Scarlet From Gold (Book 3) (21 page)

With the arrangements agreed to, Marco and Iasco were shown their rooms for the night.  “I’ll stay with you tonight,” Mitment commented as Marco stood before his open door.

His reaction was immediate.  “What?  Why me?” he asked.  “Shouldn’t you stay with the Lady, to protect her?” he asked nervously.

“But you’re the only one who can see me or hear me,” she told him.

Mitment laughed a moment later.  “Your expression is priceless!  I’m going to go stay with the Lady, of course.  Would you please tell her?”

Relieved, Marco immediately did inform Iasco of her guard’s intent.  “Thank you, Golden Hand,” she said, then closed her door.

“Is that your name?  I thought Patric said you were Marco,” the young novice monk who was their guide spoke to Marco.

“My name is Marco, but the Lady calls me that now,” Marco assured the boy, and he turned in for the night in his own plain room.

The following morning they were presented with a small bag of coins at breakfast, and shortly after noon they boarded the pilgrim’s ship to return to the mainland.

“I’m glad to leave the island,” Mitment told Marco.  “I looked out the window all night and watched the spirits of the dead cross the courtyard to go down to the underworld.  It’s sobering to know that so much death occurs so frequently.”

Chapter 15 – Crossing Iberia

After they landed in Lacarona, the three travelers spent an hour discussing how many horses they needed.

“Tell her I don’t need a horse!” Mitment spoke forcefully to Marco, who relayed the message, the same one he had relayed multiple times before, to Lady Iasco.

“Be that as it may, Golden Hand, tell our dear companion that we will have a third horse for this trip, just in case anything happens to one of ours, and I’ll expect her to ride it in the meantime,” Iasco said.

“Tell her it’s an absolute waste of money!” Mitment replied.

Marco looked around at the bystanders and passersby who were looking at the odd conversation the two visible people were having.

“Fine,” he told Iasco, “she says she’ll try it your way.”

“I did not!” shrieked Mitment, standing so close to Marco that he placed his finger in his ear.  “Is this how it’s going to be?”

“Look,” Marco lowered his voice as Iasco went to the livery office.  To the observers, he appeared to be whispering to the thin air, “We have to get going.  You can run beside the horse, and the Lady will never know.  Now let’s stop fighting and start moving.”

They were soon traveling along the road to Compostela, as Marco thought about Dex and Pivot and what they would have said about taking such a quick trip across the pilgrimage route.  Of course, he told himself, this was no pilgrimage – they just happened to be on the pilgrim’s road.

He looked back over his shoulder at Mitment, who was riding atop the third horse of their group, as Lady Iasco rode her horse briskly in the front.  Mitment – originally afoot – had managed to keep up with the other two for the first mile out of town, when traffic had inhibited the pace of their departure from the city.  Once they rode free of the farmers’ carts and local pedestrians, Iasco had increased the pace, and Mitment had run faster and faster, then started to fall further and further behind.  The guard spirit had refused to call out for a pause, but Marco took pity on her finally.

“My lady!” he called.  “May we stop for just a moment so that I can adjust my saddle?”

“Now, climb up on your horse,” he said quietly to Mitment as she breathlessly arrived while he pretended to check the straps of his saddle.  He watched as she wordlessly obeyed, making her horse skittish as she tried to mount it, until Marco finally walked over and held it in place.

“What was that about?” Iasco asked when Marco climbed atop his own horse.

“Just a quick stretch of the legs,” Marco answered without looking over at Mitment.

They journeyed for three days to reach Compostela, staying at places that had the mark of the swift for pilgrims when they were convenient.  They even stayed in the village where Eric and Reba lived.  Marco spotted them across the square, but avoided letting them see him; he didn’t want to risk becoming involved any further with the couple who he had bound together through his inadvertent use of his powers.

The next morning they rode into Compostela, and left their horses at a livery near the entrance to the cathedral.

“Let’s go find the authorities to discuss the issues at hand, and to gain some funds for the next stage of the trip,” Iasco said as they approached the gate.

“May I be excused to go in the cathedral to pray?” Marco asked.

“I suppose so Golden Hand, after I introduce you to the bishop,” Iasco replied as they entered the gates of the cathedral grounds.

