“Marco,” Ellersbine’s voice cracked, and Marco looked over to see the sweet girl’s eyes close, and she wilted into unconsciousness. He looked down, and saw with horror that the lifeline of energy between their two bodies was flickering, unsteady and tenuous, before it ceased to exist altogether.
“I must have my energy back!” he shouted at Iasco, and he tried to cease sharing the power with the head of Ophiuchus’s temple, but he found that her need for his power was like a ravenous appetite that he could not uncouple from, as she thrust her body forward and enhanced the strength of her powers even more, still drawing his energy from him.
Marco felt himself growing weak. He looked at the king, just at the moment when Iasco’s efforts succeeded. The dome around the king and the sorcerer dissolved before the strength of Iasco’s attack, and the result was a tremendous explosion. A powerful buffeting wave of energy flew against Marco and everything else in the chamber, violently knocking people over, causing the roof to drop fragments of stone, loosening the doors and fixtures.
Marco’s head flew back, and he thought he saw Mitment being blown from her position over him, the spirit moved by the energy, not the force. He blacked out momentarily as his head struck the dais floor. When he awoke, seconds later, he looked up.
Iasco, the king, Itterati, all were lying on the floor, motionless.
Marco stood up, and stumbled over towards them. He looked back, and saw Ellersbine rising to her feet. “I love you so much Marco,” she smiled and said, and then she started to walk away from him.
“Ellersbine?” he called. Before he could go to her, there was a new noise, one that made him turn. He saw the king, Itterati, and Iasco all starting to stand up, as were others in the audience. But there was a darkness forming on the dais, a black hole appearing from nowhere, and suddenly a host of horrific demons came bounding out of the hole. They grabbed hold of the king and his sorcerer.
“You are ours now, until the end of time!” the scaly creatures shouted.
“No, let us go! We’ve been faithful,” the king screamed.
“We’ve done all we could!” Itterati added.
“Yet you failed, and failure must be punished,” a demon said, and the two men were suddenly hoisted off their feet and carried screaming into the dark hole, which closed up upon itself and vanished.
Marco fell to his knees in horror, then turned to look at Lady Iasco. As he did, he saw a tremendous brightness, a brilliant, alluring light not far in the distance, beckoning him towards it. He tried to rise to approach it, but Iasco stepped over beside him, and took his hand in hers.
Together they took a few steps forward, then stopped. “It’s not time for you to go back Marco,” Iasco said gently. “You’ve had to go there twice, and it’s not time for your final return.
“You belong down there,” she pointed to the floor, and he saw that his body lay on the ground at his feet, next to Ellersbine’s body.
“My lady?” Marco asked in real alarm, unable to comprehend everything that was happening. People in the room, those who had been unable to flee, were starting to move. Some were lying on the floor, rolling in pain; some were starting to rise and walk towards the light. Argen, Marco saw, was standing and looking up at the dais.
“It is over Marco. My duty on earth is fulfilled, and it is time for me to go back to the underworld, and then on to my final home,” she told him gently.
“You are a true hero, a great person! Marco, you have suffered more than I have, I think. You deserve time to enjoy the fruits of your labor. It is not your time yet Marco,” Iasco told him. She was growing more transparent before his eyes, turning into a spirit.
She placed her hands on his chest, and gave him a shove, causing him to fall back down into his body. “I’ll see you again, someday, Marco. Thank you for being the strength I needed.”
And with that, she walked away from him, heading towards the light.
Marco felt weak, a great and enervating exhaustion coming over him, and he felt his body reattach itself to his soul. There was a sound nearby, and he raised himself feebly on his elbows to see the cause of the noise. It was Argen, climbing up onto the dais, a sword in his hand.
Marco watched the villain approach him, and Marco did not feel strong enough to do anything to protect himself.
“You!” Argen hissed. “You have destroyed everything! You deserve to die a thousand deaths! I give you your first death, and hope that more follow!” the man screamed, and he plunged his sword downward towards Marco’s unprotected torso.
