A Different World: Part 1 - The Siege of Penthorpe Keep - 12. Chapter 12: New Adventures

For a moment all Dionysia could do was stare. Could he really be standing before her, the Prophet? Her memory flashed back to the surreal moment where she’d stood before him at the altar, the entire congregation, the buzzing sensation she’d felt whenever he touched her.

“Dionysia?” her father called. “Who is it?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, uncertain of what to do. Helpless. Phillip craned his neck and scowled at her when he saw who it was. “Well don’t just stand there like a brainless cow - let them in.” He strolled purposely over to the door and put on his most winning grin. “Excuse my daughter for her rudeness.”

The Prophet smiled. “There is no need to bow my good sir. I am not a king merely a servant of God as we all are. And your daughter is not rude. I’m sure my visit is very unexpected. I’m sorry I did not give notice that I was coming by. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No,” Phillip said humbly. His voice trembled with excitement; Dionysia had never seen her father so animated. He stepped back for the Prophet and his knight to step in. “Please, come in. Have a seat, rest yourselves. I will see if I can get us some wine and bread.”

The Prophet waved a hand, taking a seat at the small rickety wooden table. “That is not necessary. Our visit will be short - we will not intrude upon you anymore than we need to. This here is my good loyal friend Aelius.”

Dionysia risked a quick glance at the knight standing studiously in the corner of the room. He stood with his back straight, gauntleted hands clasped behind his back. He stared straight ahead. If he noticed her looking at him he did not show it. His face was completely without expression. She looked away and hated herself for feeling frightened. He is simply a knight charged with protecting the Prophet, she thought. He wouldn’t hurt you unless there was absolute reason to. But then she remembered the confrontation with the poor disfigured man back at the church, the one with the gruesome hump on his back; had the Prophet not interfered Aelius would have cut the man down without a second’s thought, without remorse, this Dionysia was certain of. She glanced back long enough to say, “How do you do, sir?”

The knight only glanced in her direction, nodded at her once, and went back to staring at the wall behind him. He was like a statue, stiff and lifeless. The only signs of life he gave were to blink and breathe.

“What can I do for you, Prophet?” Phillip asked.

“I am here to discuss business with you, if I may.”

“Of course.” Phillip threw a sharp look at Dionysia. It was as if his heartfelt request for forgiveness had never happened. “Dionysia, leave us.”

Dionysia only knew to obey. To argue would have been unthinkable and only result in a beating so she bowed slightly and headed for the door. Before she could reach it however the Prophet spoke. “This is as much for her ears as it is for yours, Phillip.”

“Alright,” Phillip said reluctantly.

The Prophet cleared his throat. “Good. I will get right to the point. I want to make an offer. At morning’s first light tomorrow three ships will be leaving Port Ostia. Aboard that ship will be anyone who decides to join me. From Port Ostia we will be trekking to Blanchett, Germany where we will gather before King Yaldon and bare witness to the first ever fae-human alliance. It will not be an easy journey and there will be plenty of danger. Germany and the surrounding areas are bloodied with the conflict between Paladin and King Yaldon as I’m sure you know. But it is a path God wants us to take, this I am sure of. I have had dreams of this very moment. It will happen and it will be a pivotal moment in history.”

“Yes, I would imagine so,” said Phillip. He scratched thoughtfully at his stubbled jawline.

“And I wouldn’t be here if God didn’t want you both to be a part of that history,” said the Prophet. He glanced at Dionysia. “You are both a part of his plan.”

Dionysia remembered the voice that had spoken to her up at the altar: I anoint you. A shiver crawled up her spine. She looked at her father, waiting for his answer.

“It’s not an easy thing you ask,” Phillip said. “I wish there was time to think on it.”

“Time is something we’re short on I’m afraid,” said the Prophet. “There is no time for doubt. With each passing day our species gets pushed ever closer to extinction. If we are to have any chance of survival we must rally with the fae king.”

Phillip nodded. To Dionysia’s surprise, tears gleamed in his eyes. His lips trembled with barely contained emotion. “I’m sorry, Prophet, it’s just Dionysia and I have already lost so much: my wife and five other daughters. The plague took them. I have to think about what’s best for the only daughter I have left.”

Swept in a torrent of love for her father, Dionysia went to him, wrapped her arms around his bony waist and laid her cheek against his shoulder. He wrapped a long arm around her shoulders and held her tight. The Prophet watched them both sympathetically. “I understand your hesitation Phillip,” he said. “I will not lie: following God’s path is not easy. It never has been, not even for Jesus, His son. Jesus suffered. I have suffered and so have you and Dionysia. We all suffer in the end and must suffer more if we are to carry out God’s plan. But we can also take comfort in knowing God does have a plan.” He stood up. “I will leave you the rest of the day and night to discuss it and think it over. If you decide to come along you know where to be.”

