The Crystal Crux - Betrayal (YA EDITION Book 1)

by A Werner

  This information did not seem to surprise Turstin in the least. “And what is a caballero of Spain, with a plantation and inheritance there, doing so far from his homeland?”

  Pero’s mind started tapping dancing across the steppingstones that had brought him to this precise place and time. Before nostalgia could hinder him further, he realized he was losing control of the conversation. ‘I am the one with rank and title here. I have an imperial commission. I’ll do the interrogating here.’

  “Who are you, old man,” Pero stated cuttingly. “Why are you out here? What is this place? Why the giant torches? What frightened off the bear?”

  Turstin seemed to wink as he acknowledged the shift in their polite conversation. He calmly inhaled a deep drag from the smoking pipe and blew out a slow, smooth cloud.

  Druda returned and placed two boot-sized trenchers full of meat and vegetables in front of each man. She went back to her prep counter without saying a word.

  Pero noticed that the chubby, shirtless youth they called Dato was still hiding in the folds of his mother’s skirt, clinging to her every step. He seemed to be the only one sensing Pero’s angst.

  “You look hungry, young man,” Turstin remarked. “Take your time. Eat your fill. Our rations are bountiful.” Turstin slowly picked at the bread, soaking a small piece in the gravy.

  Pero thought about pounding his fist on the table and demanding answers but the heavenly scent rising up from the steaming bread bowl was powerfully tempting. He had a voracious appetite. His empty stomach was issuing vulgar complaints. ‘Patience and prayer,’ he remembered Druda saying. ‘Well, I have a taste for patience, but no belly for prayer.’

  He dove into the trencher and was shocked to find beef. ‘Where the heck did these peasants get beef?’ He kept digging deeper and found carrots, onions and mushrooms, marjoram, thyme and sage. It was oral bliss.

  While Pero consumed his trencher, Turstin pretended to work at his, picking slowly at the crust. But he was wary. His eyes never left the stranger in their midst. He was heartened to see the Spaniard temporarily distracted from his suspicions. Turstin wished he could feel the same. His reservations lashed him. He didn’t want to be uneasy, but Turstin had always been uneasy. The only other time he had ever been brave in his life; well, he couldn’t think of it.

  Her back to the room, Druda smiled. It was ever so good to have company again, human company. No man had ever sat at that table with her husband before. Perhaps this was a fortuitous sign, a sign of better things to come. Her crystal blues eyes went to closing as her lips went to praying. Her voice was paper thin. “Lord, bless our home.”

  Chapter 41 – Surrounded

  The trencher was gone. As the Spaniard licked away the gravy from his fingers, he heard his stomach rumble for more. Before he could ask for a second-helping, the teen busted into the house. “Father, you have to see this. Ithaca is under siege.”

  Turstin rose quickly to his feet and met his wife who was already moving towards him. They touched foreheads and mumbled a prayer. When they finished, Turstin dragged the shaggy-headed boy out from under his mother’s dress and lifted him, squeezing him tight to his breast, restraining tears. As woebegone criminals headed for the gallows, the family filed dutifully, wordlessly through the open door, never once glancing back or motioning Pero to follow them.

  The house was empty, Pero seated alone at the table. ‘What the heck is going on?’ For a brief moment, he stayed there and considered his options. Finally he tousled his long black locks and made for the door. ‘What cruel fate awaits these people outside?’

  Tomas was already standing at the cooking fire with his stick in hand. The teen swept the burnt end of the stave in an arch towards the woods. “There father,” he announced. “The forest is alive. A militia of enchanted creatures.”

  Turstin stood halfway between the homestead and the cooking fire with his wife beside him. He squinted and scanned the perimeter, tilting his head this way and that, one way and then another, rotating left to right, right to left, spinning slowly on his heels. Color returned to his cheeks. He placed the weighty boy back down on the ground and patted him firmly on the head. The boy wasted no time shuffling off beneath his mother’s skirts again.

  “It’s alright,” Turstin was heard to say, giving his wife a heartening peck on the cheek before striding the rest of the way to the cooking fire. He placed a reassuring hand on his son’s strong shoulder and whispered something secret in the teen’s ear. They stood back to witness together the strange happenings in the forest.

