The Four Gifts of the King

by R. Scott Rodin

  “The Starr Hill fanatics?”

  At Steward’s quiet question, Brauchus nodded. “Yes, and others, though they are not so well organized or visible. The others are mostly underground. Because of their outrageous and heretical claims, they are being pursued and persecuted—severely persecuted.”

  He turned to Steward. “Young Steward, if you had made this journey ten years ago, your questions would have been debated in the open with acceptance and tolerance. Your experiences would have been met with profound interest mixed with the requisite skepticism of this place. But today there is less and less room for such talk. A pall has settled on this city, and it is suffocating all ideas that would call us back to the teachings and guidance of our ancestors. Everything from our heritage is coming under great scrutiny…”

  “…and attack, if we would be straight with it,” Obed added.

  “Yes, yes, actual attack. And those who purport to hold to the old ways are being marginalized. Talk of the king-myth is written off as pure fable…”

  “…or fairy tale,” Steward added, recalling Melodora’s biting words.

  Brauchus nodded. “Precisely. And so this is a dangerous time to be marching into Seudomartus announcing that you have seen a Transmitter and, even worse, that you have heard the voice of the king. Be careful, you two, and do not underestimate what you are up against.”

  Obed put his hands on Brauchus’s shoulders. “Thank you, my good teacher and dear friend. Now to answer your question more directly. You will not be pleased to know that we have come to the Sacred Mount to meet with Mattox the Great and Hamby the Pious. Still, we will heed your words and proceed with as much caution as we can. Yet for young Steward here to complete this journey, we must pursue the truth of his words, whatever the cost.”

  For the first time, Steward understood why Obed had taken him under his wing and given him such help despite the risk. Obed too was searching to hear the voice of the king.

  Brauchus hugged them, though his smile held sadness. Then he walked away, disappearing into the growing crowd that filled the plaza on the Sacred Mount.

  Steward turned to Obed, whose gaze was still fixed on the spot where Brauchus vanished amid the throng. “Thank you, my dear friend. I could not have done any of this without you.”

  Obed’s gaze came back to Steward. “Don’t thank me yet. We have a great deal of treacherous road ahead. And now we are almost late for our audience with Mattox the Great.”

  It was late in the afternoon and the sun hung low in the sky before Obed and Steward made the trek back down the grand staircase from the Sacred Mount. They had held audiences with both Mattox the Great in the famous Ivory Cathedral and Hamby the Pious in the spire-festooned Temple of Temperance. In neither place did Steward find his Transmitter. Only more questions.

  Obed shook his head. “I’m sorry, Steward. We did not find your Transmitter. I had thought perhaps Mattox…”

  “I knew the moment I met Mattox the Great that he would not have a Transmitter.” Steward didn’t even try to hide his disdain for the man.

  Obed cast him a sideways glance. “And how is that?”

  “It was his spirit. There was a sense about him that no voice, no matter how clear, would ever pierce his skepticism. I have never met anyone who could speak so eloquently about being open and liberal-minded, yet who was so closed and bitter in spirit.”

  Obed cocked his head and smiled. “Well, my dear and wise friend, you have said a mouthful. How did you find his teaching?”

  Steward replayed the lecture they had been given upon mention of the encounter with the Transmitter. The stern yet unimposing Mattox had paced around the room as he unpacked reason after reason to explain away Steward’s experience…

  “Steward, we often hear our own deepest longings through the voice of other beings… or objects. This journey is your entire life. You have been led to believe in it since you were young. You naturally have accepted the beliefs of your parents, and now your mind will go to all lengths to validate those beliefs, even if it means a hallucination of voices through ancient vessels. Do not be discouraged. This is actually a great gift. Few people can rely on such dramatic experiences to shape their lives. This, for you, is an epiphany. It does not matter if the voice was real or not. The important thing is that you believe it was, and that it will lead you to live a better life. Continue to seek the truth, as we all must.”

  “So, sir, if you don’t mind me asking, have you ever heard the voice of the king yourself?”

  At Steward’s question, Mattox had reached the end of his patience. “We hear our own truth today, as we have in the past, through all religions, all cultures, and all faith traditions. None is a perfect and exclusive avenue to truth, but all can learn from each other. If you are to hear the voice of truth, you must listen for it in everything, for it has no single location. Truth is in all things and all things are true. No one person or group has the right to believe they have a unique access to truth through any voice or any vessel. That, my misguided friend, is the most detestable and damnable quality of the human race, and you must rid yourself of every ounce of it.”

  With that, the audience ended.

  Steward let loose his own sigh. “I found Mattox’s teaching hypocritical. He teaches that we are to seek passionately for the truth, but then he tells me it is a detestable asset when it is finally found. What value is there in searching for the truth if, in discovering it, you are condemned?”

  Obed nodded. “It’s a good and troubling question, Steward. Let me try to explain. We are taught that the journey is its own reward. We also know the dark history of some in our past who claim to have found the truth. Theirs is a history of persecution and hatred against those whom Mattox believes were still seeking the truth. Much evil has been done by those who claim, as you do, to have heard the voice of the king.”

