The Crystal Crux - Betrayal (YA EDITION Book 1)

by A Werner

  Scowling, Pero grabbed the dragon stein he had partly emptied and began to inspect it. The lidless mug was nearly sixteen-inches tall, seven-inches in diameter, hand carved from bone with several carefully crafted pieces of wood, tin and pewter attached. The stein was coated in a rich purple glaze, the dragon’s tail winding around the mouth of the mug, spiraling downward to the base in three thickening increments. At the base, the tail formed up into the dragon’s spine, protruding outward, quickly transforming into the chest and neck which served as the handle, the short but thick arms of the ghastly beast grasping its own harden tail, securing it to the cup. Much like an eel or flightless sea serpent, the dragon had no wings. The head pointed away from the stein at the crest of the handle. The snoot snarled menacingly, the partly opened mouth baring white teeth and fangs, shiny red eyes brilliant as the apple Tomas continued to crunch on.

  Pero de Alava was losing patience with this inspection of the stein. He had detected nothing noteworthy, nothing that peaked his interest until making a final, exasperated turn. His keen blue eyes caught hold of a golden fleck inside the dragon’s mouth. The tongue of the beast was painted gold, pure gold. But the gold was not paint, nor was it glaze. The tongue was made of solid gold, a nugget. Suddenly the whole design was intimately familiar, tragically familiar. The golden tongue, the horrible snarl, the purple color. There was no doubt about it. “Sarcinus,” Pero gasped, his dark eyebrows rising.

  Without uttering a word, Turstin instructed Pero to turn the flagon completely over and read the inscription on the bottom. There at the bottom of the stein, etched in beautiful calligrapher’s script was a single word, ‘Fabbro.’

  “I do not understand,” Pero conceded.

  “My name is Turstin Fabbro and despite all the rumors you may have heard about me, I am not dead.”

  Pero’s mind started sifting through the limited knowledge he had of Parthenope’s history. ‘The name Turstin is unfamiliar,’ he thought. “I don’t know who you are.”

  Tomas Fabbro was ready to crunch down again on the hard apple when a quick little lizard climbed up the wall beside him. He nearly slipped off his stool as he swatted it back to the floor. “Damn lizards.” Tomas tried unsuccessfully to stomp the troublesome thing with his boot. With exceptional agility, the reptile darted sideways, flipped around and scampered away beneath a crack in the wall.

  Dato was heard laughing in the balcony upstairs but could not be seen.

  “How did that lizard get in here?” Pero asked. “I thought you said animals were not permitted inside the barrier of light.”

  “Lizards apparently are not animals,” Turstin replied. “It seems Sinibaldus has difficulty controlling their minds, if they have minds. Lizards, snakes; reptiles in general, they come and go as they please.”

  “Sinibaldus? I have heard this name before.”

  “He is known and feared, especially in Parthenope. Many have heard the magicians name but few have met the man.”

  “If he is a man,” Tomas interjected.

  Turstin nodded in agreement to what his son added before continuing. “Sinibaldus is a spiritual advisor of the Court. A conjurer or soothsayer some say. A giant, white-faced cretin lurking in the deepest shadows of his tent-city, Sin Circus.”

  Pero nodded, having knowledge of Sin Circus without having ever attended the events.

  “Those poor souls interrogated by Sinibaldus generally don’t survive the ordeal. He operates on the seamier side of the law, dealing with political prisoners and general adversaries. It is rumored that Sinibaldus can tear apart minds, thought by thought; memory by memory. Scores of brave men have been reduced to craven, quivering flesh. When they have lost their usefulness and will to live, they willingly become participants in the center ring, eager to escape the hell Sinibaldus has put them through. Death cannot come fast enough.”

  “This sanctuary, you say it is a prison. How so?”

  Tomas was bored and his apple eaten to the core. He strode to the door and pitched the core as far as he could throw it. His light green eyes scanned the scene outside before announcing, “They are gone. The animals have retired.” Tomas closed the door, went to his mother’s side, kissed her gently on the top of the head and sat down on a stool beside her.

  Druda rested on a big oak chair, darning a tear in a faded blue shirt, listening wordlessly to the discussion at the table.

