Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  “You missed,” the man said, holding the bread out once more. “Prove that you can take it.” Wyand stared at the loaf, savoring every breath that carried the bread’s aroma to his nose, but he knew it was just going to be pulled away again if he reached for it. He hung his head in shame and waited for the beating he was sure would soon follow. When none did, Wyand looked up hesitantly from under his eyebrows.

  The man let out a grunt of a laugh before turning away, “Get back in your cage, Two-knot.” As the man began to unwrap the loaf of bread, Wyand felt a heat in his face that matched his burning thoughts. He considered Fadian’s message from the night before, and suddenly everything became clear. Perhaps his starving body forced his thoughts to be oversimplified, but Wyand was certain of two things: he needed food, and asking for it peacefully had failed. That left only one option, by these people’s rules.

  Just as the first chunk of bread was being torn from the loaf, Wyand silently leapt forward with what little strength he had left. Hands outstretched, he reached for the bread and forgot about everything else. As his fingers found their prize, Wyand’s shoulder turned in midair and accidentally struck against the bearded man’s ribs with a deep thud. The man tumbled to the ground from the force of the collision and let out a coughing breath when Wyand landed on top of him.

  Wyand stood quickly, his body shaking with anticipation as he raised the bread to his mouth. Despite the incredible temptation that the food offered, however, he paused just before the first bite when he looked at the bearded man. Still curled up on the ground, the man coughed and wheezed, trying desperately to catch his breath. Wyand stepped back in horror.

  “Forgive me! I didn’t mean to!” Wyand stammered. The man regained his breath slowly and rolled to a crouch. A steady trickle of red stained the left half of the man’s face and dripped onto the ground below. Nausea took the place of Wyand’s hunger; this man was seriously hurt. Wyand reached out with his free hand to try to offer some comfort, but just as he did, the man looked up with eyes that spoke of uncontrollable rage. Wyand backed away towards the cage, uncertain if he should expect a beating or something far worse, until suddenly the man’s expression changed to a startling smile.

  “Now that…” he panted, “…is how to prove yourself! Hah!” The man stood with a mixture of laughing and coughing, completely ignoring the stream of blood down the left side of his head. He walked over to Wyand, who prepared himself to be bloodied in exchange for the injury he’d caused this man. Instead, when he reached Wyand, the short man flung his arms around Wyand’s chest and lifted him in a crushing embrace.

  “I—what?” Wyand asked as he strained to breathe.

  “You just proved that you are capable of fighting when it’s necessary,” the bearded man said, still smiling as he lowered Wyand to the ground. “It took you long enough, though. I thought after your display on the way here, when you defied Eyrie, that you would surely lash out at me almost instantly, but clearly the old ways were engrained in you deeper than I expected.”

  Wyand was at a complete loss. “Your head….” he said absently.

  “Ah, my cheek caught a rock on the way down,” the man replied with an unconcerned wave of his hand. “It’s nothing the Handsisters can’t fix. That can wait, though. We need to get you to one of the Guided so they can determine what you are meant to do next.” He wrapped an arm around Wyand’s shoulder and led him towards the lake.

  “The older man, Fadian, spoke with me last night. He said his task was to be guided and to guide others,” Wyand said in a daze as they walked side by side.

  “That is…unusual,” the bearded man replied with a frown. “But, the Guided do as they must. We’ll take you to Fadian, then.” There was a brief silence for a few strides, then the man nudged Wyand in the ribs. “So, now that you stole my breakfast, are you at least going to eat it?” Wyand stared down at his own hands in shock; he had completely forgotten that he still held the loaf of bread.

  “It would…I mean, that is…if you don’t need it….” Wyand faltered, suddenly aware of the saliva forming in his mouth.

  “You need it far more than I do,” the man replied. “Besides, you earned it. There will be many more meals to earn from here forward, so enjoy this one while you have it.” Wyand needed no further encouragement, and within three strides more than half of the loaf of bread had vanished. Its spice was sharp, but each bite had a soothing heat to it that eased the pain in Wyand’s stomach.

