And now somehow, she’d not quite captured his heart while giving him all of hers, then lost him. He’d wounded his own powers, and when she left him in Bondell, as an obligation he had made her feel she had to undertake, he’d disappeared in the wilderness, and no sign of him had been seen now for nearly five months. So she existed in a spiritual and social limbo, unable to fully mourn the companion who had not been completely hers, and treated in many ways like a widow to be patronized but not included in many activities.
A movement at the end of the garden nearest the house flickered in her field of vision. Moments later the movement occurred again, and she slowly came to realize that it was a person walking towards her. It was Allisma, who had remained a faithful friend and listened sympathetically as Bethany poured out the pain in her heart over and over. Allisma spotted Bethany sitting in the shady bower, and started running strenuously, making Bethany feel hot just from imagining the sweat that would run down her back under her shirt and shift.
As she arrived out of breath, Allisma looked searchingly at Bethany’s face. “You haven’t heard, have you?” she panted.
“Whatever it is, I haven’t heard,” Bethany replied languidly, not able any longer to stir interest in the myriad topics that were discussed and debated by the colony of exiled ingenairii that remained in Goldenfields.
“A letter from Alec. He’s alive! He was in Bondell a fortnight ago and fought with the Prince’s forces to defeat an army from Oyster Bay!” Allisma continued to breathe heavily, joined now by Bethany who was suddenly gasping for breath.
“Oh dear, oh my, Oh Lord!” Bethany murmured emotionally. She covered her face in her hands, and prayed her heartfelt gratitude to Jesus for saving his life. “What did the letter say?” she asked after she composed herself and sat in a tight embrace with Allisma.
“I haven’t seen it to know,” Allisma replied. “The ingenairii who are working with the Guard at the Palace heard a lot of talk about it. A messenger arrived from Bondell late last night with notes for the Duke. It’s all that folks in the Guard are talking about.”
“Maybe I should go talk to Colonel Ryder and ask him what he knows?” Bethany thought out loud.
“Bethany!” a distant voice called loudly and clearly. “Bethany!” the voice repeated.
From the house Bethany and Allisma could see Helen coming towards them. The matron of the house was striding quickly. Bethany had not ever seen such purpose in Helen’s steps, and stood to await whatever was bringing the lady of the home on her mission.
“Natha received a note from Alec! Bethany, he’s alive!” Helen said excitedly, her eyes sparkling with joy for both the discovery of Alec’s continued life as well as for the happiness the news would bring her flaxen-haired houseguest.
Bethany grabbed hold of Helen’s outstretched hands, and squeezed them tight. “Allisma just told me that a letter at the Palace also reported he’s alive!”
“What a happy day!” Helen said. “I had to tell you first, and now I need to go tell Annalea. I had lunch with Natha at the club, and he told me the news.”
“What did his letter say?” Bethany asked.
“Natha said that Alec recommended establishment of an overland trading route from Goldenfields to Bondell, to avoid shipping goods by river past Oyster Bay,” Helen replied.
“What else did he say?” Bethany prompted.
“That was all,” Helen told the two girls. “Natha said that it was short and to the point.”
“Boys!” Allisma said with disgust. “After all these months, he doesn’t tell Natha anything about where he’s been or what he’s done, or when he’s coming home?”
“You’ll learn dear, that men don’t have say a great deal. It’s taken me decades of marriage to train Natha to tell me as much as he does,” Helen said.
“I don’t know whether to go back to Bondell to see Alec, or to wait for him to come back here,” Bethany fretted. “I still think I may go see Colonel Ryder and ask what the Palace knows about his plans.”
“Did he write to the Guard, too?” Helen asked. “If he wrote several letters, there’s probably one with your name on it!”
Bethany had already begun secretly hoping for just such an artifact to arrive, and she smiled sweetly at Helen’s words.
When no letter arrived by the next morning, Bethany walked into the city and went to the Palace, where she spoke to her various Guard acquaintances until she worked her way into the office of Colonel Ryder.
Ellison sat at a desk in front of the door to Ryder’s office. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Bethany,” he said as he rose to greet her. Ellison had spent frequent visits at the Healer House visiting Ellen, and had often chatted with Bethany when Alec was out on one errand or another.
“The pleasure is all mine Ellison,” she told him with genuine friendship. “I miss not seeing you at the kitchen table.”
“I’m not the one you’re missing most though, and seeing me isn’t why you came to visit today, is it?” he asked as he walked to the door and glanced in. He held the door open wide and nodded for her to enter Ryder’s office.
Inside, Colonel Ryder was waiting just inside the door, and he held a chair for her to be seated next to him at a table in the corner. “We’ve met before, I remember,” he told her.
“Yes, Alec introduced us,” Bethany agreed.
“You’ve heard that we had a letter from him, I presume?” the officer said to bring the subject of the visit into the open.
“Yes,’ Bethany hesitated uncharacteristically. “I wondered what you heard from him. Is he healthy? Will he come back?” she stopped and asked no more.
“I suppose that his letter was really to the Duke, and therefore a state secret, but I know that he is very fond of you and wouldn’t want us to hide anything from you,” Ryder told her gently. “Yes, he is alive. His letter told us that he fought with men from the Bondell countryside, and they had not only lifted a siege of the prince, but also defeated an Oyster Bay force altogether in the process.
