Blind Beauty and Other Tales of Redemption Read online

  BLIND BEAUTY AND OTHER TALES OF REDEMPTION

  Copyright © 2018 Meredith Leigh Burton

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission in writing from the author, except brief quotations in critical articles, news articles, and reviews.

  Cover Design by Hannah Williams

  Interior Design by Savannah Jezowski of Dragonpenpress.com

  ISBN: 978-1720301288

  Printed and Published in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Table of Contents

  Blind Beauty

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Author’s Note

  Crossing to Afendia

  Hart Spring

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To those who walk in darkness but seek light.

  When Jesus spoke again to the people, He said, “I am the light of the world. He who follows Me will never walk in darkness but have the light of life.”

  John 8:12

  Dedication

  With inexpressible thanks to Jesus Christ, the One who planted the rose of love in my heart.

  And to Dr. Mila Truan, the teacher

  who opened the eyes in my fingertips as she taught me to read Braille.

  Her dedication carried me through a gateway into journeys I’ll always treasure.

  Part 1: Two Roses

  Chapter One

  Jenna strolled through the lush meadows, delighting in the soft song of the grass beneath her feet. She listened for any sound that would herald someone following her, but she heard no one to hinder her walk. She sighed in relief. Songbirds serenaded her in joyous trills, and the scent of spring was redolent upon the air. Spring was her favorite season, the time when the land of Floraine radiated new life. It was the season when flowers and trees awoke from sleep and praised Tecoptra for his goodness. She remembered a proverb Mother had always been fond of murmuring: “The fragrance of spring is the fragrance of love.” Spring had been Mother’s favorite season too.

  As Jenna ascended the small hillock before her, she felt a thrill of anticipation. Her destination lay just ahead. She remembered how she used to admire the profusion of pink and white blossoms upon the majestic apple trees. Now she had to rely upon her ears, which brought to her the rustling music of the trees’ songs. Anger at the injustice threatened to rise and mar the beautiful morning, so she forced it back.

  Jenna entered the apple orchard, brushing the sturdy stick she carried along the ground. Poppa had carved the guidance tool for her. As she walked, the tool encountered obstacles that would have caused her to fall. Thus she was able to avoid accidents.

  As Jenna shuffled onward, a soft sound stole upon her: the sound of weeping. The piteous cries issued from her appointed destination.

  Jenna was drawn to the cries. Hadn’t she made those moans of desolation only six months earlier? Shaking, she followed the sounds to her tree.

  When trouble began stalking her family, Jenna had sought refuge in the orchard that lay beyond the village. Her tree was a perfect sanctuary. Jenna named it the Tree with the Humped Back, for it bent at an awkward angle. Even so, there was no denying its majesty.

  The Tree with the Humped Back was sacred in Jenna’s mind. Before the fire occurred, she had often come here to read.

  Jenna approached the tree, compassion filling her heart. Softly, she asked, “Why’re you crying?”

  “Go away!” A boy’s snarling voice reached her ears.

  Jenna involuntarily shuddered, for the voice was harsher than any she’d ever heard. Then she admonished herself for being silly.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  She heard thudding footfalls as someone stepped from behind the tree. “Go away,” the boy repeated. “Why aren’t you running?”

  Fear was receding in favor of indignation. After all, she was trying to help. “Why should I leave? This is my tree.”

  “I was here first,” the boy said indignantly.

  Jenna heard the sadness beneath the harsh tones of the boy’s voice. Despite her frustration, she decided to be polite. She groped within the pocket of her threadbare frock. She withdrew two pieces of peppermint candy and popped one into her mouth. She also retrieved a small handkerchief. Holding forth her offerings, Jenna said around the melting sweetness, “These peppermint drops always comfort me. My sister makes them. She sells them at market. Would you like one?”

  There was a long pause. Then Jenna felt a brief touch against her palm. She shivered at the touch, for the hand was strangely heavy. When its hold was relinquished, the peppermint had been taken. She still held the handkerchief.

  The boy spoke again, his voice emerging from behind the tree. “That’s a girl’s handkerchief.”

  Jenna laughed. “So?”

  “I don’t need your help. Why’re you pestering me?”

  Enough was enough! “If you’ve nothing civil to say, then leave! You’re ruining my alone time.” Jenna trailed her hands along her tree’s crooked trunk. She placed her feet upon the lowest branch and began to climb. Her hands and legs shook with weakness as she pulled herself upward. Yet she was determined.

  Ah! Here was her branch at last. She sat and began swinging her legs as she caught her breath. “I know you’re still there,” she called cheekily.

  “If you don’t go away, I’ll make the tree let you go.”

  Jenna felt a shiver stroke her spine. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll break the branch. You’ll fall.”

  Jenna snorted, an unladylike but appropriate sound given the circumstances. “You’re a ninny. You have no power over trees. They wouldn’t listen to a stuck-up—”

  She felt the tree move, a sharp thrusting motion as if it were pushing against her. Jenna gasped. The tree moved yet again, and a snapping sound filled her ears. She plummeted toward the ground.

