Scarlet From Gold (Book 3) (28 page)

“His stay here among us will be brief, for he has missions of great importance to pursue, but while he is here, you shall treat him with respect and friendship,” she said, and Marco observed the unease that arose from the women.  All eyes shifted to look at him, and he saw a mixture of respect, wary acceptance, and still distrust.

“There is one more.  Not only has Golden Hand brought me back to you through his journey to the underworld, but he has brought back the spirit of one of our others,” Iasco drew their attention immediately back to herself with the unexpected announcement.

“Marco, Mitment, please give these ladies something to look at,” Iasco ordered.

“Are you ready?” Marco asked Mitment.

“I’m looking forward to this actually.  There are a few ladies here who are in for a surprise,” the spirit grinned at Marco.

Marco raised the container of powder, and threw the contents towards Mitment.  As it had before, the powder floated in a cloud, and began to move sideways as the breeze at the pier caught it, but much of it settled on Mitment, revealing her head and upper torso to the crowd that looked on in amazement.

“It’s Mitment!” someone recognized her.

“Tell Marcella I know she still owes me three coppers for ale.  Go on, tell her,” Mitment told Marco.

The crowd watched the figure’s mouth speak to Marco, and then the powder’s energy faded.

“Mitment says,” Marco spoke up, and the hubbub in the crowd calmed down.  “Mitment says that Marcella still owes her three coppers for ale,” he announced.

There was silence from many, titters from a few, and shouts from a small handful on the side, evidently the members of the Guard who had been closest to Mitment.

“Are those your friends?” he asked.

“That is my squad,” she confirmed.

“Is Mitment alive?  Is she invisible?  Who was that?” a number of questions rose from the crowd.

“This is the spirit of Mitment, come from the underworld to be my guardian.  When Golden Hand traveled through the underworld to revive me, he brought Mitment back to this world as well.  This is a sign of the power of Golden Hand,” Iasco told the crowd.

“So why is this all about you?  Shouldn’t it be about me?” Mitment complained to Marco.

“Mitment will be with me as my unseen guardian throughout the battle that is to come,” Iasco said.  “Now, we will go to the residence and begin the plans for the future that awaits us,” the lady finished.  “It warms my heart to see you all here, and to know that I have this new opportunity to work with all of you again.  Go and God Bless,” she gave a brief benediction, that caused the crowd to start moving about.

“Let’s go Folence,” Iasco said to her companion.

“Was that really the spirit of a woman from the Isle?” Folence asked.

“It absolutely was,” Marco affirmed, as guards came forward to clear the way for Iasco’s triumphant return.

The group walked along a narrow aisle in the middle of the large crowd that had gathered and grown.  Women called out Iasco’s name from the curbs and from windows as she passed by.

“They love you,” Folence said softly, with a smile, once they reached the relative privacy of the official residence of the head priestess, and closed the door to close out the scrutiny.

“As they loved you too,” Iasco said.

“No, I’m honest enough to admit they didn’t love me.  They mourned you, and they tolerated me, until Marco came along and got me into trouble, then produced the living Spirit herself to get me out of trouble.  Tell me Marco, what is it like to consort with holy beings so casually?” she asked.

“We didn’t consort,” Marco protested.  “We only kissed the one time, before she gave up her body.”

Iasco and Folence looked at one another, with something like smiles on their faces.

“I don’t think you should tell that to anyone,” Iasco said, making Marco blush without knowing why.

“Let Marco and I unpack and prepare ourselves, then we can meet for a bite to eat and begin to plan our next steps,” Iasco said.  “Mitment, would you show Marco to the guest rooms, and give him the yellow room.  Folence, you come with me,” she set things in motion, and left Marco in the hall.  The guard who had been carrying his baggage put it down and left it for him as she followed Iasco’s group upstairs.

Marco was alone with Mitment and his bags.  He picked up the bags and looked at the ghost.  “Let’s go,” he shrugged.

“Okay, lover,” she winked at him, and led the way down a hallway, then turned left to go down another hall, and turned left again to come upon a series of rooms, then opened the door of one without bothering to knock, and led Marco in.  The room was spacious and airy, with a balcony that looked down upon the harbor.

