The Echidna's Scale (Alchemy's Apprentice) (3 page)

“That was Lady Iasco, who is the leader of the whole Order of Ophiuchus,” Marco answered.  “She’s in control of the whole Order, so she is Folence’s boss.  She told us she came from a land far, far to the south, where I guess everyone has stripes like that.  Her brother did,” he added sadly, thinking of the sorcerer Iago.

They spoke further about the Lady, as Marco recounted some of his experiences with her, before he finally decided to tell Mirra what was on his mind.  “I’d like to go to Barcelon to do some shopping for some supplies for my alchemy workshop,” he informed her.

“Glaze was telling me he’d like to go back to the city for a visit.  Will you take him with you?” Mirra asked complacently.  She felt little desire to go to the city herself; the good life she lived at the castle was far, far better than any way of life she had ever experienced before, though like Marco, she tended to scandalize the staff by offering to help to do menial chores when she saw an extra pair of hands was needed.

“Sure, why not take Glaze?” Marco responded.  He had enjoyed getting to know Mirra’s older brother during the time they had spent together at Sant Jeroni.  Glaze had become enamored of the life of a huntsman, and Sheafeld, the incumbent huntsman at the estate, had generously spent much time with the younger man, showing him a great deal about the duties and responsibilities as well as the pleasures of the position.  But Glaze would also enjoy time back in the hustle and busy atmosphere of the city as well.

“We’re going hunting this afternoon, so I’ll ask him then, if I don’t see him before,” Marco promised.

After breakfast Marco and Mirra went for a ride with the steward of the estate, as Marco asked to visit the villages that bore fealty to his estate, and after lunch Mirra remained at the castle with Sybele as Marco moved out to the find the huntsmen.

Early in the
afternoon, Marco further practiced his archery, then joined the dozen other men who were along with Glaze and he on the hunting expedition.  Just behind the St. Jeroni castle, the mountain landscape began to grow rugged as the elevation of the land rose rapidly, cut by numerous ravines and valleys.  The hunters split up into two parties, and Marco found that the men of the palace were expected to drive game out into the relatively open spaces for him and Glaze to shoot at.  It was meant to be as easy as possible for Marco and Glaze to shoot some game.

And then they came upon a wild boar sow with a litter of nearly mature piglets.

Marco and Glaze were walking along a game trail, with the others out in front driving the game, when there was a shout, and then a scream, and then a warning.  And then the angry sow was visible and charging directly at Glaze and Marco, with a portion of her litter running behind her.

Marco fired off two arrows, both of which missed the angry creature, while Glaze struck her shoulder with an arrow that only raised her attitude from anger to viciousness.

With her speed, she reached them before they realized, and she sank a tusk into Marco’s calf, then turned on Glaze as Marco fell backwards, and she began to attack him.  Glaze screamed in pain and fear as Marco pulled his sword free while still on the ground.

He felt the confidence that the sword inspired in him when he held it going into conflict, and he ignored the pain in his leg to rise to his knees and – holding his weapon in his golden hand – he thrust the great shining blade forward into the ribs of the boar.  The animal’s angry squeals changed to sounds of pain and fear, and it turned away from the badly battered Glaze to fight against Marco.

Marco pulled his sword free as the sow swung around, but he took a tusk in his gut as he stabbed straight down through the animal’s shoulder, and his enchanted sword found a path through the flesh of the boar so that it could stab directly into the heart of the beast, as the half dozen piglets in its wake scattered into the wildness around the scene of the fight in response to their mother’s sounds of pain and fear.

The boar collapsed, dead.  Marco collapsed, seriously injured, and Glaze lay on the ground in great pain, only semi-conscious when the rest of the hunting party hastily arrived at the bloody spot in the forest.  The men immediately hoisted Glaze and Marco on their shoulders and carried the two men back towards the castle in a hurry, fearful that their lord might have taken a fatal wound.

Chapter 2 – The Fall

Marco awoke the next morning in considerable pain, with a high fever.  Mirra sat at his bedside, holding his hand and looking anxious and worn.

“Did you spend the night here?” he asked faintly.

