Shadows Fallen

Crumbling Castles, Chapter 15

Photo by carmen dominguez on Unsplash

It did more than just rain that night. Three days it stormed, slackening from time to time and then returning full force.

Walter lay in the dark, watching as the lightning flashed white on the cave walls and listening to the thunder rolling just behind and the rain pattering against the stone and the foliage outside.

The others seemed unbothered by the storm. Ansel was snoring by the wall; Ralph lay across the passage to the upstairs, his not-so-subtle way of keeping Tiffany under his protection. For all his toughness, he had a sweet side. He missed his sisters, that was clear. A faint light filtered down the passage, a testament to Tiff’s persistence in keeping a fire lit throughout the night. She had scarcely spoken to anyone but Ralph since she had left them in the middle of Gil’s story.

A smothered sigh echoed in the dark, and Walter smiled. Gilbert lay an arm’s length away, perfectly motionless and breathing nearly evenly. Walter rolled onto his side and poked his friend in the shoulder.

“Gil,” he whispered. “You awake?”

Gilbert opened one eye. “I am now.”

“You were before.”

“I’m trying not to be.” Gilbert propped himself up on one elbow. “Why are you awake?”

“Thinking about Tiff.”

"Oh?”

“She’s hurting over something, Gil.”

Gilbert drummed his fingers lightly against the stone. “She’s scared.”

“Scared?” Walter lifted his head and looked at him quizzically. “Scared of what?”

“You think I know?” Gilbert sighed. “I wish. If she would just try to open up, maybe we could help her. I cannot imagine it is anything too serious.”

“Why not?” Walter asked. “Ralph’s story is serious; your story is serious. Mine is not terribly so, but what else could drive a lass like her to take refuge in the forest alone?”

“But she has not concealed her name.”

Walter hadn’t considered that before. “That is strange.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Anyway, I wish we could do something for her. She’s grudging enough, but she does want to be with us. I might say she’s adventure-hungry if she were a boy.”

Gilbert chuckled softly. “I daresay the feeling is not exclusive to us. But it takes a rare girl to venture out on her own.” An overloud sigh came from Ralph, and Gil put a finger to his lips and lay down again. “We ought to sleep.”

Walter pursed his lips. “Not with that storm outside.”

“Stop grumbling and go to sleep unless you would rather finish the night out there so we can have some peace and quiet in here.”

Walter’s jaw tightened, then slowly relaxed into a smile. “Are you teasing me?”

“One would expect you to be used to it by now,” Gil answered dryly.

“I had no siblings, mind you,” Walter reminded him. “My cousin was old enough to prefer to avoid children like me.”

“I cannot imagine you were entirely alone. Like you, I lacked siblings, but I had Elton and others.” Gil’s voice softened as he mentioned his friend. That wound was still raw.

“I spent my days with my mother or the falconer or ordering about the servants,” Walter said with a bluntness that panged him as he said it. “I cannot fathom how my selfless mother turned out such a selfish brute as I.”

“You are not so selfish.”

“Am I not? I can scarce take a joke, and that after being with you all so long.”

“It is not so long, either.” He could hear the smile in Gilbert’s voice. “No more than three weeks.”

“Long enough.”

Gilbert’s exasperated sigh echoed around them. “I will not convince you tonight. Best that you try to sleep, for who knows what will happen on the morrow?”

Gilbert’s snores soon mingled with Ansel’s, but Walter remained awake, staring at the cave ceiling. Sleep? Out of the question. There was too much to think about. Regrets of his own life, worry for those of his friends, thoughts of his mother. Why had she let him become so self-absorbed?

~~~

It was another hour before Ralph heard Walter’s breathing even out in sleep and breathed more easily himself. Those two talked louder than they thought. They were right. Tiff was a mess, but her methods of hiding the cause were unusual. They probably wouldn’t be effective with anyone else. He had respected the privacy of her past because he had no wish to pry something painful out against her will. Burdens were meant to be shared, not stolen. In his experience, trying to force someone to let go would make them hold on tighter. They had to trust you or be pushed to the point that they couldn’t carry it alone any longer.

He would hate for Tiff to be brought to that point.

He would also hate to make her talk before she was ready.

Gilbert was almost as hard to read as Tiff. So secretive he seemed open . . . or was he open and Ralph just couldn’t trust anyone? Ansel and Walter were open books, but Walter’s was a book of frustration and confusion with himself and others, while Ansel’s was a book of innocence, naïvety even, so pure that he saw everything as light. It was refreshing, if terrifying, how much trust the lad had for Gil. If Gilbert failed him, if something went awry that Gil couldn’t pull them through safely, he would fall hard from the confidence he stood secure on.

Which meant someone else had to make sure Gil didn’t let the kid down.

With that thought, Italy moved a little further out of reach.

A clap of thunder reverberated throughout the caves, and the wind whistled between the rocks. He heard a crash from somewhere outside. It was a harder storm than usual. Tiff didn’t like storms any more than the dark, much like his sister Catrin. There was no chance she was sleeping tonight. He wouldn’t bother her—if she needed his help, she would come to him.

That didn’t mean he could do nothing, however.

He pulled himself to a sitting position partly inside the passage to the upstairs and slipped a thin reed flute from under his jerkin. He gave it an experimental trill before starting a slow, lilting tune, keeping to a low register that nearly blended with the storm outside and made the wind sound as though it carried the melody.

He shot a glance around the corner into the main room, but the others were undisturbed by his music. It was as much for himself as Tiff; a way to share his thoughts with the Lord that he couldn’t put into words; a release he hadn’t indulged in since meeting up with Gil and his friends.

Was there anything quite as sweet as a song in a storm?

