Entry #534496, added on 03-06-08 @ 9:15 pm EST
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| Chapter Twelve: Myths, Taken Care Again | Entry #534496 |
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 Twelve: Myths, Taken Care Again
"A man can't be too careful in the choice of his enemies."
- Oscar Wilde
"Stop pointing your foot at me!" hissed Michael as he threw a magazine across the room at me.
"What are you talking about?" I innocently asked.
"You know what I mean! You're doing it on purpose! Stop it!"
Rainy days were rare at the Farm in summertime. This was fortunate, because any time Mike and I were cooped up in even a large house for an entire day, our animosity achieved new milestones. We had been sitting in the family room on either side of the old cuckoo clock, reading books from the living room, when the urge came over me to cross my legs so that my left foot was on my right knee. This meant that the sole of my foot was squarely facing my brother. Years before, Michael and I had settled upon that as being the ultimate insult. Sometimes, of course, it happened by accident.
This wasn't one of those times.
Mike put his right foot on his left knee so that the filthy and disgusting bottom of his own foot faced my direction. Mike had no arches to speak of in his feet. The sight of that flat, crinkly appendage was too much for me to bear. To counter his maneuver, I began to wiggle my toes.
"Cut it out, Tim! That's gross!"
"Get out of here if you don't like it," I responded, quite reasonably.
"I was here first!"
"Then you should leave first, too" I said.
"Fine!" shouted my brother, and turned his back to me in a deliberate sort of way. He was actually pointing his butt at me!
I really felt that this final insult, combined with the paper projectile from a moment before, needed some serious retaliation. I reached into a pile of books by my chair - a pile I had acquired from nooks and crannies among the various shelves of the living room - and found a small hardbound book that seemed perfect for the job. I threw it at Mike, frisbee style. It hit him right on his back pocket.
He spun around, his face nearly purple with rage, and snatched the book up from the ground. He reached back and hurled it at me with all his might, missing by a wide mark. It sailed across the room.
Aunt Eva walked in the doorway just in time for the little book to find its mark on her chin. Surprised, she stumbled backward a little.
My heart pounded in my chest. I looked over at Michael, whose mouth was wide open and whose finger was already beginning to point in my direction.
"Not a word!" said Aunt Eva with a sternness I'd never heard before. Anger actually flashed across her face.
She bent down to pick up the little green-and-grey book now at her feet, and when she stood upright again all the signs of anger were gone. She was Aunt Eva again, composed and wise. She opened the book, examining it.
"This is an old book, published in 1903," she said. "And --oh, isn't that something?"
She squinted here eyes and seemed absorbed in the book for some time, though only at a single page.
Michael and I looked up at each other, curious.
Aunt Eva tore her gaze away from the little book to look at us thoughtfully, almost with amusement. "On the title page here it says 'Everyday life in the American Colonies by Ethan Turnbull, and then in flowing script Presented to Sunnydell Farm for the Kingston Medical society by...' and this last part is in a boy's script '...Perry A.'
Almost to herself, Aunt Eva said, "Just when I am about to give up the search, I get another clue."
Suddenly her features hardened and she furrowed her brows, as if coming to some sort of a decision. "Boys, I'm going to ask Martin to come in, and after he changes out of his wet clothes I have to go to town for something. In the meantime, no more fighting allowed at all today if you want to go fishing with Jim tomorrow."
With a whisk of polyester, she was gone.
************************************************************************
When Aunt Eva left the room, I turned to face my brother.
"Tomorrow's our last day here," Mike said, but in a strangely-accented, grown-up's voice. "Are you sure you want to spend your entire day dozing by the mill?"
What was he talking about, and what was the matter with his voice? The arm of my chair suddenly began to poke into my side.
"C'mon, little Kingfinder," he continued, "you can't be in that deep of a sleep!"
I opened my eyes to see Kwotik standing over me, nudging my side with his staff. "Roseluc's wondering where you are," he announced. "No wonder you're napping after staying up half the night talking to the old troll again."
I sat up from the mossy ground by the river which continued from the waterfall by the Inn. The nearby watermill was silent and looked abandoned. It was an idyllic spot, and in the late morning sun I'd drifted off. Now, in the early afternoon sun, it was a little warm for my liking.
"Roseluc's not a troll!" I said. "He is actually pretty nice when you get to know him. He seems so interested in my world. I like talking to him. Plus he let us stay here an extra three days."
"Who said trolls aren't nice?" retorted the Bard. "I've known a decent one or two in my day. 'Course, they are pretty dimwitted, and I guess our host is sharper than he appears."
Kwotik looked at me with his head to one side as I got up and brushed the moss off my clothes.
"So...were you just dreaming about this world of yours?" he asked.
"Yes, I do almost every time I'm asleep. I...I miss the Farm."
"Hmph. Well, I've been giving that some thought. Since you do seem to be able to understand every language including that of different species, and since other parts of your story seem to be well-corroborated, perhaps there is something to this 'other world' of yours after all.
I was surprised. "You sure you aren't getting religious?" I asked, because I knew the question would get under his skin.
Kwotik's face got red. "Nobody said anything about religion. That's got nothing to do with it. But back at Hollenwain there was an ongoing debate about the nature of reality: whether our universe is alone or whether there are other, parallel universes. For example, we know Halma (may his boogers turn to live coals in his nose) came from another world. Some interpret this to mean that he came from an alternate universe, like yours apparently is. Those of us who thought the alternate universe theory was a bunch of hokum believed it meant he came from another planet. You know, from outer space. I never believed in the alternate universe theory because it could not be verified by magic. Earth, Blood, and Fire Mages can't seem to open up lanes between worlds, and if the Water Mages can do it they aren't talking. But these Elkwater folk seem to have tapped into a different kind of magic which verifies the alternate universe theory after all. I'll have to make amends to some of my old colleagues if I ever see them."
