The Four Gifts of the King

by R. Scott Rodin

  Steward looked up at him. “But you are the king. Why don’t you change things if you are saddened by what you see in your kingdom?”

  For the first time, the king’s expression grew sad. “I did, young Steward.”

  The king led him back around to the south end.

  “Look out over Kildrachan Plain. It was there that I fought for the sake of my kingdom and every person who dwelt in it. I brought my full army to bear against the evil of the Phaedra’im. It was a horrific battle. We lost so many men. My very own son fell by my side.” The king’s words were grief-laden. “And we won. The Phaedra’im were driven out of the kingdom, forbidden for all time from crossing over the Golden River and exiled into the Tohu Wa-Bohu to live out their unearthly existence in the very midst of nonexistence.”

  “But I have seen the Phaedra. They’re everywhere.”

  “Yes, it is so. The Phaedra’im would only stay in exile if the people of the kingdom refused to give them entry back across the river. So I gave four gifts to my people that they might have a rich and full life—a life of peace free from the Phaedra’im.”

  Four gifts, four lands, and four distinct deceptions. Steward began to put the pattern together. “What were the four gifts, and what did your people do with them?”

  “You have seen for yourself, young Steward.” The king paused, and when he had Steward’s full attention, he added, “That was the purpose of your journey.”

  My journey was about the four gifts? But what of my name? Surely I’ll learn of that as well. Patience.

  Steward looked down and rolled one of the Bracelets on his wrists.

  “The golden Bracelets. They were one of the gifts, weren’t they?”

  The king nodded. “Yes. I gave everyone in my kingdom a set of fine golden Bracelets to remind them that the land they are in does not belong to them. They are caretakers of this kingdom. I won it back for them with the blood of my men…and my son. And now I have given it to them to tend and enjoy and share. Every time they pick up a plow, plant a seed, build a barn, tend to an animal, or trade in the market, the Bracelets are there as a joyous reminder that they are caretakers of all I have given them. I wanted them to enjoy it all, share it among themselves, and rejoice in my gift to them.”

  The Bracelets, signs of sharing, rejoicing, and caretaking? That hadn’t been his experience.

  Steward shook his head. “In Petitzaros, the bands don’t remind them of any of those things…or you. They have become a curse instead of a blessing.”

  “Indeed they have. The people in Petitzaros forgot that the Bracelets symbolized their role as caretaker. Instead they chose to play the owner and hoard them. They thought that by having more Bracelets, they could be happier. And in the whispering deception of the Phaedra, the Bracelets came to mean power and control.”

  Questions were swirling in Steward’s mind. “Please, tell me about the Phaedra. They are everywhere in Petitzaros. How did they get there?”

  Now the king spoke as if the words were hard for him. “The richest people in Petitzaros received word that the Phaedra’im possessed an elixir that had the power to make them even richer than the golden Bracelets. They were lured into a meeting at the edge of the Golden River. There they struck a deal that changed the kingdom forever. The Phaedra’im convinced the leaders of Petitzaros that with this elixir they could become kings themselves. And so they took the elixir in exchange for allowing the Phaedra’im back into the kingdom.”

  Of course! “The Elixir of Mah Manon.”

  The king nodded. “And so the Phaedra’im became the Phaedra, and Petitzaros became their first outpost back into my kingdom.”

  Steward scrunched his eyebrows. “That’s not much of a change in name— Phaedra’im to Phaedra. I mean, did that really fool anyone?”

  The king huffed. “Fool anyone? No, and it wasn’t meant to. That, young Steward, is the lesson you must learn about the hearts of men. People knew the Phaedra were direct descendants of the Phaedra’im. It was taught in our schools, and stories of the great battles were retold in most households across the kingdom. Oh no, people knew. But the hearts of men, if left unchecked, will desire those things that serve only them. If their steps are not ordered by the king’s work, they will linger along the pools of temptation to the things that will offer them power. When their ears are not attuned to the king’s voice, they will itch for the whispers of that which tantalizes the senses and sets greed loose in their spirit. This is the heart that is ready to be led into deception, even when all signs point to danger. So, yes, the name was not meant to hide anything. Quite the opposite. It was to signal the audacity with which the Phaedra would infiltrate and infect the minds and wills of my people.”