  “By the way, I’m Holt of the Order of the Axe,” the man said with another smile. “Wyand” was the reply, though the word came out sounding more like “Wuhyuhm” after struggling through a mouthful of bread. Holt laughed, and the sound seemed to make the shadowy forest grow brighter. With his senses renewed after finally eating, Wyand suddenly noticed other paths he had not paid attention to before that broke away from the main route and disappeared into the dense woods.

  “Where do those lead?” he asked between bites, pointing to one of the trampled lines of dirt.

  Holt grinned. “Did you really think you were the only one in this forest? There are other cages—just like the one you enjoyed—at the end of each path, and I have to tend them all. We strive to make the unproven feel isolated even when they truly aren’t, so the cages are many strides apart. At the moment, there are three other recent arrivals who have yet to be cleansed and proven. They are more…resistant to change than most. This is the third day in the cages for them.”

  Wyand shook his head, both from sympathy and disbelief. After his lonely and mostly-speechless journey to Cynmere was followed by spending nearly two days alone in the cage, Wyand could not imagine staying confined for any duration longer than that.

  “Let’s hope the other three don’t decide to strike out at me with the same force you did,” Holt clapped Wyand’s back and laughed at his own humor.

  Wyand tried to offer a convincing laugh in reply, but it still came out sounding artificial as he looked at the blood on Holt’s face. He hadn’t purposefully injured the man. These people are insane, Wyand realized. I need to leave this place. Soon. Considering what he had seen of the land beyond Cynmere, though, he feared there was nowhere else to go.

  After turning off of the main path, Holt slowed, peering at the ground through the thin layer of fog until he finally stopped. “Careful with the next few steps,” he cautioned. “The wax ants cross here frequently.” Wyand looked down to where Holt pointed and found a thin line of the tiny creatures he’d seen after first arriving at Cynmere.

  “Wax ants?” he asked as he and Holt stepped over their trail.

  “That’s right,” Holt said. “To crush one of them, even by accident, is shameful, so always be watching.”

  “All right,” Wyand replied as he swallowed the last bits of his breakfast. “But what’s their purpose?”

  “Well for one thing, they are the providers of one of our main food ingredients. That bread you ate, for example: the wax ants make the liquid that gives it such a delightful flavor.”

  “I ate…wax ant…liquid?”

  “And you’ll eat it again.”

  Wyand looked back at the line of tiny creatures as they disappeared under the fog, and he felt his body shudder as he tried not to be sick. The thought of eating some liquid that an animal created was disgusting, for some reason especially so when he thought about it coming from the wax ants. At least he hadn’t known the secret of the bread’s taste while consuming it.

  Wyand searched the forest for something to divert his thoughts away from the wax ants, and thankfully he spotted the edge of the lake approaching through the trees. He saw brief glimpses of movement along the shore, though he couldn’t discern what was causing it at first. Then, as he and Holt drew closer and the woods thinned, the source of the motion became clear.

  Scores of people walked along the path that lined the perimeter of the lake; their combined movements cut through the morning fog like a blade. Although they walked along the same path, each appe
ared to have a unique purpose. It was impossible to keep track of just one person within the winding stream of workers, though the groups of people that Wyand could distinguish were fascinating enough.

  There were men and women dressed in clothing like Eyrie’s who all traveled together, men and women in field clothes who walked alone or in pairs, and children darting from one group to the next. There were people leaving the main path for destinations deeper within the forest, people standing and talking, people carrying burdens that ranged from fabric to firewood. Amidst all of this, Wyand was most surprised when he saw two young boys swatting at each other with sticks and laughing about it as they ran past. That sort of behavior was stopped instantly in Aldhagen for being too violent, yet the adults here showed it no special attention. Some even smiled when they regarded the boys.

  The sound of all these people beginning their day carried Wyand’s thoughts back to the early morning ritual in Aldhagen, although it was clear from the lack of a unified direction of these workers’ movements that a Calling was not imminent. Wyand unconsciously reached up to his disheveled sima and retied it quickly. A strange sight caught his eye as he and Holt turned left to merge with the flow of people on the path. Looking out at the misty lake, Wyand saw dozens of boats plying through the layer of fog, all going in different directions. They ranged in size from barely large enough to accommodate one person to multi-seat vessels complete with rowing teams of boatmen. Wyand felt a chill when he saw their pointed oars glisten in the faint sunlight, so he quickly decided it was time to look away from the lake.