I understood about half of what the Bard said. I shrugged my shoulders. We began to walk back to the Inn.
"The reason I'm telling you this is because I don't want you to think that just because I believe in your world that I think there is anything "supernatural" about the whole thing. It is just a previously undiscovered magic which is making the nature of the universe more clear, that's all." Kwotik looked uncomfortable.
"So you'll be saying your prayers at 11 then?" I chuckled.
"You know, I don't know why I bother talking to you, or for that matter standing up for you from time to time," Kwotik said in a huff.
"Sorry," I said, not really sorry. "I'm just kidding around with you anyway."
"Kid around about something else then." Kwotik smacked a tree branch with his staff. "I'm sensitive about this."
"That's what makes it so fun to joke about," I said.
"You're a wet dragonfart," growled the Bard.
I laughed.
When we returned to the Inn, Roseluc was in a side-room talking to Er. Phos.
"There you are!" boomed the Innkeeper. "I thought you might like to go visit the Vineyard today with Chelty, but it's too late. He took your brother out there over an hour ago."
"I found him napping by the mill," said Kwotik. "Maybe he's been to your Vineyard in a more distilled way."
"By the mill?" asked Roseluc, ignoring the Bard's implication. "There's a spot I like to relax from time to time, next to the stream on a big moss-covered stone slab."
"That's the very one!" I exclaimed.
"What is wrong with you people and your naps anyway," demanded Erm Phos. I barely sleep at all, even at night. There's too much to do and entirely too much to think about."
Kwotik couldn't resist the opening. "Maybe if you got a little more sleep, you wouldn't be so confused."
Coincidentally, at that moment a small piece of masonry dislodged from the ceiling and fell directly on the Bard's head.
"Ow!" he shouted, and then gave a venomous look to the Earth Mage. "You are messing with the wrong person!" he said in a low voice.
"What?" asked Phosphorus Ambellicor, spreading his hands. "I had nothing to do with that. It must have been the will of Shozer."
Lightning-fast, Kwotik whipped his staff around to smack the back of the Earth Mage's legs behind the knees, and he fell to the ground on his backside. The dark man's eyes widened in fury. "That's the last time you touch me, Jester," he declared.
"What?" mimicked the Bard. "I had nothing to do with that. It must have been the will of Shozer."
"Stop it!" shouted Roseluc in his considerable baritone, and all eyes turned toward him. "Do I have to keep you two in separate parts of the Inn? No more bickering under my roof!"
Erm. Phos and Kwotik continued to glare at each other, and since Roseluc wasn't much of a conversation-starter, I eventually chimed in.
"Hey you guys, I could really go for some lunch!"
No one moved or spoke. I tried again.
"Master Roseluc, do you have any of that venison-mushroom pie left over from dinner last night? That was delicious!"
"No," slowly answered the Innkeeper, still carefully watching the glaring pair, "we sold out of that shortly after midnight, and I fed the scraps to Chelty's hound."
"Oh," I said. "Well, what's on the lunch menu?"
"Creamed Sirin, I think," Roseluc answered, furrowing his brows.
"What's that?" I was working hard here.
"Roast pork over boiled roots in a wine-cream sauce," he answered.
"Mmmmm!" I said, more enthusiastically than I felt. "That's awesome! Hey guys, lets go have some creamed Sirin!"
Gradually, the Earth Mage tore his gaze from his opponent's and looked at me. "You all eat and gather strength for an early start tomorrow. I must attend to some business that may take a few hours."
"A little more fruit in your diet would probably speed things up, you know," growled Kwotik. I felt like kicking him. Fortunately, either Erm. Phos did not hear him or pretended not to.
The rest of the day and evening went a lot like that, Kwotik spitting out insults whenever they occurred to him; the Earth Mage mostly ignoring them. Erm. Phos seemed to realize that both men crossed some line of immaturity; the Bard didn't seem to care. For the first time I began to wonder if I had made the right choice in a guide.
In any case, I made my getaway at the usual time: right after I heard my brother breathing steadily. He had a fine time at the vineyards, apparently; and afterwards he had gone horseback riding. A natural rider, that one is, Chelty had remarked when they strode in at dinner time all smelly and dusty. I had nearly lost my appetite at the sight and smell of them. As I the room that night, Cloud-Warrior moved from the doorway to let me pass. He approved of my visits to Roseluc. Kwotik didn't care one way or the other, and Erm. Phos stayed in the library until the wee hours anyway.
"Not too long," growled Cloud-Warrior as I opened the door. "Remember you will have to start the next leg of your journey tomorrow."
"Right," I whispered, then closed the door and made my way to the River Bar where I knew I could find the Innkeeper.
The River Bar was a private place open only to friends or special guests of Roseluc. It was "serve and clean up after yourself" and "pay on the honor system" so the clientèle was limited indeed. The Bar was three rooms, really, all of which were under the hill. The walls were stone but with tree roots snaking down through the stones. The Bar itself was in the smallest of the rooms, with just enough space to make a drink or a sandwich. The water room was the largest, an underground stream winding its way through the center and maybe ten comfortable chairs set all about. The hearth room was just that: a great roaring fireplace with five or six scattered chairs and recliners around it. Roseluc could always be found in the hearth room near the fireplace, a book in his hand and a small glass of brandy at his elbow. This night two others were also in the room: a married couple seated next to one another, talking softly and holding hands at the opposite end of the room from Roseluc.
"Watcha reading?" I asked as I sat opposite the Innkeeper.
