The Rose of Caledon
Boom!
A glancing blow shook the turret, rousing the small girl in the bed from a sound sleep.
Boom!
Another cannon blast.
An answering boom resonated through the turret from somewhere above her head.
“Mama?”
The little girl, her blond curls tousled from sleep, shed her blankets and padded across the cold, stone floor on bare feet. With a grunt, she lifted the latch from the heavy wooden shutters over the window and used all her little might to drag the panel open. Bracing her hands on the stone window ledge, she hauled herself up to kneel on the broad sill. Her wide blue eyes scanned the dark waters below Caledon Castle and her breath caught in a gasp. Where usually an empty expanse of ocean lay, now a dozen ships littered the water. One was ablaze, lighting the night with fire, and cannon blasted from its hull in a desperate attempt to take as many vessels down with it as possible.
Another boom of cannon from thirty feet above her head sent the child into a crouch, with her hands over her head. “Mama!” Her trembling cry was lost in the cannon blasts.
Some of the ships flew the blue and gold flag that the girl recognized, but others did not. How did the foreign vessels with their brown flags with the silver dragons on them get so close? Mama said that the navy would never let Langdon’s ships approach Ampleforth’s harbor. So why were they here, outside her bedroom window?
Boom! The turret shook with the force of the cannonball that struck the side of the cliff below the castle. The girl screamed and cowered in the corner of the windowsill, wanting to retreat to safety behind the shutters, but too terrified to move.
Boom! The turret answered with a defensive blast of its own, and one of the dragon-flag ships on the water took a direct hit, exploding in a hailstorm of wood, metal, and sail.
The child’s bedroom door flew open.
“Princess! Get away from the window!” a deep voice bellowed.
The little girl looked back at the dark figure dashing across the room toward her.
“Stay away!” she shrieked, scrambling on the windowsill, wanting to flee the intruder, but knowing that a two hundred foot drop to the rocks below awaited her if she backed too far.
Muscled arms reached out, grabbing her and pulling her from the windowsill as though she weighed no more than a feather, clutching her tightly against a broad chest. The child struggled violently.
“It’s alright, Princess Katherine,” the man scolded gently. “We’re going to Mama.”
He started across the room with her, away from the window and the battle on the water.
“I want Aileen!” the child shrieked, reaching toward her bed.
“No time!” the man argued.
“Aileen!” she hollered again.
With an impatient groan, the man sidetracked to the bed, plucking a fabric doll with a porcelain face from the sheets and shoving it roughly into the little girl’s hands. She gripped her treasure tightly with one hand, tucking it against her white nightdress under her chin.
She knew the man who held her. He was Mr. Callahan, the blacksmith who worked in Father’s stables. She recognized his jet black hair and his clean-shaven jaw.
“What are you doing in my room?” she queried wonderingly.
Callahan ignored her, striding out of the room and down the winding, uneven turret stairs with an accuracy in the darkness that startled the child. On the next landing, a woman joined them, leading a sleepy-headed boy about nine years old from the lower turret bedroom.
“Hurry, Aislinn,” Callahan urged. “We have no time to lose!”
“James?” the little girl queried.
Her brother was too groggy to answer, but Aislinn, Mama’s maid, squeezed Katherine’s hand where it rested on Joseph Callahan’s broad shoulder.
“It will be alright, Kate, my poppet,” she assured the girl. “Father’s navy and the Elite Guard in the tower will sink all of Langdon’s ships!”
“That’s not Langdon,” Callahan growled. “That’s Zandor.”
Kate caught the fleeting look of terror on Aislinn’s face. Zandor! Kate did not know much about Zandor, but she knew enough to know that Zandor caused infinitely more fear in her parents than Langdon did. Why were Zandorian ships so close to the castle?
Another cannon blast rocked the turret, and Kate heard Aislinn echo her scream. Joseph gripped Kate still more tightly with one hand and wrapped his other arm around the shoulders of Mama’s maid. So leading the little party, he herded the woman and the two children out of the turret and down the hallway to the grand staircase.
Her small hand gripping the blacksmith’s corded neck, Kate’s frightened eyes swept over the staircase and the darkened grand hall below. The gargoyle faces wrought in the iron stairwell glared at her with fierce eyes that suddenly began to spit fire at her, like the cannon blasts from the ships in the harbor below the castle. Kate cringed and looked straight ahead with teary eyes as sparks flew around them. Halfway down the stairs, a white specter rose from nowhere and flew at them with black-rimmed, hollow eyes, her arms outstretched as though to stop their flight, her mouth gaping in a silent howl.
