Empress Aurora Trilogy Quest For the Kingdom Parts I, II, and III Revised With Index (Quest For the Kingdom Set) (10 page)

They boarded
the small ship. Having trudged for six days through the icy forest with Dag as
their guide, it was now possible to complete the remainder of the journey to
Gaudereaux by water.

Marcus was
never so glad to leave a place behind him as the frozen forest of Trekur Lende.
True, the march led them southward so that they escaped the worst part of the
heavy snow and ice, but all the same it was no pleasure to camp at night in the
winter. Dag added to the construction of their crude tent with the addition of
animal skins to their woolen hangings flung over low-lying branches. Yet even
with this crude shelter and the pelts Dag provided to sleep on and cover
themselves with, and the meager warmth of the campfire, the nights had been
cold.

Added to the
discomfort was the sound that disturbed Marcus’ sleep every night: a low
rumbling noise that seemed to rise up out of the earth itself. The first time
he heard it, he was puzzled for an explanation, and looked around in
bewilderment for the source. Then he caught the eye of Felix, who pointed at
Dag, snoring away, oblivious to all that moved. 

By day they
plodded steadily on, covering a distance of about twenty miles before
nightfall. They subsisted on the remainder of the bear meat they carried with
them and several small loaves of the coarse bread Dag had brought along. Too
hungry to be particular now, Marcus ate the bread uncomplainingly, glad for its
filling sustenance at the end of a hard day’s march. Although, truth to tell he
could not say when day ended and night began.

By night they
sat around the fire and talked before turning in. They learned much of Dag and
his people, their customs and beliefs.

They had
little contact with the outside world, he said, because the hunters went to the
forest to bring back meat, and the traders went to the trading post to bring
back the goods they could not make for themselves. Everything else they needed
came from the forest, berries, nuts, meat from the bear, the boar and the deer.
They milked the goats they raised and grew flax for their garments for the warm
months. Furs from the beasts they hunted shielded them from winter’s ruthless
grasp.

He told them
of their homage to Bjorrne, the Bear. It provided for them, he explained. Its
meat sustained them, its pelt helped them to survive the harsh winters. But
they approached it carefully and with awe. For the bear they hunted could so
easily turn on them and devour them. Then they became the prey, and their life
an offering to the bear. On a summer day one could hear the sound of bears
dancing in the thunderstorm, shaking the heavens with their heavy treads.

Marcus
listened politely and said nothing. He dared not venture a glance at Felix.
Felix bit his lip and offered a comment.

“Well,” he
said. “Well, well.”

Dag told them
of the long summer days when the sun seemed a fiery ball suspended right over
their heads. Then days were long, with only a few hours of night. This was a
season of joy and dancing. The villagers played many games and celebrated the
feast day of the Bear. One man would carry a bear’s head before his face and
don a pelt. Several men would chase him with spears. The hunt was always
successful, and the “dead” bear was carried back to the village where small
children skipped in a procession before it, strewing wildflowers in its path.

“But do not
think that we are a land of peace at all times. We have our foes and our feuds.
We slay those who make war with us. We do not back down. My kin war with the
tribe of Asbjorn. They stole part of our lands long ago and we were forced to
move north. I am sworn to kill at first sight any son of their tribe.”

Felix froze in
mid-grin and merely stared at Dag. Marcus felt it best to change the subject.
So they spoke of general matters and made plans for the rest of the journey.

Dag could lead
them through the heart of the forest which covered many miles. They would soon
come to a trading post where a small ship came to the river by way of an inland
rivulet which flowed out to a harbor that emptied out to the Sea. From there they
could sail to the land they spoke of. He had never been there, but he had heard
of it from the men who came to the trading post.

Here they
bought furs and animal skins from the men of Trekur Lende, in exchange for the
metal pots and pans and shiny knives that the Trekur Lenders could not make for
themselves. Yah, he had heard of this Gaudereaux, a land flowing with the vines
of grapes and other fruits. He would get them there safely, trust Dag!

