The Lady Filaree and Queen Esta embraced, the Queen patting her daughter’s hair like she did when she was a child.
“I will be safe, mother, I promise. Nothing will keep me from my path, and nothing will prevent me from doing my duty and training the boy. You have raised me well.”
“Your father would have been proud of you, my dear. He would have told me not to worry, not to fear; that the fabric weaves of its own will. He would have embraced this moment. But he too would have been sad, and he too would have secretly wept. Did you know he cried when you were born? He so wanted a girl, unlike so many other men. But, do not ask me to play the stoic. In your presence, I will weep openly if I choose,” she said, smiling for the first time.
“I love you mother. I will always love you,” Filaree responded, turning her face away for just an instance in order to brush the tears from her own eyes.
“I will get news of my progress to you if I am able. But fear not, mother. Remain steadfast. I will reach Pardatha! But, now I must prepare. I have much to do before dawn.”
“Yes, I know. I will do my part and put on a good face for the people. Fear not, my child. These secrets are safe with me. Now, let me fetch Corvina so that she may help with the preparations. I have been thoughtless to leave her for so long in the hallway. The good woman must be out of her mind with worry by now.”
With that, Queen Esta turned and exited the room, putting on the face of power and leadership, no hint of sadness remaining on her porcelain-like countenance.
Filaree glanced out the large, leaded window at the snowcapped hills beyond. The castle turrets gleamed like diamonds from the sun reflecting off of the sheets of ice coating them. The brilliant, bright orb was low in the western sky, preparing to conceal its beauty from this part of the world until the next day. Staring intently at the sky outside, she raised her chin high, thrust a clenched right fist into the air, took a deep breath and uttered a solemn vow.
“For you father and for you mother, I swear that I will fulfill my destiny. I will teach the boy all that I know and all that I can, and he will lead us out of the darkness into the light! I know it. I feel it deep within my soul, stronger than anything else I have ever felt before. He will save our world!”
Chapter Eleven
The light from the full moon was glinting off of the polished surface in front of which the tired, old woman sat motionless. Her tattered shawl hung in shreds from her arms, concealing an even more worn and soiled tunic that had, at one time, been of the finest quality. Now, the silk was threadbare and the once beautiful colors had faded, leaving it sickly and light-brownish in hue. Her black hair was a tangled mess of mats, hanging in corded ringlets over her wrinkled and dirt smeared face. The once bright eyes were watery and pale, and where there was formerly white one could only now see a tired red.
She stared with wearied eyes into the stone before her. Motioning over and over again with her hands, attempting to conjure up an image in the stone, she finally let her arms go limp, hung her head with a sigh of resignation and stood erect.
Staring up at the moon, Trialla spoke silently to herself. How could this have happened to me? I was to be a Queen! I was to have riches beyond measure and servants and lands of my own. How could that miserable woman have escaped with the boy? She has ruined my life!
She spat into the corner, and rubbed a tattered sleeve across her cracked lips.
Well, she got what she deserved in the end! I only wish I had been there to see it for myself. She pushed a string of hair away from her eyes with a gnarled finger. Where is he now? I will find him! I must find him! The old woman stood up and walked to the open window across the filthy room. She hoisted the chamber pot with her and dumped it out the opening, listening to it cascade down the sheer wall of the turret in which she was imprisoned. She counted slowly to eight before she heard it splash into the water below.
What has gone wrong? How could he treat me this way? He promised me so much. I do not deserve this. I will find that spoiled little brat, and I will be redeemed! He will respect me and honor me. I will be beautiful again.
She remembered vividly the exact moment when King Garold died. In her captivity she relived it over and over, never tiring of the pleasure it gave her. Like the fool that he was, he stood in front of his daughter until the end thinking that would save her. Trialla watched it all. She relished those minutes, the last gasps of breath, the passing of their lives.
