“Tell me, young Steward. What did the king say about this gift?”
“He said it is a Reflector of the truth. It will show all who look into it the truth of who they are and how the king sees them. It will help those who are deluded by a distorted image—whether they think more of themselves than they ought or less of themselves than they ought. It will restore balance in their lives and help them live as authentic children of the king.”
Abner held up his Reflector. “Then this is the truth, the king’s truth.”
Steward nodded.
Abner made a fist, but Steward sensed it was not in anger, but triumph.
“I knew it. I’ve known it all along. When I was younger I tried to see the truth, but time wore me down. Even though I finally gave in to the lie, deep in my spirit I’ve never believed it. I always sensed that the truth was different than what we were seeing…that, somehow, we were meant to see ourselves differently. And now, these Reflectors show us that truth, that we are noble in the king’s eyes.”
“It has done that,” Trek exclaimed. “If this is how I really look, then I am no less than the people of the Light District. And they are no greater than me.”
“Yes, but who will tell them that?” Troy retorted.
“You will.”
At Steward’s words, three stunned faces looked back at him.
“And just what do you mean by that?” Trek asked.
Troy walked to him. Fear was in his eyes. “We can’t speak to the people of the Light District. They won’t listen to us. If this is your plan, it won’t work.”
Steward looked at the blacksmith. “Abner?”
He nodded. “Go on.”
Steward continued. “I’ve been sent by the king for no less an audacious task than the liberation of all Marikonia. This liberation will come by way of the truth, the truth as seen in this Reflector. But I cannot lead this liberation. I have neither the time nor the manpower. Even now, the Phaedra are amassing near the Golden River for war against the king. So, I must entrust this work to you. You, Troy and Trek, will lead the liberation of Marikonia. And this liberation will set right your sister’s death. Claire knew the truth, but there was no place for her to live out that truth, not in the midst of so great a distortion. Now you must take this truth, in her name, into the city, through the streets, and into the hearts of the people of the Light District.”
“How shall we accomplish so great a task?” Troy asked.
Steward drew a breath. They wouldn’t like this. “We shall start with Tristin.”
“Tristin?” Trek shook his head. “He is the worst of all the famous and powerful. How can we possibly change his heart?”
Abner placed a calming hand on his son’s shoulder. “My dear boys, the truth will always win if it’s presented with compassion and courage. Steward is right. This Reflector is the key to righting the centuries of distortion we’ve lived under. This distortion ruled us ever since the day my own Reflector was marred by the hand of a Phaedra. They’ve distorted all the Reflectors in this place by putting a warped image into our minds. It’s our own self-delusion that causes some to reflect a poorer image and some to reflect a better image than the real and true image. Steward has helped us see in ourselves what the king would have us see. Now the same must be taken to the very heart of the distortion.”
“Tristin’s house.”
Steward and Abner nodded at Troy’s words.
Steward drew closer and spoke in a hushed tone. “I will accompany you to the house, but I must not be seen by the Phaedra. My death in Seudomartus must continue to be believed. On the way, we will construct a plan, but time is short. We must leave now.”
Abner’s sons took off their heavy leather aprons, washed their faces, and prepared to leave.
Steward helped Abner close up the shop. “What will you tell Edith?”
Abner looked toward the house. “May I borrow the king’s Reflector for a moment?”
Steward handed it to him, and Abner disappeared into the house. Moments later, a shriek of delight could be heard across the lawn and out into the street. Abner soon returned, beaming.
“Edith will be just fine!”
Steward, Troy, and Trek set off, following back roads that would keep them from the gaze of the Phaedra. Steward knew that Astrid and Dunston followed them from a distance, protecting them as they moved along the corridors of Marikonia. He and the boys navigated their way from an alley to a dark road, until they stood at the circular drive that led to Tristin’s house.
Steward leaned close to the boys. “Careful now. The Phaedra are everywhere.”
They eased close to the house. Steward looked and listened. Why were the windows darkened? And why was the normally festive house silent?
Something was wrong.
They drew closer and Steward spotted one light flickering through a downstairs window. He made his way into the house through the open front door. The floor creaked beneath his feet as he walked through the colossal foyer with its massive, dark chandeliers.
Suddenly, a figure appeared in front of him.
“Who’s that? Who’s there?”
Steward held out his hands. “I mean no harm. I am here to see Tristin. Is he away?” He stayed in the shadows, hoping to conceal his identity as long as possible.
“Tristin is not seeing visitors. He is…ill.”
A voice shouted from down the hall. “Castor, who is there?”
It was Tristin’s voice. Steward kept his voice calm. “Tell Tristin it is an old friend here to visit.”
The man squinted, trying to see Steward’s face. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I once visited Tristin, and I wish to see him again. May I…may we go in and see him?”
Troy and Trek stepped out of the shadows, and the man looked at them then disappeared down the hall. He returned shortly and announced that Tristin would see them. As he escorted them down the long hallway, Steward looked around. What could have happened here? The once bright and gaudy rooms along the hall were now dark and silent. The place was in disrepair with many pieces of broken furniture.