"The same book I've been trying to read for the last week, without success: Durshone Folk Tales and Legends: The Teeglan Cycle. "
"Is it too hard to read?" I asked.
"When one's reading time keeps getting interrupted by a nine-year-old, yes."
"Somebody mistook me for Doss Teeglan once," I mused, thinking back to that awful day with the mice and rats. My side twinged a little, and I felt some surprise that I was even able to say that.
Roseluc snapped his book shut and laughed out loud, nearly launching himself from his chair. His roaring disturbed the couple nearby, who moved politely into the water room. When he finally stopped and wiped the tears from his eyes he looked at me with an uncharacteristic smile.
"Somebody must have been having a little fun with you!" he said.
I didn't enjoy being laughed at. "Well, I am supposed to be doing something good for Elkwater, and Doss Teeglan was a good guy too, right?"
Roseluc looked very serious for a moment. "No, he was not a good guy. Doss Teeglan was as sinister and cruel a man as ever donned the mantle of a Fire Mage. He was also possibly the most powerful Fire Mage in all the history of Tos, and he used those powers to mar the beauty of Akun-Patami into a stronghold and to pervert the Kingdom into an Empire. I do not think Arola Ri could have destroyed so much without him. Cursed was the day the two of them descended into Tuntuq-teague from the Northern Trake."
I was confused. "But - but they told me at Pepperwood that Doss Teeglan saved Elkwater and defeated the Sorceress!"
"So he did, in the end. It was a most bitter betrayal from the Sorceress' standpoint, and the Fire Mage perished while successfully imprisoning her. The tales say he experienced a transformation of heart when he learned the truth about Shozer's death and from that day worked to save Elkwater. So much for tales. I think it more likely that he and the Sorceress just had some sort of falling out, or that he hoped to kill her and the puppet Rowan King in order to take Elkwater for himself! But there is no one to tell us now firsthand, unless the Blood Mage Persalix still lives. I don't trust the histories."
The crackling fire warmed my left cheek as I tried to absorb everything Roseluc had just told me. I kept getting stuck on one point.
"Shozer died?" I asked dumbfounded.
"Blisters and boils!" barked Roseluc. "Didn't the scholars at Pepperwood teach you anything? Shozer had already died by the time He came to Tos, tasted death and then spit it back out again."
"That's a little something like my religion back home," I said.
"How about that, huh?" Roseluc dryly commented. He glanced at the fire. "Anyway it is getting late. You have to be up early. Let's get you to you to your room."
Roseluc bent to get up from his chair, and as he did so a chain and pendant escaped from his shirt and dangled in front of him. The pendant was small and hard to see.
"What's that? A little shark's tooth?" I asked.
Roseluc glanced down and grabbed at his pendant. He started to put it away and then looked thoughtful. He drew closer so I could see it and opened his huge hand. "No," he said, "It is a keepsake, though: a thorn from a rose bush."
I looked at the chain. "On a blackmetal chain?"
Roseluc shrugged. "Less likely to break," he said. "Cost me a fortune, though."
A profound idea suddenly struck me.
"Um, Roseluc..." I began. He simply waited. "You wouldn't happen to be...I mean you couldn't be...Shozer himself, could you?"
Roseluc was genuinely startled. "What? No, of course not, no more than you are Doss Teeglan. What put that into your head? You really need to get some rest."
I felt embarrassed, and we said no more as Roseluc walked me to my room. By that time, I was pretty mortified at posing such a stupid question. But Roseluc was on a different train of thought.
When he left me at the door he looked at me very gravely and said, "Although I am not even remotely close to anything like Shozer in any manner whatsoever...thank you, Tim, for thinking it possible."
What was wrong with Roseluc's voice there, at the end? "You're welcome," I said.
"Good night."
"Good night."
********************************************************************************
Good-byes suck. We set off on horseback this time, Cloud-Warrior running freely while the rest of us had to endure the saddle. Roseluc, Phosphorous Ambellicor, and Chelty rode with us to the edge of the Inn's twenty-thousand acre property to see us off. I was miserable because I was leaving the only true friend I'd made in Elkwater and didn't know if I'd see him again.
That's not true, I thought, Romber was also a true friend. Of course the thought of Romber made me even more miserable. Then I thought of Ari, imprisoned but perhaps able to communicate with me now. Perhaps I'd be able to free her after all. I wondered what her skin smelled like.
I felt my side pocket where I always kept the small shard of the Crystal Willow. I glanced at Roseluc with guilt in my heart, and he looked back with a fatherly smile.
Good-byes just suck.
I might have spilled tears if Michael and Chelty - who had become real pals - hadn't started blubbering. They looked like a couple of babies. Kwotik rolled his eyes, and even Erm. Phos drummed his fingers impatiently on the bridle.
The Earth Mage rode to my side. "Since we apparently have a moment before your departure, let me wish you well, young Kingfinder. Since your disastrous choice of a guide, your decision-making ability seems to have improved. I am glad you spent time learning from Roseluc: he is a good man. Use the same sort of decision-making wisdom in your search for a King, and all may be well."
"All right," I said.
"Looks like your brother is back in control of himself. Fare well, Kingfinder Timmy."
"Bye," I said to Erm. Phosphorus Ambellicor.
And everyone said good-bye all around except for the two obvious exceptions.
We set off down the little road to the King's Highway instead of cutting cross-country as originally planned. Although Erm. Phos was in favor of our extra days spent at the Inn, he was still full of a sense of urgency and believed we could cut days from the journey if we went by the main road. I wondered how the "Seven Tribes" would react when they found out we canceled our trip to their lands only to languish at the Inn for a few extra days.
I decided it wasn't my problem.
