Mercy and Monsters - Chapter 6
“I am with you,” Diego said. “But not for your ambition or your greed. I am with you only because you are right. He does know. And he made me grovel to him anyway, simply because he could."
My tears, they fall into the stream
And with them go my secret dreams
Desires of mine bare and expressed
No longer caged within my breast
But though I weep, I cup my lips
No cries shall let my true heart slip
-Truth and Tears
Mija stared blankly at the mirror before her, her eyes dead and lifeless. Upon the cabinet, an assortment of perfumes, powders, and poultices awaited her usage, but she reached for none of them. What would be the point, she wondered? War-paint. That was what she had called it, so long ago, wasn’t it? Back when she had first tried it on, back when Raul was still alive. What a stupid, silly name for it. Nothing more than a childish game her mother had devised, to trick her into learning a harsh reality. Emir Fransĩs Ben Farānsheskū was coming that night, and if there was a chance that Raul’s body had not been noticed in the Battle of Barbarossa by the Andalusi forces, it was vital for the Ventura family to keep up appearances. Until otherwise stated, Raul Ventura was alive and well, and Mija had to play her part in keeping that lie alive.
“I can’t do it,” she whispered, and it was true. At a moment’s notice, something could bring back the memory of Raul, and Mija could fall into a crying fit or panic attack, and everything would be lost. She would feign ill, pretend to be sick, then she could stay in her room, and not have to face the crowds of laughing, smiling dancers, all oblivious to the torment inside her heart.
“You can’t,” Mercedes sadly said when Mija went to alert her of her plans. And though Mija protested as much as she could, her mother was adamant.
“The slightest hint of something wrong will provoke the emir’s suspicions,” Mercedes explained. “We have to perform for him tonight.”
“But I can’t!” Mija sobbed. “I can’t! Raul is gone and I can’t pretend that he isn’t! I can’t pretend to be happy.”
Mercedes breathed in deeply, and let out a long, slow sigh. “Then paint yourself a happy face.”
“What?” Mija did not understand.
Mercedes returned to the task of her own make-up. “Whether it be a blackened eye or a broken heart, a lady should know how to paint it over, and make it seem as though it were never there. We mask ourselves, and hide our faces, so that no-one may see our hearts reflected. Do you understand?”
“I…”
“Please, mami,” Mercedes held her daughter’s hand tight. “None of us can afford to grieve tonight. Tomorrow morning, you may let everything out. But tonight, for Raul’s sake, we must give our best performance yet.”
“I… I see.”
And so Mija found herself in front of her cabinet mirror once again, preparing herself for the upcoming act. Raul had said she’d looked like a clown, back when she had first attempted to make herself up. And now as she put on the powder and lipstick, Mija realized that in a way he had been right. A clown painted over all his troubles and worries, and gave only a smile to the ignorant world. And tonight, though her soul might be a great, black, yawning pit, the guests would only see her best and brightest face.
Smile, Mija told herself, and in the mirror she saw the painted face of an elegant lady, eager to please and never knowing such things as hurt or sorrow. It was then that she knew she was ready.
That night, all in attendance were breath-taken by Mija’s beauty. None could place exactly what or how, but something about Mija had changed, and all were in awe of her presence. Every gentleman scraped and bowed for the chance to dance with her, and every noblewoman expressed their admiration and even jealousy of Mija’s beauty. All this Mija accepted with the grace and charm that her mother’s teaching had instilled her with, and to the attendant guests, she seemed the picture of courtly etiquette. But in her heart, Mija realized there was still so much more she had to learn, for her performance paled in comparison to that of her mother’s. Whereas Mija felt an occasional frown or slump on her person as the night went on, Donna Mercedes Ventura was positively radiant. How did she do it, Mija wondered? Where had she learned to disguise herself so well? It was only then that Mija realized what Queen Aminatu had meant, when she had declared Mija’s mother a capable warrior.
“Truly, your daughter is elegant tonight,” Fransĩs clapped Diego’s hand eagerly from the table where they both sat. “A toast! To her.”
“To her!” Diego swilled his boukha, and the men gasped for air after their successful gulps. Truly, no expense had been spared that night in procuring the emir’s favorite brand of alcohol, and the oil of diplomacy had been applied liberally throughout the whole ball.
