Chapter Eleven - Balthus
THE WOLVES THAT had carried Bettery and Jestin to Forge Gate bolted past us to join their pack as the ominous gates to the mountain town opened.
The deep brown gates were comprised of huge columns of wood, with deadly spikes serving as an ominous warning to anyone daring enough to climb to the top. It would have been impossible to get either in or out of Forge Gate without passing through the gate. Forge Gate had a very different persona from the ethereal mysticism of Thistlewick or the pleasant and blithe character of Blossomdown. Instead, Forge Gate was sturdy. Its stone houses built into the mountain, reinforced with extra security measures such as huge iron shutters exterior to the wooden doors and windows. Imposing Worlen guards stood, posted at various intervals around the mountain.
The only building without shutters had a weathered wooden sign stating ‘Inn’ hanging from crumbling masonry work. The cobbled streets wound upwards towards an portentous looking manor house that sat comfortably half way up the mountain. It was the very last structure and by far the most magnificent. It was also, where Jestin would be. I set off up the winding path toward it but Merl caught my arm shaking his head to signal that this was not our intended destination.
The inn was as dilapidated inside as its signpost had promised. This however, did not seem to bother the numerous Worlen men and women who had packed into the building. Merl led me over to a seat in the far corner and sat me down without any body paying much attention to us.
“Sit here and do not move, I will go and procure us a room.” He barked. I nodded in acknowledgement as he disappeared off into the crowd. I surveyed the room, most of the occupants of the inn were male, unshaven and terrifyingly muscular but some were women. The Worlen women were somehow very different from what I had expected a female werewolf to look like. They all had short-cropped hairstyles with varying kinds of decorations adorning their heads. It was the only jewellery visible on them. One woman in particular, with a thinly twisted emerald headband grabbed my attention. She had the same green eyes as Jestin and the same stoic yet knowledgeable demeanour. She sat quietly in a group of rowdy males who were singing, from what I could gather, in honour of a former Worlen General.
‘The ballad of Balthus the strong and true
A greater soldier we never knew
A mighty General, his victories many
He has fought the strongest of Worlen enemy
His appetite sated with the bloodiest meat
His tactics in war, never retreat
Many a maiden has attempted, impeded
Only the maiden of war has ever succeeded
For pride of our army and love of our queen
Defied direct order, to rescue our name
So raise up your tankard, your shield and your claw
For our General Balthus, give mighty applause.’
With the conclusion of the song, the drunken males all lost their footing and crashed into the table breaking it clean in two. No wonder this place was such a mess. The proprietor did not even break his conversation with Merl to come and survey the damage. I guess this sort of thing happened on a nightly basis. One of the males held out his hand to the female who helped him back onto his seat.
“Thanks Elba, as strong and true as you father, the mighty Balthus himself.” The drunken male was slurring every word.
“Well I’m glad you see fit to come here and drink yourself into oblivion whilst your current General, that you profess to love just as dearly lays in the manor, still stricken after being brought here so close to death.” She snapped back.
The accusations that the female threw at the drunken male hit me hard in the gut. Jestin was alive yes, but he was also still hurt and I was here, not allowed to go to the manor and comfort him.
“Bah, it will take more than an adder to off Jestin, greatest General our army ever had.” The male was confident in his words even in his drunken state. His demeanour suddenly changed, he crept closer inwards towards Elba, his voice lowered. I strained closer in also, quietly moving my seat further left to hear the now private conversation.
“There are rumours Elba, about why Jestin has been on a visit to Thistlewick.” The male was attempting, rather unsuccessfully to whisper.
“Jestin was in Thistlewick as an official guard to Idris, you know that Cain.” Elba retorted.
“Ha! Jestin hates Idris just as much as the rest of the army does. No, no there have been whisperings around camp that somehow an heir is in Falinn Galdur and that the witch will come back for them.” Cain’s voice was full of suspicion.
“And you believed that did you Cain? I think it’s about time you gave up the mead.” Elba laughed confidently in reply.
“Well I’ll tell you one thing,” a drunken hiccup interrupted Cain’s speech. “If there is an heir here, I will rip their head clean off their body before that foul witch has a chance to get her hands on the precious heart.” His words came out with such drunken vehemence that he spat at anyone sitting with in a meter radius.
My heart began to pound, I was not safe here. What if they realised that it was me whilst I was here sat in the very same room as them? I stuck out like a sore thumb and travelling with Merl, they were sure to know the truth. Panicking I rose from my seat and began to look for the exit. Merl was nowhere in sight, he must be upstairs paying for our rooms. I pushed through the crowd, most of who were now beginning to notice my presence. This made me panic even more and in desperation I leapt over one of the tables clambering for an exit. A heavyset guard, equipped with a mighty looking club blocked my exit and followed my movements when I tried to sidestep him. I could hear mutterings from the room behind me,
“The heir, that’s her.” The suspicious Cain had spotted me instantly.
“She nearly killed the General!” The cry came from an unrecognisable source somewhere further back in the crowd.
The guard at the doorway pinned my arms to my side before I had time to process my awful predicament. Cain rose from his seat, his nostrils flared in anger as his claws emerged from the tips of his fingers.
“Hold her, I will cut her throat.” His tone had become murderous.
