mrsimple

Since I've been under some strict orders to rest, it's been awhile away from writing.  Luckily, this is a revision rather than a write-from-scratch.  I had held onto this chapter for a long time and regret not publishing it sooner.  Scribble Hub is the first place to see it, same as the previous chapter.  As I had mentioned, the prologue is being totally rewritten to be more appealing, and I still have a hope to succeed.  :)

Enjoy!  :D

Chapter 2: A Mother's Trick of the Light

“While Fenne the Fishmonger looked on at the sea,” the gentle whisper of a cultured woman woke me, “all those other eyes of Haarlem, residents that had not experienced the bells being tolled before,” and she was reading from the book I discovered on my beach, “were up for only an instant in wonder, confusion, and worry as they looked through doors, windows, out on their porch, or as they stood out upon the very cobbled streets themselves.”

This couldn’t be. I wondered, ‘Where is Inze?’

And my foolishness for a night of freedom doomed us. I saw the advantages of a duke’s heir held hostage. This kidnapper would only need to send word and --

“Asleep?” I felt a light poke against my cheek disturb me out of my worrisome train of thought. “Asleep,” she -- my current company, the kidnapper -- had sighed that repeated word.

But I wasn’t asleep. Drugged, I was certain, and confused. I would’ve thought my kidnapper been more aware of the spell she put me under.

“Sylphet,” I heard my name spoken with a note of amusement. “Wake up.” Drugged, and yet, she commanded me to wake. Odd… “Listen? Not enough. Your attention, please, or I will not read on.”

There was a weird jolt of energy that flowed through me. A fear when I heard her unusual threat. I felt my arms and legs shifting beneath me, shoulders tensing, head turning, eyes popping open, and bolting my whole being upright into a sitting position.

This was a dream. A memory of… I couldn’t place where or when. Not yet. I would have to watch, learn, through the eyes of my youth.

“Mama!” I cried out without a will to do so -- that lack of control irritated me -- and my younger self had more to exclaim. “I’m awaa-ah’ke! S’chee?!” Far from it, but I had no power to counter that statement. At least my younger representative here had regained some proper awareness and calmly requested, “Read more d‘oo me, pleas’che, Mama?”

Some… I supposed as I matured, I grew better at it, but I was never one for being composed in civility. The same could be said about my mother, but that was different. She had an excuse in finding the amusement in being rude and blasphemous.

A glance up into my mother’s face had shown me her bright and wide smile. I believed she was being entertained by my cuddliness.

“Hear?” In response, I gave her a short nod and smiled back up at her. “The bell.”

“Bell?” As I questioningly mimicked my mother, I eased into her lap in a more relaxed position -- feeling a little better like this -- and strained to hear that ringing of a mysterious bell. But I did not do so silently. “Hmm? Wha’ah bell?”

“A great toll rang out,” my mother replied, waving the bottom corner of an open and familiar book above my head. “...and the birds from up on the towered houses flew while that one awesome note quaked down to the very foundations of each domicile.” Without either of us having to look to see if she were correct, I knew she had been reciting the exact words written on those pages. “And those homes responded to the coming threat with their own bells, meant to call the guard. An alarmingly vibrant noise to all those present that all was not safe and secure.”

Her arm had given me tight squeeze before easing up on the hug. Then there was a warmth on the top of my head, with a flattening stroke down my sleep-fluffy blonde hair, petting me with a gentle hand.

“Safe?” That single-worded question was directed at me. I nodded and she resumed her reading. “Away from the greatest bell-tower, those awakened residents who were not woman or child, all young but old enough to take charge, no more than boys who thought they were men, had run to the beach to see what was the matter. While those with the experience of battle, who’d seen what was coming, pushed their way through the throng of greenbloods to reach their homes for their arms and armor; the young curiously gathered with excitement. And those who hadn’t known what was the matter, they felt the taste of fear for the first time in their lives when they heard what was coming.”

“Coming? Wha’ah’s coming? Wha’ah was coming, Mama?” I personally knew, but I later supposed -- in retrospect -- that this younger version of me had not been told of the dangers lurking out and beyond our sea.

There had to be a reason I forgot the story. I wondered, ‘Was I that bored?’ That might explain why my younger self fell asleep on her reading to me.

