The King's Whisper

by T. S. Cleveland

  Inwardly, Felix cringed. He knew Torsten believed his story—he could see that in his eyes—but he feared he found the whole thing silly, a waste of time. Just as the entire city was gathering to celebrate Torsten, Felix was insisting on a side trip to learn more about a flute he no longer owned. But if Torsten thought any of this, or was regretting his involvement with a flighty flautist, he hid it splendidly. He moved in close, putting his arm around him so Felix could rest his head against his chest. He laid his other hand on the one at Felix’s gut. “If it’s important to you,” he said, “it will always be important to me.”

  The carriage came to a stop soon after, outside a large stone building fronted by columns and a high set of wide steps. Torsten stepped out first, presenting his arm to Felix, who took it gratefully. There were a good number of well-dressed people about, and some looked as though they might recognize Torsten, but neither he nor Felix paid them any mind as they went up the steps and through the stained-glass doors of the library.

  It was grand inside and well lit, with a high, glass-domed ceiling and enormous, stained-glass windows casting brilliant sunlight onto rows upon rows of shelves. There were at least a dozen patrons studying at tables within the large space, and more seated in comfortable chairs before the fireplaces that warmed the room. Felix had never seen anything remotely like it, and for the second time that morning he sent up a silent thank you to the Gods that he had been taught to read.

  Sensing either their urgency or importance, a librarian soon approached, acknowledging Felix with a nod, and seeing the sigil, offering Torsten a deep bow. “How may I assist you, my lord?” he asked, pushing his spectacles up his nose and reminding Felix instantly of Dot. “I am Lewis, the chief librarian. Do you need something chronicled? Perhaps a spring reading list?”

  “Thank you, Lewis,” Torsten replied before looking to Felix. “But no.”

  “I am looking for something very old,” Felix said. “Maybe so old no one has seen it in a long time. It’s a song.”

  “Of course,” the librarian said with a nod. “If you will follow me, please?”

  After sharing an excited smile, Felix held onto Torsten’s arm tightly as they followed Lewis through the main library towards the back, then through a roped off area to a set of stairs leading to a lower floor. The hall they entered was amply lit by torches, but the open rooms that adjoined it held windows that streamed sunlight into the space. Everywhere, there were works of art—paintings, tapestries, and sculptures—and Torsten nudged Felix’s attention to an alabaster bust of Malcolm on a fluted marble column.

  “So they’re storing the palace valuables here for now,” Felix commented quietly.

  “As well as some trash, it seems,” Torsten replied.

  Lewis stopped at a set of double doors and knocked. Within moments, they opened, revealing a room burgeoning with thousands of unorganized, unshelved scrolls and more than a bit of dust. “This is William, my lord, sir,” Lewis said, addressing them both this time as he indicated the slim, slightly disheveled older man who stood before them with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. “Forgive the untidiness, but this room is where we sort through the archives saved from the palace before moving them to temporary shelving. Our new councilman and his companion are seeking an old song,” Lewis continued, looking to William as the man bowed. “I know you will do your best to assist them.”

  “I will, yes,” William said, bowing again as Lewis took his leave. “What song is it you seek, my lord?” he asked. “There are, I am sure, many songs here.”

  “It’s called ‘The Song of Whispers’,” Felix answered shyly, his initial excitement dampened greatly by the piles of scrolls in the room. Even if there was such a song and this man knew of it, and it had survived the near total destruction of the palace, it could be years before it was found.

  William’s eyes widened. “‘The Song of Whispers’?” he asked in astonishment. “Really?”

  Felix hesitated, taken aback by the man’s reaction. “Yes,” he uttered hopefully.

  “Ha!” William laughed so loudly that it reverberated through the room and out into the hall. “That’s the strangest thing to happen around here in a long time,” he continued joyfully before disappearing behind a stack. “I hadn’t seen that scroll in some twenty years, and found it just earlier this morning. Somehow it had gotten rolled up inside another scroll, a rather bad song about pirates.”

