Author's Note: Whoohoo! A consecutive posting! YEAH!
...
Ahem. =_=
Well, here's the next chapter! And it's up so fast because A)I'm sick, so I have time to write. Lots and lots of time, where I do nothing but sit in bed typing this and get half-way through the next chapter, and plan out Jester's whole family tree and-...yeah. So I have a lot of time on my hands. And B)There were some very nice reviews that made me smile when I woke up and read them on my Blackberry, so I felt motivated to write and not leave you hanging too much.
So, this one isn't much of a cliffie. You can relax. It's more of a transition/introduction/other stuff chapter. Not as "transition-ish" as the next chapter will be, but...
Foundling
"Look at him, poor thing. He's been beaten near to death!" Cool, gentle hands touched Jester's battered face in a motherly way. "Why, I think he'd have been dead had we not found him any sooner, poor lad."
Jester wasn't sure he wasn't already dead. Every inch of him felt as if it was burning, so heatedly that he had become numb as ice. He could not feel his hands, his feet... his very consciousness seemed distant. He could be waking or dreaming and not know the difference, lost in a terrible wave of pain.
"I don't know 'bout that, Octavia. He 'as a strong soul within 'im," a second female voice said softly. "But all the same, damn them curst scuts. They've been getting bold lately, under Léon's leadership. An' this is a step too far. I've half a mind to have my Godric go set fire to their camp." Through a shroud of fatigue and throbbing pain, Jester heard the two women hiss.
"Ay, it's getting too wild."
Once more, cool hands were placed against Jester's forehead, this time pressing something blessedly cold and damp that washed away the fire. A small sigh of relief escaped his lips.
"There," the first woman, Octavia, said softly.
"I...who d'you think he is? He's dressed as a knight, but there's something..."
"That I don't know, Maia, dear. I suppose we'll have to wait until he wakes to know his story."
My...story...what was my story?
Then the full force of memories flooded him -memories of Cliff's sneering face, the hooting of the brutish men, and Jane... Jester panicked. Jane! Fear caused him to fight against the bonds of fatigue and pain. He forced his eyes open. As he did, the world seemed to be shifting, blurred and vague. Vertigo overtook him, as two faces, one creased and wrinkled, one young and smooth, peered over him in concern.
"I...well, bless my soul, he's waking," the older woman smiled.
"So he is," the young blonde woman nodded.
"I...Jane...Jane..." Jester rasped. His throat was parched.
"Shhh...shh...be at peace." The younger woman stroked his hair soothingly, before turning to the elder. "Water, I think, Octavia."
Octavia nodded, and held out a plain water skein, which Maia held to Jester's lips.
"Alright, now, calm yourself," the blonde woman murmured, as Jester drank the refreshing liquid. "Tell us your name, and mayhaps we can go from there."
"I...forgive me... I am Jester, the jester of the Court of King Caradoc in Kippernia Castle," he took a deep, shuddering breath. Maia's eyes widened, glancing to Octavia with an unspoken question dancing upon her lips. Jester couldn't help but think that those eyes looked familiar...
"From the court of King Caradoc, dear?" Octavia asked.
"That is correct."
"Well, Jester, dear, you're most welcome here amongst our little caravan. Allow us to introduce ourselves. My name is Octavia, and this here is my niece Maia."
"Your...caravan?" Jester looked around himself, finally noting his surroundings. He lay on a soft cot, pressed against a wall of timber. Brightly coloured cloths covered the opposing walls, though they parted enough for one small, square window with the shutters drawn. Colourful odds and ends were scattered around, and sweet smelling herbs hung from the ceiling.
Maia laughed sweetly.
"I suppose we forgot to mention the fact tha' we are travelling players. The proud Romany...or, as some prefer to call us, the gypsies." She shrugged, "Though, not all of us are- Matthieu, our priest, is a Frenchman, and Juliana is pure Italian. Sings like an angel from Heaven, tha' one."
"Travelling players?" Jester asked, incredulous.
"Yes. We originally come from Italy, save a few, though we almost all grew up in the northern moor lands. Under Tiberinus, our leader, we've travelled between the Courts of Spain to the Island of Crete to the northern Germanic kingdoms. Octavia, my aunt, is married to my uncle Tiberinus." She smiled, before a shadow flickered over her face. "My parents, also, are travelling players. Or rather, were..." She bit her lip.
