The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) by Andrew Walbrown (the lemonade war series txt) 📗

never knew his mother had come so near to death. He thought it was almost unbelievable since Pelecia had always been so healthy, so strong. Whenever he or Ulam would contract some sort of illness she would be spared of its wrath, her health seemingly impenetrable. What is even more remarkable is that she doesn’t have any scars, at least I don’t think she does. Everyone I have ever met that survived that plague has some kind of blemishes.

“I will never forget those dark moments when my life was hanging in the balance.” Though Pelecia was staring at a small maroon and gold rug in the center of the floor, her mind was decades in the past. “I will never forget the thousands of knives stabbing my lungs and throat when I coughed. Or the feeling of my skin burning from the rashes on my arms, legs, back, everywhere. The cold sweat that soaked my face, the shivering, the chattering of my teeth. Childbirth may be the single most painful event of my life, but at least it did not last for weeks on end.”

Pelecia then looked at Marinius, then Ulam, and lastly Amantius. A smile slowly replaced the grave expression on her face, her eyes began to sparkle again. She cleared her throat and then checked her hand, a strange habit Amantius had always noticed but dismissed as nothing more than one of his mother’s quirks. But now that he knew she was a plague survivor, the ritual made complete sense to him. So that’s why she does that; she has been looking for blood, even after all this time. I guess she wears her scars on the inside.

“Just when I thought my life was over, he came back,” Pelecia continued, “At first I thought he was a spirit, coming to take my soul to the Otherworld. But then when my eyes focused, I saw it was him. I tried to warn him not to come near; I was mortified that I would pass that wretched disease to him. But I could not gather the strength to form whole sentences, the pain in my throat was too overwhelming.”

“He did everything for me. He fed me and brought fresh water every day. He fished, he cooked, and he cleaned my little home. He stitched up the holes in the blanket, he fixed my leaking ceiling. He changed my bedsheets and washed my clothes. He even spread herbs he bought from local healers, hoping they would help in some way.” Pelecia was beaming now. It was so infectious even Ulam and Amantius were smiling as well.

“But what I appreciated more than anything,” Pelecia continued, “was he never spent a night elsewhere. He was with me every night while I was sick, remaining ever vigilant by my bedside. And every night he would pull out a book of fairy tales and read them to me, stories of knights and dames, kings and queens, dragons and giants. When I had recovered enough he even taught me how to read, and we spent countless nights reading to one another.”

“I probably do not have to tell you,” Pelecia blushed a little, a sly smirk gracing her face, “but I was in love, and thankfully he was too. I cannot believe I did not see it at the time, because it is so obvious now. What man risks catching the plague for a woman he does not love?” Pelecia chuckled.

“So this man is my father?” Amantius said, “Does he still live?” He looked at Marinius, a sudden thought passing through his mind. Is he my father? He does have scars on his body…

Pelecia held up a hand. “Patience, my child. He asked my hand in marriage shortly after I had recovered, and I accepted without hesitation. I had no doubt in my mind this was the man I wanted to live with the rest of my life, to raise children with…” she stopped and looked at Amantius. “But that was not our fate.”

“Why not? Did he catch the same plague as you?” Amantius immediately regretted asking, not only because his mother had begged for patience, but also because he realized he may have stumbled onto a raw wound.

Pelecia sighed. “It was much more difficult than simply saying yes or no. When he told his parents they outright objected to our union.”

“Why?”

Pelecia squeezed her hands together, releasing years of pent up frustration. “Because I was a fisherman’s daughter. I had no advantage, financially or politically. I was a plague survivor who lived in a shanty down by the docks, who was far more likely to smell of fish guts than rose petals. I would have been an embarrassment to his family.”

“So you gave up?” Amantius asked in disappointment. That doesn’t sound like my mother.

“We almost ran away. We were going to pay for passage to the mainland and start our lives together, wherever we thought we would not be followed. But it never happened. On the night we were supposed to sail away together, his father and two brothers perished. The plague had touched their home too, killing his whole family and only sparing him.”

“So if his whole family had died then what was there to stop him from marrying you?”

Pelecia straightened her back, her posture radiating pride.

“Because Amantius,” she began, “the man I had fallen in love with, the man I promised to marry, was no ordinary commoner. His name was Roderic, third son of Demos, King of Accaria.”

“The King!” Amantius and Ulam yelled in unison. “You can’t be serious!”

“Yes, the King,” Pelecia repeated. Amantius could not believe what he was hearing, that the man who had nursed her back to health was the late King. He suddenly became amused, breaking out into a fit of laughter, thinking the story a well thought out joke. But as he looked around the room he noticed no one else was laughing.

“By the Gods,” Amantius whispered, feeling the air being sucked from his lungs. “The King?”

“When I had met him he was