Castle Sotete details

Castle Sotete

The Song of Gaál - Eleven

*** Warning ***

Sensitive situations

Violence; Nudity;

Hard R Rating

Please do not read if you are easily disturbed.

(All characters, places and events reside solely in my imagination.)

The Song of Gaál

…....... Eleven ….......

Sotete Castle sat high on a rocky hill, its barren grounds covered with low, clinging weeds and its soil barely able to sustain the life of the kitchen garden. Pine trees thrived and surrounded the far side of the castle shedding their acidic needles that further inhibited plant growth. The shadows cast from the tall trees kept the back of the castle in near dark through the day. At night, the moon at its highest fought with the winds to make a path through the tall pines for its light to reach the dark stone walls. The moon seldom won the battle.

The winds blew mournfully through the old evergreen trees as the moon tried to reach the ground, chasing whirl-of-winds around the dark, grey castle. A deep coldness raced down the mountain and wailed against the outer walls of the castle, snaking along the passes and into Cassava's bones. Despite the discomfort, Cassava remained still as stone, watching the low lights in the castle from his vantage in a tree. 

The trees sang sadly to him, their bare limbs rubbing melancholy dirges, crying for the lost summer, while the evergreens on the hillside sheltered themselves from the snows. Cassava moved not a muscle. He suffered the cold winds and the cramped position, watching closely for the lights in the kitchen to be doused. He dared not glance to the windows high above the ground. He did not want his eyes to fall upon Mistress at all. The thought of Malika sent ghostly chills across his neck, eliciting an involuntary shiver.

After what seemed an eternity, the window went black but for one faint, bobbing glow that Cassava knew had to be the servant Ursula, walking to the stair with a candle. He had no feeling or thought for Ursula. The thin, blonde woman always watched impassively when any of the children in the castle were irrationally scolded, teased or struck by Master or Mistress. Often times Ursula would continue mending, cooking or cleaning without a glance to the child being punished. She showed emotion only once that he witnessed, the day almost three years prior when Malika ripped Ursula's newborn infant from her arms. Shaking off memory, Cassava counted to one hundred and slowly stretched out his limbs, forcing the blood to circulate before climbing to the ground. With barely the whisper of sound, he reached the hard winter ground and moved to the kitchen door.

He tested the latch before slipping his long knife between door and frame. Gently lifting the lock hook, he eased the door open and let himself in. 

Assaulted by a rush of emotion, Cassava stood with his back against the wall in the dark kitchen, his heart pounding against his chest. The smell of roasted food and fresh produce evoked the memory of Ursula chopping onions, Jazsef the stable master speaking with Malek, the stableboy, and of little blonde haired Beata, filling the soup pot with water. Shaking off the ghosts, Cassava surveyed the room. He had a purpose here tonight. He could not let anything muddle his brain.

The low fire in the cook stove to his left cast short, tortured shadows along the pantry and the walls. The embers in the fireplace glowed faintly red, creating the appearance of blood spilled along the wooden floor to his right. Closing his eyes, Cassava took three deep breaths, slowly exhaling each, willing himself to steady his nerves and reach the place within himself that housed no thoughts. He had to complete the task at hand and nothing more, silently entering, and silently leaving. He listened to the castle around him. Hearing no sounds from within the thick stone walls, he crouched low to the ground, making his way to the kitchen stair that would take him up where he needed to be.

Cassava climbed the stone stair, emerging from the stairwell into a small hall. His eyes adjusted to the dim light cast by the candle in the sconce on the wall. His eyes immediately pulled to the door on his left. His arm moved on its own accord and gripped his wrist, rubbing until he pinched his skin on the dark leather bracer he wore. He pinched his hand sharply while looking at the door that led to Mistress' chambers. Burning anger and the taste of fear welled up in his throat. He pinched his hand harder to overcome the feeling, more angry at himself for not having his emotions under the control he believed he was capable of. He listened attentively for any sounds from the closed doors within the hall. 

