by Justin Kauer
Dusk was stealing across the evening sky. A full array of fiery yellow, orange, and red tones engulfed the castle towers, leaving only the development of deep, dark shadows in their fading. The courtyards and gardens were all empty. A solemn silence swept through the still stone structures. Great billows of smoke filled the air, rolling into blinding billows that blotted out the vision, leaving its viewer in complete darkness. A loud voice that seemed to shake the whole earth rose from the darkness and said, “Awake and remember!”
Then, all of a sudden, another fire was shown to him. It seemed to be the glowing white hot coals of the fire of a blacksmith. Metal was heated in a large crucible and poured out into a mold. After the metal cooled, it was taken by the blacksmith and folded and forged into a blade with great pummeling blows of the skilled artisan. At length, a blade came forth that was unimpressive by the looks of it, but when wielded, it smashed a gorgeously jeweled and shiny blade.
A young, recently freed slave awoke with a start from his dream and in a cold sweat. He opened his eyes and looked up at the multitude of stars that were so bright that they seemed to dangle just out of reach above him. He tried again to think as to why the dream had such great emotions attached to it. Was it a memory, or merely a nightmare that had poured itself deep down into his mind and heart? This time, he noticed the emotional pain that was apparently associated with the vision. He also remembered much more of the dream than before. Joan was . . .
Suddenly, Alban remembered that he had left consciousness inside of the wagon (Ryan’s wagon, to be more precise). Now that he had found it out under the dark desert sky, he wondered as to why. He looked around himself, hoping to figure out what was going on, because he did not think that he should have been placed on his back, given that he had been badly wounded there.
“Success!” he said to himself upon seeing that his hands and feet were bound.
He must have said it aloud, for Wafflestonks laughed and asked, “You call this . . . success? I should hate to see you on a bad day!”
“Uhhh . . . well, I was just trying to figure out why I was placed on my back, when that is where I was wounded . . . and I figured it out when I saw the bonds on my limbs.”
“Perhaps you should have said, ‘Small success!’ We are not in a good situation, my friend.”
“That, I did understand, but why?”
“It seems that the party that you were traveling with has returned and put you in . . . well, they have tied you up with the rest of us. Why would they do such a thing?”
“I was a slave when I awoke a few days ago. I think it was a few days ago. Anyway, I have no recollection before that point. It was a head injury that took my memories from me.”
“Well, sound my nose as a trumpet!” began Wafflestonks. “You were right that I was bluffing about the Slave King before, but the more I hear about you the more I am convinced that you are one and the same!”
“How so?”
“Well, you know the song, apparently . . . or at least a version of it. The one that I recall had no beheading of any thieves.”
“I put that in there to test you. But, go on . . .”
“Well, I mean that there is a part that goes, ‘the man shall know no past, only the present future until he finds himself again.’ . . .”
“. . . And you think that it could be applied to me . . . how?” asked Alban, though he obviously knew to what Wafflestonks referred.
“You know no past, Sire. If you, indeed, remember nothing of your life until you woke up a few days ago, so you have no past; all that you know is the present, so . . .”
“How do I know the future, then?” Alban asked in earnest as he began to seriously entertain the idea of being a ‘Slave King’. Then he added, still unwilling to show any shadow of acceptance, “There is a whole lot of things that could come from such general terms. How many have claimed that they were the Slave king in the past?”
“Oh, lots and lots, I suppose. This was usually the sticking point. That one phrase could not be rationalized in any way, shape, or form.” explained Wafflestonks. “There have been some whose pasts were unknown, simply because there was no one that had known them. They were simply strangers to the rest. But you . . . you fit those words most excellently as you remember no past and all that you know now is what is at present . . . and this new shadow of what you can become through this very legend!”
In perfect Effulgian, Alban asked most seriously, “Are you a lawyer or professor in Effulgia? You see, you are very convincing — almost to the point that I should like to believe you. You also have a unique way of interpretation of the words.”
“I am not trying to twist word around to suit my needs!”
“Nor am I accusing you of such. If that were what I had meant, I would have said as much.” Alban clarified. “I merely meant that you had a good understanding of the language and its application. Most people these days will hear things only the way that they should like things to be.”
“It becomes harder and harder, no matter what language be employed, not to be misinterpreted in one’s speech. I understand that. Lies water down any real meaning from a language and the dilution that follows becomes lukewarm and infested with parasitic cataratum spawn.”
“Well said, indeed! You do see what I mean, though? You have a great command of the Effulgian language. You employ great usage of imagery and metaphor, such as the cataratum. You obviously have had a good education.” Alban reiterated.
“I graduated from the Academy at Three Rivers City!” Wafflestonks offered.
“I hear that is a fine academy, indeed. In fact, it rivals even some universities.”
“Quite so. Though, it is not quite the education that I should have received at the Castle City of Effulgia. Still, it was good training and as young ambassador to the nation of Watersguard, it was my duty.” expounded Wafflestonks.
