The Gorgon's Blood Solution

by Jeffrey Quyle

  The terrible sight of the stump proved that there was truth to the incredible memories. His arm ended just above his wrist. He had done it to himself, like a trapped animal. He had cut off the dangerously infected end of his arm rather than allow the evil energy within it to cause his death, or worse.

  Someone immediately pulled a screen in front of the porthole, diffusing the direct light, so that Marco could lower his hand. He looked around and saw that he was in a fairly large cabin, relative to what he had seen on the last ship he had boarded. Iasco was sitting nearby at a desk, and an unknown woman was sitting next to him.

  “We’re heading towards Ophiuchus,” he stated what he did not doubt.

  “Yes, that’s correct,” Iasco replied without looking up.

  “I’ll be held there as your prisoner,” he stated.

  “I think guest, or at least captive, would sound better, but in this case, none of those names are correct,” she answered, still without looking at him. “I think we will call you our patient.”

  “It doesn’t make much difference if I’m not allowed to leave,” he heard the quaver in his voice, and stopped, embarrassed by the sign of weakness.

  “Ah, but of course you will be allowed to leave, when your course of healing is finished,” the woman with the striped skin turned to face him at last.

  “We’re taking you to the isle in hopes that we may be able to perform a miracle or two of our own to match your miraculous deeds of the past few days,” she walked towards him, and the woman who was beside him immediately rose silently, so that Iasco could slide quietly into her place. She stretched her hand across his body and grasped his hand, then squeezed it tightly.

  There was a warmth about her that he hadn’t seen before, and he looked up at her carefully.

  “I have to say that you are quite a wild card, young man! Or should I say young nobleman?” she spoke in a soft voice.

  “Here, have a sip of this,” she held a reed to his lips as she saw him grimace in pain, and he took a sip of the sedative she offered.

  “We will be at the Isle by tomorrow evening, and I’ll have you carried up to the summit of the mountain soon after our arrival, so that we can perform the operation there, in the Temple of Asclepius,” she said. “I have some confidence that we’ll have success.

  He took another sip of the drink, then laid back, already feeling sleepy.

  “Which operation?” he asked groggily.

  “The operation to re-attach your hand,” Iasco answered, and Marco drifted off to sleep.

  He dreamed of having two hands again, then dreamed that his feet were hands as well. He awoke again in the early hours of the morning, before sunrise, and shouted in surprise when he found a woman casually changing his bedding beneath him.

  “Go back to sleep, lad. Sorry to wake you,” she murmured. “But this has to be done.”

  Marco looked with wide-eyed shock at her, then realized the truth of her words. He blushed but said no more. An hour later the sun had brightened the sky outside enough for him to see that Iasco was asleep in an adjoining cabin, one whose door was open to reveal the bunk she lay in. She stared at him momentarily, then reached out and flung the door shut, and seconds later emerged with a robe on.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I want to use the bathroom,” he answered curtly.

  She exhaled. “Here, let me help you,” she reached forward.

  “No, that’s just it. I don’t want anyone to help me,” he said, then grimaced again in pain as he tried to raise himself up.

  “Careful,” she warned him. “You’ll tear some of those stitches. Now let me help,” she advised with a touch of asperity in her tone.

  Marco took the warning the second time, and let her help him to his feet, grunting at the effort. “I knew you were heavy of course, from when you dove on top of me at the duke’s palace.”

  “I didn’t dive!” he protested as they slowly crossed the cabin.

  “Here’s the head. I’ll respect your modesty and wait out here. Call me if you need help,” she held the door to a cramped space open, then watched him enter and pull the door shut.

  “Can I go up on the deck?” he asked when he pushed the door open a minute later.

  “Wait here and I’ll go arrange some help for that,” Iasco replied. “Sit here,” she guided him back to his bed, then left the room for several minutes.

  Three women brought a wide plank of wood into his room, and strapped him to it, then unceremoniously carried him up to a chair at the bow of the ship, and sat him down.