“Listen,” she replied with a frown -- as if honed in on my real thoughts -- and added, “Learn.” I -- the little me -- had quieted and paid my mother her due attention.

A tiny set of tapping on my forehead, from what I knew were the black-tips of her fingernails, had torn my inward mulling apart and focused my attention back to her. She said and asked a single word, “Dull?”

“I am NAH’D!” After that shout, I gave her a little growl of defiance as if to dare her to repeat what she just mused aloud. And I growled out, “No, NO, NAH’D DULL! I am NAH’D a DULLARD!”

“Upset?” Her smile reappeared for a short moment.

“NO!” I crossed my arms and turned away from her. Despite my protest, I’d point out to my younger self -- if I could -- that outburst here proved I most certainly was upset.

A tiny laugh escaped from my mother and she confirmed, “Upset.” She gave me a small squeeze around my lean middle, turned me back to face her, and said, “Apologies.”

To grab my attention, the reading material openly flapped its pages while it was waved over my head once more. I had cut the humiliatingly adorable growling out and giggled at the wild display.

Funny how those worn out pages weren’t flying all over the place then and there. I took that as meaning the elements had truly been the culprit for its damaged condition -- that was, when I rediscovered it on the beach.

“Read?” I shushed up and nodded with too youthful of vigor. “Read.”

What more was said had next come from the book. Times like these that I had ever experienced my mother speaking without confusion. It was as if she was uncertain about the choice of words she used had been correct.

“Now, I read to you,” she dropped her smile and read aloud once more to me. “Long ago, a mouth of sand and earth had opened up to the sea and dragged a long, snaking, line a ways through the Haarlem landscape: now a river.”

As she described the body of water, an image of the river formed within my mind. Back then, I thought that was my imagination conjuring up the scene. Now, I knew better, and saw it as my mother implanting the real sight in my head.

“Sylphet,” she said my name and I looked about myself in worry over what I had done. She clucked her tongue at me and continued to read. “But upon it, another river, one which followed the fault and stretched beyond the sight and senses of man, held a disguising threat: fog.”

My mind clouded until there was nothing but that obscuring screen. I watched my mother as she smirked and ran her hand and fingers through my hair.

This was a dream, but I began to believe she knew that as well. That my mother had been aware of two versions of us in this carriage.

“Sylphet,” she spoke my name once more. I knew she was about to speak of a matter outside the book. “The Gods have met their fate, monotony reigns, these ignorant descendants roam the world, and I am not. Blinded, all-seeing… Sylphet? Whose grandchild am I?”

“Neosch!” I tried to remember that one, but my thoughts were becoming mired under my mother’s powerful influence.

“Yes. A grandchild of the night will always know who and what exists in the dark. Always.” She removed her hand from the top of my head and caught my attention as she tapped the side of her own temple. “Always,” she repeated, and immediately after, had said, “I do not have to see to know when and where you are in existence.”

The clouding within my head grew tenfold. As I attempted to mull over what she had said, I found I could no longer handle a straight thought without deep concentration.

That wasn’t going to happen anyways, but the sensation reminded me how I was an impatient little bugger. I hoped I wasn’t still like that…

“Listen,” I heard her speak. “Learn of your legacy.” When I gave up on pondering about myself, she then picked back up on the spot where we had left off in the book. “And on that specific river, the outline of shadows, large and dark, appeared from the sea and broke from the shrouding fog to present a numberless range of dangers to the people of Haarlem. Hard and bitter men were beginning to ride up on the current, enter the ancient mouth, sail along the fine line of a river, and finally land with a greeting of malice. The vanguard consisted of individuals used to the cold and merciless winds of the north. That sentiment was, as always, thrown right back onto those bastards with a cold and merciless line of hard steel. And those invaders, they knew how the meeting would play out, for the bells that tolled had told their shadowy brethren sneaking upon the townsfolk their morning surprise was done. The shock and awe had passed. A laboring day of bloodshed was upon them all.”

“Ewww,” I said in distaste.

Beginning again, she read from the book of Fenne. “From a vast and obscuring shield of fallen sky, an ocean’s fog had broken and revealed the dark outline of dragon prows appearing from a now white and murky screen of the sea.” I squirmed a little in her lap. Undisturbed, she kept on reading. “A horrific view for the now fleeing innocents of Haarlem. From the streets and their homes, they either ran to find the way behind the many who came ready to meet these beasts -- Fenne now among those shield brothers -- or to feel the first pulse of pride rise up through them and find their true mettle in combat. The latter would seek out their own arms and armor from whatever they deemed appropriate enough to do the trick, and join the growing ranks.”