“I did, dear.  You didn’t rest well,” she answered.

“And you swore to me that you wouldn’t come to my bedroom until we were married,” he teased her, reminding her of one of t
he conditions they had agreed upon when they reunited and decided to live in the castle.

“Marco, be serious!” she exclaimed, lightly smacking his shoulder in exasperation.  “You are badly injured.  There’s a doctor on the way from Barcelon right now to look at you.”

“How is Glaze?” Marco asked.

“He’s walking with a limp.  The boar got him in both legs with its tusks, but not deeply.  You apparently distracted it.  It’s a monstrously huge animal!  The huntsmen all marvel that you’re alive, let alone that you managed to kill it with just a sword.  They use spears when they’re hunting boars, they mentioned.”

Marco closed his eyes and rested.  “Would you go down to my workshop and bring me certain things?” he asked, and gave Mirra a list of the items he would need to create the healing powder that he suspected he needed as a result of his wounds.

Mirra returned ten minutes later.  “Marco, there are no labels on your jars.  I don’t know which is which,” she told him apologetically.

He momentarily cursed himself for not having labeled the containers.  He had told himself he’d wait until he had them all filled, and then label them all at once.  Which hadn’t happened yet.

“Do you need them right now?  Is this something that can wait until you heal?” Mirra asked.

“I need to prepare some solutions that will help me heal,” he replied.  He paused, and tried to sit up, then collapsed back in his bed, gasping from the pain that the movement had caused.  “Can you arrange to have me carried down to the workshop?”

She looked at him with a worried expression.  “Your wounds look severe, my love.  I don’t think you should move any more than necessary.”

“I can mix the necessary ingredients to treat the fever and the infection,” he told her.  “It’s what I need,” he added.

“I’ll go ask Perago,” Mirra said with resignation, rising from her seat.  “He’s very resourceful; he’ll come up with a solution.”  She bent to give Marco a kiss on the cheek, and then she was off to find the steward of the estate.

Marco grimaced in pain and lay back quietly then waited for an hour, dozing, until he heard the sound of several sets of feet approach.  Mirra led the way into his room, looking strangely pale, Marco thought.

Perago came in behind her – a man who stood out on the estate because he was inches taller than any other man, and a quartet of men followed, holding a wide wooden plank and a coiled rope.

“My lord, we understand that Lady Mirra has not been able to persuade you to remain quietly here in your bed and wait for the doctor to arrive,” the steward, a portly man of middle age spoke.  Marco nodded agreement.

“If that is the case, we can try to take you out on a plank,” Perago promptly answered.  “If we go down the stairs, we’ll have to turn and twist the plank to get around the curve in the staircase; it won’t be a pleasant journey for someone in your condition,” he said, and Marco tried to envision the contortions the impromptu stretcher would have to make.  It wouldn’t be easy, he realized.

“Or, we could tie you to the plank and lower you out the window, then carry you around to the back of the castle,” Perago offered, “if you don’t mind dangling in midair far above the ground.”

“Marco, it sounds too dangerous,” Mirra warned him.

“I have to have some compounds,” he answered gently, feeling the pain in his stomach from the damage the boar’s tusks had done.  “And I need to do it quickly,” he added.  “Take me out the window,” he told Perago.

“As you wish, my lord,” the steward agreed.

Ten minutes later the stout wooden plank had been tied beneath him and the coil of rope had been wrapped around him.  The four workmen cautiously lifted him atop the plank from the bed and moved to the window, where Perago opened the curtains and the glass, letting a cold breeze blow in through the wide window.

Marco lay with his eyes open, watching the ceiling of his room cross above him as the plank was lifted and moved, until he was set down next to the window, and the ropes were adjusted for the men to use to lower him outside, and a pulley was erected on a makeshift arm that extended past the wall.  The plank was lifted again, and Marco heard Mirra murmur, “Be careful,” as the cold air swept around him, and the blue sky appeared overhead outside the window frame as the plank was pressed out, then turned, and stopped in position hanging in midair.

