Deadly Intentions (Blood Feud - Volume 2) (29 page)

Regardless, Tristan was beginning to lose his
sense of humor about the whole ordeal. It was as though a plan had
been put into place to keep him occupied. He ached to have Maggie
healthy and to begin some semblance of a normal life with her. If
immortality was to be his curse, he would at least enjoy the
pleasures of simple times for a few years before his life became no
longer his own.

“You really should pay more attention to your
surroundings young man.” A female voice called from behind him.

Tristan spun around to see an ancient looking
old woman. Covered in a robe of deep purple, she stood only
slightly taller than the tallest dwarf. Her face was a map of deep
wrinkles; though she still had a glow to her cheeks that made
Tristan chuckle as he pictured her traipsing around the island from
dawn till dusk. The woman bore a staff of polished hickory with
several ornate carvings along its length.

While he wasn’t nearly as skilled with things
magical as his mother and sister, he could smell the reek of magic
rising off of the old woman. Since she hadn’t blasted him off her
beach, he assumed she meant him no harm, though he was curious at
how much damage she could inflict.

“Enough to be getting on with.” She said with
a smirk and theatrically narrowed eyes.

The Prince was forced to laugh, he’d long ago
become accustomed to magic and those that employed it to be overly
irritated by her scanning his thoughts. “And who might you be?” He
asked lightly.

“I might be of great help to your youngster.”
She said sarcastically.

“How so?” Tristan asked, leaning against the
spar of a destroyed ship of strange design.

Despite the power that radiated off of her,
Tristan felt an easy humor in their bantering. Smirking he began
noticing small details about her. Her robe was finely tailored and
had glyphs sown into its design, it looked more like a rather large
piece of parchment than an actual garment. While the wrinkles in
her facial features betrayed her age, she moved with a steady gait
and the Prince had the distinct impression that she was his match
in speed. Her eyes were bright and sure as she too observed him in
detail. Under other circumstances he would have been fairly
intimidated by the old woman.

“And you bloody well better remember that
lad.” She scolded half-heartedly pointing the end of her staff at
him. “Gifts or no, there are those on this island that could turn
you to a pile of cinders and how long do you think it would take to
heal from that boy?”

Tristan narrowed his eyes. “Can you read
minds woman?”

“The name’s Stella and yes, I know who you
are, what you’ve done and what brings you here.” She replied
lightly.

“So, have you been sent to stop me then?”
Tristan asked uncertainly.

“Bah.” The old lady scolded. “I’d sooner take
a leap of these cliffs than take orders from those idiots.”

The Prince chuckled to himself. “Alright
then, why show yourself to me?” He asked skeptically.

“You know,” She began. “When I was scrying
for you earlier, I could have sworn you were smarter than this.”
The old woman made a mocking look of concern. “Did you hit your
head when your boat went down?” She chuckled darkly.

“Scrying?” Tristan asked in confusion.

“Of course, you don’t think I just wander
around these dangerous shores for fun do you?” She replied in
irritation.

The old woman waved off further discussion as
she set off down the rocky beach. Hulks of great ships and small
fishing boats alike littered the gravel at Tristan’s feet. Often a
rotting corpse or mold covered mast would catch a rather large wave
and wash up at his feet as he followed the woman without comment.
With surprising agility she picked her way along the wreckages and
bodies as she sought out her goal. Finally, she paused in front of
a solid part of the cliff and made a satisfied groaning sound as
she waved her staff in the air.

Slowly the rock face melted away revealing a
long cave. The old woman turned and smiled mischievously at the
Prince before making her way into the tunnel. The pathway was lit
every few feet by what appeared to be torches along the walls. Upon
closer inspection, Tristan found them to indeed be torch-like
sticks, but the light that issues from the end of it was a simple
circular nimbus. It was relatively cool to the touch and made a
strange humming sound as it lit the surrounding area. The Prince
was fascinated by its construction and attempted to ask about it,
but the old woman ignored his questions with a knowing smile and
continued leading along the tunnel.

