Off Track: A Romantic Magical Quest Series (The Madeline Journeys Book 1)

by P. A. Wilson

  “Can you not simply trust the prophecy?” Jode asked. “It brought you, and that cannot be simply to break my heart.”

  “You aren’t helping,” Madeline snapped. It was bad enough that Jode insisted on trying to court her, even though she wasn’t encouraging him, it broke her heart when he sounded so disappointed in her lack of trust.

  “I just have to ask.” Simon pushed on ignoring the other conversation. “Why go back? Why not stay and explore a different approach to life?”

  “Don’t push it,” she snapped turning back to the proceedings. When that was finished, they mounted up and rode out to join the main camp.

  They arrived at twilight; fires burned giving a warm welcoming feeling to the camp. Tents stood in concentric circles around two main tents. Those were large, square, and had canopied doorways. One door curtain was made of layers of green and silver fabric, the other layers of black and crimson.

  “We will share a tent,” Arabela said to Madeline. “The green and silver stand for your house and mine, the black and crimson for Sirs Simon and Jode.”

  Arabela led the way into their tent and Madeline saw it was divided into three chambers. One in the center that looked like it was for visitors. Arabela showed Madeline to the right-hand chamber, and then walked through a break in the fabric to hers. “I feel the need for meditation with Blu. Please, make yourself comfortable. The camp will settle in for supper in about an hour. I’ll join you here.”

  Madeline walked, slightly bowlegged, to the other room and lay on the low mattress. Her body was starting to stiffen from a day in the saddle and she needed to stretch so her muscles could cool down without becoming immobile.

  In the other tent, Jode and Simon went to their separate rooms, agreeing to meet in the center one five minutes later, after changing into more comfortable clothing for the evening.

  “Come on, Jode,” Simon said holding open the door curtains. “They’ll be waiting for us.”

  They walked to the eastern portion of the camp and met four of the goblins. There were two other people sitting with them.

  “Hi, guys.” Simon waved. “Jode, I’m not sure you know all the band members by name.” He pointed to the four goblins, “You know Yorr and Buck, but this is Urr and Dass. I guess you probably know Jode, but maybe you don’t know he sings.”

  Jode nodded a bow to the four goblins.

  “Sir Simon,” Yorr said. “I have the pleasure of introducing to you two people who wish to join our company; the Eldman Zora, who is proficient on the long flute, and the Fay lady Asla, whose voice is a joy to hear.”

  “The more the merrier,” Simon said. “I look forward to hearing you play and sing.”

  “Ah,” Jode said, “You have someone to sing. I will sit here and listen.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Simon pulled him back into the group. “A band needs more than one voice.”

  “No, it is not important. I will be happy to listen as you practice for your performance.”

  “Sir Jode,” said Asla, “I cannot be the only voice, you must sing with me. If there is only one note there is no music.”

  “I would not want to intrude on your performance. My voice is not trained, well not anymore.” He tried to move away towards some barrels beside a tent. “I’ll sit here.”

  The goblins ran between Jode and the barrels. “Sir Jode, please. We heard you singing in the hallway and your voice is perfectly trained. Will you honor us by singing while we rehearse? If you wish to step out after that, we will not stand in your way.”

  Jode looked at the four faces staring up at him, the goblins’ grins, and wide eyes imploring him to agree. “If everyone wishes, of course I will. Sir Zora, are you agreeable to this notion?”

  “Sir Jode, I see in your heart a great desire to sing, yet in your mind a great reluctance to try.” He thought for a moment. “We need a male voice to complete the band. I imagine you would not want that to be me, or one of our goblin friends.”

  “I have seen the result of Eldmen singing, it is not conducive to a pleasant evening.” Jode looked at Simon whose face was surprised. “The Eldmen chant their magic. When they sing, they raise powerful, and often destructive, magic.”

  “And, the goblins?” Simon asked.

