Kindle Edition
Amazon
Brendan Carroll's Blog
Category:
Fantasy
Publisher: Brendan Carroll
ISBN-10: 1454628290
Type: Fiction
Pages: 268
Copyright: June 26, 2010
ISBN-13: 9781453628294
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
Mark Ramsay, Chevalier du Morte,poor Knight of Solomon's Temple, Assassin and Alchemist makes a desperate bid to 'set things right'. He creates his own dragon to fight the red serpent while the Templar Children all flee to the Underworld after the Mighty Djinni warns them of imminent mortal danger. Mark leaves Scotland for the Holy Lands only to have his plans thwarted as history begins to repeat itself. While Mark is facing off with his Brothers once more, Meredith, Lucio, Simon and the others are desperately trying to find him and bring home before he destroys everything.
Excerpt
Merry set her basket of flowers on the porch and pushed the door open cautiously, unsure of whether she should turn and run, knock or… she peeked around the door facing and found Simon d’Ornan sitting on a short, three-legged stool beating the heel of his boot against the planks of the floor.
“Simon?” she asked softly.
“Sister!” Simon almost shouted and threw down his boot. He tripped bootless to where she stood and grabbed her shoulders. After hugging her tightly and kissing her on both cheeks, hugging her again, he asked “Where have you been?!”
“I don’t know,” she answered and looked around, bewildered. A dream, perhaps. “I don’t know that I’ve been anywhere.”
Simon was dressed in very strange clothes indeed. He wore a tight-fitting, long-sleeved black shirt beneath a loose tunic made of white cloth. His pants were yellow and ended just below his knees in a slightly flared hem with two buttons on each side. His legs were encased in black stockings of some sort. He looked like a little Dutch boy or an antique doll or some such. His blonde hair was somewhat longer than she remembered and the crown of his head was shaved.
“What have you… done to yourself?” she asked and reached to touch his bare head, but he shrank from her touch. “What is this you are wearing?”
“I have no idea. Please don’t look at me, Sister. I looked like a damned Raggedy Ann doll,” Simon looked down at himself, obviously chagrined by his appearance. His pale cheeks flushed deep red. He went back to pull on his other boot. They reached almost to his knees and were also black in color. “I’m so glad to see you. I thought I was the only human here.”
“Here?” she looked about. “Where is here, Simon? You don’t look like Raggedy Ann to me.” Was it a dream? Why couldn’t she wake up?
Simon only shrugged in answer, but she did not quite feel put off by his seeming lack of concern for their immediate dilemma. In fact, she didn’t feel overly upset about the situation herself and asked no more questions for the moment, feeling quite content to have found him safe and sound.
The house was extremely cozy and well-made with big, exposed rafters of solid wood, replete with knots and a few short, stubby branches still intact. The interior walls seemed to be made mostly of wood covered with white plaster. A huge stone hearth completely filled one end of the room and a low fire burned under a hammered copper kettle hanging from a spit. A wooden butter churn stood by the hearth and several large, crockery jars. Simon’s footstool, three roughly made chairs with colorful cushions, a long table covered with a white tablecloth, two benches, a rocking chair made of willow boughs and two smaller tables rounded out the rustic furnishings. The lighting consisted entirely of white candles in silver candlesticks. An open doorway led to another room the same size as the front room. She could see a large wooden tub on the floor and a bed beyond it that was so tall it needed a short set of steps to get up into it. Another set of windows that looked out over the meadow behind the house was set in the far wall beyond the bed. She was startled momentarily by her own reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall by the window.
“How long have you been here?” She asked as she wandered around the room looking at the furnishing. A number of copper pots and stoneware vessels hung on wooden pegs embedded in the plaster and mortar between the stones of the fireplace. The fireplace tools were made of brass and wood. A well-worn straw broom leaned against the churn. Numerous silver spoons, forks and a fascinating collection of antiquated cooking utensils filled a willow basket on one end of the table. She used one finger to sort through the remarkable array of tools. Everything seemed to be made of silver or pewter and copper. She identified a number of common household items such as scissors, a paring knife, a garlic press, tweezers, butter knives, soup spoons, bits of string and yarn, a packet of black needles, hat pins. A junk drawer without the benefit of a cabinet.
“I have been here three days,” Simon said suddenly sounding aggravated and stamped his foot down in his boot. “I have been looking for you.”
She didn’t like his tone and so ignored him.
A small, leather-bound book lay on one of the tables by the rocking chair. A magnifying glass lay on top of the book and next to it was a clay bowl with some small chunks of an amber colored substance. She picked up the book.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Simon objected and took the book away from her. “It’s full of witchcraft.”
“Witchcraft?” Merry frowned at the Healer and opened the book. “Is this a witch’s house then? It reminds me of a fairy tale.”
“I don’t know whose house it is,” he said and looked about frowning. “I just know that this is the only house in this godforsaken land than I can find and it’s the only safe haven at night.” He crossed the room and took the book from her hands, clamping it shut with a knowing little smile that irritated her.
“Why? What happens at night?” She asked after deciding not to fight with him about the book. She backed up and sat down in the rocking chair, crossing her legs and arranging her gown primly over her legs. Her mind refused to focus. She felt like a little girl again, playing make believe with her imaginary friends. What had happened to them? Where was Mark Andrew?
|
