Entry #439799, added on 08-08-06 @ 1:44 pm EDT
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| Chapter Five - The King's Whey | Entry #439799 |
Elkwater's King
  | ID: 998876 (Rated: ASR)
Elkwater's King 
Two brothers follow a wary white German Shepherd to search for the King of a secret realm.
by Basilides   |
Chapter Five - The King's Whey
"If one tells the truth, one is sure sooner or later to be found out."
~Oscar Wilde
"It was him!" Michael accused, pointing at me. "Tim stole it! Make him give it back!"
"Why would I take it?" I calmly asked as I looked Aunt Eva straight in the eye. "I don't even like it. What would I want with that stupid gargoyle?"
"I do seem to remember you were not overly fond of the thing," Aunt Eva said to me.
"But...but...that's why he took it!" Michael sensed he was losing the upper hand in the argument. "He wanted to get rid of it so he wouldn't have to look at it any more."
"Gee, Mike," I responded with what I hoped sounded like cool reason, "If I took it, that means I'd have to look at it first. You're not making any sense."
"He's twisting things around!" Michael shouted, his face red."
"Calm down, Mike," I said in a quiet voice. "You really shouldn't get your temper up like that. Remember what Mom said about your asthma."
He looked at me, his face a dark red, his eyes wild. I knew if I pushed just one more button, I'd push him right over the edge. The antics that would follow his lost temper would surely end all debate. It was a tactic that always seemed to work for me.
But aunt Eva intervened.
"Timmy, stop it right now. Not another word."
She sat on the edge of the bed and took my brother's hand. "Do you remember where you last put it?" she asked.
Michael brethed hard, and swallowed once before he answered in a shaky voice, "Yeah. I took it out of my suitcase the day we got here and put it up on the bookshelf. But this morning I put it on Tim's nightstand."
"Tim's nightstand? Why did you put it there?"
Michael calmed down quickly. "Well, I...I mean...I was..."
"Because I didn't notice it up on the bookshelf," I answered. "And Mike wanted to be sure it was staring in my face when I woke up. But I didn't care. I left it there. And now he probably hid it and now he's trying to blame me."
"Shut up!" shouted Mike. "I didn't!"
"Were you taunting Timmy with the statue, Mike?" Aunt Eva was giving Mike a very serious look.
Michael's eyes dropped to the floor. "Yes, I was. I'm sorry. I won't do it again. But please make him give it back!"
Victory.
Aunt Eva turned to me. "Timmy, I think it is time to find that plaster gargoyle and give it to your brother, don't you?"
"I'm happy to help you guys look," I said, "But I have no clue where it is."
"Well, just do your best," Aunt Eva said in a tone that suggested she thought I knew perfectly well where it was. But I wasn't about to give up the game.
We looked for hours. And darned if we just couldn't seem to find the thing.
***********************************************
I didn’t think I would be able to sleep in that uncomfortable wooden seat, but somehow I must have drifted off because when I opened my eyes the sky whispered just a trace of dawn. I remembered the dream about the annoying plaster gargoyle Mom-mom had given us after her trip to Notre Dame Cathedral. There was more to the dream, but I didn’t dwell on it.
The journey down the Blue Pepper River the evening before had been peaceful and uneventful. I did learn that Morning-Tamer preferred to be called “Morn”, and he spoke to me about the way to behave properly at Court while managing to avoid answering most of my own questions. Our pace was swift, but Morn explained that we would not arrive at Pepperwood until this morning. We made for shore twice before land fell to eat cold wild game and dried fruit but we did not stop at night. Instead, one of the oarsmen set a lantern on the prow and we sped down the river until sleep overtook me.
In the morning greyness I drank in the surroundings. There was mist or fog all around us, and I wondered how the ruddersman could see to steer us. But it gradually began to clear a little, and my jaw dropped in amazement at the incredibly tall, stately trees on either side of the much narrower river. They were like giant Redwoods or Sequoias, and they grew so close to the river and so tall that it seemed we were sailing down a canyon. But not all the trees grew straight. Some were as gnarled and extended as oaks, but with trunks as wide as the Redwoods.
In the night, we had left the Blue Pepper River and taken one of its tributaries: the “King’s River.” Apparently we were very close to our destination. Morn stood at the bow near the Ruddersman, and his eyes were on the forest all around us.
Soon a huge bridge appeared in the sky ahead of us, and for a moment I wondered if we really were in some kind of canyon. But if it was a man-made bridge, it was made from a tree branch that extended from one huge oak to another, hollowed out a little so men could walk across. I knew this because men were on it, visible from the waist up, dressed almost exactly like Morn. Most were bronze-skinned like him, one was mahogany like an African, some paler, and even one redhead like Romber.