  “You have already heard a sample. When goblins sing, strong men cry from the pain in their ears,” Buck answered for Jode.

  “I see.” Simon nodded. “Well, you may be pleasantly surprised at the joining of their voices and the new music.”

  “Then we are settled,” Dass declared, her voice reminiscent of gravel in a cement mixer. “Simon, let us dispense with all the sirs and ladys, what is it we need to start with?”

  For the next hour, the seven musicians listened and practiced songs that Simon sang, or wrote out for them. The rehearsal ended when a gong sounded and Dass said, “Finally, dinner. I could eat a morge.”

  “What’s a morge?” Simon looked at the horror on Dass’s face. “I guess I don’t want to know. Let’s practice again tomorrow at camp,” Simon said as the band quickly broke up. “I want us to be able to play the following night. A little Dylan and a little Springsteen should do it for our first concert. Hey, and don’t forget to think up a name for the band.”

  17

  “Wake up.” Arabela threw a cloth at Madeline’s bed. “It’s time for training.”

  “Okay,” muttered Madeline turning over in the bed and pulling the blanket over her head.

  “No,” Arabela shouted. “Get up.” She pulled the blanket off and rolled Madeline onto the ground with it.

  “Can’t we just do this later? I’m tired.”

  “No, you need to train and we will have no time later. We have another village to visit and by the time we set up camp it will be too dark to train.”

  Madeline pushed herself up from the ground. The ride yesterday had taken its toll on her, the pain in her thighs only outdone by the stiffness of her back. She groaned and pulled herself up right. “Oh, dear god, how am I supposed to train when I can barely move?”

  “Wash and prepare yourself. I’ll wait for you with a trainer in the front of our tent. You have five minutes.” She looked at Madeline and softened. “You will feel better after the training. I promise, you’ll warm up and tomorrow will be easier. Now five minutes.”

  Madeline got ready, missing the luxury of the castle facilities as she used the jakes at the edge of the camp. Running to make the five-minute deadline warmed up her muscles and she felt less pain by the time she picked up her sword and exited the tent.

  Jode stood in the space in front of the tent. He was dressed for practice, a loose white shirt open at the throat, dark pants, and flat boots. He was walking through a warm up exercise. Madeline swallowed as he thrust the sword forward and then moved back into a stance, sword held point out over his head, his back straight, legs apart, chest out, torso turned to minimize the target area.

  She exhaled in one long controlled breath, trying to send the passion out with the air. It would not be easy training with Jode.

  “Ah,” Arabela said. “On time, well done, we have about half an hour. Jode will walk you through some basic exercises this morning so he can gauge your expertise. Tomorrow, and every morning going forward, he will push you to become capable of defending yourself with the weapons on that table.”

  Madeline walked over to the table. Laid out were another sword, a bow and quiver of arrows, and a set of knives with no handles. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to make sure I can attack? I don’t think defense is what the prophecy meant.”

  “No,” Jode said. “You must defend yourself first. We do not have time to teach you the skills to defend and attack. We would need months, not days. Defense can result in attack if you are proficient. Today we will work through the sword positions because you said you have some training.”

  “But if it’s about defense, why is there a throwing knife?” Madeline stepped into the center of the space as she spoke. Jode walked around and prodde
d her to better posture, his touch leaving tingles in her body. “What kind of defense weapon is that?”

  “Put your sword on at the waist, please,” Jode said. “If we are engaged in battle, it may be that we will not, but we must prepare. You may have to defend yourself as you flee. A throwing knife is an excellent way to stop your attackers as you do that. Good, now draw your sword and we will run through the movements.”

  She drew her sword, stepped back, and placed her left hand on her hip as she turned her body to the side.

  “Good, contra parry, sixte. Excellent, tierce. Good, carte, perfect. You have excellent posture. Now, I will attack and you must parry. I wish to see how well you respond with a blade coming at you.”