One night
after Marcus had fallen into a fitful sleep, he was awakened by a peculiar
noise. Like a hum it was, and the northern sky was lit by strange colors that
shifted and glowed in the frigid blackness; now green tinged with blue, now
violet flowing into red, then turning to orange melting into yellow and
changing back to green. Their hues were reflected on the snow-covered ground
and the ice-laden tree branches, turning the landscape into a vista out of some
fantasy world. Never had Marcus beheld such a spectacle, and he woke Felix so
that he also might experience the eerie vision.

As they rubbed
the sleep from their eyes, they became aware of Dag standing with his back
turned to them, his legs akimbo, his hands on his hips with his gaze turned
upward. Silently they approached him, and Marcus gently tugged on the sleeve of
their huge guide.

“Dag,” he
found himself whispering as if afraid to break the spell of the light show.
“What is this?”

Dag turned to
them. He did not lower his voice.

“Have no
fear,” he assured them in his usual booming tones. “These are the Lights of
Rainbow Hue.”

“But, what are
they?” Felix asked.

“They are the
souls of men who died. They come back to guide us.”

Marcus stared
at Dag for several moments.

“Why do they
do that?” he finally ventured, as Felix smothered a snicker.

“They did what
was not right,” he explained as he glared at Felix. Felix immediately pulled a
sober face. Dag was mollified.

“When they
lived, they did not give aid to those in need,” Dag continued. “In our land, we
share our homes with those who trek in the wild, to bring them in from the cold
and the snow. We give them food and share the warmth of our fires. Those men
did not, and those they shut out froze to death in a great storm when the wind
hurled ice on the trees, and threw snow on the ground.

“This made
Bjorrne rage in the sky. He growled and stomped his feet, and the men shook
with fear at his wrath. He killed them, and took them up with him to his lair.
There, they do not rest, but when the snow flies and the wind howls, they must
show the way for those who walk in the wild in the gloom of night. They light
our path in the dark. They hum a chant to Bjorrne. They help us,” he firmly
stated.

Marcus paused
before answering. Truly the natives of this land had some strange beliefs! He
dared not look at Felix.

“Oh,” he said
at last. “I see.”

Now as they
prepared to board the small ship, Marcus looked around the trading post. What a
bustle of activity after the stillness of the forest! He had almost forgotten
the sound of civilization. He and Felix had set out in mid-January. That was
three weeks ago. It would soon be spring.

The creak of
the ramp beneath his feet returned him to the present. The voyage would take at
least three weeks, if the weather proved good. But at the end of it lay the end
of his quest. Or so he hoped.

The wind
howled, furling the sails in the rigging. Seawater shot up and over the deck,
spraying Marcus with an icy splash. The small ship rocked violently from side
to side, the storm shaking her in its fury.

Marcus, Felix,
and Dag had come up on deck, not liking the confinement of their quarters
below. The tempest had raged for hours, beating the boat in its grasp.

The Captain
called out to the young men where they stood.

“I need every
man. The crew have their hands full already. Follow me.”

He led them
down the narrow staircase that went below deck. He needed, he explained, the
tarpaulins to take above board and cover the decks, to keep the seawater from
rotting the planks.

They followed
him to a long wooden trough where the tarpaulins were piled in a heap. The
topmost came easily to hand and he handed them to the three young men who held
out their arms to receive them.

The Captain reached
for the tarpaulin on the bottom, but it appeared to snag on something. He
yanked but it seemed stuck. Then with a mighty heave he pulled on the tarpaulin
with all of his might. It came free but the Captain fell over backwards. At the
same moment a small lad of about ten years of age leaped out of the trough and
tried to run away.

“A stowaway!
Seize him!” the Captain commanded.

Dag was
closest and tackled the lad and threw him to the floor. The child attempted to
squirm out of his clutches and punched Dag in the nose.

“Ow!” Dag
yelled and attempted to stem the sudden flow of blood.

Felix and
Marcus dropped their tarpaulins and danced on either side of the small boy.
They signaled to one another and at the same moment leaped toward him and
knocked him to the ground, pinning him securely underneath them.

“Let me go!
Let me go!” the child cried out in the Common Tongue.

