The Marus Manuscripts

by Paul McCusker

  “You made a decision?”

  “I think so,” Darien replied. “Unless you have a message for me. Have you had any dreams lately?”

  Anna told him about the dream of King Lawrence.

  “What am I supposed to make of that?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Anna said, distressed.

  Darien went to the window and looked out on the street. Colonel Oliver was beginning to assemble the officers and community leaders below. “Your dream may be the confirmation of my decision. The king is obviously losing his grip. He’s not capable of fighting the combined allied armies. He needs our help.”

  “No,” Anna said. “That may not be the message at all. Maybe it means to stay away. Maybe you should wait until—”

  “Until what, Anna?” he shouted at her. “Until the Palatians have conquered our country?”

  She winced as if he’d struck her in the face, her eyes tearing up.

  He checked himself and continued more quietly. “What you mean is that you want me to wait until Kyle comes back. I can’t do that. Whatever we do, we have to do quickly. Right now.”

  “I understand,” Anna whispered.

  “I’ve decided that we won’t stay here. All the civilians will go back to where we camped in the Territory of Peace. You’ll be as safe there as anywhere.”

  “What about your army?”

  “We’re going south to join the royal army,” Darien said. “We have to help them fight against the Palatians. It’ll be a massacre otherwise.”

  “What if King Lawrence has you arrested—or you’re killed?” Anna asked.

  “Then we’ve all been terribly misled and the Unseen One didn’t really choose me to be king.”

  The Rat and Kyle took a night train from Lizah to Krawley. From there they caught a train that took them south to Sarum. They arrived the next morning, just in time for a connecting train to Dorr. Kyle slept most of the way, though he awoke with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “I hope I didn’t make a big mistake,” he said.

  “Do you think it would be a mistake to find your way home?” the Rat asked.

  Kyle didn’t answer.

  The Rat glanced at a map on the wall of the Dorr station. “Only a few miles’ walk,” he said, “then you’ll have your answer.”

  An hour later, they passed the post office for Wollet-in-Stone. “I know this place,” Kyle said. “This is where we picked up Anna after she escaped from the convent!”

  Five minutes later, they were standing outside a wooden shack with a tin roof. A red palm was painted on the doorway. “That’s the sign of a seer,” the Rat said. He knocked on the frame since the door was hanging wide open. “Hello?” he called.

  Someone shuffled and banged inside, as if the person had been startled and tipped something over. An old woman, older than any Kyle had ever seen, appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on the skirt of her peasant dress. A tattered shawl hung like cobwebs from her shoulders. “Yes? Anastasia, I am,” she said. “What can I do’s for ye?”

  “The boy needs to talk to you,” the Rat explained. “About matters of another world.”

  “Come in and sit ye down! Sit ye down!” she said, clearly delighted.

  Kyle followed her in and immediately regretted it. The place was a dump. The woman scooted a skeletal cat from one of the chairs and positioned it next to the table in the center of the shack. Kyle reluctantly sat down, then noticed that the Rat hadn’t joined them. He stood in the doorway.

  “Come in,” Kyle said.

  “This is your affair, not mine,” the Rat said. “I’ll meet you at the station when you’re done.”

  Before Kyle could say anything, the Rat was gone.

  “Matters of another world?” Anastasia asked.

  Kyle surveyed the room. Besides the obvious dirt and trash, he noticed an old, faded carnival poster hanging on the wall. “Anastasia the Mysterious” the headline read in large, curly letters. The woman in the painting bore little resemblance to the old, shriveled person in front of him, however. That woman was dark and beautiful, with wild hair and eyes that probably caught the hearts of many men.

  Anastasia cleared her throat. Her hand was held out for payment.

  “Oh, sorry,” Kyle said. He dug into his pocket, found his last dollar, and gave it to her. “I hope that’s enough.”

  She held up the greenback and giggled. “Money from the other world. Oh yes. I’ll add it to my collection, I will.” She opened a small tin confectioner’s box. Kyle thought he caught sight of an American nickel before she shoved the dollar in and closed the box up tight.

  “I want to go home,” Kyle said when Anastasia turned her attention to him once more.

  “Home! Yes, yes. We all want to go home. Give me yer hand.”

  He held out his hand to her. She took it quickly, then just as quickly let it go. Her face looked as if she’d been jolted with electricity. “No. Ye are tricking me, ye are.”

  Kyle was confused. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  The old woman had the tin box open again and was fumbling around for the dollar. “Ye are not true. Ye should not be here, no.” She threw the dollar back at him. “Go! Hurry!”

  “What’s wrong?” Kyle asked as Anastasia came around the table and nearly pulled him from the chair. “You’re supposed to help me.”

  “I cannot help ye. No. Why didn’t ye tell me ye were a chosen protector? Are ye trying to kill me?” She pushed him to the door, stopping only when the sound of approaching horses could be heard above her gravelly commotion.

  “Tell you—” Kyle was bewildered.

  “It’s too late!” the woman cried. “It’s too late!”