“Are d’hey goin’ dah figh’, Mama?” Back then, I apparently didn’t add up a situation very well either.

At this time, I must’ve been very young to not have known otherwise. Of course there was going to be a fight.

A big battle. One that stretched far across the coasts of multiple kingdoms.

“Listen,” was her response to my youthfully innocent question. And, then, she continued with the story. “That great and holy bell, from above the church of Haarlem, never ceased, nor had the many towered homes with wives and their children calling for help, as had the neighboring towns, and would not quit until the rising sun chanced upon peeking its light above the ocean again. The sun always had, but would it show that the sons and daughters of blessed Lothar remained holding their town? Or would the light reveal a morbidly grim display of death and destruction?”

“Mama…” I couldn’t believe that I whimpered.

“Shh, ‘tis well. Listen, Sylphet, and learn.” She cradled me in closer and continued on with the record of Haarlem’s events. “As the sun shined brighter that morning, more sons, rather than daughters, arrived. Thousands more, not just village people or townsfolk, but legions from Lotharingia. Those men, who were to be feared by all who they called enemies, would meet the invaders head on and with a just animosity.”

-KNOCK-Knock-KNOCK-Knock-

If my mother wasn’t holding me, I would’ve jumped straight out of her lap and somewhere beneath the bench of our seat. I had no idea what that knocking was.

“A new sound echoed across the walled streets,” but my mother read on. “At first, a disjointed series of metallic claps and slams. As towering shields buried their hard-edged bottoms into the sands, earth, rocks and planks, their cast-iron bands banged and, eventually, rang in rhythm with the bells. Stomping, iron-shod boots clicked and clipped harshly off the scrabbly cobblestones streets by the dockworks.”

Within the dark confines of our cabin, the sunshine entering through the window created a display for me to witness. Spires of shadows began to rise up along the burnt walls. Long and skinny, the casted shadows appeared to bounce with the movement of our carriage, and with each pointed tip to tickle the roof of our cabin.

And she read from the book what the shadowplay had been all about. “Raised high were pikes, spears, halberds, and more longarms than Fenne had thought existed.” As she spoke, I tried to reach up over her shoulder to touch one of the shadowy spires. “Various men -- Sylphet,” she caught me and I retracted my attempts at exploration. “...Various men in colors, heralds with prideful breasted beasts on their tabards, and intricate designs upon their bust and shoulders displayed the many uniforms these men wore. All were from different corners of their divided world, but united with a common purpose. Veterans of wars fought within wars that blended into the countless grind of never-ending conflict with each other had now turned and faced one single great enemy.”

“Vee-Kings!”

There was a laugh cut short by a snort before my mother could speak again. “Sylphet.”

“‘Sylpheh,” I mocked my mother’s tone, and again, “Sylpheh. I am righ’, righ’?” If I could hold my younger self’s mouth shut, I would.

“Sylphet… Yes, the vikings. Norse.” She sighed and went on with the account of one perspective of the coming battle. “Fenne had to stare, wondering where such men had come from on such short of notice. True, the bells may have been ringing for all the morning, but it appeared the entire Kingdom of Lotharingia and beyond had been mustered. The only time that had happened was when there’d been a Karling on the throne…”

The horses had stopped. In immobility, a silence descended upon us. At least, for a moment or two before I spoke up.

“Wha’ is eh, Mama?” I was full of curiosity. Enough so that I began to crawl out of my mother’s lap to peek out the window.

“Stay,” my mother commanded and I obeyed. I remained in her lap and waited.

Outside, I could barely hear an exchange of words. I couldn’t tell what was said, but the tone of voice closer to us sounded clipped and confused. As if the man began to bring something up, but then thought better of it and quickly changed the subject of whatever was discussed.

“Threats?” Instead of trying to see from my position out the window, I glanced up at my mother as she spoke. “Threats and plots.” Her gaze fell on me as she said, “Stay.”

With a gentle tug, I had been picked up and out of her lap to be placed standing in the center of our cabin. I took a step back, turned, and crawled up onto the opposing bench to be seated.

