CHAPTER SIXTEEN
525 A.D.
“He’s waking up!” Pat yelled excitedly.
My eyes fluttered open, rapidly blinking in an attempt to adjust to the bright light. My body felt like it had been hit by a Grokulan neutron disruptor (set on level four or higher), thrown down several flights of stairs, and gone through one of Coach McGee’s dreaded obstacle courses. I was pretty sore.
I tried to focus on the worried faces that loomed above me. Pat smiled and gently touched my arm. Merv leaned in closer, examining and tending to my many wounds. I attempted to sit up but weakly collapsed back into the pillows beneath me.
“Easy, lad,” Merv said, placing a restraining hand on my chest. “You gave us quite a scare, son. Try to rest.”
I tried to respond but couldn’t get the words to form in my extremely dry mouth. I pointed to a pitcher next to my bed and Pat quickly poured a glass of water for me. She put the glass to my lips and I drank greedily. My thirst somewhat quenched, I found my voice and sought answers.
“What happened? How did we get back to the castle? How long have I been out? Where ...” I couldn’t finish the sentence. A series of hacking coughs overwhelmed me. Pat provided some more water.
“Harold, inform the king that Eli has awakened,” Merv commanded from the corner.
“At once, sir.” Harold hurried from the room to carry out the request.
“What’s happening, Merv?” I asked.
“We were attacked by Cyrus Fowler’s dastardly birds,” Merv replied.
“That much I remember. They stole the rubbing and fled. Goliath and I landed and everything went black.”
“You were severely injured by Fowler’s evil pet. When her talons pierced your skin, you lost a lot of blood and were poisoned,” Merv explained. “I surmised, correctly I might add, that Fowler coated the buzzard’s claws with an extract of a plant called Poison Dievey—a substance lethal to humans. I first encountered it when I visited the ...”
“Patootie Tribe,” I finished. “I ought to have an immunity to the stuff by now.”
“You’re lucky. I happened to have some powdered Elurian root to neutralize the poison, lad. You barely made it. After we got you out of the storm and patched up, we were forced to wait several hours before we could transport you back to the castle,” Merv explained.
“I was so worried about thee, Eli,” Pat chimed in. “Thy fever was very high. Thou hast been delirious for days. We wondered if thee wouldst ever regain consciousness.”
“Days! Exactly how long have I been out?” I cried.
“Roughly four days, lad,” Merv responded. “As I said, you’ve been touch and go. The king has had healers tending to you around the clock. Pat hasn’t left your side.”
Pat blushed and squeezed my hand.
“What about Cyrus?” I asked. “He has the rubbing Merv.”
“When we returned to the castle and explained what happened to the king, he sent an entire garrison of knights to Sir Mortimer’s house with orders to arrest Cyrus Fowler. When they arrived, they found Sir Mortimer alone and unharmed. Fowler had fled, lad. His whereabouts are unknown. I’m sorry, Eli, he and the rubbing are gone.”
I laid still on the bed thinking about how close I had been to potentially finding a way home. Merv and Pat tried to fill in the gaps of the last few days. They described in great detail how the king’s healers treated my myriad wounds. Poultices, leeches, and more roots and leaves than I could keep up with were used in an attempt to restore my health. Faith healers chanted above my bed. Herbal healers mixed and administered their potions. The king’s surgeon cleaned and dressed my more serious wounds. Apparently, the king’s surgeon also set the broken nose of a faith healer that called into question the validity of an herbal healer’s potion. Merv and Pat laughed as they relayed the story of the broken nose. I appreciated their heartfelt efforts to cheer me up, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Cyrus Fowler. He already had a huge head start on us. The longer we delayed, the slimmer our chances of finding the man in black or the Dragon’s Scale became.
“You know, I got a pretty good look at that rubbing,” I blurted.
Pat and Merv ceased their story, smiles fading from their faces.
“What was that, my boy?” Merv asked.
“I said I got a pretty good look at that rubbing.”
“Eli, thou should rest. Thou hast been through so much,” Pat replied.
“We don’t have time for me to rest, Pat,” I said, a little more harshly than I intended. “Cyrus Fowler is up to something evil and stands in the way of Merv and I returning home.”
“But, Eli...” Pat began.
I cut her off. “We have to stop him,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster. “I think I can make a replica drawing of Sir Mortimer’s tablet for us to work off of. Can someone please get me a pen and a piece of paper?”
“A pen?” Pat asked, confused.
“He means a quill and ink, my dear,” Merv clarified.
“Oh, of course,” Pat replied looking at me like I’d just asked her to hand me an anvil. “I’ll only be a moment.”
As she headed out of the room, Pat looked at one of the healers (the one who’s broken nose had recently been set by one of the king’s surgeons) and in a low voice said, “What the devil is a pen, anyway? If thou needeth a quill, why doesn’t thou just ask for a quill?”