Slowly moving along the wall, he passed Malika's chamber door and slid toward the end of the hall. Again he paused to listen, to be certain the castle slept, before reaching his hand to the latch of the door at the end of the hall. Pressing the rocker with extreme caution, Cassava released the latch, easing the door open. Slipping into the room, he closed the door behind him and stood still, surveying his surroundings as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

His eyes moved along the room's perimeter, falling upon a cradle near the inside wall. He moved to the cradle and peered down at the small girl sleeping soundly. She was a slight baby with pale skin and dark hair. When last he saw her, she had no hair. He gauged her weight to be maybe two stones. He could not discern her features with her face shadowed by the woolen blanket that partially covered her. Cassava reached into his belt pouch for the flask and the cloth Kisertet gave to him. Following Kisertet's instruction, Cassava opened the flask with his teeth and covered the top with the cloth, upending the flask to wet the cloth with the liquid contents. Holding his breath, he replaced the top of the flask and dropped it into his belt pouch. He moved to the baby and gently covered her face with the cloth, pressing slightly against her nose and mouth, counting twenty breaths. Satisfied that movement would not wake her now, Cassava took the baby in his arms, wrapping her woolen blanket closely around her, covering her head. Moving silently, he reopened the door slowly, listening for sounds within the castle. Satisfied that the castle still slept around him, he moved to the stair, descended the stair, crept through the kitchen with its fire shadows dancing, and slipped outside to the cold, wintry air. The baby did not stir.

The Song of Gaál - Ten

*** Warning ***

Sensitive situations

Violence; Nudity;

Hard R Rating

Please do not read if you are easily disturbed.

(All characters, places and events reside solely in my imagination.)

The Song of Gaál

…....... Ten ….......

Of all the lessons Cassava received from Kisertet, it was the music he longed for. He knew so little of Kisertet and yet when Kisertet shared his music, Cassava felt that he knew everything about the man. In the dead of night he would lie awake remembering the songs, thinking of the sounds and craving for them. To hold the lute himself, to listen to Kisertet play, watching the man's fingers as they caressed the strings of the harp, to hear the strong, smooth voice sing words in languages he was only learning, it set a burning desire deep within him. These thoughts filled his mind in the dark hours from the gloaming until dawn.

Freshly bathed and wearing clean clothes, Cassava entered the music room with its high, round ceiling adorned by frescoes of dreams from the heavens. Surely the pictures depicted the angels that came to listen to Kisertet play. Moving along the perimeter of the tower room, a person could look out through the tall glass windows and view the river moving endlessly, far below. Kisertet motioned for Cassava to sit before he snatched up his lute and pulled the bench over. He spun the bench and sat facing Cassava, casting him a glance while setting the strings of the instrument. Cassava watched the elegant, tanned fingers set the tune, seeming to graze over the pegs and strings, adjusting the sound until Kisertet tapped the body and began the lesson.

Following an afternoon of enchanted melodies, mournful laments and delightful songs, Cassava glanced to the window, seeing only rain rivulets on the glass as the storm outside carried on. Through washes of water, he saw the trees bend and sway with the disorderly winds that whipped about the valley. The dark of the evening was falling over them swiftly, broken by flashes of light that lit the room with startling white. He glanced at the sleeping Mirriam, marveling that she stayed so still and quiet though the thunder roared overhead and the room lit with lightning flashes. In most storms, he would be suddenly wakened by Mirriam trying to carefully climb into his bed with him. Cassava's hand gently rubbed the length of the lute as he remembered that the first time Mirriam came close to him while he slept, he startled awake and held a knife to her throat. He closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek, recalling how close he came to hurting her. She had apologised for waking him and cuddled down in the bed with him, her head under his chin.

