Chapter 12: Lessons of Loss and Love

The prisoner was lost, whirling in an endless miasma of red, hearing nothing but the blood pumping in his ears. Once there had been more to existence than this limbo, but concepts of what and when were hazy at best. There was no pain here, of that he was certain, unlike…that other place. From time to time images resolved themselves in the abyss… A face… almond shaped eyes and long black braids… i Madre? Hermana? /i He wondered. Like the images, the words held no meaning. The visage swirled away and was lost into the haze. A quill and roll of parchment, something dark steaming in a chipped cup, these incomprehensible fragments were all that were left of the life he once knew.

Something tugged at him, gently at first and then more insistent. He did not have the heart to resist it; he remembered vaguely that resistance hurt. "Face the darkness, it is all right to remember," a voice whispered. "You are safe now. We will catch you before you fall."

The vision lasted longer this time. i The boy with the emerald hilted dagger cried out in panic. The man that had given it to him lay in a pool of blood outside the forge. The two most precious things the artisan had ever made lay nearby, abandoned on the grass– the beautiful sword…and his only son. The older boy's face was marred by cruel slashes and he mumbled in the delirium of shock 'my father… killed?? six-fingers … I'll find you … prepare to die!' the young man was babbling in his grief. There was nothing anyone could do to soothe him.

The shadow of violence and pain descended upon peaceful Montefrío this would be the first and only a taste of what was to come. Months passed. The scarred young man increasingly had no time for the friends of his youth. His destiny, as he saw it, was to travel the world, consumed by two passions: the first was to become a great swordsman, to wield the sword his father had made, the second was to find the murderer, to avenge his father's death. One day young Inigo simply packed up his belongings and left without a word to anyone. The pain of his leaving clung to the prisoner's heart.

Loss touched the child's life again, all too soon. The prisoner remembered how forlorn it felt to watch sails, like the wings of a bird, carry his second best friend away. His spirit weakened as the ship diminished against the horizon. Alejandro, the fox, sailed with his father to the new world, taking his halter spurs and whip with him to tame the wilds of the colonies. Letters were rare, and they spoke of young De la Vega's intention to become a great Conquistador like his father, his ambition to catch and tame a beautiful native girl, his wild promises to build her a fine hacienda, raise fat babies, and live a good long life. /i

Three friends, once inseparable, were worlds apart, and the distance could only grow greater with time. The feeling of emptiness threatened to consume him; he could not wall out the void any longer. "We will catch you, REMEMBER," the voice told him firmly before vision swallowed the prisoner once more.

i High atop the Pass of the Wolf, the vale LasPeñas de los Gitanos spread out before him. The prisoner did not recall what matter brought him to this place; only that he had come seeking his parents. He saw the white blanket spread out; like an isle adrift in the lush green grass. He had felt relief at first and ran pêle-mêle down the hillside. A picnic had been spread out, the plates were laid. His parents lie together as if they were asleep, but there was no waking them.

Uncle Fernando called it suicide, and said they died un-shriven, leaving the family nearly bankrupt. He refused to permit them burial in the family crypt next to Abuelo and Abuela. How could uncle judge what truly happened if he had not been present? And when had Fernando gotten Abuelo's sword from Papá?

The boy had been furious…but he WAS just a boy, what did he know?

He knew Papá nearly stepped on a snake, years before, while his brother was in was in Madrid. After that he brought the sword everywhere… even when going to relieve himself in the middle of the night.

He knew that Madre never used bed linen for a Picnic, not when Abuela's embroidered blanket hid grass stains so well.

He knew picnic fare was Andalusi chicken sliced with celery, cucumber, and tomato …never fish. Everyone knows seafood does not do well in the sun.

Even the location was wrong. LasPeñas de los Gitanos is a holy place among the Roma. Mamma may have lost her place among her people when she chosen to marry an outsider… Still she always respected their traditions, and made sure the people she cared about did too.

Lastly, and most importantly his parents would never… NEVER take their own lives. It was FACT, everything had been staged to look otherwise, but it didn't change the truth. Still, no one believed a child.

For years he was subject to his uncle's capricious temper. He tried to do what was asked of him but deep inside he raged. This was his house! His father had been the eldest male as was he. He wasn't a child any longer. He was no slave. He was the rightful Don of Montefreo. His parents disserved justice. Finally he could stand it no longer and challenged his uncle. For this insolence uncle Nando stripped him of everything… his birthright… his name… /i

i I am alone! /i The prisoner cried…but light still flickered somewhere in the abyss.

"You ARE NOT alone!" the voice said drawing the frightened boy away from the memory of his parents bodies… away from the dark uncle who sent his family away. Gabriela, Carlotta, Consuela, Gitana, Rosita and Marco…all gone, and he knew not where. Only Lucinda cared enough to think of him on his birthday, but letters were rare and Luci had begun a family of her own now. Would she forget him as his childhood friends, Montoya and de la Vega, had? He would miss her poetry and those brief birthday messages; especially since his last present from her had been destroyed…he couldn't remember how.

