by Justin Kauer
Chapter Two – A Prayer for Sorrow
They rode the short distance towards where they had left the venomous flowers, this time hoping that they would be able to find some left after the last night’s sandstorm had blown through. It had hit with such force that it gave a frosty look to some of the metals that had been left exposed, it also peeled off the finish, be it paint or varnish, on at least one side of each wagon where the tarps did not cover, depending on which sides were exposed as the storm hit. The wood underneath had been badly pitted by the abrasive blast, and would need to be sanded at the very least, or replaced altogether in some cases. Also, while many of the horses had the hide rubbed raw where the wind had whipped the sand across their hides, one of the horse’s hide had been blasted such that it was raw and bleeding, but some of the sand had mixed with the blood, which seemed to have clotted the wounds and to stop the blood from oozing out. Later, when some of the wounds were cleaned, they were found to be already badly infected. The only thing that they could do for the animal was to put it out of its misery. Were they at a place where it could rest and recover, any recuperation would still be quite questionable. As it was, there would be no chance for it to survive as they wandered around through the heat of the desert. Garrve volunteered to do the dirty deed and it was over quickly. Because of this mountain of evidence that showed the brute force of the wind gusts, the party felt their hopes of returning their precious memories beginning to wane, as the flowers should have been shredded to pieces in the gale force of the wind.
“We should have reached the field by now!” Joan yelled to Garrve.
“It must have been buried by the wind! All halt!” Garrve called and then added, to Joan, “What do you suggest we do?”
“You’re the king here, why are you asking that wishstar?” Nordholst interjected.
“You shall keep a civil tongue in your head around Lady Joan, or I’ll cut it right out of your head here and now, is that clear?” began Garrve, king of the moment. “As it is, only she has any working knowledge as to where we are going (and who we are, for that matter). We need her to get us free of this massive mess.”
“So, you’re letting a woman push you around? Is that it? You haven’t thought that maybe we don’t want a fickle wench as our leader?”
“That is it! Hold him while I get my knife!” Garrve ordered.
“King Garrve!” Joan scolded. “You cannot harm that man. He is being insolent and, were it not for the current circumstances, he should definitely be held to account for said insolence. However, you are to be a king. That includes acting as such. I would not like to be known as someone that is prone to go around cutting people’s tongues out.
“If you are, or anyone else is to rule in your kingdom with any semblance of efficacy, you must learn to lead rather than dictate. Kindness, virtue, charity and common decency are the traits that Chromis wrote about! As king, one can neither try to legislate such qualities into effect nor can they be employed through edict. These things must be written on the hearts of all. You can help to write it there by sharing such ideals with them and by your example, but they must do the actual penning of these ideas in their hearts, or it would be of no use to them or to you. Without such traits, your people will easily become divided and conquered. See that you foster such traits in your subjects. See that these qualities become the seal that unites them in purpose and strength, and your kingdom shall endure long after you are gone. Fail to do so, and you can give your throne to the Darvanians right now, as they seek to unite the world’s kingdoms through treachery, debauchery, lying, divisiveness, false rumors, cowardice, and fear. Such evils kill a kingdom long before the men that rule them are dead!” Joan explained, with such bold conviction and peaceful tones in sounding the trump of righteousness, and with such disdainful tenors which grew sour and odious at the hissing of the bittern viols as the Darvanian tactics were pronounced, that all deeply felt the true contrast of the two descriptions.
“My lady, you make a very strong case with so few words! I do not remember anything about the Darvanians, mind you, but I do know that your words about the good qualities ring most true. On one hand, there is the plan of God, on the other, the evil one! I felt my heart burn within me as you spoke of the joyous mannerisms, and it sank into my gut at the appearances of despair! Why is that?”
“Alban . . .” she began, choking back the tears, “He said that the reason that we feel that way when something that is said is true is that the Holy Spirit has testified to us of the truthfulness of those things. When we feel joy, peace, and enduring love, we can know that it comes from God. When we feel feelings of despair, fear, or loathing, though the emotion run strong, these things come from that same evil one that you have just mentioned. That is how we can know the truth of all things, especially when we go to the Lord in prayer and ask him if something be right. If it is, He will send us the same Comforter, the Holy Spirit, to give us to understand these things. It seems simple, but that is only because it is true.
“The Evil One, on the other hand, will also tell us the truth. In fact, he will spill out volumes of truth, testing the point of saturation in each individual — the point where they are about to burst their old shell. That is the point in which each begins to wonder if they are able to live up to such knowledge and the growth that is about to take place. It is at that precise point that he sweeps in and delivers that one easy, oozing, soothingly unctuous lie that seems to let us off the hook or fill the cracks in the old shell so that a new one is not necessary.
