Chapter 15- Lost: Compassion
Ok....you'd think this was a milestone chapter, no? I mean fifteen. 15. Nice number. Nice age (unless your 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14, or 15). Well. Anyhoo. I've received four reviews as of yet....and I'm hoping for more....hint, hint.
Maybe it was necessary to kill Abby, Chris. I'm sorry if your throat hurts from screaming bloody murder. As a compensation for your screaming (not for your grief over Abby), here are some complementary throat lozenges...Halls, Eucalyptus. Hands Chrischelle a package while smiling sweetly
I'm glad we're all good with the cookie thing, Lalaith....but because of this confusion, i shall no longer give out cookies....please give suggestions as to what you'll be needing....thanks for telling me about the OC and the Mary Sue bit....anyone know how to indent?!? Centre?!? A little help, please...i'll ask again at the end of the chappie...
Nosilla- sup? Whadda think of Abby's death (er...possible death)?
Manny- I hope my explanation was ok.
Dances around in the New-Reviewer-Dance that some authors do EEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Guess who has a new reviewer...i do! hehehehehehehe! Kk, i'm done now....you should feel special, SukiYumi, that was in your honour....or maybe 'honoured' isn't quite the word....seeing as i'm a shitty dancer.
Kaio? Where are you? Where's my first reviewer?
Kylie...I realised that I've lied to you...we haven't seen Lady Jeanine yet....ok, a half lie, I apologise..oops looks around guiltily before batting eyes innocently Not working, huh? Hmm...pity, well to bad....read on!
Yona watched as the Gypsies made their way slowly through the forest. Watching their progress was truly fascinating. The closely growing trees never got in the way of the caravans. The caravans were narrower than regular carts and wagons, but still, a gap between two trees three feet from each other should not have accommodated any wagon. But still, it seemed that the magical bond between the gypsies and the forests and it's plants helped the nomads meander their way through the Royal Forest.
The young spy stayed parallel to the covered wagon of Mier and Hershel. These two did not socialise with anyone else. It was only the brothers. 'Their parents,' Yona wondered, ' Where are their parents?' Any number of places, prison, the stocks of some overly suspicious town, a city brothel, a village store...had the boys been sold to make ends meat? Gypsies were known to buy people's young from them, as much a mercy to the children as a business transaction.
But Hershel and his brother seemed content, and children who were displease with the arrangement stayed not for long. The two belonged, somehow, with the caravan, ' No.' Yona decided, ' These two were gypsies by birth.' He watched as Mier leant over the back of the wagon and plucked something from the underbrush. The small boy crushed a leaf of mint under his nose. The boy inhaled deeply and a look of delight briefly crossed his face. Mier jumped lightly from the wagon and walked back to where the mint was growing. He plucked a handful of sprigs before running to catch up with his wagon.
Suddenly a wagon crashing into the underbrush less than a foot near Yona's hiding place. He jumped back and looked up, meeting the eyes of a gypsy girl sitting on the back. Taking the wooden musical pipe from her mouth, the girl abandoned her melody in the music. She stared at him before smiling slightly, and jumping from her covered wagon. She came towards the shadowed figure and Yona slipped away.
Yona heard her youthful voice entreating him to come back, "Shadow-friend! Come back, do not run from us!" Yona glanced back, hoping she hadn't followed. Suddenly the person fell, and the ground rushed towards him. Yona's training took over and steeled themself for the fall. Yona smacked the ground as they connected with it and rolled. Quickly, Yona tried to get up, but a vine plant had wound itself around Yona's ankle; the cause of his fall.
Yona grabbed for the knife concealed in it's sheath, but hesitated. The shadowed figure remembered how the forest served the gypsies. Cutting it up, even simply to get away would not bode well with Yona's gypsy friends. The spy looked up at the crackle of leaves that announced the girl's arrival.
She sighed slightly and nodded towards the person's knife, "You'd not have gotten farther if you'd used that." She paused. "but you knew that, or at least suspected. Come. There was no need to run from us. You're welcome here, you know, well, so long as you are kind to the forest. At my request, the creeper trapped you," she said, gesturing toward the vine wrapped around Yona's ankle. The girl spoke with the same strange accent that Hershel sported.
Yona blinked slightly and glanced at the girl. At a close scrutiny, Yona's sharp eyes noticed a trickle of green sparkle running through the gypsy's body, using the same route as her veins. The girl noticed the person's gaze and raised her eyebrows, amused.
"All forest gypsies have a green magic, given to us by mother Remaneen at the dawn of time," Smiling, she muttered something even Yona's sharp ears could not dissect. The creeper vine imprisoning the spy detracted itself from the black-clad leg. Yona reached down and rubbed where the vine had entrapped the leg.
