Year 525 of the Emperor, Tide 01|04, sixth year
The sun shone across the city and a gentle breeze strolled through the streets. Outside a cafe, several people sat and ate, enjoying the sun, while other browsed the many goods for sale in the shops of the lower city. On the walls, soldiers stood lazily, drinking often from their water skins to cope in the hot, midday sun. Though their numbers had been reduced given the prolonged state of peace, they were forbidden from standing guard without full uniform in case they were required to act. In several places along the walls the citizens of Tremaine had erected small pavilions where the guards could stand under to avoid the direct heat of the sun. The summer heat had taken the entire city by surprise, but it was a welcome change to the usual frigid cool of the Perthian climate.
In this heat, Amena walked alongside several nobles debating the crisis of the heat and it's effects on Loche Aberdeene. The water levels had dropped and it was impossible for ships to get close enough to the docks anymore. Larger goods that required the use of the crane could no longer we reached and it was causing labour costs to rise as more men were required to move the loads by rowing boat, and these men had to be replaced frequently with even more labour workers to prevent heat exhaustion. She had asked Seann Murison, head of the Murison house, to help as he was responsible for one of the largest mining operations in Tremaine. The miners were often working in hot environments surrounded by dangerous magma, as such she had hoped he would have some pointers to help the dock workers stay cool.
"The main issue is getting to the ships," Lord Haeburn objected, "We can keep the men as cold as ice if we want, but if we cannot reach the ships from the land then we cannot move the larger goods. We have stacks of timber that must be shipped north to Strathaber but it cannot get there any way but by road, and the cost of moving by land is too high!"
"If I may," came a small voice from behind them. They turned to see Ainmire, Amena's son, standing quietly behind them. Many had not even noticed the boy until now. Amena smiled at him and he swallowed. "I think I know how we can move the timber over the water," Lord Haeburn scoffed.
"This is not a conversation for boys to be involved with." He dismissed, but Amena raised her hand.
"Until recently you would have said the same about a woman, yet you came to me for help in this matter, not my husband." She said simply, "And Besides, he is fifteen, Ainmire is no boy anymore." Ainmire flushed, but ignored them and continued.
"At the moment we are using rowing boats for the smaller goods, but even this is difficult as the sides of the trading vessels are too high and it is difficult to lift the good on and off the rowing boats. I toyed with the idea of using rafts to carry the logs but we would have the same issue; it is impossible to lift then onto the ships without major adjustments which we do not have time for."
"What do you suggest?" Lord Murison asked patiently.
"We would require some form of structure to allow us to move large loads easily without the use of a crane. It so happens that the shipwright Mathiesons is staying at the King's Gambit currently. It was their ingenuity which designed the two draw bridges at Glas Claddach. It might be worth speaking with them to find a structure which could solve this dilemma." The men looked at each other.
"Yes, I shall look into it," Lord Haeburn said again, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "Excuse us," he bowed to Lady Amena and then hurried from them back down the hill.
"If you shall excuse me, I also must tend my office," Lord Murison bowed and Amena nodded as he walked away.
"Excellent work," She smiled at Ainmire, who looked down bashfully. She was so proud of him; he was fifteen summers old and he had matured more than any boy his age. His hair was shoulder length and tied back in a ribbon, impeccably neat and simple, but it suited him perfectly. He walked toward her, leaning heavily on the crutches he carried at all times. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm alright, mother," he dismissed her simply, straightening up. He was bow legged, even with the leg supports straightening his bones, and she knew what scars still covered his skin, but he never let it show when he walked. He had learned early to hide the pain of his legs. She touched his chin and smiled.
"What did I ever to do deserve you?" She asked. He smiled.
"You did everything." He said simply. Together they walked on up the street toward the fort at the heart of the city, enjoying the hot summer sun. As they passed the school house she looked up to see several teenage girls peering over the banisters at them. They were giggling and, when they saw her looked, ducked away, their laughter clear through the air. She ignored them and continued up the steps, careful to keep her pace slow for Ainmire. He paused for a moment then nodded up the street.
"Can we have a drink at the Dragon's Eyerie?" He asked, "I need to sit down," Amena turned and smiled.
"Of course we can."
"Good, go on ahead, I'll catch up."
"You're sure,"
"Yes," She looked at him worriedly, then turned. It was useless to argue with him, she knew this by now; he was more stubborn than either she or Marrec. Even Morganna had struggled to win an argument with him when he was a boy. Thinking of her mother brought a dull pang of sorrow and she continued up the street slowly. As she reached the top of the hill she turned back to see Ainmire almost at the corner of the school house. She turned and continued walking. She was almost at the water fountain when she heart a cry and several people call for help. She turned and swiftly hurried back tot eh steps. He heart jerked.
