BS: Chapter 01 Part 01

Mikeal usually doesn't have particularly good days, but today it seems to get worse. What is wrong with him? Will he be alright?

“You,” the boy frowned into the mirror, “look like all the nine hells.”  Studying his reflection, Mikeal noted not for the first time how different he seemed from his surroundings.  The room he stood in had been his since he could remember but he seemed so different from it – especially now in his dirty and bruised state.  The room was one of the better-decorated bedrooms in his father’s keep.  Rich, deep red plush curtains framed the windows.  A dresser, bed, and cabinet, all made of mahogany, were the only furniture except for an old stool inside the room.  The fireplace gave off a gentle glow to the room, making the rug in front of it a softer red than it was without.  The windows were the usual source of light in the room.  Candles were scattered around the room but remained unlit in the bright noon light.  Letting his eyes rest on his face once more, Mikeal studied his reflection.  Mud marred his long nose, extending across his high cheekbones, the color a mockery of his shoulder length hair.  His forehead was decorated with a set of scratches, which gave the impression of recent bleeding, while his left eye was beginning to swell promising to end in a black eye.

Sighing, Mikeal moved over to his bed and flung himself onto the soft blanket.  It had been an exhausting morning.  The arms master, Maris, had taken an almost sadistic joy in what he’d called practice – Mikeal could almost feel the perverse pleasure coming from the man.  Being beaten with the practice blade more often than it seemed possible, the boy had gained nothing but many new bruises on his lithe frame.  The main lesson of the spare was completely lost to him, unless the goal of the lesson was to teach him to not get hit, although he was sure that the arms master’s lessons usually had that as the main goal.  Not that Mikeal saw much need in that lesson.  Common sense dictated that one should not find themselves facing the end of a sword, and Mikeal was not one to deny common sense or logic.  In fact, the only reason that Mikeal put up with his “training” with the arms master was in part due to his understanding that swordsmanship was a valuable skill, especially as near to the border as the keep was. Well, that, and his father’s insistence on it.  ‘No son of mine will not be able to hold his own in a fight’ he had stated many times since Mikeal could remember.  His older brother enjoyed the lessons and had earned his place in their father’s mind many-a-time, while Mikeal never seemed to quite reach it.  Sometimes he swore that he could feel the affection that his father had for Roathe – the perfect swordsman in his father’s eyes – and the apathy his father felt towards him – the poor child who seemed to get hit more than breathe in arms’ lessons.

Sitting up to remove his boots, Mikeal reflected: That’s the problem with having such a brutish older brother; they never make it easy for us little folk.  With a tug, Mikeal removed his boot and, after laying it on the floor, started to unlace the other.  Not that it’s too bad; I do enjoy being treated like a target with legs.  Ha, next he’ll make wear a bulls’ eye.  Arms master he may be, but that doesn’t mean he has to be so harsh.  It’s almost cruel, really.  He’s already broken my arm once does he really want my ribs to be next?  Perhaps a leg?  No, that would take the sport out of it.

A soft knock at the door brought Mikeal out of his self-pitying lament.  “Milord, Milady Gianna would like a word with you,” the voice behind the knock said shyly.

Oh great, now my mother would like to speak with me - that’s almost as bad as my father wanting to, perhaps worse.  Father yells, Mother cries and goes into vapors.  Giving himself a mental shrug, Mikeal raised himself from the bed and made his way to the door.  Glancing in the mirror he was reminded of his current state.  Feeling a little nervous about his appearance, Mikeal asked the servant girl to bring in a washing bowl filled with water and a towel.  By Kronos, I’ll at least be clean for this. Maybe if I don’t look like…well…this she won’t have a fainting spell.  Not likely though, Mikeal thought sardonically as he waited for the washing items.  Sighing, he walked to the dresser to find a set of clean clothes.  Finding a clean pair of dark brown leather trousers, Mikeal stripped off his dirtied pair and threw them to the floor.  Hearing the faint knock at the door, Mikeal stopped his quest for a clean shirt, and returned to the door.  Opening it more briskly than he intended Mikeal startled the servant girl into spilling a little of the water from the bowl.

“Milord!  I’m terribly sorry, milord,” the girl said bowing her head slightly.

“That’s quite alright; just bring it in,” he said, blushing slightly.   The servant girl brought the bowl inside the room and set it on top of the dresser.  Curtseying as she left the room, the servant girl left Mikeal to himself.  Wasting no time, Mikeal began to scrub his face with the vigor of a scullery maid cleaning the cooks’ favorite pot.  Drying his face with the towel, Mikeal approached the mirror.  Good enough, he thought as he studied his face.  The dirt’s gone, and there’s not much I can do about the scratches.  Perhaps I can pass them off as courage marks? Mikeal absent-mindedly wondered as he approached the dresser once more.  ‘Milady, look, I’m courageous enough to let Maris beat me.’ HA!  I can’t even think that without laughing, she’ll never believe it.  Finally finding a loose white tunic, Mikeal put it on and studied his reflection again.  Satisfied with what he saw, he exited his room and made his way to his mother’s rooms.  At this time of day she was usually in her observatory enjoying the noon light and the company of her ladies.