As the blade started to move, Ellersbine suddenly rose up, her arm shooting out to grab Argen’s wrist and cause it to misdirect the sword blade so that it struck a patch of the floor between Marco’s body and the girl’s own body. Marco fell back in astonishment, then saw Ellersbine quickly twist the blade out of Argen’s hand, grab it, and stab it straight back up into the man’s own throat, releasing a rain of blood that drenched Marco as he passed out.
Chapter 37
Marco awoke to the sight of a ceiling overhead. He couldn’t remember where he was, why he was there, how he had gotten there; he wasn’t even sure who he was. He made a small sound as he cleared his throat, and a beautiful woman’s face appeared over him.
“Mirra?” he asked, his tongue grabbing the first word that came to his mind.
“Marco, are you okay? Can you help yourself? Do you want to drink some water from your finger?” the girl asked. She raised his left hand and placed a finger in his mouth. He sucked on it, and tasted a refreshing flow of water, a delight that soothed the dryness in his throat.
“Where are we Mirra?” he asked.
“I’m Giselle, Marco,” the girl said patiently. “You rest for a little bit more, and then we need to talk to you.”
He closed his eyes, waiting for sense to emerge. Bits and pieces of memories started to float into his consciousness, and thirty seconds later he had a horrific, partial comprehension of the chain of events that had put him in an unknown room.
“Are we in the harem?” he asked. He sat up slowly, and saw that he was sleeping in Giselle’s own bed.
“We are. We came down to the throne room, and saw that you and the princess were still alive. She was trying to awaken you, so we brought the two of you up here to hide you,” the girl explained. “There are such terrible stories going around the palace right now, you’re not safe; we need to sneak you out of here.
“But first you need to check the princess. She’s not right in the head. The explosion in the throne room did something to her,” Giselle said. There was a clear note of concern in her voice.
Marco felt the hairs on the back of his head rise in alarm. “Take me to her,” he said.
Giselle lead him out of the room and down the hall to Rose’s room. Marco was wearing a robe, he realized, and he wondered what had happened to his clothes and his sword.
When they entered Rose’s room, they rounded a corner, and he saw Ellersbine pacing restlessly, wearing a borrowed dress, her wedding gown a bloody mess sitting on the floor. Her face was bruised, but she looked well.
“Marco!” she called as soon as she saw him, and she raced at him, and then hugged him tightly.
“Thank God you’re okay!” she told him, her voice a whisper in his ear.
Marco went into shock again. She had spoken with Ellersbine’s voice, but she had spoken in the language of Clovis.
He backed away and held her at arm’s length, studying her closely, dumbfounded.
“No, I’m not her,” Ellersbine said, still speaking the northern language. “It’s me, Mitment. I’m in this body now. Marco, what’s happening?”
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Marco cried, his knees collapsing. He fell into a kneeling position, and the girl he held onto fell with him, as Rose and Giselle looked on in fear.
“She’s dead,” Marco said, speaking the northern language as well. “I saw her spirit walking away. She told me she loved me. I was confused and didn’t know what
she meant,” he started to cry.
“I felt the explosion from when Lady Iasco killed the king, and then I felt a strange push, unlike anything I ever felt before,” Mitment said. “I woke up lying on the ground, and I saw that man starting to stab you. My instincts reacted, and I killed him, then I sat there in confusion. I didn’t know what to do or what was happening. You wouldn’t wake up. People were running around screaming and I didn’t understand them.
“After a few minutes a half dozen very pretty women came into the room, and they came running over to see us. They seemed to be friends, and they seemed to be in distress, and they seemed to want to help, but I couldn’t understand them, so I just picked you up and I followed them up here,” Mitment explained.
“What’s she saying Marco?” Giselle asked. “Do you understand her? Can you cure her?”
“She’s telling me that you came and led her up here, and she carried me,” Marco answered, choking back his tears. “She’s,” he faltered, knowing that he couldn’t reveal the truth, “she’s in a state of shock. I understand her, but I don’t know how long it will take to heal her.”
