by G S Santos
Inside, the goddess sat in the lotus position, with hands raised at her sides, as if to receive the embrace of her devotees. She smiled with her mouth closed, and her eyes were wide open. At her feet lay several baskets of fruits and vegetables, including wine bottles and tea jars. In front of her, an altar of carved stone smoked with ashes and incense.
Wil untied the bag from the chair and placed it on the grass. Then he opened it.
"Let's fill the basket," Adelphine said, pulling out a stick of incense and lighting it with the altar flames. She placed it in front of her forehead and closed her eyes. "Thank you for this opportunity."
Returning down the road, Wil had stopped asking, but Adelphine kept looking toward the horizon. They arrived at the castle, and Adelphine got off the horse.
"Are you coming back next week?" Wil looked at her from the top of his horse, while she hid her gaze and fixed it on the unfolded bridge.
"Yes," Adelphine sighed.
"Do you want to come to my home? Sura also wants to see you."
Adelphine let out a bigger sigh than the previous one. "Yes, why not?"
Suddenly, she turned her back on Wil and moved in, with two peaches in her pocket, and the peach sack, now half empty, on her right shoulder.
"Adelphine?" Wil heard her breathe heavily. "Adelphine, are you okay?"
"Yes," she said, wiping her eyes. Her voice was nasally, although she tried to calm herself. She could not.
"Adelphine, why are you crying?"
"It's nothing, Wil. See you next week," she said and ran to the door without turning around to enter and lock herself up as if running away from a wild beast.
***
"Will you read me the letter or what?" Kaunas protested.
Adelphine wiped her tears once more and looked out the window. She felt that her life was about to end, and she feared she would not see the sun set on the plains ever again.
"You did not cry for Dad and yet you are going to cry for a letter?" Kaunas said.
"Kaunas…" Adelphine wiped her nose.
"Come on, are you going to read it?"
Adelphine threw the letter, and Kaunas caught it clumsily.
"Let's see," he said and began to read.
Your Highness, Madame Adelphina Magdala Holsztein-Wieszc.
We extend our deepest condolences for the passing of your father, the late Vytaulas, Duke of Varunas.
And from the honors with which the lady is revered in the circles of mystical knowledge; and the knowledge and prestige you possess in the detection of the spiritual vibrations of various metals, the Ambassador of the Navgarodian Empire, Rudmentkin Maltov, invites your honor to participate in the company that investigates deposits of blue gold in the imperial territories. You are requested to meet with the official government cortege in the Monument for King Mindaugas, on the twentieth day after the September Equinox, Year Two-hundred of the Navgarodian Empire.
Imperial cooperation
King Jogälion Viras
High King of Navgarod. Yaroslav Navesk.
"What the hell am I going to do?" Adelphine moaned. "How am I going to say no? It’s been signed by two kings!"
"Navgarod? The East?" Kaunas said, his face whiter than paper and his eyes and mouth wide open. He threw back his head. Adelphine tilted her head back, her eyes open and problems turning over her head.
One thing was to abandon her brother, another was to fulfill her promise, another was that she had no idea what the spiritual vibrations were, what the blue gold was, and how she had ended up being invited by kings as an expert in something she did not even know existed.
Chapter VII:
The rebellious son
"Sire, please open the door." It was the voice of a servant. Édoard Siwelzac, however, rested his head against the pillow and wished the earth would swallow him.
"I'm very sick," said Édoard in the hoarse voice of someone newly awakened. And he was right, after that day, every Monday of recounting in his father's court, his stomach churned. He stayed in his room the whole day, biting his nails and peeking out the window so he would not feel suffocated.
Suddenly, the knocking on the door grew louder, like dice in the armor glove, and he heard the voice of Indaraz, the captain of his father’s guard.
"What's up, stud? Are you going to let your father do all the planning?"
"I don’t feel well," said Édoard. "I think it's because of something I ate."