  Iasco came up to join him a half hour later, dressed, and they both sat there silently, watching the waves and the clouds and feeling the wind constantly blowing.

  “Can you really re-attach my hand? Will it work?” Marco asked finally.

  “I can’t promise complete success, but we have a chance,” Iasco answered.

  “The first thing I did after the battle in the ballroom was to cast a preservation spell over the hand you cut off. It’s down in the hold, secured for our efforts. If it’s possible to make it happen, we will,” she assured him.

  “What happened after the battle? Is Mirra alright?” Marco asked.

  “She was in hysterics of course, crying over your body and the officer’s, thinking you were dead. But we calmed her down. We took her with us in the carriage back to the temple, and she saw you there asleep after we had you stitched up and repaired as best we could make you,” Iasco recounted.

  “When we told her that we were going to take you with us to our island, she resisted. She knows you well – she said you wouldn’t want that. But we promised to try to reattach your hand, and we promised to set you free. She agreed to go to the alchemist shop and live with the owner and her brother there until you returned,” the priestess continued her narrative.

  “Folence wasn’t in much better shape than you by the time we were ready to ship out, so I left her in the temple infirmary to heal, and I went to the palace myself to explain everything to the Duke, and then we boarded the ship and were off. All in less than twelve hours,” she finished.

  Why are you willing to let me leave after all this, when you tried to prevent me before?” Marco asked her.

  “The world needs you to be out there fighting on behalf of goodness right now. I sense a rising tide of evil. Where it comes from, I am not completely sure; what its purpose is, I do not know. But fortune – if you want to call it that – has reached out and appointed you to be the champion for those of us who need protection from the evil,” she spoke with an earnestness that rattled Marco. She spoke as if she believed what she was saying.

  “I’m only a boy,” Marco answered.

  “A boy who is going to grow up very quickly, I believe. You already are,” Iasco assured him.

  “As for your betrothed, we are making arrangements for her,” the priestess added.

  “Betrothed?” Marco blurted out so loudly that heads turned to look, and he felt the stitches across his chest ache from the stress he put upon them.

  “Yes,” Iasco replied calmly. “That beautiful girl, Mirra. Your betrothed.”

  “We’re not betrothed!” Marco exclaimed, lowering his voice.

  “According to the girl’s brother, the first time you administered that gorgon’s blood self-medication, you proposed that Mirra run away with you and get married. After some length of questioning, the girl admitted the same,” Iasco told him.

  “But,” Marco paused as he tried to remember, “I was drunk, trying to stop the pain from coming.”

  “In vino, veritas,” Iasco said with a Cheshire cat grin.

  “What’s that mean?” Marco asked.

  “Do you love the girl? Do you want to marry her?” Iasco asked.

  Marco paused, then lowered his voice. “I do love her. I do want to marry her; but I haven’t really asked her,” he said thoughtfully.

  “You’ll get your chance,” Iasco assured him. “When Folence recovers, I’ve directe
d her to go to the Duke and have him turn your new noble estate over to Mirra and her brother to live in until you return. Folence will send one of her stewards to help run the estate for you.”

  Marco sat back and took a deep breath, letting Iasco’s words sink in. He had forgotten the Duke’s generous gift, the extraordinary title and mountain estate that had been given to him, just before the terrible confrontation in the palace ballroom had unfolded.

  His mind digested the rest of Iasco’s comment. “Mirra and Glaze will live in a castle?” he asked with a grin.

  “Yes, your castle. Let’s hope the Duke’s comments about how cold the castle is are exaggerated,” Iasco answered. “And after you’re done healing, you can go back to see your estate and your beloved.”

  “If she’ll accept me,” Marco conditioned the hope. “Is Folence okay?” he asked, his mind catching another reference Iasco made.

  “She suffered in the battle. She lost part of a finger to the gorgon’s blood, and some other injuries as well. She will recover though, be assured. She proved how strong and competent she is, in taking care of you,” Iasco spoke of her lieutenant with pride.