Eventually, after nearly cracking his head
open on several stalactites that the smaller older woman easily
avoided, they entered into a large cave that shockingly resembled
that of Henjis. Along one of the walls were empty bookshelves,
which had been carved into the side of the rock, another wall
possessed what appeared to be a faded and highly damaged mural. He
approached it slowly, hoping that it would be easier to view upon
closer inspection. Tristan was completely unable to discern the
contents of the mural; the drawings were faded and blended in with
the colors of the wall.

A large winding staircase rose above the
entrance to the cave, the architecture was similar to that employed
in the dwarven city and Tristan silently wondered about the
designers. Were they dwarves, elves, or something else entirely?
His silent musings were interrupted by the old woman who cleared
her throat theatrically from across the large cave. She smiled as
she motioned to one of the seats around a large metal brazier. The
old woman reached behind her seat and grabbed several pieces of
what looked to be wood from one of the wrecked ships. She tossed
them into the brazier and used a broken paddle to blow a few small
gust of wind onto the ambers, bringing the fire back to life. The
fire began to crackle as it ate through the fuel and the woman
looked contently at the Prince. He found holding her gaze to be
disquieting to say the very least, though he refused to look
away.

“You are more than you appear to be my young
friend.” She observed to Tristan’s amusement.

“Perhaps that’s the secret to my survival.”
He joked.

Taking on a deadly serious expression, the
old woman leaned forward in her chair. “You have no idea how right
you are.” She said gravely. “Now. I have taken the liberty of
picking some of the Dactylorhiza Sambucina you came searching
for.”

Tristan looked at her, with clearly shown
shock. “How did yo….”

She waved off his question, showing clear
irritation and continued with her narrative. “We’ll make a batch of
the cure together and you’ll leave with it and some extra plants in
case those fools up there decide it’s a good idea to pick another
fight.”

It was as though a veil had been lifted off
of Tristan’s eyes, anger and resentment seemed to vanish and was
replaced with excitement and hope. He thought about hiding his true
feelings, but realized that the old woman seemed to be able to
sense them anyway, so he didn’t bother.

“Don’t get too happy young man. There’s still
a long road ahead of you and there’s still the matter of getting
off this island and back to your homeland before any of those
ambitious idiots up there realize you survived the shipwreck.” She
warned.

Tristan was forced to laugh as he shook his
head. “Is there anything you don’t know?” He asked
sarcastically.

“Yes.” She replied with a wink. “I haven’t
decided what I’m having for supper yet.”

For the first time in the last week, Tristan
looked at the old lady over a table strewn with ingredients,
sizzling concoctions, and beakers filled with steaming liquids of
every color. It had taken Stella minutes to get the plant crushed
up properly and it still simmered off to their left as she
attempted to teach Tristan something of alchemy. The Prince wasn’t
ashamed to admit that it was far beyond his skills, though
understanding the theory could prove invaluable so he forced his
wandering mind to try and absorb as much as possible.

“Now, you do it.” She ordered.

Tristan sighed as he picked up one of the
orchids and began to carefully slice it into even one inch pieces.
Stella chuckled as the Prince stuck his tongue out of his mouth as
he concentrated; a habit he hadn’t realized he possessed until the
old woman had pointed it out. Sighing, he closed his mouth and
narrowed his eyes, making sure that each piece was even.

“Good. You see? You aren’t without hope!” She
complimented. “Now, fill that beaker half-full and bring it to a
low boil.” Stella ordered.

The Prince moved to comply, and again was
greeted by the notion that the old woman refused to tell him
anything more than was required. It irritated him to no end because
he knew that at least some, if not all, of the Deusian sorcerers
were involved in every evil plot that had transpired over the last
quarter century. His questions were met by stony silence or
outright ignored as she continued her instructions and lessons. The
water began to bubble in the lower beaker, sending steam up and
heating the second beaker. When the upper beaker was completely
covered in steam, Tristan gently emptied the evenly cut pieces of
orchid into it in pinches, then placed a cork stopper in the top
with a small funnel stuffed through the middle. The vapor from the
cooking flower traveled up a long funnel made of glass. It bent and
twirled around itself, eventually emptying into a small test tube.
The vapor liquefied into a bright purple color as it slowly filled
the tube.