My problem was my horse. I wasn't overfond of horseback riding in the first place, having had only rudimentary training. This was complicated by the fact that my brother rode his bay stallion with ease. My own chestnut mare just didn't know what I wanted her to do half the time. Worst of all, Cloud-Warrior spooked my own horse. Every time he came within fifteen feet she'd get nervous and unsteady, and if he came even closer she would rear. Four times that first day she threw me.
The last time Kwotik laughed at me. "You need to keep back in the saddle and learn how to hug her with her with your legs. Fall off like that again and all that might be left of you is a teal and orange smear on the road."
"Ha. Funny," I said. "Just help me up will you?"
When we got to the King's Highway, there were more than enough curious gawkers around. Apparently that order from the King not to interfere had expired. More than once someone would ride right up to me or Michael and ask for a blessing (don't ask me) or launch into an explanation of some dispute they were having with a neighbor.
Kwotik would try to wave them away and shout, "Nothing to see here, folks! Just a couple of kids from another world who are going to decide what kind of government you have for the next few decades. Move along!"
It didn't really work.
Finally Cloud-Warrior had enough and began displaying his displeasure at anyone who came within 20 feet. This was effective at keeping the people away, but it also spooked my horse a good deal. Falling off the saddle in the middle of nowhere is one thing: falling off repeatedly in front of a bunch of adoring fans is quite another. I got to wishing that I could ride 'ol Silver into a glue factory somewhere.
When the terrain finally changed from flatlands to gentle, rolling hills to steep downs, I changed my mind and decided riding a horse was better than walking. The Highway got narrower and in places was barely a dirt path. We still saw other travelers but these meetings became less frequent as the lands were barely inhabited. Up and down the great hills we plodded, but more "up" than "down" as we made out way up a great rise of land. For a while there were lots of trees but soon our way was grassy and barren. Quiet too. Rarely did a bird or scurrying rabbit break the silence. The stillness even stifled our conversation.
"When will these awful hills end?" bemoaned my brother after two days of the monotony.
"There is a craggy place up ahead," barked Cloud-Warrior, "and then a tunnel. After the tunnel there are a few more downs and then a descent to the lowlands. Tomorrow we will be well on our way to our next stop."
"A tunnel?" queried Michael as I translated the canine Knight's response to Kwotik. "What kind of tunnel?"
"A wide one," answered the white shepherd, "wide and full of the overpowering scent of bat-droppings."
"Bat droppings?" asked Michael.
"Excuse my brother," I explained to Cloud-Warrior. "He's afraid of the dark."
"Am not!" shouted Michael, piercing the stillness. "Shut up, Tim!"
"Do not shout, Angry Bull," growled our guide. "The lands around us to not like loud noises."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked doubtfully, although in a pretty quiet tone.
"A battle was fought here, long ago. These hills are cursed. Cursed and quiet."
"During the Durshone Wars? asked Michael, the smarty-pants.
"No," answered Cloud-Warrior, "before that by many litters. Ask a human. I can never keep all your battles straight."
Kwotik didn't know a thing about it. Morning-Tamer or Mountain-chaser surely would have, but since I'd chosen a complete foreigner to guide us instead of one of the Knights, we were out of luck.
Kwotik must have seen my expression because he said, "I may not know many Elkwater tales, but I am a Bard, you know. I'm good for a story or two."
"Back when we first saw the Sea of Soranou you said something about being captured by some kind of birds," I said. "That sounded interesting. Tell us that one!"
Kwotik shivered. "The Swimming Birds, you mean. Er...I'd really rather not talk about them, if you don't mind."
"Tell us a story from your own country, then," said Michael. "An old one."
Kwotik chuckled. "An old tale from Lowellian, eh? Those aren't much in demand. Lots of myth and little substance, if you ask me. But all right, you asked for it." Kwotik's expression changed and he got a faraway look. "I'll reach into the depths of time and grab hold of the words of my forgotten ancestors, clinging to the Legend Web of Pask...there! I've got hold of them, still plump and wiggling, live and not yet sucked dry of meaning. Old Pask must have been feeding elsewhere. Well, then, here is a tale of the two greatest heroes of Lowellian: Klayde the Shining and Mat-Fearstun Swamp-Riddler, and how they were forced to face one another in single combat.
Came a time when the Forest Kings and the Highland Kings made council together and said, "Why should we pay tribute to the River People, paying them for fish that swim through the middle of our own lands, or paying tolls to cross bridges or ride ferries? That nonsense has gone on long enough. Let us conquer the River People that they may be subject to our laws like anybody else!"
"But they have that foul trickster-Chieftain Mat-Fearstun as a champion," said some. "Time and again he has thwarted our sovereignty over the Rivers. Shall we lose another army to his cunning?"
"No, we shall not," answered the Crizal, who was the wisest and most powerful of the Forest Kings, "for we will set against him an even greater champion - Klayde the Shining!"
The council erupted in surprise until one objected, "But the Brilliant One would never fight Mat-Fearstun, for they were once friends in childhood. They are sworn to be brothers!"
"So it has always been," answered the Crizal, "but no more. Behold the Champion of the Dominion League!"
And when the Crizal waved his arm, a robed and hooded member of his delegation - one whom all present assumed an aged counselor - cast off his robe and stood before the Council, hands on hips. His breastplate shone like polished brass, his blond locks covered his temples, and two guards managed to procure a great spear for him, struggling under the weight of it. The towering hero grasped it from their hands and tossed it lightly in the air, catching it with ease in his left hand. He stood thus, spear ready to throw, muscles bulging on his giant frame as the Council cheered for many minutes. But there was a sadness in Klayde's eyes, a regret and dismay only found in the gaze of great ones who have broken a solemn oath.
