Children of the Fountain (3 page)

Something in the stranger’s voice told Matthias to trust him. He started to lead the way back to the village, turning once to see if Matthias followed. As the man looked back along the track the last remnants of Matthias’s energy shifted his steps and he started to walk.

His feet dragged, his shoulders hung but he managed to keep his eyes on the man Alonso. The village was only a mile away and normally reachable in fifteen minutes but it took them over thirty to get to the outskirts.

Matthias, who had been silent all the way, had no real recollection of the journey. Walking into the village inn, which was busy serving up breakfast to hungry travellers, he barely noticed a hunched figure sat in the corner turn to look as he took a seat next to the fire. As the Spaniard ordered some ale and meats the figure raised a hooded head.

“Matthias?”

He barely registered the noise; staring into the flames as they licked greedily at fresh logs, his thoughts were only of Rebecca.

“Matthias?” The figure had stood up now and was lurching toward him, with one arm outstretched.

Finally, registering his name, he looked up and gasped.
The devil from the abbey?
He recoiled as the figure stepped forward to the table, reaching out. In a blur of movement Alonso had upended the table, a sword held to the man’s throat. The inn fell into silence and Alonso pulled back the cowl covering the man’s face. It was Father James.

“Alonso, it’s me!” said the monk. The mystic stepped back, sheathing his sword.

“My apologies father,” said the Spaniard.

“What are you doing here? What is going on?”

Father James sat down next to Matthias. For the first time he noticed his own skin was black and his clothes torn and bloodied.

“What has happened?” said the monk.

Slowly, and not leaving out any detail, Matthias told him. At the part of the story were Rebecca had been killed he broke down and Father James had to hold him, tears dripping from his own cheeks.

The two of them sat alone for several minutes and it was a long time before Alonso finally spoke.

“Tonight you will stay here,” he said, “I will go to fetch assistance. For now, to your rooms and pray rest.”

As the giant man stood up he ducked his head beneath an oak beam attracting the looks of several surprised farmers. He walked to the bar, spoke briefly with the landlord and then walked over to Matthias and Father James.

“Who are you?” said Matthias, “and how do you know Father James?”

“I serve the duke,” said Alonso.

The monk placed an arm around Matthias and held him; it didn’t occur to him to ask who the duke was. The two went up to a room above the stables, but of course no rest came for either of them. Matthias lay on one of the beds whilst Father James sat at the window waiting for daylight.

The sheets were soft and thick and he pulled them tight around him. He closed his eyes but could still see the burning abbey and then, through the fires, Rebecca’s eyes staring back from an inferno.

For many hours Matthias tried to sleep. Time after time he felt his eyelids close but each time he woke with a start. On one such occasion he felt the cold hand of Father James on his forehead.

“Who was that man, Father?”

“Alonso is an acquaintance of mine from many years ago. We…lost touch it would be fair to say.”

“He said he was looking for me. Who is he?”

“We’ll talk later. For now, try to sleep.”

The hand stroked his forehead, moving a lock of hair across tenderly. Tiredness finally overcame him and he must have fallen asleep as when he next opened his eyes it was dark. The evening had come and with it news, in the form of a maid telling them they were wanted downstairs. They made their way back to the bar room where Alonso was waiting; he gestured to some seats at a table with food. They sat down but neither ate and Alonso informed them that a Mr Hardy was just outside saddling his horse.

The door opened and cold evening air flooded in. The gentleman entered wrapped in a travelling cloak and he was followed by two other men; both armed with swords and dressed in plain black livery.

He sat himself down opposite them whilst the two men remained at the door. He was a handsome man; in his forties perhaps. A big black moustache drew the onlooker’s attention to the centre of a strong face. His smile was warm and genuine and he immediately made Matthias feel at ease.

Father James looked up weakly with tears in his eyes. He looked older. He took Matthias’s hand and they found some comfort in the warmth of each other’s touch.

The gentleman smiled, but sadly. “James, it’s been a long time.”

“Mr Hardy.”

“You must be Matthias?” The man regarded him with a fascinated stare before patting his hand softly. “I am Mr Hardy, Master of the Sandstone Castle.”

“You know each other?” said Matthias.

“I’ve known James for many years now. I was also a friend of your father’s.”

“Mr Hardy, this is not the time."

Father James had raised himself in his seat, his eyes never leaving the gentleman sat across from him.

“If we are to go to Sandstone Castle, does the boy not need to know who he is?”

After some thought Father James nodded. Most of the other diners had left now and the room was all but empty. The three men sat around the table; the Spaniard sitting at the bar and the innkeeper were the only others present.

“Alonso,” said Mr Hardy, “let us have some privacy.”

The Spaniard said something to the landlord and gave him a coin. The man promptly cast a quick look over his establishment before disappearing into the back rooms. Mr Hardy nodded to the guards at the door and they too left, but Matthias only heard a couple of steps after the door had closed.

Father James looked at Mr Hardy who nodded his approval before clearing his throat and speaking. “Matthias, you are not the son of a farmer. You’re real name is Matthias Cortés.”

For a moment Matthias couldn’t make sense of the words; it almost seemed like they had gone in and out of his head and he had only caught the gist. He stared back at his uncle.

“Your father was Michael Cortés, son of Hernan Cortés and husband of Margaret. He was my brother.”

Matthias leant back in his seat, the two front legs lifting off the floor. “You’re my uncle?”

“Please. Can you give us a moment alone?” Father James said to Mr Hardy.

“Of course,” said Mr Hardy. He led Alonso outside, gently closing the door behind him.

