Scarlet From Gold (Book 3) (11 page)

“You are heavy.  Would you consider removing some of your belongings, Marco?” Kieweeooee asked.

“How much should I leave behind?” Marco asked.

“As much as possible.  We have a long journey ahead of us,” Kieweeooee entreated.

Marco released her and returned to the pier’s beam.  He placed his boots on the beam, then his bow and arrow.  He thought about the heavy metal sword, but couldn’t bear to part with it, and he was sure the shredded bag he carried was something he was meant to convey to the island.  He took off his cape and his shirt, but kept his pants on, then stroked over to Kieweeooee again.

“Is this better?” he asked.

“That is better,” she agreed.  “Hold no tightly, it’s time to start the journey,” she warned him, then he felt her tail start to move with powerful thrusts, and they leapt into the open water of the harbor, and began their journey.

The two of them talked as they moved through the night time water.  Marco learned of Kieweeooee’s marriage to the prince of the dolphin pods from the waters of the rising sun, and the duties that a princess held.  “I told them I had to cease all duties for a few days to follow the vision of my dreams of seeing you, and then I would return.

“I have not had our babies yet, but when I do, I will tell them all about the wonderful human Marco-legs, who is a friend to all dolphins!” she told him with a laugh.

Marco told her of many of his adventures, and after he had explained what an inn was and what sheep were, he told the tale of trying to unite Kaitelyn and Haman.

“They should name their first child after you!” Kieweeooee appreciated his story.  She was gentle and encouraging when he told of his meeting with Mirra.  “You saved her life in the harbor, the time we all were swimming together,” the dolphin told him.  “She will wait for you to return,” she reassured Marco, and when he heard it from Kieweeooee, he felt better about it.

By the middle of the following morning, Kieweeooee took Marco to a small island that was uninhabited.  “We both need to rest,” she told him.  “You sleep here, and I’ll be back in a little while so that we can start again.”

By the middle of the day Marco awoke to the sound of Kieweeooee calling him back to the beach.  He splashed through the surf and quickly resumed the journey eastward towards the Isle of Ophiuchus.  That evening they were joined by other dolphins, who took turns relieving Kieweeooee of carrying Marco, though she stayed with him as they swam on through two more changes of shifts of dolphins from the varying watery regions they passed through.

On the fifth day of the long swim, through sunshine and squalls and evening darkness, Kieweeooee slowed down as sunset fell across the sea.  “It’s just ahead,” she told Marco softly as she coasted to a stop in the water.

Marco looked up, weary and waterlogged, and saw the steep rise of the island mountain just ahead.  “Thank you Kieweeooee, my friend,” he said softly.  “I’m ready to get my memories back, and find out what the next challenge will be.”

“Should I wait for you?” Kieweeooee asked.

“It’s too late.  You’ve already married your prince,” he teased her.  “No, just take me to the surf, then go home to your prince and make your babies, and wait for the next time we meet, my lovely friend,” he told her.

Kieweeooee slowly swept her tail back and forth and they gently progressed through the gentle swells that rolled towards the island.  She stopped two minutes later, and Marco rolled off her back to touch immediately upon the sandy shelf that rose up to the beach.

“Thank you Kieweeooee,” he said tearfully.  “I felt like I had a friend I knew these past few days.  You are such a wonderful friend!”

She gently nudged her nose against his cheek.  “I will name a child Marco after you, and I will wait for you to call when you are ready to go swimming my friend.  Good luck in your adventures – I have a feeling that we all will be safer because of what you are going to do.”

She rolled over in a flipping sweep, then slowly began to move back out into the deeper water, leaving Marco kneeling in the ocean, looking at the red-tinged beach that awaited his return to the Isle of Ophiuchus.

Chapter 7 – An Unkind Welcome

Marco staggered up onto the beach, his legs weak and shaky after five days without walking or exercise.  The sandy beach was empty, except for a few piles of driftwood and a pair of crabs that started and stopped as they foraged across the empty expanse.  All Marco had were his pants and his sword and the tattered bag that he carried.  He’d eaten little more than a few bites of raw fish during the trip from Barcelon.