Steward and the boys entered a room at the end of the hall, following Castor to a table where Tristin sat sipping a glass of wine. His shirt was rumpled and his hair was matted and uncombed. He was looking across the room, distracted and oblivious to their entrance.
Steward stepped forward. “Tristin, it is Steward of Aiden Glenn. Are you all right?”
He turned a bit, just enough to glance at them. “Steward? Ah yes, I remember you. You taunted my guests and nearly destroyed my party with talk of truth and distortion and visiting the king. So now you have returned to glory in my humiliation? Fine, so be it!”
“You’re right, Tristin. I did talk of distortion and truth and a quest to see the king. And I am here because I have seen the king, and he has sent me back here with a gift for you.”
Tristin turned to meet Steward’s gaze. He laid his elbows on the table and hoisted himself up, almost lunging at Steward. “Liar! You heard of my fall and have come to rub it in my face. Well, I will have none of it. Castor, show this man out!”
Steward threw his hands up. “Wait! Before you throw me out, tell me where your guests are. Where is the party? Where are the mirrors that filled your rooms? Please, what has happened here?”
Tristin fell back into his chair. “Very well, have your fun. It appears that my Reflector is flawed. One day it began to show images that were not at all flattering, and my friends noticed it immediately. I thought it was some trick, or a problem with the surface, but slowly my image became marred in everyone else’s Reflectors as well. Once that happened, my so-called friends turned out to be nothing of the sort. They ridiculed me and abandoned me for others with more splendid reflections.”
He stood and picked up a slat from a broken chair, examining it as he spoke. “I tried everything to get them back. I threw more lavish parties, hired the best entertainers, and bought the finest food and wines, bu
t all that mattered was the unflattering image they saw in their Reflectors every time they were around me. Soon no one came to my house. And no one invited me to theirs. I became an outcast.”
He was panting now, emotions overcoming him. “I tried to change my image, reshape my Reflector, and change its surface or its curvature. I tried to increase and decrease the light around it. I covered it with thin cloth, painted the surface, decorated it, and even tried breaking it. But it just kept reflecting this same, dull image back to me.”
Tristin’s despair was heartbreaking. Steward shook his head. “What did you do?”
Tristin shrugged. “I quit and accepted that I would never again be welcome among the beautiful people of the Light District.” Anger mixed with grief as he spoke. He stood and looked down the hallway at the darkened, empty rooms. “I tore down the mirrors and turned out the lights. Now I sit here day after day, night after night, waiting for someone to ask me to dinner or a party. And when they don’t, I dull the pain with my wine.” He raised his glass with a sarcastic flair and took another gulp. “So there you have it. The once glamorous and sophisticated Tristin reduced to a wine sot, a rejected, friendless wine sot. Are you happy now?”
Steward drew closer to him. “No, Tristin, I am not happy. You are miserable because you have been led from one distortion to the other. The truth is, you are neither as splendid nor as dull as your Reflector has shown you. Both are lies, and they have led you to this.” Steward squeezed Tristin’s shoulder. “Don’t you want to know the truth?”
“And you have this truth? From the king?” Tristin’s voice betrayed his disbelief.
Steward drew the king’s Reflector from his satchel. He turned it toward Tristin, who peered into the glass face of the Reflector. He drew closer and looked again and again.
Steward tried to read his friend’s emotions but couldn’t. “What do you feel now?”
Tristin’s eyes stayed on the Reflector. “I’m not sure, but there is something right about what I see. I can’t explain it, but this image I see looks like…me. Like the man I always thought I might be but was afraid to be. Why have I never seen this image before?”
“Because your image has been distorted for so long.”
Anger tinged Tristin’s eyes. “Distorted by whom?”
“By everyone. By those who have made you into someone other than who you were created to be. By others who live in their own distortions. By the Light District that makes those who live there out to be more than they really are. By your own desire to be someone other than your true self. And by the Phaedra, who whisper falsehoods in your ear and warp your Reflector’s image. It all works together to undo you, whether through a grandiose or grotesque distortion. Both are crippling to your spirit.”
Tristin held his gaze on Steward. His tone was cool and sharp. “They have lied to us? All these years? They created this grand delusion? If you’re right, something must be done. This must be set right. But how?”
Steward stepped back and swept his hand toward the sons of Abner. “Let me introduce you to my two friends Troy and Trek. You know them as the sons of Abner the Blacksmith.”
Tristin recoiled. “Such lowlife in my house?” But as the two boys emerged from the shadows, Tristin’s eyes widened.
He walked closer to study them. “I’ve never really looked at people from the outskirts.”
Hope sparked in Steward’s heart. “And what do you see?”
Tristin kept examining their features. “I see…purity and simplicity. It’s like what I saw just a moment ago in this new Reflector.” Red tinged his cheeks as he held out a hand to Troy and Trek. “Please, forgive me. You are most welcome here.”
“Tristin, what you’re feeling is what the king calls the Deep Peace. It’s what he wants for everyone in his kingdom. And it’s your mission to liberate the people of Marikonia that they might know this peace.”
Before anyone could reply, Steward heard soft footsteps coming down the hall.
