Aphrodite's Acolyte Read Online Free Page A

wood, Father?” Fidel asked.
    “No, I suppose not,” Methvas replied.
    Methvas motioned for Fidel's staff and pack. Fidel handed them over and Methvas quickly handed them to the caretaker of the keep.
    “Whom do you want to speak to first?” Methvas asked.
    Fidel thought for a second, “I would prefer to talk with Yardana first.”
    Methvas motioned Fidel to the stairway and they headed up the stone steps. The father and son duo stopped shortly at the second level of the complex, a large room full of weapons and armor spread out wide before them. Methvas showed Fidel around the armory.
    Fidel examined the various weapons and armor on the level, paying much favor to the blunt weapons like the staffs, maces, and morning stars. He picked up a one inch thick plain-looking staff and noticed it was solid metal. He started to twirl it end over end, surprised at the weapons balance, but noting the weight slowed his movements significantly.
    Methvas admired his son's ability to use a staff so effectively, so perfectly, a skill Fidel possessed upon his arrival in Harlow's Hovel. Methvas observed as Fidel executed a few routines. Then the elf put the staff back on the weapon rack.
    “What do you think?” Methvas inquired.
    “A very solid and balanced weapon. But too slow to wield for an elf like myself. Perhaps best suited for a barbarian with quite a bit more meat on their bones.” Fidel responded lightheartedly.
    They continued on up the next flight of stairs. The third level of the keep contained a series of chambers, eight by Fidel's count. Methvas led Fidel down the hall and stopped in front of one of the chamber doors. Methvas lightly tapped on the door.
    “Come in,” called a soft voice from the other side of the door.
    Methvas entered the chamber first, followed closely by Fidel. Fidel watched as Yardana put her arms around Methvas in a hug, her brown eyes glowing and her blond hair radiating against the gray castle walls. She was the cleanest Fidel had ever seen this young child in her entire life. Not a sign of dirt on her exposed skin and not a single stain on her red dress. Methvas pulled away from Yardana and motioned to Fidel.
    “Do you remember my son, Fidel?”
    She nodded. “Yes, Fidel and I have always been friends,” she responded in her youthful voice. She walked over and embraced Fidel in a tight and exuberant hug. He returned in kind, not sure what to make of her overly friendly greeting.
    “Yardana, Fidel has a few questions for you regarding why you are here. Would you be comfortable sharing your story with him?” Methvas asked.
    She pulled away from Fidel and held him at arm's length. She stared deep into his eyes as-if judging his worthiness to hear her tale.
    “I can trust Fidel. I will tell him.”
    She turned around and walked over to her bed. She sat down and stared at the ground for a few moments. Fidel saw a tear fall from her face to the ground, breaking into a dozen facets as it hit the stone floor. Fidel swallowed hard. He could imagine how difficult the story was for her. His throat tensing up and guilt racing through his mind on how he brought this child back to whatever painful memory that was stuck in her head. Yardana looked up slowly and locked her tearful gaze into Fidel's eyes.
    “Fidel, my papa is a bad man,” her voice cracked as she continued, “He would touch me like a papa shouldn't touch a daughter. He touched me like a papa would touch a mama.”
    Fidel considered her words for a minute, a sudden clarity overcame him as he realized the meaning behind her words. Fidel's face turned bright red with anger. He could feel the heat on his face and his body started to tremor with pure fury, ready to explode.
    “Fidel, do not be upset. Your papa saved me from my papa. Be happy for me. My sister was,” Yardana broke into tears and sobbed heavily, “not as fortunate. She died a few months ago when she refused papa his desires.”
    Methvas, recognizing the flash of his son's