"Forgive me. I would not wish to bring up any... painful memories." Jester murmured quickly. "Perhaps you could tell me...how long I've been here?"
"Not even a day, dear," Octavia replied. "We had been on our way to the next town, perhaps five hours past, when we spotted the scoundrels making away from your camp. Naturally, we came to see what damage had been done, and that's when we found you, knocked cold senseless," she frowned and tsked. "We've had trouble from Léon's crowd recently. Getting too bold, they are. Their antics are lowering our income, seeing as less decent folk are travelling these routes. And this is getting too much.
"It appeared as if you had taken a blow to the head from them when we found you, which I'm guessing is what had you senseless, but then it appears as if they'd beaten every inch of you before leaving." She shook her head, the silver hair that escaped her headscarf swaying like a pendulum.
"I...please. Tell me. When you spotted them leaving, did you see...a...a woman, with hair that was vibrant as flame among them?"
Maia paused a moment, as if replaying the scene in her memory.
"Yes, I do think I remember seeing a scrap of red," she nodded slowly. "I think at the time, I had assumed it was some cloth or other, but now that you mention it..."
"Jane..." Jester whispered, closing his eyes. He had failed. Failed to protect her, failed any promise he had ever made to her, failed...
He gulped. Dragon would roast him alive.
"I'll assume that this lady was very dear to you?" Octavia murmured, one of her tanned, weathered hands grasping Jester's in a comforting way.
He nodded.
"Immensely," he whispered back, eyes still shut. "She was everything." And so he proceeded to tell the tale for their journey, solely omitting a few very personal and painful memories.
Octavia and Maia were an exceptional audience, gasping and hissing at exactly the right parts. At one point, when Jester described Cliff's taunts and foul crudeness, Maia actually leapt to her feet and proclaimed very loudly that the brute would pay very dearly at the point of her blade, before Octavia pulled her back onto her stool and reminded her very gently that she couldn't properly wield a blade as of yet.
"...and so, I found myself here," Jester concluded. "Many thanks for you having come to my rescue." The atmosphere of the caravan seemed to have sobered, as the rain continued to fall over its roof, pattering a steady tattoo.
"I...don't even know what to say. You are a formidable storyteller. I can tell most certainly that you have some of the Romany within you." Maia murmured finally, shaking her blonde head, "And, I swear, Cliff will pay, damn him."
"All I want, really, is to save Jane," Jester said softly. "I suppose that it's too late for that, though, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't count on that," Octavia replied, standing up and brushing off her many skirts. "It is a six day ride until Léon's camp. And judging the fact that Léon likes to play with his toys, break their spirits, I'd reckon you have at least two more weeks if this Jane is half the woman you portray her to be. But, she seems strong, and wilful. So I'd guess that there is mayhap a month, perhaps more, depending on her behaviour and resolve."
"What? So there's still hope?"
Jester sat up abruptly, before wincing at his bruises and lying back down.
Maia nodded, her fingers absently toying with one corner of her shawl.
"Ay, there is. I can feel it. Octavia, this... Jane...her fate is strongly tied in with both his and our own. She will last long before she even begins to show signs of cracking." She fixed Jester with that familiar blue stare. "I reckon you still have time, to both heal and strengthen, before you save her."
Jester opened his mouth, but Maia held up a hand. "Not by yourself, though. You won't be able. There are twenty-odd men in that camp." She looked pensive
Jester glanced at Octavia, puzzlement etched over his face.
"Maia is a seer, dear," the elder woman explained. "She...feels things... that others cannot perceive. Sort of a gut instinct, that knows things like the coming rain. Usually small things like that."
"Is it true?" Jester asked, eyes wide. Maia winked.
"Of course it is. The trade of the gypsy!" She laughed "And, anyways, I also have something I would like to both bring up and settle with this Cliff."
Author's End Note: Just to let you know, as a side note, the names I picked for these two gypsies are Roman/Latin names. I picked them because I remember Martin Baynton saying that Jester's real name is a Roman name, and considering that his family are gypsies like these two kind ladies, I thought I'd give them Roman names as well, as a sort of tribute/connection to Jester's name. ;)
Hope you liked this chapter. The next one will be up ASAP. But if you want to read it, I want you to click that little green review button down there and tell me what you think, okay?
Lots of love, XOXO
-Mintermist