“Give her your water,” Rose suggested.
“They want you to drink water from my finger, to try to heal you,” Marco told Mitment. “Go ahead; it’ll be good for you.” He held his finger up and let her sip on it.”
“What do we do Marco? Is the Lady dead?” Mitment asked after her drink.
“Her spirit spoke to me. We were both spirits; we were both dead,” Marco said softly. “She told me her mission was done, and it was time for her to go. Then she pushed me back into my body somehow, and she was gone, and I was alive again.”
“What do we do?” Mitment asked.
Marco looked up at Giselle. “Did you say we need to get out of the palace?” he asked.
“Yes, quickly,” Rose answered. “There are guards looking everywhere for you. They say you killed the king.”
Marco took a deep breath.
“I don’t care if you did,” Giselle spoke up. “None of us care. We know what you did for us. But we have to get you out of here tonight at the latest. The guards may come in here at any moment.”
“Do you know where my sword is?” Marco asked.
“It’s in my room,” Giselle answered.
Marco gave a sigh, then stood up. He held his hand out to Mitment, who stood up with him. “Just stay close to me,” he told her. “We may have to fight our way out of here at any time.”
She nodded, and they walked across the hall to Giselle’s room, where Marco retrieved his sword, just in time as a quartet of guards entered the harem hallway.
Marco killed them all with his sword. He dressed himself and Mitment in their uniforms and armed them both completely. “You girls take care,” Marco told them, and then he and Mitment were out of the harem, wearing hats pulled low over their faces as they stayed in shadowed places and moved cautiously about in the chaos that enveloped the palace. When night time fell they stole horses from the stables and rode out through a back entrance to the palace and began to ride rapidly through the city.
“Where are we going? What are we doing?” Mitment asked after ten minutes of riding.
“We’re going home,” Marco said. He heard the Isle guard’s words, spoken in her own language and he looked over, expecting to see the shadowy figure. Instead he saw the woman he had been about to marry, and he started to sob. “It’s going to be a long journey,” he told her after he collected his breath.
They rode their horses for a week until they got to Tabora. They lived by stealing and by catching wild game in the countryside, and when they got to the river port city, Marco sold the horses. They spent a day living in the slums of the people descended from Prester John’s kingdom, where Marco confirmed much of the story that had already reached the city, that the king and his sorcerer were dead, and the palace was in turmoil.
“Was the prophecy true?” Dale’s mother Gwen asked. Mitment had stared at the woman, unsettled by the resemblance she bore to Iasco.
“One of us lived, one of us died, and one of us did neither,” Marco agreed softly. “I wouldn’t have known to interpret it like that, but it fits,” he agreed, as he thought of Iasco, Ellersbine, Mitment, and himself.
After a day of rest, Marco and Mitment went to the docks, and found that Petran and the ship he now ran were in the city. Marco negotiated for Mitment and he to ride the vessel up the river to Bunda, a slow trip that depended on oars and winds to sail against the river’s current. Marco made a batch of powder that assisted them considerably, and two weeks later he and Mitment were in the frontier town where their ship was the first to arrive and spread the news of the shocking death of the king.
“We’ve got a long walk ahead of us,” Marco told Mitment when the two of them said farewell to the crew and disembarked from the ship. They accepted coins from the ship and purchased the packs and supplies Marco thought they would need, then started out walking up the river.
They camped and they talked, every night, talking about all that had happened since they had been separated at Athens. Marco often looked at Mitment and cried, seeing Ellersbine before him, and explaining why he cried. Mitment was gentler than he expected, accepted his pain, held him and comforted him and listened, and they doggedly left a trail of his tears in their wake as they walked north, away from Docleatae.
They stopped one night to visit the spring spirit Quonna, who delighted in their company, and then they began the long journey straight north across the savannah, and into the mountains.