The cause of this betrayal was, of course, a girl. Not that the girl herself was to blame. A more noble and honorable maiden was never born in all the days of the Lowellian Kings. Haline was her name, Haline of the ivory skin and raven-colored hair, Haline of the deep brown eyes and gentle hands. Slender as a willow she was, with a voice as sweet as a summer brook. Klayde had fallen in love with her months before when he happened upon her in the forest as he was hunting the Blue Wolf of Nix which had stolen his nephew from the crib - but that is another story. He happened upon a pond in his chase, and there was Haline Deamdaughter immersed among the waterlilies. When she saw him she felt no fear or even shame over her nakedness. She smiled at him, and at that moment she owned his heart forever. But he had to leave her and continue his hunt, and when he returned weeks later he could not find her.
The truth is that Haline was the adopted daughter of the Crizal, and that day when she told her father of her meeting with the Hero, he contrived to have her imprisoned and forbade her to leave the confines of his forest halls. Klayde sought for news of the waterlily lady everywhere, but most did not know who she was and the few who did remained silent out of fear of the Crizal. In desperation Klayde began to make it known that he would do any deed and pay any price for news of his lost love.
After some months the Crizal called for Klayde to appear before him with the promise of some news about the girl. The Shining Hero arrived by evening, bursting with hope but also touched by anxiety, for he knew the Crizal was a great schemer and not liable to offer anything of value without exacting the highest price possible. And so it was that the Crizal's price for information as to Haline's whereabouts would cost the life of Klayde's sworn friend, Mat-Fearstun.
At this, Klayde bowed his head and wept. As much as he loved the girl he saw in the forest, he could not betray his blood-brother. Besides, who could tell if the girl was not already married, or perhaps uninterested in him. He said as much to the Crizal and turned away.
The Crizal, seeing his last hope for dominion over the River People slipping away, siezed upon Klayde's heart with the words: "But no, my friend. Her name is Haline, and she is my own daughter. She is not promised to anyone, and she would be willing to love you save only I give her leave, for she is a devoted daughter and loves her father above all else."
This was only partly true. Haline respected her father, but was already in love with Klayde. The Crizal knew better than to divulge that, however.
"Come, Klayde," said the Forest King, "come and give your word to slay this vagabond who divides the kingdom in a watery rebellion, and you shall have the hand of your heart's desire."
Klayde was furious at the trap laid by the Crizal, but he could not resist the promise of the lady of the pond in his arms. He vowed to destroy the friend of his youth, and then agreed to travel to the Council of Kings.
There, standing with spear poised at the Council, Klayde began to have second thoughts. He wondered how love could be true if it were stained by murder. But the Crizal anticipated his doubts, and there before the Council declared: "Is there one who may come forward to send the Hero forth?"
From behind closed doors, two attendants were signaled to bring out Haline Dreamdaughter, dressed in the light finery of Phaze. Haline did not know that Klayde was being sent to kill his oath-friend, but only that he was to battle a great enemy before they could be together. Haline walked up to the hulking champion and kissed his chin. She then looked into his doubtful eyes and misunderstood, thinking, 'This must be a great enemy indeed to cause fear in Klayde the Shining!'
She said, "Be Victorious, my love."
Klayde straightened, gripped tightly his spear, and set off to murder his best friend.
I blinked. "That's it? What happened? Did they fight? Who won?"
Kwotik smiled. "That's the end of the tale. If you want to hear about the battle of Druwn River, that's another story. For another time."
"You gotta be kidding!" I nearly shouted, outraged. "You are intentionally leaving us hanging!"
"Trick of the trade," said Kwotik.
"I get it," mused Michael, "you tell part of a story so that the listeners will pay for part two. Clever. Also, it was a good story."
"Wellllll..." began Kwotik.
I wasn't mollified at all. "It's not ethical. You shouldn't break your story up into parts. It should have a beginning, middle, and end. Otherwise you are cheating your listeners."
"Nonsense," retorted Kwotik, a little annoyed. "And don't tell me what is ethical or not ethical in my profession. Besides, you are getting it all for free. And if you want to hear about the battle between those two heroes sometime, you should be nice to me, don't you think?"
I grumbled for the next few miles.
As the day wore on, the hills went from rolling to steep, and soon their brown rocky bones began to show. We picked our way through the King's Highway - now a winding trail - until we were surrounded by walls of stone. Whether the Highway was cut through the hills or merely followed a natural pass I could not tell, but two horses could walk side-by-side even at the narrowest point, and there were no fallen rocks to be seen on the path. The way was close but felt safe.
"Look at that!" Michael shouted, pointing in the air.
We had crossed into a clear space and could see the top of the rise ahead of us. Great spires of rock rose like dark teeth - some of them even snow-capped - above rocky hills dotted with green. But Michael was pointing to one great tower of stone, the tallest of all, which sported a plateau midway up. Upon this expansive mountainside plateau was a mighty walled fortress made of the same kind of brown rock we saw all around us. With an unfriendly sheer mountain one the western side of the fortress, and steep cliffs all about the plateau falling hundreds of feet, I could not imagine a way to or from that formidable castle.
"Behold Meadowlea," whispered Kwotik. "I was told about it back at the Living City, but I see why it escapes description. It almost makes me forget my desire to see the Clockwork Castle."
"It's amazing all right," I said. "But Pepperwood Manor was cooler by far."
Kwotik looked at me wryly. "I said almost."
"Are we going there?" asked Michael, enchanted.
"No," growled Cloud-Warrior. "There is no time. We must hurry."
"What fun is that?" I grumbled.
"We have no time for fun," answered the Knight, though I didn't mean it as a real question.
My brother, on the other hand, was full of real questions. "Who built it? What's it for? Do people live there? How do they survive? How do you get up there in the first place?"
