Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

spirits brought there by the crone.
    Many,
however, believed she never died but attempted to return to whence she came,
and more likely drowning in her endeavour . And that the slaughtered goats were the work of wild dogs. Suspicious as they were, the people just wanted easy answers for any strange
occurrence so they could continue with their simple lives. Most believed that
talking about such things would bring bad luck or even heresy. She was no
longer spoken about outside the home and years hence the old crone disappeared
into the stories of men, whispered among small groups at the osteria .
    One
morning, I woke with a clear plan in my head. I worked fast and furiously over
the coming weeks. I took to my tasks quicker than normal and finished jobs that
were not due for weeks. Sometimes I worked into the night. My father watched on
curiously but did not query my unusual behaviour .
After revealing my past he was back to sharing little more with me than
discussions on the weather, people in the town and instructions on our building
projects. He still talked of his boat building and his ambitions for me but it
was with less gusto.
    Our
last night together was meant to be a happy one for my father. I had been
secretly building a replica ship from his boat drawings: revolutionary designs
that would carry boats faster and cut through stormy seas. For my replicate, I
had built a long hollow base with a mast made of linen and twine. I painted it
with tannin, his name written on the side.
    When
I presented it to him he handed me a glass of wine and made a toast to my
success, then he broke down and wept.

 
    Ricco

 
    The
sun had not yet risen when I watched my son leave. His tall frame was almost
above the top of the door. Only two years earlier he was smaller than me. There
was a time when I thought he might not grow at all. Marek was long limbed and awkward, still learning how to work his arms and legs. The
girls did not notice this. Instead they saw a handsome marriage catch as they
vied for his attentions.
    His
long dark hair, drawn into a tail at the back, was thick and shiny, and his
skin was coloured brown from the sun. His loose
cotton shirt sat open at the neck, wide sleeves drawn in with cord at the
wrists, and tails tucked neatly into his trousers. I was so proud to call him
my son. Silvia spent much time making his clothes since she had no children of
her own to tend.
    I
felt ashamed. I did not tell him everything about Marissa. Circumstances that I
felt his young mind would not cope with, such as the way his mother was killed.
There were other things too that I felt he need not know about, including his mother’s ability to
see into the future.
    I
exaggerated when I said someone might steal him away, for I wanted to scare
him. In prison, Marissa’s actual words were that Marek’s blood will be needed one day to help restore order and I must help him look for
the signs. I did not understand this but it was perhaps the reason I allowed
him to see the crone, that in some way she was the sign his mother spoke about.
I did not tell him what his mother also said: that it must be up to him to
decide his own fate. I believed the less he knew of Marissa the safer he would
be, should he ever be discovered and questioned by inquisitors. Though now, I
curse myself for my ignorance.
    Marek left me a note but I already knew what it said before reading it. They say
parents know their children without the use of speech, by their expressions and
gestures, and I am no exception. I knew of his plans in the weeks before he
left but after many a sleepless night I decided there were things that men
needed to learn themselves . I am only a father after
all, not his jailer.
    I
walked down to the shore as the sun slowly spread its tentacles of early
morning light. At the edge of the water was a small boat Marek and I had been commissioned to build. He had done more work on it. I ran my
hand along the freshly planed wood. It was smooth,