Book 2 Ch 20: Foundations

There was a time when the Queen of Curses was thought of as a goddess of justice. Her priestesses acted in ways local lords wouldn’t or couldn’t. It is thought that in these days a witch and her curses are no longer needed, in fact they are outlawed. The madness of outlawing a goddesses worshippers… it can hardly be fathomed.

• Mad Bayne

He placed the bag carefully on the desk in the corner of the room and then moved to lock the door. After he’d done so he checked all of the spy holes he knew of, ensuring they were blocked. He then looked to a shadow in the corner of the room, seeing the subtle glow of purple eyes within it.

“Am I being watched?”

“No,” responded the demon.

Solomon nodded and began removing each of the ingredients from his bag. He placed the leather canteen of curdled milk and small twig down, then removed Jude’s hair from his pocket. He then took a small jagged shard of null-metal from a vial, placing it neatly to the side.

He took the hair and tied it carefully around the twig. He then opened the canteen, his nose twitching a bit at the sour smell of it. He dropped the twig wrapped in hair into the curdled milk and then pricked his pointed finger, holding it over to let a drop of blood fall into the concoction.

“Wither, waste, wane

Joy is no longer found,

Search for it in vain,

You shall remain soft like fresh ground.”

As he finished he felt a pull on his mana into the liquid, concentrating on his brother’s hair. He sealed the canteen carefully and placed it back into the canvas back, padding it with towels as he placed it back within his trunk. If it broke or spilled too much, the curse would end and he didn’t want that.

“Did anyone witness that?” he asked Aristopheles.

“Yes.”

Solomon tensed for a moment, then asked another question.

“Anyone aside from you?”

“No.”

Solomon settled. The curse had flowed well and he’d been in control of his mana during its casting. More support for his theory that his focus was forbidden magic.

He changed into his sleeping attire and laid down in bed. They’d replaced the mattress he’d slept on with something newer, and he found its firmness and the unfamiliarity of a room he used to spend every night in made it difficult for him to fall asleep. Once he did, he wished he hadn’t.

…

Solomon was standing in the servant’s passage. He could see the light on in a room further down and crept toward it. As he got closer he heard what sounded like crying as well as motion and grunts. He made his way the rest of the way down the hall and quietly looked into the room.

He didn’t know what he was looking at. He wasn’t a farmboy, he didn’t know the mechanics of what was going on. His father was on top of a servant, a redheaded woman that was a close match for his own mother. She was crying and grimacing in pain as his father moved.

For one moment their eyes met, and the horror on the woman’s face changed to a forced smile.

“It’s okay,” she managed to say.

He ran back down the hall, no longer concerned with being quiet, just wanting to get as far from what was happening as possible. He threw himself into his chamber and leapt into his bed covering his head with the heavy quilts. He sat there, terrified and horrified. He eventually peeked out and saw a pair of glowing purple eyes staring back at him.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

…

Solomon awoke shooting upward. He was sweating heavily and panting. He forced his breathing to calm and when it did he spoke to the pair of eyes that matched the ones in his dream.

“Aristopheles. How were you in my dream?”

“I live in your shadow. This is a natural consequence. Especially when the dream is so intense.”

He frowned, he didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of a demon having access to his most private dreams.

“If I make a deal within a dream with you, is it valid?”

“No. Unfortunately not.”

He nodded, relieved.

“That was a rather strange dream. Very real.”

Solomon stood up walking to the window to look into the garden, missing the sight of the statue that used to sit there.

“That’s because it happened. I was wandering the halls at night, which I always enjoyed, and saw my father forcing himself on that poor servant.”

“And you froze?” the demon asked the question with just the faintest bit of amusement in his tone.

“Yes. Until that poor woman had tried to comfort me. Even with what was happening to her she still worried about some strange creepy child peeking in from the hallway.”

“Much I have observed about you is beginning to come into crystalline clarity,” responded the demon with his teeth showing.