“Ah, my friend, if I did not know any better, I should say you went out of your way to please me tonight,” Fransĩs hiccupped as he slapped the hidalgo on the back.
“I can assure you, my friend,” Diego smiled. “It was entirely coincidental. I know you must long for your native drink when you come here, and so I took it upon myself to secure a shipment of your favorite beverage last week. I had hoped to keep it a secret until your birthday, but you found it almost as soon as you set foot in my house.”
“I can always smell when boukha is about,” Fransĩs grinned like a child with a new, shiny toy. “No secret remains hidden under my watchful gaze for long!”
Diego burst into laughter as the emir pulled his eyelids wide open, and soon the two men were lost in a fit of drunken revelry.
“Ah, my friend,” Fransĩs sighed. “It is such a shame that your son could not be here to join us. I would have loved to have introduced him to boukha.”
“I am afraid he is still assisting our merchant networks,” Diego replied. “I thought it best for him to see the world outside Zarzuela, and to witness ruling duties firsthand.”
“Yes, that is wise,” Fransĩs nodded. “A toast! To your son, and the safety of merchant vessels everywhere.”
“To him!” Diego’s chest burst with pride as he swigged his drink, and the two men once again laughed and bellowed, the truth concealed and hidden in vino.
“Ah, yes, yes,” Fransĩs laughed. Then, with a sudden, lucid stare, “I am glad to have served your son so well.”
Diego stared blankly at the emir, confused. “Pardon?”
Fransĩs traced his finger across the rim of his glass. “Well, simply that, thanks to my victory at Barbarossa, I should think all merchant vessels in the area to be much safer.”
“Ah, yes,” Diego coughed. “Yes, I know that pirates often prowled those waters.”
“Curse all Antilian pirates!” Fransĩs screeched, and the sound of glass shattering against the ground drew the attention of many a guest.
“M-my friend…” Diego glanced nervously at the guests now staring and whispering.
“Ah! My… my apologies…” Fransĩs returned to form. “Merely old memories, stirred about by alcohol.”
“Let me get you another glass,” Diego got up. “There is still more boukha in the wine cellar.”
“Yes, of course,” Fransĩs’ expression had calmed, but remained dark and brooding. Before Diego could leave, he tightly grabbed the hidalgo’s arm.
“Y-yes, my friend?” Diego tried to maintain a calm expression as he felt the blood escape his arm.
“When you see your son again, give him my best regards,” Fransĩs pulled Diego close and breathed a cloud of putrid air. “After all, he is the reason for this shipment, is he not?”
Diego stared back at Fransĩs, before gently smiling back.
“Of course,” he said. “His efforts abroad have led to our traders reaching new ports and new profits. And your victory at Barbarossa has secured our safety even further.”
“Yes,” Fransĩs eyes twinkled. “Yes, it has.”
Morning came, and with it, fresh tears. When she had emptied herself, Mija stared blankly up at the canopy which hung above her bed, and felt at once exhausted and wide awake. Sunlight crept into her room, and even with all the lights still off, the room was fully lit. Mija could have gone over and closed the drapes, shut herself in her room with no light and no company, only total and complete blackness. But the sun would still be there, wouldn’t it? Even if she closed herself off from it, the shining disc in the sky would remain present and undying. And the fall of night would only be a temporary respite, a moment’s reprieve before the next day’s sunrise. That was how things were, Mija realized. Life blossomed and withered, but the sun and the earth’s rotation continued unabated. Time had not stopped when Raul had died, though it had slowed within her presence. It had continued to tick and turn, like clockwork, independent of human intervention. Where then, did that leave her? What was Mija to do now?
Mija; that was not her real name, merely a term of endearment her brother had gifted her, a token of his existence. And even now, as his body was ash and dust, that name endured. It lived on in her, as did all the memories she had made and shared with her brother. This feeling, it was unbearable. This numbness in her soul. But Mija realized then that she would get through it. She had to. Raul’s life may have ended, but hers went on, and until her last breath left her lips, she would hold onto all that he had given her.
The black mood remained, like a cloud hanging over Mija’s head. But in even the cloudiest of days and darkest of nights, the sun would still come, wouldn’t it? Even in her current condition, Mija could feel the light on her face. And so, she slipped out of her bed, to step out of her room and into the light.
