Chapter 21

"When you stand beneath the unveiled sweep of the unfurled and endless skies with its clouds and stars and planets, your sorrows seem like they are trivial and life too short.

But the longing and heartache abound when you consider: that such soulfulness fills your being because those despairs are to family living beyond these skies."

~

Lady Minerva's Chambers,

The Physician's Wing of the Imperial Castle,

Kingdom of Tristendyre,

The first Phrinight of the Second month,

XXI Year of Regency

A Royal Physician of much age and talent, she had not realised how lonely the room could seem when deprived of a single damsel's presence.

Lady Minerva's eyes were puffed and flooding with embers, her head hurting severely from the pain of crying and the distraught feelings of heart.

She had raised Imogen since the girl was merely three in age and thus, it was insufferable that her child was cruelly torn away from her embrace. The Chief Physician felt the pulse of her heart throbbing over her whole body, unable to recline in restful slumber.

The sound of the rains was continuous and she considered how she could barely watch the scene of her dear apprentice and child facing the gruesome fate she was forced into.

All of the years they had spent together emerged upon the dial of her memories, whilst she lay upon her bed.

Her eyes were spent of all their tears and she willed to shed no more. The weight of grief wreathed as a heavy crown bound against her head and causing it to ache.

Lady Minerva knew that Imogen's final words to her encompassed the mention of forgiveness to the Regents that pursued her termination. The will and strength of the young damsel was truly commendable. The Chief Physician did not contemplate the absolute mastery of kindness Imogen had achieved in her years.

The child would have made a worthy inheritor to the Elixir of the Viridianne Lynnelle Valley beveraged by the archaic grove of druids, although as apprentice, the damsel had, at times, been repulsed by the sight of gaping wounds and pulsing organs.

Lady Minerva leaned over the little table by her bed's side to open the chiffonier where-from she had earlier retrieved Prophet Nathan's written article.

There were a strewing of loose keys, several other jewelleries and a locked casket.

Removing the special pin from beneath her greying bun, the woman unsealed the little chest and drew out a small vial shaped like a glass bubble, dressed in metal-worked trimmings that compassed the corked flask, emerald and glowing liquid held in its body that radiated like it was alive.

The Potion had been an heirloom of the Physicians, endued with the sacred and clandestine power of healing fatal conditions of a mortal human.

Lady Stachys, the honourable Medic whom-from Lady Minerva had learnt the art of medicine and balms after a dozen and four years of apprenticeship, had blest her with the bequest of this brooch of her Healer-legacy: the venerated Brew.

It had been her Ladyship's final gift to Minerva, on her deathbed, but the Physician had found no great grave utility for the potion's single-time usage in her years of service.

She rested a hand on her blazing forehead and closed her swelling eyes, feeling the heat beneath their lids. There was none other, that she intended to pass the Balm to, but it required to be done before the night of her own life was reached, for she was solely the one in custody and knowledge thereof.

Then, in the melancholy, Lady Minerva cast a sweeping glance across the chamber where the possessions were humble and mellow.

Her gaze landed on the various books and volumes and pages strewn over her study from the scrutiny she had conducted in research, a few hours ago, before attending the Execution.

It had been a divine leading how the Physician had identified meaning, amidst the hopelessness of attempting to decipher the script from the pillory.

She recalled tears of despair falling upon the article of Nathan's warning that had urged her attention to reconcile the connection between the numerical characters she had discerned and the verse of prophecy quoted in the letter.

Further, that had been when Crescence had brought to her ears that the Regents had spoken of Jehu and Nathan being a single and same person. She had discerned that Jehu may have been arrested to the pillory after publishing that final letter as Nathan.

It was peculiar, for there was not probability that the Lady may have consulted his letter at all, had Crescence not made mention of the Regent and the Eccleissor's secretive conversation of calling up dragons by their own means.

Thoughts of the interpretation in her declared rendition caused her mind to remember the various Elders that had stood to her comfort.

It had been very lovely that Sir Kenley Knight, Lady Serilda, Sir Wynfor and various others of the chiefs had cordially come to see her to peaceful rest and conveyed concerns for her health.

Sir Gaius had even offered to recommend a few young maidens and sons to her preference, that she may choose the finest to practice as her apprentice.

The man's intentions had not purposed for her to receive a disciple to follow the tread of her profession and take her mantle, but merely to dispel the despondency of staying bereft and lonely.

Although she had thanked him for the efforts to venture, in truth, Lady Minerva was nowhere near willing to procure a replacement for the beloved child lost.