When the last of the vapor had traversed the
funnel and emptied into the tube Stella walked around the table and
lightly pushed Tristan to the side. She inspected his work closely,
looking at the liquid with her naked eye, and then with various
glasses she wore around her neck, each progressively thicker.
Stella gently lifted the tube off of its stand and smelt it.
Grunting she placed it back in the rack and gave Tristan a playful
slap on the back of his arm.

“Well done lad!” She said with pride.

Stella walked back around the table and
pulled out a small metallic flask. She dumped the contents of her
tube and Tristan’s into it and screwed the cap down tightly on it
before tossing it to the Prince. He caught it easily despite being
surprised, and placed it carefully into the satchel he’d made for
himself out of the ruined sails.

“Now, your questions.” She said, groaning
theatrically as she crossed the cave and sat down in her favorite
chair.

“I thought there were no answers to be had.”
Tristan commented as he sat opposite her.

The old woman reached around her chair and
tossed a few more pieces of wood into the dying fire, using the
paddle to once again get it roaring. Once she was satisfied that it
was properly lit, she looked across the flames and locked gaze with
the Prince.

“There are answers, though you might not like
to hear them.” She said calmly, interlacing her fingers in front of
her weathered face.

Hundreds of questions swirled around his
mind, all wishing to be unleashed at once, finally one come to
supremacy and he found himself asking without hesitation. “Why
me?”

“Well, well. Of all the questions you could,
ask you pick the shortest one with the longest answer. Impressive.
Very well.” She said leaning back and getting comfortable. “Why
you? The simplest answer is this; you are a nexus.”

“A nexus?” Tristan asked, confused.

“Yes. There are a great many prophecies told
on this island, as you might imagine. Some of them are vanity
asserting itself, some are trite ones that could apply to almost
anyone. Others are more dangerous, like the one that seemed to be
about you. Though now the leaders of the fools above know it refers
to your son, they still believe that you are the lynchpin that
holds everything together. The boy is also too young to be a threat
to them…wise as they are.” The last she said with intense sarcasm
that was not lost on the Prince.

“Who told this prophecy?” Tristan asked with
keen interest.

“I did.” Stella answered
matter-of-factly.

“You?” The Prince asked in shock.

“I believe you’ve heard the actual prophecy,
in its entirety no less.” She said with a smirk. “Those above heard
a piece of it, and then drew their own
learned
conclusions.”
Stella failed at keeping her disgust in check, which only served to
evoke more questions.

“While the prophecy clearly speaks of your
son, there are those here who fear the future you and he propose.
It will remove much of the power those doddering idiots abuse as it
is. Like all those in power, they only fear to lose that power. So
they strike out blindly and clumsily at you. Their methods are
getting more dangerous though, the attack on you and your bride
shows that they are willing to risk much for their cause. During
your search for the cure for your young wife, they have been moving
and planning in secret and in force. Even now they control all of
the Great Expanse.” She admitted sadly.

Tristan stood up quickly, nearly sending the
flask with his wife’s antidote flying. Stella glared up at him as
he caught the flask nervously. “First.
Think
before you act
young man. I should think enough people have told you that for it
to sink into a head even as thick as yours.” She chastised.

The Prince sat back down, his face flushing.
“Second. The force that gathers can be dealt with once your wife is
cured. There’s no need to rush into fates hands, things must
proceed at a stately pace.” Tristan felt sadness from her as she
finished her sentence. “Now, I know you have more questions.
Please, ask away.” She nodded at him.

“Who leads this force? What kind of creatures
do they bring against us this time? When will they strike?” Stella
holding her hand up with a smile halted Tristan’s rush of
questions.