Forlaith: Set Sail

February 18

I swear I have not truly woken up all day. Whatever Oswyn gave me yesterday after Aedan’s death has kept me groggy all day, but despite the haze I can’t stop crying. My head aches with it. How could Ardythe do such a thing? To kill, like that, in a sudden, thoughtless moment. I understand the need for a man to be able to kill. There are bandits and vagabonds within any nation. But killing to defend the weak is a far cry from what I saw yesterday.

I know my years are few and my experiences even fewer, but I never thought so much evil existed in this world, much less in one man. He has taken us from our homes and families for sole purpose of selling us for an army.

I do not deny the need to defend ourselves from Odrar, but must it be done this way? I think not.

Why must I sacrifice my entire existence so that he can have armies? Death would be an easy request to honor, but to give my body over to a strange, foreign man and actually live a life with him is a much harder burden.

I do not know if I cry for Aedan or for my own future.

Either way there is no escape now. We are already sailing away from Bathum. I will never see my family again. I suppose I should have known that, but some piece of me thought eventually I would return to the home of my youth. That dream is over.

Mallawi is such a great distance from the Island. The idea of Ardythe traveling there and returning to the Island in one lifetime is beyond belief. In fact, I cannot remember any stories from my father or grandfather of the Islanders having any business with the Mallawi.

Perhaps the gods will save me from this fate and sink our ship. I pray to Osim to take our ship and bury us in the depths of her grace.

But I don’t expect such mercy.

And if I did get what I want, what would be the results? The Island would fall to Odrar and all I know and love would be destroyed. My knowledge of history is enough to know that Odrar would enslave the Island as they had in the past—take all the beautiful women, force our men to fight their wars, and tax those few who remain into starvation.

I’m not sure if knowing my sacrifice is necessary makes it easier. I don’t think so.

But I have rambled enough. Perhaps it is the haze of the drink Oswyn gave me.

We set sail with the morning tide. I felt as though I was on parade as we journeyed down to the docks, the streets lined with workers, apprentices, and house wives who cheered us on. The docks were crowded with the city’s elite. We descended from the carriages, our feet lighting on a trail of rose petals. Small girls with their hair decked in wild flowers approached us and gave each woman, including Oswyn, an enormous bouquet of mixed flowers.

I don’t exactly see the point being that we cannot possibly keep them alive for more than a day on a ship, but that’s beside the point. Sadon took my arm and we followed the others. I saw Jocosa hesitate as Leofrick offered his arm to her, but she took it with as good of grace as she could manage. Kaplan escorted Rownet down the path of rose petals. Unsurprisingly the king did not offer his arm to Oswyn and she was forced to walk behind us with Marcys and the rest of the servants.

All of Ardythe’s “children” knew that Oswyn secretly hoped to attract the attentions of the king and, perhaps one day, wed him. But we know better. The king, despite being sixty-one years old, was vigorous and robust. He kept young women who could keep up with his energy. Oswyn napped two times a day.

On the ship the royal family waited on the deck where the crowds could see us while the seaman cast off the dock-lines. In case you are not a sailing person, whoever may be reading this, the dock-lines are the enormous ropes used to hold the ship to the dock in all types of weather.

Some may think sailing away from a dock is as easy as letting the tide take you out, or perhaps a few helpful blasts of wind. Sadly, it is a much slower process. Most of the crew was already stationed below. They were forced to row for many hours until we were clear of the large Bathum port and the other vessels coming and going. Bathum is a major trade depot and the busiest port on The Island.

It was midday before they raised the sails and allowed the great gods to push us on our way.

Finally, with the release of the sails we were permitted to go down to our cabins. By this time I was leaning on Rownet’s shoulder, barely able to stay awake. The three of us share a cabin with Owsyn while the three men share with first mate, Alek. Ardythe has his own of course, and Marcys shares with Haddock, the ship’s captain.

Despite being a large ship, we are very cramped in these quarters. Rownet and Oswyn took the two actual bunks, leaving Jocosa and I to survive in the hammocks hung from the ceiling and drawn up during the day so that we can walk in our small space. Against one wall, under a thick but small window sat a little bench with a table. Here I sit and write while the other’s prepare for bed. I best finish for they will soon want the lamp extinguished; besides, I find myself too sleepy to continue.