Garold was a noble idiot! Well, he did save Lara from the indignities she would have had to endure had he not thrust the knife into her when he did. The Queen was already gone by that time. She died first from a wound in the back, inflicted by Trialla herself. She did not get to see her husband and daughter die.
What a wonderful feeling that was, to humble that arrogant woman once and for all, she thought gleefully. I wish she had seen my face. I wish she knew it was I who took her life from her. She should have died with that thought on her mind. Too bad, though, that none of them survived. Had she ever expected the boy to escape, she would have kept the mother alive. She could have used her to find the child. They were always so unsuspecting. Those fools!
Granted, Trialla had woven strong and powerful spells with which she seduced the kingdom. And, it was not without its cost to herself! She aged years in a matter of months and she grew hoary and broken-down from her efforts. He had promised that all that would be rectified, that she would regain her youth, that she would gain eternal beauty. But, alas, here she was, imprisoned in a forsaken cell with no means of escape, living in her own filth, old and decrepit, all due to Mira, the fool who sacrificed her own life for the boy. He is probably dead by now anyway. But he could not be, or she would not be forced to sit here and search for him all day and all night long. Why is he doing this to me? Of what importance could this boy be anyway? He was only a child. His kingdom lies in ruins, and his family is dead. He was a weak, pathetic boy! I hate them all, those fools. They deserved their fate. She cried in fits and spurts, the tears welling up in the corners of her wrinkled eyes.
I am losing my mind! I am going crazy. I must concentrate and hold myself together. I will succeed if I do. I will find him, she promised herself as she moved toward the stone once again.
Before she even had a chance to lift her head and glance toward the sound, he was in the middle of the room. He was so beautiful, it hurt her physically to gaze upon him. The smile, the hair, the eyes, the skin—everything about him was perfect. Trialla covered her face in shame at her ugliness and backed into the corner.
He floated across the empty space, slightly above the ground, and hovered directly in front of her. His skin was almost translucent. She could see the blood flowing through his veins, his heart pumping with power. Colton dar Agonthea had many faces, of this Trialla had suspected, but to her at this moment in time, he appeared to be the essence of loveliness, the most perfect of men, what dreams are made of. His smile seduced, his touch burned her with passion, his voice shamed her with the feelings it evoked. She would do anything for him, suffer anything for him, even take her own life if he asked her to.
He made her feel embarrassed to appear to him so, unkempt and unattractive. She wanted to hide, to crawl into a hole and peer out at him, unseen. She had been unsuccessful in her efforts to locate the boy and she knew that Colton would be unhappy with her. All her exertions were for naught. She could not even conjure the faintest image of him, no matter how hard she tried.
Colton gazed upon Trialla with eyes, black as pitch, no color whatsoever permeating the emptiness therein. He lifted his arm, his perfect fingers pointing at her, and she felt her body stand erect. Like a puppet, she walked over to the window. Unable to control her limbs, she climbed the sill and stood gazing at the water far below. Her heart was pounding uncontrollably as her leg bent at the knee and she began to lean forward. As she commenced to fall, a force pulled her sharply inward and she crumbled onto the stone floor in a miserable heap at Colton’s feet.
&nbs
p; He laughed beautifully. It made her so happy to cause him joy that she would have gladly fallen if he wanted her to, if it would bring him more happiness even if only for a second in time. Her emotions were turned upside down. She could not think straight and she wanted only to please him. It hurt her so that she was unable to locate the boy; for his sake! Everything was for his sake!
“I am disappointed in you, Trialla.”
Just to hear his voice made her tremble.
“You know how much I want you to find the boy, why are you doing this to me, causing me such pain and misery?”
Anguish swept through her body. She cried out, suffering for him, feeling his loss, reeling from his dissatisfaction.
“Speak to me, woman. Tell me what I must do to make you understand my need,” he implored.
Trialla crawled to his feet, grasping his ankle, kissing his toes. Gathering the courage to speak, she took a deep breath and said, “I will find him, my Lord. I just need some more time. It is not easy. Mira cast him well. The trail has faded and I have been unable to pick it up again.”