“Come, Cassava,” Kisertet's voice, interrupted Cassava's thoughts and tender care of the lute, “there is much you need to know and how perfect this evening is, with the North Wind chasing the aurea through the trees. So uncommon an occurrence,” Kisertet said wistfully. He turned to Cassava, “the North Wind is lovesick, you know. Such a human fault, love.” Kisertet moved to the small table and poured the deep, blood purple liquid into a glass. He looked into the glass, swept it under his nose and sipped at the drink before sitting. “And just think of the dangers to the ships at sea should the North Wind suffer a broken heart.” Kisertet's mouth twitched to a small smile and he looked at Cassava from under his brow. “Seal your heart, Cassava, let none in. You cannot think if you love, you will make wrong choices if you love and you will drown in many regrets.”

Cassava caressed the body of the lute he held, a gentle motion to and fro, his mind attempting to absorb the words. Did he love? He asked himself, did he love Kisertet? Mirriam? Did Kisertet love someone? Always alone in the large house, with never a servant seen, has he always been alone? What of Mistress Malika, did Kisertet love her? He is her brother, so they said, but Cassava could not countenance that statement. He could not see a resemblance in features or habits. It must have been a revelation in nightmare he had and could not lose the thought of. “You will rub the lute away, woolgathering as you are,” Kisertet stated, interrupting Cassava's thoughts. His cheeks flushed with embarrassed heat that he tried to hide by keeping his head low as he stood to place the lute on the table. He gave the lute one last, longing glance and followed Kisertet's motion to sit with him. Feeling uncomfortable in the room with the winds singing through the eaves, Cassava settled deeper into the sofa.

“You should know of Malika.” Kisertet started, watching Cassava's face become utterly still and wary.  Kisertet stretched his arm across the space between the chairs, offering his glass of burgundy. Cassava refused with a short shake of the head. Kisertet shrugged nearly imperceptibly and drank another swallow of the liquid, his throat working the warm sensation down and into his body.

“Malika lost her innocence before she experienced her womanhood.” Kisertet began. “Our home in Ejszaka was besieged by Habel Vetec Andronios, a powerful man from the southlands with a vast army. For months the castle sang with the music of rock and stone hitting the walls, the shouts of our soldiers, the bleating of starving children and the cries of defeated people. Malika saw nine summers when the wall crumbled and the castle was taken. What was left of the guard were too few to protect and too hungry to have even the strength to do so.”

Cassava heard Kisertet shift his weight in the chair. He glanced over at the sleeping Mirriam. The man's slow voice calmly continued. “I blame myself for Malika's current state of mind. If I had not pleaded with Father to keep three year old Malika Katarina with us after her mother passed away, she would have been safe when the castle fell. You see, Cassava,” Kisertet said, directing his eyes to Cassava's, “Malika's birth occurred while Father was away for two winters. He returned to Ejszaka to a wife with a child just older than one year.”

Cassava's eyes widened at the implication and he looked sharply at Kisertet. Kisertet met the look and the shadow of a sad smile crossed his face. “She was not his child, as you have realised. You are a smart boy, Cassava.” He sipped his drink. “When Malika's mother died, he would have sent Malika to a Tabory, a house where women worship the Gods. She would have to spend her days repenting for her mother's sin. And there I was, an ambitious boy of ten winters, wanting to protect the toddling baby girl that followed me like a lost puppy, much like our Mirriam here, with you.” Kisertet exhaled a small breath and looked into his cup. “I failed in my duty to protect her when our home fell down to pieces six years later. When I found Malika huddled under debris, blood covering her tattered dress and sobbing piteously, I grabbed her arm and we ran. I owed her that much I believed, to take her to safety.”

Kisertet paused, tapping his forefinger on the arm of the seat. Cassava kept his eyes on the slow movements of the finger, afraid to look into the man's face, not wanting to catch the blue eyes watching him. Kisertet continued speaking in his low, melodic voice, “I, to this day, thank the Gods that the two of us were not seen. We lived off the land in all essence of the meaning while we traveled for three cycles of the moon across the mountains. Malika was silent the entire journey, nary a word spoke. Before I delivered her to the Tabory, I secured my father's precious ring around her neck. It possesses potent magic, the ring.” Cassava dared not glance up, although the voice held a hint of a smile. He listened attentively as Kisertet resumed his telling. “Stories say that it protects the person who wears it, however, it did not protect my father for he was dead in the great hall when I removed it from his little finger before escaping the castle with Malika. Whether Malika is cursed or blessed, I cannot guess, I left her there at the Tabory with not even a backward glance.”