“Those are some of the Knights of the Hidden Stream, sixteen to greet you for the Sixteen Verses of Elkwater,” Morn said.
“What does that mean, ‘the Hidden Stream’?” I asked.
“It means that each of them have taken the journey to the Last Water at the western edge of Elkwater and been accepted into the Elk Ranges. They have passed a great test known only to each of them and gazed upon the waters of the Hidden Stream, which only the Usher can show. Many fail this journey. Many turn back. Many die.”
“There are only fifteen of them,” I said. “Are you the sixteenth? Are you a Knight of the Hidden Stream?”
But Morn did not answer. Instead he unsheathed the sword at his back and held it to the sky, still gazing at the knights above him. The Fifteen drew their own swords and pointed them down at us until we passed under the bridge. Then, they turned and raised them to the sky.
Morn sheathed his sword and whispered, “Well met, my brothers.”
I looked at Morn's face. I'd never seen such a look before. But it reminded me of the look on my soccer coach's face the year before, when we won the state quartefinal - only more so.
The river widened a little then, and so our pace slowed. The giant trees on either bank did not diminish, but the river was now wide enough to let in some sunlight between the overhanging branches. Ahead, materializing from the clearing mist, was a sight no dreamer ever presumed to imagine.
A mighty, wooden structure was straddling the river. It was as if the builders wanted to erect a massive hunting lodge, and changed their minds halfway to build a castle. On the one hand it was raw and wild, and looked almost as if it grew out of the giant trees surrounding it on either riverbank. But on the other hand it was complex and exquisite, full of carved shutters on dark blue windows and towers spiralling like even taller trees to the heavens. At its base, great stone supports plunged into the river, and half a dozen watermills harnessed the flow of King's River.
But beneath the exact center of the structure was a wide archway where the river ran freely underneath. We were heading straight for it. There seemed to be at least a forty foot clearance, so huge was the arch and the castle above it. I was speechless in wonder.
"Behold Pepperwood Manor," Morn said, "Home of the Kings of Elkwater since the fall of Akun-Patami, and Manor to the Throne of the Hickory King. Every kingfinder's journey begins here, in the heart of the Fourth Verse of Epangelia." Then he softly sang, "From the promise to the Patriarchs, foolish though it seemed."
"Don't you mean the kingfinder's journey ends here?"
Morn blinked as if waking from a dream and looked down at me. "It ends here as well, yes."
We sailed under the arch and plunged into a world of wild-wrought grandeur. I looked above to see a great opening in the floor of the manor, exposing a dining hall and dark iron candellier. But I barely had time to wonder because we appraoched a dock nestled against a stone support ahead and to our right, where our keelboats neatly fit. And a stairway slowly descended from the floor above us to the dock. I then watched as an unlikely figure ambled down the stairs, none too graciously.
He was an older man, bald and with curly white hair at his sides. He was very dark-skinned, with a short white beard and an expression of haste. He wore an elaborate white tunic and cloak, but both of these seemed to be marred with grease-stains.
Morn led me to the dark man and said, "Seeker Tim, this is Phosphorus-Ambellicor, Earth-Mage of Tuntuq-Teague and Steward of Pepperwood Manor. He has come to--"
"--I haven't come for the long-winded introductory speech of the otherwise famously reticent Morning-Tamer because I haven't got all day. First there's all the pampering and babysitting of the other (and might I say much handsomer) supposed Kingfinder, and then there is the visiting delegation from the Golden Lands to whom I must attend. We haven't had foreigners from anywhere - let alone the Golden Country -visiting here in over five hundred years. And when do they come? Yes, today! And now yet another supposed Kingfinder is here for more pampering and babysitting. But that can't be enough. Oh no. The secondary spring over the third mill goes out, and who's the only one who can fix it? Don't be fooled, little Kingfinder, an Earth Mage is nothing more than a glorified mechanic, engineer, nurse, meteorologist, and Court Party-Host. And now I've got to go meet the Shah of the Golden People with spring-grease up to my armpits. Well? What have you got to say for yourself?"
"Glad to meet you, Mr...is your name really Phosphorus?"
The magician closed his eyes and waved his hands frantically in the air. I thought he was going to cast some kind of spell, but apparently this was how he expressed frustration.
"Children!" he said. "Children from other worlds! Why can't the Usher send sensible people?"
He turned and virtually jogged up the staircase, calling out behind him, reciting some long-memorized greeting, "Well come and fear not, he (or she) who bears the Usher-chosen stile, bid hither by the Hound of Soranou and the will of Shozer's King. Now begins the journey of seeking, and if it so happens of finding, the King of the Sixteen Verses of Elkwater, known before as Tuntuq-Teague, known in antiquity as Limnea Alka, who would be brought unto..."