That someone spoke up loud enough for me to hear, “A fine beauty too! I’d wager we’d get more out of fuckin’ and sellin’ than burnin’ the blasphemer.”

There was a crude warning given to that man. “Watch it. I heard stories about her from the Saex up North. She’ll hex your cock off, Wannes.”

And I watched my mother give this Wannes a wicked grin. Now, I would’ve called it ‘wicked,’ but not back then. I hadn’t known then of how painfully large her smile had grown.

A tickle of fear caused me to tremble, and then, in a panic, I worriedly cried out, “Mama?!”

Her smile vanished.

“Move?” She had repeated herself, but this time, as a polite toned down request.

“Siebet, she wants us to move,” a man remarked in his observation.

Another man -- Siebet, perhaps -- queried, “The pagan said that?”

“That was what I just said,” the man -- Wannes, maybe -- had replied in a tone of mock-anger. “Shall we take her up on it?”

“I don’t know. We may have to shove to fit in.” As this other man began to mention his suggestive observation, there was a ring of noisy laughter. That laughter reminded me of dogs barking. “Looks cramped in there.”

My mother had her own response: “Not invited.”

“Perhaps we shall invite ourselves?” The laughter became louder, almost like howling, as this conversation became crude. “Either oblige to our wishes and come with us or we entreat you by moving in.”

“Wannes, shut that trap up,” a new man’s voice had spoken up with the confidence of authority. “Siebet, relieve her man. We do this here and now.”

The laughter died.

“Why now?” The slightest of shadows in front of my mother had faded. I assumed that to be Wannes confronting and protesting against these commands. “Giving her a goodbye fuck is respectful before purification.”

My mother had raised a darkening brow to that. I had taken note of her golden hair turning a light shade of brown. And her straight lip had dipped into a frown.

She asked, “A regular practice of hunters?”

“Hunters? My Lady, we’re not hunters.” Whoever made that statement had given my mother reason to sit back and turn to face towards me.

What happened next was perplexing. She closed her eyes in a wince and smacked her forehead.

“Forgotten,” she stated. Her hand slipped down from her forehead to cover her mouth and she muffled something weird behind it. “Witch Hunters, not officiated. Hmm, not yet.”

“Mama?” This time, my younger self’s worried tone was directed at how my mother behaved.

Both of her now a dark russet brows raised high with her eyes wide in surprise. Then, in the cup of her palm, she said, “Yes?”

At that response, being so direct, I didn’t have a question to ask her. My attempt to grab her attention was solely based on ensuring she was okay.

“No worries.” She dropped her hand, and, though I didn’t quite understand, explained, “Mommy was confused.” The instant after she said that, our cabin shook. Then, calmly, she returned her attention back to those outside. “I am mean. Move.”

Her tone had deepened.

There was a short burst of laughter that was followed with this said, “Oh-ho, a mean mommy --”

“He’s off on the horse now,” someone else interrupted the laughing man. “He’s been paid and acknowledged to report this as you’ve commanded, Captain.”

“Good. Set it afire,” that commanding voice spoke out. When a period of silence obeyed, he then yelled, “Now!”

“My child is with me,” my mother stated. Her hair and eyes had turned... Black.

The man who I supposed was Wannes asked, “Captain, should I grab the kid?”

There were vibrantly-shaded and colorful things like a bushel of pointy sticks poking out from the dark threads of my mother’s hair. Growing long and longer.

“NOW!!” He practically screamed and specified, “Purify them!”

Before the brightly lit flame of their first torch of fire was to be thrown, my mother leaned forward and towards me. She rested a palm gently on the top of my head and said, “Sylphet, I don’t want you to remember this.” She wrinkled her nose and stated, “It’s-- Ew, messy.” A smile that was not humanly possible had spread and stretched across her face to the back of her jaw. “Sylphet, time to wake up.”

Her teeth…

“My Lord,” I heard Inze. “My Lord, wake up.” I felt his hands on me. “My Lord!” His hands were gripped around my wrists. “Sylphet! Wake UP!”

With a sniff and a jerk of my bare body towards the night -- or far-too early morning -- sky, I woke. Fully woke up.

At first, I thought Inze was on top of me, holding my wrists down above my head. Then I noticed his head was upside down.

“What…?” I hadn’t the vaguest idea what went on, but I could rule out danger. Inze would have been up with a readied blade.

