Rolling Thunder

by A. R. LEOPARD

  James sighed and slouched back on his bed. He stared at the ceiling for quite some time, listening to the low hum of the fish tank filter. All of a sudden he popped up, struck with a daring idea. He cautiously stood and, after double checking that everyone was still out, he crept out of his room and down the stairs. He slowly pushed open the study door and tip-toed over to the bookshelves. His eyes frantically scanned the book spines before his eyes lit on a fat little green book and he very quickly whisked it under his arm. Being a relatively spry old man, he got back upstairs in a fraction of the time it had taken him to get down. He guiltily slid the book under his sheets and lay down again, heart racing. He waited a moment to make sure all was safe and then, slowly took the little green book out again. The Blood Curse. His hands trembled as he carefully opened the book to find the place he had last left off. He had been puzzling on how Cliff would survive this battle for five weeks and now and it was time to find out. He had just found his place when the screen door slammed downstairs and he heard voices. The Blood Curse was rapidly returned under the coverlets and James stretched himself out, very still, listening.

  For a long time he lay there, wide awake, patiently waiting for the whole household to go to bed. He heard when Zachary got home and slumped off to his room. He was awake when Mason came up to take a shower and remove her make-up. And he was still fighting for wakefulness when he heard Thomas and Sandra flicking off all the lights and locking the doors. Finally! Everyone had gone to bed. James was quite tired now. Three hours had passed while he waited, but he was determined to find out the outcome of that battle. He pulled out an old book-light and flicked it on. He turned to the fifteenth chapter, the middle of the third paragraph. Cliff was preparing for a mad yet seemingly hopeless attack on the Shadow Leaper, a dark immortal demon.

  ...on the brute in a fiery fury before him. The monster raised his club again and it gathered speed as he swung it around his head preparing for a second throw, only this time with better aim. Cliff was poised for an attack of his own, but just as he was about to charge hopelessly—

  There was a creak in the hallway outside his room. James madly stuffed the book and light under his pillow with the speed only a guilty person can boast of. The door opened a crack and Sandra's head popped in. She looked at her father for some time, trying to decide whether or not he was asleep. Finally satisfied, she shut the door and walked away. But she had waited just long enough. James had fallen asleep, even with a book and light under his pillow, which is no easy thing to do, and was now hopefully finding rest from all his sorrows in peaceful sleep.

  2

  I Tell You an Important Story

  A broad man with a finely chiseled face and probing grey eyes stood tall and proud on a high balcony. His chestnut hair flowed in the strong breeze coming from over the eastern sea. The sun was making every gem on his illustrious crown glitter and every bejeweled ring on his long fingers sparkle. A massive, deafening roar met him as he stepped out as the newly crowned king of Gailli, Harvest, of the Blackmoor line of royalty. The large courtyard below him was filled with his admiring subjects here to celebrate his coronation and to show their wholehearted support and loyalty. There were farmers and merchants; tradesmen and housewives; the impoverished and the wealthy; humans and fairies; dwarves and elves, all here to celebrate their new king.

  It was three months to the day since the good King Lostar of Gailli had died peacefully and full of years, and six weeks since the fair Queen Gentle had followed him into their forever rest. Now their only son was assuming his rightful place. His wife, the new queen, stood tall and beautiful at his side as both smiled brightly at the enthusiastic mass below them.

  “My people,” the deep timbre of his voice silenced the noisy crowd, “It is an honor to have the privilege of ruling such loyal subjects. Your support of me on this day will never be forgotten by me, or any of the royal family, for as long as we have mouths to tell of it. Justice will be yours. Prosperity will be yours. Peace will be yours. May you live lives of fulfillment. Lives of love and joy. I, your newly crowned king, do bless you.”

  Not a very long speech we notice, but it worked well for the majority of these people who had no great love or appreciation for lengthy orations.

  The courtyard burst out again in loud cheers as they threw hats and handkerchiefs (and whatever else they might have on hand) into the air, rejoicing in this memorial day. The new king bowed low then, as the queen gracefully curtsied. They then turned and slowly walked back through the high archway and down the wide stair to a great feast awaiting them.

  Later that night, after the feasting but before the celebrations had ended, King Harvest strode up to a man gazing out a great window facing the sea, which the rising moon was turning silver. This man was Ozival, the prince of Essa, a kingdom to the north of Gailli. Their fathers had been fast friends and their sons had followed suit.

  “Thank you again for coming.” Harvest put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, “I know I said it earlier, but acceptance speeches are sometimes so impersonal and formal. It really has meant a lot to me to have you and your father come such a long way to celebrate with me. I know my father would have been so pleased.”

  Prince Ozival smiled warmly as he turned to face Harvest, “It was my honor and my pleasure to be present. I wish you all the good fortune in the world, here at the dawn of your rule. And I wish you bountiful wisdom to rule both justly and mercifully.”

  Harvest nodded silently.