Ainmire had collapsed on the hot stone steps, his arms crushed beneath him as he had struggled to prevent his fall. Three boys stood about him and five girls were calling for help as well. She ran to his side, pushing the boys back as she rolled Ainmire onto his side. There was some blood at his lips and his eyelids fluttered open, then he retched. She stepped back before turning to the boys.
"Fetch me water, now!" One of them ran to the nearby house and bashed his fist on the door. Amena placed a hand on his forehead and felt the sweaty heat of fever.
"Mother," he struggled but she shushed him, "Mother...I think I'll pass on that drink now," She forced a weak smile as the boy came back with a mug of water. She offered it to him and he sipped before she smeared some on his forehead. Just then three soldiers ran from the fort.
"M'lady! How can we help?"
"Lift him and bring him to the castle. Now!" She said simply. The soldiers knelt at once as she stepped aside and carefully lifted Ainmire, one supporting his head. They carried him carefully to the fort where another guard brought a stretcher for them to use. Amena led them back to the castle, her steps brisk and her heart pounding. She couldn't go through this again. Not another sickness.
***
Doctor Warwick closed the door quietly and Amena stepped closer to hear him speak. He sighed heavily, wiping his forehead before he began.
"I've connected him up to the blood we have in reserve; I think it was a good idea to siphon it while he was ill, we now have plenty so nothing to worry about there, but he needs medical attention."
"But you're his doctor," Amena said fervently. "Can't you help him?" He shook his head slowly.
"I am not trained in Pyrencian maladies, I've researched what I can for him, but without attending their medical colleges I am limited in what I can do. I think it is time you told the Pyrencian government of his existence."
"No, they'll take him away,"
"They cannot," Doctor Warwick shook his head. "He has lived in Tremaine for fifteen years, he is a Perthian citizen, and a grown man. No one can tell him where he can or cannot live; the Pyrencian government holds no authority to remove him now. But this is the seventh time in his life that he has fallen sick with this same symptoms. The blood we give him is only a temporary fix; he needs an expert in this field." Amena looked away and placed a hand on the wall, steadying herself. Marrec placed a hand on her shoulder then.
"He needs to know," he said simply. She closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her face.
"You still have not told him?" Doctor Warwick asked. "I told you he has to know, why do you still keep this from him?"
"Because he's my son!" Amena cried out. "I won't lose him." Doctor Warwick hardened his face and gripped her arms with talon-like fingers. He forced her eyes to lock with his.
"If you don't tell him...if he doesn't get the attention he needs, you will lose him."
***
The world spun and in his gut he could feel the roiling turmoil within him. Pain seared through every fibre of his being and his legs burned with fire that had long haunted his dreams. Ever since he had been a child he had dreamt of this pain, the fire that consumed his legs now threatened to overwhelm him entirely.
Before his eyes he saw the bright crimson flame which burned his childhood to ash. At it's heart, stood a single figure, darker than night, stare at him with all the intensity of fate itself. Fresh pain washed through his body, but in his mind the figure obscured all, even the flames. A presence touched his mind and he felt the awesome power reach through him, the darkness filling his soul as an empty chalice. The fire receded and the figure loomed over him. Fate consumed him and a single word reverberated through his mind, shaking the very foundation of his understanding.
***
Amena stood as Doctor Warwick entered the room, the doors flanked by two guards. Behind him followed a tall woman, with lilac robes and hair caught in a tight bun upon her head. She walked with perfect posture and emitted an air that could not be denied. Even as Duchess, Amena felt the compulsion to bow before this woman. Dr Warwick bowed to Amena and gestured to the woman.
"My lady, this is Dr Ioran Sezron-Blodgett. She is a Pyrencian physician highly regarded in her field." The woman inclined her head and Amena repeated the gesture.
"Doctor," she acknowledged. "Tell me, what is you specialist field?"
"Blood born diseases." She said simply. Her voice was cool and unwavering. Though she smiled the gesture seem detached and devoid of feeling. "If it is alright with yourself, I should like to see the patient now." Amena nodded and led them through the interconnecting door which led to Ainmire's room. Dr Sezron-Blodgett immediately walked to Ainmire's side and placed a hand upon his head, then inspected the blood being drip-fed into his arm.
"This is Pyrencian blood," she stated simply. "Who are the child's parents?"
"We are," Marrec said, placing a hand on Amena's shoulder. The doctor looked at them quizzically.
"But you are human; this child is not."