"Thank you." Yona muttered. The girl extended a brown hand towards the person on the ground, who accepted it and got up. 'That's the second time a gypsy's helped me from the ground, I hope it won't be repeated...' Yona mused as she smiled, saying,
"I am Hinda, and you, you are the elusive Yona, Hershel and Mier's friend. Any friend of Hershel's is a friend of mine. Well, of the whole caravan." She paused, but did not continue on that line, "Come back to the caravan with me, we shall greet them." Yona nodded and followed her, stepping wearily over the vine which had held him.
Meir sat quietly down beside Hershel. Still unnoticed, he tugged at his brother's sleeve gently. Hershel turned and smiled down at him,
"What is it?" Meir reached under the bench and showed his brother one of the peach coloured roses, one of the bouquet Yona had left for them. Hershel nodded, the bells in his hair jangling merrily, and commented,
"I thought our gershom would visit soon, you go greet him, yes, Mier?" The small boy nodded and disappeared, leaving his brother to muse over their friend alone. Hershel steered the sturdy ponies through a clump of trees, following the rest of the wagons. Glancing down at the seat, he smiled and picked up a sprig of mint that Mier had left behind. Hershel grinned and plucked a leaf, knowing this was Mier's subtle way of telling him he had not-so-fresh breath.
Crushing the leaf, the young man popped it into his mouth. The leaf's strong flavour soothed him and he turned his thoughts to the spy. Yona. Dove. Peace. The person masked their face and their body; their gender. What the young gypsy wondered was 'Why? Why did the person hide that?' They could not possibly be hired to spy on the gypsies, such a thought was simply amusing. Gypsies could not be spied on, their bond with their surroundings forbade it. 'The forest would know if Yona were spying on us,' Hershel thought confidently. 'Who could Yona be spying on, then? Someone at the castle? A noble...'
Hershel's good mood was brushed away by a brooding irritation. Nobles thought themselves above commoners. But whatever the nobles thought of commoners was praise when compared to their opinions of gypsies. Wanderers. Roamers. Homeless. Vagabonds. Rovers. Drifters. Strays. Castaways. 'Simply because we don't own land. What is so despicable about that? We do not have loads of possessions. We are ready to move. Ready to leave. Ready to travel. Most gypsies have been to more places than any noble ambassador. Any they despise us for it.' Shaking his head, the man urged his ponies on with a click of his tongue. Taking a deep breath, Hershel let his anger well up inside of him. Dwelling on others' opinions was not good. Remaneen and Solaro did not approve of unimportant anger. The man let his breath go, and with it his anger.
"Now," he said to the trees, "I am ready to receive my guest."
"Good." Hinda smiled at his surprise. She, Yona and Mier had just arrived, hearing the man's last comment. Hershel smiled back at her before greeting Yona,
"Ah, so you have come back to us! Good, good. I am very glad to see you again. I must thank you for the roses. They hang, as you see, in our caravan." Indeed, as Yona and Hinda leaned in, the roses swayed gently, hanging upside down from the beams, emitting their lovely scent. Yona nodded and said in a low voice,
"I trust you understood." At Hershel's nod, Yona seemed to relax and motioned jumping up to sit next to the driver. Again, Hershel nodded and Yona jumped lightly from the leaf-laden ground to the wooden bench. Mier and Hinda walked beside the slow moving wagon, listening to the conversation in the caravan.
"You are a spy." Hershel said without accusation.
"I am. Does this matter to you?"
"No, I simply wanted confirmation."
"I am, I am glad. You and your people are very friendly. I would hate to lose that." Hershel glanced sideways at the figure, clad in black as always. Yona swallowed and said in a slightly quieter tone, "I realise you three, and the rest of your caravan are mostly likely very curious about my identity." Hershel, Hinda, and Mier exchanged a silent look. Perhaps Yona would tell them...?
"I know you are wondering if I am male or female, who I am spying on, and why I hide it from you." Hershel smiled at his own predictability. "And I can hardly begrudge you that. But I must ask to reveal information only when I feel able to. I have been betrayed before...I do not believe any of you would, but I am cautious." Hinda smiled at the obviously uncomfortable passenger,
"We understand you well, tell us when you're ready." Yona nodded in thanks before saying with a soft sigh,
"I left my employer to hear your music, and he will not be understanding. His tastes lean towards knowing others' every move. I am currently investigating an individual whose struck interest in three people...at least, three have approached me personally. As far as I can tell, the person is kind, not condescending or haughty in the least. It is a waste of my talent and my employer's money to have me trail h- that person."
"I see." Hinda and Hershel ignored the spy's near slip and continued to listen. Mier looked up at Yona before slipping off.
