The Gorgon's Blood Solution (28 page)

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now give me that bottle of distilled spirits,” Marco instructed, and when she did so, he took a long drink from it and shuddered in disgust.

“What are you doing?” Glaze asked.

“I’m trying to get ready to dull the pain,” Marco answered evenly.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Mirra protested.

“I’ll be hurt worse if you don’t do this for me,” Marco gently reminded her.  “I need you to help me with this.”

“Take the needle, and press the flake of gorgon’s blood against the skin on top of the evil,” he told her, then took another drink.

“I think the cure you mixed up will be a cleansing cure; it will drive the evil energy away.  Just keep pressing the needle against the, the, uh, the infection,” Marco felt the liquor starting to affect his mind, making his attention wander and his focus grow fuzzy.

“Press against it for me, Mirra,” he looked up at her.  “You are so beautiful!” he smiled at her, happy to see her with him, happy to know that she had voiced her love for him.

She smiled a somber smile at him momentarily, as she looked from his chest to his eyes and back to his chest.  “Are you ready for this, Marco?” she asked hesitantly.

He took another swig of the fast-acting liquor.

“You fix me up here, and then we can run away and get married,” he told her in slurred tones.

Glaze laughed from where he crouched behind Mirra.

“You get down here and hold his arms down!” she whirled on her brother and immediately ordered him.

He suppressed a smirk and bent down beside her.

“Are you ready, Marco?” she asked gently.

He failed to respond, and Glaze carefully removed the bottle of spirits from the limp fingers of the wounded apprentice, and set it aside before he grasped both wrists and pinned them carefully to the floor.

Glaze looked at Mirra and nodded.  She positioned the needle, with its tiny flake of the extraordinary medicine, above Marco’s chest, then began to tentatively lower it closer to the surface of his skin.  It was undoubtedly her imagination, she was sure, but it seemed that as the gorgon’s blood approached Marco’s skin, the bump of evil upon his chest seemed to flinch.

Marco’s eyes popped wide open, just as the tip of the needle reached the last fraction of an inch before it made contact with his skin.

“It says to stop!” he blurted out.

And then the medicine touched him.

Marco arched his back with a spasmodic response, his legs and arms flailing violently.  The thrust of his body upward drove his chest against the needle that Mirra held, and as contact occurred, there was a puff of smoke and the foul odor of burning flesh.  The evil occupant of Marco’s body was driven away from the gorgon’s blood, and the purifying agents that it strengthened; the lump shot back to Marco’s shoulder, and then beyond, moving down his arm to come to rest near his elbow, diminished and harmed by the medicine Marco had prescribed for himself.  As it went it destructively tore through his flesh.

Mirra did not immediately grasp all that happened though, for the initial thrust of Marco’s body was driven both by the pain he felt, and by the pain and fear the evil energy felt.   His body’s reaction knocked Glaze against one wall, and thrust Mirra against the other, sending her flying through the air to strike the wall so violently that it knocked the breath out of her.

There was a pounding sound, and the door burst open.

              “What are you doing?” Marco heard a woman’s voice shouting, as his own body continued to flail and Mirra rested against the wall where his reaction had tossed her.  He was too stunned to understand what was happening.  He turned his glazed eyes, his body in shock from the pain and the reaction of the evil, and saw that Folence and Kilson had entered the apartment.

“My God, my lady!” Kilson spoke loudly.  “There’s so much blood!  Is he dying?  Did she stab him?”

“It would have been simpler if she had,” Folence said.  “You check on the girl and the boy,” she directed the guardsman as she bent over Marco.

He tried to look down at himself, then looked away.  His flesh was ripped open across his chest, revealing the gleam of his ribs, and blood was splattered everywhere.  He looked up and saw Folence’s eyes, drilling down into his own, and then he passed out.

Chapter 20 – Deadly Dance at the Palace

Marco awoke, and he saw a dark ceiling somewhere far above him.  He felt pain all across the right side of his chest, in his right shoulder, and in his right arm.

“Mirra?” he asked groggily.

There was a spat of whispering, and then a quick shuffling of feet, followed by the sound of a door closing.  It slowly dawned on him that he could not move his arms or legs.

“Mirra?  Glaze?” he asked again.  “Folence?” he asked in desperation, hoping that someone would answer him.

He heard the sound of the door again, and more footsteps, then Folence appeared above him.  “Do you know who I am?” she asked, looking down at him.

“My second worst nightmare,” he said groggily.

Her lips flickered in what might have been the beginning of a smile.

“Where are we?  Where’s Mirra?” he asked.

“Don’t you want to know if you’re going to live?” she asked.  “That should be your first question.”

“If you’ve got me captive,” he wrenched his left fist fruitlessly, “it doesn’t matter so much whether I live or not.  Where’s Mirra?  Is she alright?”

“So worried about your ward, are you young Pygmalion?” Folence asked.  “Even after she tried to kill you?”

“What’s Pygmalion mean?  She didn’t try to kill me!  She tried to heal me – she did what I told her to do,” he said, then grimaced in pain from his over-exertion.