Cloud-Warrior stopped in his tracks and gave my brother an evil stare. The horses stopped too, wary of the dog.
"It was built by one of the grandchildren of the first King because he was fighting with one of the other grandchildren. Doss Teeglan improved upon it much later, but it stood empty until three Kings ago. The Pine King had it restored and reoccupied. It was built for last-resort defense. It is manned by a regiment plus some select citizens, and governed by Captain Rolcord of the King's army. Two Knights are stationed there at all times. They survive by water that flows from the thin mountaintop into a lake on the plateau and by growing food there because the soil is rich. Getting there and back is hard. You have to go up through the inside of the mountain. Which we will not be doing."
I was astonished. Never had Cloud-Warrior made so long a speech. He turned and trotted up the path.
"But--" I began.
"No more questions!" our guide snarled.
"What did I miss?" asked Kwotik.
Come to think of it, it was kind of a good thing Cloud-Warrior didn't make long speeches.
As promised, we came to a tunnel right at the base of the mountainish thing that held up the fortress we wouldn't be visiting. Once inside, it seemed less like a tunnel and more like a cave. Lanterns hung on the cave walls lit our way, though, and the main path was clearly defined. The stalactites and stalagmites gave the cave a spooky feel.
I heard voices ahead, and Michael and I looked at one another in alarm. Cloud-Warrior, though, just perked up his ears and quickened his pace.
"Must be friends of his," remarked the Bard.
It was just so. Around a bend there was more light and about a dozen men and women who were clearly waiting to meet us. One large dark-haired fellow was decked out like a Knight of the Hidden Stream, another older man with a salt-and-pepper beard seemed to be giving the orders. A beautiful older woman with a sage look stood at his side. Most of the rest were armed but smiling. A large opening of the cave was just behind them, an opening which seemed to slope upwards. I guessed (correctly) that this was the way to the Fortress above.
Cloud-Warrior first flattened his ears and stooped low in front of the other Knight. At first I thought our guide was getting ready to attack him! But the other Knight bowed his head and put his right arm across his breast in salute. Then cloud-Warrior ran into the waiting arms of the older man and woman, licking them as they petted him and laughed.
"Really good friends," said Kwotik.
The bearded man stood up. "Well come, friends of Elkwater. I am Rolcord, Captain of the Meadowlea Regiment and keeper of Lake Sky, by the King's grace. These with me have the privilege of wishing you well, including Vis Zephyr-Forger and most importantly, the Lady of Meadowlea - my wife Callandra."
As men helped us down from our steeds (not that I needed help), Callandra walked into our midst and placed her hand on each of our cheeks- even Kwotik's. She looked into each of our eyes and I felt an electric thrill. At first I thought she must be some kind of sorceress, but it was not so. She was more than an enchantress - she was a very kind person, gently showing that kindness in her touch. I thought immediately of Aunt Eva. For some reason there was a lump in my throat.
"We came to invite you to stay a bit and rest at Meadowlea, but we have been told in advance that you cannot tarry. So we offer you what comforts we can." Callandra then motioned to some of the men, who brought baskets and flasks.
"Here is food from our gardens and pastures, as well as fish from our lake and fresh water from the streams of melting snow. Also we thought you might like a little of our humble wine."
Kwotik's brow was furrowed in thought. "Wine from Meadowlea," he murmered almost to himself. Then he spoke up: "You mean the stuff known abroad as 'Meadowlea Red'?"
"I do not know how much leaves Elkwater via the First Verse," answered Callandra, "Nor do I know how it is named elsewhere. Have you tasted it before?"
"Er--no," answered the Bard as he eagerly accepted the flask, licking his lips. "But I've heard of it."
The Lady of Meadowlea smiled softly at Kwotik. "You enjoy wine, then. We should have brought more, perhaps. But it is not good to enjoy wine overmuch, Troubador."
"Oh no, Shozer forbid," replied Kwotik with as straight a face as possible.
"Would you stay and take your sup with us?" asked the Captain.
"We can't," whimpered Cloud-Warrior at me and Michael. "We must try to make it to the end of the Carlerway - this tunnel - by nightfall." For once, the dog seemed genuinely sorry to give such orders.
"Our Knight says we have to press on," said Michael, ruefully.
"Then I defer to the White Warrior, as always," said Rolcord. "Well gone, Kingfinders. Should you pass this way again you will receive a proper Meadowlea welcome. May you find the King for whom you are looking!"
"More importantly," called out Callandra as we remounted our horses and began to rid away, "may the King find you."
Kwotik was all for stopping for supper before the end of the tunnel, but Cloud-Warrior would have none of it. He urged us to press on. Soon, an odor became noticeable, one that grew to insufferable proportions as we advanced.
"What the Sha'voth is that?" winced Kwotik.
"We are very near the Winged Cavern," I translated as Cloud-Warrior answered.
Kwotik smirked. "Winged Cavern? Why do they call it the -- oh."
What stopped the Bard in mid-sentence was the Cavern itself. As we entered it, the sound of tens of thousands of wings adjusting and claws scraping could be heard. The ground became soft underfoot as the clip-clopping of the horses ceased to echo.
"We've got to stay on the path," growled Cloud-Warrior. "Stick close to me or you and your horse will disappear as in quicksand."
"What did he say?" Kwotik shouted over the din.
"Follow him or you'll drown in bat poo!" shouted Michael.
"Got it," said the Bard, quite compliantly.
The path skirted the giant cavern, exposing us to the horrible smell of ammonia-like guano for longer than I liked, but keeping our heads above droppings. Once again, I was happy to be on a horse.