  Steward understood. “And it started here in Petitzaros.”

  The king nodded. “They hated the people of Petitzaros and the Bracelets I had given them, so they filled their minds with thirst for more and more things. As they did, the people exchanged my Bracelets for the heavier bands of the Phaedra. And the Phaedra cursed those bands so that they would grow and become heavier as the wealth of each citizen grew.”

  He knew it! Zedekai was right. “So they are curses.”

  “The worst kind. They are curses that are seen as blessings. The greater the curse, the more my people think they are being blessed. The Phaedra are nothing if not clever.”

  “And the Elixir of Mah Manon is evil also?”

  The king took a few steps forward and rested his hands on the top of the stone railing. “Only if it is used for evil purposes. The Elixir itself can be used in wonderful ways. It can build a house for a poor man, provide food to a hungry man, clothing for a naked child, or medicine for a woman who is ill. It can be used to provide everything needed by everyone in my kingdom, but only if it is shared. Once it is hoarded and used to make the rich richer, it becomes an evil unto itself.”

  The rich became richer, an evil unto itself. It was all so true. “That’s what it has become in Petitzaros.” Steward thought about how many times he had delighted to pour out one drop and see the extravagance it produced, but only for the rich. Guilt welled up in him. “I would have killed to obtain more of it.” The confession startled him.

  “So, do you understand the true purpose of my gift of the golden Bracelets?”

  Steward rubbed them again. Light, comfortable, and beautiful. “I do.”

  “Then let us look farther east to Ascendia.” The king moved across the palace roof. “How did you find Ascendia?”

  That was easy. “Horrible! Do you know they crush people in a great grinding machine to make their pavement for the Ascenders?”

  The king nodded. “I know.”

  Steward didn’t understand. His tone turned to near accusation. “Can’t you stop them? You’re the king!”

  The king didn’t answer. He looked out over the kingdom to the east. Silent.

  Steward regretted the tone. This was the king. I have no right! But the questions remained.

  The king finally turned to Steward. “Listen to me now, Steward. I know your heart is broken over what you have seen. So is mine. This is my kingdom, and these are all my people. I can do great things for them, but I will not force them to obey me or accept my ways. I have won the great battle for them. I have driven out their enemy and given them the gifts that will allow them to live in freedom and peace. But they must choose that life for themselves. If I force it upon them, I will become to them a tyrant, not a king. Do you understand this?”

  He wanted to. He yearned for an explanation, some answer that made sense. He rolled it over in his mind. “I think so…but the crushing machines are so horrible. It must cause you such pain to watch this happening to your people.”

  The king walked a little farther toward the edge, and when Steward followed him he saw the great machines in the far distance. Steward looked away, to the king, and saw his chest heave as he breathed.

  Steward knew emotional pain when he saw it. And the king’s pain was p
rofound.

  Soon the king turned to a courtier who had appeared next to them. He took something from her then turned back to Steward and held it out in front of him. “This belongs to you, does it not?” The king held up the Quash Cassandra had given Steward.

  Steward accepted it. “I thought I had lost it in the chase from Seudomartus. How did you get it?”

  The king ignored the question. “Do you know what this is, Steward?”

  Steward felt its dented edges. “I…I’m not sure. I saw it used as a vessel to carry rocks and…the paving mixture. I saw it used as a weapon against others and as a breastplate for protection. But I am not sure what it really is.”

  Could it be? Steward looked to the king. “Was this one of your gifts to your people?”

  The king nodded. “Its use has been so distorted it’s no wonder you can’t recognize it for what it originally was.”