Cassava sat still, letting Kisertet's words fall around him. He tried and tried to imagine Mistress as a three year old attached to a child sized Kisertet. Another boy may have laughed at the picture he created, but for Cassava, the image was distorted, wrong; it brought a frown between his eyes and nothing but emptiness to his mind. He could not envision it.

“You suddenly make me mournful, Cassava.” Kisertet's words drifted on an exhale to his ears. “Can you spare no sympathy for the girl of nine summers, ravaged by grown men and then cast away, secluded to a Tabory for thirteen summers more? What if that sad life belonged to little Mirri, who seems fond of you?” Cassava turned a smouldering look toward Kisertet, fire burning in his eyes and his brain warring for a semblance of pity for the little girl Malika, but losing against the memories he had of her. “Whoa 'Sava, boy,” Kisertet chuckled, uncrossing his leg and bringing his opposite ankle across his knee. Cassava's lip twitched to a snarl hearing Kisertet speak Malika's pet name for him, his heated stare not dropping from the blue eyes that twinkled with malevolent mischief. “You could scorch a man with those eyes,” Kisertet said in a near whisper. Cassava's shoulders dropped slightly and he looked down at his fingers, a sign to Kisertet that the moment of fury subsided. Kisertet kept his eyes trained on the boy and leaned back in the chair, resting his elbow, forefinger to his mouth, thumb rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Sleep, Cassava, tomorrow we discuss your future.”

The Song of Gaál - Nine

*** Warning ***

Sensitive situations

Violence; Nudity;

Hard R Rating

Please do not read if you are easily disturbed.

(All characters, places and events reside solely in my imagination.)

The Song of Gaál

…....... Nine ….......

Cassava poked absently at the embers of the fire while considering the request made of him. He glanced over at the elegant figure sitting solemnly in the tufted chair. Cassava's eyes scanned across the dark pant, up the simple linen shirt and met the deep blue eyes of the man who was his savior, mentor, nemesis. Kisertet. For the briefest of moments the man stared back into Cassava's eyes, an eyebrow twitched questioningly upward and the thin lips formed in a half smile. Cassava sighed and returned his attention to the fading fire, reflecting on his life and thinking of the task laid before him.

Nearly one year has passed since Levente Tolvaj abandoned Cassava in the cellar to bleed his life onto a cold, stone floor. Nearly one year since Kisertet reported Cassava's death to Malika and left Castle Sotete, spiriting away a nearly lifeless child. Nearly one year for Cassava to regain his strength within the walls of Kisertet's estate, near the lands of Saligo.

And in that one year, Cassava learned to use a knife, a string, a file, to kill a man. He learned of the sword and fighting. He was taught of the wild flowers that grew and the poisons they hid behind their colourful beauty and delicate scent. He was taught to kill quickly and efficiently. He knew to trust no one. Everyone held a secret. It was best for him to discover the secret, then he could decide what to do with it.

Kisertet tested Cassava repeatedly. He would spring at Cassava from an alcove or from behind a tree bringing the boy into a heated exchange of sword and dagger. He learned to carry knives on his person at all times, secured to leather under his sleeves, in his boot, under his pant leg. He learned to discern the smell of wine and tainted wine. He learned of poisons and antidotes. He learned to watch the behaviour of animals and truly hear birdsong for the telltale signals of changes in an area. He knew he was being prepared, but for what, he could not guess.