Climbing the stairs to his mother’s room, Mikeal noticed the light on the wall.  It’s not normally this bright, especially this time of year.  Pink?  Why is the light pink?  Ah!! Mikeal thought as he tripped on the stairs.  Landing on his back at the bottom of the stairs, Mikeal stared at the ceiling.  The pink light was very faint now.  At the sound of approaching feet down the stairs, the light got brighter.  Oh man, Mikeal thought as he closed his eyes, I’d think I hit my head too hard if it wasn’t for the fact that I saw it before I fell.  The footsteps stopped and Mikeal opened his eyes.

“You alright, Mikeal?” Roathe asked.  “I saw the whole thing.  It’s probably better if you watch where you’re going and not the wall.”

“Yeah…well, it’d probably also be better if I weren’t a target with legs, but that’s not gonna happen anytime soon.  Now, help me up,” he said lifting his arm.  Grasping his brother’s wrist, Roathe easily hauled Mikeal up from the ground.  “Next time, at least make it look like you’re trying.  Ah, does the light look a little…pink in here to you?”

“What?  I think you’ve hit your head in that tumble.  And, it’s not my fault you’re a lightweight.  Now, come, our dear mother is waiting,” Roathe joked as he grabbed Mikeal by the shoulder and headed up the stairs.  “She was nearly to a fit of vapors when I left to go find you…at the bottom of the stairs.”

“I do believe she is always nearly to a fit of vapors, especially since I’ve taken to lying at the bottom of the stairs.  I think it may become relaxing,” Mikeal said, joining in his brother’s light mood.

“Really?  Does the slight flight to get to the floor help you to relax?”

“Only in the most extreme cases.  It forces all your troubles out of you.”

“Ah, I see.  But I fear some cases might result in too high a fall, and then mother will have vapors, which means that the whole process of falling down the stairs must begin again.”

“Perhaps, dear brother, but I think that if mother took to this type of relaxing her vapors would be put to better us.”

“Except for the fact that she’d have to fall off the top of the Keep.”

“Who is going to have to fall off the Keep?  You boys, what are you talking about?” a gentle, yet slightly high-pitched voice asked from the top of the stairs.

“Milady, Mikeal has found a new way to relax, but it seems that it has its flaws,” Roathe answered mockingly with a bow.

“Oh, and what sort of relaxation is this, sweetie?”

“It’s nothing.  I accidentally feel down a couple of steps and landed on my back.  Roathe found me and has been making fun of me ever since.”

“’Ever since,’ dear brother, is about a minute ago.  Perhaps your new technique is too relaxing?”

“Please do not joke about falling down the stairs,” Lady Jeanne squeaked out.  “I’m feeling faint.  Boys, please help me to my seat.”

Taking an arm each, Mikeal and Roathe guided their mother to her seat.  The overstuffed chair was in the middle of the well-lit circular room.  Her ladies were seated around her, each doing their own embroidery.  The light from the windows shone especially bright over Lady Gianna’s chair, giving the middle aged woman a gentle glow that seemed to erase a few of the years.  The jewels on her fingers glittered brightly as she wrung a tissue in her hands.  The light sparkled in Mikeal’s eyes.  Red, green, blue - the colors of the rainbow – they shone.  Red, green, blue, yellow, pink – all the colors going around and around.

“Why did you fall down the stairs?”  Lady Gianna’s high-pitched voice broke Mikeal out of the spell the lights had caste.

“I…just didn’t watch where I was going,” Mikeal answered confusedly.  He looked away from his mother’s hands and tried to focus on her face.  His mother’s face was surrounded by an aura of green.  Light and fresh, the green light seemed to radiate from her.  He tried to focus harder on her face.  The green light started to fade.

“Are you okay, dear?  You seem a bit…unfocused,” Lady Gianna cheeped out.

The lights played in front of Mikeal’s eyes. - green turning into pink, into red, into yellow, back to green again.  “I think I might have fallen a little harder than I thought,” Mikeal answered in a daze.  Green light now playing with pink, with red, with yellow – all the colors mixing and disappearing and reappearing.  Green, red, pink, yellow, green, red, pink, yellow.  Around and around they spun.  “Do you mind if I have a seat?” he barely managed to get out before he fell to the ground.

“Whoa!  Are you okay brother?” Roathe asked as he grabbed Mikeal’s arm in a vain attempt to keep him from falling.  Kneeling down next to him, Roathe looked at Mikeal’s face.  “You’re looking a little pale.  Maybe you should go rest.”

Green, red, pink, yellow, blue, purple, blue, yellow, pink, red, green, red, pink, yellow, blue, purple – spinning around and around; in and out, disappearing and reappearing.  Green, red, pink, yellow, blue, purple.  In and out.  Disappearing and reappearing.  In and out.  Green red pink yellow blue purple blue yellow pink red green red pink yellow blue purple blue yellow pink red green…

Author's Note

Any tips, comments, or critiques are greatly appreciated.

Reviews

[Sseoni]

Great chapter! The imagery was great and very helpful! I feel really sorry for Mikeal; he has to put up with so much "training" and everything. Poor guy.

The dirt’s gone, and there’s not much I can do about the scratches. Perhaps I can pass them off as courage marks? I found that really funny for some reason. Your book is really intriguing so far and I'm certainly going to read more! :D