I shot a questioning glance at Morning-Tamer, who shrugged and gestured for me to follow Phosphorous-whateverhisnamewas to wherever the mysterious staircase led.
The Earth Mage led me and Morn through a labyrinth of passages, hallways, stairways, walkways, and every other sort of way imagineable. One time Morn suggested we take a different turn, but Phosphorus wheeled on him dramatically.
"Don't distract me. I have a map in my head. I have been walking these passages since before your great-grandather was born and I knew them then better then than you do now. And for your information, I am not taking our little candidate Seeker to quarters, but to the royal parlour. The lord Warren wishes to see him immediately."
"As the Steward wishes," said Morn with a smile, "and I had forgotten that your mental map must show that the passageway to the royal parlour is about thirty feet to our left."
"Of course it is! Don't you think I know that? But what you do not know is that the reason I turned to the right was to check, yes check, for something down this hallway. And now that I have seen what I turned here to see, I will be leading you to the left as I intended all along!"
His head held high, the wizard strode to the opposite passageway and went to the nearest door, grabbing the handle. He then glanced at Morn, who shook his head "no" slightly, like a baseball catcher. The Mage then went to the next door, getting another negative head-shake from my escort. At the third door Morn nodded slightly, and Phosphorus opened it with a flourish.
"Follow me!" he commanded, then turned to face me, walking backwards down the passage so as not to lose any more precious time.
"When I lead you to the parlour, you are to sit in the red chair next to the table with the crystal decanter on it. Sit there until you are called to audience with the King. You may be given refreshments when you are sitting there but ON NO ACCOUNT will you be allowed to bring them into the Throne Room. I have to leave you unattended because I must greet the delegation of Golden People, who have been patiently waiting in the guest quarters for a half-an-hour. But if a member of the delegation should happen to wander into the Parlour, do not bother them, do not annoy them, and do not disturb them in ANY WAY--"
I'll never know what else Phosphorus intended to say in the rest of his monologue because as he spoke, a group of men walked into the passage from an intersecting hallway. They were four tall, muscular men dressed in glittering golden mail, with yellow silk sleeves and scarves, and one elderly man dressed in fine red silks. They were dark-haired (except the older man, whose hair was long and grey) and with a look of the orient about them. Phosphorus, who was still walking backwards as he spoke to me, backed right into them, knocking one of the men to the ground and causing the older man to fall into the arms of a third. As the Mage tried to get up (much too quickly), he found that his cloak was caught on a chink of mail on the other fellow's shirt, and so of course he was pulled back by his cloak to the ground again, or rather on top of the mail-clad man, who let our a lout "Oof!".
A stream of apologies followed as Morning-Tamer and one of the other men managed to extricate the Mage from a tangle of fabric and metal. These, it seemed, were the very visiting Dignitaries I'd been warned to stay away from, and the old man was the Shah himself!
"Peace, Earth-Mage," said the Shah in a kind tone. "I know your stumble was unintended. Apologize no more.
One of the men with the Shah then said to Phosphorus, "His Eminence the Shah Amassarian says 'Peace, Earth Mage. I know your stumble was unintended."
Phosphorus listened and then turned to the Shah. "I thank you, your Beneficence. I must only bring this child to the Parlour and then I will attend to you as befits a ruler of your superior stature."
The man who repeated the Shah's words then turned to the Shah and said, "The anxious and silly little Earth Mage says "thank you" and "I must only bring this child to the Parlour and then I will attend to you as befits a ruler of your superior stature."
As the Shah nodded, I glanced at Phosphorus to see how he reacted to the "silly little Earth Mage" remark. But he appeared not to have heard it. Suddenly, I realized that two languages were being spoken, and that the man who repeated everything was a translator. I was able to understand everything, but apparently the Shah and Phosphorus could not understand each other! I began to realize just how useful understanding all languages could be.
I decided to risk something.
I turned to the Shah and bowed low. When he faced me in surprise I said, careful to use his own language, "It has been an honor to see you, Sir."
Gasps came from all the Golden People. Phosphorus got a very grave look, and I felt Morn's hand on my shoulder. They could not understand what I said, and they did not like it one bit.
The Shah's eyes bored deeply in to mine. "Where did you learn to speak the Ahang tongue?" he asked.
"I..I am not from this world, Sir. I speak all languages."
The Shah was silent for a few seconds. "My mind tells me you speak falsely, but my heart tells me there is both goodness and wickedness in you. Tell me, boy from ghostly realms, do you come to this land to prosper it or to weaken it?"