“Time is running out!” he thundered, his liquid features changing even as she stared at them. “I am losing patience with you, woman.”
She backed into the corner, tears pouring from her eyes now, lips quivering with fear. He rose a little higher off the ground, turned so gracefully, so magnificently, that she was awestruck, and her fear faded momentarily.
“I swear, master, I will locate him. Soon, very soon, another day at most. Please do not be angry with me. I cannot bear it.”
She was blubbering by then, sloppy as a child, wanting nothing other than to please him.
“Be still!” he bellowed. “Cease your prattle and get to work. I must leave on a short trip and when I return I expect that you will have succeeded in locating the boy. You have power, Trialla. Use it now, or it may depart you unexpectedly altogether,” he warned.
“Yes, your Lordship. Thank you, thank you your Lordship. I will not disappoint you. I can find him. It will be soon, very soon.”
He narrowed his gaze, staring so hard at Trialla that she could barely remain conscious. She was totally filled with the desire to please him; she wanted to accomplish nothing more in life. Nothing else mattered at all.
“Beware, witch, should you fail!” he said through his teeth, his features turning sharp and venomous.
Her emotions were ragged, ascending, only to topple from the heights of expectation to the depths of despair.
“Beware!” he said again as he turned to go.
Trialla could have sworn that for an instant she saw a long claw where his finger should have been. She shivered in response.
No, my eyes must be playing tricks upon me, she dismissed the thought quickly.
The hours of strain and the poor light were taking their toll upon her. Colton dar Agonthea exited as he entered, silently and without a backward glance. She watched him depart, her heart breaking at the thought of his absence, pain rushing through her limbs, emptiness filling her soul.
Once he was gone, she collapsed with exhaustion. She could not control the shaking and she needed to wrap her arms tightly around herself in order not to do bodily harm. The nausea returned and her body wretched, the bile flowing, bitter and vile. Fear consumed her very being as she rocked herself in the corner of the putrid room, crying and crying, shrieking like a madwoman until she fell into a semi-coma, wasted and worn out, a wretched shell of the woman she once was.
Chapter Twelve
Reeling from sheer dizziness rather than pain, Baladar sought to right himself. From the instant he stepped through the portal, the sensations of vertigo would not go away. He was falling into emptiness, unable to distinguish up from down or left from right. In fact, he was not even sure if he was falling or rising. He felt as if he was moving, but he was not verily certain of that.
Where did Porta go?
He could not feel his steed underneath him. He looked out into forever, gazed behind him into eternity past and floated into the future yet unlived. A second? An hour? Perhaps a tiel? How much time passed seemed almost irrelevant, as Baladar began to succumb to the sensations. He could remain here perpetually, floating, falling, rising, rushing forward into magnificent emptiness and backwards into the fullness of the past.
All his cares disappeared, his problems faded and his troubles melted away. He forgot his name, who he was, where he was. His own consciousness, his sense of self, blended into the surroundings, making him one with the environment that he had entered. The boundaries that formerly separated him from other people, other objects, the air itself, were broken. Baladar was Baladar no more.
He opened his eyes, not knowing how long he had them closed, feeling as if he had awoken from a deep and relaxing sleep, and what he saw warmed his soul. He was upon an island, or so it seemed, for he heard water gently lapping onto a shoreline from what sounded like all directions. He thought he could see sunlight reflecting off of the liquid blueness in the distance, but he could not be certain of anything.
The colors around him were so vivid that he had to shield his eyes until they adjusted to the brilliance. His equilibrium was off, and he was uncertain if what he saw was real or not. He caught glimpses of many odd and beautiful animals scurrying around, never able to focus on any one, to ascertain if they were species he recognized or not, but he suspected that many were not. The ground was lush, covered in bright green moss, soft and comfortable. The foliage was abundant and varied.
