Konè, Shadow of the Tiger
Chapter 2
The king of Engble
«Damn! Why do you insist so much? You are
taking a hasty choice, mother.»
«Your opinion is very important to me,
Orwell, but I’m not old enough to not understand how it’s right to act.
Therefore you’ll do as I say without arguing over.»
This was just part of the stormy
confrontation that took place after Astell had revealed the desire to take at home
with her the wounded child.
«We are in the capital of the kingdom. We
could bring her to some healer that will take care of her. And if her parents
were looking for her?»
Inevitably, Orwell’s objections clashed
against the growing concerns of the mother. At that time it did not matter why
the girl was there: certainly take her away, at least for a while, would have
been the wiser and more prudent choice.
«If here was safe, now she would not be in
this condition!»
«I can understand that you feel alone. I
also miss a lot my dear sister, but…»
Before he could finish the sentence, Orwell
was hit by a resounding slap. The mother stared at him angrily. She wanted to
cry, despite not knowing whether of anger or sadness, but struggled to keep
intact her composure and did assert her authority.
«Restrain your tongue, son, before speaks
words you may regret bitterly.»
He stopped talking as was ordered. Inside, he
deeply regretted. He had reopened a painful wound just to try to be right. He
was silent and his head down while receiving the provisions which would have
obeyed without further grievances.
«Call the coachmen» commanded Astell, near the
little door of rotting wood: «They will bring a blanket to secretly carry the
child to the coach. You, go to take herbal medicines, bandages, something to
drink and to eat.»
As she spoke, her gaze moved in and out of
the little shack with nervous frequency. When all was clear, Orwell went away
without raising his head.
A few minutes later, two strong men appeared
in his place. Both had dark beard and moustache, very thick, and two wide hats
over their bushy hair. They were clutching a blanket of dark canvas on which
they laid the child gently. Not without difficulty, because she continued to
struggle with the little strength she had left until she was lying on the seats
of a carriage with four seats.
All this happened under the watchful eyes of
Miracle and Whip, who sat next to their mistress on the carriage. Orwell
arrived shortly after to deliver what Astell had asked, so after brief
greetings and an ungainly scream, the horses began to paw the ground.
The woman changed her place and laid the head
of the wounded girl on her lap. She felt the restlessness, but appealed to all
her experience as a mother. Took off her gloves and stroked her dirty hair with
masterful and expert slowness, allowing time to savour the warm and
affectionate contact.
That gesture was unexpectedly effective and
was enough to reassure the child for several hours, during which Astell bother
to heal her wounds at best, using medical herbs and some healing magic. Then
helped her to drink milk while trying to shed light on the mystery of her
discovery.
«Where do you come from?» asked: «Why were
you alone in that awful place? And those cuts? How did you get them?».
After a few interminable moment of cold
silence, Astell decided to stop investigating. Light eyes of crystalline silver
seemed to understand what she was saying, but the thin lips remained locked in
a tight grip. She could not, or did not want, answer?
When Miracle came at the young stranger to
lick her finger, she purred like to thank him for that. Whip, jealous, leapt in
turn to show her solidarity by rubbing her head against the plump cheeks of the
child. The three remained curled up, watched by curious attention that grew in
Astell, until they reached their destination.
A high iron gate swung open and the carriage
crossed the narrow pebbly driveway that bisected a lawn with short grass,
embellished with colourful and fragrant common flowers. A servant was waiting
stiffly at the foot of the marble staircase of a two-story house, built of
sand-coloured bricks and beautified by dozens of large windows.
The man, energetic and sprightly despite his
sparse white hair, rushed to open the carriage door. He held out his hand to
help the descent of the Countess Astell Writegland, but was very surprised when
he was asked to prepare a hot bath and some clean clothes for the girl wrapped
in the blanket.
«I do not understand, Countess. Who is this
lady? According to the law, an… ordinary person… cannot be accommodated in the
house » he said in a reverent and arrogant tone, aware of the need to please
not only the mistress of the house but also a much more important authority.
After a short break and some hesitation he continued: «I'm sorry, but without
the consent of the king I cannot…».
«Be gentle, Phenste» interrupted Astell
politely: «Do as I said. And send a message to our beloved king. To be my
welcome guest tomorrow afternoon, to drink together the tea that I brought from
the capital and discuss a personal favour».