“I think that’s enough talking from you for now, but thank you so very much for the pleasant evening conversation.”

The demon’s mouth vanished and his eyes closed, leaving Solomon alone in the darkness. Before he’d left for Moonfallow that dream had only haunted him perhaps once every few months and in Moonfallow itself his dreams had usually been of dark forests and elves if he dreamt at all. His return had brought it back.

When he was a boy he’d not known what was happening. It wasn’t until Vaughn and Jude gave him some rather disgusting details about their own lives that he realized what had even been happening. Even when he was little, Solomon had felt that his father hadn’t cared much for him. Fourth sons were unheard of, he’d never met another from one of the founding families, at least not the main branches. Aside from that he was a sickly child, frequently bedbound and often near death. Still, he’d thought that while he was not a good father, he was a good lord. He managed the estates with fairness, and provided for his people. What he’d seen had shattered even that image and left a permanent mark on him. He could no longer look at him or anyone the same.

He wasn’t able to settle and so stared into the blackness until dawn arrived and Melissa arrived with a cup of coffee.

“Oh, you’re already awake,” she said as she approached, handing him his coffee.

He sipped it gratefully.

“I appreciate that you’re here, but if you wanted to remain in the stables with Duncan I would understand.”

“Thank you, but I’m okay. Besides, this will be the last time I see you before Duncan and I head back to Moonfallow.”

Solomon nodded and took another sip of his coffee.

“I’m sorry.”

She was pulling a curtain open to let more light in and hesitated.

“I’m okay,” she said, then turned around, hiding an expression. “Is there anything else I can do for you, lord? Anything else you’d like me to convey back to everyone in Moonfallow?”

Solomon shook his head. “No. I trust you to keep everything running until I return.”

She nodded, giving him a final bow before heading back out into the hall.

Nearly an hour later Solomon was headed back to the front gate with Edmure in tow. He found Chorde and Bernice waiting for him in the Atrium.

Chorde was holding the Crimson Command in his hands. It was a longsword with a simple crossguard in a black leather sheath. With its most distinguishing feature, its red blade, hidden, it simply looked like a normal sword. He stepped toward Solomon and held it out.

“Do you accept this blade and the responsibility that comes with it?” asked Chorde.

Solomon looked at it, he could see mana moving all throughout it, practically dancing where Chorde’s hands touched it.

“I do,” he responded.

He took it careful, feeling a kind of electricity pass through it and into him as he did so.

Chorde nodded. “When you pass back through, I ask that you join us again for a night.”

“Of course, I’d be delighted to,” he lied.

Chorde nodded and retrieved a folded document from his coat.

“In addition to the sword I also got permission from the crown for you to seek out and hire a bodyguard. That bodyguard will himself be allowed to hire four additional men to aid in your defense. With all that you’ve experienced in Moonfallow, it was not a difficult thing to justify, and I don’t want anyone to believe the Morrow’s do not act in defense of one another.”

Solomon carefully took the document and tucked it into his own jacket. Since the Dentus’s attempted coup any personal guards hired by the nobility had been severely limited by the law. The law was also more severe the further from succession one was.

“I thought you may entreat any of the mercenaries or soldiers nearing retirement while you were there.”

Solomon nodded. “A fine idea.”

With that, Chorde excused himself and went back into the interior of the manor.

“I wish you luck, Solomon,” said Bernice.

He squeezed her hands. “Thank you. I will do my best for you.”

She nodded. “Just don’t do anything that would put you at risk.”

“I won’t,” he lied.

She smiled knowingly, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

He walked out of the manor to where Edmure was waiting along with a coachman that he didn’t recognize. His things had already been loaded on.

He climbed in, and urged Edmure to join him.

“Sir?” he asked as he sat across from him.

“Take the tarot deck from your jacket. Now that I know what a shark you are I want to see what I can really do.”

Edmure smiled as he slid the tarot deck from his coat.