Once out of the Cavern, our going was a little slower. The tunnel was no longer lit with lanterns, but the darkness was not complete as a pale light shone ahead. After a few minutes, we could see that the pale light was the waning daylight, and Kwotik broke out into song in Llowellian as we left the tunnel.
"Free, free as Farmer Tulpot's lost milk-cow
who wandered away with the prize sow
to breathe free air
in wond'rous relief!
"Free, free as the wolves that then found them
who longed to surround them
to eat free ham
and free rare beef..."
"The parasite can howl later," barked Cloud-Warrior. "We've got to get moving!" He rushed down a side-path.
Kwotik was annoyed. "What's the rush?"
We followed our guide to a small waterfall, where we all gladly rinsed grime and guano from our bodies. The sun was getting low but our spirits were high.
"This is a good place to stop," said Kwotik, eying the grassy bank.
"No," answered Cloud-Warrior, "we go up to that small cave."
The cave was a treacherous climb, especially for the horses. And the little cave looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"You know what?" asked the Bard with a sudden harshness to his tone, "I'm getting tired of taking orders from grouchy mutts. If you guys like the cave, go for it. I'm staying here."
"Me too," I said.
Cloud-Warrior glared at us a minute, then began padding up towards the cave. "Bring the horses but leave the two puppies with some food," he growled.
Kwotik and I had a fine time watching Michael trying to lead the horses up to the little cave. It was comical how he kept having to backtrack or coax them along.
We ate, and the eating was marvelous. Smoked fish, fresh tomato and mushroom, sourdough bread, mutton, big grapes, and these really tasty tiny eggs had me feeling pretty good. Kwotik spent a lot of time with the wine. I wanted to try some, but he insisted I was too young and drank my flask too, That annoyed me until he pointed out that we had a nice fire going while the two ding-dongs in the little cave were apparently planning on staying cold all night.
"Yep, Timmy me boy," Kwotik said in his native tongue, "what's better'n a soft grassy bed and a warm fire - 'speshully compared to a cold, hard cave, ey?"
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"Never better. Lemme tell you, Meadowlea Red is legen...legen...is famous all over the whoooole worl'. An' now I know why. Tastes like flowers. Flowers dipped in chocolate. 'An a hint of mahoga....mahoga...dark wood. Whyz zat, I wonder?"
"Um, Kwotik--"
"An' she's a fine lady as gave me some, a fine fine lady. A bit smug. Prolly religious. But that kind's not always cold as they say. Sometimes they can turn out quite..."
"Kwotik, you need to--"
"Ah sure, you're too young fer me to be talkin' like this. Yer not even shavin' yet and here I am about to 'splain..."
"Kwotik, LOOK!"
I literally grabbed his face and spun his head around to see the profound event unfolding before me in the gathering dusk. He stopped talking for a minute.
"I should prolly lay off the wine," he said. "'Cuz I'm havin' this halluci...halluci...vision of a million billion bats flying out of the earth."
"It's not a hallucination!" I said shakily. "I see it too and I haven't had a drop of wine. They are pouring out of the cave. Hey, fire doesn't attract bats does it? Does it?"
"Calm down little guy, calm down," said my inebriated guide. "Fire doesn't attract bats a' tall." He smacked the side of his face and examined his hands. "Jes'...you know...bugs."
Kwotik blinked his eyes a few times, then turned to look at me as the proper thought struggled to make its way past impaired synapses in his brain.
"Bugs," I said, the import dawning on me as well.
"Bats eat bugs!" we both shouted, all the while desperately trying to snuff out the flames. But it was too late. In a few seconds we were living in a world of leathery wings and supersonic shrieks and bumbling, furry bodies.
"Gophersnot! The cave!" shouted the Bard. "Make for the cave!"
"But that's where they are coming from!" I protested.
"No no, Cloud-War...Cloud-War...the dog's cave!"
We stumbled over to the path up the cliff and, dodging flying foxes, picked our way in a spastic way - arms flailing and flinching - up to the little cave. Loner was asleep inside, but Michael was laughing and pointing at us. Then he stopped laughing.
"You guys are covered in bat poo again. You stink," he said.
"Deal with it," grumbled Kwotik as he collapsed on the floor and fell asleep.
*******************************************************************************
The next morning we bathed in the waterfall again, looking regretfully at the store of food Kwotik and I had left out in our panic to be ruined by night creatures. To his credit, Cloud-Warrior didn't bark 'I told you so'. Not that he had to.
We made our way back to the highway, and more hills. But Cloud-Warrior then took us off the path unexpectedly and led us to a very large hill to the south. The climb was a slight struggle for the horses.
Kwotik clearly wanted to question the guide, but after the night before he kept his mouth shut.
At the top of the hill we saw why Cloud-Warrior led us there. From the top we could see miles and miles of the Kingdom to the west and south. We saw that the hills ended shortly and the land dropped off. I took a deep breath and felt a little dizzy at the height, so I looked down at the hill we were standing on for a moment. There were rocks strewn about that didn;t all look natural.
"Was there a house on this hill once?" I asked.
"This is Spy Down," answered Cloud-Warrior. "There used to be a lookout post here. But look out as far to the south and west that you can, beyond that great river. What do you see?"
"There's a village...a few villages!" my brother exclaimed.
"No, that's the near side of the river. That's where we are headed next. Look way past. Your vision is better than mine. what do you see?"
I strained my eyes. "Um...lots of open land, some hills, maybe some trees. Looks pretty quiet."
"Same here," Michael said.
"Too bad," said the dog. "That is the realm of the Arlazexi, and this will be your only chance to glimpse them, although far away. It is a good omen for a Kingfinder to see an Arlazexi."
"Arlazexi..." Michael mumbled, then remembered. "Intelligent horses! Magical horses!"