There was the Regal Physician Training Academy where various children qualified with medical prowess, as she had herself, but even electing an apprentice out of such was not a decision she willed to adopt.

She had asked the young damsel, Crescence, one of Imogen's most intimate friends, to pay her a visit after the time of her chores was concluded. The Physician had promised to give the maiden a few of her deceased apprentice's clothes.

Of course, the Lady intended to spare a selection of those to her own self, since these were the remnants left in memories of her sweet bygone flower.

Rising from the mattress, Lady Minerva lifted herself to her feet and made her way to Imogen's wardrobe to find a few articles of clothing that she could pass to Crescence.

Satins and tulles, silks and linens, ribbons and fur, laces and peplums, feathers and velvet, embroideries and copper trimmings, there was a variety that graced the shelves, being arranged in disciplined order, as opposed to Lady Minerva's own clothes that had been strewn across the floor, which had then been gathered by Crescence during her brief visit that morning.

Every ensemble that bedecked the cupboard seemed to be a piece gifted to the child for the fragrance of her love. There wasn't one garment she had purchased for her own possession, for there seemed to be no need.

Her Ladyship drew a few out that the Elders had presented the child at various occasions for the indispensable favours Imogen may have done to please them or merely for the cause of her personal blithe.

Crescence would certainly look lovely attired in those, for they were of rich array.

There were also certain pieces spared for charity, as the Physician knew how deeply Imogen may have wished for her possessions being bestowed upon the needy and fed to the penurious.

It had been so profound, this compassion or sympathy, for Lady Minerva knew the girl oft fed stray animals and even a large hazel breasted, black falcon, with a cresting feather and long tail.

She did not know much, but the Lady had seen the bird frequent their window at nightly hours on days when it had not met the girl by the garths of the Imperial Castle.

There was a decorative plate of light metal fitted over the breast, reaching to its alulae, which Imogen had asked of the local smith, for the sake of her bird.

Though developing a sort of blindness, it could recognise the presence of Imogen accurately. The maiden had oftentimes mentioned her fantasies of begetting a potion that could cure 'Noctyn', her falcon, of its sightlessness.

With all of memories seeping into the trough of her mind, she began segregating the clothes by casting them in parted assemblies over the mattress that had been assigned to the young damsel.

Serenely, her late apprentice's scent wafted into the whole chamber from the robes. Lady Minerva breathed in, memorising the feel of her aroma, for it wasn't granted that this pleasure would linger forever.

That was when her glimpse had alighted upon a note lying on the little table by the bed. Lady Minerva squinted as she approached.

There were drops of ink dried upon the veneer on the path between a folded parchment and the quill's perch, like her dear apprentice had made writing in the darkness, for the stains were not cleaned.

She took the paper in her hand and unfurled the note to see cursive words written in Imogen's hand-script:

"I dearly hope you are safe and well. Do treat yourself delightfully, I wish for your contentment."

Moments of silence were followed by tears, as Lady Minerva held the note against her chest. She would treasure these last words Imogen had left with her.

~

Western Cliffs of Shillingston,

Verging over the Eastern Banks of the Prussian Farriage Sea,

Kingdom of Tristendyre,

Tempestuous Eve of the first Phrinight of the Second month,

XXI Year of Regency

The fall death-ward was blood-curdling; Imogen felt cold and feverish, the rush of the gales blasting against her face and body, her large cloak waltzing over her, thrills of turbulence spiriting through her being.

The damsel could hear her terrified screams as she descended, the shrill sensation parching her throat.

In that fraction of moment, as she was being billowed, she felt a heavy tug of the shackles against her feet and realised that she was still fastened to the chains that were rooted to the cliff.

Her thoughts were racing faster than her fall, barely assembling in sense, but she knew that if the chains halted her descent in a sudden jerk, the shock to her body would be her immediate death.

There wasn't much she could grasp from the flashes of fleeting sight, whipping wind and overwhelming fright of Death that were the phases of her fall, but there were stairs slapped against the steep and vertical face of the cliff that met her fast passing cognisance.

The maiden was unable to perceive that her trip was shedding pace, as if the fetters that she was propelled by were being veered. The force, however, was claiming her senses and her vision began to fade from the pressure and intensity of the atmosphere.

The final and vivid sense she had discerned, despite the constant sound of the rushing rains and waters, was a harsh haul at her waist, before the voice of her scream was exhausted.

And finally, her sight was complete darkness.

~