Cedric of RoseThorn

Cedric of RoseThorn/ Chapter 01/ The East Tower

Copyright 2008 by S. Thomas Kaza

The East Tower rose high into the moonlit sky. The tallest of the three towers at Castle RoseThorn,, the lords of the castle always chose to fly their colors from atop its roof. In some directions the tower could be seen from several miles away. People spotting the red and white flag of RoseThorn waving in the distance knew that all was well. There was peace in this land. They were safe. But on this night, the wind did not blow. The flags that hung from atop the towers and battlements did not stir in the deathly still that settled over the castle. The whole castle sat in darkness broken only by a dim light coming from a window high in the East Tower.

Inside the tower, Cedric, lord of RoseThorn, kept a vigil by a bed where his wife lay. She was sick with a strange illness that seized her only the day before. The nurses had done all they could. Then a healer was sent for and expected to arrive by dawn. All that was left was to comfort her through the long night. Cedric stayed by her side. He spoke words of encouragement when she cried out. He wiped the sweat from her feverish brow. But most of all, he prayed.

An hour earlier, the fever seemed to finally break. His wife looked up at him and smiled, whisperinghis name. He held her hand, and she squeezed his. He could have called for soup or one of the servants to come and change the bedding. But he didn’t. He thought it best to let her rest. Now he was beginning to wonder if he made a mistake. She had not moved for some time after closing her eyes again. Her face seemed pale and cold. And he could barely discern the rising and falling of her chest beneath the blankets. Cedric brushed his wife’s auburn hair back and held her face in his hands.

“Milona! Milona!” he called. She did not respond.

He did not know what to do. “Great Father,” he said, “The new day has not yet arrived, nor the healer promised to me. My wife, the Lady Milona lies here dying. There is nothing more anyone here at the castle can do. Please, by your most gracious mercy do not let this come to pass. Grant the good lady one day, just one small measure in your infinity of time. Grant her one day to regain her strength. ”

Cedric waited for some sign that his prayer would be answered. He held his own breath and listened for his wife’s breathing. There was nothing. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head over his wife’s still body.

“Please, Father,” he said, “I beg of you. Do not let this come to pass. I will do whatever you ask of me. I will lay down my sword, if you so desire. I will build you a chapel in the forest. I will…”

But before he could get any further, Cedric heard the sound of swishing robes behind him. He realized there was someone else in the tower chamber. He jumped to his feet and turned around. Before him stood a tall stranger dressed head to feet in a dark robe with the hood drawn up over his head, his face hidden in shadows.

“Are you the healer?”

The stranger shook his head “no”.

"Then who are you? Who let you in here?” Cedric asked, his face flushing with anger. He gave his people specific orders that no one, except the healer, be allowed to enter the chamber before dawn’s first light. He was about to call to the guard just outside the door, when he noticed the only door into the chamber was still bolted shut from the inside. Cedric felt the hair rise on his neck.

“But…how did you .…?” he began to ask.

The stranger lifted his arm. The long sleeve of his robe slid back, revealing a fleshless hand of white bones. One finger pointed at the Lady Milona.

“It is time,” the stranger hissed.

Cedric stumbled back. “You… you have come. Even now as I pray to the Great Father.”

With a wave of his hand, the stranger motioned for Cedric to step aside. He didn’t. The lord of RoseThorn knew there was only one chance now. The first light of dawn should not be far off. He must keep the stranger away from his wife until then.

“It is time, you say,” Cedric said, hearing the tremble in his voice, “But… but how can it be time for this woman? Look at her. She is yet young and fair. How can it be her time? Turn your gaze instead to the village down in the valley below this castle. There are others there, old and tired. They have lived a full life. Now their bodies are failing them. Fly to them now. Quick, before dawn!. They lie waiting eagerly for your arrival.”

The dark stranger did not turn away. Instead, he moved to take a step around Cedric. Cedric moved to block his path. Immediately he felt an icy chill wash over him. Fearing the touch of death, he took a step back and drew his dagger, pointing it at the stranger.

“I mean you no offense,” Cedric said, “only a word… only a word…”

Cedric could not see the stranger’s face, but for the moment he did not come any closer. He seemed willing to listen. Cedric slowly lowered his dagger.

“Good sir,” Cedric said, “you say it is time. But how can that be? How can it be time again so soon? Or have you forgotten? Just last year, it was late Spring. The fields and the forests were green and fresh after a long winter. You came to RoseThorn. You came to this very castle. Do you remember? Nobody saw you. A stranger was not reported in the castle. But it must have been you. For when I returned from my journey on that day, I found the castle in mourning.”