  “Wait.” Madeline felt her body flush with heat and stepped back. “These are real blades. Shouldn’t we be using practice ones?”

  “Mine is a practice blade. I don’t think you can do harm to me with yours. Please get back in stance.”

  “No,” Madeline felt fear close over her soul. “I will not practice with a sharp blade. Do you have a practice blade, or can you wrap this one?”

  “Are you so certain of your skill?”

  “Yes,” Madeline could feel the certainty in her bones. She knew, for no logical reason, that she would hurt Jode if she used this blade. “A practice blade, please, I promise I will fight as though it was real.”

  Jode motioned to a man standing behind the weapons table and he brought a thin metal sheath that slid over her weapon blunting the edge. She could still hurt her opponent, but it would leave a bruise rather than a gaping wound.

  Jode stepped forward to face her and waited while she tested the weight and balance of her sword with the sheath.

  “Ok,” Madeline said, nodding at him.

  He lunged, sword out aimed at her stomach. She twisted her wrist in a counterclockwise motion that pushed his blade away. She instinctively thrust further and aimed for his heart. Her blade made contact before she realized what she was doing.

  “Well done.” Jode rubbed his chest where the blunted point had struck hard. “I appreciate your insistence on practice weapons. It seems you will have no problem with turning defense into attack with a sword. I think we shall spend the rest of our time honing defense. Tomorrow we’ll start with the throwing knife.”

  Madeline felt herself relax as she saw he was not badly hurt. “I will pay attention to my instincts more often. I could have killed you.”

  “Now that I have the measure of you, let’s see if you can touch me again. En Garde.”

  Jode stood in the position and, when Madeline mirrored him, he lunged towards her. She deflected him and tried to attack, her instincts taking over her mind. He countered and attacked again. They chased each other back and forth, alternating between grunts of effort and laughs of victory until Arabela called an end to the session. They raised their swords and bowed to each other.

  “You will want to wash and change before breakfast, both of you,” Arabela said. “Ten minutes then back here.”

  Madeline could feel the endorphin high as she ran back into the tent. There was a woman in her room holding out a towel and some soap as she entered. “There’s water there, get out of those clothes. We’ll launder them, and you can have them back tonight.”

  Madeline saw at there was a full set of riding clothes on the back of a chair that held a large bowl of steaming water. She stripped out of the sweat soaked outfit and washed quickly. The woman emptied the bowl and waited until Madeline had dried herself before piling the clothes and towel in the bowl. “We’ll be packing your tent while you eat. Take anything you need with you, or it will end up in the baggage wagon,” she said as she left.

  “Thank you,” Madeline called after the efficient woman. She took her cloak, still rolled, and her sword and sheath with her as she dashed back outside, stomach growling.

  Breakfast sat on a table in front of the tents. They ate standing and took mugs of caf with them to the enclosure where their horses waited. The horses had been curried and fed, but the saddles sat on the ground waiting to be put on.

  “We saddle our own mounts on the road,” Jode explained. “It is important that you know how well the horse is equipped if you face bandits or some other enemy.”

  “Kind of like packing your own parachute.” Simon lifted his gear as he spoke, heading towards his mount. Arabela followed, her horse was tied close to Witch, the chestnut mare Simon was riding today, Witch.

  “Sir Simon,” she said. “What is a parashoo...?”

  “Parachute.” He laughed and put his saddle on Witch’s back. “It is a large cloth that catches the wind as you float to earth from a great height.”

  “And you pack it yourself because you must be sure it will work?”

  “Yes.” He tightened the girth strap.

  “Is this falling from a great height something that people do often in your world?”

  “No.” Simon decided not to get into explaining the concepts involved in flight. “They are emergency equipment and some people use them for sport. Do you require assistance?”

  “Thank you, but no.” She slapped her mount on the butt. “He doesn’t like the girth tight, so he takes a deep breath when I try to set it. He just needs a little reminder that I don’t want to fall off on the road. That’s all.”