~~~

“Lift your point higher, Ralph; you have to meet mine early enough to turn it aside, or you’ll get run through.”

Ralph tried to follow Walter’s instructions as Walter lunged again, but the morning’s practice was wearing on him, and he faltered at the last. Walter slipped past his guard easily, tapping his chest hard with the blunted stick he held.

“Try again,” Walter instructed, backing up a step. “I’m coming from underneath this time.”

Ralph flicked his stick out at nearly the right angle this time and would have probably completed the move successfully, but the crossing sticks jarring was too much. His hand spasmed, and the stick fell to the ground. Instinctively, he put his hands behind his back to hide them as they cramped into fists, clenching his teeth against the pain. He glanced down, hoping no redness in his eyes would betray how close to tears it brought him.

Walter picked up the fallen stick and set it and the one he was using aside. “I pushed you too hard,” he said, voice tense.

Ralph forced out a breath and shook his head. “Not your fault. I pushed myself. I’ve wanted to learn swordplay since I was a little thing.” The cramp slowly subsided, though pain shooting up and down his arms warned him it could come on again in an instant, and he carefully flexed his hands and let them drop to his sides.

Walter’s eyes fell to the webbed scars, now flaring an angry pink from the exercise, and then flicked to Ralph’s, shooting sparks that needed no explanation. He wouldn’t say it, but he had taken Ralph’s pain as a personal grievance. It was almost amusing.

Almost.

Ralph retrieved the wraps he had taken off and bound them more tightly than usual, hoping the pressure would reduce the pain. Sometimes it helped; sometimes it made it worse. He glanced over at the others who were absorbed in a makeshift game of Mill. Gilbert had coached Tiff and Ansel through a practice duel earlier, but they had given it up before Ralph was ready to. He should have stopped sooner.

Walter still looked upset. Ralph sent him a tight grin. “You know this isn’t as bad as practicing an instrument, right?”

Tiffany looked up. “Is that why you haven’t played lately? I heard your whistle last night.”

He winked at her. “I had to save my strength for beating these three up if they made trouble for you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can take care of myself,” she muttered, but a pleased light was in her eyes.

Gilbert glanced between them. “I knew not that you played, Shaft.”

“You thought he picked Italy for no reason?” It was Walter’s turn to wink. “I heard you, too. ’Twas not half bad.”

He felt a light flush climb his neck. “I try.”

He wouldn’t be trying today. His lute was somewhere about, cased in leather, but practicing either that or archery was out of the question now. But there was no time to pursue that line of thought longer, for Walter’s falcon that the author forgot about again swooped suddenly into the room and alighted on Walter’s shoulder, agitated about something.

“What is it, Ronan?” Walter asked, but a noise outside the cave was the first answer they had. Aleric’s voice rang through the air, angry and frantic.

“Shaft! Ye ’ad better come quick. I knew ’twould be trouble from th’outset, but this is worse’n e’en I thought.”

Ralph ground his teeth together in pain and frustration as he swept up his cloak and spun it onto his shoulders. He grabbed his bow, praying he would be able to use it if needed.

“Come on. I reckon this is tied to your letter, Gil.”

Gilbert paled as he helped Tiffany to her feet. “God be with us,” he breathed. “Would I had not pulled you into this.”

Walter shook his head, buckling on his sword and tossing Gil and Ansel theirs. “I believe we forced our way into this, Gil.”

“We’re not backing out when it gets rough,” Tiffany said. She checked her dagger and slung her quiver on her back. “Besides, it gets us out of this dark hole.”

And straight into another of a different kind, most likely, Ralph thought grimly as he led them out to meet his friend. He repeated Gilbert’s prayer under his breath:

“God be with us . . . and make my hands strong for battle.”

A Note from the Author

I’m sorry I’m late. Family emergencies are hopefully over, and, Lord willing, my publishing schedule won’t be interrupted again. For now, here is an overdue chapter on the wrong day of the week for my readers—patient and impatient alike. 😅 Thank you for reading!

As always, like, share, and subscribe if you enjoyed this chapter! Comment what you think of it! I love to hear from my readers.

You can also follow me on Instagram @servantsongpublishing for more casual, visual, and frequent updates about the minutia of running my business and my writing progress.

If you want to support my writing, you can drop me a one-time gift of $5 and keep reading Crumbling Castles with a free subscription plan!⤵︎

The next chapter comes out next Tuesday, only on Substack! Did you miss the last one? Here it is!⤵︎

Until next time,

Blessings!

~Lexi