  “It is magic,” Turstin remarked, his nose wrinkling at his own words. “Black magic. Sinibaldus has a crystal, a crystal the size of my fist.” Turstin made a fist. “I have seen it once. Sinibaldus uses the power of that crystal to tamper with all that is unholy and otherworldly. He controls the spirits of the animals in the forest with it. I don’t know how he does it. I’m sure he has limitations but I’ll be damned if I know what they are.” Turstin paused and became instantly sober. “All I know is, we are prisoners and cannot leave, not ever. If we make any attempt to escape, those enchanted beasts will know it. We will be hunted down and mauled to death.”

  Before today, Pero did not believe in magic or the existence of enchanted beasts. But this day’s extraordinary events had been surreal. He could not deny the things he himself had seen and experienced, flying horses, a little man standing on the stem of a leaf, and an enormous bear with an icy spirit blocked by a wall of light. It was becoming a question of sanity now. Everything was a question and nothing was an answer. There seemed to be no rational explanation for these mysterious events, at least for now there didn’t seem to be.

  “How did you get out here in the first place? How do you know this is a prison and these beasts will hunt you down?” Pero felt compelled to ask the obvious. “Have you tried to escape?”

  “No,” Turstin admitted frankly. “We took it on faith. When I was imprisoned, my brother, Gherardus warned me. He told me how the sanctuary would work. He called it an act of mercy and I believed him.” The old man leaned forward and turned his dragon stein over, revealing the script etched underneath it. “My family, the Fabbro family, does not play well with others. We are proud and we are cruel. We are keepers of dark secrets. I am not without sin. My brothers are not without sin.” Turstin gently laid the purple dragon stein back down on the table. “Hope is not a commodity we have in abundance. We may appear fearless to you but I assure you, we are not. We agonize over judgment and fire. We know that condemnation and hell are but a breath away. My brother’s mercy may one day end and the train of supplies cease. Or worse, knights could ride in one day and silence the family secrets once and for all.” He pointed towards the door. “We thought when Tomas bid us come outside and see something unusual, that this was that day.”

  Druda couldn’t contain herself any longer. The words her husband spoke weighed heavy on her heart. She rose and spoke with broken speech. “I must retire. I cannot relive this tale again.” She sniffled and pointed behind Pero. “There are plenty of clean rushes and warm blankets in the corner, over there, for you to sleep. I hope you will be comfortable. I will be up early and make a hearty breakfast for you. Good night.” Druda leaned over and kissed Tomas before scampering up the ladder to the loft above.

  Turstin Fabbro began to rub his chin and then his eyes. He didn’t want to rehash this tale any more than Druda cared to hear it. “This is not the life my wife envisioned when she wed a son of the Grand Duke of Campania. Of course, I was the youngest son of Tancred Fabbro and didn’t stand to inherit near as much wealth as my brothers. But I had a castle and I had property. I had generous grants of land, stores and granaries. There was a time when my life was good.”

  There was a long spell of silence that washed over the single room homestead as everyone took in their own thoughts about life and loved ones.

  Tomas was the first to break the spell. The teen straightened up and headed for the door again. “I’ll make sure the torches are still burning and properly fueled, father. I’ll sleep in the barn tonight.” There was no wrath in his tone. His father’s profound words had humbled even hi
m.

  Turstin nodded his approval and Tomas vacated the house without saying another word, calmly and quietly closing the door behind him.

  “My son is restless and angry. I can’t blame him. He prefers to stay outdoors much of the time, close to nature, even in winter. I doubt if he will sleep in the barn. He will probably stay near the fire all night, if I know him – and know him I do.” Turstin frowned. “Tomas feels trapped. There is nothing for him out here. No peers, no brides-to-be. Unlike Dato, Tomas has lived beyond these lights. He was born in Parthenope, you know. He had friends. He never speaks about it. The desire to make a run for freedom is strong. He has dreams like any other man. Many of those dreams involve vengeance. He believes he is owed. I fear one day my son will discover the courage to leave.” Turstin’s brown eyes peered off in the distance, empty, vacant. “Perhaps I envy him for that. His spirit is strong, restrained but strong. His heart is in the right place.” Turstin pointed to the bookcase against the wall. “Druda and I know letters and have educated the boys. We glean every ounce of wisdom we can from the limited supply of books and scrolls we accumulate. I am confident Tomas knows more about history and language than most boys his age. He is intelligent. And living out here has taught him a lesson in resourcefulness. One day his intelligence and his resourcefulness will unite. He will risk everything to be free of this place. Honestly, the better part of me will cheer him for that.” Turstin paused a moment before adding, “Just a father’s hopes and fears.”