I wriggled trying to free myself from the powerful grip of the guard but his fingers curled tighter in a vice around my arms. Cain approached with his hand held up ready to strike me. I hoped when he slashed my throat that I would die quickly. I wished that Merl had taught me a defensive spell that hadn’t required me to relax. Something that was clinically impossible in my current situation.
Cain’s eyes widened, not in anger but in shock as the guards iron grip finally freed my arms. I pulled my bow defensively and aimed it at his heart before I looked around. The guard who, seconds before had stood around six and half feet tall, was now lying motionless on the floor. The instrument that had felled him, his own heavy club, was on the ground next to him. My savior had tightly curled black hair, stubble sparsely spread across his manly jaw line and dazzling emerald eyes. He was a tower of a man, with gigantic arms and legs and a frame that made him nothing short of intimidating. I was not scared of him though. His most endearing feature was his friendly smile. In this dark and foreboding place, his smile was a warm radiant beam of sunlight.
“Pleased to meet you Violet, I’m Balthus.” He stated in a booming voice.
Merl was furious when he realised what had almost happened, even a group as fierce as the Worlen’s in the inn did not object during his rant of profanities as we exited. Balthus seemed to find the whole situation highly amusing, still chuckling as he showed us into his modest town house.
I was surprised that a former General, held in such high esteem as Balthus was, was not allowed to live in the manor house with his brother the king. Elba, his daughter, took a seat at the withered oak table across from me, glaring intently. I wondered if I had done something to offend her, did she think the same thinking as the majority of people on the island. That if the witch Agrona was going to rise, then I, as an heir and in
tegral part of her murderous plan, must be killed before that could happen therefore stopping Agrona from being able to use my heart to complete her own. I avoided Elba’s gaze, finding comfort in the familiar features of Balthus. It was unmistakable how much he resembled Jestin. Yes, he was slightly rounder, his hair reaching his shoulders making it longer than Jestin’s and he was at least a half a foot taller, giant-like almost. It was the eyes, the green emerald eyes. They were so reminiscent of the only person I would stay in this godforsaken place for. This resemblance had stopped me from bolting as soon as the guard was no longer detaining me. He smiled across the table at me but addressed Elba,
“Now, Elba is this how we treat our guests?” He questioned.
Elba shot up from her seat and stormed out of the house slamming the iron shutter against the wooden door to register her disapproval at my presence.
“Never mind my adopted daughter. I’m afraid she has inherited my temper.”
Of course, Elba was adopted. As Jestin had said, it was not permitted for a General to marry or to have children. The Worlen people thought that to allow a General to form a family, would pose a significant threat to the safety of their kind. The idea was that if a General had no one to loose then he would be a stronger fighter. I liked the fact that Balthus had chosen an altogether more human approach to life after all, maybe having someone to fight for made him a better General than the rest. In any case, Elba did not like me and she was not trying to hide it. My silent contemplation was broken by Merl who was noisily complaining that he hadn’t slept properly since Thistlewick, this was not true of course he had slept like a baby the night on the moors but I was not about to point that out to him in the foul mood he was now in.
“Please Merl take my room, I have a comfortable bed lined with the thickest bear hide. I’m sure you will sleep well up there.” Balthus offered generously. Merl nodded his thanks and disappeared up the narrow staircase. This house seemed far too small for someone as large in stature as Balthus. When Merl was out of view, my curiosity got the better of me,
“I don’t mean to seem rude but how did you come to find Elba? I mean it’s so strange, she looks such much like you and Jestin.” It was an uncharacteristic intrusion but I couldn’t help but wonder.
“She was left in my doorway one night. She was just a small baby. I took her in.” Balthus stated very matter of fact, his huge, confident smile never leaving his face.
“And you didn’t think to give her up? I mean because of your position and everything?” I pressed.
“No, the thought never crossed my mind. She was left for me, so that I could take care of her. I wouldn’t disrespect a desperate mother’s wish by passing her on. As for her resemblance to Jestin and I, well that is just a coincidence” He replied.
With every word that left his lips, my admiration for Balthus grew, I could tell why everyone who knew him held him in such esteem. Although there was a certain defensive tone to the latter part of his comment that made me think there may be more to it than what he was willing to tell me, or perhaps he was just sick of having to explain over the years.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to pry.” I stated, hoping I hadn’t offended him.
“You are not the first to ask, you will not be the last.” He said, his smile reassuring me that I hadn’t.
“I think it’s admirable that you left your post for the love of your child.” I stated honestly. I knew how much being General of the Worlen army had meant to Jestin I didn’t doubt it probably had meant just as much to Balthus.
“I didn’t, not to say that I wouldn’t have if it had been required of me, but I was allowed to continue my post. Elba came with me to the battles, I kept her from harm as much as I could, that didn’t stop her storming the field on a couple of occasions and hitting at Gnarls with her small sword…” Balthus beamed with pride at the remembrance at his daughter’s reckless bravery and then snapped back to reality “No, I had to leave my post because I disobeyed orders from the king, pompous idiot that he is. I wasn’t just going to leave her there at the mercy of the Gnarls to be killed by that witch.” He almost spat out the word witch in disgust.
“Leave who? Elba?” I asked interested, had the Gnarls kidnapped his daughter? The thought of Ebla, although she clearly hated me, being spirited away quietly in the night by the awful creatures terrified me.
