The Four Tales Page 4

  If she had managed to sneak past his posted men at the front gate and grounds, he feared what this would mean for his kingdom's defense and safety. He feared what it would mean for his family and his kingdom.

  Decades past, a world war had broken out among man. The earth was dying, and they had believed calling upon occultists could save it. Instead, it had started an out-of-control conflict amongst those with power. The war had destroyed most of the land and ocean instead of saving them. What was left, including the people who had survived, had come together to start new.

  “Father, it is happening again,” he whispered. “Magic is coming back to our land, even though we have fought so long and hard to keep it out. I’ve gone by your strictures and restricted electricity use, kept away any form of technology, and reverted to the stone age. Yet, it might all be for naught.”

  Continuing to stare out the window, he conjured up a vision of the woman whose signature marked her as his “first love”. If only those words hadn't been true.

  How deceived he had been!

  Now, his lack of judgment and foresight might cost him the lives of those he did love most dear. The lives of his family and his kingdom.

  “What will she do?” he wondered. “What will she do?”

  3

  “Scholar Kennedy, please present.” The king gestured to the man on his right.

  “What we know comes from the last war. Since the occult was seen as nothing more than amusement and recreational in its use, no one was prepared for the onslaught. Our studies at that time showed how powerful words were in the creation of spells. It also showed us how far steeped our world had gotten into the habit of committing curses.” Pausing, Scholar Kennedy looked around the table and cleared his throat.

  “Our studies showed that witches, witchcraft, devil worshippers, and other forms of the occult first started as far back as the Garden of Eden. Presumably, it began with Cain, but we aren’t positive of this fact or of the actual origins. Additionally, most people who were later burned for being witches were simply herbalists, doctors, and people who made the wrong enemies.”

  “Scholar Kennedy, we are well aware of this background. The War Council and Scholars Initiative has pieced together every bit of understanding we could find since the war. We defeated it then, and we can defeat it now.” Scholar Keefe’s drooping face reminded the assembly of a constipated pug.

  Nodding his head, Scholar Kennedy placed his pen on the table and cleared his throat a second time. “I know this group is aware of the issues we face. The war opened our eyes to the mistakes our ancestors had made. Absolute power does corrupt beyond our understanding. However, the power struggles which destroyed half of our world and killed numerous people started with these curses. We have to understand them before we can begin to understand our newest opponent.”

  “So, Scholar Kennedy, you're informing us nothing can be done? No precautions taken?” Scholar Keefe's face twisted into a scowl which wrinkled his cheeks further.

  “Unfortunately, there is nothing for us to do at this time. We can put safety measures in place, but even with our research and knowledge of witchcraft, we are inept at dealing with this threat currently. We don’t know what power she could have. We locked every book away which contained anything regarding witchcraft. Which means, she could have her own.”

  “Gach rud atá naofa!” a scholar exclaimed.

  “If I might, none of this is holy, Scholar Bernard,” Scholar Kennedy replied.

  Scholar Keefe rolled his eyes. “What is the purpose of this meeting? If we don’t know how to act, how are we going to keep anyone safe? Don’t tell me that witch could send us into a fourth world war!”

  “It hasn’t progressed to such a point yet, Scholar Keefe. We’re here to discuss our options. We need to look into the books we have collected to find the answer. We need to set up precautions and securities. It’s time we were proactive. The last time we were reactive, half the world died.”

  A knock at the door startled those present. The butler entered with the mail tray. He shuffled to King Tritium, his lips pinched and brows low.

  Bowing, tray held out, Rupert waited. The council grew silent as many looked upon this letter with foreboding. After the former letter, no one was eager to find out if this message revealed bad news as well.

  A few younger gentlemen held their breath as the king took up the envelope and broke the seal. The wax held the stamp of King Tritium's neighbor to the south, King Ammandon. A fickle king, Ammandon often sent missives to the kingdom's surrounding his own to state his dissatisfaction over some perceived slight or imaginary disgruntlement.

  However, this time, King Tritium believed it to be his ally’s response to the missives sent out by his quickest riders the proceeding night. Atkins had taken care of that duty immediately after leaving his king. The riders had gone all night. King Ammandon and King Iver were his two closest allies. Their prompt response was expected.

  “It is from King Ammandon,” the king told the council.

  “Finally,” Scholar Keefe muttered.

  “What?” the king shouted.

  Many sat up straighter in their chairs, and eyes fastened on the king. Whispers ended.

  “According to this reply, King Ammandon states he will not ally himself with us when the southern piece of our kingdom, which he believes is rightfully his, is in dispute. He demands we turn over this land to him at once or war with his kingdom is imminent.”

  Breaths hissed out, sucked in, and muttered phrases, “Dia shábháil linn!”

  “This is unheard of!” Atkins exclaimed, his fury lighting up his face.

  “How can he be worried over a small piece of land when lives are at stake by a crazy witch?” Lord Keefe grumbled loudly.

  “How dare he!” another called out, “The land was split equally to be maintained by all who worked within the borders!”

  “Doesn’t he recall what happened during the last war? He wants to intentionally cause another when there’s a witch on the loose?” Scholar Bernard questioned.