  The Spaniard shook his head. “I have neither wed nor sired children but these hopes and fears you speak of do remind me of a dear friend and his ramblings. He is a husband and a father and I believe the best at both. There is nothing in this world he would not do for the love of them.” In his thoughts, Pero could still see the angelic form of Francis Whitehall looming large over him as he did at Whitsuntide, his long blond mane awash in golden sunlight. It was an image forever imbedded in his memory. “As for me, this is where my bravery ends. Such love and devotion for family remains a mystery to me. I am completely lost, Turstin.”

  Turstin flashed a big wide grin that kept his tears at bay. Just hearing the troubled knight speak his name with courteous respect, readjusted his whole outlook and attitude. “You are correct, Sir Pero, I think we’ve had quite enough emotional nostalgia for one evening. Let us deal with facts. And the first fact I must deal with is my empty stein. I require more vino.”

  The old man quickly got more wine, filling both their steins. “Don’t worry,” Turstin snickered as the last few drops splashed in Pero’s flagon. “I have casks of this stuff out back.” He touched his red, bulbous nose. “There was a time when I was quite an accomplished imbiber of spirits. It’s been a lifetime since I journeyed down that path.” Lost in that thought, Turstin’s brown eyes wandered sadly away again as a flashback blinded him.

  “Turstin, why on earth are you people out here? You and your family seem respectable enough, courteous and genteel, not the sort of people who pose a threat to anyone.” Pero raised his arms as if surrendering to his predicament. “What kind of prison is this?”

  “As you have seen, Ithaca is a wall-less prison.”

  “Ithaca?”

  “Yes, Ithaca. Ithaca is the name Tomas christened this place when we first arrived. He didn’t know it was a prison. For a seven-year-old, it was a big playground, a safe harbor in a sea of chaos.” Turstin sipped wine from the purple dragon. “You have to remember what was happening at that time. Tomas saw me being dragged off by guards. Druda was frightened and alone, afraid I would be killed, drawn and quartered. I’m quite sure my boy was terrified beyond understanding. He never speaks of it. Druda said he would cry all night. He would not be comforted; just cry my name over and over. He wanted his papa.” Turstin turned his head away. Pero knew the old man was trying not to let any tears fall. “It didn’t take long, however, before this paradise lost its luster and Tomas started missing his life back home, his friends, his horses, his nannies and his bed. He hated the idea of having these invisible boundaries placed around him. The name Ithaca stuck, despite all.”

  “How do you receive your provisions?”

  “We would die out here,” Turstin confessed, “if not for a supply train of misfits that arrives once a month. A token of Gherardus’ benevolence. We have him to thank for these few small luxuries.” He panned the room and smiled shamefully. “We still get a bit of the royal treatment as you can see. And then there is the basic daily gathering of roots, berries, fruits, nuts and firewood.”

  “You used the word ‘misfits’ concerning the supply train. What do you mean by this?”

  “Sinibaldus oversees the whole operation. The giant keeps no able-body humans in his employ, none that would fit properly into society. They are all outcasts, monsters, hunchback, lame, extra appendages, abnormal growths and even, if you can imagine it, animal parentage. I’ve seen men and women with whiskers and tails, people who can’t speak, only growl and snarl. Some of them are darn right frightening to behold, worse than anything you’ve seen in a bad dream. Sinibaldus never enlists or puts confidence in average citizens. His servants are creatures indebted to him, or enchanted by him, or both.”

  The Spaniard could feel himself slipping into a state of ease with this member of the Fabbro family and he wasn’t sure if he should trust it. He was exhausted and still in a great deal of pain. He resisted the urge to scratch the wounds running up and down his arms, his legs and face. The meat in the stew along with the first cup of wine had successfully warmed his stomach. The urge to yawn was lingering in the back of his throat as he took another long sup from the dragon stein. “But why are you and your family in Ithaca? What did you do?”