“No not Elba, they wouldn’t have gotten near enough to her before I ripped their miserable heads off. They took Deltrina our queen, Agrona imprisoned her and almost starved her to death. The king would not allow her rescue.” Balthus remained cool in his reply. But it was almost too cool, as if he had practiced this evenness in his obvious anger for many years.
“The king wouldn’t allow his own wife to be rescued?” I was shocked, how could someone who had raised the brave, kind and selfless Jestin be so cruel?
“Why?” I continued astounded.
“Pride.” Balthus replied frankly.
I was shown to Elba’s room to stay in that night. She was not returning, she had sent message to her father that she would be staying with the soldier Cain, who had tried to murder me in the tavern. It was yet another obvious statement that I was not welcome here. I didn’t mind. I had a comfortable animal hide bed to sleep in that night and as tired as I was, I could only feel grateful.
I spent the whole of the next day sat up in Elba’s bedroom listening to the noises emanating from downstairs, hoping someone might visit with news of Jestin. The sounds that came from the lower floor consisted of the usual clatters and clangs of household instruments being utilised or occasionally Balthus letting out a thundering laugh but other than that, no one came through the front door that day. The only person to leave the house was Merl and that wasn’t until very late in the evening. I guess he went looking for Bettery, or to check on Agrona’s body, maybe it was both. I decided I’d wasted enough time that day and I would use the remaining empty hours to practice my spells. First, I would need to clear a space in the small yet claustrophobically cluttered room.
The room was strange for a teenage girl, well strange for what a complete outsider to the island, like me, may have expected a teenage girl’s room to look like. I’d become accustomed to the type of furniture in the room, it was fashioned from natural wood, the same as most furniture in the households of Falinn Galdur. Elba’s bed was thickset and plain, her deliciously comfortable brown bed-sheets were fashioned from some kind of animal hide. I could imagine Dahlia being morally opposed to these sheets. She was a strict vegetarian usually but the rules were different on Falinn Galdur, even in my short time here, I’d realised that no animal died in vain like in the world I came from. The furniture might have been standard for the location, but the room was odd because of the artefacts within.
In contrast to the wonderfully cosy bed, every other item that took most of the remaining space in the room had some kind of battle connection. From the bloody shroud that hung on the wall, to the huge axe that rested against the small sash window or the solitary book balancing tentatively on the window frame entitled ‘How to kill your enemy in three short steps’, the room screamed out belligerence. When I really thought about it, it was hardly surprising that Elba would have these kinds of objects casually lying around her room. She was the daughter of the former General of a Werewolf army; she wasn’t likely to have a room full of fluffy teddy bears I suppose. Still, the shroud threw me a little. It seemed to have the imprint of a face upon it, as if it had been used in battle to wrap up a severed head. Why anyone would want this horrible item next to them as they slept was past my comprehension. It was gruesome beyond my usual threshold for gruesome. I would have taken it down but I didn’t want to impose my presence in the room, that would definitely anger Elba if she happened to walk back in. Plus, I didn’t really want to touch the bloodied shroud. I decided that I would try to make it disappear, at least that way I could pretend it wasn’t there. I would only do this at the end of the night and then make it reappear i
n the morning. First I had to practice. I picked up the arrows strewn casually across the floor, and placed them in a slim black quiver that rested against the bottom of the bed. I pushed a small triangular shield, imprinted with huge claws marks, under the bed. I had made enough space to focus the energy of the earth and I would put every object back in its carelessly considered place when I’d finished.
I held up my outstretched palms toward the shroud and whispered the word ‘Cela.’ I felt a familiar tingle of energy course through the flats of my feet and make its way through my veins, toward my hands. As it did so, the shroud before me vanished. The desired effect of making the horrible shroud disappear achieved, I gave myself a nod in congratulations. I was about to bring it back again just to make sure I could, and before I settled for the night, when I heard the front door click to a close.
It was a deliberate attempt to close the door as quietly as possible so that no-one was disturbed. However, Merl’s effort to be uncharacteristically quiet was in vain after he stumbled over something in his path and swearing loudly he slammed the door to the living room in annoyance. After a few minutes, I heard his usual thunderous snoring from the lower floor. I was surprised that Merl had seemingly returned alone. I was expecting him to bring Bettery back with him. I was a little worried that she hadn’t returned yet. I reassured myself with the fact that if Bettery was in any kind of danger, Merl would be there for sure. Exhaling deeply with the frustration of not knowing what was happening around me, I decided it was time to catch up on some sleep. I closed my eyes hoping to here news of Bettery and Jestin in the morning.
The sun burned brightly through the small sash window the next morning, waking me as its orange rays flooded the room. I pulled on my leather corset dress that was starting to pong a little, it hadn’t been washed properly since I’d plunged into the murky waters of Loch Du. I was tempted to go in search of Merl ‘s thick robe, the sun may have been shining but the morning air was cool. I restored the blood stained shroud before heading down the stairs, hoping that this day would prove more productive than the last. I was about to cross the threshold of the open living room door when a furious banging on the front entrance demanded my attention. I froze for a moment wondering if I should answer or not. The constant banging, that sounded as if it might split the door in half, did not desist. It was the banging of someone who urgently required attention. After a minute or so, I decided that I better go and acknowledge whomever it was that seemed so desperate to gain entry; maybe it was someone with news of Jestin. My mind raced as I approached the door. What if Jestin had died? It would explain why the banging was so frantic. With that thought bouncing its way around my mind, I practically flung myself at the door with a frantic sense of trepidation. Without a thought for caution, I pulled up the heavy bolt and threw back the door.