“Larue, Hardes, you two go downstairs now to receive him,” Perago ordered two men, as the other two men still in the room began to slowly allow the plank to begin to descend.

Marco looked upward and saw the window frame come in to view above him, as Mirra’s head and shoulders projected out, looking down at him as her hair hung around her face in a curtain on the outward side, the wind blowing it across in front of her.  She looked down at him as he descended in one small step after another, each small jerk of the rope inducing pains that made him flinch.

“I love you,” she mouthed the words as he stared up at her, and he smiled in return.  Then he heard a cracking sound, and a look of horror crossed Mirra’s face as she held the hair away from her face and turned her head to look over at the wooden arm that held the rope carrying Marco in midair.

The wooden arm fell, and the plank Marco was riding on fell rapidly, then he faintly heard the sound of men shouting.  And he remembered nothing else.

Chapter 3 – The Temple on the Isle

“Is he ever going to wake up?” Glaze asked.

“His body needs to accept the healing we offer,” Folence answered.

Those were the first words Marco heard.

He opened his eyes and looked upward.  He recognized the ceiling overhead, the ceiling of the temple of Ophiuchus in Barcelon.

“He’s awake!” Glaze shouted.

“Sssh, for the love of God!” Folence angrily silenced the boy.

Marco’s eyes drifted to his left, where he saw Folence’s familiar face, next to Glaze’s face, only Glaze had long hair and a habit draped over his head.

He was puzzled, and tried to raise his hands to his face, only to find that his left hand would not move at all, while his right hand, the golden hand, fingers wiggled, but little else happened.

“What is happening?” he asked, unable to make any sense of the situation.

“Marco,” Folence said gently, “I’m so glad you’re awake.  We’ll do everything we can to help you,” she said with a sincerity and compassion that he had never heard from her before.

“Why am I here?” he asked.

“Do you remember the boar hunt?” Glaze asked.

Marco closed his eyes, and let his vague memories drift to the forefront of his attention.  “The boar gored us; it got me in the stomach,” he murmured.

“And then they tried to move you out of your room, but the pulley broke, and you fell to the ground,” Glaze explained.

“Your back was broken when you hit the ground,” Folence stepped in.  “You were brought here immediately and have been here several days.

“We’ve healed the wounds the boar inflicted; you’re getting over that,” she told him.  “But a broken back is serious, Marco.  We want to send you directly to Lady Iasco for treatment,” she explained.

“I can’t move,” Marco suddenly understood why he hadn’t raised his hand.  He tried to move his extremities, but felt no response, felt nothing at all.

“The break in your back was very high up, and you are paralyzed,” Folence gently confirmed.  “But there is hope.   As you know – as you’ve experienced – the Lady Iasco can accomplish great things in the temple.  If you’ll agree to let us send you, we’ll have a ship ready to take you as quickly as possible.”

Marco said nothing, stunned by the enormity of the injury that had befallen him.

“Let’s get you to this island and healed up as fast as possible, Marco,” Glaze urged.  “The snows will be falling soon, and I know you want to be back there with Mirra before the roads are impassable.”

“What other choices do I have?” Marco asked Folence.

She gently shook her head.  “None that I know of, Marco.  The lady and the island are your only hope,” the priestess said quietly.

“Can Glaze go with me?” he asked.  He wanted another male along on the trip; despite the openness Lady Iasco had shown, despite the protection Albany had given him, despite the care that the attendants at his last healing had given him, he desperately wanted to have another male along, to relieve his sense of isolation on the island of women.

“Marco!” Folence answered sharply.

“You’ve already got him dressed as a girl to come here,” Marco spoke immediately, then paused to gasp.  Breathing was harder than he realized.

“I’ll go with Marco,” Glaze spoke up.

Folence’s dark eyes shifted from one to the other, and she said nothing.

Two days later, they were aboard a special ship commissioned by Folence, carrying a female crew and the two passengers, and four days later the ship pulled into the harbor at Ophiuchus.

“You need to shave before we disembark,” Folence told Glaze sternly.  The young man’s beard was scraggly, but apparent enough that Marco agreed there was no way he could pass as a female on the island that so jealously guarded against any intrusion by men.