  Felix stared after him. “Seriously? You have it?”

  “I do,” William called before emerging from the stack with the scroll in his hand. “It’s right here.” He came forward and handed it to Felix. “Your luck is hard to overstate. If you’d come yesterday, I wouldn’t have been able to help you.”

  “Thank you,” Felix said, clutching the scroll to his chest.

  William smiled at him, and then looked at Torsten. “And here’s more luck. If you’d not been graced with the privilege of being appointed to the queen’s council, my lord, I couldn’t have let you see it, much less hold it. As it is, I’m not to let it leave the room, but I’ll be happy to summon a scribe to make a copy. It’s a short piece, so it won’t take long.”

  “Of course,” Torsten said, nodding his understanding as he looked at Felix. “Perhaps we can return for a copy later, but for now, could you give us a few moments alone?”

  William nodded. “I haven’t seen you in a long time, my lord,” he said, heading for the door. “It’s good that you’re back, I think.”

  He was gone before Torsten could respond.

  Torsten turned back to Felix, touching a finger to the scroll grasped between Felix’s hands. “Do you think it’s what you were looking for?”

  “Let’s find out,” Felix said, moving to the one clear table that comprised William’s workspace. He took the only chair there, and Torsten knelt beside him as he unrolled the parchment slowly.

  There, written in a fine hand in swirls of black ink, was “The Song of Whispers”. Felix brushed his fingers lightly over the ornate lettering. “This is it,” he whispered, because it felt like a moment for whispering, then he centered the parchment between them so they could read it together.

  Felix read it again. And then again. And then he pushed the scroll away and sat back in his chair. “It wasn’t the flute,” he said, after several minutes of quiet processing. He turned to Torsten. “It wasn’t the flute.”

  “You’re a Whisp—”

  Felix clamped his hand over Torsten’s mouth before he could finish. “Don’t say it out loud,” he hushed.

  “Why not?” Torsten asked against his palm.

  “Because people will either think I’m crazy, or they’ll want to lock me up and use me for evil,” Felix rushed, his pulse pounding in his ears.

  Torsten nodded, and Felix dropped his hand. “Okay,” he whispered. “Fair enough. We won’t tell anyone. But, Felix, do you really think this is real? You think this could be you?”

  Felix sighed. “I don’t know. I’m thinking a lot of things.” He put his head in his hands and stared down at the table, feeling Torsten’s hand brushing over his back in comforting strokes. “I’ve been so lucky. I live when it doesn’t make any sense for me to live. I run into exactly the right people at exactly the right time.” He glanced up nervously at Torsten. “Even being kidnapped was lucky, because if it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have met you.”

  Torsten grabbed the tie on Felix’s bandana and pulled him forward, kissing him hard on the mouth—not proper behavior for a library, but just what Felix needed. Torsten didn’t let him go right away, either. He kept him close, nipping lightly at Felix’s lower lip and nuzzling his cheek, his hands pushing into his curls and nearly knocking the hat from his head.

  “I can’t help but think everything that’s happened has happened for a reason, Torsten,” he whispered, pressing their foreheads together. “You were meant to be here, on the council. I think it’s why our paths crossed.” When Torsten began to protest, Felix cut him off. “I shoul
d be dead,” he said. “I’ve been in the middle of an elemental battle, walked a pirate’s plank, been beneath the point of Gethrin’s sword, and survived it all. What could that be, if not a Whisper’s luck?” He touched the scroll, which had rolled back up into a loose cylinder. The more he considered it, the stronger his conviction grew. “I thought so much of my life had depended on chance,” he said. “But what if nothing that’s happened has been chance at all? What if it’s all been leading up to something bigger?” He held a hand over his stomach. The uneasiness was back, stronger than ever, and it felt like the need to do something.