"Don’t be a coward! We eat the same things, and look at me! I’m having the time of my life!"
"I'm..." He coughed. "I’m very sick, ask the man who cleans the latrines."
"And sitting in court, like a lady, is unbearable to you?"
"I must rest. Tell my father I'm still sick."
"Stop crying like a baby! If you were not Siwelzac's son, I'd beat you to death. Good thing I was not your instructor!"
Something in the mind of Édoard said face him, but the will of his heart was to throw himself from that window, or return to the academy. Yes, life had been exquisite for him while he was training in the Brightlands, far west; he wished he had never come back to reality and remembered how mad his father really was, and how crazy his counselors and generals were.
He remembered what the priest said the last time he offered the Spring sacrifice. Fulfill your duty as a son and warrior, fulfill your duty. It was easy to say. But was it his duty to be a savage and to treat people like scum?
"Fine. I'm coming, Indaraz," he growled finally and stood up.
He looked at himself in the pristine mirror next to his bed. His hair was ruffled, but he ignored it. He did not take off his white tunic, but instead he put the armor on top, with the white breastplate engraved with the blue tree and the sumptuous cloak. He moved his neck from side to side and it creaked.
He opened the wooden door and found Indaraz in front of him, with a grimace of disgust, which seemed to try to hide the contempt he had for his boss’ son.
"Let’s go," Édoard muttered.
The sun went through colored glass in that room built in dark wood, in the style of the ancestors of the clan. At the front were three jesters doing tricks, one with a big mustache in the style of his father, with a brass armor and a sword of wood, in front of him, a bearded dwarf with false horns on his head struggled with him.
"And so, Galiam Siwelzac defeats the farting dwarf of Yorek!" said the third buffoon, while the dwarf turned and another assistant imitated the sound of a fart.
A group laughter echoed, which included Indaraz walking beside Édoard. He smiled. In the meantime, a pale, snow-haired figure clad in blue, coughed with laughter and spat in a bucket on the floor. He stretched his back against the padded throne and coughed again, trying to catch his breath.
"Look who deigned to go down," said the man, the real Galiam Siwelzac, with a brittle voice and almost incomprehensible consonants because of the only three teeth he had. He looked at the buffoons and clapped his hands. "Good job! This story will be perfect to open the City Theater of the West-Wing."
Édoard bowed his head reverently, but wanted to cringe in embarrassment.
"I greet you, Father," he said, his eyes fixed on the floor.
"Come here, so I can see you better, flesh of my flesh!"
Édoard swallowed and walked toward his father, beside the dark throne and the silver eagles that adorned the armrests.
"Where have you been, my son?"
"I was sick, Father."
"It hurts that you do not want to come. Did anything happen? What did they do to you in the Brightlands so you do not want to follow your father's path?"
"Father, I am more than happy to continue with your work. It's just..."
"What is the problem, my son?"
His father pulled him close to his chest and wrapped him in his arms. Édoard sighed. He knew that if he really said what he thought, things would only get worse. His father was stubborn beyond reason, but he had to free himself of the weight in his heart.
Better be as h
onest as possible, he thought. After all, he was his father’s son.
"It’s the methods, my father." He lifted his head and looked into his eyes.
"What methods do you speak of, my son?"
Édoard freed himself from his father's frail arms and stood up. "Can we talk later?" he whispered.
"What did you say, son? Why do not we talk about it now? Are you ashamed of your words? Why not here, with all our wise counselors and friends?"
Édoard swallowed. "No, my father."
"Then? Speak. Which methods?"
Édoard took a deep breath, and looked at him in the eye. "You know, the pillaging, the robbing, the…accusing of innocents. You know the Varunas did not really steal that investment, don’t you?"
Galiam smiled with his three teeth and patted his legs, while the rest of his court followed it with laughter.
"Son! I do not know what they teach there in the Islands, but that's how things are done over here." He looked at one of the officers beside him, old Dhanus, and signaled him. “You, little one, bring the souvenir from last week."