Grumbling, Glaze acquiesced, and by the time the ship pulled up to the dock, he was ready to demurely pass as a female nurse, and helped to carry Marco’s stretcher off the ship and onto the enchanted island that was the home and focus of the healing cult of Ophiuchus.  The small group passed without notice through the streets of the village, appearing similar to so many other pilgrims who had come to the island for extraordinary healing over the years.

Marco rode silently, staring straight up at the gauzy material that concealed him from the view of those on the streets.

He felt the stretcher travel and turn, and then it came to a stop, and he heard a knock on a door.

“How may we help you?” a voice – feminine, obviously – answered the knock.  “The pilgrims seeking healing should go to the hospice upon the hill,” the voice announced in a kindly tone.

The voice was familiar.  Marco recognized it, and tried to remember whose it was.  It was a younger voice, not a mature one like Albany’s.

“This is no ordinary pilgrim,” Folence answered.  “I am the Lady Folence of the Barcelon Temple, and I bring a special pilgrim that Lady Iasco will want to see, and tend to personally.”

“Yes, my lady,” the other voice said deferentially.  “I’ll show you to a room, and send a message to her eminence,” the other voice conveyed some doubt about communicating directly with Iasco, despite the polite words.

Marco’s litter began to move again, and the material around him grew dim as they entered a building, then turned down a hall and came into a room, where Marco felt himself lowered to the floor.

The material overhead was opened up, bringing a blessed taste of fresh air, cooler than what had been tented around Marco, and he saw Glaze thoughtfully bend down to wipe the sweat off his brow.

There was a knock at the door, and then Marco heard it open before anyone within gave permission.

“Folence, it’s good to see you, even under the circumstances,” Iasco’s voice sounded in Marco’s ears.  “I’d like you to meet my acolyte, Porenn.”

Marco didn’t hear Folence’s reply, as his mind realized what voice he had heard answer the door.  It was Porenn, the pert girl who had walked down the mountain with him the first time he had arrived on Ophiuchus.  She had been exiled away from the village to stay away from him, he recollected.  Her exile had evidently ended, but he had returned to the island unexpectedly, and so now they were together again, in a sense.

“So you’ve brought a surprise, have you?” Iasco’s face suddenly appeared in Marco’s field of vision, looking down at him with a look of momentary clinical detachment as she examined him.  A sad smile abruptly appeared on her face, and she spoke.

“I’d like you to meet an old friend, Porenn.  Come over here,” she called, and the girl’s face also appeared a moment later.

“Marco?” she exclaimed.  “What are you doing back here?”

“He’s here to be healed, dear,” Iasco answered before Marco could, as the two faces stared down at him.   “We’ll need to accompany him up the Apex Temple of Asclepius starting tomorrow for a lengthy prayer vigil.  Would you go and alert Alcyone, Asterope, and their sisters that they’ll accompany us?  Tell them to pack for a week’s stay at the top.”

Iasco’s face moved out of Marco’s vision, though Porenn continued to stare at him for a long moment more before she disappeared too.

“As you command, your grace,” Marco heard Porenn say, and then he heard a door open and close.

“I’ll have someone sent to arrange your lodging for this evening,” Iasco said.  There was the sound of the door again, and then silence for several seconds, until Folence spoke.

“Things are going well,” she said, just as a knock on the door sounded.  Another servant began to make arrangements for them all, and soon Marco and Glaze were alone in the room, where they were to spend the night.

“So this entire island is nothing but women?” Glaze asked when they were alone.

“There are some sheep too,” Marco said dryly.

“And you better stay as quiet as a sheep, or quieter,” he warned.

The next morning they were away shortly after dawn, walking up the trail that climbed the mountainside.  All the women who had accompanied Marco on his last trip up to the top of the mountain were along again, as were Glaze and Porenn, to Marco’s surprise. 

Folence joined the group in the stable yard before they departed.  “I’ll return to Barcelon now, Marco.  You will be in my prayers.  I’ll send a message to your betrothed to let her know that we made it safely to the island and that you’re in good hands, and I’ll look forward to seeing you healthy and whole next time we meet,” she told him as she left.