Phosphorus glared at me. His eyes were shooting mental crossbow bolts into the side of my head. Morn's grip on my shoulder was becoming painful. They dared not interrupt the Shah, but the longer the conversation went on, the less comfortable they were.
"I...I'm just a kid. I'm only going to go find the king. In a few minutes, I guess I'll meet him. Sir."
The Shah stood straight and considered for a moment, then said, "I see you do not know what you intend. Perhaps you will know when you grow. But in the meantime, remember that words are not toys. Take care how you use them, and to whom you direct them."
As the Shah and his escort left, I felt a sudden urge to tell Morn and Phosphorus that I had lied about Michael tripping me and coming to Elkwater when it should have been me. I wanted to tell them that I was the one who shouldn't be here. The Shah's words had penetrated to my conscience. But before I could open my mouth, my lower left side began to throb.
And I remembered the words Ari had spoken to me in the shadow of the Durshone Wall: It is very important that you find a king first, before your brother does. If you do, if in the end you win, then maybe you can get me out of here. And that will make me so happy. In fact, I will get all my powers back and I will use them to help...to help the King. And I will reward you very much. I knew Michael had already found the King, but if they believed me, then they might say his finding would not count. And then, if they said I found the King instead, maybe I could help Ari get out of that rock like she said, and then she would smile and be very happy. She was so pretty. And she said she would reward me, too.
I kept my silence, and the pain in my side went away.
Phosphorus looked at me with wide eyes, ad as he spoke his hands waved frantically. "WHAT did the Shah say to you? Answer at once!"
I was annoyed with his tone, so I summed up. "He said I should keep my mouth shut."
Phosphorus' eyes got even wider. "What did you say that he should tell you to keep your mouth shut? What did you say?"
"I said I was just a kid but I had an audience with the King."
"You...you impertinent excuse for a Kingfinder. You insulted the Shah of Azadim by diminishing his meeting with the King? Are you trying to create an international incident? I should turn you into a pomegranate! I should--"
"Erm. Phosphorus-Ambellicor," said Morning-Tamer (I later learned that "Erm." is the polite way of addressing an Earth Mage), "perhaps it is best to let anger wait until certain things are decided."
Phosphorus glared at Morn, but then his gaze softened and he became thoughtful. "Yes, that's wisdom. But if you ask me, it won't be a difficult decision."
We turned down an imposing blue-carpeted hall with carved panelled walls. The wood made the air smell a little like cedar, a little like ripe bell pepper, and a little like vanilla. I saw guards in this hallway, their chain and plate armor colored maroon and black. They stood with gleaming halberds at their sides, and a hickory nut insignia emblazoned on their breastplates. Seventeen flags hung in the hall, one for each of the Verses I supposed, plus a maroon-and-black flag over a very large, elaborately carved wooden door guarded by four halberd-carrying sentries.
But we did not go through the large double doors. Instead, we turned into an alcove where there was a fountain and greenery, then a wrought-iron gate leading to the royal Parlour. It was beautifully green with all kinds of plants, and sheets of rain - almost waterfalls - fell from two sides of the room into gutters at chair level. A bird fluttered by me.
"There," said Phosphorus. "See the red chair over there? Next to the table with the crystal decanter? Sit there please. I must be off to apologize some more to the Shah, thanks to you. Morning-Tamer will be on hand to see that you do not wander off. And for goodness' sakes" - the Mage's hands began waving in the air - "stay out of trouble!"
I looked up at Morn. "You do not have to sit in the red chair," he said, "but it is very comfortable."
A drink of something like apple juice was brought to me, as well as nice things to eat. I was stuffing my face with some kind of meringue with a custard center when a small man with blonde-but greying hair appeared. He examined my patched shirt carefully, measured me, and cut two small strips from my shirt.
"Why are you doing that?" I asked.
"I have to color match," he answered. You will be dressed in the colors you came to this world in, as all Kingfinders are since the beginning of the Kingdom.
He looked down at one of the strips. "This blue-green color is going to be tough. I may need the services of Erm. Phosphorus."
"Oh he'll love that," I said.
The tailor's head popped up and he smiled. "You already have him pegged, don't you?"
"Well..."
"Don't let his anxiousness fool you," said the short man. "He's no incompetent. Nor a weak foe, if you cross him."
"Too late."
"The worse for you, then." And the tailor bowed and left.
"Is that true?" I asked Morn, who was gazing at a waterfall. "Did I just sink myself with the wizard?"
"I doubt he has made up his mind about you," said the tall warrior. "But you aren't off to a great start."