“The Lady Milona had locked herself in the East Tower. When I asked ‘why?’, no one would tell me. They were afraid to give me the news. They would say only that someone had died the night before. I suspected it was someone close to my family, but not my children, never my children. They had not yet seen their first birthdays. I had left them bright-eyed and laughing, full of life. When I learned that not one, but both of them had died the night before, I could not believe it until I went to the nursery and touched their little bodies with my own hands.”

Cedric fought back the tears welling up in his eyes. He waited for the stranger to say something, but he was silent.

“And before my children, there was my brother,” Cedric said. “Think back to the day you came for him. He was not yet 20. He was young and strong and full of courage. By the heavens, he would have made a warrior. But he fell from his horse, and instead of a broken arm, you were there to catch him, weren’t you?”

Still the stranger said nothing. Cedric felt anger growing in him.

“And before my brother, there was my mother. Do you remember that? I do. I was only a boy, just eight years of age. But you came and took her from me. God, how it broke my heart! She meant everything to me!”

Cedric clenched his free hand into a fist. He felt the skin on his face tightening.

“I know that death must come to all things that live,” he said, “but why… why is it always time for the loved ones of Cedric? Could they have not been given another year, another season, another day?”

Cedric glanced up at the rafters. Through the narrow windows set high in the chamber walls, he thought he could see the sky getting lighter. The healer should not be far off. He knew he needed more time. But he could think of nothing else to say.

The dark stranger reached into the folds of his robes and took out an hourglass. The glass was scratched and clouded, but inside Cedric could see that the sand had run out of the top into the bottom.

“All men live and die by the sands of time,” the stranger hissed.

Cedric felt the hair on his neck bristle. The words of the stranger rang true in his heart, but Cedric shook his head. “No,” he said, “no, it proves nothing. You can just as easily turn it over and send the sand pouring back in the other direction. No. You have taken everyone from me, everyone I have loved. The Great Father would not ask this sacrifice of anyone.”

The stranger replaced the glass within the folds of its robe. Now Cedric felt the moment was fast approaching. His mind raced about considering what to do next.

“Tell me,” he said, “is it not true that the Great Father asked you this very night to fly out into the world and bring him a soul?. But he did not say who. He did not mention a name. And is it not true in your haste to please him, you found this woman, my wife, lying here? And you thought how she is near enough to death, so you might as well take her and be done with the task?”

The stranger shook its head. “No,” he hissed, “it is her time.”

“But would not another serve as well as she?” Cedric asked. He could hear the pleading in his voice. And he did not like it. He was a lord, not a commoner.

“No,” came the answer from the stranger.

It was not the answer Cedric wanted to hear. He raised his dagger and leveled it at the stranger. He felt rage now. It consumed him and filled him with righteousness. He felt he could no longer control his actions or his words.

“I warn you,” he shouted, “Do not approach this woman!” There was venom in his voice.

But no sooner had he raised his dagger, when Cedric found he could not move it. In fact, he could not move his arm. A powerful force many times his own strength reached out and seized him. He tried to move his arm. He tried to move his feet. He tried to turn his head. But he couldn’t.

The stranger now simply stepped around Cedric and moved to the Lady Milona’s bedside. Cedric tried to move to block his path. He tried to shout out against him. He willed every ounce of his strength against the spell that held him fast, like a statue of stone. But it was no good. He could not move. He could not speak. The only thing he could do was watch and listen.

And from the corner of his eyes, he saw the stranger now at his wife’s bedside. He saw him remove a pair of long-shiny scissors from the folds of his robe. Cedric felt a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his head and neck. The stranger bent over his wife. Then Cedric heard a crisp, clear cutting sound from the scissors.

When he heard it, Cedric knew that his wife was lost to him. It was over. What was done was done, and there was nothing he could do to undo it. And as suddenly as he realized it, he was free from the spell. He could move again. He staggered forward. The dagger slipped from his sweaty palms and clanged on the stone floor. He found his voice, a moan as he dropped to his knees too exhausted to stand.

The stranger replaced the scissors within the folds of his robe.

“I will not forget this,” Cedric said feeling the blood rushing from his head.

The stranger turned to face Cedric. Cedric felt the room begin to spin.

“I cannot raise my hand against you,” he said. “But by my sword I will strike down your own. I will hunt down those who draw their inspiration from you, who steal and rob the treasures of others, and I will kill them. For the rest of my days, I will keep you busy, so you will not have time to gaze at the pretty face of my wife…”

Cedric’s vision blurred. He felt blackness approaching.

“Mark my words…”

Swaying Cedric reached out for something to hold onto. His hand grasped at the air, and he collapsed on the floor.