From his position behind my head, I didn’t believe this was a moment of danger. Especially with both of his hands having kept mine down in the cool sand. I wondered, ‘Unless I am the danger?’

There was a long exhale from Inze before he asked, “Are you awake and aware, my Lord?”

“Awake, yes,” I confirmed.

After saying that, I had to look down at myself. I watched in wonder how the moonlit shine played with my hip and had highlighted the widening of my pelvic bone. The gleam of moonlight gave a shining glow to my skin an illusion of unblemished ivory, especially when the flesh dimpled into shadows over the slightest of curves on my naked body… As I marveled over the displayed effect of night-light, I failed to recall if I had undressed before laying down to sleep or not.

Before I brought up the second topic of my awareness, I asked, “What is the meaning of you holding...?”

It was just my hands, so I thought, ‘Was I flailing in my sleep?’ That alone would not excuse the action of my guardian. He’d simply give me space to lash out, not bound me to the ground. I wondered, ‘What, then, had happened?’

“My Lord, you were…” Before he spoke further -- or tried -- he let go of my wrists, and I rubbed the sore rings around them. “My Lord, I think we should return to the manor.”

In the act of soothing my wrists, I felt a slick substance over and between my fingers.

When I held up my hand up to the dark sky, I flexed my fingers and watched as they glistened in the moonlight. I remained silent until he could explain this..

After a moment of awkward silence, I questioningly accused, “...You are not going to tell me what happened or why I had to be held down?”

“I cannot explain your actions, my Lord.” I could see his point in that, but there were more dots that were still possible in connecting here.

So, to him, I asked, “Explain yours.”

“I woke up, and you were still asleep. Not soundlessly, but you were.” I hummed disagreeably at him. “My Lord does talk.”

“For talking in my sleep, you held me down?” This wasn’t a real question, but a means to provoke his real answer.

“No, my Lord. You were also grabbing me.” He lifted the front of his shirt and showed off slightly faint lines of pinkening scratches across his lean hip and hard abdominal wall. “I pulled your hands away from me.” He kept his silence a moment longer than I desired, so I prompted him to continue with a reach over my head and a firm shove against his exposed belly. “You were masturbating.”

“I was what?” Once I asked that, I yanked my hand back, shifted away from him, turned onto my side, curled up into a ball -- with my back moreso towards him -- and began an investigation. As I checked my apparently drenched private place, I more loudly repeated, “I was doing what?!”

“As I said, you had both hands on me. When I refused you, I saw your hand disappear between you legs and… And, my Lord, you were loud about what you were doing.” He shook his head and went a step further with his observation. “You looked as if you were enjoying yourself. I’d leave you to it, but you were crying out my name, my Lord.”

“I --” Just for a moment, I choked. “I…” In a higher than usual voice, I began to say, “I DID…” I turned back up to face him, and repeated, “I DID…” Then I had let out a horrifically squealed scream, “WHAAAT?!”

“I was wrong. Awake, my Lord is a screamer.” Inze muttered to himself.

“Apologize!” Jumping up to my feet, I shoved and pushed Inze down on his back and dropped to land my knees onto him. “Inze! Apologize to me!”

He had obviously let me push him over, and, of course, he had obeyed. “Forgive me, my Lord.”

The question there was if he knew what he was apologizing to me for. I wanted it to be for everything, but the majority of this fault laid upon another.

There was only one who could influence me like that.

In a state of complete embarrassment, I rolled off of him and laid back on the sand, sighed and stated, “The sooner this day passes, the better.”

Laying beside him, I mulled over the incident in my mind. I knew who played a trick on me. And, to her, it was on a serious note.

My mother had paid me a visit and sent a message.

She wished for grandchildren.

A wish of hers that I continually denied. I had been thankful Inze was aware of his position and refused the advance.

And I knew why she would come to play tricks on me this day. A reminder of our mortality in this existence.

This would be the anniversary of when I killed my mother...

mrsimple

Thank you for reading this chapter.  I have my hopes that you gained an interest to read more.  :D

 

If there is anything you'd like to mention, please, do so.  I have fun reading over the feedback.  It's learning what I did right or wrong.  And I am glad to correct a mistake.  :)

 

...Let's just pray I don't mess up anymore, 'kay?  XD