"He is our son," Amena said, her voice cracking. The doctor stared at her for a long moment until Amena was forced to look away. "He came to us one night on a boat. There was no name, no mother, just a boy wrapped in clothe," Amena reached for the blanket which rested upon her son's bed. It was worn, but she could still make out the alien stitches. "I tried to find out where the blanket came from, but I could not tell. When we found out he was Pyrencian I assumed I would never find his parents unless I went myself to Pyrencia." She handed the blanket to her and Dr Sezron-Blodgett inspected it.
"This was woven in the Calarin region...you are correct, we would need to investigate further to discover his parent's lineage. But if his mother abandoned him here, it would be clear she would not wish to be found." She returned the blanket them turned to Ainmire again. "When you discovered his heritage, why did you not inform the Pyrencian government?"
"We were concerned they would take him," Marrec said simply. "We only found out when he was five summers old, by then...he was..."
"Your son. Yes, I'm aware," she said ruefully, "Although it should be said, the child would have been in no danger. Reporting this to the authorities would have been the most sensible option. How old is he?"
"Fifteen summers," Marrec added.
"Fifteen? A Pyrencian would be well into adulthood at such an age..." She inspected the blood again, then pulled back his eyelids and peered into his eyes. "It would appear the disease has delayed his growth..." Dr Sezron-Blodgett inspected him closely, taking measurements of his pulse, breathing, then she inspected his skin and when she uncovered his legs her eyes widened and she stepped back, making a sign with her hand. "How?" She asked finally.
"When he was five...he suffered a reaction to the blood we gave him." Dr Warwick explained.
"You gave him the wrong blood?" She asked, then her fingers traced the terrible scarring upon his limbs. "How much?"
"We had used a pint before the reaction began,"
"A pint?" The doctor screamed, turning to him. "You gave him a pint of unmatched blood?" She turned back to Ainmire, "This boy is lucky to be alive. She replaced the blankets, then nodded to the blood dripping into his arm. "Where did you get that?"
"From him, we keep some in storage," Amena said quickly.
"I assume at the correct temperature?" She looked to Dr Warwick, who nodded fervently as he fingered his hat. "And what about when he was five? This unmatched blood you got him? Where did you get that?" Dr Warwick looked sheepishly to Amena and Marrec, who remained silent. "Well?"
"I got it," Marrec began, but Amena objected. "She must know." He straightened his back and looked Dr Sezron-Blodgett in the eye. "I got the blood, from a trader in the market."
"Pyrencian blood is not available on any legal markets, as I'm sure you are well aware," The doctor replied.
"I thought that it was legal," Marrec tried, but she silenced him with a hand.
"Liar! You got that blood from the black market, didn't you?" The room fell silent but for the steady moans from the boy. Finally the doctor turned back to the boy and reached for a vial in her bag. She took a few dropped in a syringe and injected it directly into his vein. Then she placed both the syringe and the vial next to the bed and pointed at Dr Warwick. "This is blood of a plant found only in Pyrencia. It will help the boy fight this infection. Give him three drops twice a day, once in morn and once in the evening. No more, and see to it it is kept safe, this drug is powerful and would do terrible things to a human." She picked up her bag and moved toward Amena and Marrec. "Your boy is strong; he will be fine. I will be staying in the city for a few days in case his condition changes. I shall pray for his sickness to lift. When I return to Pyrencia, I shall be reporting this to the relevant authorities."
"But we've done nothing wrong!" Amena objected.
"You have kept this boy apart from his heritage, his own people! You have treated with black marketeers, supported the trade of illegal Pyrencian blood trafficking across international borders." She said simply, counting off on her fingers, then she pointed at Ainmire, "Not to mention poisoning this innocent boy with the wrong blood and crippling him in your ignorance." Her voice remained dangerous calm and her eyes did not move from theirs. Finally she turned and swept from the room, her violet cloak whipping through the doorway behind her.
***
His eyelids fluttered open and his iris' contracted as the light struck them. He blinked several times, staring at the stone ceiling above him. 'I know that ceiling' his thoughts felt jumbled, as if they had been scattered across the floor like a child's play thing. Slowly he pushed his hands against the mattress and lifted himself up. His chest ached and something tugged at his wrist.
He turned to see a crimson cable running from beneath white bandages on his wrist to a red bag hanging from a nail in the wall. He leaned back and his bare skins touched the cool stone wall. Swallowing he reached for the glass of water on the table beside his bed and made to drink from it. The liquid was cool and clear and he gulped the glass eagerly, quenching his newly-discovered thirst. He set the glass down and turned then to see a woman sitting in the chair beside him. He knew this woman...she loved him. He reached out a hand to touch hers, but as he got close she jumped. Her own talon-like fingers grasped his wrist and pulled. He let out a yelp and the woman pulled back the blanket to reveal her face. It was twisted, with flesh that crawled as if alive and eyes sunk deep in their sockets, dark pin pricks for pupils in a sea of red hatred.
