The Four Gifts of the King

by R. Scott Rodin

Reed shot back. “It doesn’t make any sense. This whole journey, the lands, the king, the lessons, and now he dies?”

  Alex nodded to him. “I don’t get it either. There’s so much here to think about, but now he’s died…”

  “Um, boys.”

  Alex turned to where Merideth held a set of pages an inch thick between her thumb and forefinger.

  “We still have this much to go. I think we need to find out if the rest of the story includes our young Steward or not.”

  “And if not, why not,” Anna added.

  Alex wasn’t appeased. He couldn’t understand what his dad was doing and saying. He knew his dad meant this land for him, and he didn’t want to let him down again. But dying? Now?

  Walter stood and walked into the inner circle of the four siblings. He made his way to the fire. “Before you read on, let me ask you what you each think your father may have been saying in letting Steward die right there on the king’s own steps.”

  Alex sat silent. What was he supposed to say?

  After a moment of silence, Anna spoke. “There’s pain and suffering involved in following the voice of the king?”

  “And mystery,” Merideth added.

  Reed joined in. “The king’s directions are always clear but not always logical.”

  Walter nodded. “And the king never asks us to understand, just to obey.”

  An awkward silence followed. They were waiting for Alex. They knew, as well as he did, that their father was speaking to him. What would the wiser, seminary-trained brother have to say?

  Walter considered him. “Alex?”

  He looked out over the top of them as he spoke. “I really don’t know. I guess maybe Dad wanted me to hear in this story that being faithful means following God’s voice, even when it doesn’t make sense. Even when it involves pain. Even when the way seems hopeless and the journey seems futile.” He paused, fighting against a constricting throat.

  He thought about his struggle at seminary. The questions that plagued him and the pain in the decision to leave.

  It was clearer now.

  “Those arrows are the doubts that the garbage of this world constantly shoots at us. Karl’s brother’s death in seminary was one. My migraines that wouldn’t go away were another. And Mom’s death…they dropped me right at the point that I was preparing to serve God with my life. Right on the steps of the goal. Steward’s death is the death of faith, the death of hope, the death of calling.” Alex looked at Walter. “Steward’s death is my death.”

  He clasped his hand across his mouth, and tears flowed down his cheeks.

  His sisters and brother stared at him, eyes wide. He couldn’t blame them. They’d never seen him cry like this. Not at Mom’s funeral, or at Dad’s. But now…

  He was falling apart.

  Suddenly they were there, surrounding him, putting their arms around him, murmuring encouragement. Crying for him and with him.

  Letting him know, as never before, that he wasn’t alone.

  chapter

  Eighteen

  It was nearly noon before they returned to the reading of the story of Steward from Aiden Glenn.

  Walter took his usual seat back from the main living area. He watched as the four found their way to a sofa or chair and settled in for the next part of Steward’s journey.

  Only eighteen hours ago they’d begun this journey.

  So much has changed. That’s what prayer will do. Help them, Lord, for what still lies ahead.

  Walter continued to study the four. Gone were the stiff exteriors and well-honed facades. In their places were openness, even vulnerability, between the siblings. He never would have thought it possible. Somehow Steward’s journey and his death on the steps of the king’s own castle had dismantled their defenses and reconnected them with their own deep sense of brokenness.

  Walter could see that each one of them, in his or her own way, had found in Steward’s journey a piece of themselves that they had lost. And they were still searching, wondering about the impact the story would have on them.

  Walter could not be more pleased.

  Sam, this is just what you wanted, what you and I prayed for. Now let the rest of the story find its way into their hearts.

  Anna agreed to read. “It’s time to find out how Dad will continue a story after killing off the main character.”