“Why, then, do they (and who are they that did) send you, a man that is so well educated to infiltrate a band of thieves? Could they not serve their purpose much better by paying men off to tip the thieves into their hands?”
“It was from Effulgia that I was sent . . . though, I often have wondered the same thing. I did not question the command at the time that I was sent, being actually glad to have escaped the turmoil at the overthrow of the King of Effulgia.”
“The king was overthrown, then? How did that happen?” asked Alban in earnest.
“Oh! There was great treachery dealt him! His own two sons plotted against him and overthrew his kingdom, the merggermongers! (Please excuse the vulgarity, as I have been among these barbarians for some time now.) Anyway, these two sons consorted with a secret confederate of rulers from the northern lands. I only know because I had been read into the confidence of the King of Watersguard, as he was most fond of me and a powerful ally to the Effulgians before the rebellion. He had the deepest respect for the King in particular. With the help of the mentioned confederation, these two rogues killed and bribed their way to joint usurpation of the throne.
“I do not understand how it was that he did not see these things coming. He is usually so sharp! He and my father were the greatest of friends. In fact, I was a friend to his son as well. Those two were so much alike . . . to say that they were cut from the same cloth would be so misleading, for they were much more than appearance . . . to say that they were cast from the same mold would do them injustice, for they were of the same heart. For the most part, aside from kingly duties and the son’s schooling, they were inseparable (and sometimes the boy would even hide in a small cubby hole to listen in on the Court affairs). I had a good relationship with my father; do not mistake me for a jealot. They just had a relationship that is so rare.
“It was just very natural for them to make friends — close ones, and for life. They . . .”
“I wish that I had known this king of whom you speak. It is so rare to have a ruler of such great humility that he
can make friends so easily!”
“I said nothing of humility! Are you sure that you did not know him?” Wafflestonks asked, suspiciously.
“No man that is not humble to some degree can get along with anyone else for any meaningful amount of time, let alone become an affectionate friend. A man that has such societal stature can only make such true friends if he is happy to actually serve his fellow being. That is how and why friendship exists.”
“You know, you remind me of his son — a whole lot, in fact. You seem to be about the right age, as well. He was a lot skinnier, though. Anyway, as I mentioned before, we were great friends before I left for Watersguard. We kept writing the whole time that I was away. He kept me apprised of the happenings at Effulgia and offered me great support and advice on my learning and diplomatic efforts. It was because of the tone of his letters the last while and the fact that after a while no more came that I first became suspicious. I had wondered if I had said something in one of my letters that had offended him. After around two years, I got a letter from a relative that explained a lot. He said that he suspected that King Crescentius had been made a puppet, so to speak and that his youngest son had been captured and held to ensure the king’s cooperation. Apparently, that had fallen through, and by the time that I received the letter, the sons had usurped the throne. So, I got special permission to have the final exams given to me ahead of the rest of the students, and I left for Effulgia, having graduated with full honors. When I got there, I was sent to this detail.”
“How did they react when they saw you there at the castle at Effulgia?” Alban asked in earnest.
“I did not go to the castle, for the court has been moved, but they seemed extremely surprised to see me.”
“Like they had seen a ghost?”
“Yes! Precisely!” exclaimed Wafflestonks. “How did you know?”
“Well, first tell me who it was that sent you out here.”
“It was the older of the two.”
“The two brothers that usurped the throne?”
“Yes.”
“It was all his idea?”
“Well, no. It could have been his assistant, who had been given a strange title that was something along the lines of being his Assistant in Chief. The two stood aside in conference before my orders were received.”
“How was he dressed?”
“Like any Effulgian lord, though I must admit that in all my days at the castle I never set eyes on him . . . No . . . never did I see him before that day.”
“His sword!”
“Sire?”
“What did his sword look like?” asked Alban with a tone that gave Wafflestonks the idea that it may be the key to figuring out the whole plot.
“It was the most gorgeous sword that I had ever seen! He even took it out and showed the blade. It shone like no other!”
“My friend, you have been set up for assassination, and survived it. It is an old trick of the Darvanians, though others have caught on and use it on occasion. They send someone out, in the name of honor and service of their country, to undertake a task for which they are, by all outward estimations, unprepared. If the target should live, it is seen as a chance to further their cause and claim success in their endeavors, in this case, the capture or destruction of the thieves in this part. They could have always had the dirty deed done by someone else, should you live. If you were to have died, then they would have accomplished their design, and if they so desired they could use your loss as a reason to gain popularity by ridding themselves of the thieves en route to a feigned vengeance upon your killers. The Darvanians call the move a ‘cap or crown’.”
“So they wanted me dead?” Wafflestonks exclaimed in disgust.
“It appears so. Do you know why?”
“I am not sure.”
