Chapter 33

"In reckless courses of events in Chess, even Rooks would fearlessly dare to stand their fort in the charging course of a rivalling Bishop, when a mere Pawn ministers a stance behind his side with visible revenge in her hands."

~

The Secret Cell of the Under-Ground Dungeons,

Kingdom of Tristendyre,

The first Phrinight of the Second month,

XXI Year of Regency

"Mister Joab Xavier!"

The fainted body of the old man that lit candles every night in the streets of Tristendyre was reclined against the stone wall and the couple stared in shock, wondering how such a familiar and innocent person of everyday life had donned the guise of an unknown and threatening adversary.

"I had even greeted him yestreen whilst passing Hazenvale to take bread to Jehu", said Imogen staring unbelievingly.

"I had assumed he was innocent when he planted the candles of rivenhove in the lampposts, but it appears he is of secret service", said Jaycob, rubbing his chin.

His mind began to counsel him with various courses of action he could adopt:

This man could serve as a key to various information and mysteries, but Jaycob could not entirely bring his heart to trust.

If he used this man as a puppet to serve him, using cords of enticing bribery or coercing threats, and to bring the news of the dark to his ears, then there was no guarantee that the man would, in fact, swear loyalty to the Archer over his unravelled master in the underground.

After all, trusting a counterspy came difficult for Jaycob, for he was something akin to one himself.

Of course, he was still in faithful service to the Regent of Tristendyre who had desired of him to allure the trust of the King of Hyll-Decanta and bring secrets unto him.

However, it seemed to be a collapsing scheme, be-cause the man that had asked him to pretend his undercover and fake fidelity was beginning to mistrust him, gathering from what the Archer had quietly overheard that afternoon.

But regarding the unconscious one in hand, Jaycob could utilise Joab's secret profession in his advantage by holding him hostage as a decoy to extract the details of deeds from the secret organisation the old man was serving.

He was the only means of infiltrating the group.

"I am most certain he did none on the intention of his own accord", said Imogen, like her heart did not wish to hate this man who had oft been friendly.

The Archer, however, knew that despite the pleasant smiles Mister Joab Xavier was granting him each night they'd met, for about a few weeks, the man's eyes had been avoiding Jaycob's gaze.

He must have been employed by some greater force to murder him. However, it may have been inevitable to dodge the strike had the man not hesitated for a fraction of the throbbing moment.

Jaycob stared for a few moments before rising to his feet. "Unfortunate", said he, taking the dark cloak and folding it as he walked towards the vault he had left open.

For a moment, he studied the attire and its make. There were various mysterious pockets at the waist and sleeves and there were odd velvet and crochet fabrics lining the hem.

Placing the cloth there with the secured custody of the safe, beneath the other garments so one could not see it obvious, he locked it.

"Have you made any progression with unravelling the mystery of the walls' inscriptions?", asked he to Imogen.

The damsel in question began to slowly arise, her cloaks descending to curtain her soles. She quietly made her way to the elderly man's cell, and not her own erstwhile containment where the pictures and writings draped the walls.

Jaycob followed, noticing that her hair was tressed and groomed into a bun. He had not paid attention to the style of her braids when he had entered, for these various matters had been plaguing his mind.

"I was petrified for I had discerned the presence of these ominous men, but I could not reckon the secrets of what is etched upon my Cell's walls by late Zebedee Ryder. The images drawn over the face of the stone appears not to be in single completion. Various figures are halved and the fragments are in diverse places. However, I have managed to sight these odd and shallow engravings etched against your grandfather's containment", Imogen said, gesturing to the markings upon the feet of the walls.

Knees rested against the floor, Jaycob sat on his heels to inspect them closely. They did not seem to be as deeply imprinted as the arcane ones of his grandfather's partner's, but it was still curious chisels.

"They seem like counts", said Imogen, shifting her gaze from the bottom of the wall to the Archer's masked face.

~

"These are regarding me", said Jaycob, and Imogen noticed tears glazing his eyes.

"How so that you are involved?" asked she, softly.

The man seemed to be reflecting in his moment of silence, eyes steadily trained upon the writings. They were embedded in the shapes of clusters of lines standing in groups and slashed out.

One would count this to be a record of numbers as a census of some specific event.

