Sitting alone on a hard rock in the middle of a bunch of trees, Orpheus brooded over his wounded pride. Apparently, he had not been needed to bring Dustfinger back. There was no glory for him; no reward. Not even a returned Dustfinger to give him a heartfelt—and, in his own opinion, much deserved—thank you. Instead it was the girl, the little golden-haired brat, who wrote the words that he himself read aloud. Even so there was still nothing to show for it. Still, she was congratulated for her courage and her quick thinking. No one thought of Orpheus then.
Moodily he chewed on a piece of stale bread and dry meat that hardly his idea of a good meal, for it was flaky and left crumbs on his white shirt. But it was all they would let him have back in the Black Prince's camp. It had been Mo's decision to rejoin them, for safety's sake. As he had put it, together they could all protect each other. To hide alone any longer was foolhardy.
Of these things Orpheus cared little. That was why he had left their company—for a time, at least.
Orpheus rose from the boulder slowly, painfully, groaning with effort as he did so. He yawned in a self-pitying manner, turned, and came face-to-face with a man holding a knife, a man in a torn, dirty, and singed shirt.
"Good evening," Basta purred, his mouth twisted into a hateful smirk. "We have a job for you."
"'M-me? But what—why—?'" Orpheus choked out. Basta motioned for Orpheus to look behind him.
Orpheus swiveled, and gasped. There stood at least a dozen soldiers, heavily armed and watching him. But they were not the ones who put a chill through Orpheus' heart. In their midst and in all his glory, there stood a man who, from having read Inkheart, Orpheus could only identify as the Adderhead.
--
Roxane stood before her home, so dark, so silent, so empty. She did not know what drove her to this place; it was not the place she wanted to be, but the place her feet had taken her. She had only followed.
Everything looked so dismal—the barn, the hen house, the stable, the empty garden. The place was absolutely lifeless. For several minutes she simply stared blankly at the sight. The moon cast its blue light over the buildings. It was a lonely picture. Roxane did not feel she could stand any more loneliness. She turned her back on the farm and ran toward the edge of the forest nearby. Silently she stole through the trees, glancing around herself anxiously, for she did not wish to be followed.
Leaves rustled in the cold night air, twigs snapped. A soft breeze blew down from the dark, towering treetops; Roxane felt its breath in her long hair.
It seemed that the whole while she had been in hiding with her family, a longing to be beside her husband had been growing in her heart. That night it had been strongest. The desire had grown so intense, it woke her from a sound sleep.
Quickly she had dressed in warmer clothing and slipped past the guards, whom the Black Prince had sent to protect her family and herself, and stepped from the hiding place into the open air. She wished to go to the place where Dustfinger's body was hidden.
Her heart pounded as she neared the place. It was a small clearing in the thickest part of the forest, at the foot of a small, gray, cliff-like formation. With the vines and leaves that covered it, one would have passed by the narrow crevice in the rock without a second glance.
Roxane stopped here and listened. She scanned the area behind her, assuring herself that she had left no discernable trail to follow, then ducked into the room of stone.
The interior was large and square, with almost-perfect corners, all covered with cobwebs and vines. The ceiling was high and arched, the floor was bare stone, except for a few dried leaves and some dirt here and there.
In the center of the room stood a stone slab, and atop that lay a large box, crafted of beautifully-carved wood. At the sight of it, Roxane's eyes filled with tears. Slowly she moved forward, reaching out her hand to remove its ornate lid, on which was painted a series of interwoven vines, flower-studded, deep green in color with pale blue shadows. The vines framed a single, vibrantly-colored flame.
A tear fell from Roxane's eye, landing in the center of the flame. With the sleeve of her black dress, she wiped it away. She began to lift up the lid, but a soft noise from behind stopped her. Roxane stiffened, then spun about.
Her heart almost stopped with fright, for Basta now loomed over her, his wiry frame blocking the doorway and his arms folded across his chest. He was smiling smugly. Beside him stood the Adderhead, staring coldly.