“Captain Kilson has her and her brother under guard back at the duke’s palace; she’s in no immediate danger, so don’t worry about her just now, her keeper is very sympathetic,” Folence said.  “We need to worry more about you.

“You’re lucky to be alive.  If Kilson hadn’t taken me in search of your pretty young prodigy as a means to track you down, I wouldn’t have been there when you were dying,” Folence said.  “And all I’ve done is
kept you alive.  You’re a mess, a terrible mess, even without that abomination that is trying to eat your soul.”

“Am I strapped down?  Will you release me?” Marco asked.

Folence looked at him with narrowed eyes.  “Not right now, not yet.  You need to rest and heal.  I’ve sent a message to Lady Iasco to let her know your condition, and if you grow healthy enough to move, I’ll put you on a ship and send you to her so that she can heal you completely.

“If I take those straps off, there’s no telling what you might try to do, or what damage you’ll do to yourself,” she concluded.

Marco closed his eyes, defeated.

“Mirra only did what I told her to.  I thought I could destroy the sorcerer’s evil that was in me, and she was following my directions.  She and Glaze shouldn’t be held captive.  Please release them,” he begged.

“I’ll look into the matter.  Captain Kilson certainly feels that they’re better off at the palace where he can keep a close eye on them,” Folence told him.  “And for their own sake, we shouldn’t let them go back to that squalid home in any event.”

“Ask Gabrielle; see if they can stay with her.  I just want them to be free,” Marco felt exhausted from the conversation, and he began to sleep.

Folence took a step back and looked at the boy.  He was asleep atop a bier that was positioned upon the altar of the chapel in the convent house of her order.  The Sisterhood of Ophiuchus had a temple campus at Barcelon that appeared simple on the outside.  It was never open to the public, except for the small building that women from the community visited for medical care and religious services.  Marco was far inside the temple grounds; he was being kept in the most sanctified space Folence could use, as a way to try to tamp down the terrible evil force that lived within his body.

Although she wouldn’t admit it to the boy, his alchemical solution to the problem had been productive.  The evil energy had been moving closer and closer to seizing control of his heart, and seizing control of his soul, for whatever unknown purposes it had in mind.  His method, brutal and destructive as it had been, had driven the evil farther from his heart, and seemed to have cowed it into quiescence for the past day.  She hoped the sanctity of the chapel would help to weaken the evil while the boy’s body was healed, and she desperately tried to discover some means of curing him further.

She stopped looking at him and turned to go.  Her eyes momentarily locked with those of the statue of Mary that overlooked the altar.  Folence didn’t like having a male on the grounds, let alone in the chapel.  She would have to go through a ritual to re-consecrate the building once he was gone, as a way to appease the Mother, to appease her own conscious, and to settle the angry mutterings of the sisters nearby who were upset by the presence of a male upon their grounds.

When Marco next awoke it was the following day, and he felt more energetic.  “May I have some water, please?” he called out hoarsely.  He could see no one present within the scope of his vision, but he heard footsteps.  An elderly woman appeared suddenly.

“Open your mouth,” she ordered, then dribbled some water into his mouth.  He closed his lips to swallow, but she continued to pour, so that water splattered all across his face, and he opened his mouth again to catch the flow and stop the spray of water that covered his nose and eyes.  He stopped to swallow again, and she continued to pour for a pair of seconds more, then smugly stopped and walked away.

Minutes later Folence arrived.  ”How do you feel this morning?” she asked.

“Wet,” he answered curtly.

She raised her apron, and roughly wiped it across his face.  “Now how do you feel?”

“Dry,” he told her.

She stared down in disapproval.  “I’m keeping you alive, and I’m protecting your soul by keeping you here in this holy place where no man has ever been before.  I expect more cooperation than this.”

“Where is the evil part?  Has it moved?” Marco asked her.

“It hasn’t moved.  It’s still the same size it was when we brought you here, which is smaller than it was originally.  Your suicidal attack on it did shrink it noticeably in size,” she grudgingly told him.

“Can you untie me now?” he asked.

“Do you pledge to stay obedient and meek while you are here?” she countered.

“I can’t make that pledge,” he answered.

“Then I can’t untie you,” Folence retorted.  She bent over him suddenly, her head approaching his, and he moved his head away from her so quickly that he wrenched his neck.

Folence paid no attention to him as she brought her nose down to the long string of stitches that crossed his chest, raggedly pulling his flesh back together.  “There’s no infection so far,” she said as she raised her head after sniffing for the smell of infection.

“Are Mirra and Glaze freed?” Marco asked.

“Yes, they are.  Captain Kilson put in a request with the Duke to facilitate their release.  They were set free as a favor to him,” Folence said.

“Where are they?  Can I see them?” Marco immediately asked.

“As you suggested, the brother is living with the lady at the alchemy shop,” Folence answered.  “Because they were released on recognizance to Captain Kilson, the girl is staying at his home.

“I’m sure he is being a perfect gentleman,” Folence added, taking some pity on Marco, as she saw the expression on his face.

“Can you have her brought here?” he asked.