  “It’s hurting again?” Torsten asked, his eyes on Felix’s stomach. “Is it worse?” He laid his hand over Felix’s.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m nervous. Anxious. If this is really true, I don’t know what to think.” He laughed weakly. “That woman in the woods thought this song would illuminate things, but I’m more confused than ever. Why would I be chosen by the Gods? What am I supposed to accomplish?”

  “You’ve already accomplished much. Look where we are. Where we’re going. And it’s all because of you, your ideas and your instincts,” Torsten said. “I don’t care what made our paths cross or why, only that they did.” He took Felix’s hand in his and brought it to his mouth, kissing it. “If you’re a Whisper,” he said softly, “then we’ll figure out what that means together. In the meantime, you should keep following your gut. It’s done a fair job of navigating so far.”

  Felix nodded, taking a deep breath in hopes of slowing his rapid heartbeat. “That’s true.” He closed his eyes a moment, trying to hone in on the sensation in his stomach, the one urging him to do something. But what?

  “And if your gut is telling you we shouldn’t go to the celebration, then I understand completely, and we shouldn’t go,” Torsten offered.

  Felix smiled, opening his eyes. “Nice try, Torsten, but I think your celebration is exactly where we need to be. The night I went to Gethrin, I had a feeling like I was being drawn there, drawn into taking action. And I felt the same way when you told me you were taking me back to my village.”

  “And you feel that way now?” Torsten asked.

  “Yes. And I’m also thinking it might go away once you’ve been officially announced as councilman,” he said, hoping it was true. Maybe the Gods really did just want Torsten to be on the queen’s council, and once Felix helped it happen, they’d leave him alone.

  “Alright,” Torsten said, coming to his feet. “We’ll go. Besides, it’d be a waste to have a perfectly good flautist in perfectly good, new clothes on my arm, and not show him off to most of the city’s population.”

  Felix stood, touching the scroll a final time before leaving it on the table.

  “Do you want to have a copy made?” Torsten asked as they went out the door.

  “No,” Felix answered, taking his hand. “I won’t ever forget what it said.”

  22 - Fated

  They found the already busy streets had become even more hectic upon rejoining the carriage and setting out for their lunch date with Audrey. The combination of the first truly Spring-like day with that of a citywide celebration, however, had brought throngs of people into the streets, and as a consequence, they arrived a half hour late. Audrey had not waited. She did leave a note saying she assumed they’d been long at the tailors, but she had pressing appointments of her own to keep, and thus would see them later at the celebration.

  Returning to the school, the bandits were just bounding down the stairs to lunch, and Torsten and Felix joined them. They had much to say about their new clothes, and particularly Felix’s hat, which was passed between them until everyone had a chance to impersonate the flautist rather horribly. Felix was glad for it. The bandits’ laughter and good-natured ribbing lessened his anxiety and kept the ill feeling in his stomach in check. And seeing Torsten doubled over with laughter was a gift he wished he could receive every day.

  They lingered long at lunch among their friends, the unspoken awareness that this would likely be their last such informal time together keeping them at the table. Torsten and Felix would be dining and sleeping almost exclusively among the nobility soon. And where the bandits would go, and what they were going to do with their lives, was yet to be determined.

  It was Winchester who ended the gathering, calling Torsten aside and making the strong suggestion that he and Felix should bathe, shave, and have their clothing brushed and freshly pressed prior to the celebration. After feeling his stubbled face and noting a spot of laughter-spewed wine on the sleeve of Felix’s shirt, he reluctantly agreed. The group said their goodbyes for now and dispersed, the bandits heading out early in hopes of securing a prime spot for the festivities, and Felix and Torsten heading upstairs.

  ***

  “We’ll never arrive in time at this pace,” Felix fretted, peeking past the carriage curtain to glimpse the crowds of people milling forward on the narrow street. He was becoming increasingly unnerved now that the ceremony was imminent, and was anxious to have it over. He’d managed to keep his nerves in check as he and Torsten had readied themselves, thanks primarily to their shared bath, where Felix’s half-hearted protests that they didn’t have time for fooling around had been summarily—and wonderfully—ignored. “Audrey sending a commercial carriage to fetch us instead of a royal one was not her best idea,” Felix complained, dropping the curtain and sitting back in a huff. “Her concern with our being mobbed by well-wishers couldn’t possibly have been worse than this. What she should have done was send a royal carriage and a trumpeter so everyone would get out of the way.”