“Marco!” Mitment called sharply.

Marco turned as he walked on, and saw Mitment standing outside the gate.

“I can’t enter.  I can’t step onto the holy ground!” she shouted.

“Lady Iasco!” Marco called sharply.  She turned to look at him, as he stopped walking forward with her.

“It’s Mitment; she can’t step into the cathedral grounds,” Marco explained.

“Oh, of course!  Where is she?  Take me back to her,” Iasco ordered, and they returned quickly.

“I’m so sorry, my dear!  Of course I should have seen this coming,” Iasco said.  “Please wait here for us.  We shouldn’t be long.”

“What does this mean?  Will I be able to even step onto the Isle of Ophiuchus?” Mitment asked.

Marco relayed the question to Iasco.

“Of course, certainly you’ll be allowed on the island,” Iasco said stoutly.  “Now stay here; Marco, you go on to your prayers, and then I’ll meet you back here with Mitment,” she directed them all, and went on her way to the office of the bishop.

“Did she seem hesitant to you?” Mitment asked Marco, who had thought he detected some uncertainty in Iasco’s assertion.

“Let me go to the cathedral to pray to the Spirit of Ophiuchus,” Marco answered.  “I’ll ask her to accept you.”

“You’ll come back soon, won’t you Marco?” Mitment asked, in a voice that sounded strained.

He turned and stepped up close to her, almost touching her, feeling compassion for the spirit who had no one else who could hear or see.

“I’ll be back soon, Mitment, I promise,” he said sincerely, drawing a shy smile from the ghost.

“Who are you talking to?” a passing merchant demanded of Marco, seeing him talking to the thin air before him.  “Been drinking already?”

Marco blushed, then smiled as Mitment winked at him.  He turned and walked into the cathedral grounds, then headed straight into the cathedral.

He knew where he wanted to go; he wanted to find the staircase marked with three violets.  He wanted to climb the stairs again, and find the quiet corner of the cathedral where the Spirit Ophiuchus was portrayed.  He wanted to pray to her, and to hear her voice again, to hear her speak to him.  He had done what she had asked of him, incredible as it seemed, and he wanted desperately to confirm that she knew, and moreso, he hoped to hear praise from her lips, telling him that he had pleased her.

He went past the beginning of the pilgrimage stations, and walked resolutely down the length of the cathedral, cutting past the many pilgrims who were kneeling at each station in devout prayer.  The cathedral was more crowded than it had been when he had visited it; the summer season brought many more pilgrims to visit the shrine.

He went around the corners and down the hallways, until he came to the area where he remembered finding the out-of-the-way staircase.  There was no sign of the passage.  He wandered far beyond where he knew it had been, then reversed course and came back.  Marco went through a cross-passage, and returned from that exploration, again without finding the stairs.

At last he stopped searching, and knelt at the closest chapel, one where a violet marked the spot as part of the pilgrims’ route.  A number of people were there already, but Marco took no notice as he knelt and began to pray to Ophiuchus, asking for direction to the staircase.

“You do not need those stairs to find me, Golden Hand,” the spirit’s voice spoke within his soul.

“”My Lady!” he exulted.  He opened his eyes to look around, but there was no visible sign of the wonderful spirit, so he closed his eyes tightly as he recollected her image.

“You did well in the underworld, my champion, as I knew you would.  You didn’t really need me to tell you that, did you?  What is your real reason for this visit?” she asked.

“I miss you,” he said softly.

“I am with you, always,” she answered.  “I am your sword and your heart.  You know these things Marco, just as you know that I still rely upon you to help Lady Iasco.  Her trials will come, and she will need your help, while I am no longer able to walk with you.

“Thank you for the dance, and thank you for the kiss, Marco dear,” the spirit told him.

“I have a favor to ask,” he spoke up quickly, to try to hide the palpitations his heart felt as he thought of the kiss he had shared with Ophiuchus.

“What favor?” she asked.

“Mitment’s spirit has come with us to the world of the living,” Marco explained.

“How remarkable!” Ophiuchus exclaimed.

“Will you allow her to land upon the isle and enter the holy places there?” he asked.