Yona stayed for ten more minutes, chatting with the two gypsies. Before the person left, Yona turned to Hershel and said in a low voice, one low enough that Hinda could not make it out,
"Keep such as your doe with you, she will help you through times of grief."
Before the man could react, Yona had disappeared into the quickly-darkening woods. Hershel glanced down at the girl who walked beside him. Her dark brown hair caught the dying rays of the tree-filtered sun, lightening it slightly. Hinda's lips were small and plush, ready to smile at a moment's notice. Grey eyes that, along with her high cheekbones were legacies from her Marquion mother. She glanced up at him and, catching him staring at her she flushed through her tan, a dynamic crimson.
'The Two bless me!' Hershel realised with a start. 'She's a beauty."
"Ah! Welcome, please, sit. Would you care for some tea, or something stronger? Brandy perhaps?" The Count smiled in welcome as he offered the Earl a beverage. The Earl smiled slightly before replying,
"Brandy would be nice, yes."
"And tea for myself, Gorison." The manservant poured while the Count and the Earl seated themselves. When the Earl had his glass in hand, the Count sipped his tea before saying bluntly,
"I shan't waste court niceties on you, George. You rarely visit King James's Court. Why are you here now?" The Earl's eyebrow had flickered at the use of his given name, but he ignored it and said in an amused voice,
"Thank you for your concern. I was wondering after our last encounter if you would be as amiable yet frank as you were in the past. I do hope, John, that your son has found a different silver mine to terrorize?" The Earl was deliberately trying to bait the normally placid Count, but Marcus's father had encountered the Earl often enough to know when to react forcibly.
"Marcus was not terrorizing your mine and if it seemed like it, perhaps you ought to pay your servants more than half a week's pay per month. It would certainly cut down on the expenditure on keeping them in line." The Count's rebuff was delivered calmly, with no hint of anger. Smiling, the Earl continue
"Ah, yes, but my foremen have no objection to using a bit of force now and again. 'T would seem a shame to deprive them of their pleasure after having given it to them. And as we both know, raising wages is never a task I frequently perform." Here the Earl sipped his brandy and glanced at the papers on the table. A smirk lifted a hard corner of his mouth.
"Ah. So you too have seen the stupidity of the Court's location, hmm?" The Count did not answer, and the Earl didn't mind, he hadn't needed a reply. "Well, when you have the courage to tell him of your plans to move, do make sure that the King and his Court stay far from Mattensworth. The closer I am to court intrigues the worse my indigestion gets."
"You used to enjoy the antics of young people, George. You used to be a young person enjoying the Court."
"That was over twenty years ago." The Earl's reply was edged with warning, though the Count's reminder had been gentle.
"And twenty years ago you never would have considered using a whip on servants who are treated little better than slaves. You would have shown them compassion. Compassion. It is a word whose meaning is lost on you."
"I lost the word's meaning when the gods lost me. I banished the word and it's meaning from my mind when the gods forgot me. I have lost much, and having a arse-kissing suck-up such as yourself telling me I have lost my compassion is hardly gong to make me more compassionate, now, is it?" The man's voice had taken on a chill liken to ice, and his eyes were sharp as an assassin's knife.
"No. I don't suppose it would. But I only said that compassion's meaning is lost on you. You still possess the emotion. Though, true, it is hidden." The Count paused slightly. " You are welcome in the place, Earl, and I thank you for your company tonight. I will have my man Gorison will show you to your rooms himself." The Earl stood and placed his half finished glass on the oaken table. As he reached the door, the Count asked,
"Oh, and one more thing, your grace- would you like a servant bring you breakfast tomorrow or will you join the Court tomorrow morn at ten?" The Earl glanced back at him, sporting an irritated quirk of the eyebrow at the ridiculousness of the suggestion.
"Nay, I shall require breakfast to be brought to me at eight."
Count John watched the servant and the Earl leave, unsure of what had possessed him to ask after the Earl's dining plans. He smiled self-mockingly. He knew. Of course he knew. A small prick inside had warned him against asking whether the Earl's daughter was to be informed of her father's presence in the castle.
The Count stood, resolute. She must know of her father's whereabouts. 'And I shall tell her. This very hour.' The man gathered his papers and put them away, snuffed out the candles and left, making his way towards the Lady Abigail's rooms.
Ok, I still want to know how to indent and italicise. Please review this chapter and please actually comment on the story and/or the writing...its not that I don't like our banter, but I do (that would be italicised if I knew how to) need to know what you all think of it.
Many thanks, Galadvende
PS- Is Abby or Keosha a Mary Sue? (And by 'mary sue' I mean a perfect character...too perfect)
PPS- Ahahaha, you still don't know if Abby's alive or not...sorry, I had to get back to the Earl and the Count.
Anyway, please review!