On the fourth night that they camped in the mountains, as Marco took a turn keeping watch, an old man calmly walked up to the campfire and sat down with him. It was Theophilus, the wizened old man who had reattached his left hand to him in his nightmarish vision.
“You carried out your mission I see,” the sorcerer told him. “I wish you joy when the time comes that you can overcome the sorrow. It was a great victory – a very great victory. Your children and theirs and a hundred generations more will live better lives because of what you did.”
“But Ellersbine, and Lady Iasco,” Marco felt tears welling again.
“Iasco did what she wanted to do. She only agreed to come back to life because she had an objective, and you made it possible for her to reach it,” the old man said. “And as for your pretty princess, you gave her months of life she would not have had, and you made her happier and more joyful than she had ever been before. You gave her the best life possible with your love and devotion, Marco.
“They did not suffer, not the way you do now, and I’m here to tell you that you have to move on. Life is waiting for you. Spring time is coming to the lands up north again, and you need to go up there and see life return to the world. Let life return to your heart. Mirra still loves you, and she waiting for you. The two of you can live happily ever after now, if you’re ready,” he said.
“Here, let me do you a favor,” Theophilus unexpectedly reached forward and touched the torq around Marco’s neck; Marco heard a hissing sound, and a change in the feeling of the torq. The old man moved his hand away, and he held a simple leather collar, the original wedding piece that had been placed around Marco’s neck so long ago, in Fortburg, when he had succumbed to marriage to Pesino.
“This is yours, and the spell of three loves is broken now. You can hold one true love in your heart, and fond memories of the others,” the man said as he dropped the leather strap into Marco’s open hand. “Now get some rest, and go forward in peace,” he told Marco, who instantly fell asleep beside the camp fire.
Mitment shook him awake after sunrise. “What happened here?” she asked. She placed a finger against his throat, where the golden torq was no longer prominently displayed.
“I had a visitor,” Marco answered. He looked at the loop of leather in his hand, and looped it around his left wrist. They proceeded to start their day, and walked on through the forested mountains. Along the way, he began to pick plants again, sp
ecimens that were rarely seen by northern alchemists.
Not many days later they reached the village of Rurita, and spent the night with Nestor and Corrine, then traveled on the next day, a few extra supplies in their packs, and all the children treated back to good health once again. Even Massey, who had been allergic to sunlight, was playing outside when he walked into the village.
They crossed the dry lands to the north, and the day finally came when they reached the port of Tripool.
Chapter 38
“I’m ready to go back to the Isle,” Mitment said wistfully as she stared out across the waters of the harbor. After Theophilus’s visit with Marco, he had finally gotten over the losses of the past, and the two traveling companions had begun to talk about their futures. Mitment had a single goal in mind: to return to the Isle and become a Guard once again.
“Your princess has a pretty good body, strong and fast,” she spoke absent-mindedly to Marco one night as they sat by their small campfire.
“I know that body well,” Marco said with a gentle grin, able to begin to joke a little. “There is a pair of moles in the middle of your back that I used to stroke with my finger.”
“Stop it!” she told him that night as she slapped his shoulder forcefully.
“You’ll be able to fight just as well as before,” Marco agreed, as they looked at the harbor. “We just need to get to the isle.”
They didn’t have enough money to pay for passage on ships.
“If you don’t mind being wet for several days, there is an alternative,” Marco proposed, making Mitment look at him curiously.
“I can call dolphins, and they’ll carry us all the way to the isle, but it’ll take at least ten days in the water I’d guess, and all you’ll get to eat will be raw fish,” he warned.
“Is it the fastest way?” Mitment asked simply.
“The fastest I know,” Marco agreed.
And so they went into the water and Marco revived his rusty memory of the language of the dolphins. He called a whole pod that came to see them and agreed to carry them to an exchange with other dolphins. The two humans stripped their clothes off as unnecessary weight, though both retained their swords, and then the journey began.
The Southern Trail (Book 4) Page 37