Without another word the Prophet and Aelius left the room, leaving Phillip and Dionysia in silence. Phillip let out a weary sigh and went over to the bed. He sat down. He hung his head, wiped at his eyes. Once more Dionysia was reminded at how old and frail he was starting to look, how bony he felt when she hugged him. All at once she felt helpless, useless. She wanted to take some of the weight from his shoulders but she was already drowning underneath the weight of her own fear. Whether they stayed in Rome or went with the Prophet their future was just as uncertain. There was no guarantee of safety. If the civil war between the fae didn’t kill them then Paladin’s plague would.

Again Dionysia went to her father and knelt down before him. “Tell me if there’s anything I can do to ease your burdens?” she whispered. “If it is within my power I will do it.”

“There is nothing you can do,” he said, resting a hand on her hair. “I cannot rightly ask any more of you.”

“What are we going to do? Are we going to go?”

He sighed. “I just don’t know Dionysia. Should we go? Is it truly God’s plan for us to go to this rally? I know I should believe after the miracles I saw the Lord perform through the Prophet...but I can’t may God forgive me.” Phillip’s voice broke and he began to sob. His shoulders shook. The bony curves of his shoulder blades pressed up against the thin fabric of his tunic. He covered his face and Dionysia knew he was ashamed to be seen in such a vulnerable state.

She got up and sat on the bed next to him. She hugged him and told him it was going to be okay. The words were meaningless. She didn’t believe them for one second - because even now things were not okay. But she said the words because they needed to be said, because he needed to hear them. For the moment the roles were reversed: the parent was the child and the child was the parent. In the end we’re all just children, she thought. It doesn’t matter how old we are, if we have children of our own, we never truly grow up. We’re all scared and we’re all wondering when the nightmare’s going to end.

Like her father, Dionysia had her doubts about God. She always had. It wasn’t a matter of whether she believed in Him or not - she did in the vaguest of senses. However she did not picture Him as a loving and merciful God. For the most part she saw Him as a cruel and arrogant gamemaster, a hand moving the pieces around the board. Surely a merciful God wouldn’t have let his own son be crucified and murdered only to become burdened by the sins of humanity or create such a terrible plague. Now, however, she was uncertain. She was more confused than she’d ever been in her life.

But there was one thing she was certain of. She could still hear that strange unfathomable voice saying, I anoint you. God wanted them to go to Blanchett, Germany. What would happen when they got there or even along the way she had no idea but there was no escaping the certainty.

“We have to go,” Dionysia said as gently as she could.

Her father looked up. “Why?”

“Because God wants us to.”

“How can you be so certain?”

She shrugged. “There’s no easy way to explain it. I just feel it in my bones. I don’t think the Prophet would have come by if we were just supposed to stay here. How would he even know where we’re staying?”

Phillip nodded. “Yes, I think we’re supposed to go as well. But the idea terrifies me, terrifies me to my core.”

She expelled the air from her lungs. “Me too. But what is there left? This is all we have, there is nothing else.”

                        …

They got up two hours before dawn, packed their things, and left for Port Ostia. Dionysia was glad to leave the The Rifugio Sicuro and mulish whores behind.

Just as the sky showed the first signs of brightening they reached the docks of Port Ostia. Before them, as the Prophet had promised, three sailboats sat side by side, swaying with the water, their sails snapping in the brisk wind. The sailboats themselves appeared worn, the paint along their bowels and railings chipped, the names printed on the sides all but indistinguishable. To the left was The Ceterum; in the middle was The Rishloo; and to the right was The Malazani. To Dionysia’s ears the groans coming from the three ships sounded almost weary. After her terrifying experience on The Elan Vital she was reluctant to sail across the sea again - but if her father and she were to truly take on this quest then they had no choice.

“I was wondering if you two would show up,” said a familiar voice.

The Prophet looked out of place amongst the sweaty grimy-faced dock workers and towering crates of cargo. He smiled at them, seemingly unbothered by the cold. He wore an expensive wool coat and matching pants. Dionysia wondered where he got the money for the adornments and immediately felt guilty. What did it matter how he acquired the coat and pants? Wasn’t it said God always provided?

“We wouldn’t miss it,” said Phillip.

Dionysia could only gape stupidly.

“You two will be on The Rishloo with me,” said the Prophet. He led them towards the ship. They weaved carefully in between the dockers heaving crates, tarps, nets, and tools on and off the ship.