As his eyes regained their focus, he saw trees with leaves of shiny silver, creating the most gorgeous music he had ever heard as they struck one another each time the wind gusted. The air smelled as sweet as honeyberries, fresh and wholesome. Birds of all shapes and sizes flew overhead and settled in the trees, singing sweetly, creating a crescendo of song keeping time with the wind and the leaves, rising in volume as the wind blew, and subsiding as it became calm again. He was afraid at first to take a step, expecting to fall over, unsure of whether or not he could control his limbs. Then suddenly Baladar became aware of a path, clearly defined, directly underfoot. It was made of a diaphanous material, one he had never seen before, swirling with color. He knew that he was supposed to follow it and he gladly began his journey to the residence of Calista, the Lady of the Island.
This world was so different from his own. As he walked, it seemed to create itself. He could see the path winding up ahead and he followed it. Yet he could never actually see around the immediate bend until he was almost on top of it. The landscape constantly changed, always beautiful but never the same.
Finally, he saw what appeared to be a great door, anchored by nothing, standing solitary and majestic. As he approached it, it opened and suddenly he could see not only inside, the hallways, balustrades and stairways coming into view, but also a building of incredible beauty appeared around the door, looming overhead, turrets with banners flying, pinnacles of crystal, gleaming in the sun. It must have been there all along, but as with everything else on this island, nothing was as it seemed at first sight.
Of one thing he was certain nevertheless; he was safe here, safer than anywhere else on earth, and with that certainty, he boldly crossed the threshold and entered the palace. Following the polished stone walkway, he glanced from side to side, amazed at the size of the edifice. It seemed to go on forever in all directions, but somehow he knew where he was going. Baladar reached the end of the hall and a wonderful smell wafted up once again, spice and rose and apple-melon and other odors he could not recognize.
The double gilt doors were shut, but as he touched them they gracefully swung back, revealing a huge chamber harboring a single throne of cut quartz set against the far wall, swathed in woven silks and covered with pillows embroidered in gold. Upon the throne sat Calista, in gossamer robes of violet, a single circlet of diamonds upon her delicate head. Her long, white-blonde hair framed her face and cascaded down her back. Large green eyes peered at him, radiating warmth and welcome.
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br /> Regally, she raised her left arm, beckoning Baladar to come forward. As he did so, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head.
“My Queen, you do me such honor by allowing me entry into your domain,” he said reverentially.
“The honor is mine, Lord Baladar. I welcomed you once before and I welcome you again. Arise and attend me. Need opens my doors to the good and kind.”
“I bring you news, my Lady. Long awaited news,” he said as he walked closer.
Before he even had an opportunity to speak she responded.
“So, he has arrived,” she rejoined without a question, satisfied. “It is the beginning, Baladar, the beginning. All that has come before is meaningless now. The clock starts anew.”
“I have brought the ring, my Queen, as ordained. Davmiran, the heir, will be its bearer,” he stated, reaching inside his tunic and withdrawing the gold band on the long, thin chain.
Slipping it over his head, he reached forward and handed it to her. As she clasped it in her hand and as he released it, he felt a wave of sadness overtake him. He staggered slightly.
“Have no fear, Baladar. All who hold the ring, no matter for how short the time, regret relinquishing it. It is a natural reaction to so powerful a relic.”
Calista clasped the ring in her hand, closed her graceful fingers around it, bowed her head and uttered the words, “C’al, portmaera. Bi’al Davmiran. Sethapardormia, comte ta manta.”
The ring glowed brightly, streaks of light escaping through the cracks between the Queen’s fingers. She opened her hand and presented the ring once again to Baladar.
“Take this back to the boy and place it around his neck. He will awaken immediately upon its touch on his skin. Instruct him well, Baladar. Teach him all that you can. The Gem of Eternity awaits,” she said to Baladar and she rose to approach him.
The Twins Page 10