In a moment a door opened from the far side of the room, and a very tall, elderly man walked out. His hair was gray, his step confident. He wore black pants, a maroon shirt, and a silver-colored torc, which is like a solid metal bangle bracelet for the neck. He shook his head briefly at Morn, and then smiled at me.
"I'm here to take you to your audience," he said. "Are you ready?"
I liked his voice. It was a kind voice.
I put down the treat I was eating and wiped my mouth on my sleeve. I hoped I was presentable.
"Would you accompany the young Kingfinder, Vis Morning-Tamer?" The old man spoke with ease, as if my escort was an old friend.
"Of course."
The Butler, or whatever his title was, led us into another passageway.
"What a journey you have had!" said the older man. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have a rest first?"
"I didn't think I had the choice."
"Hm, no. I suppose we wouldn't want to keep the King waiting."
"He sounds - I don't know - impatient," I said.
"Oh that is just one of his many, many faults, young man. But he has good reason to be impatient."
"Why?"
"Because he is dying," said the guide, and I didn't know what to say to that.
In a moment the old man opened a door and gestured me to enter, smiling. I did. It was a nice room, with nice chairs, and a big, round blue window. It reminded me of a spiderweb.
And Michael.
I never saw my brother dressed the way he was dressed. He wore a yellow and emerald cape, and a dark green leather shirt with brown pants. They were the same colors he wore when he left the farm. He looked...noble.
But his hands were fidgeting in front of his stomach, and he looked at me like he couldn't decide whether to hug me or punch me in the face. In the end he just lowered his head and shook it.
"Nice to see you too," I said, smirking.
I plopped myself down on a couch and remarked to the Butler, "So...when do I see the King?"
"I am King Warren, Kingfinder Timmy," said the man who had led me to this room. The man who heard me call the King impatient.
I hopped right up off the couch and bowed low.
"I...I didn't..."
"I know. You may always speak freely in front of me. Let there be not pretensions between us three. There are times when such things are needful. Now is not one of them."
The Hickory King then turned to Morn, who lowered his head and put his hand over his heart.
The King clasped arms with him and said, "Thank you for bringing him quickly, my friend."
"My liege," said Morn, "the farmer Romber brought you a gift from his fields." And Morn held out the wrapped loaf he had carried all this time.
"Bring it to the kitchen. Tell Instri that the Shah and I will eat it with dinner tonight, before we meet in the late hours. It is fitting that we should eat the bread of Karis."
In all honesty, I really wanted to say something to warn him. But how do you tell a King that if he eats something he is going to have a farting attack? I couldn't think of a way to do it.
But while they were talking, Michael came up to me and said quietly, "Tim, why did you do it? Why did you say I tripped you?"
"You mean you don't remember?"
His brows furrowed in anger. "I remember that it did not happen that way."
"Suit yourself," I said.
"Tim..."
I wandered away from him to examine the furniture. I could feel him seething behind me.
"Now," said King Warren, seating himself in a back, high-backed chair, "Let's settle this misunderstanding. Sit down, both of you."
We sat.
"Kingfinder Timmy--"
"I really prefer Tim, your Majesty. Sorry to interrupt."
King Warren shot Michael a glance.
"Very well, Kingfinder Tim. Refraining from interrupting the King, by the way, is not pretentious. It is polite."
"Yes, Sir."
"I received a message by Prela bird from Jeron of Karis that you claim the Usher chose you, not Michael, to be Kingfinder. He writes that you say Michael tripped you and saw Elkwater while you were distracted. Is this true?"
My face was burning. "Basically," I said.
"And then you later saw into Elkwater, before your stile went completely cool, and somehow you ended up in the Ryemellow River?"
"True," I said.
"Was it day or night when you swam to the bank of the Ryemellow?"
My heart was beating. The King had figured out that I'd omitted many hours in my story to Jeron. If I told him it was night, he'd know I left a bunch of stuff out. If I told him in the day, then maybe he'd wonder how I was there so long without anyone seeing me or the "Peties" eating me.
"That's fuzzy, Sir," I answered. "I think it was day, the same time as when I left the farm, but I remember two moons at night. Maybe I woke briefly, or dreamed it."
The King sat in deep thought for some time. Then he turned to Michael. "Have you any wish to change your version of events? This would be the time to do so. You would not be punished."
"No, I promise...it's true. What I said was true!"
I shook my head and said, very softly, "Oh Michael."
Michael shot me a poisonous look.
"Well," said the King, "we have a problem. I need the chosen Kingfinder to find a King..."
"But I thought you are the King!" said Michael, forgetting not to interrupt.
The King sat silently until Michael said, "Sorry."
"I am the King, but as I told your brother a moment ago, I am dying. I may have only a few months, perhaps not that long. And it is extremely important that a new King is found before I die."