“My dear boy”, said Father James, holding Matthias’s hand. “I am afraid none of this is how it was supposed to be.” He made an empty gesture at the heavens. “Your father never wanted you to end up involved in all of this.

“He wanted to protect you. He made me swear to keep you safe and never let you to be touched by this dark world. He wanted you to live a long, happy, but largely ignorant life. And for all these years I kept my promise.”

“What happened to him?”

The old monk looked down as he spoke. “Not long after you were born our father, your grandfather, arrived at the abbey. He brought you and your sister with him and he told me that your mother, Margaret, had been murdered. He asked me to look after you both whilst Michael went to avenge her death. He never returned. Shortly afterwards a messenger brought this ring to the duke.”

Father James extended out his hand to show the sovereign ring on his smallest finger he had worn ever since Matthias had known him. It was intricate gold, with a solitary coin on top.

“This was your father’s ring. It is our family crest and the seal of Cortés.”

Matthias sat in contemplation for some time but after a while started to feel restless. He stood up and walked over to the smouldering fireplace. Absentmindedly he played with the poker stirring up the coals. Sparks briefly crackled but were quickly smothered by the ash.

“What is to happen to me?”

“I believe Mr Hardy would like us to return with him to the Sandstone Castle, a fortress where the duke trains his young soldiers, some of them children even younger than you.”

“An army?”

“A force, called ‘The Guard,’ who serve the duke; your father was a captain.”

“Who are they fighting?”

“The Legion. The Guard and the Legion are two groups of vast and powerful families at war with each other. Make no mistake though; the Guard strive to rid our lands of a great evil in the Legion. What you saw yesterday is an example of their most dastardly work.”

Matthias’s thoughts immediately returned to Rebecca. He breathed deeply and steadied himself on the inglenook.
Why? Why had they been dragged into this? Why Rebecca?
He asked his uncle.

“I cannot say. Perhaps Mr Hardy can enlighten us. Maybe they found out who you were? Your sister’s gift…It had attracted a certain amount of unwanted attention.”

At the mention of the word ‘gift’ Matthias turned to look at the monk.

“The castle is a school for special children. Gifted children. You are such a child and so was your sister. Her gift was the ability to conjure fire from thin air. Your gift is your speed. You are probably the quickest child I have ever seen; don’t think nobody noticed.”

There was the faintest of taps at the door and Mr Hardy put his head inside. Father James beckoned him over and he came and sat at the table; Alonso followed but remained standing.

“What happens now?” said Father James

“He knows?”

“Yes.”

“For now, I would suggest we head back to the castle where it is safe. We can talk more there about our next steps.”

The monk turned away, the firelight showing the shadows of tear stains on his smock. “When must we go?”

Alonso spoke. “Immediately. You may still be in danger.”

After some deep breaths they stood up, pulled on their cloaks and walked to the door. The two powerful looking men outside had eyes like hunters; Matthias noticed their gazes sweeping the courtyard and landscape as they all made their way to the awaiting carriage. The men produced rifles from somewhere and leapt on top. Mr Hardy stepped inside and Alonso shut the door on Matthias and Father James before bidding them farewell.

“Alonso,” said Mr Hardy, “The matter we discussed earlier. Please make sure my instructions are carried out to the letter. The trail grows colder as we speak. If you find him…we need him alive.”

“Yes. I understand,” said Alonso. His eyes dropped and Matthias heard a slight sigh.

“Of course,” said Mr Hardy, “I leave the definition of ‘alive’ entirely up to you.” The gentleman urged the driver to depart.

As they rode away Alonso faded into the giant shadow of an overhanging tree, but two small twinkles of light could be seen for a split second and Matthias saw them both. One was the moonlight reflecting on the Spaniard’s blade as he pulled it from his belt. The other was the faintest flash of his white teeth.

They rode on in silence for several hours. Nobody had anything to say but Matthias couldn’t possibly sleep. Each time he felt his head nod through sheer exhaustion the face of Rebecca would leap out from the darkness at him. What was this madness? How could such evil exist? He hoped Mr Hardy could answer some of his questions.

The gentleman looked sullen and ill at ease as he sat in the coach, the breeze buffeting one side of his face. His curly hair was swept back behind a thick hat atop which sat a silver buckle. In one hand he held a black wooden cane which he idly toyed with, staring out of the carriage window into the passing countryside.

“Mr Hardy?” whispered Matthias. The man looked at him with a start. Maybe he had been falling asleep. It had been a long night for them all and it was nearly morning.

“What is it?” he asked. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. I just wanted to speak with you.”

Mr Hardy sat up, and looked attentive. “I will try to answer your questions as honestly as I can.”

“Tell me about them. About the Legion.”

“To understand the Legion you must first understand the duke.” Mr Hardy paused to take a look at the monk sat next to Matthias. Satisfied Father James was asleep, he continued.

“His Grace was a noble adventurer from Spain. One of the boldest of all time! He and his men made a great journey across the ocean and discovered a far off land. And with it a secret. A fantastic secret.”

“What was the secret?” asked Matthias.

“Not many can say for sure. But it changed them and it changed their children.”

“Changed them?”

“Yes.” Mr Hardy leaned closer. “Matthias, did your uncle explain you were special? Like all the children in our castle?”

Matthias’s head was starting to turn over again. He felt he was grasping something but he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“Yes…I am quick.”

Mr Hardy stifled a chuckle. “But how quick? Has it never occurred to you as you were growing up that you were so much quicker than the other children? Did you not play games and find them easier? Beat boys twice your size and age at sports?”