"Dear Roxane," Basta spoke in lilting tones.
Roxane whitened. She took a step backward. "What do you want? Have you now come to deny me even the body of my dead husband? Is it not enough that he is gone? What more do you want to take from me?" She trembled, her red lips standing out in her place face, but she stood bravely between them and Dustfinger's resting place. Smirking, Basta stepped forward.
--
A man hurried through the Black Prince's camp, Roxane's son close at his side. The camp was quiet, for most were sleeping, though before a few of the tents small fires had been kindled, wary men huddling around them, speaking in low tones.
The man's eyes searched the faces until he found the Prince's near one of the larger fires, sitting on the ground and talking with the men, a grim smile on his face. The man rushed to his side.
"Sire," he whispered, "I must speak to the Bluejay."
"What is the matter?" asked the Black Prince, eyeing the man.
He dropped his eyes in shame. "Bring me to the Bluejay, sir, and I shall inform both of you."
"This way," the Black Prince led the man and Jehan to a fire on the other side of camp. The Bluejay sat alone, staring into the flames in contemplation. A word from the Black Prince roused him. "Alner has a matter of importance." Both turned their attention to the man's face. He began.
"As you know, I and Hanven were ordered to protect Roxane and her family, which we have done faithfully—until tonight."
"What happened?" Mo inquired, concern on his face.
"Tell them, boy, for, to my great shame, I was asleep."
Jehan swallowed, nervously fingering the hem on his tunic of brown wool. "I awoke just over an hour ago to see my mother slipping out of the door to our hiding place. The guards were both asleep; all the other nights, one had stayed up to keep watch while we slept. But tonight, the one on guard must have been overpowered by weariness.
"I watched my mother walk out into the night. Something in the way she moved frightened me; it was like she was in a trance, or under a spell. I tried to wake the guards, but I could not. No matter how hard I shook them, they would not awake. So I followed her. She walked all the way to our house, and stopped there for a very long time. Eventually she turned and headed for the woods.
"I knew she was going to see Dustfinger's tomb, so I thought I would go back. But as soon as she entered the woods, I saw a couple of men run after her." He paused, dread and fear on his features. "One of them was the Adderhead."
At those words, the three listening men tensed, but remained silent until Jehan finished.
"I froze. I wanted to warn her, but I knew they would catch me. Instead I followed them a little ways, and heard part of what they were saying. The one with the Adderhead—a tall, slim man with unkempt, black hair and a sallow face—said something about the Adderhead capturing the Bluejay. The Adderhead seemed uncertain, but the man with him assured him that they would catch him tonight. Before they said anything more, I ran back. I found Alner awake, so I told him everything and asked him to bring me here to find the Bluejay—to warn him, and to ask for his help."
The Black Prince and Mo exchanged a glance. "What do you make of it?"
"I don't know," Mo replied, "but it's unsettling to know that Basta is involved in it."
"What should we do?" asked the Black Prince.
Mo thought for several seconds, then asked Jehan, "Do you know where Dustfinger's resting place is?"
Jehan nodded. "Mother took me there once, even though he was not my father. I can remember how to get there."
The Bluejay again fell silent. His initial response was to ask Jehan to bring him to the place alone. He did not want to wait for help to be gathered; loathing made him impatient. But something in him knew that it would be wiser to bring reinforcements, in case something were to go wrong.
"Gather some able, trustworthy men," said Mo decisively. "Bring them here and arm them. Then we shall follow Jehan to Dustfinger's tomb. There may be more of the Adderhead's men there by the time we arrive." The Black Prince and Alner set out immediately, Jehan at their heels.
To himself, Mo whispered, "If they want the Bluejay so badly, then so be it—they shall have him!" His voice was hard and full of hatred and anger. His heart pounded in his chest as he ducked into the small tent. When he reappeared, he wore a gray tunic, over which was flung a dark blue cloak. On his face he wore the leathern mask, decorated with pale yellow, black, and blue feathers. It hid the conflict that he felt within.