Kate screamed, covering her head with her hands to shield herself from the ghost, dropping Aileen. The doll’s porcelain face shattered on the stone stair, and Kate cried out, struggling to get down to retrieve her, but Joseph would not relinquish his hold and bulled right through the apparition. Kate felt the phantom’s icy fingers clutch at her flesh through her nightdress, and then she vanished. The group reached the grand hall and Joseph steered them all toward the study on the east side of the castle. Relief momentarily flooded Kate. No one could penetrate Father’s study. Not even Zandor. They would be safe there.
Joseph flung the door open, and to Kate’s horror, a piercing shriek met her ears, and a flying serpent with a wingspan as wide as the room swooped toward the door, fire bursting from his nostrils, his toothy beak agape, reaching for her. He grasped her arm with powerful talons, yanking her from Joseph’s grip, and flew with her through the ballroom and out the west balcony doors, over the water where the navies battled. From a tremendous height above the blazing ship, he dropped her with a cry of triumph.
She was flailing, falling toward the flaming water and the cannon crossfire. “Mama!” she wailed, clutching for anything to break her fall; even the dragon’s vicious beak would be welcome. She met the water, breathtakingly cold and black, with a bone-shattering crack, and sank beneath the waves…
Princess Katherine Grenleigh sat bolt upright in bed, clutching her tangled blankets to her chest, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. She remained motionless for a moment, her wide, blue eyes scanning the room frantically, searching for the flicker of firelight. All was dark. She listened for the thunder of cannon but heard nothing. Flinging the covers aside, she padded on bare feet across the cold, stone floor to the window. She pulled the curtains apart and pushed open the pane of glass that separated her from the chilly, spring night.
The water was empty. No ships lurked below the castle. The cannon perched at the top of the south turret was silent. The only sound was the waves breaking on the rocks two hundred feet below her window.
She leaned her elbows on the windowsill and rested her head in her hands, forcing herself to breathe slowly through her nose.
Why did that night in 1587 still haunt her, nearly fifteen years later? And why did Caledonian legends of ghosts and dragons always mix with the facts of that terrifying night when Zandor had attacked the castle unawares, in the dark? Caledon’s navy had sunk four ships and driven the rest away, but Kate knew they would come back.
She climbed onto the windowsill, leaned her back against the stone frame and pulled her knees to her chest, contemplating the water so far below her.
Sometime, some night, when they were least expected, Zandor would come back. Fear clutched her like the ghost of her nightmare, and she stayed seated on the broad windowsill, watching the empty waters until dawn streaked the sky with pink, purple, and gold.
A glancing blow shook the turret, rousing the small girl in the bed from a sound sleep.
Boom!
Another cannon blast.
An answering boom resonated through the turret from somewhere above her head.
“Mama?”
The little girl, her blond curls tousled from sleep, shed her blankets and padded across the cold, stone floor on bare feet. With a grunt, she lifted the latch from the heavy wooden shutters over the window and used all her little might to drag the panel open. Bracing her hands on the stone window ledge, she hauled herself up to kneel on the broad sill. Her wide blue eyes scanned the dark waters below Caledon Castle and her breath caught in a gasp. Where usually an empty expanse of ocean lay, now a dozen ships littered the water. One was ablaze, lighting the night with fire, and cannon blasted from its hull in a desperate attempt to take as many vessels down with it as possible.
Another boom of cannon from thirty feet above her head sent the child into a crouch, with her hands over her head. “Mama!” Her trembling cry was lost in the cannon blasts.
Some of the ships flew the blue and gold flag that the girl recognized, but others did not. How did the foreign vessels with their brown flags with the silver dragons on them get so close? Mama said that the navy would never let Langdon’s ships approach Ampleforth’s harbor. So why were they here, outside her bedroom window?
Boom! The turret shook with the force of the cannonball that struck the side of the cliff below the castle. The girl screamed and cowered in the corner of the windowsill, wanting to retreat to safety behind the shutters, but too terrified to move.
Boom! The turret answered with a defensive blast of its own, and one of the dragon-flag ships on the water took a direct hit, exploding in a hailstorm of wood, metal, and sail.
The child’s bedroom door flew open.
“Princess! Get away from the window!” a deep voice bellowed.
The little girl looked back at the dark figure dashing across the room toward her.
“Stay away!” she shrieked, scrambling on the windowsill, wanting to flee the intruder, but knowing that a two hundred foot drop to the rocks below awaited her if she backed too far.
Muscled arms reached out, grabbing her and pulling her from the windowsill as though she weighed no more than a feather, clutching her tightly against a broad chest. The child struggled violently.
“It’s alright, Princess Katherine,” the man scolded gently. “We’re going to Mama.”
He started across the room with her, away from the window and the battle on the water.
“I want Aileen!” the child shrieked, reaching toward her bed.
“No time!” the man argued.
“Aileen!” she hollered again.