“In a few days.  After you heal more completely,” Folence remained adamant.

“If I pledge to not run away, and to obey you while I am healing, will you unstrap me, and bring Mirra to see me?” Marco felt desperate enough to concede.

“So you’ll agree to be obedient, but not meek, while you’re here?” Folence referred back to her earlier request.

“Yes,” Marco said in a low voice.

“Then I will unstrap you,” Folence said.  She reached across him and opened the buckle on one wrist, then undid the other.  “And I will send a message to Captain Kilson to invite his young friend to come for a visit,” she added.

“Do not try to do too much, Marco.  You will be in a great deal of pain.  Do not try to walk about unless you have someone to assist you.  You may not – under any circumstances – leave this building,” she instructed.  “I will have someone here at all times to watch over you.”

She turned and walked away, leaving Marco to stretch his left arm over to the right, where he rubbed at his wrists, then raised his right arm and looked at the raised portion of that a
rm.  The evil energy was a grotesquely distended knob in his bicep, just above the elbow, but it did look smaller than the lump had looked before.  He could see the line of stitches that ran up his arm to his shoulder, and disappeared from his view on his torso.

He pressed himself up into a sitting position, and felt a sharp shooting pain run through his chest.  Folence’s warning had been accurate – he was in a great deal of pain just from that one simple act.

He looked around.  A patient woman, a member of Folence’s order, wore a severe gray gown, and sat on a pew watching him, as her fingers knitted yarn into some item of clothing.  The building was beautiful on the inside.  There were numerous rows of pews behind the woman, all empty.  The perimeter of the room was ringed with statutes of women – holy women, he presumed.  The walls were decorated with intricate tapestries and the ceiling was high, high above.  There were four doors, one in each direction.

Marco unbuckled the straps on his ankles, then laid back down, and fell asleep, exhausted by the simple effort.

The next day, Mirra came to visit.  Kilson brought her to the convent grounds, then waited outside while Folence escorted her to see Marco.  She wore a new gown, one he had never seen before.  It had a low neckline that revealed her décolletage to a greater degree than Marco thought appropriate, and he asked about it before they said anything else.

“Captain Kilson bought this gown for me,” she explained to Marco, and he let the issue pass, as his eyes took in the sight of her beauty.

The two of them held hands and talked for nearly an hour, until Folence returned, and took Mirra back out of the chapel.  Marco became aware that every day Folence came to the chapel to treat his wounds with ointments and salves, and had sisters of her order lay hands upon him as they prayed.

The following day, Marco tried to walk.  Folence had two members of her order stand on either side of him, and he slowly walked to the back of the chapel.   The day after that, Folence sniffed his stitches again, and decided that he could be bathed, and insisted that it happen.  The females of the order vacated a bathroom in one of their dormitories, and Marco washed himself in lukewarm water, then felt refreshed from the cleansing.

Mirra visited the following day, with news.  “The Duke still wants to have a ball to honor you for curing the plague and for defeating the Corsairs’ sorcerer.  He has it scheduled for three days hence, and wants Lady Folence to let you come to the palace for it.  Kilson has said that you’re not strong enough to leave, but the Duke insists.”

“Will I go to the palace for the duke’s ball?” Marco asked Folence when she arrived later in the day to inspect and treat his wounds.

“That may be up to you.  Will you promise to not run away, and to continue to be obedient?” she asked as she examined him.

“If Mirra is at the ball, I’ll be obedient,” Marco answered.

And so, on the day of the ball, Folence came to him in the mid-afternoon.  “It’s time to remove your stitches,” she told him.  She had a small, sharp knife, and she carefully cut away the black threads, and pulled each one out.  The process took an hour. 

“Now, let them drain for a while, then we’ll take you to have a bath, and we’ll dress you up for your night at the palace.  Afterwards, you’ll return immediately here, agreed?” she asked.

“How much longer are you going to keep me here?” Marco asked, as he looked at the long, angry red line that ran along his arm and his shoulder.  It would be an ugly scar to carry around, though he thought he could compose some alchemical creams that would substantially fade it away.  It was a goal he set for himself for the day when he could finally return to Gabrielle’s shop and resume his life in Barcelon.  If that day ever came, he cautioned himself to remember.

“I can’t tell you,” Folence answered.  “You still have the sorcerer’s evil in your body.  I don’t know how it will react when you leave this sanctified place.  I am judging that a few hours at the palace will not be enough time to allow it to do any damage to you.  Afterwards, we’ll bring you back here.

“Physically, you are moderately healed Marco, but your soul is still in grave danger.  I expect to receive advice from Lady Iasco any day now that may give me some direction in how to resolve the problem.”

Marco sat silently, digesting her information, then walked to the baths and cleaned himself up.  “Here is an outfit for you to wear,” Folence surprised him by walking unannounced into the bath.  She had clothing draped over her arm.  “Don’t be shy boy, get up here and get dressed.   I’ve had to clean you up enough that you don’t have anything to hide from me, so move along.”

Marco obediently stepped up to her and pulled on the dark pants and the white shirt.  “What’s this?” he asked about a blue triangle of cloth.