Cassava's nights were haunted with memories of Malika and his years at Castle Sotete. He would wake with a start, thrashing about in the bed, believing that he was buried under the bodies of dead rabbits, birds and squirrels. He remembered Kisertet waking him during one vicious night terror. “When you scream out in your sleep, Cassava, you let others know where you are. Discipline yourself to avoid that situation.” Kisertet told him in a stern tone. “Or what?” Cassava retorted, startled awake and angry, “will you kill me?” Kisertet cast an icy stare at Cassava and angry lines formed about his blue eyes. “You would be fortunate if it were I to kill you, Cassava. Do not for one moment believe that others would do it swiftly.” Kisertet stated coldly, turned and left the room. Cassava sank backward into the pillows, drawing his arm over his head, a slow angry ember embedding itself in his heart. He began to sleep with a cloth in his mouth to prevent his yelling out in the night.

*****          *****          *****

Kisertet arrived back to his estate one afternoon accompanied by a young child. Cassava blinked up at the man and child atop the horse. “Yo-ha, Cassava, come, meet this young lady.” Kisertet said as he dropped to the ground and reached up for the child. Cassava approached the man and child. The little girl stared wide eyed at Cassava as he drew near to her.

“This is Mirriam. Mirriam Anastasia Voros.” Kisertet stated. Cassava watched Mirriam's pale face as Kisertet spoke. Kisertet explained that Mirriam was his ward. He was her guardian, under the church, since her parents' untimely death. Their home in Saligo caught fire, leaving Mirriam an orphan. Mirriam Anastasia Voros is the sole heir to Saligo, an estate being maintained by the family's steward. She would be staying with Kisertet until she was old enough to be placed in a Tabory for schooling. “She is likened to a Princess, Cassava. Her parents had untold wealth and land holdings.” Kisertet tsked his tongue and shook his head sadly. “So very unfortunate that her parents, my friends, and her older brother are no longer with her. Guard her well, Cassava, for you share my responsibility for her.”

Cassava did watch after Mirriam. He had no choice. Though he preferred to be alone, Mirriam followed him inside, outside, into his room, into the garderobe. He would take her hand and patiently lead her away when she was where she was not supposed to be. She was a tiny girl for four years old, and while she was curious of everything, she was a rather quiet child. She watched Cassava as he practiced his weapons, as he ate his meals, as he wrote his letters.

He came to his room after caring for the horse and found her with one of his knives in hand, sawing at her hair with the sharp blade. “No.” he told her as he reached slowly for the knife. “Do not touch, do you understand?” She nodded slightly, her eyes filling with tears. Cassava sighed and sat down on the bed, pulling her up to sit in front of him.  He untangled the mass as gently as he could with his fingers, then he finished cutting her hair into some semblance of neatness. Kisertet never questioned what happened to her hair. Overall, Cassava began to enjoy her company.

The season changed once more and Cassava found himself in the courtyard battling knife to knife with Kisertet. He watched the man's hand for the slightest twitch so that he could gauge the direction the attack would come from. His eyes darted quickly to the man's opposite hand, waiting for the second weapon that he surely had to appear. Kisertet was like the snake Cassava once saw take an unsuspecting mouse. He knew Kisertet would attack fast and sure; it was Cassava's role to determine where the attack would come from. He held his breath. Kisertet struck forward and Cassava jumped back, left leg forward and stooped midway from a crouch. With his right leg back, Cassava pushed himself forward, carrying his right hand, and his knife, toward Kisertet's heart. 

Cassava's thrust was knocked aside as Kisertet raised his arm, deflecting the boy's move. Cassava, overcome by the force of Kisertet's defense, stumbled and fell to the ground. Kisertet sprang over the fallen boy, pushing Cassava to his back. Cassava prepared to raise his weapon and started to push up from the grass only to have his knife tossed from his hand by the force of a hit from Kisertet. With a swift twist and push backward, Cassava reached for his knife that was stuck tip down into the soft ground. His move was met with a sword point nearly touching his face. His movement stopped, his eyes looked up at Kisertet who stood above him, dark hair falling forward, blue eyes sparkling in the sun and smiling like the dog who found the bone. “You died.”  