He needed to find people on the island, the island that people along the way had told him was an all-female cult center.  He wanted to drink fresh water and eat cooked food, and he wanted to see Folence.

There were two ways to go – right or left, and he chose to go left, reasoning that on an island he was sure to find people before long no matter which way he travelled.  The beach stretched for a great distance and provided an easy means of travel for half an hour.  He then ventured inland to travel around a rocky outcropping, and discovered a trail wide enough to be the product of livestock or human traffic, a trail that led him in the direction he wished to travel.  He stopped minutes later at a small stream the trail crossed and drank fresh water in a series of long, greedy swallows, then moved ahead once more.

Another half hour after that, after the evening sky was thoroughly dark, without a moon or clouds to obscure a blanket of stars bright and dim, the trail crested a small rise, and Marco saw the lights of a village ahead.  He felt relief at the sight of the village – it meant that he would find rest and food, and then he would hopefully find quick direction to his meeting with Folence.

Marco hurried his pace, and reached the village’s first buildings.  He felt relieved to have made it so far to what felt like the threshold of success.  There were figures walking the streets ahead, and Marco walked resolutely forward, hoping that one of them would be a natural figure to talk to.

As Marco approached the walking folks, illuminated dimly by the wavering flames of street lights spread along the road, he saw the faces of his observers turn from animated conversations to blank astonishment, then to anger, and he had a bad feeling.  He heard the sound of a door opening behind him, and there was a shout.  The people in front of him were drawing swords as they started running towards him.

Marco looked down an alley to the side, where there appeared to be no one coming at him.  He looked over his shoulder and saw a woman bounding down the steps from a building, carrying a club.  Without a moment of hesitation, Marco turned and started to flee down the alley, only to limp to a stop as he stepped on something jagged and sharp that cut deeply into the bottom of his bare foot.  He turned and saw that the people coming after him were already in the alley, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to outrun them.

Marco placed his back against the alley wall, and held his blade out in front of him.  A small crowd came running up to him, a half dozen or more, all women, he noted without surprise, and formed a semi-circle around him, as other figures came racing into the alley.

“No man is permitted on our island,” a figure on the left spoke.  “And now you are back for yet another visit in violation of that basic rule.

“Look at what your visits have brought!” the woman said angrily.

“I’m here to see the Lady Folence,” Marco said, holding his sword out in front of him.  “I will help her heal Iasco.”

“The Lady Iasco is dead!” another woman shouted, as she feinted with her sword.

“I can bring her back to life!” Marco shouted angrily, so loudly that it felt as though his words echoed off the walls of the alley, stunning his listeners.

He had no idea what made him say anything so extraordinary, but it had clearly shocked the women, most of whom lowered their weapons.

“What do you say?” one of them asked.

“He may be right, my friends.  Leave this to me,” a voice at the end of the alley caught the attention of them all.

All heads turned to look at the source of the voice, a tall woman who had an armed escort standing behind her.

“Come Marco, I’ve been waiting for you,” she spoke.

“Are you Folence?” he asked.

“The Lady Folence to you,” someone in the group nearest him corrected him with a growl.

“Of course I am, boy.  Now come to me,” she ordered, and there was a compulsion in her voice that made Marco’s feet involuntarily start.

Marco checked himself from going, and watched carefully as the women around him shuffled into new positions.

“If I go to her, are you going to try to attack me?” he asked the group.

“We won’t try; we’ll either attack or we won’t,” someone said with bravado that made Marco grin in spite of himself.

“I’ll trust you this time,” Marco said, and he lowered his sword, closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, then limped forward to the alley opening, waiting with each step to feel something strike him in the back.

Folence’s entourage included two women who held blazing torches that provided illumination around her.  As Marco approached her, he studied her looks by the flickering light; she looked regal, and determined.  He wouldn’t want to be opposed to her in a test of wills he realized, even as he was possibly headed into just such a confrontation.