“I ought to
toss you overboard!” the Captain exclaimed. “Boarding my ship without paying.
It’s a disgrace, it is!”

“Oh please,
don’t kill me! I had no money and I had to take the ship. I had to leave home!”
the boy whimpered and clutched the captain’s hand.

“And why
should I let you on my ship without paying like everyone else?” the Captain
thundered.

“Well, I could
help,” the child said quickly as his face brightened. “I could scrub decks, do
hard work. But I can’t go back home!”

The child hung
his head of tousled blond curls. His blue eyes filled with tears. By the look
of his reddened nose, he had shed many tears already.

“If I go back,
I will be sold as a slave. To the Hoffingi, our Tribal Chief. I heard this on
the night before I left. My mother and father spoke of it when they thought I
lay asleep in my bed. My father had a bad year hunting. He was given grain by
the Hoffingi but could not repay with pelts. So the Chief wants me to be his
slave. He is cruel and will beat me. Please do not send me back there!”

Marcus caught
his breath and quenched a torrent of words. How cruel to sell one’s own child
to pay a debt! He who knew the feel of the irons, the despair of bondage, could
not stand by and permit this to happen.

“Captain,
whatever the cost of his fare, I will pay it. You cannot toss him overboard,
and he is too small for hard work.”

The small boy
gasped as relief unlooked for lit his face. The Captain glowered at his
uninvited guest.

“Very well.
But I expect an account of how you have survived these past few days since we
set to sea. Have you been stealing food?”

“Just a few
apples. And some scraps that the crew did not eat. But that is all, I swear by
Bjorrne!”

And the boy
raised his arm and made a fist. Dag looked at him sharply.

“By Bjorrne,
you say? Where do you come from, small one?”

“I come from
Trekur Lende, from a village about twenty miles from the trading post. My
people worship the Bear who provides us with food and with warmth. To swear by
him is to invite a certain death if one is not telling the truth.”

“Then we are
from the same land. My name is Dag Adalbjorg,” and Dag extended his hand.

The child
blinked his eyes. His body jerked in an involuntary start. He grasped Dag’s
hand.

“I am
Cort…Cort Bjorn,” he hastily replied.

Never, not
even in his wildest dreams, had Marcus imagined such lush richness as he now
beheld. Everywhere his eyes looked he saw green upon green, here and there
dotted with purple. True, Eirinia had been verdant, but that had been the same
emerald green of miles of grass-covered hills fit only for the sheep they fed.
Here was the deep luxuriant green of vines bearing purple grapes that brought
refreshing to those who tended them, the lighter yellow green of spring grass,
and the deep pine green of forests that promised shade for the heat of the day.

Gaudereaux,
this was Gaudereaux, the happy land. It was in this land of joy and pleasure
where the Empress Aurora had heard the tale of the Great Pearl. And it was to
this land that Marcus had come seeking it, not for its own sake, but to save
the life of his parents.

Spring was
already come upon this land. The fierce storm had blown their small ship off
course and detained them in their voyage by over a fortnight. They had been
swept further out on the Great Sea and had to wait for an east wind to blow
them back to land. Unfortunately, the winds had proved to be contrary, first
blowing them northward, then westward.

They had spent
many idle days on board, waiting for the wind to cooperate and change in order
to continue their journey. Marcus fretted and fumed impatiently, counting each
day as a loss, as one more day that his parents must languish in their prison.
He strolled aimlessly on deck, wondering how his parents fared, and when he
might see them again.

How did his
frail and gentle mother cope with the rigors of her imprisonment? Did the
guards treat her with honor, as befitted a lady of Valerium, or were they
abusive and rough in their treatment of her? Marcus burned in outrage at the
thought.

And what of
his father? Was he given the respect due to him as the leading General of the
Imperial Army? Or were there some among the guards who resented his former
status and now freely took their revenge by treating him ill? Did they consider
him a lion, brought down by age and calamity, and they the new young rulers who
sought to take his crown as monarch of the pride?

And he thought
of Tullia, and whether she still believed him dead. Did she grieve for him if
she thought him departed from this world? Or did she love Felix, as he
believed, and pine for his company while on her sojourn with her mother in
Moldiva?