Forlaith

Marcys: A Letter Arrives

February 17,

The day we have been waiting for finally came, along with the long anticipated letter from the Mallawi nation. It was filled with exultations of delight at the prospect of our nation paying a visit. Well not the whole nation but the royal family, at least.  Once again I tried to convince Ardythe that I would better serve the nation here with the castle rather than sailing to foreign lands. His response surprised me.

“No, ol’ friend. I need you along with me, for my sanity sake if nothing else. You provide some stability amongst all this frivolity,” he added, waving towards the young people who were dutifully dancing under the watchful gaze of Oswyn. They looked anything but exuberant or frivolous. If anything they looked sad. I kept expecting a sudden thunder head to appear within the great hall and begin to pour down upon the heads of these miserable people. But I refrained from saying this to Ardythe. Still, his statement made me feel as though he wanted my company.

Since I didn’t respond, Ardythe called a stop to the dance lesson and waved the letter over his head. The others stopped dancing and obediently circled around him to hear his news.

“I have finally heard from Mallawi, our neighbors across the great ocean. They are happy to receive us as soon as we can journey to them. We set sail tomorrow. I know Oswyn has plenty to do to prepare for our early departure, so do all you can to help her.”

“Why are we going there?” said a voice softly from within the crowd.

“What? Who said that?” demanded the king.

Whoever it was was clearly too frightened to repeat themselves. After a short pause Forlaith spoke up on behalf of her fellow siblings. “We were wondering, sire, uh… father, why we were going to Mallawi. They don’t even speak our language.”

“We have no other source for allies other than Mallawi. They are a rich and prosperous nation. It will be your goal to attract a spouse among their eligible and wealthy offspring—preferably one with royal blood. This will aid your country by bringing to our shores gold and soldiers. Without these aids, Odrar will surely reconquer us within another couple of years. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but your nation depends upon it.”

“You mean, your control over the Islanders depend on it,” snapped Aedan.  

I cringed. Unlike the young prince, I knew what Ardythe was capable of. If he didn’t control his hot tongue he would end up with a dagger in his stomach.

I’m sad to say that is exactly what happened. They argued for a few minutes, Aedan continually growing more aggressive until finally the king snapped and buried his dagger in the young man’s side. Aedan dropped to the ground and lay there gasping. The women screamed, some running away.

Forlaith, though, did the opposite of what I had expected from the youngest amongst us. She dropped to Aedan’s side and, using the long flowing sleeve of her dress, began to apply pressure to the wound. Without easing off the wound she looked up at Ardythe and myself with such accusation in her eyes I nearly burst into tears myself, and this isn’t the first time I’ve seen Ardythe kill.

Ardythe tried to meet her eyes and stare her down, but to my complete shock, he couldn’t. He glanced around, the bloody dagger still in his hand. Finally he looked up to see the others who had massed a few feet away.

“Let this be a warning to you. Cross me, argue with me, or do anything to hinder this mission and you, and your family, will die just like Aedan.” With this final statement he flung the offending dagger to the ground and marched out of the great hall.

We were all silent for a long moment. Finally I cleared my throat and spoke. “We sail with the morning tide. We all have plenty to do. Let’s get it done. Forlaith, leave him. He’s dead. You there, take care of the body.”

In the end I had to pull Forlaith away from the body and Oswyn had to give her a sleeping decoction.

I cannot even begin to describe my shock. I knew Ardythe was treading a dangerous path, but I never suspected him capable of killing someone he had taken into his home and promised to care for. The scribes were strangers, but Aedan was a young man I was sure Ardythe liked. They had been quickly becoming close friends. Their mutual like in all things military was bringing the king closer to him than anyone else, save perhaps Kaplan. And yet, Ardythe skewered him without a moment’s hesitation.

None of us are safe from him.