  She felt two strange hands grip her sides, halting her fall. She was gently lowered to the ground. The hands felt like large paws, but her mind spun in confusion, and she wondered if she was imagining this fact. She stumbled as she tried to regain her bearings and brushed against something sharp with many prongs. She flinched.

  Jenna heard the grass rustle as the boy moved next to her. “You shouldn’t have said that.” His voice trembled. “You can’t see, can you?”

  Jenna didn�
�t speak. She was too frightened. Frantically, she groped for her guidance tool, which had dropped to the ground. She gasped when her exploring fingers touched a severed branch that lay beneath the tree. “How could you?” she whispered.

  She felt her stick being placed within her hand. ”I was only trying to frighten you. I’ll leave now,” the boy said.

  Jenna stepped away from the tree. Swallowing, she said, “I’m sorry I called you a ninny. You weren’t letting me help. Poppa and Mirabel are like that, and it makes me mad. Are you a Flower Master? I thought only grown-ups spoke to flora.”

  “Claudio says Flower Masters can be any age. Trees and flowers are my friends. I talk to this one every time I come here, and he talks to me. Now he’ll probably never speak to me again. He’s furious.”

  As if to confirm his words, the tree’s branches rustled violently, several apple blossoms falling to the ground as it did so.

  “I’ve made him cry,” the boy whispered sadly.

  “This tree’s my friend,” Jenna said. “I never thought it would try to hurt me.”

  “He wouldn’t have on his own. He says he’s sorry. So am I.” After another long silence, the boy said, “I’m glad you cannot see.”

  Jenna blinked, unsure what to say. She thought of the fire. “It’s hard,” she said. Then, to distract herself, she asked, “Will you tell me why you were crying when I found you?”

  “I wasn’t crying,” he growled.

  Jenna sighed. “I’m not dimwitted.”

  “Maybe I was crying, but you would too if your father told you not to leave the house and threatened to lock you in.”

  Empathy stirred within Jenna’s heart. “But, you did leave,” she pointed out.

  “I snuck out. The roses helped me. The servants’ll be searching.”

  Jenna leant forward, whispering conspiratorially, “I snuck out too.”

  It was then that Jenna heard footfalls and a frantic cry. She felt her arm being jerked.

  “Catch him!” Poppa’s hoarse voice yelled.

  Jenna struggled against Poppa’s grip, crying out in indignation.

  She heard shouts as a large crowd approached her. She heard someone running and the twang of bowstrings and the whoosh of arrows. A low whimper stole upon her ears. Poppa lifted her into his arms. He began running, paying no heed to his daughter’s angry flailings.

  When Jenna was finally placed upon the ground, she snarled, “How did you find me? I thought you’d gone to help mend Ms. Carruthers’ roof.”

  Poppa spoke through clenched teeth. “Confound you, girl! Thank Tecoptra’s providence, I forgot my tools. I found Mirabel in a dreadful state. She said she went next door to give Charlotte some mint syrup for the baby’s cough. She’d only just returned and couldn’t find you. Can’t we leave you even for a minute? What were you thinking?”

  “I’m sick of being cooped up, Poppa. You won’t let me go anywhere.”

  “That’s not true. You accompany Mirabel to market every time she goes.”

  “Yes, and what do I do there?” Jenna’s voice shook. “I sit on a stool and swing my legs. People cluck at me. They’re like ill-bred hens! I had to get away.” She blinked rapidly, her eyes burning. Sadness burrowed into her soul like an animal unreleased. “How could you hurt that boy? I was only trying to help.”

  “What boy?” Poppa’s voice was softer now, tinged with concern. “That beast would’ve killed you.”

  Jenna blinked. “Beast?”

  Poppa clutched her hand. She felt him trembling. “A monster,” he whispered. “A wolf with a deer’s head.”

  Jenna shuddered. Poppa was many things—a worrier, a careless businessman, and a protector—but he wasn’t a liar. Yet what he was saying was absurd, wasn’t it? She thought of the boy’s touch. Had she been imagining it, or had his hand felt paw-like? Shaking, she allowed Poppa to lead her home.

  Chapter Two

  Paul ran, his paws padding upon the soft earth. His sides heaved with exertion. He knew the arrow had simply grazed his shoulder. Yet fear coursed through him in relentless waves. What if they found him? Was the girl all right?

  “Oh, Tecoptra spare me!”

  Paul sagged in relief as the familiar voice broke upon his ears. He saw Claudio’s weathered face and worried frown. The elderly servant hobbled toward his master’s son with many rheumatic cursings. Paul stopped running to allow the servant to reach him.

  “You’ll be the death of me, boy!”

  Paul growled threateningly, but the angry sound only made Claudio laugh. “Don’t call me boy,” Paul snarled.