Merv chuckled and patted me on the arm. “Do you really think you can remember enough of the tablet to copy it, son?”
“I’ve always had an almost photographic memory, Merv. It shouldn’t be a problem to ...”
Shouting erupted from the hallway just outside my door.
“What art thou doing out here sneaking around like a pantry mouse?” Pat yelled. “Explain thyself at once, herald!”
Merv and I exchanged worried glances.
“A thousand pardons, your highness. I was just ...”
Pat didn’t let him finish.
“Thou was just spying on us from the looks of things! Thou was ordered to go tell my father that Eli has awakened! Why, please tell me, art thou milling around outside our guest’s door listening to our conversation?”
“My lady, I was just now on my way to your father’s Great Hall to bring him the most glorious news that our visitor has stirred,” Harold stammered, tripping over his words.
“You, sir, art up to something no good,” Pat continued yelling. “I saw thee conversing with that villain, Cyrus Fowler, and now I have caught thee red-handed, eavesdropping on the very person Fowler had attacked!”
Merv was already moving toward the door. I slowly eased out of the bed, my legs rubber beneath me. Two healers rushed forward and caught me just before I hit the floor with my face. I’m sure they didn’t need any more injuries on me to have to heal.
“Help me to the door,” I ordered. “And sound for the castle guards just in case we need them.”
Merv reached the hall and tried to restore some order.
“Alright now, everyone calm down. We’ve all been through a lot. Pat, Harold has been a loyal member of your father’s court for years. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding. Harold, run along and let the King know that Eli is finally awake.”
Harold turned to leave with a relieved look on his face.
“Halt!” Pat yelled. “Merv, I trust and respect thine wisdom in all matters but something is not right here. I just cannot put my finger upon it.”
My human crutches had finally helped me limp over to the doorway which I now braced myself against. Pat’s words rushed through my brain like a shot of adrenaline. The tumblers fell into place opening the subconscious lock in my mind. Images from the past few days flashed through my head and suddenly the entire picture was clear. Eureka! Pat’s yelling had finally triggered my epiphany.
An epiphany is a sudden realization of the meaning of something or a comprehension of a matter that has previously eluded discovery. Epiphanies are often triggered by seemingly irrelevant or random events
. The most famous example of an epiphany comes from the Greek inventor, Archimedes, who discovered how to estimate the volume of a given mass while sitting in a bath tub. He realized that his body displaced a proportional amount of water in the tub, thereby allowing him to formulate the hypothesis that v=x+y-c/x+b(3.1411 x 1/2 d ... you know what? Not important. People are always telling me that I go on and on about things that, at best, are tangential and not totally relevant to the point I’m trying to make. Why would you possibly need to know about a very long and complicated set of equations used for determining the volume of a given mass? You wouldn’t, unless you were studying volume in school or working for a bottle company or ... I’m doing it again. I’m sorry. Focus, Eli! I could hear Brady grinding his teeth in my head.
Back to the point. Archimedes had an epiphany and yelled ‘Eureka!’ which is Greek for “I have found it.” An interesting aside is that gold miners in the United States during the gold rushes of the late 1800s and early 1900s popularized that term. Whenever they struck a vein of gold, they would yell out, “Eureka!” ... Wow, I really am out of control. But sometimes, I just can’t help myself.
Archimedes is also credited with inventing and using the world’s first Death Ray in 212 B.C. at the Siege of Syracuse. As the Roman ships prepared to attack ... That’s a story best saved for another time (no pun intended).
Anyway, I had an epiphany.
“Stay where you are, Harold,” I commanded. The sheepish smile faded from his face. He began to realize that he might still be in trouble and that I might have put all the pieces together. His eyes darted around the hallway looking for a means by which he could escape. Two palace guards, accompanied by an out of breath, faith healer, stepped into the hallway behind him, dashing his hopes.
“I’m sorry, sir?” Harold asked. “Is there a problem?”
“There is for you,” I replied.
“I don’t understand,” he stammered, edging toward the nearest wall.
“How long have you been working for or with Cyrus?” I asked.
Everyone in the hallway turned their attention on me. I felt like one of those detectives from an old movie (or a futuristic motion picture depending on one’s current place in time) explaining who committed the crime and how, step by step.
Harold continued to play the role of the falsely accused.
“Working with Cyrus, sir?” he asked with mock indignation. “Art though still suffering the effects of the fever, sir?”
“No, Harold. My mind is totally clear. From the time I first arrived here, you have been on my radar and I couldn’t figure out why. Small things that seemed insignificant by themselves. Things that didn’t raise any red flags alone but were enough to get my subconscious working overtime.”