“See that balcony?” Mitment pointed to a large patio whose railing was just a few feet from Marco’s own railing.  “That’s Lady Iasco’s porch.  You two should be able to get together tonight in a discreet manner,” the guard commented.

“Thank you Mitment,” Marco said as he picked a pear from the fruit bowl on the table then threw himself down upon the bed.

“I’ll return to the Lady if there’s nothing else,” the spirit replied, and walked out through the door.

Marco bit into the pear and thought about the Docleatae word for pear – pera. It was nearly the same, he thought, and his mind was lost in thinking about the new language he was learning, until there was a knock on the door some time later.

“Quem e?  Entrar no Mercado,” he called out, then realized he had actually used the foreign language.

“Excuse me?” a woman’s voice called.

Marco rushed to the door and opened it, to see a servant waiting in the hall.

“Her Ladyship invited you to join her and others for dinner in her room, my lord,” the woman told him.

“I’ll be right there,” he answered.  He didn’t think he needed to bring anything, so he followed the servant to the dining area, where Folence and two others sat with Iasco.

“Welcome, Golden Hand,” the Lady said from her spot at the head of the table.

“We are sending out messages tonight to the temples in the Lion City and Nappanee to alert them to your eventual arrival in their cities, acting on my behalf.  They will know your mission, and will be prepared to assist you in whatever way they can,” Iasco said.

“There’s going to be resistance, especially in Nappanee,” warned one of the women Marco didn’t know.  “You know how they are.”

“Golden Hand can handle any problem there,” Iasco said confidently.

“Now, Minerva, you need to have all the temples begin to send supplies to Malta to help the army we are raising.  Please make arrangements to coordinate the deliveries,” she spoke to one of the other priestesses.

“Grielle, put together an expedition for us to go up to the Asclepius temple for fasting and prayer tomorrow,” she addressed another of the women.  “Since our spirit is no longer able to come to us to appear in person, I propose to go up to her temple to speak to her about some matters of interpretation of the prophecies.

“Folence, we’re going to empty the harbor out with all the messages we must ship out, but we’ll give you one of the ships to carry you back to Barcelon.  The Duke has been most supportive, and I want you to make sure the temple there assists him as much as possible.”

“Gladly, my lady,” Folence demurely replied.

Marco ate his meal in silence for the most part, listening to the women discuss various activities at first, and then gradually grow more comfortable and familiar, discussing events and personal activities that took place while Iasco was gone.

“What is the underworld like?” Grielle asked at last, as they drank their dessert wine at the end of the meal.

“It’s numbing.  It takes away some memories and some feelings and some desires, so that one can be softened as one awaits the final direction for the soul,” Iasco said.

Marco glanced at Mitment, who stared back at him, as he grinned momentarily in remembrance.  The spirit of the guard had still been angry and feisty when he had first encountered her in the underworld.   He remembered the painful punishments she had delivered to him on occasion.

“Do you think it’s funny down in the underworld, Golden Hand?” Minerva asked.  The question was asked with a steeliness that indicated she disapproved of the smile she had seen on his lips.

“I remember passing the spirit of a little girl, maybe seven or eight years old, on her way into the underworld while I was leaving it the first time,” Marco said.  “And I felt sorrow for the child whose life was interrupted.  I remember the scores of souls who had messages they wanted delivered to the living, messages of love and information and regret.  I remember Ophiuchus bargaining away her power to take on substance as the only way she could gain admittance for me to enter the underworld to resuscitate Lady Iasco – she dissolved away into mist as we kissed farewell.

“I remember Mitment still so angry with me that she swept her insubstantial sword through my body, disrupting every organ that it touched.

“No, I do not think it’s funny in the underworld.  I hope I never go there again, until it is my own turn to move on towards my soul’s final resting place.”

Minerva and the others were silent, overwhelmed by the emotional testimony that Marco delivered.

“You put that bag of wind in her place,” Mitment said approvingly.