The day Don Aitor Gran Gordo arrived, Mija knew what he had come to do. She still remembered the conversation she had overheard, when she had been little more than an infant. Some small part of her wanted to go to her father and beg him to not heed the arriving caudillo’s message, but she silenced it. After all, when had her father ever listened to her? And besides, another part of her wanted what Aitor wanted, though not for the same reasons as him. As she sat with her mother, awaiting the outcome of the meeting between the two lords, Mija could tell that Mercedes was of the same mind. Day by day, the light crept further into each of their hearts, but still there remained a dark and ebon taint, thirsting for something which light and forgiveness could not quench.
Diego sat in his meeting-room silently, as Aitor sat across from him. The Zarzuelan lord rested his face against his propped-up hands, as he nursed his aching temple and listened to all Aitor had to say.
“He knows, Diego. He knows everything. If not now, then soon. His spies will suss out the truth one way or another, and when they do, they will drop all pretense of friendship and destroy you all. We must strike now, to secure our future. For Ibery! For all of us! Don’t you understand?”
Diego let out a long, slow sigh. “Yes. I do.”
“Then you agree?” Aitor grinned.
“No,” Diego glared back at the grinning caudillo.
“B-but… you…”
“I am with you,” Diego said. “But not for your ambition or your greed. I am with you only because you are right. He does know. And he made me grovel to him anyway, simply because he could. He thinks me weak and toothless, that he can do anything and I will roll aside and let him. But he has made a grave error in showing me his hand. By doing so, he has shown me I have nothing left to lose.”
“Then… we shall fight together?” Aitor asked.
“Yes,” Diego growled. “I am old, but I have not forgotten how to fight.”
The day Diego marched against Fransĩs, Mija learned another valuable lesson: how to say a lady’s farewell. She and Mercedes could not go to war as Raul had and Diego did, but the ruling of Zarzuela had to continue, even in the absence of its lord. Mija and her mother were responsible for maintaining law and order in a land deprived of its fighting men, and for ensuring the safety and morale of its populace, and Mija marveled at the ease with which Mercedes took to the role of governing. Now Mija’s lessons concerned taxation, trade, and administration, and though her head swam at the end of each new day, she readily devoured all the lessons that she could. Her childhood was over. Now she was beginning to become not just a woman, but a proper noble lady.
News from the front was sparse, but consistent. The assorted Iber forces were smart and crafty, targeting coastal ports and fortresses. Fransĩs’ strength lay mainly in his navy. If they could disrupt and disable his ports of call, they could delay his response while they overtook the land. And unlike on the coast, where the Ibers relied on subterfuge and guerilla warfare, their combined might was more than enough to defeat any land armies they encountered. With each new letter detailing their exploits, and each new fort the Ibers claimed for their own, Mija’s heart soared. Even from the sidelines the thrill of battle filled her heart, and Mija was confident that they would defeat the emir.
Then the letters stopped, and news from the front grew silent. For weeks, Mija and her mother remained ignorant of the state of the war, and the young woman’s confidence slowly began to fragment.
That was when the first wounded soldier stumbled into Zarzuela. Aboard a foaming, frantic horse, the soldier gasped out his news to the Ventura estate. Fransĩs had known that he could not survive an assault on land. And so he had allowed the Iber forces to converge towards his capital, to be lured into an ambush, which would delay them while he sent his entire fleet to attack their unguarded home provinces. And though he could only besiege those coastal kingdoms that had made war against him, it would be more than enough to bargain with the remaining army.
At once Mercedes ordered an evacuation of Zarzuela, but with the soldiers at the front and panic amongst the people, the desertion soon descended into chaos. Mercedes and Mija aided when and how they could, but valuable time was lost, until at last, Mija could see a flotilla of ships descending upon the Ventura mansion.
Mija was standing by a window when she heard the cannons bellow, and with a shout she leapt upon her mother before the shots burst through the walls. All around the women, glass shattered and wood splintered, and fires began to blaze as Mija and Mercedes steadily made their way back to their feet. The fleet was nearly upon them now, and already they could see the sailors making ready to board the mansion.
“Quickly!” Mercedes cried, as Mija’s knees grew weak with panic. The stench and the noise and the brightness of the flames were noxious and unending, but even in her terrified state Mija knew that she had to run!