  “But that doesn’t mean the king doesn’t speak or that we shouldn’t seek to hear him! If he doesn’t speak to us, then all this searching and seeking is folly, isn’t it?”

  Obed inclined his head. “Perhaps. But for many, the searching itself gives them a sense that they are on more solid footing in a world filled with questions.”

  Obed’s comments took Steward straight back to the edge of Pitcairn Moor, to Dunston’s appeal to him to see things the way the king would have him see them. “If the search is in vain, if there is no truth, then the path any seekers are on is a shifting foothold in a bubbling bog of mud that will eventually pull them under.”

  Obed put his arm around Steward’s shoulder. “You sound as if you speak from experience.”

  The two continued their descent in silence for several minutes before Obed spoke again. “And what of Hambry the Pious? You seemed more taken by him and the Saints of Temperance.”

  “Yes. At first I was very hopeful.”

  The rotund, balding man dressed in the finest of clothes had seemed more congenial and welcoming than Mattox the Great. The Temple of Temperance was a grand building with huge spires on every corner. It was not as ornate inside as Steward had expected, but its sheer size made it a spectacle to see.

  Hambry’s eyes had sparkled as he listened to Steward. “Oh yes, my young friend, you have certainly heard the voice of the king. It is the same voice our ancestors heard, and the voice we follow carefully in all we do.”

  Steward’s heart soared. Someone in this place believed him and even agreed with him that the king did indeed speak! “And do you have a Transmitter?”

  The man brushed his questions aside. “A Transmitter? Oh no, we have no need of a Transmitter, Steward. You see, our ancestors heard from the king and wrote down his words for us. We follow these words precisely. When we hear them, we hear from the king himself.”

  “But why would you want to read old accounts of the king’s words when he can speak to you today?”

  Hambry arched a brow at him. “Everything we need to know has already been given to us. What more could the king say than what has
been said and written down?”

  Steward had tried a different tack. “What did the king say to your ancestors?”

  “Oh, many things, books full of things. He told us how to live, what to eat and not eat, how to dress, how to worship, where to live, whom to marry, whom we accept and don’t accept, and what our future will be like. Everything you need to know about life is in these books. I will give you copies, and you can study them for yourself.” He turned to pull three large volumes from a shelf next to his desk. “We must honor our ancestral writings. They are sacred. Why, the Transmitter itself is sacred. These writings are our only link to the king now. He has spoken. This is his will, and we will follow it to the letter until the day of our grand transformation.”

  Steward’s hope vanished as the truth became clear: Hambry and those like him worshipped the Transmitter and ignored the voice of the king himself.

  “Steward, I asked you about Hambry the Pious.”

  Steward looked at Obed. “Yes, sorry, I was just thinking back to all that has happened. Why would Hambry not seek to hear the king’s voice today? Why are those like him content to believe that their ancestors heard and wrote down all they need to know? It makes no sense.”

  “It does if you are searching for security and certainty. It’s safe to believe that the only truth was written down long ago and never changes. To men such as that, it’s dangerous to believe that the king still speaks.”

  They reached the bottom step on the grand staircase, and ahead of them lay the promenade that would lead them back to Obed’s house.

  “What if the books are just the words of men, and not from the king at all? What if they wrote down what they wanted to believe? How do they know it’s true if they stop listening for the voice of the king?”

  Obed considered that. “Perhaps they don’t want to know. Perhaps they are so content—even comfortable—with what is written in their books that they are afraid to hear the voice of the king. What if he leads them in a new way? If you believe you have everything you need clearly written down for you to follow, you don’t have to search, you don’t have to question…”

  “You don’t have to think.”

  Obed smiled and nodded. “My young friend, you are growing wiser before my eyes.”

  Steward wasn’t so sure. These meetings today had left him more confused and frustrated than ever, yet something in his spirit urged him on, as if these visits were important parts to a puzzle being revealed, piece by piece.

  Steward’s skin crawled, and he looked around. He could swear something was… wrong. “Do you sense that? Teacher?”

  Obed looked around them as well. “Yes. Careful now, something is not right.”

  A small group of men passed them, glaring at them. Steward heard them whispering after they passed, talking about them.

  Judging them.

  Steward rubbed a hand over his aching eyes. “Obed, there is a heaviness in the air. It is almost suffocating.”

  More people passed, and the stares and comments increased.

  What was going on?

  “It is the presence of the coming persecution.” Obed’s words were heavy. “The word is out about you. The danger to you…and now to me…is even greater now.”

  “I am so sorry to have involved you in this.” Steward wanted to walk faster, even run, but he steadied himself to keep a normal pace and blend in.

  Obed spoke, his voice low, calm. “Slowly, Steward, slowly. Show no signs of concern. And remember, you did not choose this path for me. I chose it for myself. You have nothing for which to apologize. If you have indeed heard from the king, then my own journey is not genuine unless I seek the answers with you.”

  Steward had found the ally he needed. With Obed at his side, he was confident he could complete the task.

  The king has again provided exactly who I needed. I will remember to thank him.

  “Thank you, Obed. Whether we intended it this way or not, our fates are now intertwined.”