  They finished the routine actions required to get the horses ready for the road. Arabela allowed Simon to assist her into the saddle before he launched himself into position.

  “You must teach me this method of mounting. It is sometimes not convenient to require assistance,” she said.

  “It’s harder for you because of your height, but it is still possible as long as you can reach the back of the horse without having to stretch to your limit.” He turned Witch to join the others of their party. “It’s all about bounce and balance. I’d be happy to show you next time we stop.”

  “Lady Madeline is not so much taller than I. If she can do it, then I should be able to master the technique.” She rode closer. “You are close to her, are you not?”

  “I worked for her, yes.” Simon moved his horse into line and realized Arabela had maneuvered him to the middle, away from Madeline and Jode. “Is there something you want to know?”

  “I find it difficult to persuade her to follow my wishes.”

  “Yes, she’s not good at following orders. She likes to be in control.”

  “Can you suggest how I might be able to persuade her to be more amenable to guidance? It is wearing to fight with her over every decision.”

  Simon shrugged and shook his head, Witch sidestepped in impatience to get on the road.

  “If I might be honest?” He waited for Arabela to nod. “It seems to me that you are also someone who likes to be in control. If you had been pulled into an unknown world and told you must participate in a quest, but no one knew what you were to do, how would you react?”

  “I think I would listen and then help,” Arabela answered immediately.

  “Then we have different opinions.” Simon laughed. “I beg your pardon, but from what I’ve seen of the way you work, Madeline is only a shadow of what you’d be like.”

  “It is to be hoped we do not find ourselves in the position to test your theory,” Arabela said. “So, you were her employee in your world?”

  “Yes.” He nudged Witch into motion as the horses ahead started to walk away from the camp. “My job was to keep her organized. I had to get her to meetings and to court in time for a case.”

  “How did you manage to do that if she would not follow your suggestions?”

  “That’s the difference,” Simon said. “She hired me to do that job. So, when I said she had to get somewhere, she went.”

  “So, she argues with me because I am not an employee?”

  “Sort of.” Simon considered for a few minutes as their party passed through the first few trees of the forest. “It’s not like she doesn’t want to help. She can be a team player, but in this circ
umstance, she doesn’t know the rules of the game. I think she’s too afraid to do the wrong thing.”

  Arabela sighed. “What do you suggest then? I don’t think it will be good for anyone if we continue to argue about everything.”

  “I don’t know how to tell you to resolve it. But, you won’t solve it by asking me for help. Madeline is a reasonable woman. You need to talk to her.”

  Arabela rode forward in the column until she reached Jode and Madeline. They were deep in conversation about the next village.

  “This village is very different from yesterday’s visit. They are merchants in Lanewall. The day will be shorter so that the business of trading is not interrupted for too long. The disputes are often solved between the parties and the meeting will be more about the tax rate and the condition of the roads,” Jode was saying.

  “Yes,” Arabela added. “The people of Lanewall rarely have disputes. They say it interferes with trade.”

  “Hah, sometimes I think the merchants in my world trade in disputes,” Madeline said. “The bulk of my work is based on interpreting and trying to enforce agreements between companies.”

  “You come from a very interesting world,” Arabela said, as though trying to build a level of camaraderie. “I would enjoy hearing about it as we ride.”

  Jode dropped back as they approached a narrow part of the road. The two women rode side by side for a few minutes without speaking.

  Arabela broke the silence. “Sir Simon tells me that you are a powerful woman in your world.”

  “Well, not powerful, but I do know how to do my job. What else does he say?”

  “That you prefer to be in a position of control. I think perhaps that is why we argue.”

  “Perhaps.” Madeline tried to keep her voice level, but could tell the pleasantness was draining out. “Did Sir Simon provide you any other insights?”

  “You sound angry,” Arabela said. “Have I done something wrong? I am trying to find a way to work with you. I spoke to Sir Simon with the aim to learn more about you.”