Kra-ka-doom! Another round of cannon fire, and soon the mansion began to fall apart completely. The ground beneath Mija’s feet began to shake as each new stride was made on less and less solid ground, until suddenly Mija tripped and fell with no floor to catch her.
“No!” Mercedes pulled hurriedly at her daughter, but for her own momentary delay in pace she was rewarded with a collapsing floorboard as well. With a cry the lady fell, and it was only with the sheerest of luck that enough floor remained for her to grab hold of at least. There, suspended by one arm, Mercedes strained against her daughter’s weight as she tried to find some chance of escape.
“There!” Mija pointed, and Mercedes saw that a piece of the story beneath them remained intact. If they could swing over to it, they could reach solid ground and make their escape. Mercedes thanked her luck that the cannons had stopped, though she knew it was only because the ships had gotten close enough to board now. With all her might, making sure her grip was secure, Mercedes began to swing back and forth, until, when at last her arms felt as though they were ready to pop out of their sockets, she tossed her daughter as far and as hard as she could, and Mija landed safely on the floor below.
“Mama!” Mija pounced to her feet and called to her mother. The escalading had begun, and already saber-wielding seamen were making their way towards Mija. Quickly Mercedes swung to where Mija was, and tore away the hem of her dress with a savage fury.
“You do the same!” Mercedes barked, and Mija mutely obeyed without asking why. The soldiers were nearly upon them, but as Mercedes grabbed Mija by the hand and dashed away, the young woman saw how much easier this made their sprint. The two women rounded a corner, only to find a horde of soldiers awaiting them. With a scream, Mija and Mercedes turned around, only to find the previous group of seamen closing in on them. Both paths through the hall were closed off. There was no escape.
“Wait!” Mija gasped as she pointed to a nearby door. Just as the sailors began to pounce upon them, Mercedes burst the door open, and locked herself and Mija inside. Quickly, Mija barred the door with a desk, and though the force of a hundred scimitars ate away at the door, it bought the women enough time to put some distance between themselves and their would-be captors.
Slam! Mija and her mother burst through another door, and ran into another room, which they once again quickly locked and barred. On and on this went for several rooms, each one putting more and more distance between the women and their pursuers. Mija ran and ran as hard and fast as she could, and even though it felt as though her lungs would burst, as though her heart would explode, as though her legs would fail and give out, she kept going, her hand holding tightly to her mother’s as she followed her lead.
“Here!” Mercedes cried as she opened the last door, and Mija saw that her mother had led her into the ballroom. The cannons had torn apart half of the room, and a series of curtains had flown over to tangle and intertwine with the massive chandelier that hung by what remained of the ceiling. As Mija followed her mother down the steps to the dance floor, she noticed the cracks that danced dangerously by the chandelier’s base, and she briefly feared that the sound of her quickened pace might disturb the obviously precarious arrangement.
There, the two women at last reached what remained of the ballroom balcony, and Mija saw that it was a straight dive into the waters below. Raul had made the jump, she knew, and she had an idea of what her mother planned. But was it possible? With the boats so close by, would they not be seen and captured?
Crash! Mija and Mercedes whipped their heads around to see the sailors burst into the ballroom, and Mija realized this was no time to be pondering the practicalities of their plan.
“Quickly, mami,” Mercedes whispered. “You need to jump. I’ll distract them as long as I can but you need to jump, do you understand?”
“No!” Mija gasped. “They’ll kill you!”
“Hold it right there!” the leader of the sailors bellowed, and his men halted at once. As he stood at the top of the ballroom entrance stairs, he shouted down authoritatively towards Mercedes, “Our orders are to take you in alive. Don’t try anything foolish.”
“I will not be a hostage for my husband’s loyalty,” Mercedes hissed. “And I know what your lord has planned for my daughter.”
“So you’ll jump?” the leader laughed mockingly. “Go on then, do it. And as soon as your daughter has leapt, and we’ve subdued you, we’ll jump in after her. You really think she can outswim all of us? You’re only making this more difficult for yourself.”
Mercedes stared at the group of soldiers before her, their swords drawn and at the ready. Then, slowly, she took her daughter’s hands in hers, and kissed her forehead gently.
“When I say jump, jump,” she whispered.
“But-”
“Jump!” Mercedes shoved her daughter aside and lunged towards the soldiers.