The face that stood to greet me was not a friendly face, nor was it the face of a bereaved Worlen soldier, grieving for his injured General. Instead the male stood before me now, cast a ramshackle yet towering figure of a man with a cause but without care. He smelt strongly of the mead served by the nearby inn. Swaying, he steadied himself, placing one gigantic arm on the side of the doorway. The cold morning air bellowed from his nostrils in a white vapour, giving him the appearance of a raging bull making him all the more menacing in his inebriated state. The stranger had a terrifying look of menace in his eyes.
“Can I help you?” The words left my mouth instinctively. As soon as I had uttered them, I felt a familiar frail arm pull me backwards into the safety of the house. Merl shoved his way into the doorway furiously.
“What the ruddy hell do you want?” He stormed. The large-framed muscular stranger was not afraid of Merl, who cast a slender figure by comparison. A crowd began to gather around the doorway as the passing people stopped, sensing that a standoff was about to take place.
“I want the heir.” The stranger slurred. “I will dispose of her, and then I will be a hero in all of Falinn Galdur.” The stranger spoke his last words as he stumbled backward into a passing Worlen child.
“Ah, well here you go then.” Merl stated casually, pushing me through the doorway and toward the drunken stranger. Confused, I allowed Merl to shove me out of the house, even the stranger seemed a little surprised at how easy it had been to obtain me. He gave a malicious smirk as he made a grab for my arm.
“Not so fast you feebleminded dolt.” Merl stated pulling me backward and pushing me behind him protectively. “Did you honestly believe that I would just give up my only surviving relative so acquiescently? Do you and you’re friends believe that acquiring the heir and ‘disposing’ of her will keep Agrona at bay forever?” The now offended stranger nodded defiantly. “Well allow me to caution you and your like-minded friends that it will not, and slaying an innocent young girl would render you all just as evil as the witch Agrona herself.”
“You would say that you raving old lunatic. I’m taking her with me, get out of my way.” The stranger had begun to raise his lumbering voice as he made a lunge toward were I stood in the doorway. Missing his target completely, he subsequently fell flat on his face.
“I will warn you for a final time, I have been patient with you because it is obvious that you are not in the correct state of mind, go home.” Merl’s patience was running out as he addressed the stranger now picking himself up from the ground. His warning fell on deaf ears as the stranger once again lurched for the doorway. This time he did not fall onto his face. This time he was caught mid-air by a powerful blast of magic from Merl. A bolt of glittering blue electricity surged toward his chest. Snaking around the terrified stranger’s substantial torso, the electricity formed a rope like bond that held his brawny arms tightly to his sides. Merl then manipulated the stranger up into the air well above the rooftops of the surrounding terraced houses. The Worlen people that had begun to gather around as the commotion began now gasped with shock as Merl flipped the stranger so that he was suspended upside down. His mammoth bulk cast a colossal shadow that no one in the crowd dare stand beneath.
“Merl put him down.” I pleaded. If the Worlen people disliked me before, they would surely hate me for this.
“I will indeed put this nincompoop down.” Merl began. “But let me first put down the group of miscreants, they seem to believe I have become some kind of pushover in my advanced age.” His voice was projected. Intending for the whole crowd to get the message, Merl stepped out into the street. “I will not allow the murder of my heir; I will shield her until there is no breath left in my body. I will eat a dragon’s scale before I allow any harm to come to her. Inform any of your kind, who might feel the same way as the clod you see above you, of this fact and nobody’s time need be wasted.” Merl released the stranger from his magical bonds and for one petrifying instant, allowed the stranger to free-fall from his position above the roofs, catching him at the last moment before he impacted with the ground. Lesson learned, the red-faced stranger trudged off toward a nearby alley.
Although Balthus, who slept through the events of the morning, prepared a hearty breakfast of fried egg and toasted bread, I didn’t eat a thing. I found my mind constantly flitting between anxiety about my presence in Forge Gate creating further conflict, concern for Jestin of whom I had heard nothing and worrying about Bettery, who had not returned yet. Merl, whose demeanour was usually quite cool and aloof, seemed to twitch uneasily in his seat with every passing hour that Bettery didn’t return. Eventually, sometime around mid-afternoon Merl rose from his seat and headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Balthus asked as he looked up from the worn steel-capped boot he was stitching back together.
“I’m going to collect Bettery from the manor.” Merl stated.
“You can’t merely walk into the royal manor Merl, it is heavily guarded.”
“I’m coming too.” I chirped in optimistically.
“No you ruddy well are not!” Merl replied.
“Neither are you Merl, think abo
ut what you are proposing please. No harm will have befallen her. My brother is an ignorant pig of a king but he is not foolish enough to hurt her.” Balthus reasoned. Merl was about to unbolt the door, completely ignoring Balthus’s plea for restraint when a tiny voice could be heard calling from the other side. The calling was accompanied by a slight knocking on the mid-section of the door, the knocking of a smaller person.
