Gwendoline's Story



  Gwendoline’s Story

  A Complete Short Story for your enjoyment

  Excerpt from Book 3 of The Healer’s Creed Series

  To be released Summer 2013

  Loren Elias

  Copyright Loren Elias 2012

  Part 1

  (Seventeen harvests past)

  Tree swallows dipped and swam on the crisp, cool morn; spilling into the air trills and chatter only delighting the ears. Their bright blue plumage fell in contrast with the solid white clouds that tumbled across this hillside as it burst into the sunlight in shades of pink and yellow and pale, pale blue.

  The girl having seen but fifteen harvests could only lie there as shadows and light rolled across her form. She could only find awe in the sights and sounds and smells of a flowering field in planting season. Bees buzzed past her face as if to say hello to the young woman who had joined them this fine day. Butterflies so nearly mistook her for a flower as again and again they tried to land on her nose.

  She had brought with her a book, a splendid tale of love and adventure, but she could not call herself to crack the cover, for at that moment the world around she found simply too beautiful to hide behind oft-used beige pages.

  Her life had been a pauper’s dream, never in want, never sad, never without. Everything in life had been given to her for her mother was the only sister of a High Councilor in the Province of Flannigan. Upon his sister, upon his niece, he had showered every luxury, every jewel, every gown a man of his status might afford, and he had never been lacking.

  Gwendoline had grown up in her uncle’s castle, with great pink washed buttresses and high white towers. A small castle, it was, when compared to the dwelling of some other High Councilors, but still a sight to behold and the only home Gwendoline had really ever known.

  She had servants who tended to her every whim and wish. Every day might as well have been Harvest Day as day after day her uncle’s subjects brought her gifts as a way to pay homage to her uncle’s strength and kindness.

  Yes, she had everything that her young heart might desire so why did she dream of something more, of a great armored knight, with a head of wind swept blond and a face strong but kind upon a white horse coming to take her away, showing her the world far beyond Flannigan’s hills and forests and streams, one like she had read about in her beloved books of lore, one who she could call her own, one who would love her forever and ever without end.

  “Mistress Gwendoline, Mistress Gwendoline.” A voice met Gwendoline’s ear.

  It fell to her as an annoyance for it was neither the buzz of a bee nor the chirp of a swallow. She heard footsteps bounding up the hill, through the knee high flowers. Gwendoline sat up for the one calling would have certainly otherwise run right over her as Gwendoline’s pink frilly gown blended into the meadow’s glory. She turned to see Darlene, one of the little servant girl’s still running at full speed with her full dress dancing behind her in the wind.

  “You told me to get you, when old Cora goes to market.” Darlene stopped just short of tumbling into her mistress.

  Gwendoline stood, brushing past the child. “Thank you.” She spoke simply as she hurried back down the hill as fast as delicate shoes might carry her. She would not be left behind.

  She met the carriage as the gates opened wide. Waving her arms, she called it to stop. The driver could only comply. The young lady ran around to the door, grabbed a gilded rail and pulled herself up onto a low step to peer inside.

  An old woman sat there with gray hair covered in a variegated shawl and long brown dress caressing her ankles. Skin hung loose upon her jaw as she spoke. “Climb aboard, Gwen. I’d not a left without you.” The woman pulled a delicately-laced, large brimmed hat from her opposite side.

  Glee swept the girl’s face as she swung her body around and opened the carriage door. She took a quick seat as the horses again clacked across rocky soil. Then she pulled the hat from Cora’s grip, slid it upon her head and tilted it so slightly toward the front right side.

  “You know I’d buy anything you like. Anything to suit your fancy. You really don’t have to go to that dirty place.”

  Gwendoline bit a tender lower lip in thought, then spoke. “I love the market. All of the people. The liveliness and joy. Besides…” Gwendoline drew ten silvers from between the pages of her book and slid them into a dainty coin purse. “I want to buy something pretty for mother. Three days’ time marks the day that the fates cut father’s strand. It always makes her sad. I want to bring her joy.”