He watched Kisertet pull back his weapon. Kisertet sheathed the sword and tucked his knife in its leather under his shirt. “Come in, wash up, we have music to make.” Kisertet called over his shoulder as he turned and walked away from the boy.

The Song of Gaál - Eight

*** Warning ***

Sensitive situations

Violence; Nudity;

Hard R Rating

Please do not read if you are easily disturbed.

(All characters, places and events reside solely in my imagination.)

The Song of Gaál

…....... Eight ….......

Cassava found that the infant that Malika claimed as her own offered him respite from Malika's constant observation. While he was not allowed to leave her side, he was allowed to read a book as he waited for her to want his attention. Ursula would come to the nursery during the day and Malika would respond by screaming at her and pushing her away until Levente came to the room. Levente would take Malika's arms and remind her that Ursula was the wet-nurse and all proper Ladies used them. Malika would calm slightly and begrudgingly hand over Eszerbet. She would then pull Cassava up by his arm and push past Levente, leaving the room in an angry flurry. Levente watched Cassava's dark head as it disappeared from the room behind Malika, his eyes filled with bitterness.

In the library, Cassava stood before Malika while she looked into the fire. Levente sat with a book on his lap, watching the boy. Cassava shifted slightly and kept his eyes averted, feeling Levente's stare bore into his skin and making his spine race with chills.

  

He heard steps on the front stair and breathed deeply a sigh of relief when Jaszef begins to speak to Levente. Levente rose and approached Malika. “Malika, it is time to put your pet away, it is late. Go to bed.” The two men stood by as Malika led Cassava from the room. 

Cassava followed Malika down to his cellar room. He stood inside the door as she closed it, leaving him in darkness. He listened for the bolt to slide through the channels and after his eyes adjusted, he moved to his bed to sleep.  

Cassava woke from a deep sleep, his senses tingling. He lay covered in the quilts, listening intently to the dark room and the castle above him. Uncertain what brought him awake, he relaxed into the bedding and tried to regain sleep. Moments passed and again he is alert, having heard a sound on the step. His back to the door, he wonders if it is morning so soon and Malika has come for him. He began to move from the bedding when the door burst open admitting Levente.  In a blind fit of jealous rage, Levente advanced on Cassava, kicking his back and running a long dagger through his chest, leaving him to bleed out his life in the cold, dank cellar.  

Levente then moved to the kitchen and ordered a serving girl to rouse the Mistress from bed, her pet was dead. As the girl ran to complete her errand, Levente returned to the cellar and kicked Cassava's abdomen, eliciting a weak groan from the boy that brought a cruel smile to Levente's lips. Cassava curled into himself, rolling onto his side. Levente kicked once more, his booted heel to Cassava's head, then the Master of Castle Sotete turned and left the cellar.

*****         *****         *****

Malika flew through the castle from her chambers to the cellars, running down the stone stair, unmindful for the slippery damp that covered each step. Seeing Cassava curled on the floor in a pool of blood, the Mistress threw herself down beside his unmoving form, her nightclothes soaking up the life spilling from Cassava. 'Surely he is dead!', she thinks. Distraught with grief, Malika closed her eyes, quickly turning Cassava over. She hears a weak gasp and knowing the sound to be Cassava's, her eyes widen. 'He is not dead! Hurry! Hurry!' She shouts to the girl, 'Fetch Kisertet! Bring him here now!', she orders, her eyes darting to the girl as the girl bounds up the stair.  

Her attention turned back to Cassava, she pulls the jumper off of him and slaps at his cheeks, calling his name, watching his throat work as he swallows and struggles for each short, gasping breath. 'Open your eyes, `Sava, open them! You will not die, I will not allow you to die,' Malika growls, '..`Sava, you are mine.' Whether her words are heard or not, Cassava continues to struggle to survive. Had he command of his thoughts, he would certainly be seeking his freedom in death.  He was not aware of being lifted and carried from the cellar.  