Alone, alone, alone… the word echoed. The nameless prisoner shuddered in the void.

"Times change, but you are not alone." the voice was determined and the command insistent. "REMEMBER!"

Treasured memories buried deep inside awoke.

Who was the eldest son born to Don Miguel de la Cruz and Esperanza Montalvo de la Cruz? Was it true his Uncle cruelly disowned him stealing, his name and altering his destiny? The princes of the Isle de la Cruz, his ancestors, did not loose their identity when the great volcano drove them to the mainland. True he would never be a noble Don of Spain, like papa and Abuelo were… but that didn't mean he was nameless. He was the first in a new line, and so he had chosen to add 'Francisco' to his name, the first de la Cruz of France. It was a badge of honor; he survived alone in this strange country.

"Have you forgotten the blond who knows everything but how to play?" the voice asked. "What of him? How about the soft-spoken sword, with the flashing eyes? You remember that one, surely. What of the son who fears being eclipsed by his father's legend? Have you no thought for any of those three?"

Siroc! Jacques! D'Artagnan! How could he forget his fine French i compañeros? /i How could he forget himself?"I AM Ramón… Montalvo… Francesco… de la Cruz!" the young man smiled and his eyes fluttered open.

The three musketeers crowded around him expectantly. Their excited words blurred together as they hugged him and one another with joyful release. "Ramón? Are you all right? Do you remember what happened?" We really beat the tar out of the ones that took you. Say something. Are you well? Are you hungry?" Ramón could not tell who had said what but they were here beside him—together safe, more or less.

Ramón blinked slowly and fought to bring them into focus. All three looked as if they had survived a war. D'Artagnan's head was wrapped and his arm was in a sling. Siroc could barely stand and looked like his face had been hit with a frying pan. Jacques looked as bad as the others, swathed in bandages, neck to navel. That last gave the dazed Spaniard pause.

Ramón frowned at Jacques. "You know, you look better in a dress than Siroc does…Am I still dreaming, or have you always been a woman?" he asked, his voice a fraction stronger.

"Yes Ramón, I have." Jacqueline admitted gleefully, and it didn't concern her a bit that he knew her secret. Their Ramón was back! It would be a while before he recovered fully from his ordeal but he would recover.

"We nearly lost you, my friend." Siroc squeezed his hand gently.

"I feared the i Rojo Vacío /i would devour me," the Spaniard admitted with a shudder.

Siroc nodded, tears sparkling in his eyes. "But it did not… my friend, it did not." This time he would hold nothing back. "I know the Red Void Ramón speaks of; imagine an all-consuming nothingness where existence is reduced to a single spark alone in the mist. My first memories are of that void it was all I knew before my Master called me to life. I came from it with nothing…not even a name.

"The masked one who tormented me." Ramón swallowed hard. "He wanted me to… He called you his pet."

"His i Schiavo /i yes."Siroc confirmed… noting this was first time he'd been able to voice the word without cringing inside." The power he used to hurt you shaped me. My entire life experience spans all of five years.

"Five years?" Jacqueline marveled. "I imagine that is one reason you're so full of curiosity, just like Duval's nephew Andre."

Siroc nodded thoughtfully. Perhaps that was why he felt such kinship with the boy. "The first year of my life was spent in intensive training in the citadel, but there is much books can't teach."

"How long had you been free when we met?" Ramón wondered, recalling the skinny youth with the badminton rackets who seemed so very alone.

"I left the citadel the previous spring, but I was not free. My Master 'let me loose on the world' to study and to learn. I'd already set his stables on fire three times before he loosed me. I imagine he would enjoy the irony of Duval having to deal with the inconvenience of my experiments." The inventor shrugged, "I had a relatively long leash and considerable latitude about what I did. Still the dark power was an ever-present reminder of my slavery. He could compel me to return whenever he wanted me, and did so more than once."

"Liana," Ramon whispered. Thought of the wild-eyed enchantress still made his heart beat fast. "She summoned the children to her… She snared us all in her spell, turned us against one another. Were you called in the same fashion little Andre and the others were?"

"My master's control was more comprehensive, but there were similarities, yes." Siroc nodded. "I spent most of my life in thrall to the Master's power and freedom was still very new to me. The pain she caused, though short lived, was all too familiar." The others had only been disoriented for a matter of moments after Duval's niece, Mimou, shattered the shell amulet that focused the woman's dark power. It had taken Siroc far longer to accept the enchantress's touch was well and truly gone from his mind.

"It must have been awful," Jacqueline whispered, disentangling her fingers from Ramón's hair long enough to squeeze the inventor's arm comfortingly.

Siroc took solace in the gesture and continued his painful confession. "Richelieu used similar measures with Emris and Chosen, using them as spies among the musketeer. Protector broke his control and taught them to be free. On our first trip to Berry, they helped me do the same.