“Let me in, my legs deserve a good rest they do!” Bettery complained. Merl reached for the bolt and allowed Bettery to enter; he looked as relieved as I felt, that was until she hobbled uncomfortably through the door. She was paler than usual and tired. Her brown hair that ordinarily sat in tight curls on her head was limp and frizzy. Her dress and smock were ripped and dirty. She must have been through quite an ordeal the last couple of days she spent at the manor. Not that you could tell if you judged by the beaming smile she always wore on her face. Merl surveyed her dilapidated appearance with appal.
“My beard Bettery! Whatever have they done to you?”
“Oh, it’s nothing to get concerned about it isn’t.” Bettery deflected the question. “Now Violet deary, come and rub my feet for me, they are aching they are.”
“Of course.” I smiled, pulling up a chair for her as she made her way to the living room.
“I’ll butter you some bread, a little cheese too?” Balthus asked kindly, he was just as concerned for Bettery as Merl and me.
“Yes please deary.” Bettery allowed herself to be waited on, this was highly unusual indeed. I pulled her legs onto my knees and began to rub her feet softly. As I did so I noticed faint marks around her ankles, they were the kind of marks that might have been left by shackles. Merl, who registered my sudden surprise walked over to inspect the marks himself.
“That does it. I’m off to put a hex on the king; I shall see you in a short while.” Merl once again headed in the direction of the front door.
“Come back here Merrydian. You’ll do nothing of the sort you won’t!” Bettery was the appalled one now. I was as angry as Merl about Bettery’s mistreatment at the manor, but now was not the time to wage war on the Wolen king. Merl walked grumpily back into the room and perched darkly on a nearby stool. There was only one person in existence who Merl would take orders from and she had used his full name, that meant she was highly serious and he knew it.
“Any news of Jestin?” Balthus came back into the room and handed Bettery a buttered crust of bread accompanied by four large blocks of yellow cheese.
“Yes deary, he’s on bed rest. It was touch and go at one point but he seems to be recovering now he is.” She was replying to Balthus’s question but looking at me reassuringly. Was it that obvious?
“Do you feel a little better now?” I asked.
“Yes deary, thank you. My aching feet feel much better now they do.” She smiled gratefully.
“Right well, I’m going to lay down a while.” I made my way to Elba’s comfy bed, pulled the fur covers over my head and cried. My tears were neither happy nor sad they were tears of relief. Both Bettery and Jestin were safe and alive. I was so used to internalising my emotions that even I hadn’t realised just how tightly I had wound myself up since my mother-figure and the man I loved rode away on the wolves. The liberating cathartic release I felt in this moment was going to be short lived, I was well aware of that. Soon I would be the one fighting for my life, my monster not a giant snake yet, by all accounts, an even deadlier enemy. Judging by the memory of Rosamaylind’s ethereal breath dancing around the throne room in Thistlewick it seemed it was my destiny and there wasn’t much I could do about it. Soon but not yet and for now, I would allow myself the tears. I would allow myself to fall apart if only briefly.
Now that had returned, the already small house was crowded to capacity. I was glad that Bettery was back and that Elba had chosen to stay away. Otherwise, we would have practically been living on top of one another. That would have been nothing other than disastrous. Merl decided we should use our stay here; he still did not define a time period for our stay or even offer an honest explanation as to why we had come in the first place, to learn another spell. Practicing magic was strictly outlawed in Forge Gate after Agrona, so we decided to practice on the moor just beyond the gate.
Merl taught me a repairing spell. I had to touch the broken part of an object, which in this case was a twig, snapped in two, and state ‘mendia’. It wasn’t important how the word was said, just that I had contact with the broken part of the object so that I could channel the energy required to heal it. People couldn’t be healed by the spell, but it worked on most other things. I picked up a rock that had broken in two as it had fallen from the mountain, and watched in amazement as both sides reunited at my touch. Spinning the now reformed rock in my hand, I wished Merl had known a spell that could banish nightmares. Not that he would have taught me it anyway.
I had been dreaming of the field every night since we came to Forge Gate, the dream, the message, attempting to pull itself back into the forefront of my mind. I had to face the reality that it would eventually play itself out or I would never have a normal night’s sleep again. That night I resigned myself to let it in, no matter how gruesome the dream became, I would observe, looking for even the smallest detail of who the traitor maybe. It was what Merl wanted and I owed it to him to, at least, try.
Screams! Loud piercing screams. The wicker necklace I was hiding was torn from my neck, and then it had me. Ripping and tearing at my chest cavity pulling me to pieces. Even the soft caress of the cool grass against my face, the peaceful babble of the brook behind me, provided no comfort now. I saw it, in the briefest of moments before I finally slipped away into blessed oblivion. My own white heart proudly beating in the hands of the traitor.
When I woke, my chest was bleeding. I had scratched deep red gashes into my own skin, trying desperately to cling to my heart, brutally ripped from my body. It wasn’t my body, it was hers now.