*****          *****          *****

Fevered eyes dart side to side beneath swollen lids as heat sears through the boy's veins. Cassava whimpers in pain and mumbles incomprehensible words as his weak arms struggle against a coverlet. His battered frame sinks further into the soft bedding he lies upon.

'He is waking,' Malika states, then casts a questioning glance at the man sitting on the bed at the boy's side.

'No.' Kisertet replies without a look at Malika. 'He is dying.' Kisertet continues to dampen the cloth in the tepid water and wipe the boy's brow, watching the grimace relax and return with each pass of cloth to skin.

Malika cast an angry stare at Kisertet and moved before him to force his eyes to meet her own. 'Save him,' she bluntly commanded, causing Kisertet to become completely still. He raised his eyes to Malika's and watched the face that he knew so well. Kisertet gently snorted and returned his attention to the dying boy. 'Now why would I do that, Mistress?' emphasising the last word. Kisertet is stunned when Malika drops to her knees before him, her hands holding his legs and her face turned up to his. 'You are the only one who can. We waste precious moments, save him, Kisertet.' Malika pleads.

Disgusted, Kisertet pushes Malika's hands from his legs and rapidly stands, walking around the bed and to the window. He keeps his back to her, his ears alert to the shallow, uneven breaths from the boy. 'You cannot let him die, Kisertet!' Malika wails, dropping back on her bottom to sit on the floor. Kisertet spins around with the force of a whirlwind and stares at Malika. 'Why, Malika?' he asks bitterly, 'so you can abuse the boy more, so Levente can torture him more? What do you want with him, Malika? What sort of sick hell have you put this boy through, dear sister?' he sneers. 'Surely you have the means to cure him yourself!' 

Kisertet's angry tirade leaves him breathing heavily and he watches Malika with sour distaste as her hands cover her eyes and her sobs fill the room. His eyes catch the gleam of the fire reflected from the gemstone of Malika's ring and his face clenched in a tight angry snarl. 'Get out,' Kisertet tells her, his soft voice belying the anger he holds in close control. When she does not move fast enough and looks at him questioningly, he loses patience. Swiftly moving to Malika, Kisertet grabs her arm and pulls her to her feet, shoving her to the door, 'Out!' he bellows, pushing her through the door and closing it as Malika falls forward on the other side. He slams the bolt across, locking himself in the room with the boy, and makes his way back to the bed.

The Song of Gaál - Seven

*** Warning ***

Sensitive situations

Violence; Nudity;

Hard R Rating

Please do not read if you are easily disturbed.

(All characters, places and events reside solely in my imagination.)

The Song of Gaál

…....... Seven ….......

Under the shade of trees with Jaszef, Malek and Todor nearby, Cassava caught his first fish. He knelt down and held the shining silver fish in his hands, his eyes lit with wonderment. Jaszef scooted down the little hill to the small pond and Malek stood on the opposite side, watching Cassava. “That is a fine silver minnow you have there, Cassa!” Jaszef excitedly stated.

  

Cassava glanced sidelong up at Jaszef, a small tight smile on his lips. “It is too small to eat.” Cassava replied as he turned the fish back into the pond. Jaszef blinked at Cassava and turned to Malek. “Do not get any ideas in your head Malek! We are keeping your fish, I am famished!” Jaszef said as he rubbed his stomach.

The three continued to cast their lines to the pond. Jaszef and Malek tossed quips back and forth, telling of the largest fish they caught, each exaggerating to best the other. Cassava kept his back to the castle that sat perched high on the hill. He listened to his companions' voices as he watched the water ripple with the slight breezes that swept down the little valley. He held his fishing rod loosely, more intent on the argument of who caught the largest fish than worrying that he might catch another himself.

  

“Look! Look Malek! Cassava can smile!' He heard Jaszef say loudly from close to his side. Cassava jerked away from Jaszef as he turned to look at the man, nearly losing his fishing rod in the pond as it pulled sharply forward. “Whoa Whoa!” Jaszef laughed, “Cassa has a big one! Bring it in, snippet, and we can have supper!” Jaszef's excitement was contagious and Cassava laughed as he pulled and tugged the fishing rod, bringing a large fish in from the pond.