"My grandpa has been recording these. It marks the days I had not visited him, for reason of journeys without the Kingdom", said he, eyes beginning to brim with tears that tricked down beneath his mask.

Imogen watched, unable to comfort. "I believe he is content still, that you have been by his side during his final and significant moments; and that you have ever spared your hours to see him", attempted she.

Jaycob shook his head. "There is much greater that he had done for me", said he.

"And what is that?", asked Imogen.

The Archer appeared hesitantly at the prospect of disclosing his past.

However, for certain reasons like the passing of his grandfather, weight of bereavement and the inconsolable feelings brought from the scars of the stone of his wall he seemed to be opening up like a flower gives in to wilting against the cold winds of a hostile winter.

Imogen watched as she listened, whilst his history began to unfurl.

"Much before I was born, my family had received news that my grandmother was widowed, for Knight Oreius Zephaniah and Zebedee Ryder, his partner, paid their lives in fulfilling the price of warfare. The family received the honours, but the grief and poverty were stifling.

Even after my birth, the anguish continued, for we were neither by him in his final moments, nor aware of any details about the mutiny he may have faced. After all, what does winning a war stand to losing a loved one?

Subsequent to this, my gift was beginning to fold into my range of control so I could discern the presences of people I sought for.

About the age of twelve, I was seeking presence of unrelated persons such as authors of autobiographies and eminent persons (for they were recognisable) and finding none but senses of remains and debris for they are passed.

The first day when I had attempted at the being of my bygone grandfather by the portrait and knowledge I had seen of him, it was chilling to find that he was alive and held deep beneath the grounds we tread.

When my grandmother and family began asking the State, the Regent disposed our case as hypocrisy.

With that said, our death was demanded and when the dragons arrived, we were bound to the stakes of St. Erdengaur to be burnt in their flames in the dead of night.

That final moment...", Jaycob closed his eyes, like he was reliving his worst and most painful nightmare of the savage beasts hovering over and near.

Imogen laid a hand on his shoulder to reassure him that he wasn't alone.

He placed a palm across his mask, covering his eyes that bled tears and removed his masquerade.

Before her eyes was the terrifying sight of his revealed face: dreadful fire scars mastering the left portion of his visage.

"At that final moment, before the dragons' breath could consume my being, amidst the chaotic riot, this unknown man boldly stepped into the stakes and unclasped me. The fires spread over his back as he carried me away", he finished, his voice breathless, his face sweating profusely.

Jaycob, at that stage, seemed like he was wincing, holding hands against his head.

"I can still hear the ring of my grandmother's last cries hollering my name and his name as she was burning, till even her tears were incinerated to vapours and he turned back to look at her a final glance without even recognition.

Her last words screamed to me are the names my being bears this day. My grandfather hadn't even known I was the one he saved; he merely stepped in when he was returning from a dangerous assignment, seen the ordeal and rescued the one surviving soul, mortgaging his own body."

The tears were profusely descending in rivers down his face as he stared at the last hand-inscribed lines against the wall and words similar to 'Israel' faintly written thereupon.

"I wish for one opportunity more, just one single chance to thank him and tell him", said Jaycob, choking.

Imogen watched hopelessly. "He is safe and well rested now", she whispered. "Why must you be at fraught with your-self?"

"If anything, I regret the moments more that I could have spent with him. That is what he has written here, counting days until we could meet. It crushes me to imagine I had not made my bed here", said he, voice tainted with rasp and emotion. "I have failed to save him from his misery."

Imogen smiled, feeling the urge to plant her words of condolence: "You are hasty in imagining it is too late to save him."

Jaycob looked up into her eyes, most sincerely, breathing: "How so? He is dead."

"Your grandfather gave his final words that he rests in the pulse of your heart when you do good; save yourself from lies and malice and you are saving him", said she, seeing a smile slowly lift the sides of his quivering lips.

"A difficult promise, but I will keep it", said the scarred man, a fist against his chest.

As the couple embraced the moment of silence, staring at the final considerations of the Knight Oreius Zephaniah, Jaycob perked up in a nervous agitation, quickly wearing his mask.

Imogen disconcerted in like manner and looked up as the man quickly rose to his feet and began striding towards the fainted body of Joab Xavier.

"What is the bother?", asked Imogen grooming her long garments as she stood in the cell.

Jaycob cast a brief glance over his shoulder to say: "They're coming."

~