Merl sat protectively at the end of my bed. He had been just meters away from me in the adjacent room as I screamed out the death of his daughter. Had he relived the details with me? By the strained look on his face, I guessed he had. I felt awful, why couldn’t I keep my nightmares to myself? The feeling of guilt was compounded by the fact that, despite Gweniveev’s best efforts to leave an echo. An incriminating reverberation of the traitors face, I hadn’t seen it. It was too dark and her vision had been failing with the last beats of her heart.
“I’m sorry.” I stated. Merl was not angry, he seemed disappointed which to me, was a whole lot worse. He left the room retiring back to his bed.
It was mid-morning and Merl still had not returned from his chamber, I sat at the table; the nightmare was now haunting me in my waking hours. Merl had found his daughter, my ancestor, decimated in the field. Balthus threw a bowl of what looked like porridge on the table in front of me.
“Eat up girl. It didn’t sound like you had much sleep last night. You will need all the energy you can muster for today.” He smiled.
I didn’t touch the bowl or look up from the table.
“Why what’s today?” I asked.
“Today I’m taking you into the manor, through my own private entrance, of course.” He chuckled sneakily.
This news broke my self-indulgent stupor. Balthus was reminding me that as I sat here feeling sorry for myself, sorry over something that hadn’t even happened to me, Jestin was still in the manor, suffering. I met his gaze. He gave a co-conspirators wink that reassured me, after days of subtle pestering; I would be seeing Jestin again.
“When can we go?” I asked excited, it couldn’t be soon enough as far as I was concerned.
“Eat up.” He replied.
Balthus wasn’t welcome in the manor, he hadn’t been since disobeying orders from the king. However, this did not stop him from using its many secret passages he had known from childhood to steal from the manor’s kitchens and distribute the food to the poorest of the Worlen. He explained to me, as we
worked our way up the winding mountain pathways, that Jestin accompanied him on a couple of these journeys but Idris became suspicious of them. Jestin acted as look out since then, always making sure that Balthus was not spotted, as he crept around the manor grounds. I couldn’t understand why the sense of community that was so clear in both Blossomdown and Thistlewick, was so lacking in Forge Gate. At least not until Balthus explained that unpopular kings use tyranny to control their subjects, food rationing and heavy policing to make sure that there was no uprising against them. King Alphus was clearly unpopular, not that the Worlen people dared speak it aloud with all the guards that stood at every corner. Funny how many hushed conversations and private words can be overheard when you are trying to remain inconspicuous. Judging by popular opinion though, Idris far out-rated his father in the ranks of the hated. It was true what Jestin said about Idris relying on him to keep the Worlen people in his favour.
Eventually we emerged from a dark tunnel that led out into a large cupboard space. The cupboard was cold, fashioned like the rest of the manor out of the stone. Stone from the mountain itself. The rock, smoothed into an arch shape. There wasn’t much here other than a couple of muddied hunting boots and a black leather jacket. My jacket! We were in Jestin’s closet. I wanted to burst through the doors; I would have too if it had not been for Balthus’s strong grip on my arm. He raised his finger to his mouth signalling that I should be quiet. I listened and understood why. I could hear the unmistakable voice of that sneering leech Idris, coming from beyond the door. I couldn’t make out his words but whatever he had to say it didn’t matter to me anyway. After around five minutes, I finally heard a heavy door close. We listened a while longer, just to make sure that no one else had been in the room, before we entered. Balthus had explained on the way up to the manor that he wasn’t going to waste the journey so he headed off to the kitchen in order to procure some food to take back to the hungry. I sulked over to the huge four-poster bed I assumed must be Jestin’s. Thick green curtains were drawn, hiding its occupant away from the world. I wondered how the adder venom had affected Jestin. Would he still be the deathly, pale-blue colour he was when I last saw him? I put my hand on the curtains and hesitated, only for a second, before taking a breath and pulling them back. I was almost violent in my eagerness. Jestin’s eyes flickered open at the sound of the curtains being drawn. What had begun as a defensive snarl turned into a welcoming smile, as he quickly pulled me onto the large bed and drew the curtains behind us. His skin had regained its usual vitality and, judging from the force by which I was pulled onto the bed, most of his strength had returned too.
“Surely I’m dreaming.” He said, cupping my face in his hands to confirm my presence here was real. I responded with a kiss, our elation at being reunited overrode our caution at our present surroundings.
“I’m sorry.” I started to sob. An overwhelming sense of relief had reminded me that just a day ago I thought there was a possibility of a world without him. He wiped the tears from my face.
“Don’t be, I’m not. If I had died for you Violet, I would have died for a worthy cause.” He was so valiant in character, how could he be part of such a cruel family? Idris, that made sense, but not Jestin. We kissed again and then lay on the bed in perfect peace, I wasn’t sure how much time had passed only that it hadn’t been long enough, it could never be long enough when I was with him. So wrapped up in our reunion, we did not recognise the door had opened.
“Jestin? Who is with you my son?” It was the softly spoken voice of his mother. Waves of fear shot through me. Making me a rigid statue where I sat. There was no escape. She was just inches from where we embraced, guiltily on the bed. She pulled back the curtain, her golden coloured cropped hair reflecting the sparkling diamonds of her crown, her pale blue eyes innocent and doe like yet wise from her many years as a monarch. She was beautiful yet tortured. I only had a minute to drink in her radiant appearance before she dragged me from the bed propelling me with great force and rolling me across the floor. I was too stunned to react. Instead, I just lay in place under the bed, trying to make sense of my situation.