"Mother!" He cried, but the woman cackled.
"You are no son of mine!" She bared her fangs and leapt for him.
Ainmire sat bolt upright, panting heavily. The sheet fell from his bare chest and the cold air stung his sweat-drenched body. He shivered, but pushed the blankets away and stood. His legs shook, but he ignored them, struggling to the window ledge and leaning heavily against the stone to look out across the open water. He pushed the window open and frigid air washed over him. Good, he though, let it. He did not feel warm anymore. His heart lay heavy and his mind felt twisted, as if his entire world had been turned upside down.
But it had been. It had been two weeks since he had woken and his mother had told him the truth of his heritage. Two weeks since the woman, Sezron-Blodgett, had left for Pyrencia to inform them of his presence...two weeks since people had started to avoid him, staring from a distance and muttering to themselves. He hated it.
A fist struck the stone before him and he jumped, not realizing it was his own. His anger boiled within him as he fought to release the fist before him. Slowly, his fingers obeyed him and the hand unclenched, but it did not relax. His entire body was like a coiled spring and exhaustion plagued him. Food turned to ash in his mouth, and he could not sleep, for whenever he did, he was haunted by the night mares that refused to let his mind rest. Amena was not his mother, not really, and yet she had been the one who had loved him, and cared for him, and clothed and fed him.
'But she lied to me.' The thought would have made him vomit if there had been anything in his stomach. Again his hand clenched and the anger filled him again, fueled by the single word which pulsated through him ever since the figure had spoken it in his mind all that time ago.
He turned from the window and faced the mirror. He was not Perthian, he was not even human! He was a Pyrencian, and his own mother had abandoned him. He had lived his life in exile, existing in a lie fed by those that were not his kin. And now, now that the lie was known, it made him an exile from both worlds.
A fist shattered through the mirror and pain erupted in his hand. Ainmire swore as he pulled his fist free of the ruined glass. Blood trailed across the floor and he grabbed a handkerchief from his bedside table and wrapped it around his hand, tying it tight. He sat on the edge of his bed, shivering as the cold air stung the sweat on his skin. He shook, not with cold, but with anger. His eyes focused on the shard of glass by his feet. His reflection looked crazed, not human, but not quite Pyrencian either.
Then what am I?
The word reverberated in his mind once more, and he felt calm wash through him. He stopped shaking and stood slowly. He closed the window, then reached for the supports for his legs and strapped them on, then pulled over them his leggings, his shirt, boots, and coat, before reached for his walking stick. He held it for a moment, his mind working. Finally he nodded and stepped out of his room.
He knew what he must do, but he had to be careful about it. First, he needed supplies. With careful steps he crept through the still corridors of the castle, making his way to the garrison beneath the castle entrance. He did not need to enter the barracks, only the armory, where he found a bow and quiver and stole a pack as well. Then, as he was already in that area of the castle, he moved to the kitchens. It did not take long for him to find the reserves of dried meat, bread, and preserves. He quickly filled the pack with food, then hurried back out to the main castle. Dawn was fast approaching, he did not have much time.
He found his way to the inner courtyard and stood beneath the watch tower. Above him he could hear the guards patrolling, yawning loudly as the end of their shift drew nearer. With their relief would come more guards who would patrol the courtyard. He had to move before they arrived. Keeping to the wall, he moved silently around the edge of the courtyard until he finally reached the quarter master's stores. He stepped inside and quickly surveyed the room. it was full of large boxes and barrels, but there was no one around.
He hobbled around the desk and touched the stone brick near the base of the wall. The brick moved away and a rumbling shook the floor. He straightened and moved hurriedly toward the opening in the wall. As he stepped outside, the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon. Swiftly, he descended the steps and found the small, damp cave behind the waterfall, the rowing boat already there, oars and rope at the ready. He threw in his pack, bow, and quiver, before carefully climbing in. He untied the rope and pushed off with his oars, carefully navigating the narrow space and around the edge of the waterfall which disguised the secret entrance. Once he was past the andesite pillars he continued to row quickly, following the shoreline. As he reached the edge of the rocks, he turned back to look once more at the castle he had called hi home.
Doubt filled him, and a sorrow he had not expected, yet, even as he considered turning and rowing back to the castle, the word again ran through his mind, the word he had heard uttered by the figure in his mind, the word he had only heard one other time, when Dr Sezron-Blodgett has spoken it.
"You have Pyrencian blood in you," She had said, indicating the bag of blood still pumping into his arm. "I have inspected your blood, it is of the bloodline of Sera,"
"Sera." Ainmire breathed, then he squared his shoulders, turned from his childhood, and pressed on into the open waters.
_________________ Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings. "The Crippled King" "Flanders"
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