“No!” Mija cried, but her body was already in motion. The last thing she saw before she neared the edge and leapt with all her might was Mercedes, springing upon the group of curtains that hung from the chandelier. As Mija plunged into the sea, she heard the sounds of screaming voices, shattering glass, and splintering wood.
No, Mija wanted to scream as she pierced the water’s surface and dove as far and as deep as she could. She couldn’t be alone! Her mother couldn’t be dead! With all her heart, Mija desperately wished to turn back, to see with her own eyes the status of her mother, but she remembered what the leader of the soldiers had said. Every moment she wasted looking back was one they could use to catch her, and right now she could not afford to be caught. She had to keep going, had to keep swimming, even as her limbs cried out in pain and her lungs began to run out of air. Onwards and onwards she paddled, until her lungs could hold out no longer, and she was forced to breach the surface.
With a monumental gasp Mija sucked in fresh air. Never had such a basic necessity tasted so sweet. Whipping her head around, the young woman tried to get a bearing of her surroundings. She was some distance from the mansion, and the boats appeared safely out of reach, though she knew not to tarry long in case they noticed her. The sailors though had not yet appeared, and even as she peered into the waves Mija could not see anyone swimming towards her, save the fishes that darted by.
The ballroom had collapsed, its ceiling completely fallen. Even now Mija could see the cloud of sawdust billowing from the wreckage. Then, suddenly, she noticed a lone figure, diving into the waves. It was too far to say for certain, but from the way the figure’s hair trailed in the wind, Mija saw it was too long to belong to most men. Did that mean…?
Quickly, Mija paddled over to the closest shore, and hid among the rocks, making sure to keep an eye out for the figure when they came to the surface again. Please, please, please, she begged, hoping beyond all hope that she knew the identity of the swimmer. When at last, closer now, the figure did pop up to breathe, Mija nearly wept with joy, and once she was close enough to hear her, Mija leapt out from her hiding place and called out to her mother.
“Mama!” Mija sobbed, and when Mercedes noticed her daughter she cried out in joy. With renewed vigor, the lady swam to shore, and when they ran to meet each other, she showered her daughter with hugs and kisses.
“Mami! Oh mami!” Mercedes cried, and gazed with pride and joy upon her daughter’s face. Mija saw that the sea had not wiped away all the blood from her mother.
“You’re hurt,” Mija gasped.
“It’s nothing, little one,” Mercedes laughed. “Quickly now, before the survivors see us.”
Again the pair of women ran, but as they continued their frantic pace, Mija was unsure of where they intended to go. The Ventura estate was no more, destroyed by the Andalusi invaders. And Mija had never even been out of Zarzuela before. Where could they possibly go, and how could Mija possibly survive wherever they went to?
Before she could speak aloud this question though, Mija noticed a group of horses, racing towards them in the distance. She alerted Mercedes, and at once the noblewoman drew the sword she had no doubt taken from one of the sailors. Rusty and bloodied though it was, it was the only defense they had, and Mija could see she knew how to use it.
As the horses drew closer though, and the women could see the faces of the charred and wounded riders, Mija suddenly laughed out loud, as Mercedes dropped her sword in astonishment.
“Papa!” Mija had never been so glad to see the angry, old man, and she ran up to embrace him as he stumbled off his horse. It was the first time he had ever hugged her, but Mija hardly thought about it as she wept into her father’s shoulder.
“It was a massacre, Mercedes,” Diego whispered hoarsely. “He knew we were coming and led us all to slaughter.”
“What do we do now?” Mercedes asked.
“My lord, Don Aitor Gran Gordo, will take us in,” one rider said. “Mesata de la Plata is far inland, where Ben Farānsheskū cannot fight. I lost my unit, but when we all reunite at my lord’s castle, we may stand together in safety.”
Mercedes exchanged glances with Diego.
“It’s our only option, Mercedes,” Diego shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, Diego,” Mercedes smiled sadly, as she traced his cheek in her palm. Then, as she glanced down at Mija, “It looks like we shall have to run a little farther.”
The riders departed as twilight turned the sky a deep red, and Mija lay nestled in her father’s arms, as they rode towards Mesata de la Plata. They were on land now, and the rider had said that Ben Farānsheskū could not attack them on land. She was safe, they were all safe, Mija breathed deeply in relief, before slowly nodding off to sleep in the saddle she rode upon.