Half an hour later, a company of about thirty men was rushing quietly through the forest, swords, knives, axes, and bows and arrows in hand. The Bluejay and Jehan led them. Farid had wanted so badly to accompany them, but the Bluejay strongly forbade him, telling him instead to stay back and protect Meggie and Resa with Fenoglio.
Soft footsteps from leather boots sounded mutedly as they went on. Swords gleamed in the fading moonlight. Looking at the sky, the Bluejay could tell that dawn was fast approaching.
"We're close," hissed Jehan, so faintly that the Bluejay almost did not hear it, then, a few seconds later, "There!" The Black Prince gave a quiet order to halt. The men slowed and grouped together, waiting for the will of their leader, the Bluejay, to be known.
"Wait until I give the word," Mo ordered the Black Prince. "Jehan, hide yourself in the trees. I will go ahead alone."
Before a wall, covered with vines and branches, there stood a circle of at least a dozen soldiers, wearing heavy metal armor and holding long swords, knives, spears. The Adderhead's men. They stood at attention, watchful and waiting.
Mo heard voices from inside the wall. The soldiers stirred, then moved to either side of a small opening that had been stripped of its cover. Out stepped Basta, who held a squirming Roxane by the arms, followed closely by the Adderhead, an ugly look on his face. He nodded to Basta.
Basta shoved Roxane to the earth. She slumped, her legs collapsing beneath herself, her hair falling over her face. Knife carelessly in hand, Basta knelt on the leaf-covered forest floor beside the woman. "You know where he is, don't you?" he whispered maliciously in her ear. Roxane did not reply. "Don't you? Tell me where he is!" He still got no answer, save a muted sob from Roxane.
Basta stood. "You know that I will find him one way or another. On that you may depend." He snickered, the simper on his face deepening. "Bluejay!" he called out. "I know you're there. Step forward! This woman's life depends on it."
"Let her be, Basta," a harsh voice called from the woods. Basta looked toward the place where he heard the voice, a cruel smile on his lips. The Bluejay stepped forth and stood boldly in the center of the clearing. "I am here, so leave her alone. She is of no use to you."
"Ah, Bluejay," Basta sneered. "How good of you to reveal yourself. I knew you would."
A sea of hatred seethed inside of Mo. He longed to rush forward, to kill, but he knew it was not the time yet. Mo fought for control of his emotions as he coolly and collectedly stared down Basta. "This does not involve her, Basta. Let her go."
"Very well," Basta shrugged. He stepped away from Roxane. She rose and stumbled forward, toward the Bluejay.
"Get behind me; into the trees. Your son is there," Mo whispered, and drew his sword. Roxane did as she was told. Basta stepped toward Mo; he now held a sword.
"I've been waiting a long time for this, Bluejay," he growled.
"Forward!" shouted the Bluejay. From the trees sprang the Black Prince's men with a shout. A shocked and dismayed look briefly crossed Basta's face as he lifted his sword to strike, but too late.
The company fell on the Adderhead's soldiers, taken by surprise. Metal clashed in the dawn. The soldiers tried to put up a fight, but they were caught unawares and were outnumbered by double their own number.
The Black Prince, the Bluejay, and their band swiftly relieved the soldiers of their weapons and backed them against the stone wall, holding them at sword- and arrow-point.
The Bluejay stood back and scanned their faces until he saw the one he wanted: the Adderhead. Gripping the hilt of his sword so strongly his hand hurt, the Bluejay stepped forward.
The Adderhead watched him approach with pale face, trembling with fear for his life. The Bluejay stopped a couple feet away from him. His eyes were cold and hard as ice.