“It falls to us, then, to recognize the lie and let our growth continue, knowing that, like a lobster, there is a shell already underneath to protect us and allow our continued growth. In short, we must trust that God will provide the way for us to continue growing.
“So was I, Garrve. I was about to burst, knowing that I was not living up to the fullness of my calling in life, though there was little that I felt that I could do. I began to believe the lie that I was forgotten by God, and that I would have to live out my life as a slaver’s daughter, in spite of my true heritage. Always remember that, Garrve. Remember that when something does not seem right (even though it might feel good and inviting) you must pray about it and accept what the Lord tell you to do.”
“My lady, I shall live by those words! I deeply thank you for helping me with those kind words of encouragement.” Garrve said humbly, with tears welling in his eyes.
The party started again, but the wagon went a few lengths along what was left of the trail after the great windstorm that had blown through. Suddenly, Joan stood up in her seat.
“Dig here.”
“My lady?” questioned Garrve.
“We must dig here if we are to find any of the flowers!” Joan stated in a most matter-of-fact manner.
“What?”
“I think that we are over the field. We need to dig if we are to find them. Where is a shovel?” she asked.
Garrve began, “Oh! There is a couple . . . or so tied to the side of this wagon in which we have been riding. You rest here. I will have it out shortly. You others, find anything with which you may dig, and start looking for the plants! Joan, what gave you the idea to dig here?”
“I felt as though it were the thing to do. I was praying to myself and felt that everything would be alright. Then, when I saw the sores on the hides of the horses that you have pulling the wagon, I began to think of that horse that you put down. It must have taken the very brunt of the sandblasts, and that was why the others were saved. I could not help but think that it may be so with the plants. In my mind’s eye, I saw a few plants blasted by the winds and acting as a shield, leaving others intact.”
“And that’s when you decided to call out?”
“King Garrve, please! Your highness should not use such vulgar contractions!” Joan jeered.
Garrve started to laugh out loud. Joan joined him for a good chuckle.
At length, Garrve stat
ed, “Lady Joan, I see why he loved you so much! You have a good sense of humor!”
“He loved me? He did not even kiss me goodbye!”
“Oh, my dear lady! That is precisely why he did not! Can you imagine how you would be aching over him now had he done so? That was a warm deviousness carried out for you and you alone!”
“Warm deviousness? Did you not listen to a thing that I just told you?”
“Call it an act of charity, then. Lady Joan, I should like to think that you understand. He did not want you to long for him all the more, knowing your love for him and the state of . . . affairs?? Not a great choice of a word, I know, but you do understand, do you not?”
“I suppose that if he had kissed me that I should feel a much more sharpened withdrawal from him. I might have ended up angry at him for such a cowardly act. That is what attracted him to me in the first place . . . well, after he was healed a bit. Like I said, he goes around making sure that everything is taken care of for others first, hardly thinking about himself. A man like that would have made a fine king.
“I had given a great amount of thought to that end. I wanted to not only try, but convince my father that such a man would be good for our land. He served me, and I served him. Slave served princess, and princess served slave. It was a thing of grace and beauty. When he was freed by Ryan . . .” Joan sat and lamented.
“But my lady, you are betrothed! Such things can prove the cause of war among nations! You know that Alban said . . .”
“Are the nations not now either at war or preparing for it? I guess that you do not remember, but I do. At any turn of the wheel, we were betrothed in secret when I was so young that I do not even remember . . . well, not that well. I can remember some of the scenery vaguely, but as to where I was or with whom, I cannot say. I asked my father about it. He said that it was better that I were to know only before I were to marry. That way, even I should have plausible denial, should things go wrong and the secret be exposed. I remember telling him that the whole thing sounded clandestine and possibly shady. He laughed loudly and assured me that it was not at all ‘shady’; he had arranged the whole wedding out of his love for me, and that my future husband would provide for me and would care more for me than he did. But when a man like . . . Alban . . . comes along . . . or whatever his name is . . . I had hoped that . . .”
“You had hoped that things would be different? That you could choose whatever you want for yourself?”
“I suppose so, Garrve,” Joan said. “Besides, why is it that you men always get to run around doing as you please? Why do not women get to choose . . . ?”
“You have never been a slave, my lady!”
“What?”
“You heard me! You have never been a slave!”
“Well, I have been held captive for quite a while . . .”
“It is not the same! You have been able to . . . How may I explain? One’s situation does not always determine their destiny. In fact, it should not!”
“You have begun to pique my curiosity, Garrve! Please, go on.” Joan half-mocked, but showed genuine interest at the same time.