  To Steward’s great relief, the mustard-colored colonnade of Obed’s house came into view as the sun gave up the last rays of the day and settled behind the massive western range. Once inside the house, they collapsed into two large chairs.

  Over dinner, they talked about the two formidable visits that lay ahead of them in the Halls of Wisdom.

  Steward fell to sleep that night with Obed’s last words ringing in his head: “Prepare yourself, my young friend. If we felt the disdain and reticence of the populace today, what lies in store for us tomorrow will surely be far worse.”

  Help us, king. Courage, confidence.

  ~~~~~~~~~

  As the last words were read, Alex could tell Merideth and Anna watched for a reaction from him. He rose and walked to the fireplace, picked up the last log in the rack, and laid it on the crimson coals. It snapped and crackled to life with flames jumping out of it, casting a dancing light across the room. He stood by the increasing warmth and then turned to his siblings.

  “I heard all of those questions and studied all those false teachings and heresies while in seminary. They’re the reasons why good, faithful believers go astray. In the end, it’s all about being cut off from a daily audience with the king himself.”

  Reed agreed. “Dad always talked to us about the need for daily devotions and a personal prayer life.”

  “Yes, that’s what Steward is after.” Alex hesitated, measuring his words. “And what I walked away from.”

  “You still have your faith, Alex,” Anna said. “You have never rejected God’s presence in your life.”

  Alex smiled at her. “You’re right, I guess. But really, I’ve stopped listening for the voice of the king.”

  Reed sat back and looked up to the ceiling. “I’m not sure I’ve really listened to hear God speak since Mom died. I guess I just sort of gave up on Him.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Him.”

  They all looked at Merideth. She shrugged. “I mean, I’ve prayed and read the Bible, but I can’t say I’ve ever really heard God speaking to me.”

  Anna raised her hand. “I have, but it has been a long time. And, Merideth, I think you heard God’s voice in the direction and love you received in this house.” She looked around at Alex and Reed. “We all have. God speaks to us through the people who love us. We heard words of guidance, support, correction, and grace. If that’s not God speaking to us, then I doubt we will ever recognize His voice when He speaks.”

  It was a solid insight, and Alex didn’t expect that kind of thing from Anna. “Well said. Maybe you should have gone to seminary.”

  “No, Alex. It was your calling and your passion…and I believe it still is.”

  The bells in the Resurrection Christian Church steeple began to peal. As Alex listened to its rendition of “Bringing in the Sheaves,” an unexpected knock at the door made him jump.

  Walter stood up. “I’ll get that.”

  He was back almost as soon, bearing a large glass baking dish filled to overflowing with iced cinnamon rolls.

  Now that was a welcome addition to the day!

  Walter grinned. “I asked Mrs. Stratton if she would make these for you four and drop them off on her way to church. I thought it would be nice to fill this house again with the smell of cinnamon rolls on a Sunday morning.”

  Merideth inhaled deeply. “Bless you, Walter.”

  “Amen to that.” Reed stood and stole some frosting on his finger.

  Alex was on his feet too. “Come on, you guys. Let’s try them out.”

  They followed Walter into the kitchen and soon were deep in gooey icing and rich cinnamon pastry.

  Alex looked around. “Hey, where’s Merideth?”

  No one responded. They didn’t have to. Alex figured he knew the answer as well. Merideth would be curled up in the chair in the next room with her cup of coffee, enjoying the smell of fresh baking on a Sunday morning.

  Alex speared a bite of cinnamon roll. He had an odd feeling, one he hadn’t fe
lt for a very long time…

  Peace.

  All that was missing was the sound of his father’s voice coming from upstairs. Though that wouldn’t happen, his father’s voice was with them.

  “What do you say, all?”

  They turned to see Merideth smiling at them from the doorway. “Ready to get back to Steward?”

  They put their dishes in the sink then made their way into the room where Merideth now sat in front of the book, ready to read.

  chapter

  Seventeen

  Steward couldn’t sleep. He tossed about trying to escape thoughts of the threatening day that lay ahead. At once he was jolted by the sound of a knock at the side window of the house.

  Obed was already on the move, throwing his robe around him and easing his way toward the window. As he approached, the knock came again.

  Steward crept up next to Obed, prepared to run for his life.

  They peered out the window and eyed a figure crouching near the high hedge that surrounded Obed’s property. The figure motioned for Obed to open the door.

  Steward strained to see the man’s face. “Who is it?”

  “I’m not sure, but I don’t sense he’s here to harm us.”

  Here’s hoping he’s right. Steward watched as Obed unlatched the door and let the man in. Once in, he moved to the center of the room, away from the window, continuing to crouch until he knew he was out of view.

  Steward and Obed stood back, but when the man lifted his hood, Steward recognized him. It was the same man who had walked with him his first day in Seudomartus.

  “He’s from Starr Hill,” Steward whispered to Obed. “I met him on the way to your house.” Surely if we weren’t in danger before, we are now.

  Obed eyed the stranger. “Speak your name and state your business, or I will sound the alarm and have you arrested.”