  Then the king took Steward’s dented Quash and dirty sling. He untied the sling, separating it from the brass vessel. The king turned the vessel and placed it in Steward’s hands. Then he neatly folded the cloth lengthwise and laid it over Steward’s arm like a towel.

  Steward looked down and it became clear.

  “It’s a basin and a towel.” Was that all it was? The brass basin and the cloth towel were simple objects when presented this way, but Steward had never seen it.

  The king looked back out toward Ascendia. “When I won back the kingdom for my people, I knew that the Phaedra’im would try to divide them and pit them against each other. Through rivalry and hatred, the Phaedra’im would have an avenue to regain access to my kingdom. So I gave to each person in my kingdom these two simple items—a brass bowl and a towel—to use to serve each other. It was a symbol of relationship, of hospitality, of care, and of compassion for one another. They could be used to wash and bind wounds, clean dirty faces, and cool thirsty mouths. When my people served one another, there was no opening for the Phaedra’im to re-enter my kingdom and kill my people.”

  Steward ran his fingers across the rim of the Quash. “It’s not service I saw. It was anger, domination…murder.”

  “When my people replace love for each other with love for whatever gives them authority and power over each other, they surrender all to the Phaedra’im.”

  Astrid! Did the king remember her? “Not all of them have done so!”

  “No, not all of them. Many still seek to use the basin and towel as they were meant to be used. And a few…” He paused to look at Steward. “A few, like Astrid, lead the people in revolt against the power of the ramp builders.”

  Steward’s heart leapt. The king knew Astrid. Was he aware of their escape, and of his parting words and feelings for her? “Will I see her again?”

  The king continued his gaze into Steward’s eyes. “Astrid is among my most valued followers. When she is needed, she will be summoned.”

  That was all the hope he needed, but his questions continued. “Good king, how did your symbol meant for service become the tool that leads to such hatred and violence?”

  The king looked back to the south. “From the south, there came news to Agapia—that was Ascendia’s name when it was founded—that the people of Petitzaros were building great castles with the help of the Phaedra. The people of Agapia had forgotten their history, so they did not know that the Phaedra were the descendants of the Phaedra’im. They invited a delegation of these so-called helpers to visit Agapia to aid them in their own building projects. During that visit, the Phaedra planted in the minds of the people the idea that the best place to live was high on the mountain and not in the valley. They began whispering doubts in the ears of the weaker that they would need to look out for themselves if they were to get up to the mountain. As distrust seeped into the community, a few of my people organized themselves and began building a ramp. Panic and resentment took over from there. All the Phaedra needed was to keep sowing doubt and distrust in everyone’s minds. Soon the Quash was used as a tool for carrying rocks, then for mortar…until they ran out of mortar.”

  Steward’s stomach churned again at the thought of the crushers.

  The king continued. “But not everyone wanted to build. Many were content in the valley and continued to use the basin and towel for their intended purposes. Those bent on building saw them as unproductive citizens and persecuted them. One day a fight broke out near the rock crusher. A worker fell into the machine, and the rest watched as the residue poured out. A quiet pact was made to begin rounding up the poorest and least productive of the land and use them when the mortar mix ran low. Just as a substitute, at first. Then more, as demand increased. Twice I sent an armed force to shut the crushers down, but the people opened them again as soon as my force left.”

  How could people become so evil? What could ever stop them?

  The king continued. “As I said, Steward, I cannot, I will not, force my people to obey me. I will not play the tyrant.” Then he turned and looked at Steward. “But I will also not stand by and watch them destroy themselves.”

  Yes, there is a plan.

  “What will you do?”

  “That is for tomorrow. For now, we turn to Marikonia.”

  Steward was anxious to know how to destroy the crushers, but the mention of Marikonia filled him with grief. Steward bowed his head. What he would give to escape reliving the pain of Claire’s death—but of course he could not.

  “Steward, what did you see when you looked into this?” The king held up the Reflector that had plagued Steward during his days in Marikonia.