“This is crazy!” Harold exclaimed. “I have been a loyal member of this court for years and would never do anything to put the King’s trust in me in jeopardy. I certainly would never work for a villain like Cyrus Fowler!”
Although his words sounded sincere, Harold was a herald and that’s what he got paid to do - use his words. There’s more to sincerity than words alone. Harold’s body language told the whole story. As he mentioned Cyrus Fowler, a look of admiration flashed across his face. It was only there for a brief moment but it was enough; more than enough, in fact, to confirm my suspicions.
“The first time I showed the Heart of Ra to Merv, you appeared at the door,” I recounted.
“Coincidence,” Harold replied. “I was there to escort you to an audience with the King.”
“But you still hung around even after Merv told you he would escort me. What were you waiting on Harold?”
Merv nodded his head in agreement, remembering the encounter.
“Nothing!” Harold exclaimed. “I was trying to do my job!”
“And later that day when Merv, Pat and I were again talking about the stones and about meeting with Sir Mortimer, you were there,” I pressed.
“I was summoned by Princess Pitter Pat!” Harold cried. He continued to edge closer to the wall.
Merv, Pat, the healers, and the guards stood motionless, transfixed by the production I was making of Harold’s treachery.
“And you appeared instantly, Harold. Almost as if you were right outside the door, which, I suspect you were,” I continued. “When we explained our desire to have an audience with Sir Mortimer, you looked physically sick. You knew a confrontation with Cyrus was imminent and that your days here, comfortable in the castle as a simple herald, were numbered.”
I was on a roll now. Harold’s eyes darted from side to side. He looked like a cornered animal.
“And let’s not forget your meetings with the infamous Mr. Fowler. When we arrived at Sir Mortimer’s estate, you were deep in conversation with him; a conversation that abruptly ended when we landed. What were you talking about, Harold?”
The herald swallowed hard. I waited for a reply but he said nothing.
Merv, who had been listening intently, picked up the thread I had been weaving.
“You were talking to Fowler when we left too, Harold,” Merv pointed out. “The two of you were whispering in the stables. And you looked very nervous, my boy. I thought it was the approaching storm, but now, I wonder. What were you talking to him about?”
“Nothing. The storm. Nothing.”
Harold’s façade began to crack.
Pat jumped back into the conversation. “How did thine arrive so speedily at Uncle Mort’s? How did thine travel?” she asked.
“By ... by horseback, of course, your highness,” the messenger stuttered.
“But thou left only a short time before we did,” Pat pressed. “Thou could not have arrived as quickly as thou did on the back of a horse. We flew and thou still beat us there. I demand to know how that came to be, herald.”
“I simply rode there as fast as I could, your highness, to prepare for your arrival.”
Harold was scared. His eyes betrayed him. I pushed forward.
“Just one more thing that doesn’t add up, Harold. And who was it that prepared and saddled our Gryphons for the return trip? I believe it was you and Cyrus Fowler. I too saw how nervous you were, Harold. Admit it! You and Cyrus Fowler are in league together. Tell us where he and the rubbing are!”
Harold mentally weighed his options for a few seconds. His fear vanished. In an instant, he regained his composure and began to answer my charges.
“This is all ridiculous!” Harold protested. “Are you seriously accusing me of treason with only these imaginings and wild theories? I appeared too quickly?” he laughed as he said it, becoming bolder. He raised his voice. “I’m sorry, sir, that you were attacked by Cyrus Fowler. I’m sorry you were injured. But these wild accusations are preposterous. The ravings of a fevered, poisoned mind! I am taking that into account, sir, otherwise my honor would require me to seek satisfaction by demanding a bowling ball duel!”
The gathered crowd gasped in shock at the mention of a bowling ball duel. Until I began bouncing around time, I honestly had no idea what a long and glorious history bowling seems to have. I found out later that bowing ball duels are much more dangerous affairs than their name implies and actually keep the King’s surgeons pretty busy.
Harold’s tirade built even more steam, propelled forward by the reaction from those in the hallway. He continued his rant.
“In this kingdom, people are innocent until proven guilty, sir! Not the other way around!”
I stood listening to Harold rave on and on about his wounded pride and hurt feelings, waiting for the right moment to play my ace in the hole. I didn’t have to wait long.
“... no tangible evidence, sir, that I have committed any wrong doing. There is absolutely nothing to suggest that I have committed any crime. In this, as in all matters, my hands are clean, sir!”
“It’s not your hands that interest me, Harold,” I calmly replied. “I am, however, very interested in your finger.”
The herald’s face went white. All the c
olor drained away. His mouth opened and closed but words refused to come out. I imagine it was the first time Harold the herald had ever been speechless.
“Your ring finger on your right hand, to be more exact,” I continued.