Marco’s litter was carried by the women, at a pace that he felt grow slower as the day passed.  He was stoic as the time passed and he could do nothing but look upward; he had spent days and days in miserable isolation, unable to control his body or his reactions to the world around him.  It was only the belief that Lady Iasco would be able to heal him that had prevented him from considering whether death would be preferable, something that would have been unthinkable before the terrible accident.

The traveling group stopped late in the day, more than halfway up the side of the mountain, but not at any of the usual resting places for travelers, so that they were forced to stop at a spot without a built shelter, and set up sleeping arrangements under trees around a campfire.  Not long after the group began to gather wood for their fire, Marco heard Porenn’s voice – which he recognized apart from all others – scream.  He was anxious to find out what the cause of the alarm was, and he didn’t have long to wait.

Iasco’s face appeared above him seconds later.  “Did you knowingly bring a male companion with you to the island?” she asked, her eyes glittering with a hardness that was not pleasant to witness.

“He came at my request,” Marco acknowledged, hoping to prevent Glaze from suffering.

“Bring the boy over here,” Iasco ordered someone, and Glaze’s face appeared among several others in quick order.

“I asked him to come; it’s my fault,” Marco spoke up.  “I wanted a male companion, and Glaze is my betrothed’s brother.  Don’t punish him,” Marco said.

“You know our rules,” Iasco replied.

“And you know how punishing your rules are, how unnatural they are, don’t you?” Marco shot back.  “It doesn’t feel right.

“But he is here for me, and only because of me, and he’s already here,” he added.

Iasco pursed her lips, and glared at him.  “Leave the two men together, and the rest of you finish setting up camp,” she ordered brusquely, and the other women scurried away quickly to escape the heat of their leader’s wraith.

“What happened?” Marco asked when no one else was around.

“The young one, Porenn, spotted me answering nature’s call,” Glaze said softly, his face turning red.

One of the women came over later and wordlessly delivered food to the two men, then they were left alone for the remainder of the night.

The next morning they walked up the rest of the mountain without comment or incident, or any interaction with the others in the group.  They passed another group of women who were coming down the mountains, and by mid-afternoon they reached the summit of the mountain.

“We will place Marco in the temple, and hold a pray vigil over him every night for seven nights,” Iasco explained to Marco and Glaze when they were settled into the hostel that accompanied the temple.  “A different member of our party will pray over him each night, and we will perform various healing practices during the days.

“We’ll start with prayers tonight.  I’ll be the intercessor on your behalf tonight, Marco,” Iasco told the two men.  She seemed to have accepted Glaze’s presence, and said no more about it.

Marco was carried into the temple, and silently laid on top of the altar.  He heard the door close, and the shuffling of feet momentarily, before Lady Iasco’s voice began to murmur from a location nearby.  He felt her hand touch his right hand, the golden hand she had re-attached to his body when he had last been in that very same temple, and he squeezed those fingers around hers, making her gasp.

“Marco!  Are you healing?” she asked.

“That hand, the hand that was cut off and then you re-attached, it did not become paralyzed,” he explained.

“Ah,” she said softly, then began to murmur her prayers to God, calling for healing for Marco.   The disk of sky that Marco could view through the opening in the dome overhead grew red, then darkened, then became the night sky, sprinkled with bright stars, as Iasco’s voice continued to offer comfort in the sound of its repeated prayers for healing and mercy.

He fell asleep to the sound of Iasco’s voice offering ceaseless prayers, as he felt her hands grasp his golden fingers, and when he awoke in the morning the circumstances were the same, except for the weariness that had entered Iasco’s voice as it huskily continued to pray.

He heard the door open, and the prayers stopped, then he was carrie
d out and taken to the room where Glaze awaited him.

“What did you do while I was gone?” Marco asked conversationally when his bearers had left the two men alone.

“I went outside and looked at the stars from the balcony,” Glaze replied.  “Porenn was there and we talked for a long time.  She told me stories about when you came here before, and how angry all the women were.”