Seated around the small fire Jaszef built, the three cooked and shared the smaller fish they caught, saving the larger ones for Ursula to cook in the kitchen. Jaszef took apples and sweet breads from his bag, sharing them with the boys. He chuckled at Malek telling him he could only have an apple, he was becoming a portly lad, to which Malek wrinkled his nose and looked at his belly. Cassava grabbed up his portion of the sweet bread and brought it to his mouth. He took a deep breath as he chewed slowly, not wanting the flavours to end, not wanting the day to end. He could not remember a meal that had tasted as wonderful as a simple fire roasted fish and cold bread with raisins. If he turned his head just slightly, the cold grey castle vanished from his view.

*****               *****                *****

Two months after Levente and Malika left the castle, Ursula was delivered of a baby girl. Beata adored the infant and often sat near the cradle learning her letters while the baby slept. Within a fortnight of the arrival of the infant, Levente and Malika returned to Sotete. Cassava was hurried by Ursula to tell Beata to freshen the beds. Beata rushed Cassava away from her and ran from the room, her pale face flushed and her mouth twisted, holding back tears. Cassava rubbed his wrist, leaving red marks on his skin. He glanced at the cradle, seeing only a bundle of coverings.

  

As Cassava walked down the back stair to the kitchen, his skin went cold upon hearing Levente's voice. Levente was talking in a hushed, hurried manner, causing Cassava to halt his descent, undecided to continue down or turn and take another stairway. A second voice, angry, in response to Levente. Cassava's breath stilled. Kisertet.

Cassava slid closer to the stone wall in the dark stairwell, listening intently, trying to discern the heated words being exchanged. He took a cautious step down, his ear turned toward the voices that seemed to be coming from the kitchen pantry. “You told me it would be done before we returned,” he heard Levente growl. “If you do not hold your end, I will resolve the matter.” 

Cassava descended another step. “It has become complicated, Tolvaj, be still and mind my instruction,” he heard Kisertet hiss. Levente's reply was broken, faint and incomplete, despite Cassava's trying to will himself to hear through the walls. “Already it is too long, already..... Malika and.... infant. Be done with it!” Cassava hears some shuffling and a loud crash, glass breaking and a very angry Kisertet. “I said be still, man! Wait On My Word!” Kisertet's voice boomed through the stairwell, then silence. A breath. Two breaths. Cassava heard footsteps moving in the kitchen, heading toward the stairway he stood in. He swallowed hard and erased emotion from his face, starting down the remaining steps as Kisertet rounded the corner to go up. Kisertet lifted his face. Cassava's eyes immediately moved to Kisertet's and they locked. Kisertet's lip twitched up and he squinted slightly at Cassava before continuing his climb, “Your Mistress is back, you best greet her soon.” Kisertet announced as he slid by the boy and disappeared up the stair.  

Cassava was greeted by Malika with a series of slaps to his head. He was not present at the gate when she arrived. She pulled Cassava toward the stair, stopping suddenly when she saw Ursula enter the room carrying an infant.

Malika dropped Cassava's arm and watched Ursula. Ursula did not move. Cassava held his breath, the silence in the room swallowing any will to break it. The infant hiccoughed and settled, the sounds of the castle returned and Malika moved toward Ursula. She tore the baby away from Ursula and turned back, grabbing up Cassava's arm, “Come.” She demanded, moving toward the stair. The infant began to cry. Cassava glanced back and saw Ursula following behind, her eyes brimming with tears.

  

Malika ordered a servant to move the infant's cradle to the nursery outside her rooms. Ursula cried and pleaded that the baby needed her, which Malika outright denied, stating she would provide all the care for the infant, after all, she birthed the baby. Malika declared the baby girl to be Eszerbet Hanna Tolvaj and turned away, leaving a crumpled Ursula weeping on the floor.