearly waist high and ran around the edge. Stone columns supported an arched roof, which protected the balcony from the sun and weather. A few benches completed the decor.

  The view was spectacular. Walking over to the banister, I looked out over the woods which stretched beyond the hills and valleys as far as the eye could see. It also revealed why the town wall ran up the middle of the hill and why the rear rampart of the garrison was only about chest high. The back half of the entire hill was missing. Gone were the trees, ground, rocks, everything. Only a cliff remained. And right on the edge of the bluff was the fortress wall. Jutting out, on its own little precipice, was this castle. I imagined that, to a bird, the whole fortress, including the grounds, the wall, and this castle, looked a bit like a flat, upside-down Q.

  Lord Wright, following my eyes, explained, “This hill is nothing but a very large rock. As you can see, below are the remains of a quarry where the necessary stone to build our defenses was extracted. As we dug up the hill and built the city, we gained skill in masonry. You can clearly see the craftsmanship, most notably in the wall, is progressively superior as you start at the bottom of the town and work your way up. The garrison was built last and is a culmination of that expertise.”

  “Was there any part of the town on the other side of the hill?” I asked.

  “Yes, but it became evident that those citizens would have to be moved.”

  “And the displaced townsfolk were agreeable?”

  “Not all of them; but it was for the greater good.”

  “Mmm,” I said absentmindedly.

  “You don’t agree? And what, pray tell, would you have done differently?” he asked, attempting to sound friendly, though there was a noticeable edge to his voice.

  The similarities between him and Lyman were striking. However, there were differences. For one, he was sharp. Nothing escaped his critical eye. Every facial expression was analyzed, no voice inflection was lost. And, unlike his son, he had gained control of his emotions, at least on the surface.

  Deciding not to antagonize him, I replied, “I suppose I would have done the same.”

  And truly, I couldn’t think of another solution.

  Fortunately, I was spared from any further conversation. The elegant, older gentleman entered the balcony and announced, “My lord, the others are arriving.”

  “Excellent,” replied Lord Wright. “They appear as eager as I am to get started. I shall go and greet them. Please show this guest where he may freshen up.” Then, addressing me, he added, “Make yourself comfortable. I will send for you when we are ready.”

  He swept through the sitting room and out the door.

  After he was gone, the older gentleman said, “Right this way, if you please.”

  We walked back into the room and, with a sweeping arm, he gestured toward a narrow door in the wall opposite the fireplace.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He returned an impersonal formal smile and, with a slight bow, he left the room.

  Opening the door, I stepped into a small room. On a table sat a stone basin filled with water, a silver mirror, a brush, and clean linen cloths.

  Looking into the mirror, I discovered some dried blood from my nose and abrasions where Lyman had beaten my head against the floor. My face was beginning to show signs of bruising, but hadn’t turned black yet. My hair, of course, was also a mess. However, on the bright side, with a bit of dusting, my clothes looked respectable again.

  After washing, I retired to the sitting room and waited.

  The late afternoon grew unnaturally dark as I watched the storm clouds progress. Great sheets of rain swept across the forest and on toward Marysvale.

  I waited by the fireplace as dread churned in the pit of my stomach.

  Soon, rain began to fall outside in great, heavy drops. As the day slipped into blackness, the only light in the room was that of the fire.

  The wait continued with its unnerving effect. I felt sure it was a purposeful attempt to wear down my defenses.

  Finally, the gentleman returned.

  “They are ready, if you please,” he said, and, with another slight bow, waited for me to follow.

  We traversed torch-lit passageways. After what seemed to be a long walk, we arrived at two large, wooden doors.

  “Your name please,” he asked.

  “John,” I replied.

  “I must have your surname as well,” he pressed.

  “Oh, it’s Casey. John Casey.”

  “Please wait here until I have finished announcing your name, then you may enter.”

  I nodded to show I understood.

  He pushed the door open and slipped inside. With a loud voice, so everyone could hear, he announced, “John Casey.

  Feeling somewhat anxious, I took a deep breath and entered.