When he paused, I asked, "Why the rush? Maybe you won't die. You look great."
"I feel great too, Tim. But rest assured that I am dying. It is possible I am wrong. It happened once before, years ago, but it is very unlikely. Let us say I have 'inside information'. But in Elkwater, there can be no lapse between Kings. If there is, there will come upon us the Tempest of the Torc, a raging storm from the South that will leave nothing standing. Elkwater can never be without a King, nor may her King ever leave her borders for that reason."
"Why does that happen?" asked Michael.
"This was a condition of our conquest by Soranou, many years ago. The Prince commanded that Elkwater should always have a King within her borders, or the Tempest would come. This would ensure that no King of Elkwater would ever again ride to conquer foreign lands, or leave the Throne to be usurped by someone who would."
I shifted in my seat. "So, why not just appoint a King?"
"We have a tradition since the Days of the first King, Carthalo, that every King would be chosen by a young boy from your world, a visitor to the land around the "Little Fox Creek", as it is now called. The Usher chooses the Kingfinder, and the Kingfinder chooses the King."
"Why can't we both be Kingfinders?" Michael asked.
King Warren looked at Michael with amusement. "Do you really think you both would choose the same person?"
He had a good point.
"So no, that is out of the question. And it is also out of the question to send a liar in search of a new King, which is apparently the situation here. The question is, which one of you is lying?"
My palms were sweaty.
"My Earth Mage is anxious to use magic to find out, and I am confident he can. But there is some...discomfort...to the process. I am reluctant to take the Mage's way."
My scalp itched.
"My Chief Counsellor has advised me to use cruder methods, more physically painful but less psychologically harmful. But I also do not wish to take Counsellor Mascin's way."
My underarms were wet.
"And then there is my own, gentler method. Less accurate, but preferable to me. Each day I take a snack at around this time. Now, not everyone enjoys my kind of snack, but I place a high premium on politeness to a host. Whichever one of you can be the most gracious during our meal is the one I will choose. The one I have determined to be the liar, on the other hand, will wait here under guard until the Usher comes to bring you home. My way, the King's way, is the one we will take."
I was elated. Victory was in my grasp. If there was one thing I excelled at, it was hypocrisy. He culd serve up a meal of earthworms and I was confident I could praise it like it was the best meal I ever had. I looked at my brother and saw the worry on his face.
"What...what kind of snack?" he asked.
"Nothing terrible," said the King, "just curds and whey."
***
In a very few minutes Michael and I were whisked away by servants, made to wash up, and given a change of clothes. Michael looked just as sharp as he had in his last outfit. I don’t know why they bothered with him. But the clothes they brought to me were a very welcome change: a sort of soft pants and tunic, all light grey in color. But to my surprise, one of the servants cut two strips of cloth from my shirt – one teal strip, and one orange. Then another sewed them onto my tunic like armbands.
“Your custom clothes are not yet ready, my lord,” explained the servant. Apparently I was not to be free of these colors as long as I remained in Elkwater.
As quickly as we were brought to the washing-room, we were taken to the private dining-room where the King customarily took his snack. It looked more like a library than a dining hall, all filled with bound books, scrolls, and maps on the walls where there were no bookshelves. The table was very long, all light carved wood and with high-backed chairs all around. Michael and I were seated at one end. We waited.
Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Stop making that whistling sound with your nose,” he said.
“What whistling sound?” I asked innocently, being sure to follow it with a noisy blast.
“I said stop it!”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I said.
“Tim, if you don’t—“
At that moment a door opened at the far end of the dining room and the King walked in, followed by five servants. An hour before, when he entered the Parlor and I thought he was a butler, he struck me as elderly and kind. Now, knowing him to be the King of a magical and mysterious land, his eyes shone with foreboding authority and his every move suggested regal certainty. If you have ever met someone fully aware of their destiny – and well comfortable with it – you will understand this look I am trying to describe. We brothers stood when he entered. I remembered this bit of court etiquette from Morning-Tamer’s instructions on the way to the Manor. King Warren pulled his own chair at the far end of the table and sat down while giving Michael and me a smile and a nod.
The five servants quickly set the table with elaborate candlesticks, fresh flowers, and utensils. Then they set honeys and jams and fresh fruit before us before bringing the main dish. The King was served first. Intensely curious, I tried to get a good look at the whitish mound in the ceramic bowl set before him. I had heard of curds and whey, but had no idea either what it looked like or tasted like. He put a few drops of honey in it.
I was still staring at King Warren’s bowl when my own snack was placed in front of me. Michael’s arrived at the same time.