  The dense forest lined the left side of Wyand’s vision, with the oldest branches of the biggest trees extending well over the path on which he now walked. Among the trees, Wyand saw several large clearings with walls of stone that surrounded their confines. The walls looked like miniature versions of the towering walls of Aldhagen, though these were just over head height and not nearly as impressive. The tops of bark-lined structures were visible over the coping stones of these walls, and faint tendrils of smoke emitted from almost every building.

  “Morning beckons, Holt!” a man’s voice called from the path ahead. He was taller than Holt, though still not as tall as Wyand, with receding grey hair and a muscular build. He wore the same brown field clothes as Holt, and his arms looked as though they had endured many long days of work.

  “That it does, Axebrother,” Holt replied as the man approached. “Always good to see you, Garradh.” They embraced briefly and stepped to the side of the path.

  “Who’s the new one?” Garradh asked, nodding towards Wyand.

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t hear what he said through the sound of him eating my breakfast,” Holt replied with feigned anger as he glanced towards Wyand. “So, what is your name, boy?”

  “Wyand,” he answered slowly, this time stressing each syllable for clarity. The other two men nodded, then Garradh suddenly noticed the dried blood on the side of Holt’s jaw.

  “This is from his proving?” Garradh asked incredulously.

  “That it is,” Holt replied proudly. “He nearly knocked the thoughts right out of my head when he took my food.”

  “Impressive,” Garradh said as he regarded Wyand.

  “It was an accident,” Wyand mumbled as he looked away, still embarrassed by the situation. Both men laughed at his explanation.

  “Of course it was, Wyand,” Holt smiled, then he turned back to Garradh. “Intentional or not, I need to get him to the Guided for confirmation and final approval. Have you seen Fadian along the path this morning?”

  Garradh thought for a moment. “I did see him,” he said with a nod. “I passed him near the Blood dwellings. He was standing at the water’s edge as usual, staring towards the center of the lake like he was waiting for something to happen at the Council House. I don’t know what he was doing; then again, who knows what any of the Guided are doing.”

  “True,” Holt laughed. “Thank you, Axebrother. We’ll see if Fadian is still there. Old Ones watch over you.”

  “And you,” Garradh replied with a nod of his balding head. Then he glanced at Wyand one final time and laughed quietly to himself as he walked away. Holt’s pace increased now that he knew where to find Fadian, and Wyand’s stiff legs struggled to keep up. For the first time since arriving in Cynmere, Wyand was able to get a sense of the size associated with the enormous central lake as he walked its perimeter. He hated to admit it, but he hoped the Blood dwellings were close by because his weary legs already needed a rest.

  Along with the scale of the lake, as he walked Wyand gained an appreciation for the soaring mountains that stared down at the foggy valley. Peaks of jagged stone emerged above the tree line, and in their shadowed recesses a layer of snow was clearly visible. It was strange for Wyand to admit, but the unbroken chain of beautiful ridges that surrounded Cynmere offered a much greater feeling of security and even comfort than the towering walls of Aldhagen ever had.

  After what felt like a thousand strides to Wyand’s burning legs, he at last spotted a lone man standing at the water’s edge who wore the same tan robe as Fadian. The man’s hooded cowl was turned up, so it was impossible for Wyand to confirm an identity. Based on Holt’s change in direction, though, it was clear that this man would be their next stop, whether it was Fadian or not.

  “Fine morning, Stormbrother,” Holt greeted the man’s back as they approached. The tan hood did not shift by even a fraction, but Fadian’s voice was unmistakable.

  “Fine morning,” Fadian replied. “Thank you for bringing Wyand to me. I will return him to you once he is confirmed. You may go.”

  Holt stared at the cowl with his mouth hanging open, but spoke none of the words Wyand was certain were begging to exit his thoughts. He shook his head and turned to face Wyand, eyes still wide with astonished irritation. “Just do what he says,” Holt whispered as he walked past. “You’ll be fine.” Then Wyand was alone with Fadian, who still stood motionless as he stared out at the landmass in the center of the lake.