“Why are you limping Marco?” she asked.

“I want my memories back,” he said at the same time as they came face to face.

“Bow to the Lady,” said one of the attendants, who placed a hand on Marco’s shoulder and shoved him down to the ground.

And at that moment, his hand exploded forth a bursting shower of fragments of light.

Chapter 8 – Folence’s Report

As Marco’s hand struck the pavement, it throbbed with a release of energy.  His hand blazed forth with brilliant light, and heat, and power.  The paving stones it struck exploded into glowing fragments of stone that flew up in all directions, showering and wounding those closest to Marco’s hand, except for Folence and Marco himself, each of whom were spared from receiving any of the tiny missiles that made the other women in the alley cry out in fear and pain.

Marco’s hand glowed brightly, and he cried out in astonishment.

“Folence!  What have you done to me?” he shouted.  He held his hand up before his face to stare at it, and he felt a pounding, unbearable pain in his head.

Marco pressed both hands against his forehead to try to ease the pain he felt, and as he did, his memories came pouring forth from the vaults they had been hidden in.  He screamed in agony and astonishment as his mind and his soul struggled to integrate the memories of the recent weeks of his journey with all the memories of what had passed before.  Marco dropped his head to the ground as he screamed with the intensity of the process that was leaving his body in spasms as his mind disengaged from all other voluntary and involuntary functions while he was consumed by the memory melding – memories of Pesino and Mirra jostled with one another, and the Echidna became a reality for him.  Gawail flittered through his life once again, and event after event after event erupted into his awareness once more.

Seconds after the explosion, as Marco lay on the ground, and Folence’s bodyguard also lay on the ground or leaned against the sides of the alley, while Folence stood tall and regal and untouched, the restoration of Marco’s memories ceased.  He lay on the ground, gasping as he tried to recover from the traumatic experience.

Marco?” Folence called softly, as she knelt next to him and placed a comforting hand upon his head.  “Are you okay now Marco?  What happened?” she asked.

“Oh my lady,” Marco said as he rose to his knees.  “Oh Ophiuchus!  Oh Iasco!” he cried as he made sense of all that he had learned in the two phases of his experience.  He combined his knowledge of Iasco, her power and energy and compassion and his knowledge of her personal past, with the knowledge that she was dead, killed in an attack that had been carried out on the very island that was supposed to be a refuge for women.

“Marco,” Folence and he were at the same eye level now as she spoke.  “What is this all about?”

“Lady Iasco – the spirit of the island has told me that I can revive her,” Marco’s words shot out in a torrent of emotional release.  “I was visited by the spirit – she spoke to me in person at the cathedral at Compostela, and she told me that there was great evil at loose in the world, and that all the good powers were united together to battle it, and I was to play a role in the battle.”

“There is evil in the world, and this boy is that evil!” one of the women from the alley had arisen from the shock of Marco’s explosive recollection of his memories.  “Kill him now; get revenge for the Lady Iasco.”

“No!” Folence cried out.  “We will not murder Marco.  We will hear his story before we judge him.  The Lady Iasco was very fond of Marco, and very hopeful about his place in the future.”

“Then he betrayed her!  She is dead,” another voice responded.

“We will take him to the Council and have a full hearing of his story.  There is more to come from Marco, I’m sure,” Folence answered.  “As long as I am in control of the Council, he will not be harmed.”

“Then you may not be in control much longer, my lady,” one of her own supporters growled softly.

Folence stood up, and offered her hand to Marco, who ignored the gesture as he stood too.

“This is crazy!” he said.  “The spirit of the island spoke to me!  I am going to be sent on another journey; I’m going to help revive the Lady Iasco,” he said insistently, causing the women around him to shake their heads.

“She is dead because of you.  The prophecy warned that the Lady would die when a man set foot on the island,” one of Folence’s guards exclaimed.

“We don’t need to go to the Council to know what to do,” someone else said.  “We can take care of this right now.”