  The wood was indeed alive but mysteriously silent. The natives of the forest paraded around the compound’s shadowy exterior without raising their voices. They remained marginally hidden beyond the light, partly visible, partly not, ranging and wandering, pacing and climbing.

  Pero de Alava stood in the open doorway of the homestead evaluating the situation. It had all the earmarks of a proper siege. ‘Are they preparing to attack or are they preventing us from leaving?’ Pero marched past Druda and Dato without a saying a word to them. He continued on until he reached the cooking fire. “What is happening?” Pero demanded of Turstin. “What does it mean?”

  Turstin scrubbed at his chin as he was prone to do, his fingers surprised to find that his pipe was missing from his mouth. He looked back at the open door realizing he had left it resting on the table. “I know not. Been in the wood a long time now and can’t recall ever witnessing anything like it.” He started to eye Pero strangely as his expression mutated. His expression said it all.

  Pero refused to be judged by Turstin’s critical eye or intimidated by the animal militia. He stepped forward to challenge the phenomena. As he neared a darkness between two of the tall torches, the muzzle of a wolf appeared. Drooling, snapping, the brawny beast with reddish-brown fur emerged only until the head and shoulders came fully into view. The wolf was not more than ten-feet away.

  Pero hesitated. His feet stopped moving. ‘Is this one of the wolves that killed Zaon?’ He wanted to murder it if it were. Slowly, carefully, his right hand located Miriam’s pommel. Pero glared at the snarling beast, blue eyes meeting red eyes, both prepared to pounce should the other choose to defy the barrier between them.

  Long quiet seconds passed and neither of them budged. Pero wished to maintain his hate but was finding it more and more difficult. The wolf was a truly handsome creature, beautiful and strong, the pelt thick and soft. A strange stirring flitted about deep in his soul. Pero sensed that his spirit was somehow being pulled away from him. It was being drawn towards the wolf, drawn into the wolf. ‘What did I say I was when I was hunting Gisele? I said, I am the wolf. I am the wolf.’ He couldn’t explain how the sensation was possible but he knew that the wolf’s spirit was entering him as well, their hearts starting to beat in unison.

  At first, the thumping of their hearts beating in rhythm was frightening but it wasn’t long before it became improbably comforting. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom.

  The wolf’s essence was nothing like the cold essence that snaked out of the bear he confronted earlier. Despite the snarling aggression, there was no egotism or thirst for blood beneath the surface. The wolf was a much simpler spirit, primeval and curious, neglected in a way, nearly contrite. ‘The face is a mask,’ Pero clearly heard himself think. ‘We all wear masks to hide our fears. Even this animal. It doesn’t want to hurt me but it’s not sure it can trust me. The bear didn’t want to hurt me either. Why do I know this?’

  Pero wasn’t sure how long this link would continue but he was enjoying it. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. He had found a sense of peace he hadn’t known in a very long time. He was existing outside of himself and the one place he was tired of being was inside of himself. It was dark and confusing in there and this wolf did not share that darkness and uncertainty. The wolf was by no means full of light. It still had a lot of fear. But the wolf had a single-minded calmness in its soul, a determination that was not unstable or indecisive. ‘Instinct.’ And th
en an extraordinary sense of recognition suddenly erupted within the wolf and Pero felt that change too. The wolf knew him, recognized him. It had some hidden, deeper knowledge of Pero de Alava already in its mind. The wolf knew his name, his title, and his likeness. It had been searching the wood specifically for him. Pero could see it, feel it, and sense it.

  The wolf broke the link. It crouched down on its hind legs, lifted its long throat to the sky and started to howl.

  Every creature heeded the wolf. They ceased their wanderings and began to wail and bay, holler and hoot, using whatever voice it was in their nature to make. The awful ruckus raised by a thousand thundering throats terrified the caballero to the bone. Pero began to shiver, unable to contain it. The peace he had discovered while united with the wolf’s spirit was demolished. He flinched noticeably when Turstin unexpectedly came up from behind him and grabbed hold of his arm near the elbow. “Come, Sir Knight,” the old man instructed. “Let us retire. Your presence here has stirred these creature’s curiosity or perhaps their animosity. I’m not sure which. I think it best you remain out of sight for a spell.”