Roughly he grabbed the Adderhead by the shoulder of his royal robes and jerked him forward, away from the wall, pressing his blade against the man's throat. In a voice dripping with malice, the Bluejay began to speak. "Do you know how many men you have killed? How many lives you have destroyed?" The Adderhead did not attempt to reply, so paralyzed was he by fear. "Tyrant!" shouted the Bluejay, and the Black Prince's band turned their attention to the two men. With wide eyes, they watched the scene unfold.
The Bluejay did not see them; he saw no one, nothing but the face of the Adderhead before him. His only thoughts were of revenge. "This is for what you did to countless people, taking the lives of the guiltless and of those who bore my likeness." His lip curled with intense hatred. "You act like you are so powerful, but you—you are a coward! You slaughter innocent people; you oppress your subjects! You care not for anyone's wellbeing but your own. You power-hungry monster; you don't deserve to live." His prisoner flinched.
A murmur arose among the men, disbelief on their faces. "What is he going to do?" they asked uneasily. Were they really about to witness an execution? They listened to his angry words.
Talons of steel gripped at Mo's heart. He trembled with fury, and something else that he could not name. His breath came in short gasps. "Do you know that I could end all of that, right now?" The Bluejay snarled. "One stroke could end all the misery you are causing! Yet that does not seem like enough." He was panting. He was transfigured by rage.
Slowly, the men were forming a large ring around the two men, whispering to one another. Only the Black Prince said nothing, his gaze riveted on the Bluejay. He listened intently to his words, full of hatred, full of anger and vengeance.
What was happening to the Bluejay? Had killing really transformed him into a monster? The Black Prince took a step toward the man and his captive. "Bluejay," he called softly, reaching out his hand, but stopped at the look the Bluejay turned and gave him; a look of menace, telling him to keep back. Instead the Black Prince remained where he was, several feet behind the Bluejay, who had turned to his prisoner once more.
Before him, the Adderhead shook with fright. His eyes were large with terror; his fear of death had overpowered him. His mouth moved to speak, but to no avail.
"Murderer!" Bluejay shouted. "Why should I not end your life? You yourself know that you more than deserve that!" He gripped his sword. "It will end tonight, Adderhead." He drew back the blade.
Again the Black Prince stepped forward, and again he stopped, unsure of what to do. The men around him had fallen into a stunned silence. 'What is the man thinking?' the Prince wondered.
The Bluejay clenched his teeth. Now was the time. The Adderhead had been delivered into his hands. Months of anguish would be paid for; countless lives would be avenged. The Bluejay felt nothing as he prepared to bring this to completion, nothing but cold, cold in his heart.
The Adderhead sank to the ground. A whimper escaped his lips. The Bluejay looked down on him with scorn from behind his mask. But, just as he was about to thrust, something in him stirred.
He gazed on the quivering heap of terror that was the cause of so much pain, misery, fear, and death, and something raced through his mind.
They were abstract thoughts of pity, feelings of helplessness. Yes, even now, Mo felt completely helpless. He was about to end a form of pain and misery that would only lead to another of a different kind.
He stood silently with his sword, still ready to strike, but did not move, though his face was still hard. At last he spoke. "No," he said. "I am not one to kill you. Not in cold blood."
It was at that moment that, within Mo, the conflict ceased. The two sides—Mo and the Bluejay—rose up and melded together. No longer did Mo feel he was living two lives; seeing the world interchangeably through different pairs of eyes. No longer did he feel as though his heart was covered with a shell of stone.
He thought clearly, rationally; all of his senses were keen and alert. He felt a portion of his heart that was still hardened; toughened by experience and trial, not stony with hatred. His thoughts became cunning, but level. And the eyes of the Bluejay became his own; the veil of hatred was taken away.
It was not without compassion that the Bluejay looked on the Adderhead now. The white face, streaked with fearful tears, that looked up at him did not this time bring hatred and rage whirling into his head. He lowered his sword.
"I am not like you," he said in a cold, yet even voice. "I am not a murderer. I will let you live."
