Nemorosis
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The Bell Tolls for Me 61: Mounting Stresses
🕑 Added 2025-06-22 07:05:04 +0000 UTCIsabella wished that there was even a single moment to relax, but even the time at the end of the day that she normally might have spent with Valerio had been occupied by the decidedly paramount objective of preserving her life.
“I’ve been going through the records left behind about your father, and most of them have a very peculiar yet singular description,” Arthur said, hefting several formidable tomes.
“I believe that I asked you to look into my disease, not my father,” Isabella said.
“Oh.” Arthur paused, then placed the books down one after another in a row. “My apologies. I immediately jumped to the most notable conclusion first. The simple fact is, I can say without a doubt that what you’re experiencing is somehow hereditary. It may not be hereditary in the way that we understand it, but the fact remains that every single instance of this withering illness appearing likely springs from the same bloodline.”
Isabella held her tongue, but she wondered how that could be when it was supposedly coming to her earlier than it had before.
“I could cite several other prominent cases, but I think the one of most importance, and the most well documented, is that of your father,” Arthur continued, surprising Isabella. “Without fail, most historians have a rather unified assessment of his actions throughout his reign. Even those records that are somewhat hostile to your father concede this point. He was exemplified for completing tasks without error,” Arthur emphasized.
“How do you mean?” Isabella asked.
“Even in the face of utterly overwhelming odds, he would emerge victorious without significant sacrifice. People claimed that he had an intuitive understanding of how a battle would flow long before it began, even things like ambushes. People called it a sixth sense, but…” Arthur flipped through the long book, and then looked at her. “It made me think of your situation.”
“Despite everything, I’ve made plenty of errors,” Isabella pointed out.
Arthur raised a finger. “But that’s just the thing. Information on this withering illness is scarce, but the people that possess it relate some unusual aspect of their life. One—a prominent warrior with white hair—was said to be able to move faster than all others around him, and fight as if in an elevated trance.” Arthur paced around her room. “Another was an psychic of sorts, who could tell how the dead had passed and was renowned for solving mysteries of the sort. All he needed to do was visit the place where the death occurred.”
Isabella tried to connect the things in her head to her own experience, but…
“How do they relate?” Isabella asked, giving up.
Arthur looked at his books and then a bit his lip in thought. “This is the only conjecture of mine… but I think they’re all manifestations of the same thing. That is, the control and manipulation of time.” He came to stand over her. “That warrior? Perhaps rather than walking back through time as you did, he was capable of traveling through it at a slower rate. The exorcist? Perhaps they could peer backward in time to see what had occurred in the past.”
With a new lens to use, Isabella finally caught up to Arthur.
“The nail in the coffin?” Arthur opened a book, and withdrew a singular letter. “A letter from the Royal Chamberlain to the Archwizard requesting aid in treating His Majesty Edgar. The king complained of a general malaise, and a growing sluggishness that made his body feel diminished every passing day.”
Isabella took the letter with shaking hands. “When was it sent?”
Arthur didn’t answer, because he didn’t need to. As she read the letter for herself, she saw the date. It wasn’t long from the day that Edgar the Great was declared dead. Considering what she knew of the illness, that… made no sense. Various pieces of the puzzle fit together all at once.
“But I saw my father’s body,” Isabella said, looking at Arthur. “I…”
The words felt hollow even in her own throat. She had attended a funeral, but she had seldom seen her own father up close in life. Would it truly be so difficult to hide his death from her?
“It’s certainly not out of the realm of possibility for a wizard of my master’s caliber to create a body to fake a death,” Arthur said. “It seems that there was a reason that my master was so fixated on the cure for the illness. And it seems there was a reason for your caution, as well.”
Arthur sat down just beside her. “I was doing some investigation into the court records of the day. For one, Edgar’s tremendous success in the battlefield and elsewhere began concurrently alongside his frequent dalliances with women. Some might say it was an only an avenue for him to relieve his stress, but it could certainly be interpreted as someone who realized they had a hereditary power and hoping to find an heir to pass it down to.”
Isabella set the letter aside. “…why would he kill his women, then?”
“Edgar’s own mother died not long after he was born. In particular, she was murdered. Perhaps he was attempting to recreate the circumstances of his own birth.” Arthur rose and paced around. “This power is ancient, and poorly understood. It stems back to a time when the Eternal Church had no sway over the lands and men still sacrificed to the gods. It isn’t unreasonable to think that blood sacrifice may have been a key component.” Arthur gestured. “The Old King’s Gallows were built for that purpose—sacrifice.”
“Then Edgar… his power… you believe he had the power to move backward through time, as I did?” Isabella said.
“That’s my belief. Only, I speculate that his was far more restrained in the time frame,” Arthur nodded. “You can travel years back, yet infrequently. He can travel hours back constantly. And to my point, when I look at it objectively, I don’t think that Edgar was a particularly shrewd policy maker. He kept his kingdom cohesive through tremendous defiance of fate, not visionary governance. When he faced an army of 50,000 rising up in revolt, and had only five hundred loyalists, thereabout… his victory was unprecedented. But it was his policies that caused the revolt, and the desperate situation, to begin with.