"Yes, Your Highness," Dhanus said, and came back with a handmade necklace with white, flat ornaments, like seashells, but seemingly more fragile. Dhanus held them out in his hand, facing Édoard. He looked at it, and as soon as he understood what it was, he shuddered.
Those were human nails.
"This is taken from old Murugas. Do you remember Murugas?"
Édoard blinked. Was this really happening?
His father continued, "He said he did not have a good harvest. He had several sacks of wheat under the bed and the cheat had not told us. After crying, he said that the tax was very high and that we should forgive him. Sure, we forgive him, but we took this away from him." He laughed again.
Édoard nodded, his face pale and his eyelids trembling.
"What's wrong, my son, you look like you have seen a ghost?"
He took a deep breath. "It’s nothing, Father."
"Well, if you do not like how I treated the guy, I have to be honest with you. This is the business. Just listen to this wonderful, happy ending: Murugas gave us what he had under the bed, his production is twice what we expected. And he's going to remember, you know? That is the good thing. Without the methods, people do not remember."
Édoard nodded painfully.
"Now, let's go back to business." Galiam addressed other members of his court. "The work seems good to me, but it needs a bit more development in the characters, do you understand? The flatulent dwarf must be more... You know, it must be easier to hate him. Like what you did with the Varunas story, Sir Reynhard."
The dwarf in the yellow suit said:
"Yes, good master. I believe we can make him…dislikeable. May I suggest turning him into a deviant?"
Galiam stroked his beard.
"Make him kidnap an innocent woman, or something like that. More than one. Three at least."
Édoard took a step back without being able to concentrate on his father, picturing the old miller Murugas howling like a wolf and his nails being torn out without mercy. He felt like vomiting and made a face.
"Son? Are you okay?" His father looked at him worriedly.
"My stomach hurts, Father."
"Ah, yes, you said you're sick."
"Yes, Father."
"Well, but I want you to be here for this council, because you will take care of these orders." He snapped his fingers and pointed to a couple of boys. “Bring a chair for this boy."
The servants put a chair behind them and seated the stiff Édoard in front.
"How many showings for the play?" asked a paunchy courtier.
Siwelzac grimaced. "One. Make sure the theater is full. Then we do another one. But draw posters and stick them on the street! You know! We must prepare one on the Varunas, it will be a success! By the way." He looked at Édoard. "Boy, in two months, you'll go to charge Varunas. Did you investigate how they are doing?"
"F-f-father. You know, I do not think we can collect from their crop. It's just that, when we were there...we burned the vineyards. There was nothing left. And the last time I went to the village someone told me that a doctor cut the boy's leg."
"That's not a problem." His father grinned. "I wish I'd been there when the poor ginger had that horse stepping on him! And there is always something to take away, no matter how severe the drought is."
Édoard stared at the floor.
"Do not worry, son! Two and a half months are left for you to charge the Varunas."
"Father. But if they cannot pay, what do we do? Do you not think it's convenient for us to wait a little longer?"
Galiam looked at his court and laughed until tears came to his eyes.
"Son. You still do not understand. It is not about money, nor grain. That money will not be recovered, even in twenty years."
"So? What is it, Father?"
"There are people that must be kept on the ground and not be allowed to stand up."
"But... Father. Why?"
"You know, if you don’t discipline a dog, he will ruin the carpet. If you do not give him a couple of lashes, he will not behave well. You have to keep those people in their place."
"Why? What have they done?"
"If the lost cargo does not deserve a whipping, I do not know what would."
"Father, but they did not do anything wrong. It’s not their fault. And if Varunas owed it, why do his children have to pay...?"
"A clan is like a body. One dead is a severed leg, but with one leg, it can still move. Without the legs, you can move with your hands, but it will not go very far. We do not have to kill them, but we can keep them crawling forever."