With an impatient groan, the man sidetracked to the bed, plucking a fabric doll with a porcelain face from the sheets and shoving it roughly into the little girl’s hands. She gripped her treasure tightly with one hand, tucking it against her white nightdress under her chin.
She knew the man who held her. He was Mr. Callahan, the blacksmith who worked in Father’s stables. She recognized his jet black hair and his clean-shaven jaw.
“What are you doing in my room?” she queried wonderingly.
Callahan ignored her, striding out of the room and down the winding, uneven turret stairs with an accuracy in the darkness that startled the child. On the next landing, a woman joined them, leading a sleepy-headed boy about nine years old from the lower turret bedroom.
“Hurry, Aislinn,” Callahan urged. “We have no time to lose!”
“James?” the little girl queried.
Her brother was too groggy to answer, but Aislinn, Mama’s maid, squeezed Katherine’s hand where it rested on Joseph Callahan’s broad shoulder.
“It will be alright, Kate, my poppet,” she assured the girl. “Father’s navy and the Elite Guard in the tower will sink all of Langdon’s ships!”
“That’s not Langdon,” Callahan growled. “That’s Zandor.”
Kate caught the fleeting look of terror on Aislinn’s face. Zandor! Kate did not know much about Zandor, but she knew enough to know that Zandor caused infinitely more fear in her parents than Langdon did. Why were Zandorian ships so close to the castle?
Another cannon blast rocked the turret, and Kate heard Aislinn echo her scream. Joseph gripped Kate still more tightly with one hand and wrapped his other arm around the shoulders of Mama’s maid. So leading the little party, he herded the woman and the two children out of the turret and down the hallway to the grand staircase.
Her small hand gripping the blacksmith’s corded neck, Kate’s frightened eyes swept over the staircase and the darkened grand hall below. The gargoyle faces wrought in the iron stairwell glared at her with fierce eyes that suddenly began to spit fire at her, like the cannon blasts from the ships in the harbor below the castle. Kate cringed and looked straight ahead with teary eyes as sparks flew around them. Halfway down the stairs, a white specter rose from nowhere and flew at them with black-rimmed, hollow eyes, her arms outstretched as though to stop their flight, her mouth gaping in a silent howl.
Kate screamed, covering her head with her hands to shield herself from the ghost, dropping Aileen. The doll’s porcelain face shattered on the stone stair, and Kate cried out, struggling to get down to retrieve her, but Joseph would not relinquish his hold and bulled right through the apparition. Kate felt the phantom’s icy fingers clutch at her flesh through her nightdress, and then she vanished. The group reached the grand hall and Joseph steered them all toward the study on the east side of the castle. Relief momentarily flooded Kate. No one could penetrate Father’s study. Not even Zandor. They would be safe there.
Joseph flung the door open, and to Kate’s horror, a piercing shriek met her ears, and a flying serpent with a wingspan as wide as the room swooped toward the door, fire bursting from his nostrils, his toothy beak agape, reaching for her. He grasped her arm with powerful talons, yanking her from Joseph’s grip, and flew with her through the ballroom and out the west balcony doors, over the water where the navies battled. From a tremendous height above the blazing ship, he dropped her with a cry of triumph.
She was flailing, falling toward the flaming water and the cannon crossfire. “Mama!” she wailed, clutching for anything to break her fall; even the dragon’s vicious beak would be welcome. She met the water, breathtakingly cold and black, with a bone-shattering crack, and sank beneath the waves…
Princess Katherine Grenleigh sat bolt upright in bed, clutching her tangled blankets to her chest, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. She remained motionless for a moment, her wide, blue eyes scanning the room frantically, searching for the flicker of firelight. All was dark. She listened for the thunder of cannon but heard nothing. Flinging the covers aside, she padded on bare feet across the cold, stone floor to the window. She pulled the curtains apart and pushed open the pane of glass that separated her from the chilly, spring night.
The water was empty. No ships lurked below the castle. The cannon perched at the top of the south turret was silent. The only sound was the waves breaking on the rocks two hundred feet below her window.
She leaned her elbows on the windowsill and rested her head in her hands, forcing herself to breathe slowly through her nose.
Why did that night in 1587 still haunt her, nearly fifteen years later? And why did Caledonian legends of ghosts and dragons always mix with the facts of that terrifying night when Zandor had attacked the castle unawares, in the dark? Caledon’s navy had sunk four ships and driven the rest away, but Kate knew they would come back.
She climbed onto the windowsill, leaned her back against the stone frame and pulled her knees to her chest, contemplating the water so far below her.
Sometime, some night, when they were least expected, Zandor would come back. Fear clutched her like the ghost of her nightmare, and she stayed seated on the broad windowsill, watching the empty waters until dawn streaked the sky with pink, purple, and gold.
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(c) 2017 Christine Stobbe
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The Rose of Caledon
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