  Cora smiled beneath shifting skin. “You are a good daughter, Gwendoline d’ Augustine. Many a child I have seen spoiled in this household by the way in which this family bestows gifts upon their children, but, you always think of others, always seek to help those in need, you are special, Child.“ Cora pulled icy hands into a fur-lined muff to keep them warm as she looked forward at the empty seat across from them. “I knew it the first time I saw you. The day you mamma gave you light. I knew you was special. Don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  Gwendoline blushed, most certainly because the carriage air fell upon her skin much too warm and stuffy. She sat back in her seat as welcomed the journey before her.

  They had only ridden an hour when market came into view. Gwendoline heard indistinguishable chatter in a mix of bartering, yelling, and gossiping. She had felt it before she could hear it. She could feel the town’s folks’ determination as they hurried along to complete their daily tasks. To Gwendoline market seemed a symphony to her being. On occasion a bad chord would be strummed but, as a whole, only delightfulness caressed her senses.

  The carriage came to a stop much too slow for her liking. Gwendoline did not even wait for the driver to help her down. She leapt to the ground, in a display quite unbecoming a lady, but no one seemed to notice as they went about their daily business. She smelled the distinct scent of pork turning upon the spit in the center of town. She hoped that they would stay in market until the fine meat lay tender and warm.

  Today in particular she felt joy upon the wind. A man and woman passed her discussing the deeds of Tobias. She knew him, the High Councilor of Raskiny. She had broken bread at his table as she had accompanied her uncle on a diplomatic mission when she had seen no greater than ten harvests. But why should the people of Flannigan care about a High Councilor in a province so far from their own? It seemed a strange thing to her, quite unexplainable. They spoke of him almost as if he were their High Councilor rather than her uncle.

  Gwendoline stood next to the carriage for what seemed like ages come and gone before Cora rose up behind her with satchels and bags on one arm and a coin purse in the other.

  “What shall we see first?”

  Gwendoline knew that Cora never should have given her the choice. Hours could be lost to her as she gazed upon brightly colored scarves hanging in booths, blankets filled with intricately painted pottery, or tables glimmering with jewels. Cora had her own tasks to attend to, but she would not leave Gwendoline’s side. First, because it would just not be proper from a young lady to walk about unescorted and second because she loved to see the girl smile as her blue eyes beheld pretty things.

  Gwendoline promised herself that she would not take advantage of the old servant’s kindness. A moment here and moment there just to find the right gift then they would make up for lost time as she helped Cora with her purchases for the household.

  Gwendoline’s eyes first fell upon the scarf booth. Fine satin and silk waltzed upon the mid-day breeze. She drew one to her delicate skin, taking in the texture of the stitching, the softness of the fabric. She had to have one, though her closet held dozens already. “How much?” she asked in softest tone, for she would not be mistaken for
the raff and ruckus that walked these streets.

  “Three coppers.”

  Gwendoline judged him a moment, caught the gleam in his eyes then finally she spoke. “That’s a very fine price. I’ll take this one.” She drew down a scarf of the palest shade of lavender she had ever seen. She pulled it around her neck, curled it once around loosely then let it hang to her waist. She handed the man one silver and he returned to her proper change.

  “Thank you, Kindly.” The man spoke in the gentlest voice.

  “No, thank you for the wonderful scarf.” Gwendoline smiled before turning. Cora stood right behind her talking to the fishmonger, as she held Gwendoline’s pink skirts in the corner of her eye. Gwendoline nodded to her as the young girl moved down to the next booth. The old woman smiled and waved her on as she drew a few coppers from her heavy woolen purse to purchase some fine looking salmon.

  Gwendoline turned to see what fine things might draw her eyes. She caught sight of a man walking past a cobbler’s cart. Where before her heart had been filled only with glee, now her mind suddenly felt cold and dark. She tried not to watch him, an ordinary man in all appearance, bearing no reason he should catch her eye, but none-the-less she could not turn away. A chill overtook her and sadness swam through her. In that moment it was as if no one else walked about, just her, with her pink frilly dress and now a fine scarf and the normal looking man that somehow shaded her delicate soul.