  “Don’t know what else to call someone who disobeys his father’s orders.” Claudio held out a heavily veined hand, gently touching Paul’s shoulder. “He’s only trying to protect you.”

  “I don’t want protection. I just want—” Paul stopped speaking. He didn’t know what he wanted. After a moment, he told Claudio of his encounter with the girl and the incident with the tree. “The tree said he obeyed me because my anger flowed into him. He couldn’t control what he did. I didn’t mean to hurt her. Her face was so sad, and she had scars around her eyes. She was so nice, and she didn’t run away.”

  Claudio nodded, his brown eyes filled with concern. “It’s fortunate she wasn’t hurt. The tree recognized you as master. Now I think I understand how you’ve been escaping. I’ll make a bargain with you.”

  Paul stiffened. “Bargain?”

  “Yes. Your father insists you stay in your room, and, for a Flower Master, that’s akin to death. I’ll ask him to allow you to walk within the garden every day.”

  Paul scowled. “You’ve tried that before.”

  Claudio smiled. “But now you’ve given me proof of what you are. I think he’ll listen this time.” He lifted his hand, turning so that his gaze fell upon the vast array of apple trees. “I must take you home. Close your eyes.”

  “I won’t be put to sleep this time. You can’t make me,” Paul snarled.

  “I haven’t a choice. You know your father.” Claudio softly addressed the trees. “Summon a zephyr to conduct us home.”

  Instantly, the trees began rustling their branches in obedience to the order, and a gentle breeze began to blow. The zephyr wrapped itself around Paul’s body, cradling him like an infant. He struggled against the breeze, but it held him firm. Finally, Paul’s eyes closed, and he sank into a deep slumber.

  The zephyr lifted him from the ground. It bore him away, and Claudio followed in the zephyr’s wake until Paul was deposited before a shimmering gate.

  Claudio surveyed the gate before him.

  It was an enchanted gate that he had erected himself. Only he or the sentries posted within the grounds could open it. Claudio murmured some words, and the gate opened soundlessly. The zephyr lifted Paul once again, ushering him inside and laying him upon the ground.

  A cobblestoned walkway bordered by rosebushes of red and white gleamed before Claudio’s eyes. As Claudio stepped onto the path, the gate closed behind him.

  “You’ve found him, have you?” A stout man emerged from a clump of rosebushes. The man’s emerald eyes sparked with anger. “What trouble has he caused? Did he attack someone?”

  “He’s hurt, master.” Claudio pointed to Paul’s sleeping form.

  The man flinched and bent to examine Paul’s shoulder. “How long will he sleep? Did you make him forget his time outside?”

  Claudio sighed. “He’ll sleep for an hour. When he awakens, he won’t remember leaving here. It’s against my better judgment to continue casting memory charms, master. One day, they’ll no longer work, and we’ll suffer for it; you mark my words.”

  The man frowned. “You wouldn’t have to resort to charms if you’d just listen to me. The wound’s not serious. Bandage it and take him to his room. Be certain to lock his door.”

  “I won’t subject him to imprisonment.”

  The man glared. “You’ll obey me or seek another situation.”

  Claudio smiled at this blu
ff. He was threatened with firing at least twice a day. “How will you keep an eye on him without me, Gustav?”

  Gustav glared, but his voice was resigned when he said, “Just make sure he doesn’t escape again. He could’ve been killed.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? He did what any self-respecting boy would do. Wouldn’t you want freedom? Why won’t you let him be a child?”

  “Because he’s not a child. That witch saw to that.” Gustav spoke harshly even as tears shimmered in his eyes.

  Claudio flinched. “Gwendolyn isn’t a witch. She’s a Flower Mistress. She didn’t realize the implications of her actions. Magic is unpredictable, and she was young. I believe Paul is a Flower Master too. That’s how he’s been escaping. He talks to the roses of his longing to leave here, and they grant his request.”

  Gustav stared. “Then instruct them to stop. Don’t you have more control over them than he does?”

  Claudio nodded, but he fidgeted nervously. “The ability to converse with flora is a gift from Tecoptra. To interfere with it is wrong. He has a purpose in giving Paul that gift.”

  “Don’t speak to me of this so-called Tecoptra. I’ve no patience with myths. If he exists, he certainly doesn’t care about our plight.”

  “I think he cares more than you know. Why else would he take the trouble to give Paul such a gift? Your son is lonely, Gustav. The flowers are his only companions. Tecoptra doesn’t want Paul to be confined like an animal in a cage. He wants him to grow up like any normal person.”

  Gustav’s face crumpled, and he stared at his sleeping son, his shoulders shaking. “Paul may behave like a child, but it doesn’t change how he looks. People only care about what they can see. That’s life, and the sooner we accept that truth, the better. I’m Paul’s father, and I’ll determine what’s best for him. Take him to his room, and this time, make sure he stays there.”

  “I shall, if you’ll make me a promise.” Claudio’s tone was stern. Gustav had no choice but to listen. His servant, who had served his father and grandfather before him, was wise and knew much.