  “She took good care of me,” Marco agreed, and they sat there in silence until Iasco was called away, and Marco tried to digest all the news that had been revealed to him.

  He thought about his childhood, and how impossibly far he had come from those days when he had been a middle child in a family of seven children living in a small house in a farming village in the foothills. His father had farmed a small plot of land and worked as a carpenter when he could. Marco had been a goatherd before his family has scrapped enough money together to send him off on his ill-planned trip to be an apprentice, a journey that had led him to such unlikely adventures.

  He seemed to have the chance now, the riches, to go back and help his family, something that until that moment he never would have expected to be possible. He could return to the Lion City and thank Algornia for all the hours of lessons which Marco had discovered had subtly sunk into his consciousness when he hadn’t realized he was paying attention.

  Marco drifted off to sleep, until he found himself being lifted and tied to the plank of wood, and hauled back down to the cabin again. He was given a dose of medicine, and he fell into a sound sleep for the rest of the day and the following night.

  The Isle of Ophiuchus came into view late the following morning. Marco was on deck and watched the isle rise on the horizon, then watched calmly as the ship followed a course to find the entrance to the harbor and arrive at the deck in mid-afternoon.

  Marco insisted on walking off the ship and to the Lady Iasco’s residence with as little assistance as possible, and he huffed heavily as he haltingly hobbled along the way. Those on the island buzzed with the same angry energy at the appearance of a male upon their sacred land that they had exhibited during his first visit to Ophiuchus, but Marco was indifferent to the muttering and stares as he stoically endured the pain of his journey through the village streets.

  Iasco was at his side, and when they arrived at the door to her home she stopped.

  “I want everyone to know that this boy comes here as our guest, as my guest, and that he comes here to be healed. There is no question that the Great Spirit expects this for him, and he shall be treated with hospitality while he is among us,” she announced as she faced the people in the streets. Then she turned and led Marco into her home.

  “Your room is over here,” she pointed to a doorway. “You’ll stay here for a couple of days while you regain your strength, and I handle some administrative duties that are undoubtedly piled up in my office awaiting me,” she told him with a wry smile. “I’ll send for Albany to be your escort while you’re here, unless you object?”

  Marco quietly shook his head. “If she wishes to do so, I’d be happy to have her with me again.”

  “And of course I’d advise you to stay out of the public eye as much as possible. I’m sure nothing will happen, but we don’t need to invite trouble.”

  Marco was exhausted from the walk, and sore. He had no idea that walking could induce such pain and fatigue in the stitches and injuries that were spread across his torso and right arm. He entered his designated room and lay down to rest, until a soft knock on the door an hour later roused him.

  He drew his sword for the sake of precaution. “Who is it?” he asked after he sat up.

  “Albany,” came the answer through the door, and he relaxed the grip on his sword.

  “Come in,” he called, and watched as the stern-faced guard entered his room. She stood in the doorway and stared at him for several seconds, her eyes roving over the evidence of his injuries, and came to rest on the bandaged wrist.

  “You’ve had a rough time, it appears,” she said simply.

  “And this was in a friendly city. Imagine what they’ll do to me here if I stick around?” he teased her.

  She snorted in disgust. “What brings you back to stir up trouble for the lady?” she asked.

  “This,” he held up the stump of his right hand. “Iasco says that she can re-attach my hand.”

  Albany’s eyes widened. “She’s Lady Iasco but even for her that will be quite a feat. Who cut it off?”

  Marco paused. “I did,” he said in an even tone. “It had to be done, or we all would have died.”

  She stared at him and shook her head. “The more I know, the more I think Marcella and Portia are lucky to be alive,” she commented on the attackers who he had not killed when he had been ambushed during his first visit to the island.

  “I’d like to go back to our cottage by the sea. Can we do that tonight?” he asked. He wanted to be someplace where no other women would be around, and he wanted someplace where he could go into the water and talk to the dolphins, to perhaps pass a message along to Kieweeooee, or even Kreewhite.