  Pero didn’t want to believe that this militia of howling creatures had followed him here but as Turstin had stated, this situation was unique. And the wolf knew him.

  The voices in the forest continued to grow louder. Spirits from every direction assaulted Pero’s consciousness, their yearnings pouring into his ears. He could feel them. They all wanted to merge with his soul. It was overwhelming.

  The Spaniard took a step backwards and stumbled. He was dizzy, his vision betraying him. Hallucinations swamped his senses. He couldn’t see anything with his eyes anymore. The world was awash with colors. The forest creatures began to appear from the soup. Pero remembered the tall torches, the sanctuary of light. ‘How did they get in? Oh my God, they got in!’ Animals were raining down all around him, their numbers quickly multiplying, doubling, tripling, quadrupling; increasing until the depth of them was infinite. While their bodies remained the same, their faces warped. A badger became a cobbler. A bull became a blacksmith. A snake became a woodcutter. The creatures took on the likeness of shopkeepers, innkeepers, farmers and artisans, lords and ladies, knights and kings, friends and foes. He recognized more than a few of the faces. A monstrous brown stag became his bearded father. A singing nightingale became his sainted mother. An orange griffin became Francis.

  A throng of humanity surrounded him, pressed him from every side. They were all shouting, demanding things of him. Some offered advice. Some had a stance to make. Others were calling for protest, revolution. Some simply cried in horror, asking, ‘Why?’ Everyone had a unique voice and they used it.

  The voices that Pero loved most tried to encourage him. He was drawn to them but couldn’t get near them. The press kept them separated. Soon the ruckus drowned them out completely as they fell out of view. The voices that rejected him were numerous. He could see their tails wagging, their fisted-paws shaking accusingly. And then one of beasts bit the stag and blood began to flow. Blood flowed everywhere. The nightingale stopped singing. The griffin came spiraling down out of the sky, his wings clipped. In sheer madness, those that condemned killed those that encouraged.

  Turstin held Pero upright, dragging him across the yard and into the house. Tomas held the door open and ushered everyone in. The commotion outside continued even with Pero out of sight. Everyone was unsettled by this.

  Turstin lowered Pero onto the bench at the table in the same place he had been previously seated. Pero nearly fell off before catching himself. His sense of sight had returned. His nerves were thrumming and his mind was not his own. He reeked of paranoia. Every ounce of reason was fleeing. Pero’s face grew darker as his words sounded like a wolf. “Who are you people?”

  Turstin felt Pero’s frustration. He sat down across from the Spaniard again, hoping they might pick up from where they had left off.

  Pero could not contain his fury any longer. He was as incensed as he had been when the thieving peasant girl offered him stolen fruit.

  Pero shot to his feet and unsheathed Miriam. The ringing sound the metal blade made exiting its jacket was loud, so loud in fact; it silenced every noise for miles around.

  “I said,” Pero fumed, his steady right arm keeping the tip of the sword pointed in Turstin’s general direction. “Who are you people? Why are all those animals out there? Why are they looking at me? Why do I hear their voices in my head?” Pero touched his head with his free hand as an ache overwhelmed him. “Gherardus sent you here to kill me, didn’t he?”

  Turstin did not cringe. His brown eyes stared boldly at the tip of the blade like it was not the first time someone had threatened him in such a manner.

  Tomas went directly to his sadden mother and placed his broad arms around her shoulders, pledging in whispers to die before letting any harm befall her. Dato was not to be seen.

  Turstin stared up and over the sword until his eyes met Pero’s fully. “Sheath your weapon, knight of Capua.” He paused and then pointed at the bench. “Take a seat across from me and I will tell you anything you want to know.” He could not have been more serious.

  Pero was dumbfounded. He had not mentioned his title or his lordship at Capua. “How do you know me? Is this a trap?”