"True horses," growled our guide softly. "Never mind then. Come along."
We made our way back to the King's Highway as I explained the conversation to Kwotik.
The Bard laughed. "Seems like this little Kingfinder journey is more notable for the stuff we don't see than the stuff we do!" He saw the look on my face and continued, "But don't worry kid, I'm sure things will get interesting eventually.
"I saw the village we were heading towards," I said hopefully.
"Yeah? Great, great..."
"Do you think that will be interesting?" I asked.
"Um...well...if you like school, I guess..."
"School?!"
Kwotik shrugged. "Forget I said anything. We won't be there long. Maybe a week. Maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe you'll get a pretty teacher."
It was so bad.
******************************************************************
As we followed the King's Highway down the ridge and to the lands below, the sound of drumbeats lightly pulsed through the morning air. As we neared the group of villages we saw from Spy Down, the sound of the drums grew louder and were joined by male voices and the airy strains of wind instruments. The music mesmerized me. The song reminded me of something that might come from Africa, or the middle east, or Ireland. The strange drumbeats were both Celtic and primal, the flutes reminiscent of something Persian, and the raised voices distinctly proud and tribal. We drew closer, and the words became clear:
This humble vision, this vision of us
in the lifting fog of dawn-time, bright-breathing time;
may it guide you, may it lead you to trust
beyond your senses, beyond your fingertips
Hold these words hard to your heart
Make them soft with the warmth of your blood
Take this sight of the vision of us
Tie it tight to the wheel of your mind
Hear our purpose, and see with your soul
in the shining sun, the sun of mid-day;
fear not to let it rebuild you whole
as you learn to see through a prism of tears
Hold these words hard to your heart
Make them soft with the warmth of your blood
Take this sight of the vision of us
Tie it tight to the wheel of your mind
Feel our pulse, the pulse of sweet peace
in the spreading dusk, in the embrace of the night;
wake from woe, let the wonder increase
and take your rest in Soranou
Hold these words hard to your heart
Make them soft with the warmth of your blood
Take this sight of the vision of us
Tie it tight to the wheel of your mind.
Wake from woe! Wake from woe!
See through tears! A prism of tears!
Beyond your senses, in shining Soranou...
Take your rest in Soranou...
I was so lost in song that I startled to realize we were already at our destination. Tiger lilies were everywhere: lining pathways, between the beehive-shaped domed homes, growing along a trickling stream to our left. Standing in the midst of the lilies were the villagers who had come to greet us. Nearly all had ebony-black skin. The adults were clothed in many colors woven with intricate designs; the children wore mostly white. The drumming and song trailed off and one family stepped forward.
The father was tall and stern, his short black curls tinged with gray. The mother was graceful and stunning, her dark brown eyes offering me welcome and mercy. A young woman stood with her, her white garment tinged with pastels at her sleeves, offsetting her midnight skin - a daughter who smiled like her mother. And a younger girl, pixie-like and uncomfortable in her dress, smaller than me in height, folded her arms and scowled. She stood out comically for her impertinence, but she also stood out because her skin was as white as the inside of an apple - and her hair was long, straight, and the color a sun-bleached buttercup. My first impression was that she was beautiful in a skinny, tiny, faerie-like way.
Impressions change.
Michael was the first to speak. "Is this a place called Soranou?" he asked, thinking of the song I suppose.
The stern man spoke in reply. "Soranou is not a place, esteemed Kingfinder; Soranou is the place. But this place is called Ibn-Warna, and you are very welcome here."
He looked at me and the others, then continued, "My name is Alexander - I am the Fulcrum of Ibn-Warna and a loving servant of the Hickory King. This is my wife, Krina; and these are my daughters Amalie and Carrigan. We all have longed for this day, and we yearn to comfort you and teach you the ways of Tuntuq-Teague."
I groaned inwardly at the idea of learning. "Will that really help us find a King?" I asked.
Did the pixie-girl actually roll her eyes?
"You will not find the King without it, young Kingfinder Tim," answered Alexander. But today, let us welcome you with music and cool drink. Tomorrow we'll get to work."
Kwotik cleared his throat. "We are honored, oh Fulcrum. The wisdom of Ibn-Warna is deep indeed. Perhaps you can share aardvarks with us - aardvarks from the days of yore?"
In the Elkwater tongue, the word 'aardvark' sounds a lot like -
"Do you mean stories from the days of yore?" smirked the little white girl. "I hope so because we're fresh out of fossilized aardvarks."
Kwotik raised an eyebrow.
"Carrigan!" scolded her mother in an icy tone, and Carrigan lowered her gaze.
Alexander answered as if the exchange between his wife and daughter had not happened. "We have tales enough to strain even your ability to remember, Bard from distant shores."
"Try me," answered the Troubadour. "I'm a fair caretaker of myths."
At that moment Carrigan sneezed, but the sneeze sounded suspiciously fake.
"Is your daughter always this rude?" I asked Alexander. It was meant to be a joke. I know: poor timing, and inappropriate with people I barely knew. But cut me some slack. I was nine.
Alexander stiffened and I could tell I hit a nerve. Carrigan glared at me.
"She speaks her mind too much at times," said the Fulcrum of Ibn-Warna. "But come. Come and be refreshed."
I dismounted with the others and followed Alexander to a waiting celebration and feast at the center of the village. Krina and her two daughters walked nearby. Carrigan glanced at me and then confided to her mother (but in a voice loud enough for me to hear), "That Kingfinder is a woman-hater, Mother."
My heart sank. Mom and Aunt Eva came to my mind right away. Carrigan's words hurt me deeply. If she wanted an enemy, I was only too happy to oblige. I resolved to strike back at the first opportunity.
Chapter End |
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