“Until you do know, you must stay far out of their reach. Were I you, I would return to Watersguard and seek out some allies, powerful ones, if you have them. Warn them of all that has transpired and ask for their aid in staying alive. But be sure that you go not back to Effulgia, until that matter for which they wished to kill you is settled, or you will not live long.”
“What you say feels right, but how can I know for sure?” Wafflestonks asked solemnly.
“Well, you could go back to Effulgia and get yourself killed or you can think it over for a minute or two.” laughed Alban. “It feels right because it is right. It would be easier to go back to Effulgia to your home and any family that be left there, but it would not be the right thing to do. We may not ask for every trial that comes upon us in our lives, but we can and must ask God for help through them. He will never leave you alone if you do what is right when it is right. But, you must already believe that or you probably would not have survived the coup.”
“I suppose that you are right . . . about all of it. It’s just nice to have some reassurance.”
“The best reassurance comes from the Lord. Ask in prayer if what you have decided is right, now that you have studied it out in your mind. If it is the best thing for you to do, He will tell you that it is right with an unmistakable burning peace in your heart. Then you will know not only that your decision is the right one, but that the Lord is with you on your errand. Then you need not wonder nor doubt. Accept it and move on.”
“I have heard that often in church, but I never realized the full meaning of it until you just explained it to me. Are you sure that you do not know who you are? You even speak like the prince. I have not had religious talks like this (at least on this personal level) since I last left him at the towers of Effulgia these many years ago.”
“I remember things, but I do not remember anything about who I am.”
“Well, you are obviously someone that has had a great education. You understand the hearts of evil men better than they do, and you do know God, His will, and how to follow Him even though you probably do not know to what church you belong, nor to which kingdom, for that matter.”
“Oh, Galandetra’s whistle! First I am a . . . no, the Slave King from ancient legend, then I suddenly am whisked away to become a prince of Effulgia! Wait!” Alban interrupted. “You mentioned towers! I have been having the same dream for days about towers that were burning. Do you know anything of this?”
“You mean the towers at the realm’s gates! Yes, why?”
“Have they been burned?”
“I have not been to see them for these many years. I cannot say. Why do you ask?”
“As I said, I have had dreams in which there were towers burning. I just wanted to know if they happened to be the same.”
“Perhaps if you should describe them for me . . .”
Alban closed his eyes and began to paint a picture for Wafflestonks. “There were three great towers on what seems to be the front facing walls — one contained the main gate and a drawbridge which seems to have been built to cross a rapidly moving river. There were two more walls that angled out from there slightly and seemed to disappear into the cliff walls that ran along the river.”
“Oh! By the stars of Isthma! That was not the front gate (though it does seem to be the castle hold at Effulgia); that is the rear gate that leads to the fields! The front gate has embattlements of great workmanship and there are countless towers lining the whole of the city. To gain entrance, one must use the ferries that go across the small lake that the same river forms as it winds through the mountain passes. It actually enters into the cliff face and comes out inside the lake.
“I know this because I was told that there was a fierce battle there at the back gate which was won by the strength of the Castle Guard at Effulgia City. The Darvanians thought that they could surprise us from behind by lowering themselves down by rope from the northern cliffs into the great mountain valleys that have been reserved for the forests and herds. They hoped to gain entrance and kill the guards so that the bulk of their armies could make a decent frontal attack. They met with
utter disappointment. All were killed and swept away by the swift current, or captured. The next morning when scouts were sent out the front gate, they found the bodies of many of the opposing force in the lake’s waters. Word was sent, and a detail was formed to gather the bodies together, so as not to allow the waters to become polluted. They found a barge that was about to be dismantled anyway, and they put the bodies on them and burned them.
“Years later, they decided to see how long it should take for the water to wash through the underwater cave by placing different objects in the water and seeing when it should pop out at the fountain which is the source of the lake, just to know for security reasons. A float was made of some cow stomachs; it took about two minutes, maybe less.”
“So, in my dream . . . that was the back gate to the Castle of Effulgia City . . . Its rightful name is Hope’s Holde at Effulgia, is it not?
“Why, yes, it is indeed, named after the first queen whose name was Hope! Hope of Effulgia was her name! How did you know?”
“It seems to me that I have been recalling a memory through my dreams. It could be that I watched those towers burn as I was led away from . . . or, perhaps, past that castle. Well, from what you say, it was the rear wall. It seems to have faced north. Is that correct?”
“Indeed, it is! You are remembering things now?”
“No. I wish that I were! I just remember from my dream that the position of the sun made the walls cast a great shadow on the way as we traveled along. It does seem that I was quite distraught at seeing the towers burning as I was being hauled away. Then all becomes blackness . . . in my dream and my memory.”
“Well, it is a start, at the very least.”
“That is true. That is one thing from my past that I have been able to describe and have someone else recognize . . . Exactly why am I in bonds again?”
Chapter Twelve – Unraveling of Bonds