You see, no one can serve two masters. Mazarin's power is but perversion of a greater Truth. Everything that drove me to uncover the mysteries of nature were a longing to discover that fact. I've been free for sometime, but only recently did the Master try to get me back in earnest. When the pain didn't force me back to his side, he tried to use Ramón to find out why."

"I didn't tell them anything," The Spaniard assured his friend.

"I know you didn't Ramón, not even his dark arts could break a spirit as strong as yours." Siroc smiled. "It's one of the things I admire most about you. I am not so strong. Returning to the citadel was unbelievably hard. I lost my faith for a while and Villefore took advantage of that chink in my armor. It allowed him to hurt Jacques and D'Artagnan…I am so sorry. It's my fault," the blond said, tearing up as he recalled seeing his friends tossed about like leaves in the wind.

"It is all right, Siroc. I was plenty terrified and vulnerable all on my own," D'Artagnan assured him. "I've been around blade-bound most of my life— i morbleu /i . I'm almost considered part of the family. But I NEVER dreamed that anyone could do the types of things Villefore did. If you had not been able to shake his control, ALL of us would have been half-dead when Mazarin returned to enslave us."

"Mazarin!" Roman exclaimed. "He's the one who… He led them. I'm sure of it. I remember his voice…and that horrible obelisk." The thought made him shiver. "Was I really prisoner of the mysterious order Duval has been trying so hard to uncover?"

"They are called the Knights of the Black Tabernacle," Siroc admitted quietly. "And yes, you were in the sanctum itself when we found you." Speaking about such things helped the inventor see recent events with clarity rather than as a horrific nightmare, colored by past pain. I really am Free. He smiled to himself…and looked around meeting his companion's gaze. There was no condemnation in their eyes only support and acceptance; Siroc marveled, learning for himself the very thing that which protected Ramón as he retreated in the deepest places of his mind.

They were family He, Ramón, Jacqueline and Dart. Despite past, despite mistakes…despite doubts and mistrust, they cared for and about each other regardless. He was not alone. Together they could overcome anything.

Epilogue

"Hello?" A quiet voice intruded on Siroc's thoughts, "Its time your bandages were changed."

The inventor blinked and nearly fell into a pair of luminous hazel eyes. These were set jewel-like in an impishly freckled face and accented by a quirky smile. Ringlets of splendid red-gold framed the whole.

"You must be Siroc. I'm Corine." The vision smiled. "I'll take you, first." By his breathless expression, she reasoned the blond musketeer must have been feeling faint. The wound above his knee had bled profusely. A musket shot, close range too. From the look of the powder burns he was lucky it missed the bone. She'd seen men lose limbs from such a shot, but this should heal cleanly.

She cleaned the wound and checked the stitches. Then, she bound it tightly, first with bandages then on a whim with her bright blue sash. Next, she used her own silk kerchief to dab gently at the deep cuts on his shoulder and cheek. Once free of dried blood, Corine confirmed that the lesser wounds would heal on their own without sutchers. And of course, the black eye Alain had given him days earlier had already begun to fade to a dull yellow with only a hint of green across the cheekbone. Truthfully, it gave the blond a rakish air she found rather alluring. "All finished." She smiled.

The inventor had been nearly oblivious to her ministrations. His mind ground slowly, like that clockwork mouse he made months ago. (It was never quite right after D'Artagnan dropped it in Jacques coffee.) The graceful maiden cared for his friends' wounds as well. Finally, recognition dawned. "You are Gaston's sister, the one responsible for the Barium Nitrate flash powder?"

"Yes, I am Corine St Just," she confirmed and offered him her arm. "Dinner is nearly ready. Do you feel well enough to join the others?"

Siroc nodded mutely, musing that when he had last been among the gypsies he'd been so preoccupied with seeing Lieutenant De Leon (Valerian) again, that he had overlooked this beauty riding with him. Secretly, the inventor was gratified at the opportunity to rectify the situation—now that Ramón's safety was no longer a question.

Perhaps, Siroc wondered, over the next few days he may have the opportunity to speak to the maiden about fireworks… and other things. But for now…keep it simple, mustn't go too far too fast. Right? He reasoned. "Is there any more i Pliashka /i " the inventor asked, remembering the delicately seasoned meat he'd so enjoyed during his last visit to the gypsy camp."

The girl smiled sweetly. "There may be some cooling on the coals…it is quite a delicacy, but I must admit, I am surprised you like it. Most non-gypsies can't get used to the idea of eating hedgehog. My brother won't even touch it."

"Hedgehog?!"

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New Story in the works: b Reconciliation /b
What happens when the mischievous royal twins conspire to get the legendary musketeers D'Artagnan and Aramis to reconcile after years of estrangement. What happens when civil war once again threatens France? What happens when Richelieu's ultimate soldiers are let loose on the enemy? Will France ever be the same?