“Well,” Iasco broke the silence, “I need to work with the Golden Hand.  He’ll be leaving us early tomorrow, and we have much to cover in the meantime.”  She stood up, and the others rose as well, knowing that the meal was over.

“Golden Hand, please remain,” she asked as they all walked towards the door.

“Lady Folence?” Marco asked.

She turned to look at him.

“Thank you for your help and your care,” he said.  He wanted her to know that he knew she had done the right things for him, in both Barcelon and on the island, even when it had not been popular.  “If you see Mirra in Barcelon, please give her my love,” he added.

“I will, Marco,” she said fondly.  She extended both her hands towards him and he took them in his, while they smiled at one another.  “It’s unfortunate for you that you have to be a hero instead of staying at home with that lovely girl, but we’re all lucky to have you assisting Lady Iasco.  Good luck, young man,” she said as she gave his hands a squeeze, and then she was gone.

The others followed her out the door.  Iasco ushered the servants out as well, then turned to Marco.

“Are you ready for our last language lesson?” Iasco asked him.

“Before we begin, can you tell me how this works?” he held up his right hand.  “What are the limits to what it can do?”

She looked at him quizzically.

“For example,” he said, “one time in Clovis I issued a curse that not only affected the weapons of those who attacked me, but even applied to someone far away when he did something I forbade him to do.”

“The limits on your power are contained within you,” Iasco said calmly.  “You have a portion of my own powers that transferred from the spell I put upon that flesh.  But you have molded and multiplied the power now, and I do not know what your limits are.  You will find out as you are tested.  I hope that you are not ever forced to do great things Marco, but I believe that you can.”

“Now, go to your room and prepare your potion to go into a trance, then come back here so that we can get underway.”

Chapter 19 – An Interrupted Voyage

“There’s your ship,” a servant from Iasco’s staff pointed as the two of them walked down to the harbor early the next morning.

Marco thanked the woman, then walked on his own down to the pier where a small schooner, a pungy, waited.  The crew consisted of seven women, who looked with curiosity at the boy who stepped onto their deck.

“We’re to take you to the Lion City?” the captain of the ship asked.  She was young, compared to the other captains of ship Marco had been on.

“Yes ma’am,” he answered.

“That’ll be four or five days.  Is there anything else you need before we head out?” the captain asked.  The other members of the crew all stood nearby, listening.

“This is everything I need to bring,” he answered, patting the pack over his shoulder.  “Where should I put it?”

“We don’t have a cabin for you.  You’ll be staying in the crew berth, the last hammock on the left.  Just put it in your locker.  Now excuse me,” she told Marco and turned away to begin shouting orders at the crew, who had already set in motion once Marco had declared himself ready to go.

The small ship seemed to be the fastest vessel Marco had ever sailed on.  He didn’t know whether the ship was truly that fast, or simply seemed faster because it was smaller and closer to the surface of the sea.  Nonetheless, he enjoyed the feeling of speed as he spent many hours on the deck, staying out of the way of the crew as they made continual adjustments to the sails.

On the third night of their trip, Marco noticed a small glow on the horizon.  “What’s that?” he asked one of the hands.  The light seemed to be not far away, but faint nonetheless.

“I don’t know; I’ve never seen it before,” the sailor answered.

Marco felt a sense of certainty that he knew what it was – the flame he had lit in the community of the merfolk, in Kreewhite’s home village.  It was a marker, showing him where Glaze and Porenn were living, hostages held pending his return from the quest for the Echilda’s scale.  And though he had succeeded in the quest, his companions – Cassius and Pesino – merfolks sent with him to watch him and vouch for his success, were no longer with him.  They were no longer merfolk, for that matter.  And that posed a challenge in terms of the release of the captives.

“Stop the ship!” Marco shouted.  “Captain, please stop the ship here!” he called out three times, as the three crew members on the deck looked at him in surprise.

The captain came up from her cabin.  “What’s the shouting about?  What’s the emergency?” she called out, clambering over to Marco’s location along the starboard side of the small craft.

“I need to go over to that light,” Marco said, suddenly wondering how to explain the plan that was forming in his mind.