The deck was crowded. Men, women, and even a few children stood on the deck shoulder-to-shoulder. Aelius strutted to and fro, bellowing orders in Italian; the way he walked made Dionysia think of a rooster - only roosters didn’t frighten her nearly as much.

“Make yourselves as comfortable as you can,” the Prophet said. “It will be a cramped journey but we will simply have to make do the best we can. There are cots below deck should you feel the need to rest. We will be leaving within the hour.” Then he turned and was engulfed by a gaggle of excited men and women vying for his attention.

Phillip yawned. “If there’s truly cots downstairs I intend to find one and sleep a little longer. Can you occupy yourself for the time being?”

Dionysia nodded and smiled. Surely none of these people on the Prophet’s ship would hurt her. “I’ll be fine. Get some rest.”

Phillip beamed and kissed her on the forehead. “I do love you, sweet girl.” Then he too was gone.

Dionysia went to the deck and watched the dark, choppy waves. The wind ruffled her hair, caressed her cheek. Streaks of deep red were starting to appear in the sky; already she could see the round edge of the sun peeking cautiously over the horizon. This time she did not feel sick, not from the sea or from fear. After so long being scared, wondering if the next day would be your last, you became numb to the worries of uncertainty.

Her thoughts turned to her five deceased sisters. Not for the first time she wondered what her Maria, Kirsten, Daphne, Annika, and Milla would think if they were standing here with her. Would they giggle in excitement at the perilous voyage beyond or would they stare at the water in sullen silence? Before fresh barbs of grief could dig their sharp hooks into her heart a woman stepped up beside her. Dionysia only noticed her out of the corner of her eye at first. She turned her head to look and felt her heart stop.

Dionysia gaped. She knew it only to be an illusion, gone within the blink of an eye, but it was so shocking alarms went off in her head. Her mother, whose life had also been taken by the plague, was standing before her. Their shoulders were touching. Her beautiful mother Sasha, shoulder-length hair blowing back in the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold. But then the illusion was gone leaving Dionysia dizzy...and disappointed.

In reality the woman standing before her looked nothing like her mother. Her hair and eyes were dark, her skin pale. But she was nonetheless beautiful. She had high cheekbones, a narrow nose, and a soft chin. It was impossible to tell how old she was but Dionysia would have guessed somewhere in the middle of her life, somewhere between young and old. She was looking back at Dionysia, her eyes bright with concern. Her lips were moving but her words were momentarily lost on Dionysia. Slowly the blood in her ears stopped rushing.

“Are you okay, child?” the woman said.

Dionysia went to say she was just fine but what came out was a guttural moan. She was actually hyperventilating!

“Sit, sit,” the woman said, nudging her gently towards the floor. “You must catch your breath.”

Dionysia found herself obeying. To her surprise the woman sat down beside her. She placed a gentle but firm hand on her back.

“Breathe in and out,” she said in a voice that was soothing and beautiful.

After a moment Dionysia’s breathing became steadier to the point she could think. She wondered who this kindly woman was, who had sat with her until she was calm when most people would have walked past her without so much as a glance.

“What frightened you so?” the woman asked gently.

“Sea sickness,” Dionysia said. She hated lying to this kind woman’s face but she couldn’t tell her she’d mistaken her for her recently deceased mother, could she?

“I remembered the first time I got on a boat,” the woman said. “And I don’t mean a canoe either but a real boat just like this one. I was sick for days. I couldn’t eat nothing without throwing it up. It gets better with time - it truly does.”

Dionysia simply nodded, unsure of what to say.

“I’m Roxanne,” said the woman.

“Dionysia.”

“Dionysia. That’s a beautiful name.”

“So is Roxanne.”

Roxanne smiled. “Not as beautiful as Dionysia. You’re not on here by yourself, are you?”

“No, my father is below deck, sleeping. What about you, are you here by yourself?”

“No. Belle’s running around here somewhere, probably getting into things she shouldn’t. She’ll show up eventually.”

“Is she your daughter?”

“Yes. We came here after the death of my husband. I don’t know what else to do or where else to go. Nowhere’s safe. Blanchette, Germany sounds at least somewhat promising. I suppose we’ll find out won’t we?”

A shout from the center of the deck caught Dionysia and Roxanne’s attention. Aelius was strolling purposely towards the front of the ship. Moments later Dionysia thought she heard a cranking sound beneath her feet.

“It sounds like they’re bringing in the anchor,” said Roxanne.

“Already?” Dionysia jumped to her feet and glanced at the water. The water was too murky to be able to see the anchor.

Roxanne smiled at her again and said, “New adventures await.”