  “It is not his land! The conditions of the contract set down after the war state as much! Should I send him a copy?” Atkins told the company, but directed his question to the king.

  Other voices supported this question and refuted the King Ammandon's claim on every principality.

  King Tritium was silent through these outbursts. He leaned back in his chair listening but also lost in his own thoughts. Tilting his head in Atkins direction, he waited until the latter's ear was close to him before asking his question.

  “You don't suppose King Ammandon is in league with the witch?”

  Atkins straightened and looked his king in the eye. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind at all, but now that it had been asked, he could see the possibilities of such an alliance.

  “I don't know, Sire, but it would not be surprising to me to hear it were so. I will see what I can find out.”

  The king nodded and sat back again. The table had grown silent, and eyes were upon the king and his favored Adviser once more.

  A throat cleared.

  “Your Highness, what do you propose we do?” Lord Keefe again took lead in the conversation.

  “A response shall be sent at once. We will not acknowledge any claim of land until after the current issue is resolved. The safety and livelihood of the whole kingdom and possibly the remainder of this world are at stake in this warning. The witch wants revenge, and she will seek it. I refuse to entertain his assertions until the prior and more important matter is cleared up.”

  Atkins wrote hastily as the king spoke. When he finished, everyone waited in silence until Atkins had rewrote the letter and placed it before King Tritium to read and sign. Nodding, the king did so.

  “Excellent, Atkins. My thanks. Rupert, give this to our speediest rider and send him to King Ammandon with swift promptness.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Rupert left the room with much speed for such an old man.

&nbs
p; “Atkins, please report to the men what you have found out in your search for the witch.”

  Atkins nodded, “The men I have put on the trail of any unknown persons in the area have found no one the witch's age and description to be residing in this area. They have expanded their search to the outer regions and into the borders of King Iver's land, with his permission. We have also been considering those who are new to the area as far back as twenty years. We hope to have a lead soon.”

  Heads nodded around the table.

  “What else is being done?” Lord Keefe spoke for them all again.

  “All the guards have been interviewed about the letter. No one saw or heard anything. The servants have also been questioned. One young maid thought she saw a flash of color out the back window, facing the back lawn and forest, when she was scrubbing it, but she can't identify anyone.”

  “It seems we're at a disadvantage, Adviser Atkins. I don't like it. I don't like it at all.”

  Murmurs around the table agreed with Scholar Keefe's statement.

  “You can't tell me we have no recourse against this witch, Scholar Kennedy. The Initiative must have found something for us to use during the last war? After all these years, our assembly shouldn't be useless in a situation like this.” Scholar Keefe's voice boomed over the furtive voices.

  “We are doing all we can, Scholar Keefe,” Kennedy's teeth gritted as he spoke. “She hasn’t revealed what her end ambition is. We can’t find her. We don’t know what arts she has at her disposal. We are completely in the dark. We thought the last of magic had died with her.”

  “Well, then, what in the name of all that's holy do we do?” Scholar Keefe's face turned an alarming shade of red.

  A throat cleared from down the elongated table. Eyes shifted to the youngest member of the gathering. His clear green eyes peered back at all of them and blinked once, twice, three times as their gazes fell upon him. He cleared his throat again in expectation.

  “Yes, Scholar Bernard?” King Tritium responded.

  “Perhaps, if I may – to be so bold, m-maybe suggest a thought?” the stammer sputtered from between his lips.

  The king inclined his head in acquiescence, stifling a smile over the young man's initiative. He liked initiative. This youth had lately superseded to the office due to his father's passing the previous year. He was the youngest gentleman of the council at twenty-nine years of age.

  “Well, I suppose there's always something we can do in cases like this.”

  “And what's that, boy?” Scholar Kennedy asked with some impatience.

  Glancing around the table and then back to the king, the young man straightened instead of sagging at this admonishment. Shoving his shoulders back and clearing his throat once more, he said, “Well, Your Majesty, I thought maybe it would be helpful to pray.”

  The assembly shifted its gaze from the speaker and looked at one another before turning to the king without a sound. There wasn't one protest. Not one sound.

  King Tritium kept his eyes upon the young lad as he slowly nodded.

  “Yes, yes, we certainly can.”

  At this endorsement, forty-three men did not hesitate but bowed their heads and prayed.

  4

  Farview Country

  “Confound it,” he muttered as he peeked his head through the trees and looked right and left.

  The two tricksters were nowhere in sight, and no one else was in sight. Concerned the girl might be hurt and crippled at the bottom of the cellar, Simon made haste to the doors and found them locked.

  “Hmm, this looks easy.” Looking around, he didn’t spot the two he’d seen push the girl back inside.

  Taking it as a sign, he figured it would only take another minute before she was free, and he was on his way. He took the lock in hand and pulled a penknife from his pocket. Sticking the blade inside, he wiggled it back and forth for a few seconds.

  They should invest in a better lock, he thought to himself. He grabbed both handles and heaved the doors open, afraid of what he might find inside.

  A flashlight flew at his head. Ducking, he dropped his knife and just dodged the heavy relic. They didn’t use them anymore because of the scarcity of batteries.