“He would exert his will, unreasonable as it was, and yet succeed every time. If I’m right… he was no strategist. He would simply try again until he received the result that he wanted,” Arthur declared, and Isabella’s vision narrowed. “They say that no woman ever refused him. They say he never lost a battle. They say that his will could not be defied. I thought these were mere glorifications, but…” Arthur scoffed. “Perhaps there was some truth to them.”
Isabella exhaled in shock. “That’s… terrifying.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “People said he could read a library in a day. Perhaps he simply repeated the same day over and over again until he had read every book within. He had an ability that could defy everything, if I’m right. And I’m… all but certain I am. It would explain so many things of his reign. It would define his extraordinariness. And it would explain… you.”
He stared into her eyes for a few moments, and she eventually looked away from him in the silence that followed.
“Do you also hypothesize my father is still alive?” Isabella asked.
“I recall research my master did on… the development of a chamber that could slow the progression of aging to a halt,” Arthur said, thinking. “His own chamber has done as much. If there’s anyone that could preserve the king, even with a withering illness, for such a time, it would be him.”
Isabella stood and walked to the window, peering at the distant tower of the Archwizard. “Why would he seek me out, then? I can’t think it was to help.”
“Presuming that your father is alive…” Arthur stood up and joined her. “He would be able to perform tests that would be especially damaging. Tests that he might… otherwise be unwilling to perform on Edgar.”
“Tests that might lead to early manifestation of the withering illness,” Isabella speculated, and Arthur nodded. She felt fear close in, and stayed silent for a long while.
“Are you alright?” Arthur eventually asked.
“I… I am well,” Isabella confirmed. She met his gaze once more. “Thank you, Arthur, for your candor.”
Arthur looked into her eyes for a while before looking away and bowing. “I will do my best to continue the investigation.”
As he left, Isabella’s mind was in turmoil.
***
“I just want to be cautious,” Valerio said.
Roderick looked up at the Duke of the Isles with some skepticism. “If you wanted to be cautious, you would have a ship on standby to take you to the Republic of Ambrose, or some other country. Asking to have a ship ready to take you and Isabella to my homeland at all times is far different than mere caution.”
Valerio considered his phrasing for a moment. “Isabella may have a problem that only your people can solve.
“Since when was there anything that you would not tell me?” Roderick asked, some genuine hurt on his tone.
Valerio looked at Roderick. “I promised her I wouldn’t. I’m not opposed to telling you, but I’d like to get her approval.”
“And yet you’re not telling her about this,” Roderick pointed out. “So you won’t get her approval.”
Valerio walked around the room, and looked out the window to the sea. “I won’t let her die. No matter what comes, I won’t let that come to pass. If need be… I’ll protect her from herself.”
Roderick ground his thumb against his palm. “She… becomes you, I’ll admit. Very well.”
Valerio patted Roderick’s shoulder. “Thank you. Hopefully it won’t come to that, but… I simply can’t say. Violent currents are disturbing this city.”
***
It was late in the middle of the night, and Isabella wandered through the thin forest grove of Valerio’s estate. Perhaps it was foolish, but she had come here to calm her mind. She didn’t think that sleep would find her tonight. She was on edge. The wind, footsteps, every movement in the trees made her jump. She hated feeling like this, but she couldn’t help it. The stresses of the past days kept building and mounting.
Isabella froze in alarm when a small black ball bounded out of the trees and landed before her. It took her a few moments to recognize what she was seeing. It was a monkey.
“You disturb me,” the monkey said, raising her alarm. Its voice was oddly shaky, but beyond that, sounded as human as anything. “As you might dislike carriages running past your window in the middle of the night, I dislike visitors to my grove at this time.”
“I-I…” Isabella sputtered, then comported herself. “I apologize… Sosen,” she said, recalling the name. She dipped her head, heart beating fast as she recalled what Valerio had said—how this monkey had eaten Cesare’s eyes.
“You need not leave. The damage is done, and I find it difficult to sleep after being awoken.” The monkey shambled in front of her. “However, we most certainly need to prevent this from happening again.”
Isabella dipped her head. “I shan’t roam the groves at night. I swear it.”
“Your mind is fickle. I do not trust it,” the monkey said, pointing a crooked finger. “You leave me no choice.”
Isabella stared at the monkey uncertainly. Should she run? Kick it, perhaps?
“We must drink together,” the monkey declared, clenching its pointed finger into a fist and raising it. “My woes shall become your woes, and your fears shall become mine. Only then will there be true respect between us.”
Isabella looked around, wondering just how far out of her depth she was. Surely Valerio would’ve warned her if the monkey was dangerous…
“Drink what?” Isabella asked.
“Brews of my own design,” the monkey declared, holding its arms wide in pride. It seemed a rather human mannerism. “Come now, proud dove. Carouse with this rat of the trees…”
The monkey hobbled away… and Isabella briefly wondered if she had joined mid-carousing. After looking around briefly, she followed.
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Comments
Josiah Henderson
I called it!
elijah pickett
Whelp, that explains why someone so successful is such an incompetent turd!