A shout rang out from the soldiers whom the company had taken prisoner. They rushed forward, shoving away the men who guarded them, reclaiming their weapons. Taken unawares, the Black Prince's men were swiftly pushed back.
Just as the soldiers were about to attack, another cry rang out—a yell of terror. Men were shouting in confusion. Words such as "Wizardry!" and "It's true! The Bluejay is a wizard!" filled the air.
The sounds even reached the ears of the Bluejay. He looked over his shoulder, then spun about to face the odd apparition that penetrated the darkness.
A white ball of flame hung in mid-air, hissing, spitting sparks, and growing larger and larger. It seared the enemy's skin, heating their metal armor until, screaming with pain, they tore it off, flinging down their melting weapons as well. Mo, able to feel its intense heat even from where he stood, stared, transfixed with wonderment, oblivious to the men running and screaming around him.
The ball of flame brightened so that he had to shield his eyes with one hand. Soldiers ran blindly past in a panic, stripped of armor, their clothing and skin burned, shouting, tripping, crawling away from the thing. Only the Black Prince, the Bluejay, and those with them remained where they were.
Soon the only men left in that place were those of the Black Prince's camp. Slowly the flame dimmed, then died out. Silence ensued. For a long time nobody moved. Then, methodically, everyone began to gather the armor and weapons that the Adderhead's soldiers had dropped, some of it melted and deformed to the point of uselessness, all of it hot to the touch so that most of them kicked them with their thick, leather boots to avoid burns.
In the fray, both the Adderhead and Basta had escaped. But at the moment, that mattered little. The Bluejay still stood where he had stood before the Adderhead, dazed, but relieved. He stared at the ground, at the discarded arms about him, much of it glowing red with heat, illuminating the clearing. When Mo looked up, he saw the Black Prince standing before him.
"Roxane—?" Mo began.
"She and her son have returned to the camp," answered the Prince.
Mo nodded absently. There was a long pause, then he whispered, "That flame…I have never seen anything like it. Do you think…?"
"All I know," said the Black Prince, "is that I only ever knew one person capable of making fire like that in the air."
Mo gazed at him intently. "Dustfinger's body…"
"Gone. Roxane told me so herself. The coffin was empty even before Basta opened it." An astonished look, half-hopeful, crossed Mo's face. Before he could ask any more questions, the Prince handed him a folded piece of parchment paper. "Either Basta or the Adderhead dropped it, I am sure," he murmured as Mo silently read the words written on it.
"Roxane was awakened by a strong desire to again gaze upon her dead husband. The guards were trapped in a deep slumber as, silently, she crept away, walking through the night until she reached her own home. From there, she turned and began to walk to the place where she had hidden the body.
"Her son, awakened by his mother's stirrings, followed her for a time, until he saw Basta and the Adderhead, and heard them conversing about the Bluejay. From there, he ran to the Black Prince's camp with a plea for the Bluejay's help. The Bluejay went alone, impatient and desiring of revenge, to the place where Dustfinger lay, and the trap closed over him, ensnaring him like a bird in a net."
Mo glanced at the Black Prince, who nodded. "I read it, too," he affirmed. "Orpheus must have written it and read it aloud for them; that is his hand, and no one has seen him of late. But I cannot figure out why it did not work as they planned. It all seemed to fall apart at the part about you, Buejay."
"That is because the Bluejay is not entirely what they think him to be," Mo answered with a queer smile. After having seen what he had seen that night, the Prince could only agree.
Mo had not become the Bluejay. The Bluejay had become Mo.
Well, there you are--the third chapter, written, re-written, revised, tweaked, the whole shebang. Oofta.
Honestly, the more I wrote this story, the more I found myself writing about Mo/Bluejay. Such an interesting character!...characters...
Well NOW I can say 'character', singular. The Mo/Bluejay issue has been officially resolved! Thank you for reading.
There WILL be some more to come.
-me