“Only because it is Alec do I believe what he says,” the colonel said as an aside. “He told us that the Prince was back in control of Bondell, and would need our assistance to restore order and carry out more training after all the losses his forces had suffered.”
“Where has he been all these months?” the girl asked, an uneasy curiosity demanding more answers.
“He didn’t say anything about that,” Ryder told her, some frustration showing on his face. “The messenger said he appeared with an army out of nowhere, and no one knew where he came from. But they were glad to see him!”
“Did he say when he was coming back here?” she asked again.
The colonel hesitated momentarily. “He said he’s not coming back right away,” he admitted. “He said he had obligations to fulfill elsewhere, and he had to leave us in order to meet those obligations.
“You and I both know how good he is,” Ryder told the surprised girl. “He wouldn’t do something like this on a lark. I’m especially sure he wouldn’t leave behind someone as pretty as you without having some very serious reasons to do so!” he tried to lighten the blow he saw he had landed on the young lady.
“Do we really know him?” Bethany asked without thinking, feeling hurt and betrayed. “I know how good he was while he was in Oyster Bay, and I know how hard he worked while he was here. I know,” she stopped. “I just don’t know so many things about the past few months, and I don’t understand this running away without explanation.” She stood. “Thank you for your time and the things you’ve shared.” She didn’t want to hear any more about Alec, and she let herself quickly out before the colonel could try to say anything comforting.
Ellison stuck his head in Ryder’s office a few seconds later, a quizzical look on his face. “She’s not happy, and I don’t blame her,” Ryder responded to the unasked question. “And neither am I. Why would he disappear, re-appear, fight a great battle, and disappear again?”
Elliso
n held his breath for a moment. “It doesn’t make sense to me either, but I have faith in him. I think Alec is more special than anyone realizes. I heard him tell a story to the cardinals at the cathedral once, and I know he has been marked to do deeds that only he can do. I believe he’s been picked for something special, maybe something very special. I think the things he is doing may be part of this special duty.
“Keep having faith in our young man,” Ellison finished.
“I wish it was as simple as that. It’s just that we need him now. We need him badly, as you know. We haven’t got a man to spare, but we need more for Bondell, and more for the eastern forts, and I’d like to have more here for the Duke’s protection. Not to mention how empty we are on our northern border,” Ryder responded. “So it’s time to put Alec aside, and hope for the best for him, and take care of what we can here. Ellison, why don’t you put together a list of candidates to send back to Bondell to provide some training and advice for our once and future friends over there?” the colonel asked in a tone that Ellison recognized as a polite dismissal. Ryder lowered his head to resume studying the papers on his desk, pretending to be re-absorbed in a myriad of other topics, while he secretly continued to think about Alec, and wonder what his future held.
Chapter 28 – Return to Oyster Bay
Alec rode purposefully across the settled lands that owed allegiance to Oyster Bay. He’d ridden for three days since leaving Monoline, and had felt miserable as he crossed the unclaimed wilderness he’d seen. The empty land hadn’t upset him; he’d not even noticed it for a day. It was the upset in his stomach, the ache in his head, and the pain in his arm that distracted him from the road, the sun, the wind, and everything else around him.
He knew in a general sense that he’d joined in the celebration of the sailors and the tavern customers as his patient, Chelv, as returned to life through Alec’s ministrations. Some moments from the evening flashed vividly through his mind, but long gaps were covered by the fog of accepting too many glasses of ale.
Alec remembered Chelv toasting him throughout the night, and swearing to forever be his devoted servant. He remembered the tavern girl seeming more beautiful every time she placed another mug before him, and assuring him that he could treat her any time he wanted. The first mug of ale had tasted awful, but surrounded by the congratulatory and friendly crowd, he’d felt pressured to drink it. The second mug hadn’t tasted as bad, and after that he’d not thought about the taste any further. He wished he could have healed himself of his drunkenness, but hr couldn’t call his energies forth, and something inside him told him that the cure for drunkenness was will-power, not ingenaire power. He remembered leaving the tavern many hours later with a group of sailors heading towards the docks.
He did not remember getting the tattoo that adorned his arm, and that hurt so intensely. He looked again at the bloody remnants of cotton that still adhered to spots on his bicep. When he had awoken in the bedroom of the tavern much later on the following afternoon, he discovered the tattoo, and the worst symptoms of a hangover. He vowed to never drink again. Slowly and awkwardly, he had gone to the stables, saddled his horse, and ridden out of town at a pace controlled more by the horse than by him.
He’d mumbled an apology to the horse when he retched repeatedly from his saddle. He thought the horse seemed embarrassed for him, even though no one else was around to witness his condition. They followed the visible path, untrod and untraveled by anyone else in these times of trouble, and moved at a leisurely pace until Alec eventually felt he could exert control over the horse the next day. Their first stop was a river, at which Alec soaked and scrubbed everything he had, to try to make a better impression on his steed. After his clothes had dried in the sun, the animal seemed to inspect him, and concluded that he might be trusted at least with the appearance of mastery, and followed his directions thereafter.
