Aphrodite's Acolyte (3 page)

A knock at the front door woke Fidel from his dream state. The break of dawn was evident by the low rays of light shining into his small bedroom. He tumbled out of bed, put on his long robe, and stumbled to the front door. When Fidel opened the front door, a chubby and smiling man greeted him.

“Mr. Fidel, I presume?” the jubilant man asked.

“Yes,” Fidel answered with a contorted expression on his face as the sun shone brightly into his eyes.

“I am here to take you to Harlow's Keep. Do you need more time to make yourself more, um...” The man glanced up and down, “presentable?”

“Yes please,” Fidel said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Could you give me twenty minutes? Would you like to come in to make your wait more tolerable?”

          “No Sir. I need to run another errand. I will be back in about thirty minutes. Please take your time. Since you are meeting Lord Ias, may I suggest you spend a few extra minutes bathing?” The chubby man pinched his fingers over his nose and smiled.

Fidel chuckled at the carriage driver's remark. “Thank you good sir. I will see you in thirty minutes.” The man waddled back to his horse-drawn carriage, hopped in, and started away.

Fidel cleaned himself up then put on his finest blue and red robe, sporting the colors of the kingdom. He knocked on his parents door to advise them of his departure. He didn't get a response so he opened the door. His parents were not home, not unusual considering their professions. He picked up his rucksack and headed out the front door.

The carriage driver motioned for Fidel to get in as he slowed to a stop. Fidel hopped in the back of the carriage and the driver carried on his way, turning several times through the city, then finally up the path to the keep, a path Fidel crossed less than a day ago.

As they approached the front gates of the keep, Fidel requested the driver to stop. Confused, the driver halted the carriage and turned to question Fidel, only to see the elf jumping out of the carriage and running into the dense forest along the road. A few moments later, Fidel returned with his seven-foot long staff.

Fidel smiled at the driver as he walked up, “I left this here yesterday. Thank you for stopping!” Fidel hopped into the carriage, chuckling at the confused driver's expression. The carriage started forward toward the keep.

Once the large walled doors of the outer perimeter of the keep opened, Fidel was awestruck by how large the castle complex appeared. The forest surrounding the castle did a very good job at hiding the size of the walled structure, roughly the size of a small town. The carriage continued on through the gates. As the carriage rolled on, they passed a half-dozen iron workers and their forges. Fidel found the loud and rhythmic clangs of the blacksmiths at work quite relaxing. Memories of his first father's labors bounced into his mind with every clang.

Lined along the dirt street, shortly beyond the blacksmiths, a very large barrack stood tall, no doubt housing at least ten score of soldiers at all times. Guards lined the wall on platforms built for patrol, just high enough for a soldier of normal stature to look over the barrier with minimal effort.

After the barracks, rows of small cottages dotted the landscape. A library of sorts and a stable resided immediately before the tallest central building, a single large circular building made of stone, four times as wide as Fidel's own house and at least five times as tall. The wagon stopped immediately in front of the draw bridge of the keep.

“This is your stop!” The driver shouted. Fidel hopped out of the carriage and thanked the driver. The driver advised Fidel he would return when summoned and rode off toward the stable. The drawbridge lowered over the small moat surrounding the keep, inviting Fidel to enter the castle. Fidel complied and strolled into the keep, his attitude hopeful at the outcome with the meetings he was about to attend.

Chairs lined the walls, no doubt for visitors to sit down and wait for their audience with the Lord of Harlow's Hovel. The entire first floor was painted with a mural depicting a human slamming his fist into the ground and a large spout of water shooting into the air. The trees immediately surrounding the wall of water were bent over to the ground, almost perpendicular, and the timbers further out showed all their leaves torn from their branches. Further in the distance, a fire appeared to roar, burning down all the vegetation.

Fidel came to realize the mural was a depiction of the legend of Harlow's Hovel. The legend stated the god Heracles, disguised as a beggar named Harlow, responded to the prayers of Zeus' faithful followers to send water for the people of the town.

From directly behind, Fidel heard somebody clear their throat, bringing him from his concentration on the legendary scene. Fidel turned around to see his father standing behind him.

“I thought I said we would get you a new walking stick?” Methvas questioned with feigned annoyance.

“Would you give up such a fine stalk of wood, Father?” Fidel asked.

“No, I suppose not,” Methvas replied.

Methvas motioned for Fidel's staff and pack. Fidel handed them over and Methvas quickly handed them to the caretaker of the keep.

“Whom do you want to speak to first?” Methvas asked.

Fidel thought for a second, “I would prefer to talk with Yardana first.”

Methvas motioned Fidel to the stairway and they headed up the stone steps. The father and son duo stopped shortly at the second level of the complex, a large room full of weapons and armor spread out wide before them. Methvas showed Fidel around the armory.