Marcys: The Announcement

February 15,

            Today I stood before the entire city of Bathum and listened to Ardythe lie to them. Hundreds of people now believe Kaplan is Ardythe’s legitimate heir—a great nephew or something like that. Though I am not the one to speak the lie, I know I am just as guilty for not saying a word to contradict the king. But what good would that do? Ardythe would have had me beheaded and the people of Bathum would still believe his lies. Soon the entire nation will believe that there is an heir and therefore nothing to worry about.

            For many weeks now, essentially since the real prince’s death, there had been heavy grumbling among the landed gentry. Many of them had once known someone who had lived through the war with Odrar; they have heard the horror stories. They feared, rightfully so, the idea of a civil war between likely candidates for the crown. Ardythe’s announcement will calm these fears, even if it isn’t true.

            Of course, no one but a few select people know that Prince Kaplan is no relation what so ever to Ardythe; even the other adopted children believe it’s true to some extent or another.

            I can’t help but wonder when Ardythe will explain to them what he intends to do with them. We expect a letter from Mallawi any day now, meaning we will be sailing soon.

            But I digress. I’m sure you are wondering how Ardythe has lied so successfully to so many people, because of course just announcing it is not enough. Papers are required. Lords meet and discuss. It is a complicated procedure to claim an heir that is not your own child.

            Well, four days ago Ardythe called me down to a small, half destroyed room in one of the lowest basements of the castle. If I recall correctly the damage was done in my youth at the hand of an earth quake. One corner of the room is half collapsed, supported by extra beams that had been put in place after the quake. We never use it, in fact we haven’t used it in decades.

            Ardythe stood just outside the door way when I arrived. I frowned into the room. It was just as I remembered it to be from the last time I’d seen it, probably seven or eight years ago.

            “I need you to get this room cleaned up a little. Someone will be staying here.”

            “Here?” I asked, dumbfounded.

            “They cannot be seen. There is a private exit down that hall.”

            “Am I allowed to know who?” I asked, cautiously.

            “Two scribes. I need new paper work created for Kaplan.”

            I nodded, understanding what he needed. If anyone found his scribes they would know that Kaplan wasn’t really his heir.

            I did the work myself, not trusting a servant to not get suspicious and start asking questions, or worse sharing the experience with the other servants. The next day I opened the small door and lead the two scribes to their new quarters. It wasn’t much and I was ashamed to have them staying in this dingy room with nothing more than cots to sleep on. In the corner near a break in the wall, which allowed natural light to filter in, I had placed a large, collapsible work desk. I also gave them two foot lockers for their scanty belongings and a third that held rations for them. Of course they couldn’t join the others in the great hall for meals.

            Two days later I joined Ardythe and the scribes in the small room. They had drawn up the necessary documents—family trees, new patents of nobility and some other documents I didn’t take the time to look at. Ardythe glanced over them with a knowing eye before handing them to me.

            Before I could react, the king had drawn the short dagger concealed under the folds of his tunic and thrust it into the stomach of the nearest scribe. The second scribe stared in wonder for a moment before trying to bolt towards the door. Ardythe was faster. Like the first, the scribe was soon sprawled on the floor, slowly bleeding out.

            Ardythe knelt to wipe his dagger clean. “Deal with the bodies,” he ordered as he stood up. He took the papers and left the room.

            That night I enlisted Alek, my nephew, to help. I didn’t want to expose him to the acts of the king, especially since he already had many very real doubts about our mission, but I didn’t know who else to call upon. Jehan was spending his time before our journey with his family on his estate and Haddock couldn’t help me carry a body with his bad leg. This left Alek.

            The sailor didn’t say a word when I showed him the small room that smelled of death, blood and dust. Instead he simply took hold of the first man’s shoulders and waited in silence for me to take the feet. I did and we hauled the body out to a hidden corner in the enormous bailey, where I had already dug two deep holes.

            I cannot even begin to express my grief and uncertainty. What have I gotten myself into? I should have resigned the minute Ardythe’s son died. But once, long ago, Ardythe had been my friend. Or at least I thought he had been. Maybe I’ve been wrong all these long years. Either way I’m stuck now. I must see this through to the end, even if it is just to keep these innocent children safe.

Marcys