«...as you wish» was the last sentence
pronounced by Phenste until the following day.
Countess Writegland, sitting on a couch, was
reading next to a window on the ground floor. The sun lit up the left side of her
face, and was reflected in the sweet infusion contained in a ceramic cup.
«It may be broken and fragile, but it is
something I want to...»
«Ah-ehm!» Coughed Phenste, opening a door
from across the room: «King Tyndale, ruler and protector of Engble, is here! Long
live the king!».
With slow steps, an elderly wrapped in a
long red cloak approached, supporting himself with a tapered stick, adorned
with precious gems and gold-plated. When, many years before, had abdicated in
favour of his son as the new ruler of the kingdom, Tyndale had expressly
ordered to be allowed to rule the village of Engble, treated as a kind of independent dominion within the
kingdom.
That little town would host all important noble
magicians of the royal court, forced to leave their children their own place at
court when they had reached the thirtieth year. Only emergencies of extreme
importance were brought to the attention of the Court of the Sages, otherwise immersed in a sea of golden idleness.
«Welcome, my lord» Astell said, standing up
and bowing before the king.
«I apologize for the delay. I am not usually
called at such short notice and like any commoner. Nor did I feel welcome» muttered
Tyndale, rubbing his white beard, angry at not being considered by the little
girl sitting on the blue cushions of the couch.
She was wearing a comfortable and elegant
dress: white, finely embroidered, with a short, tight skirt. Her eyes were pure
silver married to the most precious of the diamonds; blond hair, long and
smooth, had regained their natural bright colour.
«Is she the personal favour for which you
invited me?»
«Yes, my lord. She was hurt when I found her
and…»
«She must leave» said the king, lapidary,
smiling with undisguised indifference, as he watched the healed scars on the
hands and bare feet.
«Sir, I just demand permission for her to
live in this house.»
Tyndale laughed: «What nonsense! We are in
the cradle of wisdom and nobility. Living in Engble is a rare honour. There is
no blood tie that binds you, so this privilege will be denied. Bring her to
Rhuddem, or wherever you have found her.»
«She cannot leave» said Astell after a
prolonged break. To explain her assertion with something more than just words, she
grabbed the child for pelvis and placed her feet on the floor.
The disinterested expression of the king
turned by the amazement when he saw the girl stagger, fall and suddenly rise on
all fours. Back on the couch with an agile leap, she meowed to call for
Astell’s attention.
«Here I am, baby. Now I will read you the
end of the story.»
«A nice comedy, but I'm not in the mood for
jokes. Give me an explanation.»
«No joke, my lord. The child cannot speak.
Nor walk. It seems she understands some words, but acts like an animal.»
«Is it some sort of hypnosis?»
«No... nothing so trivial. I feel that her
condition depends on some spell, but unfortunately I was not able to understand
what it is…»
The king slowly approached.
«She should already be nine or ten years
old» he whispered thoughtful. When he reached out his hand the blonde girl
tried to scratch it, but he did not flinch.
Difficult are, the choices of kings. Most of
the time on a side of the scale are weighed right decisions that displease
many, opposed, on the other side, by ruthless acts that make the happiness of
the people. Given the alternatives, what should do a king?
King Tyndale turned away. He meditated, but
the decision that he wanted to communicate was different after each step.
Before he crossed the threshold, manned by loyal Phenste, he thought back to how
much had been difficult the recent years for Astell, after the disappearance of
her youngest daughter.
«She will stay until she will be able to
talk, walk and… by the gods!... Whatever she needs to live away from here! To transform
this wild animal into an independent girl will be a duty I hope, from now on, you
will not neglect. Because if so will be, I shall know it.»
After that admonition the king left.
The countess gave a sigh of relief and sat
down, exhausted, next to her third kitten.
«Have you heard? This is your home now» she
said, her eyes bright with tears: «And by the way, what we were reading before
it's really appropriate for this moment».
She cleared her throat as she leafed through
the pages of the thin narrative book “The
tale of us all”. It was a simple story, although the characters were
alternated with unusual frequency: two rivals, an evil rodent and a pair of
lovers.
«It may be broken and fragile, but it’s
something I want to protect. No matter how far I am, no matter how small it
looks. I can always hope for a brighter tomorrow. When I can find my way back to
the place I call home.»
...to be continued