Fidel examined the various weapons and armor on the level, paying much favor to the blunt weapons like the staffs, maces, and morning stars. He picked up a one inch thick plain-looking staff and noticed it was solid metal. He started to twirl it end over end, surprised at the weapons balance, but noting the weight slowed his movements significantly.

Methvas admired his son's ability to use a staff so effectively, so perfectly, a skill Fidel possessed upon his arrival in Harlow's Hovel. Methvas observed as Fidel executed a few routines. Then the elf put the staff back on the weapon rack.

“What do you think?” Methvas inquired.

“A very solid and balanced weapon. But too slow to wield for an elf like myself. Perhaps best suited for a barbarian with quite a bit more meat on their bones.” Fidel responded lightheartedly.

They continued on up the next flight of stairs. The third level of the keep contained a series of chambers, eight by Fidel's count. Methvas led Fidel down the hall and stopped in front of one of the chamber doors. Methvas lightly tapped on the door.

“Come in,” called a soft voice from the other side of the door.

Methvas entered the chamber first, followed closely by Fidel. Fidel watched as Yardana put her arms around Methvas in a hug, her brown eyes glowing and her blond hair radiating against the gray castle walls. She was the cleanest Fidel had ever seen this young child in her entire life. Not a sign of dirt on her exposed skin and not a single stain on her red dress. Methvas pulled away from Yardana and motioned to Fidel.

“Do you remember my son, Fidel?”

She nodded. “Yes, Fidel and I have always been friends,” she responded in her youthful voice. She walked over and embraced Fidel in a tight and exuberant hug. He returned in kind, not sure what to make of her overly friendly greeting.

“Yardana, Fidel has a few questions for you regarding why you are here. Would you be comfortable sharing your story with him?” Methvas asked.

She pulled away from Fidel and held him at arm's length. She stared deep into his eyes as-if judging his worthiness to hear her tale.

“I can trust Fidel. I will tell him.”

She turned around and walked over to her bed. She sat down and stared at the ground for a few moments. Fidel saw a tear fall from her face to the ground, breaking into a dozen facets as it hit the stone floor. Fidel swallowed hard. He could imagine how difficult the story was for her. His throat tensing up and guilt racing through his mind on how he brought this child back to whatever painful memory that was stuck in her head. Yardana looked up slowly and locked her tearful gaze into Fidel's eyes.

“Fidel, my papa is a bad man,” her voice cracked as she continued, “He would touch me like a papa shouldn't touch a daughter. He touched me like a papa would touch a mama.”

Fidel considered her words for a minute, a sudden clarity overcame him as he realized the meaning behind her words. Fidel's face turned bright red with anger. He could feel the heat on his face and his body started to tremor with pure fury, ready to explode.

“Fidel, do not be upset. Your papa saved me from my papa. Be happy for me. My sister was,” Yardana broke into tears and sobbed heavily, “not as fortunate. She died a few months ago when she refused papa his desires.”

Methvas, recognizing the flash of his son's green orbs, stood up before Fidel and grabbed his shoulders, placing himself between the elf and the young child. 

“I know this is hard to hear! But do not act, Fidel. It is my duty to solve such problems of this kingdom. Your path leads in a different direction. Know that Yardana,” Methvas turned his head to look at the youthful child, who was looking up with a face covered in tears but wearing a new expression of fear at the angered Fidel's appearance. “Know that Yardana is in good hands now. Her father will pay for his crimes once the people surrounding him are safe. Justice will be swift, but politics are necessary given his standing in the township.”

Fidel stared at Yardana for a few moments, then realized he was scaring her with his look. He switched his gaze to his father's eyes. “Our own village....” Fidel convulsed as the fury boiled over into uncontrollable sorrow.

Methvas pulled Fidel in. “Don't blame yourself. Yardana is safe. Justice will be found. But you are not the redeemer of said justice.”

Fidel allowed himself a few sobs then pulled away from Methvas. He walked over to Yardana and bent down to one knee.

“My fair Yardana, you are in good hands with my father. His light will burn away your own father's darkness. If you ever find a day where you do not feel the same, send for me in the land of Mirater.  I will serve as your white knight, your protector.”

Yardana's face instantly changed from fear to one of pure joy. Her smile grew ear to ear as she gave Fidel one of the tightest hugs he had ever felt. “See, Methvas!” Yardana exclaimed with a voice so excited, soft, and absolute. “Fidel is my friend!”

Methvas stood over the two smiling, a slight tear coming to his eye as he witnessed a peace settle among the tormented. After a few moments, Fidel rose and bade Yardana farewell. They both smiled at each other as Methvas led Fidel out of the room.

“Do you see, Fidel, things are not always as they seem?”

Fidel nodded and glanced back at Yardana's door as the two made their way to the staircase to meet Lord Ias. His heart was happy with the result of Yardana's rescue. His mind on the other hand was considering how he could exact revenge for the tormented child.