  Turstin hesitated to answer, taking time to measure his response. Tomas had heard enough. He released his mother and boldly advanced. Pero wasn’t sure if he should redirect his aim at the teen or maintain his focus on Turstin. He chose the latter.

  “You fool!” Tomas barked at Pero. “This isn’t a trap! Look around you for Christ’s sake and think.” Tomas started pointing at his family. “Look at them! An old man … an old woman … two young boys! Is this how men construct traps now?” Tomas shook his head in disgust. “You must be an idiot or mad.” The teen placed both fists on the table and leaned over Pero’s sword until he could see his reflection in the blade. “We are captives here. You walked into a prison!”

  Pero wrinkled his nose at that answer. His blue eyes rolled back and forth from son to father and back again, and neither of them flinched. They were both dead serious, both stone-faced. The response was truthful. This was a prison. Pero didn’t know how to proceed with such a truth.

  “Please, Pero, I implore you, give us the opportunity to explain. There is no reason to threaten us. We cannot leave. We cannot harm you. We offer you food and shelter. Your sword is wholly unnecessary.”

  Turstin motioned Druda to do something. She understood his unspoken command and went to the prep counter where she hefted up two large steins crafted in the shape of dragons. As she headed towards the table carrying the steins, she poked Tomas in the ribs with her elbow and commanded him to do something without speaking also. The teen didn’t expect to be poked. He rubbed his sore rib, puckered his lips in dispute but ultimately obeyed her command. He recovered a full skin of wine hanging fat on a peg near the door. He filled both dragon steins to the rim and returned the wine skin to the peg.

  Pero stood there with his drawn sword feeling impotent. ‘Do they think I will do nothing,’ he thought sharply. ‘Must I harm one of them to prove how serious I am? I’m in charge here.’

  “It is time to talk,” Turstin stated, his fingers grabbing hold of a dragon-stein by the handle and lugging down a deep swig.

  Druda evicted Dato, patting him lightly on the bum, sending him scurrying up the ladder to the rafters and bed.

  “I am an open book, Pero,” Turstin added, regaining the knight’s full attention. “Come and read me. You don’t need that sword. What do you want to know?”

  Pero de Alava was tired of calming his rage every time it managed to find life. With all the unpleasantness and violence that had occurred today, with all the death and bloodshed, he still had not wetted his blade or killed anyone. This seemed very unfair. What was the point of being a soldier of wrath if he was going to constantly make peace with infidels?

  Once again, Rugerius Fabbro came to mind. Pero didn’t
have to wonder what that creature would do in this situation. The Castellan would have made short work of these people. And he wouldn’t be bothered by the presence of an enchanted militia of woodland creatures. No, Rugerius would have answers by now. Things would be broken. This house would be turned upside down.

  Pero kept his face knotted while sheathing his weapon. He threw himself down on the bench in the same spot again and swept up the dragon-stein in front of him. He hefted back a hearty tote and slammed the stein down, sloshing foam across the table. The sound of this violence rattled the room.

  The only one that shuddered was Dato. Spying from the ledge above, the boy was spooked back into the shadows. No one else flinched. It was as if they expected Pero to do what he did.

  “Iya basta,” Pero whispered. “No respect for the damned.”

  Chapter 42 – Keepers of Dark Secrets

  The teen snatched a bright red apple out of a silver bowl on his mother’s prep counter and walked clear around the room to Pero’s backside where he sat down on a short three-legged stool. This positioning caused the caballero some apprehension. Pero didn’t much like having the boy seated where he could not monitor him and told him as much with a sidewise glance. Tomas didn’t seem to care and appeared amused to be so bothersome.

  Turstin quietly stuffed dried leaves from a small leather pouch into the ivory pipe for another round of smoking.

  “How did you know I was a knight of Capua?”

  Turstin placed the unlit pipe on the table again. He sniffed and grinned as his wrinkled fingers started fiddling with the empty dragon stein that sat between them. He tapped the vessel lightly on the table. “Indulge me a moment, Sir Pero. Examine the fine craftsmanship of the flagon before you. Is there anything familiar about it? Do you recognize the design?”