  “Keep in touch. Even with new responsibilities, maintain these old, but true bonds.” Ozival chuckled and gripped Harvest’s hand, “Laurelina is coming this way with wee Verna so I will take my leave. Congratulations again and know you are always welcome in Essa.”

  Harvest smiled as he returned the hearty shake, “Likewise, my friend. Give my heartfelt gratitude to your father. I'm not certain I'll see him before your return to Essa tomorrow. May it be an easy and uneventful journey.”

  “Indeed.” and with a smile, Ozival walked off, nodding to Harvest’s wife as she passed.

  “How are you faring, my darling?” Harvest asked as he carefully took the small pink baby from his queen and lightly kissed them both.

  “I'm doing fine. And Verna too has been doing remarkably well for such a busy day. I daresay she will sleep quite soundly tonight. But Harvest love, I fear your sister is not doing so well. She seems to be increasingly distressed by the continued noise and merry-making. I think she just wants to return to her castle and enjoy the rest of her evening in solitude. I am really rather surprised she has stayed as long as she has, knowing how she hates these kinds of things.”

  “Nausta is a loyal sister indeed, to endure so much on my account.” Harvest said, smiling softly, “If you see her before I do, tell her she may leave whenever she wishes. I love parties, the vivid display of life and light, the hum and buzz of hundreds of voices in conversation, and I hope the celebration lasts a good bit longer, but I in no way expect her to want to stay.” Harvest smiled again as he tickled his daughter's toes.

  Laurelina patted her husband’s arm, “Then perhaps I'll go tell her now, for she truly is rather uncomfortable.”

  Harvest carefully handed the tiny child back to his wife, “Let me go. You've been running around all day. Take a turn in the garden with our baby and enjoy the moonlight.”

  With that, he kissed them both again, and strode, as a true king should, to the rescue of his sister, the princess Nausta.

  He found her standing stiffly in the midst of a crowd of his merry dinner guests. Her grey eyes were cold as she listened to the idle chatter of a plump old lady who kept on reaching for the princess’s hand and, having thus procured it, would give it a little kiss, before releasing it again. I think we can all understand how this would’ve made most anyone feel quite uncomfortable.

  “My friends,” the king interrupted, abruptly stepping into the circle, “I beg your pardon. I must steal away the princess for a moment. I will try not to kee
p her long from your charming company.”

  Nausta quickly extricated herself from the circle and took her brother’s offered arm. They made a careful retreat and then began a slow turn about the hall.

  “Thank you.” she whispered after they were well out of earshot, “I fear that if that woman had kissed my hand one more time, I would have slapped her with it.”

  Not a very gracious thought for a princess, but Harvest gave a deep chuckle and led his sister over to a quiet spot where he stooped and turned to her.

  “Thank you for enduring so much to be at my coronation today, Nausta. I know what a trial these big affairs can be for you and you must know that I deeply I appreciate the sacrifice. However, you need not stay here any longer if you don’t wish it. You have my permission to leave.”

  Nausta released a relieved sigh, “Thank you. I will leave right away then. I have plans for tomorrow and must be up early. Say goodbye to Laurelina and Verna for me. I'll walk myself out.”

  Harvest nodded his approval. And with that somewhat crisp goodbye, she walked quickly away.

  —————

  Harvest stood in confusion, bewildered by what was happening before him. He had risen early that morning to request Nausta’s presence for the signing or one or two official documents. He had ridden the few miles to Stonespoke knowing Nausta was an early riser and had let himself in to her small castle. But now he stood silent in the doorway of her library, her very large library, and felt a pebble of concern drop in his stomach. Books lined every shelf and these shelves were quite tall themselves. The four great windows, two facing west and two facing north, were letting in soft morning light. In the center of the room were two large wooden tables with several chairs positioned rather randomly around them. Nausta was standing at one of these tables, her back to him, as she examined what appeared to be a strange greenish blue substance in a shallow glass dish. She had a tall candle lit and an enormous book open nearby. Harvest saw that there were many other such books lying around, massive volumes, all appearing to be very ancient and fragile. Nausta had begun to stir the substance, which appeared to be a bit like sand. She then took a tiny pinch of the stuff and sprinkled it over the flame of the nearby candle. The yellow light flickered wildly for a moment and then, with a flash, turned a vibrant blue-green. The flame was much taller than a normal flame and it had begun to melt the candle at an astonishingly rapid rate. The look on Nausta’s face belied her pleasure as she turned to the massive book lying open on the table, still unaware of her brother’s presence in the shadow of the doorway. After reading a moment from the book, she walked over to the mantle of a large fireplace and brought back another candle. She lit this with her original candle. Now there were two flames of this strange blue hue. She laughed quite merrily a moment before sighing in contentment and turning to leave the room. But then she caught sight of Harvest.

  “Harvest.” Nausta’s face went pale before she quickly masked her surprise, “What are you doing here?”

  He could feel his fear and anger rising, “I came to request your presence at the signing of a legal document,” he scanned the room again, “but you seem to be quite busy. What exactly are you doing here? It does not look good to me.”