As they made their way up the staircase, Fidel contemplated the knowledge he had gained over the past day. The first of which was that not everything was as it seemed when it came to politics and the lordship. The second of which was that his birth parents may still be alive and he had a journey to carry out. After a few more flights of stairs, the duo came to a large wooden door, adorned with several gems and inscriptions.

Methvas rapped hard on the door and a strong and burly voice called out from the other side. “Who's there?” Methvas announced his name and the door swung open, with no evidence of any living being opening the heavy door. “You may enter,” stated the man in the chamber beyond.

Methvas entered first and directed Fidel to enter, pointing out for him to take position just behind and to the right of himself.

Lord Ias stood slightly over six feet tall and sported a build of a seasoned warrior. Fidel met the man's sea-blue eyes and couldn't help but feel like a child meeting a stranger. The man had a charisma about him that demanded obedience. The red-haired warrior moved toward Fidel and extended his arm, offering an open hand.

“You must be Fidel?” The man said, more of a proclamation than a question. “I am Lord Ias.”

Fidel returned the handshake. “Yes, I am Fidel Austempes, born in Puldechra of elven ancestry and raised by the humans of three towns of Mirater.”

Lord Ias stared at Fidel with a little disbelief. “Well met, Mr. Austempes. May I call you Fidel?”

Fidel released the lord's hand. “Yes Sir. And how may I refer to you?”

Lord Ias took a step back, sizing up Fidel. “You may call me Ias. You may call me Lord. You can call me Mr. Firebrand. Any one of those names suit me well and ring true.”

Fidel's lips turned into a slight smile, understanding the meeting's formality had been defined as casual.

Methvas watched as the two gentlemen of Harlow's Hovel started to engage in some minor discussion over their agenda. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in his son and the politeness of his initial announcement. He thought of how well his son would do in a political structure, a natural gift of diplomatic ability.

“Methvas!” Lord Ias called out, stirring Methvas from his thoughts.

“Yes Sir?” he replied.

“Fidel and I would like to get to know each other for a while. How does my afternoon look?”

Methvas smiled wide. “Sir, I made sure your schedule was clear all day. I know my son's lifelong journey so far is rather intriguing and I know you enjoy the tales of the many people of Harlow's Hovel.”

Ias returned Methvas' smile. “Very good Methvas. Thank you for this opportunity to learn about one of our most interesting citizens. I especially liked your tale of how he was about to destroy a score of my guardsmen.” Ias winked at Methvas. Fidel's father grinned widely. Fidel's jaw dropped open, staring at his father in disbelief. Fidel felt his heart sink into his stomach. He started to wonder how much Ias knew of the situation and just how close his soldiers came to meeting the God of the Underworld. 

“You can relax, Fidel.” Lord Ias said. “I know the story of how you almost unleashed a fiery death upon my soldiers. But I do not hold you at fault. Our methods for extracting Yardana from her would-be destiny were rather...” Ias had trouble finding the word that best fit the sentence.

Methvas interjected, “Rudimentary? Barbaric? Tactless? Take your pick.”

Lord Ias chuckled. “Yes, all three actually. Methvas has always been good with words, especially when he finds me speechless!” Lord Ias gave a hearty laugh. “I found the story last night quite humorous. You would have won that battle. Unfortunately, it would have put me in a position to have your head. Your father saved your life and the lives of a score of my militia. I truly hope you appreciate his actions.” Ias' blue eyes met Fidel's own emerald-like orbs.

“I do,” Fidel said in an embarrassed tone. “My father is a very good man. He has treated me as his own for the past twenty-five years and I appreciate everything he has done.” Fidel nodded to his father and Methvas returned in kind.

Methvas chimed in. “Fidel, tell Ias of your forthcoming return to your homeland. He will be very interested in your journey and he may have a request for you. For now, I will take my leave as I have some errands to run. I trust you will notify me when you are ready to depart?” Fidel and Ias both nodded and Methvas exited the room.

Fidel and Ias talked for hours. Fidel told Ias all about his three adoptive parents over the past seventy-five years, all of which have been human. He told of his first parents and how they taught him skills in martial combat with several weapons, the staff being his weapon of choice. How his first parents consisted of his blacksmith father and shopkeeper mother. He told of his second parents, who taught him skills in farming and thieving. He elaborated on how the thieving went against his moral fiber but was what his second mother wanted. He then told of Methvas and Shartivus. Methvas, being a grand wizard, taught him twenty plus years of magical arts and Shar kept his mind sharp in the practices of negotiation.

The conversation stayed very lighthearted, Fidel did the majority of the talking, with Ias asking for fill in details as they went. The time flew by, into the late afternoon judging by the shadows created by the dwindling sunlight. All the while, their mugs remained full and food seemed to appear out of nowhere. The workers of the keep kept up with the heavily engaged duo's consumption.