Page 2 of Eternal Obsession

Circa 1789

“It’s down to us, Alex,” I warned my younger brother. “We must save the castle. Pirates are scaling the wall. We fight for honor.”

At the age of ten years, I often gained great delight in teasing Alex. I held the telescope up to my eye, and from my bedroom window viewed the still waters spreading out beyond the castle. It was late evening, and I watched my younger brother beside me pull on his dress shirt, readying for dinner.

“Jadeon!” He tugged at the telescope. “Let me see.”

“Pirates.”

Alex grabbed the telescope. He too scanned the horizon, and on seeing nothing but a calm sea, agreed with me.

We both ran out of the room carrying our wooden swords with us, down the dark corridors, past the armory, and out under the stone archway onto the large granite steps leading to the grassy lawn. We made our way down to the rocky reef below, hidden behind the castle walls. The sea crashed against the rocks. The moon reflected off its mutable surface. Here, at the water’s edge, we fought with our swords swaying this way and that, taking on the imaginary pirates one by one, using our weapons masterfully.

Each blissful memory blended into innocent days interfused with one another as we shared willingly in everything. I was similar to our father, with his dark complexion and deep brown eyes, tall in stature for one so young, and in temperament intensely serious and passionate. My brother, with his short blond curls and cherubic appearance, had inherited our mother’s fairness of skin and her crystal blue eyes. His nature was similar too, quiet and thoughtful, yet spontaneous and vibrant. He looked up to me and relied upon my guidance in all things. Perhaps this dependence was exaggerated because of our father’s interminable distance toward us.

Lord William Artimas, our father and master of the castle, always seemed otherwise detained or distracted. He would disappear for weeks at a time on important state affairs, only to return to the castle disquieted and just as aloof. Very often, I would wait by his study on his return, hoping to catch a moment of his time, only to be shooed away by Arthur, his personal secretary. Father would frequently pass us along the corridors without a second glance, his mind so focused on serious matters.

Lord Artimas was an intimidating presence. At six-foot-three, he held an imperious demeanor—a dark and thoughtful face often frowning with the worries of running the large estate and the people who lived there. Despite this, he was a loving father when he had the time, and his attentions, though brief, were of an encouraging nature. He would always appear delighted when we were presented to him on evenings when his commitments would allow, and he reveled in each new skill we had mastered.

Lady Anna Beth Artimas, our doting mother, always seemed without a worry and kept busy with the day-to-day pleasures of the castle, entertaining their friends and visitors. Our mother liked to ensure her sons received an education fit for the lords we would one day become, and a spontaneous visit to our classroom was not unusual. She often pulled us enthusiastically outside to view the blossoming of a new flower or the arrival of a grand ship within view of the castle, only to send us back into the classroom again to continue with our studies.

Lady Artimas’ closest ally was Sara De Mercy, the wife of Father Edward De Mercy of the Parish Marazion. The two had grown close as friends while their husbands were engrossed in business, and they could be seen whispering or laughing in corners of the castle, taking a turn around the great hall during banquets, or sitting together at the grand castle dinners. They had found solace in each other’s company, and their temperaments suited one another.

The De Mercys had two daughters—a newborn and Catherine, who was a year younger than me. Catherine looked forward to her weekly visits to the castle and enjoyed the short but adventurous boat trip out to the island. She was often placed beside us at gatherings. She was the image of her mother, possessing her large grey eyes, fair skin, and blond curls cascading down her back.

To us, she appeared angelic, and while at times we were apprehensive she would disturb our robustious play, she was always a worthy advocate. Catherine, not content with running away as a frightened damsel from deadly, make-believe dragons, soon took up her own wooden sword—one of my discarded toys—and fought the imagined serpents as well, much to our delight.

She often took her meals and even her lessons with us. Although this turn of events was most unusual and potentially scandalous, it neither deterred nor prevented the three of us from spending such time together, as our mothers had encouraged. Soon, we were inseparable when Catherine visited the island.

Chapter Two

JADEON

By the age of ten, I had developed a deep affection for Catherine, and we rarely played with wooden swords now, but she was often in my presence. Her gentle temperament brought me out of my shell, and it was she who introduced me to astronomy. She would point up at the stars and test my knowledge of the formations. During the long winter nights, we found rooms within the castle in which to hide, and in the summer, we stole out to the water’s edge where we would chat well into the morning… all so very innocent.

My parents could never figure out why I slept so much during the day.

On a night so similar to the others, I lay under my bed covers and strained to keep my eyes open. I had again arranged to meet Catherine, whose family had enjoyed a late-night dinner as guests of my parents and were staying in the east wing. When the appointed hour arrived, I dressed as quietly as possible, glancing occasionally at my brother who slept soundly beside me. Alex, despite having his own bedroom, often preferred to sleep in my bed, where he found comfort from his fear of the dark. I had grown used to his need and didn’t mind at all.

The floorboards creaked, as if cursing my footing. I reached for Alex’s still-burning candle from the small rosewood table before heading out to the south terrace. I tiptoed through the shadows, hugging the walls, and made my way down the sweeping staircase into the main hallway toward the exit.

Screams echoed.

I stopped.

They came from a corridor that led away from the foyer. I followed the sobs, proceeding cautiously down the dark, intimidating corridor positioned to the right of the main stairwell. To my horror, a gust of wind blew out the flame from my candle, and for a moment I was thrown into complete blackness.

I hoped Catherine would wait.

My eyes adjusted to the shadowy darkness—again, those female cries—and despite my overwhelming dread, I could not turn back. The noises resonated from the castle’s dungeons.

I held my candle in front of me, as though by some miracle it would relight, and fumbled my way down the stairs with my left hand on the cold stone wall, using the torchlight that reflected from the lower chambers. I heard a scuffle from inside the very room my father had strictly forbidden me ever to enter. I considered waking him up but was drawn to the door.

Crouching down, I peered through the keyhole. Numerous candles lit the chamber, allowing a fair view of the men who moved purposefully within. Muffled voices now rhythmically chanted, and over them came a woman’s voice.

My hands trembled, and I willed them to stop.

I peeked again. A shrill almost knocked me back. Something very bad was happening. A girl begged for mercy. I considered saving her from the monsters that tortured her. Father would know what to do.