  “Do you think you can walk that far?” Albany asked skeptically.

  Marco remembered the hour long jaunt that he had made when he was healthy. It would take two or three hours now, he reckoned, but it was achievable and he nodded his head.

  “I’ll go ask to speak to her ladyship, to make sure this meets with her approval,” Albany said. “You’ll stay here?”

  He nodded his head again, and lay down to rest, as his guard left the room.

  When he awoke, Albany was standing over him.

  “Her ladyship agreed to allow you to go to your cottage, though looking at you, I’m afraid you’ll fall apart on me,” she said. “But if you’re determined to go, I’ve got a bag of supplies to last us a few days.”

  “I’m ready,” Marco replied. He sat up. “Would you help me put my shirt on?” he asked, and sat quietly as she pulled it down over his head.

  They left the village without overt hostility following them, only silent stares of disapproval. The walk was slowed by Marco’s halting gait and his frequent stops to rest, but they arrived before sunset in the same abandoned, isolated setting where they had stayed before. Marco sat and watched the sunset over the water as Albany pulled out food stuffs and water skins for their meal.

  I met a girl, Albany,” Marco finally said, breaking the silence as they sat together on the front stoop. He ate awkwardly with only one hand, and the guard handed him things as he needed them.

  “That explains why you got so cut up,” she said with a straight face, making him grin.

  “I’m going to propose to her when I see her next time,” Albany looked at him and said nothing.

  “I had a man propose to me once,” she said after a long pause.

  “Did you accept?” Marco asked, surprised by the revelation.

  “Yes,” she answered, “but my mother told me she had a dream that the man who proposed to me would kill me, and she told me to join the Order of Ophiuchus instead.

  “So I did. I turned him down, and joined the order and came to the isle twenty years ago,” she said no more.

  “And?” Marco asked, as the sun sank deeper.

&nb
sp; “And he married another woman, who had three children with him, one of them probably about your age. Neither one of them is dead as far as I know,” she said with a sigh.

  “I won’t kill Mirra,” Marco tried to make light of the conversation. He stood up. “I’m going to go down to the beach; I want to call the dolphins and talk to them.”

  “You’re not going to try to swim away with them, are you?” Albany asked. “I heard about how you got away from the Lady’s messengers; it was a neat trick. I’m surprised the lady herself isn’t the one who put those slices across your body to teach you a lesson for that!”

  “She didn’t. She hasn’t so far. She saved my life, as a matter of fact,” Marco answered, thinking of the yellow dome Iasco had created in the palace ballroom, the one that had saved him from the ravens.

  “Would you do me a favor?” Marco asked. Albany nodded. “I can’t open these pants with just one hand. Would you unbutton them for me?”

  He looked away as she acted without comment.

  “You can slide those off, but wait ‘til I go in,” Albany said, and then she was gone inside. Marco slid the pants off and walked down to the beach, then waded into the warm water up to his waist, and dropped his face into the water.

  “I seek my friend Kieweeooee,” he called. “Do any of Kieweeooee’s friends hear me call?”

  There was no immediate answer, and after a minute he tried again. “Does anyone know my friend Kieweeooee? Does anyone know the merboy Kreewhite?”

  He was hopeful. He stood and looked up at the stars that were emerging into the darkening sky overhead.

  “Who calls for a friend?” a voice suddenly spoke up very close by. Marco fruitlessly looked around in the darkness, then submerged his face and spoke.

  “I am Marco, and I called for Kieweeooee, and for Kreewhite. Do you know them?” he responded.

  A dolphin glided up and bumped gently against his leg. “You have legs; you are a land creature, yet you speak the language of our people not terribly. How does this come to be?”

  “The merboy, Kreewhite, taught me some of your words, and then when I was lonely on a place far from here, I started speaking to Kieweeooee, and we became friends. I was hurt, and did not speak to her for several days, and then I was brought here for healing. I wanted to find out how she is doing,” Marco struggled to find the right sounds to express the long speech, but managed to convey his message.