“JESTIN!” A new voice had entered but in contrast, this one belonged to an angry male. I looked toward the doorway to see the trail of a deep green robe enter the room behind the queen. It was Alphus, the king and he was terrifying in his temper.
“Have you been stealing from my kitchen, again? Your brother has reported at least two pheasants and a grouse have been taken.” He growled.
“And how exactly was I meant to have taken these things when I have not left my chamber?” Jestin was sharp with the king. I had never heard him speak with such disrespect before. King Alphus responded to Jestin’s insolence by throwing a huge, golden candelabrum across the room in rage before stalking out of the door defeated. The queen followed closely behind uttering calming but unfathomable reassurances to her now rampant husband as he careered down the corridor screaming Balthus’s name.
I edged myself from under the bed digging my hands into the hard wood floor in order to propel myself forward when I felt a familiar rough length of twine beneath my fingers. I spun onto my back to survey my discovery better. My necklace! Why was it here, under Jestin’s bed? Why had Jestin hidden it from me? There was only one explanation that made sense, but I didn’t want to believe it. Had he been planning to use it all along? Make me fall in love with him and then lure me to the gate so he could let in the Gnarls. What an idiot I had been. He was clever, so clever to play the hero when all along he had been the biggest villain of them all. The traitor, it was Jestin! The heat burst like flame, a fire of emotion rising up within my body. The anger and heartache I felt took the physical shape of the fist that was forming in my hand. As Jestin leaned over the edge of the bed to ascertain why I hadn’t appeared. I hit him, hard, my hand acting as a cathartic vessel for the hurt I felt at his betrayal. Whilst he was monetarily stunned, I scrambled from under the bed and shot like an arrow for the door. He made a grab at my ankle but I had darted down the corridor before he could catch me.
Flashes of gold and red walls, pictures of Worlen princes, dusty statuettes and busks of Worlen royalty, lined the corridors. I only saw them fleetingly as I bounded down the hall as fast as my legs could carry me. I couldn’t hear anybody behind me so I sanctioned myself a small recess to allow for the oxygen to once again fill my, now burning, lungs. I placed my hand against the wall, momentarily distracted by its softness before I became conscious that I was actually leaning against a picture of some sort. I surveyed the scene briskly, at first intending to set back off running as fast as I possibly could but the picture intrigued me. This wasn’t just any picture. This picture was inscribed with the words The Worlen Monarchy, The Defeat of Agrona.
The king looked solemn and true to his supposed miserable character. His shoulders hunched, his head bowed and his left hand crossed above his right. His blood-red cloak however, looked utterly unsympathetic. I noticed a shining pin of a crescent moon penetrated by a fang. He held a sprig of rosemary in his hand. I was sure Jestin had previously told me that in Worlen culture, it was a sign of loss for the dead. I found this very odd. The queen, who was noticeably thin and dangerously unwell, did not smile. This did not surprise me. I didn’t think I would feel like smiling if I had been left to the mercy of the most evil sorceress that ever lived, by my own husband. All because he was afraid, she had made him look weak. The young princes’ Jestin and Idris stood at either side of the royal couple. The picture, painted before the birth of Jestin’s younger brothers. Idris looked around the age of, what would have been, thirteen for a mortal human. Arrogant even at that age, with his self-satisfied smile, seemingly unaffected by the death and destruction Agrona had left in her wake. The other young prince, with his vibrant raven curls and his dazzling green eyes, seemed to be around eleven. Jestin! He was my Jestin, he hadn’t fooled me but I had been a fool. He couldn’t be the traitor, he was too young at the time of Gweniveev’s death to have been
the malevolent man in that field by the brook. Whoever the traitor was, they were here, in the castle. They had planted the necklace intending for me to find it. A blunt pain to the head and then my lights went out.
I felt a warm wetness spread across my cheek. Groggily, I put my hand up towards my face, wiping at the slimy substance. A hard wet nose nuzzled my hand, indicating the presence of a dog. I sat up on my elbows and shooed the gigantic wolfhound off my face. A whistle came from one of two huge four-poster beds similar to Jestin’s. The royal green curtains were open rather than drawn, pulled back by golden ropes and tied around the posts of the bed. On each bed sat a different version of the same boy. They were twins but not identical. Both of the boys had mid-length hair. Small curls licked their shoulders and they both had deep leaf-green eyes but that was where the similarities ended. The more confident of the boys had the same light-blonde hair as his mother. His frame was more muscular and he was slightly taller than the other boy who sat shyly on his bed. The second boy tenaciously avoiding my gaze, his dark brown hair hid most of his face. Unsure what to do about my presence in the room, he shifted uncomfortably. These were the youngest princes.
“Cay, go fetch our brother, tell him we’ve caught a Banshee scout in the halls.” Directed the blonde prince.
The brown-haired boy took off out of the door. I had to get up, who knew which brother the Cay had been sent to summon. If it was Idris, I was doomed. He would have me tried as an intruder in the royal manor. Balthus had told me on our way up that intruding into the royal home was a crime punishable by death here in Forge Gate. I reached for the bonds tied around my feet but the young prince growled his protest, a warning not to touch. I had left my bow back at the terrace house, underestimating how dangerous entering the manor might be. I would never have hurt the young prince but at least if I had my bow I might have been able to convince him to let me leave in peace. Cay re-entered the room panting.