“Cottage cheese!” Michael exclaimed. He had a wide smile. We both liked cottage cheese. But then he bent down to smell it (I’m sure this was bad manners in front of the King) and his expression turned into one of horror.
I glanced at my own bowl. The contents looked almost exactly like cottage cheese, but there were tiny bubbles and little yellow flecks in it. After Michael’s reaction, I was very tempted to bend down and sniff it too, but just then the aroma wafted up to me instead. On second thought, “wafted up” is a bad way of putting it. What it really did was reach out like a champion heavyweight boxer and shove its fist up my nose. Not only was it the most disgusting smell I’d ever had the displeasure of encountering, I’d never even imagined that a smell could be so putrefyingly vomit-inducing.
You get the idea.
Both of us were so lost in the contemplation of our curdled catastrophes that when the King spoke, both of us were so startled that we jumped in our seats. He was still smiling.
“Thank you for joining me, Kingfinders Michael and Tim. I hope that whatever choice I may eventually make, that you are able to put aside all thoughts of the quest and enjoy your meal as it ought to be enjoyed.”
Then the King said something about every meal being a gift of the King of Soranou, and fell to eating his own curds and whey with obvious relish. I watched him carefully. He sure didn’t look like he was a dying man, and he sure didn’t look as if his snack tasted bad at all.
I looked down at the dairy disaster in my bowl and wondered if this was one of those foods I’d heard about that smelled really bad but tasted wonderful. I swallowed hard. I had to remember the goal of this meal – to compliment the host.
“Wow, your Majesty,” I said, “this looks delicious!”
“That’s nothing compared to the flavor,” said the Hickory King. He pointed at my bowl with his spoon. “Please, enjoy.”
I took a deep breath and picked up my spoon. I closed my eyes and put a medium-sized spoonful into my mouth.
This was not one of those foods that smelled really bad but tasted wonderful. It smelled really bad but tasted worse. I don’t know if you have ever had a taste of spoiled milk by mistake, but this was a hundred times worse than that. All I wanted to do was spit the stuff out, but I tried to remember what was at stake. This was my chance to win. It was not going to be easy, though. As an urge to gag welled up inside me, I decided it was going to be impossible.
Suddenly I became aware that Michael was watching me closely, the coward. If I spewed out the rank snack, he could win by default without even taking a bite. So I dredged up every last ounce of brotherly animosity I could conceive (and believe me, it was a lot) to swallow that mouthful of milky malignancy. It was the most difficult thing I’d ever done, but the thought of Michael with a big mouthful of that nastiness gave me courage, and I managed it.
I looked up, and caught King Warren watching me.
“It’s great,” I said with only a slight break in my voice. I cleared my throat, then said steadily for Michael’s benefit, “Much better than I thought it would be. I guess I know why you eat it every day.”
The King smiled thinly and returned to his own snack. I glanced over at my brother. He was staring at his bowl, his brows anxiously furrowed. He skimmed the surface of the whey so that only a taste was on his spoon. He cautiously raised it to his lips. A second later, his spoon fell out of his hand, bounced off the table to go clanging to the floor, and he began coughing like he was choking to death.
Mike was never very good at hiding his feelings.
He bent to pick up his spoon (and likely spit in secret) but a servant was at his side before you could say “pop-top” and put a new spoon by his bowl, taking the old one off the floor almost in a single motion. Michael was still coughing, and looked like an animal trapped with no escape.
“Are you all right?” asked the King, an expression of concern on his face.
“Yeah,” said Michael weakly. “It musta gone down the wrong pipe.”
“I’m very sorry. Please drink some water. Or…would you rather be excused?”
“No!” Michael said loudly, but his face said “yes”. “No thank you. I’m fine.” He drank his entire glass of water.
Meanwhile, I had problems of my own. I was hoping Michael's reaction would be the end of it, but apparently the game was still on. I forced myself to take another bite. It was just as bad as the first, and this time it seemed stuck in my mouth, refusing to be swallowed.
"Are you well, Kingfinder Tim?" asked the King.
With heroic effort, I swallowed the bite and managed to answer, "Yes, great. I'm just really enjoying my snack. Thank you for letting us eat with you."
"That's very nice of you, Tim. You are very welcome."
"Yeah, thanks," said Michael between coughs.
The food was awful, but all things considered things were going well. The way I figured it Michael was already way behind in the scoring.
I tried a new approach to my next several bites, and it worked much better. Instead of putting each bite in my mouth as I would a spoonful of regular cottage cheese or even cereal, I tried to place it near the back of my tongue so I could swallow it faster. The first bite almost backfired since the placement almost made me gag more, but doing it that way I didn't get as much of the offensive flavor. I also made sure to hold my breath so that I didn't get a whiff as the spoon came to my mouth. In this way I was able to down seven or eight spoonfulls pretty quickly. At that point I decided to take a break and see how Mike was doing.