  “There is far too much to tell. You wouldn’t want to hear it all right now. Perhaps, if you tell me more about your situation, I can fill in the blanks. We could avoid pointless hours exchanging needless information. I believe I can better serve you if we talk about you.”

  Pero fiddled a bit with his dragon stein as we wondered just how open he should be, how precise and candid. “Okay, where should I begin then?”

  “Let’s start with your arrival. How did that happen? No one, not anyone human anyway, has ever set foot in this clearing. Gherardus himself has never been here. How did you outwit the bears and find us?”

  Pero wrapped his black hair around his ears. “I was on a quest. My friends and fiancé warned me not to go through with it, not to leave Capua, not to obey Gherardus’ foolish command. They begged me to defy him. They were willing to stand beside me and risk their lives. I couldn’t let them do that. My life had become one long nightmare.” Pero hesitated. “For months now, I have been suffering from insomnia and delusions. I hear footsteps in my sleep.” Pero wiped at his brow. “I have been anticipating an assassination attempt. When a messenger from Parthenope arrived in Capua earlier today with a correspondence from your brother, instructing me to go to Melfi, I decided that this was a chance to start over. I truly believed it was better for everyone at Capua if I accepted this foolhardy mission. I didn’t want anyone getting hurt on my account. So I turned my back on them, my best friend and my bride, all of them.” Pero’s frown deepened. “And now there is only death. My escorts and horse were killed in the Eagles’ Forest. I have endangered you and your family. My presence here can’t be good. There is an army of animals surrounding your home. I have no explanation for that.” Pero raised his hand to God. “I swear, I have seen flying horses and tiny men the length of a thumb. If I were drunk when these things had occurred, I would feel much better about it. But I am sick, sick in the mind.” Pero ran his fingers violently through his hair. “Perhaps I have much in common with your son, Tomas. I don’t like being confined by anything, seen or unseen. I’d rather be free from responsibility and care, beneath the sky and stars. Despite the numerous resources at my disposal in Capua, I felt trapped and wanted nothing more than to escape, break and run, leave my problems and never look back.”

&n
bsp; Turstin Fabbro’s expression turned serious. “And where were you running too, Pero? What was this foolhardy mission my brother sent you on?”

  Pero closed his blue eyes as he relived the scene from earlier in the day when his best friend read the scroll ordering him to resign his post at Capua. ‘Capua. Capua.’

  “Capua. You still have not said how you knew I was from Capua.”

  Turstin couldn’t help but chuckle at this. “The misfits. The misfits that deliver our supplies aren’t all of a bad sort and several of them are quite pleasant and sociable, darn right friendly. And between you and me, a few of them can be extremely gossipy. The truth of their tales are often questionable but it is the only form of communication we receive out here, so we listen with eager ears. Some of their stories are exaggerated, no doubt, but some are too sumptuous to ignore or forget.” Turstin paused, drank a good lift and continued on. “Like the recent telling of a great celebration held in Parthenope where a crazed, black-hearted caballero from Capua foolishly broke the jaw of my arrogant nephew, Rugerius. It took no genius to know, from their bias telling of it, that this Spanish knight was not long for the grave. And then, lo and behold, a Spanish knight comes tramping unannounced through the woods at night, crashing into our little world, angry and terrified, on the run, full of spit and venom.” Turstin gave his chin a good squeeze. “When I saw all those enchanted creatures gathered around the compound outside, aroused by your presence here, I was sure of it, I knew who you had to be. You are the Spaniard that broke Rugerius’ jaw.”

  Pero sat and tried to mull that over without acknowledging his guilt.

  “Pero,” Turstin sighed somberly, “you know you have another problem that all the information I provide you with, cannot help?”

  “What is that?”

  “He knows you are here. Sinibaldus knows you are here. And if Sinibaldus knows you are here, Gherardus knows you are here. They will come for you.”

  Pero felt an uncomfortable chill run down his spine. He hadn’t thought of that. He could feel the eyes of the bear reaching out to him all over again, the spirit snaking its way through thin air, trying to lodge itself inside his soul. And then he remembered how Turstin described the power of the magician, how he could tear men’s minds apart.