  She opened the book and read on.

  ~~~~~~~~~

  Three figures walked on a long, open veranda supported by fifty magnificent columns. The air was cool and sweet, and the sun shone brightly, giving off a warmth that touched their cheeks as they strolled along. They looked out over a sweeping landscape of rich fields, towering cedars, and orchards resplendent with fruit. They descended a short staircase that led them to a courtyard, where a tent stood. Great flags flew from each corner, and the tent itself was made of the finest gold and crimson material. There were no sides on the tent, and underneath it they could see a large bed surrounded by attendants. As they drew near, one of the attendants came to them.

  “The preparations have been made. We have done all we can. Now we will wait for the king.”

  Their wait was not long.

  Trumpets blared from atop the colonnade, and from a distant part of the palace came an entourage following the king. As he approached, everyone bowed and smiled, their allegiance to him mixed with the joy of just being in his presence.

  The king smiled back and stopped to embrace the three visitors. In his rich and magnificent voice, he said to them, “You have done well, all I could ask for. Thank you. However, as you know, your service has just begun.”

  Then the king turned and walked under the tent to the bed at the center. Attendants stepped back, and the king looked at the body that lay in the silk sheets. The king placed his hand on the still forehead. “Young Steward, you have done well. You were much deserving of this deep, cleansing rest. But now your slumber must end, and your final journey must begin.”

  With those words, the king drew a breath and blew onto Steward’s face.

  Steward gasped and opened his eyes wide.

  Where was he? What happened—?

  He looked up, and a face looked down into his. Joy flooded him, and he knew that this was the face of the king. He had never seen such a countenance. The king’s face was both compassionate and commanding. It gave the immediate sense of deep grace and absolute authority.

  Steward looked into the king’s eyes, so full of love. “I…I’m alive. And you are the king. I must have passed through to the other side. Am I in heaven?”

  The king smiled. “No, my dear Steward, you did not die…only nearly.” He took Steward by the hand and sat him up so that he could look around.

  Steward waited for the pain.

  Nothing.

  He reached down and felt where the arrows pierced his leg and back.

  All that met his fingers was smooth, unmarred skin.

  “How did I survive those wounds? I felt my life draining away and the grip of death upon me.”

  “What else did you see and feel?” the king asked.

  Steward fought to remember the final moments before he lost consciousness. “An arm reached out and grabbed me, but I thought it was one of my pursuers ready to give me the final blow.”

  “Tell me about the arm that reached for you. What do you remember of it?”

  Steward paused to rethink the memory. “It was a strong arm, a firm arm…” Steward sat up straighter. “A black arm. It was Zedekai who grabbed me on the stairs!”

  “Yes, and he saved you from the mob.”

  Steward rubbed his hands again along the back of his thigh. “But what about my wounds? How did they heal so quickly?”

  The king’s eyes widened, and a grin crept onto his lips. “Quickly? Steward, you have been with us for months. I had you put into a deep sleep, and these healers have been attending to you until your wounds closed and your strength renewed.”

  Steward bowed to the attendants. “Th
ank you. I thank all of you.”

  The king signaled for them to take their leave. “And now that you are healed, we have much to do. Today you will eat and rest, and tomorrow we will talk. I have much to tell you.”

  Rest? He was in the presence of the king. Finally! He did not want to rest. He wanted to ask questions, hundreds of questions.

  “I have much to ask…and learn. Can we not talk now?”

  The king turned back as he exited the tent. “Patience, Steward, you have a lifetime ahead of you. Rest while there is peace in the air.”

  After a day of dining on the most wonderful foods he had ever tasted and continuing to rest and recover, Steward was summoned to the king’s throne room.

  His time had come.

  This is it. I will stand in the throne room of the king.

  His excitement was mixed with a deep sadness. He was at the pinnacle of his journey, of his life. But his heart broke as he thought of Astrid, left back in that dreadful Ascendia. And Abner and Edith, struggling on the outskirts of Marikonia to deal with the death of their beautiful daughter. There was Obed, who gave his life for this journey. And so many others…Trevor still in chains, Tristin deceived, Cassandra demanding more paving mixture, and the five deluded elites left to influence all of Seudomartus.

  I thought this would be the happiest day of my life. But now I have more questions than joy. I pray the king can help me.

  He was dressed in fine but simple robes and escorted by two female courtiers down a hallway too splendid to describe. They brought him to great golden doors. He paused; he’d seen these doors before. He looked to his right and down a long staircase that ended at the edge of a glorious sweeping lawn that disappeared into the distance. As he looked closer, he could see a stain of blood on the stairs near the bottom.

  One of the courtiers acknowledged his curiosity. “Yes, Steward, that is where we found you.”

  He looked at the courtier beside him. “Where is Seudomartus?”

  She bowed and passed her hand to summon him along. “That is a question for the king.”

  The courtiers pulled back the large ring that hung in the center of one of the great doors, then released it so that it pounded against the door. At once the doors swung open before them.

  Steward’s heart pounded just as loudly. He was struggling to keep his composure.

  The beauty of the scene before him stunned him. He had been preparing all these years for this one moment.

  This is beyond all I could have dreamt.

  The throne room of the king was not opulent like the castles of Petitzaros or the Halls of Wisdom. Yet there was an overwhelming sense of pure glory in the room. The walls were not hung with rich tapestries, and the ceiling was not gilded in gaudy gold as at Tristin’s house. The windows were not stained glass as in the Temple of Temperance, nor were there spires reaching up from each corner.

  There was a simplicity about the throne room that was startling, yet the entire place was filled with power and beauty.

  Then Steward saw the king.

  He was not dressed in flowing robes. He did not wear a crown, not even here in his throne room. But the pure presence of his passionate love and unquestionable power flowed through the room like a torrent.

