The Gorgon's Blood Solution (30 page)

“I don’t hear anything,” she answered.

Hands were reaching out to pat him, to congratulate him.  They were headed towards the empty space of the dance floor.  The orchestra was on a break, and no dancers occupied the opening.

Marco looked and saw a veiled lady watching him intently.  Even though he could only see her eyes, he knew that they were familiar.  And the veiled lady was very nearby, walking along in parallel to the path he and Folence were on.

“Come now!  Get him now!  There is power here!” the evil voice was practically shrieking.

“Someone’s following us,” Marco said urgently to Folence, as they reached the dance floor, trailing a small crowd of followers who wished to congratulate Marco, as well as Kilson and Mirra, and the veiled lady.

Before Folence could reply, there was a crashing noise from above.  All eyes in the room looked up at the unexpected sound.  The entire perimeter set of windows around the ceiling were bursting inward, as flocks of raven came flying into the room, and a shower of glass shards fell down upon the crowd.  The men and women in their finery screamed and scrambled in response to the unexpected catastrophe.

Marco and Folence stumbled as they craned their necks upward to look at the sight above, and they fell to the floor.  The birds circled together just below the ceiling, hundreds of them whirling around and around, making a cacophonous uproar of caws and shrieks.  The birds were glowing faintly with a deep purple aura, and Marco knew that they had come to get him.

“Run Folence!” he shouted.  “Take Mirra to safety!”  He rose to his knees, and pulled his sword free, then doubled over in pain as the evil tumor on his arm fought its way up to his shoulder.

And then the ravens came swooping down at him.  A black shaft of feathers and flesh came plummeting directly at him.  Marco weakly raised his sword, and watched as the first of the birds came at him.  The sword’s marvelous powers came to the fore, and the blade in his hand twisted and turned to knock away three birds simultaneously.

But then a score of birds dove into his chest and his shoulders and his head, knocking him to the floor in a screaming volley of pain, as he heard the evil power start singing a victory song.  “He is ours, he is mine.  We control him!” the voice sang.

“This shall cease!” a woman’s voice shouted.

Marco had his good arm over his head, trying to protect his face as the birds continued to pummel him, then he suddenly felt a tension in the air, and a bright flash of light occurred.  The assault of the raven
s abruptly stopped, and Marco heard a continual pummeling sound. 

He opened his eyes and looked up, where he saw that there was a small yellow dome, a magical construction, arched over him.  A few ravens fluttered within the dome, along with Marco, and Folence, who was on the floor rising to her knees.

And also inside the dome was the veiled lady, the one Marco had noted with such concern.  Her veils were dropped, revealing the striped complexion of her face.  It was Lady Iasco, somehow miraculously transported from the Isle to Barcelon, and exercising great powers of sorcery that Marco had not suspected she held.

The raven
s continued to throw themselves at the outside of the dome, and as each of them struck, there was a small explosion as the purple energy of each bird made contact with the dome’s yellow power.

“Get him up, Folence!” Iasco shouted.  “I can’t hold this for very long.”

Marco shouted in pain just then, as the evil energy took another jump forward onto his chest.

Folence rose and lifted him with a strength that surprised him, then heedlessly pulled his shirt off of him, rubbing the white fabric across his face to wipe away the streaming blood from the many cuts there.  She looked at the location of the lump, then her eyes narrowed.

“I’m doing this for you, Marco,” she inexplicable told him, as he knelt in a daze of pain and confusion.

Folence reached into a fold of her dress, and pulled out the container of gorgon’s blood.  She took a deep breath, then opened the container, and to Marco’s horror, she stuck her fingertip directly into the flakes within, then began to scream as she rapidly moved the finger to press it against the evil tumor that was on Marco’s chest.

The evil energy immediately began to retreat, and Marco’s soul was filled with the sound of its screaming fury and pain.  He closed his eyes and began to collapse in pain and horror as he felt Folence’s finger shepherd the energy back to his shoulder, then down his arm, and past his elbow.  Folence was screaming in pain even as she maintained her assault on his parasitic attacker.

Marco opened his eyes to see Folence collapse in pain on the ground, her hand covered in blood, whether it was her own or his, he couldn’t tell.  The lump of evil was pressed clear down to his wrist, a gruesome distension of his flesh in that area.

“The shield is failing!” Iasco screamed.  “Get rid of the energy Marco!”  She screamed.  “Cut your hand off!”

Marco blinked in horror at the thought, but he saw the yellow light of the shield flickering as Iasco’s effort to protect him began to falter under the cease
less torrent of possessed birds, each striking it and exploding, fragmenting it further.

A hole appeared on the side of the collapsing dome, and a raven flew in, striking Marco on the very wrist where the evil had retreated to.  Folence was sprawled on the ground unconscious, and Iasco was sinking to her knees as she drained herself of energy.

He had to do it, Marco realized sadly.  He wheeled the enchanted sword in his left hand and started the blade on its path.  The less he thought about it the better.   He closed his eyes, and then felt the shock of contact.  His arm reacted, and he felt no pain for two seconds.

In disbelief he opened his eyes, and watched as multiple things seemed to all occur simultaneously.  His hand lay on the ground beside him, and the stump of his wrist was pouring out blood.  The yellow shield collapsed, and Iasco fell to the floor.  The ravens reacted to the severing of the hand and wrist by wheeling about in the air, circling overhead in confusion.

Worst of all – impossibly, it seemed worse than losing the hand – Marco watched in sickened fear as the remnant of the evil energy oozed out of the end of his severed hand.  It still had a will to carry out some evil deed, and with incomprehensible speed, it shot from the floor towards the closest next victim it wished to control.