  Torsten shook his head and smiled. “And you said I was the one getting too fancy.” His words were good-humored, but there was an underlying tone in his voice that suggested his apprehension. Felix knew Torsten had no problem with their slow pace, because part of him was reluctant to make it to the ceremony at all. He had agreed to it, yes, and he was excited about all the good he could accomplish as a councilman. But it was a radical change, to say the least, from the life he’d been living and the good company he’d been keeping, so his desire to put off the public, official announcement as long as possible was completely understandable. But while Felix understood it, he didn’t agree. Not at all. They needed to be at the ceremony, and it was his fervent wish they arrive as soon as possible. The renewed sense of tugging in his stomach felt as if it was dragging them there, and Felix had a visceral need to take action. So he followed his gut and his instinct, which was urging him to take the flute from his satchel.

  Torsten looked pleasantly surprised. “Are you going to serenade us to pass the time?”

  Felix smiled, then leaned in to kiss him briefly on the cheek before reaching past to peer through the curtain on Torsten’s side. “Oh my Gods!” he cried after a moment. “Is that Selon carrying Dot on her shoulders?”

  “What?”

  As Torsten looked, Felix stood, opened the latch on the door, and, with the flute clamped securely in his mouth, pushed the door open. Then, grabbing the railing that ran along both sides of the carriage roof, he put a foot in the front window and pulled himself up. The door had come perilously close to hitting a gruff looking man in the face, and he’d cursed at Felix as he’d slammed it shut. But as Felix stood atop the carriage, his feet spread wide in a stance to help him balance, the man was among the first to point at him and cheer.

  “What are you doing?” Torsten yelled, a look of worry and incredulity on his face as he gaped up at Felix from the carriage window. He tried to open the door to go after him, but the crowd now pressed too close.

  “I’m going to be your trumpeter!” Felix yelled back with a laugh, wishing Torsten wouldn’t worry so much as he brought the flute to his lips. And as the people around them cheered at the novelty of seeing a finely dressed man atop a carriage roof, Felix wished with all his heart that they could get quickly to the ceremony, and then began to play.

  The sound captured the attention of those nearest th
e carriage immediately, and the people grew silent as, one by one, they stopped, turning their faces up to listen. The tune that had come to Felix was not dissimilar to the one he’d played to lull the bandits to sleep, though this melody was a bit more lilting.

  “Turn around,” he heard a woman’s voice call, and turning carefully to face the front of the carriage, he saw the liveried driver looking back at him. She was an older woman, with long, grey hair pulled back in a narrow tail, but her eyes looked young, and even seemed to twinkle. “It’s the ones in front of us who most need to hear, dear,” she offered with an innocent, grandmotherly air. Felix bowed his head to her in salutation as he continued playing, and as she turned back to her task, the people in the street before them began moving from their path before stopping to listen, and the wagons and carriages in their way pulled off onto side streets. And as the carriage drew ahead of those who stopped, they quickly filled the street in movement again.

  Faster, lovely, move out of the way, Felix continued to wish as they picked up speed, and so it continued as they progressed, and within a few more blocks, they exited the narrow street into the spacious city square where the ceremony was to take place. It was crowded there as well, but nothing like the funnel they’d just come out of, and from his vantage, Felix could see the area where the ceremony was to take place.

  He stopped playing, and, dropping from his stance, knelt in silence, overcome with a feeling of awe. He had been given the ability to make things happen, and with no need of a “magic” flute. This flute was magic. Every flute could be magic. It wasn’t the flute at all, but him, and it was real. It was just as “The Song of Whispers” had said.