"But…"
"Well, going back to the subject. They say they saw Varunas's daughter in the city. It seems that the other time she got out. But it will not happen again, son? She also has to be taught a lesson."
Édoard felt his heart stop for a moment.
"Sir," a courtier raised his voice. "I heard something while I was at the king's palace. That girl is leaving the city, they mentioned her in an expedition to the East."
"What?" he coughed. "Sure, she thinks she can make money that way. This is a surprise, my children. Well, she will not get far... Going to the Easterlands is a desperate measure. And it will leave the poor ginger alone. Such carelessness! Someone could enter his house and... Who knows? If I were her, I would not leave his side." He laughed. "Maybe we can pay her a visit. It would not be a bad idea."
Chapter VIII:
Journey to the East
A week later, Wil and Adelphine rode back to Vilnas under a wind that howled with fury and dragged dry leaves and dust. The horse trotted forward with its head down, under the weight of a wooden chest and bags holding Adelphine's belongings, while her thoughts wandered adrift. It was the day she would leave, perhaps, not to see her brother again, nor the cow Avza, nor her castle, until gods knew when. No matter what distracted her thoughts, those facts hovered over her heart like a yoke.
Wil kept asking her questions like there was no tomorrow.
"Adelphine… So. Where are you going that you do not tell me? Come on. What’s wrong?"
She sighed.
"Further. Are you going to my house today, yes or no? Sura has been preparing a stew for you since last night. Are you going or not?"
"Yes," Adelphine sighed.
"And where are you going with so many things?" he insisted.
"I'm going away, Wil. Far away."
"That's what you've said thousands of times. Where? Come on, Adelphine, tell me. Are you going to work in Wodania? If so, I have an uncle near the Garden of the Beasts, and I can visit you."
"No, Wil, I'm not going to Wodania. I'm going somewhere else. I want to tell you, but I cannot."
"What’s wrong? What do you mean you cannot tell me? I will find out anyway."
"Yes," she sighed, "but I cannot tell you. It just doesn’t feel right."
"Why?" Wil's voice seemed increasingly de
sperate.
"No reason."
"And you will return?" he asked, disenchanted.
"I hope so," she said. And she really felt it.
"When? Tell me, Adelphine!"
"I do not know, Wil. Do not ask me about this, please. I cannot say more."
Suddenly Wil pulled the reins, and Perkunas stopped. "Adelphine. Get off the horse."
"What?" she said, outraged, and with good reason. What did he think, that by helping her he felt worthy to receive her secrets?
"Tell me where you’re going! Why don’t you talk to me? Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? I try to be your friend, but you don’t let me. You approach me only because I have a horse and I can take you from one place to another, but you do not care about me, nor what I think, nor let me help you."
"It's not like that, Wil! Do not think that! Also, you offered me help. Does the fact that you keep a secret have to do anything with it? Also, Tara said I should not tell anyone."
"Why you do not trust me? No, I do not want you talking about throwing stones. You're right in that, I accept it, but I've tried to change the way I act and the way you see me. I want you to get to know the real me!"
"And I believe you. The way I see you has certainly changed. Now I know you better. But my life is not happy, nor rose-colored. Bad things have happened to me, only bad things and nothing else. Now, worse, I have to go and leave my brother alone, knowing that there are bad people who want to hurt him."
"And why do you go?"
"Because I made a promise."
Wil turned his neck to see Adelphine more firmly and took her hand. She pushed it away slowly.
"Don't go, Adelphine!" said Wil. "It's a mistake. I can help you too, and I'm sure your aunt will help you. You can work with us, you can bring your brother home, we can take care of him."
"No, Wil, I cannot."
"Adelphine..."
"You want to know?" she said determinedly. "But do not tell anyone. Can you promise me?"
"Who could I tell?"
"Your sister. And it is not that I don’t trust her, but sometimes you trust someone and suddenly, everyone knows it."