“Ah,” his former guide’s voice softly exclaimed inside his heart.  “Now I understand.”

“She is here to help Lady Iasco, to help protect her,” Marco explained.

“Then she shall be allowed on the island.  Is this what you want?” Ophiuchus asked.

“I do.  She would be lost if she could not follow the lady,” Marco said.

“Is there anything else?” the spirit asked.

“Will all of this work?” Marco prayed plaintively.  “Will the Lady really be able to defeat the enemy, this Moraca?”

“She will be able to, if she can rely upon you to help,” the spirit answered, “as I know I was able to rely upon you, dear Golden Hand.  Now go and serve her,” the voice commanded, and then Marco knew that it was gone.

He rose to his knees as he opened his eyes, and looked around in amazement.  All the people of the cathedral were going about their lives as though nothing had happened, as though a holy entity had not just been present, communing with him on that very spot.

He began to walk back towards the entrance, increasing his pace so that he strode rapidly, almost running, in his anxiety to be reunited with Mitment and Iasco.  He would help Iasco in any way possible, he told himself, because the spirit of Ophiuchus had confirmed that he would be needed by her if she was to win the great battle that lay ahead.

Minutes later he reached the gateway to the cathedral grounds, and saw Mitment standing unobtrusively off to the side, watching the flow of pilgrims entering the grounds.

“I spoke to the spirit of the Island, Ophiuchus,” Marco told her.  “She says that you will be allowed on the island.”

“Really Marco?  You’re not making that up?  This isn’t some kind of joke?  If it is, I’ll teach you who not to joke with,” she questioned and threatened.

“It’s no joke,” Marco said with his hands protectively raised in front of his chest.

“Good,” Mitment said, “and thank you.

“How is the Lady doing?” she asked.

“I haven’t seen her,” Marco responded.  “We weren’t together.”

“Speak of the Lady, here she comes now,” Mitment said, observing Iasco crossing the yard of the cathedral, accompanied by several men in church vestments.

“Gentlemen, I wish to introduce Golden Hand, my ally and friend,” Iasco said as her group reached the gateway, startling several pilgrims who had not expected to see high holy officials at the entryway.  “He is the anointed hero who used alchemy to reunite my body and soul in the underworld, so that I could return to fight this battle.”

The holy men bowed deeply to Marco, who stood in embarrassed confusion.

“Thank you,” Marco said awkwardly.

“The fathers have agreed to provide us with horses and funds so that we can be on our way,” Iasco told Marco and Mitment.  “And they will send out messages to the church hierarchy informing them that we must be prepared for the coming battles.”

“The fall of Athens was a warning that has rattled us all,” one of the men said.  “Your message will fall upon fertile ground.”

“Are we all together and ready to move on?” Iasco asked Marco, looking around as she obliquely asked about Mitment.

“We’re ready to go,” Marco agreed, looking off to the side at where Mitment stood.

They began their ride across the mountainous land that lay between Compostela and Barcelon, riding for long days and brief stops, with the exception of an inn that Marco insisted they stop at early in the afternoon one day well into their journey.

He was interested to learn if Kaitelyn the cook and Haran the shepherd had established the relationship he hoped he had pushed forward during his last visit.

“You played matchmaker?” Mitment asked as Marco tried to explain his interest in stopping at the inn.

“My lord Marco!” Kaitelyn’s eyes grew wide, then she greeted him with a deep curtsey when he entered the kitchen.  “It’s so good to see you again!”

“It’s good to see you again too, Kaitelyn.  How are you and Haran getting along?” he immediately asked.

“You had something to do with that, didn’t you?” she cried.  “I thought as much!  He came to visit me just a day after you left, and said a traveler had dreamed about he and I as a couple, so he came to visit me, and we’ve been very close ever since,” she blushed.

Marco reflected.  Had he had his memories at the time, and if he had the right materials, he might have produced a love philter for the couple.  But instead, with a little ingenuity, he had found a different way to help bring together – at least for the time being – a couple that hadn’t needed any magical intrusion.

“I only said a word or two,” Marco conceded.  “He was all but ready to woo you himself, but he just needed a little outside encouragement!”

The proposal to spend the afternoon and evening resting at the inn was well-received by all the members of the traveling party.