  Wyand crept closer, not wanting to disturb the man but at the same time desperate for answers to the multitude of questions that had formed in his mind over the past five days. When he reached Fadian’s side, Wyand looked out at the lake to see if he could spot whatever the older man stared at so intently, but all he saw on the patch of land was more trees and foliage. Looking closer, though, Wyand realized there was an enormous structure that seemed to be woven from the trees themselves. Its impressive confines spanned from one shore to the other, but after glancing at Fadian’s eyes, Wyand knew this building was not his focus. Fadian looked through the scene in front of him into some invisible distance that only his mind could see.

  “I’ve always been drawn to this spot,” Fadian said quietly, startling Wyand after the long silence. “I don’t know why in particular, but it’s the only place where I feel truly at peace.”

  Wyand gazed out at the lake; it was an incredibly beautiful view, especially when framed by the mountains in the distance. “I understand,” he replied softly. Fadian suddenly spun to face him.

  “That is where you are wrong,” he said, pointing at Wyand. “You do not understand, which is why you were brought to me. It is my task to teach you how to understand, to tell you how to listen, to show you how to see.” His eyes illuminated the shadows of the cowl as he spoke, sending a faint glow of blue and green into the darkness. Wyand thought to look away, but he was hopelessly captivated by Fadian’s eyes and mysterious words.

  “Our story as a people begins in the water, so that is where your journey to understanding will begin,” Fadian continued as he walked to Wyand’s side. He gestured up the shoreline to a small boat Wyand had not noticed before; it was a stretch to apply the word “boat” since it was nothing more than a curled strip of bark, but it appeared to float. There was only one set of oars waiting in the boat, and as Wyand approached, he was glad to see they didn’t taper to sharp metal points on their ends.

  “You’re row
ing,” Fadian announced as he stepped into the tiny boat and sat with his legs crossed beneath him. He held the oars as he waited for Wyand to get into place, which proved to be a much more difficult process than expected. Though the boat was soundly seated against the muddy sand of the lake shore, it still rocked and bobbed with each movement Wyand made. When he was at last seated facing Fadian, the old man passed him the oars. Wyand looked at the long poles of wood uncertainly.

  “Put the ends in the water towards me and push away,” Fadian instructed. Wyand felt the boat move forward into the water and looked to Fadian for further guidance. “Now lift them and do the same thing again.” The process repeated until they were several strides away from the shore and Fadian explained how to turn using one oar to catch against the water. After the turn, the boat came to a stop and gently rocked on the surface of the lake.

  “Good,” Fadian said. “From here on, pull the oars toward you. I’ll tell you where to go.” Wyand complied, and felt the boat moving backwards from his perspective. Though he had never rowed before, Wyand found himself becoming lost in the motions just as he had when mining. Plus, it quickly proved to be an exhilarating challenge for a set of muscles that hadn’t seen any real use in five days, so he was delighted to feel that he was doing work with his arms again. Fadian spoke as Wyand fell into a steady rhythm.

  “The water—it’s the first thing people encounter when they leave Aldhagen, and that has been the case since the founding. For many, the water is the last thing they encounter as well, whether from the fall or the haugaeldr. You witnessed Drugoth, yes? The Lake of Skulls?” Wyand nodded in silent reply. “Then you understand how many Newfallen have not survived their descent from Aldhagen. Each of us, yourself included, survived for a reason, and we must strive to live each day remembering that truth.

  “Hundreds of turnings ago, a small group of people cast from Aldhagen clung to that belief as they climbed out of the waters beneath the Exile Door. The same dangers of the Deadlands existed then as exist now—the heat, the haugaeldr, lack of water, lack of food. Just like you, though, they overcame those obstacles and eventually made their way here. But arriving at this location was not by chance; the group of survivors followed a Vision revealed to their leader—a man called Grigg, the Father of the Guided. He knew the exact location of a lake high above the main waterways of the Deadlands, a lake uniquely isolated from the threat of the haugaeldr. This is that lake, and thus Cynmere was founded.”