  Taking in this collection of thought, Simon jumped to the side as the girl charged up the stairs.

  “Aven! How could you and P--” The whirlwind of brown hair and gray gown seemed to stop in mid-rant with a hand held to her side and a devilish glint in her eye.

  Simon was impressed with her arm and her spirit, even if she was a dirty child with a small nose and tiny body wrapped in the plainest gown he'd ever seen. She wasn't pretty. Who could be pretty with a tan face, sharp cheekbones, and large green eyes that kind of scared him. They were wild like the forest, or a very small animal with bloodlust.

  “Do you greet all of your rescuers this way?” he asked her, with a tilt of his head.

  This tiny girl was obviously unharmed from her sibling's trickery.

  Wait, perhaps she is the servant?

  Either way, Simon was unhappy they had pushed this little bit of bones down the steep stairs. She was so thin that one gust of wind would tip her right over. Obviously, her parents should take better care of her.

  “I didn’t realize you had come to assist me, sir. Forgive me. I only thought you were my stepbrother or stepsister, and I meant to scold them.”

  “Scold them? I was under the impression you were going to clout them with the flashlight.” Bending over, Simon picked up his pocket knife, closed it, and reached for the light.

  “It did occur to me before I thought better of it,” Cassie admitted. “I’m sorry I almost hit you.”

  “Do your siblings tend to push you into the cellar often?”

  Cassie shrugged and grit her teeth.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just hurt my ribs a bit. Falling down a set of stairs will do that to you. Thanks for letting me out. I’m sure they would have left me in there all night.”

  “Why would they do such a thing? Do you have anywhere else you could go to stay? If they are abusing you, someone should know about it.”

  “Abusing me?” Cassie shook her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw them push you.” Simon pointed to the open cellar doors. “Most families don’t harm each other for fun.”

  “What family do you live in?”

  “I—” Simon shook his head. He couldn’t start revealing his life story to her. He fell back on the family he’d lived with over the past five years. “I have three sisters. I wouldn’t dare to hurt any of them.”

  “They’re blessed to have you then, and I suppose, you’re fortunate as well. I figured most families held at least one crazy sibling. Thank you. I appreciate your assistance.”

  Cassie held out her hand to shake his own. “I think I'm a bit sore and bruised, but none the worse for wear. Would you care to come in for supper? I was about to cook the evening meal, and my father should return soon.”

  “I—” Simon stopped short when he realized the tiny ache in his stomach was becoming more persistent with the mention of food. It wouldn't hurt to eat a bite with this girl's family before heading out to the camp. “Well, I am hungry. I would appreciate some food if you don’t mind including me?”

  “Not at all. You’ve saved me from hours of waiting for someone to come and find me here. Thank you.” Cassie took in the man before her and knew he must be a few years older than her.

  He was mature with a filled-out form that suggested boyhood days were left behind. However, his bright brown eyes and smiling mouth indicated he wasn't far removed from youth. His countenance was pleasing, and he stood only slightly above her with his perfect posture. His black hair held threads of copper in the late afternoon sun.

  Cassie smiled at him and wondered aloud, “Where have you come from? I don’t recall seeing you in this neighborhood. Will your sisters worry for you?”

  “I’m from the north and am traveling from my family's st
ead to the camp. I am signing up for the war,” he said with a hint of challenge.

  Cassie's eyes widened and unbeknownst to her, she resembled a green-eyed deer for a moment.

  Simon saw her surprise and stiffened his back. Very formally he gave a half-bow. “Simon Rupert, at your service.”

  “Well, Mr. Rupert, you will find yourself in good company. My father also leaves for camp come morning light. I hope you will feel free to stay with us, if you wish. I'm sure my father would be pleased of a new friend.”

  Simon watched the girl's face. He saw pain and sadness etched into the pulled down brows and forced smile. His gaze caught the way she held her left side, leaned onto her right foot, and the little breaths she took between words. It didn't take a genius to see that while she was being polite to him, she was also in pain.

  “What hurts?” he asked without hesitation.

  “I’m—”

  “What hurts?” he asked again without giving her the chance to finish.

  Thinking he was a mind reader, Cassie sighed. “My left elbow and my ribs. I should be fine once I sit down for a moment.”

  “Did you need anything from the cellar?” he questioned her with lifted brows.

  For a second she hesitated, then said, “Our jam is somewhere down upon the floor. I'm afraid it dropped when I fell. I hope it’s still in one piece.”

  Simon closed his eyes in that second. He just realized what he'd seen was really connected to the person he stood talking to now. Calling himself a few choice names for being so slow in coming to her aid, he nodded and headed down the cellar steps. He couldn’t help thinking of what he'd like to do to the two youngsters who had pushed this sweet girl down these steps.

  “Just down here?” he asked and looked below.

  “Yes, it might have rolled away from the stairs. Here,” she picked up the flashlight with a grimace, “you might need this.”

  “Thanks,” he took it and clicked it on, “does it work?”

  “It did before taking a tumble down the stairs. Mother won’t be happy to find it broken.”