Now, two days later, he picked the last shreds of dirty cotton off the tattoo and looked at it. He’d realized in the past couple of days that he could be thankful for what it was not. It was not the name of the tavern girl, who he thought he loved intensely between his third and fifth drinks. It was not the shape of her, either. It was not the name of Goldenfields or Bondell or any other identity that might give him away if he needed to act with stealth in the future.
The sword shape on his arm fascinated him. Unwilling though he was to admit it, he liked the artwork on his skin. The person who had applied it to him had studied the very sword that hung by his hip, for the blade, grip, guard and the pommel all were clearly matched to his actual weapon. He’d never be able to remember the artist to go back and congratulate him for the fine work, he realized with a grimace. But he’d never find it hard to explain the mark if it was ever exposed and questioned.
The third night Alec finally entered a village under the control of Oyster Bay. He spent the night in a small country inn, sleeping in the stable with his horses and talking very little with the people in the tavern dining room. The next day he rode far and slept the night in an abandoned barn.
Alec thought about his healing powers as he rode along. He hadn’t been able to treat himself for the nasty after-effects of too much drink after leaving Monoline. As he thought about the possible cure for a hangover, he realized that at some point while in Bondell he had ceased to think first of herbs or oils or lotions, but instead called first upon his own energies and the power of prayers to mend and restore the injuries and ailments he treated. He couldn’t recall when the change had come about, but he thought about it a great deal on the empty roads he rode.
And he thought about Bethany, and Noranda. He was pleased that neither of them had seen him in Monoline, or during his painful aftermath. Of course, he suspected he wouldn’t have fallen as low as he did if he’d had one of them to prevent his foolish behavior. He knew that Noranda would have shamed him into better decisions, and Bethany would have used humor to cause him to avoid such drunkenness…or she would have made a dousing of water pour over him, using her own ingenaire powers. He grinned at the thought, and imagined laughing over the notion with her, brightening the rest of the afternoon as he plodded along.
On his eighth day of travels, a day of cold spring rains all day long, he arrived on the outskirts of the capitol of the Dominion. Alec found a room in a tavern on the south bank of the river, where he had never spent any time during his training at the ingenaire compound.
Alec had a general idea of what he would do; he intended to visit the cathedral, to try to find any friends who might help him understand the current situation. He hesitated to go directly to the palace, though he thought he had friends there who would be helpful; Alec realized that his presence would endanger anyone believed to be collaborating with him. Likewise he would stay away from Ingenairii Hill for as long as possible, because of the likelihood he would be recognized, especially if any of the refugees who had returned from Goldenfields were still present. All in all, the south bank of the river promised to be the safest place to stay.
That night Alec ate his meal in the common room of a different tavern, and listened to the conversations around him. Finally, as the evening grew late and only a few patrons remained, Alec moved to sit next to an old, grizzled man deep in his cups.
“Would you like to share a bottle of Goldenfields wine?” he asked.
“I would, but where will you get one?” his new old friend asked. “A place like this hasn’t had Goldenfields in a long time; maybe some rich man’s place has a deep wine cellar stocked with all the good stuff.”
That confirmed for Alec that commerce was breaking down, and that shipments from Goldenfields had ceased to arrive in Oyster Bay. Natha must be suffering financially, he surmised. As well as the vineyards and the Duke, and everyone else who relied on shipping wines for revenue.
“I’m here from Grandholm,” Alec said, naming the village he had stayed in two nights before. “I brought some herbs to trade. I know there’s troubled times up here, but I wasn’t sure
what exactly to expect. It’s a bad thing not to have good wines,” he lamented.
“It’s a bad thing, sure enough,” the old fellow agreed. “Men are dying in the city and elsewhere for battles and crimes, many jobs are lost with the docks being idle. And these dunderheads in charge of the city spend most of their time fighting among themselves instead of doing anything productive.” The man lowered his voice and looked around. “You could get a bottle of Stronghold Red,” he suggested.
Alec flagged down the one bored-looking serving man and ordered a bottle, then promptly choked on the taste of the drink. It wasn’t just his present aversion to alcohol; it was a particularly unpleasant drink that tasted more like turpentine than wine.
“It’s vile stuff, sure enough,” his drinking partner said. “But you can get used to it,” he happily drained his cup and poured another.
“Which market is open where I can sell my wares in the city?” Alec asked.
“You’ll need to cross the river to the north bank and go to the cathedral market,” the man replied. “That’s the safest market, I hear. Fewer brigands likely to ask for their share of your profits there. They call it protection money, but all it protects you from is their immediate robbery.”
Alec thanked him for the advice and left him with the remainder of the bottle of wine, while he walked cautiously back to his own inn and bolted the door to his room for the night.
The next morning he tended his horse in the inn stables and paid for the next night in his room in advance, then took the two bags of valuable plants he had collected as he had ridden along the way from Bondell. He secured a spot on one of the large ferry boats that constantly crossed the river. As the flat ship crossed the river, Alec looked closely at Natha’s wharves, where no shipping was present and no sign of activity was apparent.
The Loss of Power: Goldenfields and Bondell Page 33