  Nausta quickly walked forward, as if to block his view somewhat, “It’s alright. It's just an experiment and I'm always very careful.”

  Harvest was hardly convinced, “Is this some form of wizardry?” with obviously negative connotations.

  “I…I don't think I'd call it that.” Nausta made a move towards the door, no doubt hoping to end this conversation.

  Harvest stepped around her and into the room, “What would you call it? And where did you get all these things? And these volumes? Where did they come from?”

  Nausta didn’t answer as Harvest walked over and picked up one book to read the cover.

  “This is magic!” His gaze rose from the title, a dark warning smolder, “Nausta, the practice of magic by anyone but wizards in this country is forbidden. Don’t you remember what happened only a few years ago?”

  Nausta nervously walked back to the table, “I only play around with it to amuse myself a bit. See?” and she pointed to the abnormal candle flame.

  Harvest quickly went over and blew it out. “Absolutely not, Nausta. Magic is a dangerous weapon. Not to be trifled with. Wizards are the only ones permitted to practice because they have had decades of careful study and cautious work. After the most recent incident, we all realized the power and danger of magic. That is why the nations finally declared Aldarin as the only authority permitted to certify magic practice anymore. Everything like this,” and Harvest swept the room with his hand, “must go through him now.”

  “I'm very careful, I told you that.” Nausta had a faraway look in her eyes.

  Harvest took both Nausta’s hands and looked sternly into those unreadable depths, “Nausta, you do not learn wizardry properly by dabbling around in it like this. You know the law. You can endanger yourself and others by foolishly or ignorantly tampering with magic. It is far more powerful than you think and can be extremely destructive. Leave it alone.”

  Nausta could no longer hold up under his steady gaze. Her eyes sought the floor and she pulled her hands to her sides. “Why can't I be trained then?”

  Harvest sighed, “You are a princess, that is why. Wizards have apprentices they train from youth, apprentices who are under scrutiny and observation all throughout their lives. Years of training and mentorship, and even so, few ever reach authorization. Wizardry is a sacred duty, a life calling. But it was not the life you were born to. You have responsibilities and duties as a part of the royal family of Gailli. That is your life calling, and mine.”

  “I suppose we should be leaving now?” Nausta asked dully, changing the subject abruptly.

  Harvest shook his head, “Not until I have your word that you will destroy these books and these foreign substances and cease magic practice.”

  Nausta’s jaw tightened and her eyes flashed as they met his, “I promise.”

  “And where did you procure those volumes? I shall need to look into abolishing that black market.”

  It was her turn to shake her head, “I bought them on my journeys in the mountains last year. Some peddler who bought them off some renegade magician who’d run upon hard times.”

  “There was only ever one renegade wizard and you should have known better than to take his things for any purpose other than to destroy them.”

  She shrugged.

  Harvest shook his head, “My dear sister, why do you always fall into trouble? You have so much—so much talent and beauty and opportunity—and yet still you must do what you know is wrong. Come, let us go now, we will let this pass for now.”

  He held out his hand in forgiveness, but she declined it, walking out on her own. The outstretched hand dropped as Harvest sighed and followed her out.

  —————

  Only a few weeks after this episode found Harvest in turmoil and indecision. By the witness of a reliable source, Nausta had not destroyed anything as of yet, and by all appearances, had no intention of ever doing so. Not only did it anger him as king and law-enforcer, but it saddened him as it became obvious how little his sister respected him as king and a brother.

  “What should I do?”

  Harvest sat at a table, untouched food before him. His chief advisor Gonestrom sat to his left. Laurelina to the right.

  “She clearly does not see the importance of this matter.” Harvest looked up from the cooling meal.

  Gonestrom put down an icy glass, “That, or she simply does not care. I hate to besmirch a lady, much less our princess and your sister,” he paused, thinking out what he would say, “but she has a particularly strong stubborn streak. She has been too much secluded for her own good. She has refused to be involved in charity or mercy missions. She has become obsessively self-focused. I hope I have not overstepped in speaking out.”

  Harvest shook his head, “No, and
I think I may agree with you.”

  “But darling what about her coming to your coronation?” Laurelina pressed eagerly, “She sacrificed her preferences for you that day. Surely she cannot be as selfish as you suppose her.”

  Gonestrom bowed his head like he had an opinion, yet dared not voice it.

  “Speak freely, Gonestrom.” Harvest said.

  “Yes, do. You would be no advisor if we always agreed on everything.” Laurelina added, no doubt knowing his pause was due to her attempt to defend her sister-in-law.

  Gonestrom nodded in appreciation, “It’s just this. I am not entirely sure her presence here at your coronation was one of good will at your ascension. The act of a truly loyal person would be to come rejoicing, considering the good fortune of the other. Consider the mobs of happy people that day. Those were loyal people. It fairly radiated out of them as they yelled and cheered and blessed you. We all remember how the princess was that day. You would have thought she were disappointed it were not her coronation. Or, that she had no great love or respect for the one being exalted. Again, I am sorry if I say too much.”

  Harvest seemed to shrink a bit.