  I found myself in a sprawling dining room. Two large, square, iron chandeliers, holding small oil-lit lamps, were suspended by chains from the ceiling. They illuminated a long, wooden table. Around it, sitting in wide, high-backed chairs, sat twelve men, including Lord Wright and Lyman. All were clad in fancy, elegant clothing. I felt extremely underdressed.

  More lamps were mounted to the walls, illuminating servants standing patiently near tables that held all kinds of food. Despite the intimidating nature of the setting, the sight made my mouth water.

  At the far end of the room, on opposite walls, were two other doors. I surmised that the one to my left, nearest the food, opened into the kitchen; but I couldn’t begin to guess where the other led to.

  Enormous chairs stood at each end of the great table; both were unoccupied. A servant gracefully walked over to the one nearest me and slid it out, motioning for me to take my seat.

  Lyman sat a few settings away on my right. At the far end, on my left, presided Lord Wright, who analyzed my every movement.

  “Gentlemen,” he said. “May I present to you…” and, with a little cough, finished, “our Mr. John Casey.”

  Smiles broke out on the men seated at the table; a few even snickered.

  I failed to see what was so humorous, but gave an awkward smile, which caused Lyman to hiss under his breath, “You stupid fool, they are laughing at you.”

  I felt embarrassed and wanted to kick him under the table; but as I would have needed an eight foot leg to do so, decided to keep my peace.

  “Please,” urged Lord Wright, “let us be courteous to our guest.”

  My eyes fell upon the empty chair next to him. Of course he noticed.

  “Ah, wondering who is absent, are you?”

  Realizing he was actually waiting for my reply, I answered, “Yes, my lord.”

  He explained, “You see, this chair is reserved for our leader…” He waited for my reaction. When he got none, he continued, “Who rarely gets the opportunity to join us. Yet, we set it regardless, as a sign of respect. Now John, we are all most anxious to learn about you.”

  “There really isn’t much to tell,” I said.

  “Come now, I believe there is quite a bit to tell,” said a rather fat man, in an abnormally high voice.

  Apparently, the introductions were only one way, for no other names were given.

  “Quite right,” agreed the lord. “However, as I am sure we are all a bit famished, let us dine before beginning.” And with a clap of his hands, he sent the servants into action, dishing up plates of food and presenting them.

  The servants started at the far end of the table and worked their way to me. I surmised that it was delivered in the order of rank. No grace was offered and the men simply started to eat when served.

  I
was last. My plate held roast fowl, corn, potatoes, freshly baked bread, pumpkin, and a few other vittles that I wasn’t familiar with, but were delicious, nonetheless. Some type of strong drink was poured, but I declined. The last thing I needed tonight was my mind clouded by spirits.

  Conversation bubbled among the men about troop training, how so and so was doing, and other innocuous matters. No one addressed me, which suited me fine; so I ate in silence. When the senior men at the far end of the table had finished their meals, Lord Wright said loudly, “Perhaps you could start with where you came from, John?” Signaling that it was time to start whatever they had in mind.

  Sadly, I’d only eaten half of my food.

  They fell quiet, all eyes on me—although a few continued to eat, including the fat man.

  “I am from Syre,” I replied simply.

  “Where do you hail from originally?” asked a sickly looking, bald man.

  The question made my heart stop. How could they know that I’m not originally from Syre? For a split second, I hesitated, but then, responding naturally. I told them about my first childhood town after leaving the burned out cabin.

  Lord Wright looked amused and asked, “And do you have any family?”

  “No,” I replied.

  “Come now,” blustered a feeble, old man, who didn’t look like he had much time left in this life. “Must we drag everything out of you?”

  “Which we will be happy to do,” added another in a threatening tone.

  “Now, now,” chided Lord Wright, “there is no need for that…yet.” Then, addressing me coolly, added, “But we really must know what you know. I am particularly interested in your parents. If they are dead, tell us, how did they die?”

  The thought of reliving those experiences, with this group of swine, was revolting to me; and a slow anger began to boil deep inside. Carefully, I kept it in check; and as calmly as I could, I replied, “Both were murdered—my mother when I was young, and my father six years ago.”