Standing in horrified fascination near the scene of the unearthly battle were Mirra and Kilson.  Kilson, who had his sword out, received the impact of the evil energy in the center of his chest.

“Staunch the blood loss!” Iasco whispered.

Marco fell to his knees, and cradled the wounded appendage against his chest, moaning in pain.

“Touch the gorgon’s blood flake to his wound, quickly!” Iasco shouted at the inert Folence.

Marco vaguely heard the comments as he tried to grasp how much pain was washing over him.

Folence rose to her knees.

Kilson stood still, his face a mask of terror, as Mirra grasped his arm.  “Are you alright my lord?  Someone help us!” she shouted.

Kilson’s whole body shuddered, and then a look of cunning came over his face.  “I’ve never felt better my pretty,” he told Mirra, as he encircled her in his arm and passionately kissed her unexpectedly.

She struggled, and he raised his face from her, keeping his hand grasping the back of her neck in a firm grip.

“See what I’ve got boy!” Kilson’s voice roared.  “Once you’re dead, she’ll be mine!”  As soon as the officer saw that he had Marco’s attention, he carelessly hurled Mirra to the floor, and focused his attention on Marco.  An unhealthy glow began to form around his body;  it was the same dark glow of the malevolent energy, as it took control of the guardsman.

Folence raised herself up and reached into Marco’s tightly curled body.  “I’m sorry, again, boy,” she said, and she grabbed his stump and thrust it against the open container of the magical, deadly crystalline flakes of gorgon’s blood.  Marco screamed, a light flashed from the contact, and Folence fell to the ground again.

Marco raised his wounded arm in the air, feeling the effect of the gorgon’s blood as it cauterized his wrist and then entered his blood stream.  He felt pain and anger.  The sight of Kilson’s kiss with Mirra was unacceptable, and all thought left his mind as rage drove through his crippled body.

“Kilson!” he screamed.  “You go too far!”

“Boy, you’re about to meet your death!” the guard officer roared in response, and advanced rapidly towards Marco, swinging his sword with an ability and agility that seemed inhuman in its speed and dexterity.

Marco’s own magical sword responded, blocking and parrying Kilson’s attack, and the two antagonists circled around one another, one driven by an evil sorcerer’s curse, the other driven by the gorgon’s blood and enchanted sword, thrusting and defending with abilities beyond those of mortal talents.  Marco was distantly aware of the screams going on around him, though only the sobs of Mirra penetrated his awareness.  Others in the ballroom were fleeing from the vicinity of the swordplay, and the ravens were beating their wings and circling rapidly in a low orbit directly above the conflict.

Kilson pressed hard against Marco, who began to step backwards slowly as he fought to protect himself from the officer’s ferocious onslaught.  “Do you want to know what I’m going to do with your pretty little friend?” Kilson asked in a taunting tone.

And just as he prepared to atta
ck Kilson over that question, Marco took a step back onto the unseen slumping Iasco, and tripped backwards.

Kilson saw Marco go down and shouted with glee, then began to thrust his blade forward at the falling boy.

Marco’s blade wretched him backwards over Iasco, in a complete flip, that left him momentarily dizzy, then the blade drew his arm and entire body forward in a counter thrust that skewered the unprepared Kilson, entering his chest at the base of his neck, and shooting far down into his torso.

Kilson reacted by standing upright and staggering backward, pulling the sword out of Marco’s hand as Marco fell onto the ground and landed on top of Iasco.  He looked up in horror at Kilson.

The weapon was still sticking in his body, and people were screaming once again in renewed horror at the sight.  Marco awkwardly scrambled up to his feet, using his only hand to press himself upward.

Kilson sneered at him in a voice that was not his own.  “Your trials are just beginning young champion; you will not survive all that is to come,” he snarled, and then his body collapsed to the ground, rolling over on his back.

Marco jumped forward and removed his blade, seeking the reassurance that its strength and ability provided as he held it.  He raised the blade in a sign of celebration for the impossible victory, and felt the handle of the sword grow hot; the metal blade glowed for a second of preparation, and then discharged a forked lightning bolt of energy upward into the air of the ballroom.

The lightning forked and forked and split and multiplied itself over and over again in the blink of an eye, so that it struck every one of the ravens that was flying overhead, vaporizing them so thoroughly that only a few black feathers floated to the ground.

And then Marco fell to his knees, in pain and shock and triumph and confusion and sorrow.  His eyes found Mirra, who was still on the floor, and stared back at him.  He heard someone moving behind him, but he had no energy left to even turn, and he too crumpled to the floor unconscious.

Chapter 21 – Aboard Iasco’s Ship

He heard voices.  They were all feminine voices, though he did not recognize that at first.  Marco felt incredible pain that stretched across every portion of his body it seemed, except when one of the voices told him to swallow
a liquid that brought brief but blessed relief from the pain.

He was lying in a bed, and it was moving.  “Where am I?” he asked at last.  He tried to open his eyes, but bright sunshine gave him a headache.

“Where does it smell like you are?” a voice asked.  Marco recognized it as Lady Iasco.

Memories, dreams, and nightmares came crashing into the forefront of his thoughts at the sound of her voice; she was a trigger to release all the things that had occurred when he had last been aware.

He held his left hand up over his eyes for shade, then squinted.  There was sunlight shining directly in his eyes through an open port.  He was on board a ship.  The sea smell, the motion, the sounds that he had ignored – all were confirmation.

“Can you shade that window?” he asked, as he held up the bandaged stump of his right arm in a futile attempt to
further block the sun’s rays.

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 directed 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.”