  His voice echoed through the chamber. “Steward, come to me.”

  Familiar words. Only now, would his feet move? Steward tried to obey and urged his trembling legs along as he walked to the king.

  He arrived before the throne. The king sat and studied him for a moment. He spoke now more like a father than a king.

  “I know you have waited long to be in this place. Is your heart at peace here?”

  Steward breathed in deeply. The peace here was unlike anything he had ever known. “Oh yes, my heart is greatly at peace here.”

  The king rose from the throne and walked to Steward. “Remember this feeling. It is the Deep Peace. It should go with you wherever you go and stay in your heart whatever you face. It is the feeling I wish for all my people, every day. It is my greatest gift to them, and it’s why they were born into this kingdom: to know me, to trust me, and to experience the Deep Peace.”

  All the people of his kingdom?

  Steward cocked his head. Did he dare ask a question?

  “Do you mean the people of Petitzaros and Ascendia too?”

  “Yes, and the people of Marikonia…and even Seudomartus. They all were brought into my kingdom to know this Deep Peace.” He paused and then locked his gaze on Steward. “Did you experience this Deep Peace in any of these lands?”

  Steward shook his head and frowned. “No, I certainly did not.”

  At that confession, the king walked away from Steward as if to think, or maybe to let Steward think. Steward wasn’t sure which, but the time seemed an eternity. Finally, the king turned and came back to face Steward.

  “Tell me, Steward, why did you stay so long in Petitzaros?”

  No, that’s not a question I want to answer. Not here.

  He knew there was no escape from the truth. Steward shifted his weight. What a place for the king to begin. Steward hung his head as he spoke. “I guess I loved the wealth and power that it gave. I loved being able to use the Elixir of Mah Manon to create anything my heart desired. I loved the friends who thought so highly of me because of what I had obtained. I just fell into it all and wanted it all…and more.”

  “And what about the Deep Peace? Did you have it in Petitzaros when you had everything else?”

  The answer was easy, but the words stuck in his throat. Five years in that place, and never a moment of the Deep Peace. “No, I did not.”

  The king paused again. An image flashed in Steward’s mind. It was his mother kneading dough. She pressed the palms of her hands into the dough to force out the air and prepare it to become a perfect loaf. The king’s silence was working the same way in Steward’s spirit.

  The king returned to his questions. “What did you feel in those days?”

  “Anxiety. I was always anxious and never…at peace.”

  “Anxious about what?”

  Again the words did not come easy. “That I might lose what I had. That I might fall behind and have fewer rings than my friends. That I might not be doing enough to receive my rings. That I might be missing some way to get more rings, or that my friends might find other and better friends unless I threw greater parties and built a more impressive palace. The entire time in Petitzaros was filled with worry and doubt and frenzy and…despair.”

  “Then let me ask you again, why did you stay so long?” There was no accusation in the king’s voice.

  Why? Can I tell him? Greed. Lack of trust. Can I say that here? To him?

  “I guess I don’t really know. I wanted all the stuff, to be…you know…happy. But I wasn’t, not in my heart, not for a day. I suppose I just got…pulled into it all. And the chains…”

  The chains! He’d forgotten about them.

  Steward looked down and realized the two heavy gold bands were still fixed around his wrists. The chains were finally gone, but the wide bands remained. Steward reached down and rubbed the skin beneath them.

  Again he looked at the king, shaking his head. “I don’t think you ever wanted the people of Petitzaros to wear these heavy gold bands. Will I ever get these off?”

  The king smiled with a nod. “Of course. And I will replace them with new ones.”

  “New ones? Then we are supposed to wear these things?”

  The king waved the comment away. “No, not those.” The king walked over to a large cabinet and took a wooden box from it. “These.”

  He opened the box, which displayed two thin, light, fine gold Bracelets. He took a key from a pocket inside his robe and, with a quick turn, unlocked the heavy bands from Steward’s wrists. For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, he was free of the chains from Petitzaros.

  “That feels wonderful.”

  The king took the Bracelets from the box and slid them onto Steward’s wrists
. Compared to the heavy bands of Petitzaros, the new ones felt like air. Steward studied them for a moment. He had seen such Bracelets before.

  “The people of Remonant.”

  “Yes, they wear such Bracelets.”

  Steward rubbed the fine gold bands between his fingers. “I remember them, but tell me why we wear any Bracelets at all?”

  The king turned and gestured for Steward to follow him. “For that, we must take a walk.” The king led Steward into the courtyard and down the colonnade walk. They turned up a staircase that led to the top of the palace. When they reached the highest point on the roof of the great palace, the king looked out over the entire kingdom.

  Steward looked too, and he was startled to find that from this point he could see his entire journey. “There is Petitzaros, and I can see the ramps of Ascendia to the east.”

  He ran around to the other side of the roof. “And there is Marikonia, and…I can see the Sacred Mount of Seudomartus!”

  The king pointed out into the distance. “And look to the south. What do you see?”

  Steward squinted into the midday sun. “I see a great plain divided by a mighty river. That’s Kildrachan Plain and the Golden River!” Steward walked to the edge of the palace roof to get a better look.

  “I can see everything from here! There is Pitcairn Moor, where I met Dunston and the first meadow I entered after emerging from Callater Pass. There are the woods where Zedekai and I ate after my escape from Petitzaros, and there is the cleft in the mountainside where I first heard your voice coming from the Transmitter. I can see it all from here!”

  “And even farther to the south?”

  Steward shaded his eyes as he strained to see into the distance. “There is a large gray cloud covering much of the far southern kingdom…it’s Aiden Glenn.” He turned back to the king. “It is my home.” The mixed emotions welled up in him again. Joy for knowing he may soon be going home, but sadness at the thought of his mother and father sealed beneath the veil of clouds.

  The king came to his side. “Yes, I see everything that happens in my kingdom from here. And I like very little of what I see. My heart breaks every time I come up here and look at the present state of my kingdom.”