Lots of them.
“The Phaedra!” Steward looked at Tristin. “They must not know I’m here.” He retreated into the shadows of the room as three Phaedra entered.
“Good evening, our dear Tristin. We see you have guests. Would these be the sons of Abner?”
Tristin glowered then walked to them. “Yes, they have come for a visit. Don’t they look splendid?”
“Not at all, I am afraid,” one Phaedra replied. “And I must say, neither do you. Why, I have not seen you look worse.” The Phaedra circled Tristin as he spoke. “Surely you are despairing over your decline, and these misfits can only make matters worse for you. Please ask them to leave.”
Steward smiled from the shadows as Tristin took on the challenge. “I am afraid you are gravely mistaken. I think these lads look wonderful. And I believe I have never looked better myself.”
One Phaedra drew close and stared at him. “Who told you that you looked fine? What could possibly give you that impression?”
Tristin produced the king’s Reflector. The Phaedra recoiled at the sight of it. He turned it toward himself until his image was clear for all to see.
“This is what tells me, thank you.” Then he turned it to Troy and Trek. “And as you can see, these are quite smart fellows indeed!”
“Where did you get that horrible Reflector?” A Phaedra stepped forward to grab it, but as he reached for it, his hand was thrust back as though by some unseen force. The Phaedra grew agitated. Angry.
“You are a fool! This is a lie. Throw it away and return to your own Reflector.”
It was time. Steward emerged from the shadows. “He will do no such thing. I will tell you where he got the Reflector. It is the king’s own Reflector, and I brought it to him from the king. I am Warrior Steward, and your time of lies and distortions is ended!”
The Phaedra ran from the room, and Steward raced after them. He drew his sword and slew all three of them, leaving their empty robes strewn on the floor as their spirits cried out and flew away.
Tristin spoke from behind Steward. “That was a bold move. You were almost exposed. But I fear you are still in danger. The Phaedra always visit me in a great mob, twenty or more. Surely more are coming.”
Steward looked out the window at the courtyard—and smiled. Astrid and Dunston were slaying the last of the Phaedra that had come to torment Tristin. He waved his thanks to them then turned back to Tristin. “There will be no more Phaedra tonight. Now, you three must prepare for the liberation of Marikonia. This Reflector will correct the distortions of all other Reflectors if people will look into it and believe that what they see in it is the truth. That is your mission. With Trek and Troy, you must take the truth to the people, let them see who they really are, and set them free.”
“And let them know the Deep Peace,” added Trek.
Steward smiled. “Yes, let them all come to know the Deep Peace. Now I must go. We must make Seudomartus by dawn.”
Steward embraced the three and headed out into the courtyard to meet up with Astrid and Dunston.
As they left the outskirts of Marikonia, Steward slowed his horse and stopped. He looked to the path that led into the berry fields beyond Abner’s house.
“I know we’re in a hurry, but I need a few minutes to myself.” He dismounted, handed his reins to Dunston, and walked down the path. He followed it around the hillside and through the meadow lined with berry bushes. Finally, he came to the pool. There Steward found a small memorial that Abner and Edith had made for Claire. Her name was written on a piece of wrought iron as only a master blacksmith could write it. Steward fell to his knees at the graveside and wept.
Arms slid around him, hugging him tightly.
Astrid.
“I wish I could have done something to save her.”
Astrid turned his face toward her. “But you have saved her. You have honored her by bringing life to everyone in this place. Claire saw what everyone in Marikonia will soon see, but they will have each other to live accordin
g to their true image. Claire didn’t have that. But because of her, everyone else will.”
Steward put his hand to her cheek. How blessed he was to have her with him. He stood, but before they left, he picked a flower and laid it on Claire’s grave. He took Astrid’s hand and they walked away to join Dunston.
It was time to make their way to Seudomartus.
~~~~~~~~~
Alex looked up at Anna, and she smiled. “I’m okay, let’s continue.”
He smiled back and turned the page.
chapter
Twenty-Four
The air above Kildrachan Plain was cooler than one would expect for a sunny summer morning. Despite the clear blue sky and the brilliant sun shining above the early morning horizon, there was an unmistakable dampness hanging in the air, refusing to yield to the shafts of sunlight streaming through it. It was a foreign dampness, and its alien nature sent animals moving for shelter, as if pushed away by some great, menacing force. Soon the watery veil swallowed up the sun, reducing it to the faint glow of an autumn moon.
The grayness continued its relentless spread across the landscape. Beneath it, an ooze of blackness crept its way across the fertile fields, like oil being poured out on a green cloth.
Thousands of black-cloaked figures had crossed the Golden River and were filling the northern valleys of Kildrachan Plain.
chapter
Twenty-Five
A series of cliffs ran from the bottom of Starr Hill to the edge of Blue Heron Lake, defining the western border of Seudomartus. The cliffs were inaccessible…nearly. At one point, they parted, creating a seam that continued to the lake’s edge. The seam stopped twenty feet in the air, forming a grotto beneath it. Since the siege on Starr Hill, this had become the secret gathering place of the Faithful.
The Four Gifts of the King Page 34