He was employing a completely different tactic. Clearly, he had yet to take his second bite, but had spent the last couple of minutes mixing in as much honey and fruit as would fit in the bowl. He was trying to water it down. He then dipped the tip of his spoon into the bowl and put what was mostly honey in his mouth. His face grew red, his eyes watered, and he drank another full glass of water (freshly refilled). He had made a terrible mistake. The flavor was not much better, but after adding all his ingredients he now had a much bigger quantity to eat. The sloppy mess was pratically running out of his bowl.
"I..I guess I shouldn't have had such a big breakfast," he said, looking down.
"But the flavor is so good, how can you not eat it all?" I asked him.
He looked at me with desperate anger.
I had about six spoonfulls to go, but I wasn't feeling especially well. I went back to my meal with a powerful determination. Just six more bites.
Five more.
Four.
The last three bites were the most difficult, partly because I was really starting to feel nauseous and partly because that last bite was the biggest (I wanted to avoid a seventh). The last spoonful spilled over into my cheeks and the flavor hit me full force. All was nearly lost.
But I got it all down.
Michael had been staring at me the whole time, trying to pluck up enough courage for another bite. His face was locked in a grimace. I gave him a big, gloating grin.
"Why, you seem to have finished every bite," said King Warren to me. "I'll have one of the servants fetch you another bowl."
"Oh I wish I could have seconds," I answered, "but I ate so much in the Parlor that I'm stuffed. I couldn't eat another bite. If I'd known what a delicious snack you had in store for me I would have saved room."
"That's good to know," said the King. Thenhe addressed Michael.
"But you have barely touched yours, Michael. " he said. "In fact, it appears you have more now then when you began."
Michael didn't answer, but swiftly put a small bite in his mouth. But he couldn't carry the charade. He grabbed his napkin and spit it out, then had a horrible coughing attack. He drank more water.
Michael looked at the King silently for a moment, and then his lip began to quiver. His eyes sparkled. He dropped his face into his hands then, and from them came a muffled, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I can't. I can't eat it."
The sobbing commenced. Victory.
"Shhh," I whispered to my brother (but just loud enough for the King to hear, I hoped). "That's not nice to say."
Michael ignored me. A tear escaped his fingers and ran down the back of his hand.
"I think we are finished here," announced King Warren. And he stood. I stood up too. My joy was only diminished by my growing nausea. A servant leaned down to whisper in Michael's ear and he stood up too, but he still covered his face in his hands and his sobbing only grew louder.
The King now spoke with firmness and authority. Gone was the gentleness. Gone was the kindness.
"I said before that whichever one of you could be the most gracious one during this meal would be the one I would choose for the quest. The other is a liar, and I will not abide a new King to be chosen by a liar."
He looked at me and I stood straighter. I knew this would be a noble moment in my life.
"Tim, you have finished your curds and whey. You have complimented the richness of its flavor and me for inviting you to share it. Your brother, on the other hand, clearly shows that he finds it intolerable.
"The beginning of grace is truth, Tim. Without truth there can be no grace. I have served you curds and whey that should have been thrown out three weeks ago, but which was mistakenly placed in a pantry. I never in my dreams expected you to finish the bowl. You have proven yourself to be not only capable of lying, but of lying in the most amazing and baldfaced manner humanly possible. I would sooner have the Sorceress Arola Ri choose the next King than you. You will not go on this quest. Kingfinder Tim, you are no Kingfinder."
My head span. My eyes dimmed. But the King was not finished. He turned to my brother, who had stopped sobbing, and who had one eye peeking out from between his fingers.
"Kingfinder Michael, I am so very sorry to have put you through this. You tried to hide your disgust at the foul snack we served you, but you are a terrible liar. I admire that. And I admire you. Hail, Kingfinder!"
And the Hickory King, the Warden of the Third Verse, the Defender of Silvas (whatever that was), bowed at the waist before my snivelling little brother.
"But...but...but you ate your snack without complaining," I said. "What does that make you?"
The servants gasped. King Warren paused mid-bow before my brother. Then he slowly straightened. When he looked at me, sovereign fury was in his eyes. Something told me I should not have spoken like that.
"My own curds and whey were fresh, prisoner Tim." he answered.
I looked at Mike, and his hands were away from his tear-streaked face. I was a prisoner, and my snot-faced little brother was the favored one, the Kingfinder, the chosen one.
That did it. The nausea became an unstoppable heave. My lies exited me, suddenly and all over the Kings carved wooden table. They smelled even worse than before I ate them.
(Chapter End) |
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