  Steward looked away. “First I saw a horrible reflection of my own image. Then later a far too generous reflection.”

  The king laid the Reflector aside. “Tell me of your time in the house of Tristin.”

  “There were mirrors…Reflectors…everywhere. And the people were so plain when I looked at them, but in the Reflectors they were handsome and beautiful. Everything was distorted. Nothing looked as it should have. It was so confusing. In the end, I didn’t even know my own face.”

  “Do you know it now?” The king picked up the object and handed it to him.

  Steward was afraid to look.

  What’s waiting for me in this, more pain? Distortion?

  He hesitated then lifted it and looked at the image that peered back at him.

  It was his own face! Steward wanted to throw out his arms and dance. “Yes, this is my face.”

  “It always was, Steward.”

  “But…” He shook his head. “I know what I saw. When I looked in the Reflector, I saw first an ogre and then a far more handsome man than I shall ever be.”

  “Did you believe either of those images?”

  Steward recounted the emotions that seemed to push him back and forth every time he looked into it. “No, not really. I always knew each was a distortion.”

  The king swept his hand to the east. “Then you are far better off than those who dwell in Marikonia.”

  Steward studied the Reflector and looked up at the king. “This was your third gift, wasn’t it?”

  The king nodded. “I wanted my people to know, for all time, how much I love them. The Reflectors were to help them see the image they each bore—the image of an heir of this land and a beloved citizen of this empire. I wanted them to see and know my love for them and experience the Deep Peace as they recognized their own worth, value, and beauty. I wanted them to know joy and contentment in who they were as my children and never look elsewhere for it.”

  “Then how did the images get so distorted?”

  “Actually, the Reflectors in Marikonia are just as they were when I first gave them to the people there. What has changed are the eyes of those who gaze upon them.”

  “But I saw the distortion. Were my eyes bad too?”

  The king seemed to ignore his question. “Do you remember the man you encountered in the road to Marikonia?”

  Steward rubbed his shoulder at the memory. “Encountered? You mean bowled over and nearly killed? Yes
, I remember him. He retrieved my Reflector and gave it back to me.”

  “And he placed doubt in your mind that you read back into the Reflector. When we doubt our own worth, we see that doubt reflected back to us, and it’s most often quite ugly. He caused you to doubt your worth, and when that was planted in your mind, you saw in the Reflector exactly what you saw in yourself.”

  Steward thought back to the man’s cutting words. He realized that by the time he actually looked into the Reflector, he was already doubting his calling and his worth. “But what of the other experience, of seeing more than I was? I think I can see now that the distortion works both ways.”

  “Yes, well said. Those that see themselves more highly than they ought to also reflect an image far nobler than what is real and true. They believe it with such conviction that they cause others to believe the distortion too. So the plain and homely Tristin becomes an icon…”

  “…and the beautiful and innocent Claire is doomed to believe she is plain and homely.” Steward was crushed under his grief.

  The king’s chest rose and fell from his own grief. “That is the extent to which the deception can become a reality. So many of those in the Light District are far less deserving of honor and admiration than the simple blacksmith who has believed the lie and lived the consequences.”

  Steward’s hands drew into fists as he spat out his words. “The Light District is a farce. It is a phony place filled with fake, self-deceived, and sad people.”

  “Perhaps, but as long as everyone around them believes the distortion, it becomes the reality, does it not?”

  He hated the thought. But the king was right. It became reality for everyone there. “Yes, I guess it does. And if you try to unravel the deception and challenge the distortion…”

  “People cannot, they will not, believe it. Instead, they will despair to the point of taking their own life.”

  Steward fought back tears. He looked up at the king. “I am so sorry. She didn’t deserve to die. She…”

  “She was taken too soon. But you are not to blame.” The king’s words brought a welcome relief to Steward’s spirit. He continued. “The idea of her false image was implanted into her from childhood. It is a masterful deception of the Phaedra’im.”