Harold instantly covered his right hand with his left and backed away from his accusers. One of the castle guards, a large fellow named Stuart, cut short his retreat. Harold backed right into the gigantic man wearing a sword and heavy armor. Stuart folded his arms across his chest and glared down menacingly at the diminutive messenger. There was nowhere to go. All eyes were fixed firmly on Harold’s hidden hand.
“Show me your right hand, Harold,” I demanded. “Now.”
The herald’s head dropped forward in resignation. His chin rested squarely on his chest. Slowly, he removed his left hand from his right and displayed it for all to see. As I expected, a large, black, ornate ring adorned his right hand - the same type of ring I had seen around the finger of Cyrus Fowler.
The black band was intricately inscribed with mystical looking characters - characters like those that appeared on Merv’s ‘paperweight’. A large circular area encompassed the top of the ring bearing what appeared to be the letter “D” inside a larger “O.” In a sinister way, the ring was beautiful.
“You and Cyrus Fowler have the same taste in jewelry,” I commented. “What is the significance of that ring?”
“Please,” Harold began. “You have no idea what you are getting yourself into. Fowler is not a man to be trifled with. His cruelty knows no bounds. Let me go and forget about the stones,” he pleaded.
“I don’t think so, traitor!” Pat hissed. “You have betrayed my family and this kingdom. You will be punished for your crimes. Guards!” Pat shrieked. “Take Harold the herald into custody and lock him in the castle dungeon.”
“Please, your highness! I beg you to be merciful. I had no choice. Fowler forced me to participate in his dastardly plans.”
“Exactly what are his plans, Harold?” I inquired. “Where is Cyrus Fowler?”
“I cannot tell you, sir,” Harold responded. “If Fowler ever discovered that I talked to you, that I betrayed him, he would kill me and feed me to his birds! I cannot become Carrion Pigeon food!”
“Carrion Pigeons?” I asked.
“That is what he refers to those vile creatures as, sir.”
“If thou will not cooperate, thou will be punished to the fullest extent allowed by our kingdom’s laws. Consider thou’s bowling privileges suspended immediately! And that is just for starters, traitor! Take him away!” Pat commanded.
The guards moved forward, each taking an arm, and began to march Harold the herald to the castle’s dungeon. At first, he offered no resistance, but as the gravity of his situation set in, Harold made one last, desperate gamble.
I could see the herald make his move but was too weak and too far away to stop him. I tried to push myself off the door frame I leaned against but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. The hallway spun wildly. A wave of nausea washed over me. Merv helped me steady myself as Harold sprang into action.
Without warning, Harold jerked away from his captors, slapping one guard on the forehead and poking the other in his eyes. I couldn’t help but think of a Three Stooges routine. With surprising speed, the herald leapt across the hallway and grabbed Pat around the neck, hugging her close against his body.
“Thou dares to put thine hands on me?” Pat shrieked.
“Shut up, you spoiled, sniveling little brat! Shut up or I’ll snap your neck!” Harold screamed. His whole demeanor had changed. Clearly Harold the herald had been playing a part. I had seriously underestimated this man.
“We shall see who’s bowling privileges are suspended, Princess,” he continued with sneer.
“Let her go, herald,” I said, again pushing myself off the door frame. I summoned all my strength to stand tall and firm, trying to put on a good show for Pat’s attacker. “There’s nowhere to go, Harold. Don’t make me blacken your other eye ... or worse.”
Harold tentatively reached his free hand up to his black eye and rubbed it gingerly. He winced at his own touch. A malevolent look crossed his face.
“You’ll pay for that, Eli Arnold. You fools will all pay!” Spittle flew from the enraged messenger’s mouth as he shouted. “This entire Kingdom will suffer at the hands of my masters!”
“My father will ...” Pat couldn’t complete her sentence. Harold squeezed his arm tighter across her throat.
“Your father will bow before me, princess,” he hissed. “You will all bow before me!”
Pat started to turn blue from the lack of oxygen. Her eyes began to bulge from their sockets. I had to act immediately.
My tanks were on empty but I squeezed every last bit of strength I had left into one final charge to try to save Pat. I vaulted across the hall using one of the herbal healers as a kind of stepping stone in order to get some height behind my intended kick. Time seemed to slow. I sailed across the open space, my foot leveled and ready to deliver a powerful blow to Harold’s head.
Harold grinned like a fool and twisted the ring on his right hand. Darkness engulfed both he and Pat. His disembodied voice echoed out of the shadows, “Long Live the Order of Disorder!”
I knifed through the darkness and crashed into the castle wall behind where Pat and Harold had been moments prior. Pain shot through my body as I crumpled to a heap on the floor. Merv and the healers (all but the one I stepped on) rushed to my side to render assistance but I waved them away. My concerns were not about myself.
Pat and Harold were gone, consumed by a cloud of black smoke.