“He’s here.” The words left his mouth at the same time that a bruised Jestin pushed open the door. He shut it quickly behind him, letting the wooden bolt fall into place. The blonde-haired boy spoke proudly,
“We caught her Jestin, snooping round the house, looking for you no doubt.” His lip curled slightly in anger. The radiance of Jestin’s smile, not spoilt by the small purple patch, sat just under his eye where I had punched him.
“Oh, yes I see a Banshee guard. Did you catch her by yourself Cavill?” Jestin’s tone was slightly mocking, in a non-maleficent older brother kind of way.
“I hit her on the head and Cay helped me drag her back here.” Cavill retorted proudly.
“I see and have you checked the eyes?” Jestin questioned.
“Why would I do that?” Cavill answered looking perplexed.
“Because brother, if you check our ‘Banshee scouts’ eyes you will realise that they aren’t lilac as a Banshees would be.” Cavill looked from me to Jestin and back again, his face blushed red in embarrassment. Jestin kneeled on the floor next to me and released my feet from the bonds.
“I must congratulate you however because you have managed to capture the person that did this.” Jestin pointed to the small but angry mark under his eye. Both boys raised their brows in surprise. I looked at the floor in embarrassment. How stupid could I have been? The necklace, obviously planted, and I had been so foolish as to believe, without question, that Jestin withheld it from me. I deserved to be tied up here. I was a raving lunatic.
“I’m sorry.” I managed to cough pathetically under my breath.
“I will take her away for further investigation boys, many thanks for your help in seizing our prisoner.” Jestin maintained his tone of mockery. I didn’t quite know if his teasing was aimed at me or his brothers.
We crept slowly down the corridor and back into Jestin’s chambers without anyone noticing. This time he bolted the door. He was grinning stupidly, revelling in my embarrassment,
“Do I get an apology?” He asked.
“I’ve already apologised to you.” I stated defensively.
“I mean a heart-felt apology.” He smiled his delicious smile. I knew what he wanted but I wasn’t going to allow him the triumph.
“I truly and sincerely am very sorry for my actions towards you on this day.” I smiled in my stubbornness but my victory was short lived as he pulled me in towards him, leaning in for another kiss. I was powerless to resist, eventually I pulled away feeling that I had to explain myself.
“I thought that you…” He held up his hand to stop me mid-sentence.
“I know, I saw the necklace after you ran out of the room. You’re fast you know, it’s probably a good thing.” He sounded impressed.
“Good for what, running away from psychotic witches who are trying to steal your heart?” I smiled. He simply smiled in return, obviously uncomfortable at my frankness, he did not reply.
“Why did your brother think I was a Banshee guard anyway? Are the people of Forge Gate so paranoid that they think every stranger is here to attack?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” Jestin looked puzzled.
“Don’t know what?” I answered.
“Dahlia’s father has been killed. He was found on the beach at Blossomdown, the Bobbin’s think a Gnarl has somehow managed to open the gate, a theory I agree with. The Banshees however think it is a werewolf attack. Queen Evangelista is beside herself and Dahlia hasn’t been seen for a couple of days now.” It took a few minutes for the information to sink in.
“I need to go to her, she’ll be devastated.” I replied. Poor Dahlia her father had been the only close relative she had before she met her mother. Now it was the reverse and I needed to be with her, to help her through. She would have done the same for me.
“You can’t, the Banshees have insisted that any unauthorised visit to Thistlewick Marshes will be considered as an act of war. Anyway, Idris is going back as diplomatic representative to try and convince the Banshees that it wasn’t a werewolf attack.” Anger flared up inside me again, my hands shook.
“The only person, werewolf whatever, I have met that is capable of murdering anybody is that creep. He’s not going near her again.” My voice was shaking.
“Idris is the only one who is able to go.” Jestin was adamant.
“What?” I had never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. “Why would you send Idris when he was probably the one who did it?”I was almost shouting now.
“That’s not fair Violet. Idris couldn’t have done it; he couldn’t have opened the gate. You’ve seen the portrait, my brother is an evil scheming demon but he’s not the traitor.” Jestin was right Idris wasn’t the traitor; he was too young just like Jestin. He couldn’t have opened the gate either without Merl or me present. The attack could quite easily have been the Gnarl that had watched me jump through the gate, maybe it had somehow worked out a way to open the gate without a key. So why did I feel it in my heart that Idris was the one who had done this to Dahlia’s father?
“Ok so let’s say that he didn’t do it, so what, we can still go there instead of him.” I pleaded.
“We can’t. The coach he is travelling in has already set out for Thistlewick.”
“Then we get there before him.” I was determined that he wasn’t going to get near Dahlia, not now, not ever. Jestin seemed frustrated, angry even.
“We cannot go Violet because the Banshees think that I killed Dahlia’s father and that you were the one that let me through the gate.”
Our conversation was brought to an abrupt holt by the heavy footsteps of someone running towards the room, had we been caught? Balthus burst through the doors, breaking the heavy wooden bolt in two. Carrying a plump looking pheasant under his arm, he guided me, dumbstruck, though the dark winding corridors under the manor.