  The man looked back at her for less than a moment and she saw an expression that equaled her feelings. Weighted breath caught in her pounding chest as she watched. The cobbler only turned away for a moment before the man lifted a subtle hand and swiped a fine pair of imported leather boots and tucked them beneath his thick cloak. She wanted to say something, but too much distance lay between them and in an instant he disappeared. A calm coolness washed over her and in a moment she had forgotten the whole ordeal. The bustle of the crowd again met her awareness.

  The next table over held shimmer and shine, gold and emerald and ruby and sapphire. Cora now stood at the baker’s booth well within reach. A middle aged woman in a fine hat greeted her before she could so much as think to lay awe-stricken hands upon a stone. The woman melted up beside her with cheeks nearly bursting in smile. “A beautiful necklace for an even more beautiful girl?”

  Gwendoline tried to return the woman’s smile before she looked back at the table trying to ignore the woman at her side, though she knew she would have to face her at some point if she hoped to carry a fine gift back to her mother. She just did not like the way the woman made her feel.

  Gwendoline’s eyes fell upon a ruby ring set in gold. It sparkled in the sunlight; it called to her. She looked to the jeweler woman who begged her to pick it up.

  The perfect gift lay before her; she knew it as soon as her sight beheld it. Mother would love it. It would bring out the reds and oranges of her striking amber eyes. “How much do you want for it?”

  The jeweler woman shifted shadowed eyes. “Why don’t you try it on?”

  Gwendoline started to tell her that it was not for her but saw no point in it. She slid it onto a graceful finger.

  “How lovely it is upon you. How it accentuates the fairness of your skin.” The woman’s smile grew yet wider.

  Gwendoline felt cold though the day remained hot and damp. “It does, doesn’t it?” Gwendoline tried to return the bright smile. It seemed only right. Unkindness simply did not accompany her nature. “How much?”

  “Look at it against the pink of your dress. Now that is the perfect piece to complete the perfect look.”

  “How much?” Gwendoline pulled nine remaining silver into her hand.

  The woman’s eyes fell upon the presented hand then shifted quickly. “You’ve just the right amount. I’ve sold this one for ten silver with no complaint but seeing that you hold only nine, I would be only too willing to make an exception for such a lovely girl.”

  Gwendoline’s belly coiled and ached. She wanted to walk away, but, beauty profound now graced her finger. She could only be kind. Would it not be unkind to tell the woman that the ruby ring, while lovely, could be sold at highest market for no greater than two silvers? Gwendoline’s cheeks again turned a fine shade of crimson as her face felt as if it might burst into flame. Her hand started to shake. What were nine silvers to her, anyway? If she returned to the castle and asked her uncle would he not give her a purse full? Would she be unkind simply for a matter of principle? This woman saw her fine dress, her youth. Gwendoline had foolishly revealed her nine silver and now the smiling woman wanted no less than that. She could not be silent. She would not walk away. “I’d not pay more than two.”

  The woman laughed a boisterous laugh. “Ten, twelve I could get for this, and you want it for two? You’ve much to learn of the world, little girl.”

  Gwendoline felt cheeks turning so much redder. She wanted this ring so badly. Her mother deserved such a ring. Would it not be easier just to pay her price and be on her way? She judged the woman a moment. Did her belly ache with perpetual hunger pangs? No. Would someone beat her if she returned with less? No. She just wanted to trick the pretty young girl who knew no better. Gwendoline could have seen it no more clearly had the woman said it out loud. She just could not do it. “Then I’m afraid, I’ll have to look elsewhere.”

  “I could do eight. But I’m giving this way.”

  Gwendoline remained firm as she removed the ring from her finger. “No.” She turned from the woman and walked away trying to put the ring from her mind. The woman ran up behind her, holding to the girl’s face a thing, for all intents and purposes, long disregarded. The woman spoke. “Three. I’ll give it for three.”

  “One.” Gwendoline spoke simply.

  The woman’s mouth fell agape, then she handed her the ring with one silver the exchange.