Marcus longed
to see Tullia, to tell her of the pain of his slavery, the anxiety over the
imprisonment of his parents, and to learn whether his sufferings distressed
her, and brought her pain. She had always been easy to talk to, even on such a
brief acquaintance, and Marcus found himself opening his heart to her on
matters that he kept private from the rest of the world.

With her he
shared his hopes for the future and dreams of great deeds to be done. Surely
she would not bear with the divulgence of his confidences unless she returned
his regard! There was always a special look she gave to Marcus, apart from all
of the other young men who clamored for her favor; a light sprang into her eyes
when she glimpsed him in a crowd, and it seemed she became oblivious to all
others that surrounded her, as though she saw no one but Marcus alone.

Dag had spent
the days more industriously. Bored by inactivity and hard-working by nature, he
helped the crew mend the sails that had been damaged by the storm. He proved to
be handy with a needle, which surprised Marcus. Dag reproved him, saying that
in Trekur Lende they made everything themselves. And he had no wife to mend his
clothes. The crew welcomed the extra help, and in a short time came to accept
Dag as one of them.

Cort also
helped the crew. As if in gratitude for his life being spared, he helped wash
dishes, scrub decks, and peel potatoes. The crew and Captain came to regard him
with affection and dubbed him “half-mate” due to his small size. The sight of
him on deck brought smiles to the weather-worn faces of even the hardest of
deck hands.

Indeed, it was
impossible not to love Cort. Possessed of a cheerful nature and loving heart,
he seemed to dispense good will wherever he went. If a quarrel broke out
between crew members due to fraying nerves in the days of idleness, it was Cort
who poured oil on troubled waters and smoothed ruffled feathers. He simply
couldn’t bear discord and would not rest until harmony had been restored.

A warm
friendship had sprung up between Cort and Dag. Whether due to being fellow
countrymen or from a desire of the strong to protect the weak was not clear,
but whatever the reason, Dag watched over Cort like a mother watching a child
take baby steps. He watched Cort in his efforts to help the crew like a proud
parent seeing his child walk for the first time. But he was there to catch him
should Cort fall trying to take on a task too big for his small size.

And it was
evident to all that Cort simply adored Dag. He looked on the huge man with awe.
Dag was clearly Cort’s hero. His size and physical strength inspired Cort to
emulate him and spurred him on to attempt feats of strength for which he was
not equipped.

Cort squired
Dag, waiting on him at meal times, bringing water to him in the mornings to
wash with, fetching his cape of bear fur which they called a
kapake
when
he wanted to go on deck.

Dag permitted,
even encouraged, these small attentions to the surprise of Marcus and Felix.
Dag of all people did not seem possessed of pride as to find such attention his
due. Felix came to the conclusion that Dag simply found it amusing, he remarked
to Marcus. And certainly he seemed delighted with Cort’s ministrations,
frequently rewarding him with tousling his curls.

Felix whiled
away the monotony of the idle days by reading from the small store of books
that Captain Onemius kept on board. He also spent many hours in the crow’s nest
chatting companionably with the Captain, listening to the tales of strange
lands the Captain had seen, of legends he had heard. Felix was of an
inquisitive nature, and he thirsted for knowledge. He enjoyed listening to
Captain Onemius and stored the information in his mind.

Marcus alone
found the delay tedious. His one concern was to finish the journey and find the
Pearl so he could buy his parents’ freedom. He had no interest, as Felix did,
in conversing with the Captain to while away the time. Nor could he bring
himself to assist the crew as Dag did. Always mindful of the dignity of his
position as the son of Valerius Maximus, he felt that to engage in such labor
would be to demean himself.

As a result of
this self-imposed exclusion from conversing with the Captain or laboring with
the crew, Marcus felt lonely, and a sense of alienation plagued him on the
whole of the voyage. It had been months since he felt he truly belonged
anywhere. It had been June when he had been taken captive, and it was now the
Ides of March as he stood on this hilltop looking over the vine-filled valley
below him.

At last they
had reached their destination. At last he could search for the Great Pearl.
But, where did one begin?