  The horses were reined to a stop next to the shack. Two men dressed in what looked like monks’ hoods climbed off and strode toward the door. The woman stumbled backward and slumped into her chair. Kyle looked at Anastasia, then back at the two men. They yanked their hoods off. King Lawrence and General Liddell walked in.

  “Oh no . . .” Kyle said.

  “Oh yes,” General Liddell replied, then backhanded him. Kyle was halfway to the ground when Liddell grabbed him and yanked him back to his feet. Dazed, Kyle tried to speak, but he couldn’t. He felt a sliver of warm blood trickle from his mouth.

  “Do you know this boy?” King Lawrence asked.

  “Don’t you remember him?” Liddell replied. “He was with Darien.”

  The king’s eyes came alive. “Is he the boy they keep talking about? The one who keeps saving Darien’s life?”

  “Saved him from my marksman in the Territory of Peace,” General Liddell growled.

  “I remember now. We met at the palace. Or at the Old Judge’s cottage. Or somewhere. How nice to meet you again,” King Lawrence said with a smile. “Your timing couldn’t be better.”

  “He’ll make a wonderful hostage,” Liddell said.

  The king glared at his general. “Hostage! You’re mistaken, my friend. He will be my aid and my assistant!”

  “Sire—”

  The king continued, “He’ll be my protector. My own lucky charm! If he saved Darien, he can save me! This is wonderful!” The king’s face was aglow, like a child who’s just found all the answers to an important test ahead of time. Then he suddenly looked confused. “But what’s he doing here?”

  “Nothing, my lord,” Anastasia said. “We were just chatting, that’s all. Talking, we were. Passing time away, la-di-da.”

  The king pushed Kyle toward a chair. “Sit down, my protector,” he ordered. “Your visit here may be—must be—providential. You may give this old charlatan a little help. A boost for her failing powers!” He laughed, pulled up another chair, and sat down.

  He’s insane, Kyle thought. The king has gone completely over the edge.

  Anastasia said fearfully, “Powers, my lord? I’m just an old woman trying to make her way through life. What powers?”

  “Oh, be quiet,” General Liddell said. “We kn
ow what you are, though I don’t believe in it myself. The king wants your advice.”

  The king cocked an eye at her. “You don’t think I know what the red palm means? You think I don’t know about you? I’m the king of this country, and I know.” He brought his fist down against the rickety old table. It nearly collapsed. “Now tell me what I must do! Tell me and be right, blast you!”

  Anastasia fumbled around for a moment, picking up a deck of cards, then putting them down again. She then reached for a small gold pendant, thought better of it, and put it back. “I’ll need a moment, I will.”

  “Now, hag,” General Liddell said from his place by the door.

  Anastasia had a new idea. “Dark,” she said. “It must be dark. Close the door, you must. Pull the drapes.”

  “You pull the drapes,” Liddell said as he closed the door. “I wouldn’t touch them with a 10-foot barge pole.”

  “Pull the drapes, General!” the king shouted.

  Liddell obeyed grudgingly. The shack was now in a hazy darkness. Light still peeked through the spaces and holes in the wall’s wooden planks.

  “What now?” the king asked.

  “Close your eyes,” she said nervously.

  She’s stalling, Kyle thought. He wiped the side of his mouth, which now felt numb. The bleeding had stopped. Through his half-closed eyes, he looked around to see if there was any way to escape. Liddell was still standing next to the door. The only door. There was no other way out.

  “What do ye want to know?” Anastasia asked.

  “Will I be victorious against the Palatians?” King Lawrence asked.

  The old woman stammered, “The Palatians. Oh yes. Them. Victorious. Well . . . I think . . .”

  “I don’t care what you think!” the king growled. “I want you to ask him.”

  “Who?”

  “The Old Judge!”

  “No . . . please. I can’t call the Old Judge. Calling him would be like . . . like . . .”

  “Asking for the Unseen One?” the king said. “Yes, I know. Now call him! He’ll tell me what I need to know. Say his name.”

  “No!” Anastasia cried.

  King Lawrence reached across the table and grabbed her by the throat. “Say his name!”

  “No one has said his name in years!” she shrieked.

  “Say it!” he screamed at her. “Say it! Say the name!”

  Anastasia gasped as the king tightened his grip around her throat. She had to say the name or die, that much was certain. So she said it in a hoarse whisper. “Samuel.”

  “Louder!”

  “Samuel!” she screeched.

  The king let her go and looked around. “Now what?”

  She whimpered and fell from the chair to her knees. “No!”

  “What do you see?”

  “It’s rising from the earth,” she said. “An old man in a cloak.”

  The king spun around. “Where? I don’t see it.”

  Kyle had no idea if what he saw next was something that appeared to his eyes or to some other senses, but it was definitely the Old Judge. But he didn’t appear like a ghost or a spirit, nor did he appear as a living person. He was a presence that seemed to fill the room, standing at all points simultaneously, no matter which way one turned.

  “Why are you troubling me?” the Old Judge asked, annoyed.

  The king’s voice trembled, not from fear but from relief. “Ah!” he said. “The Palatians are going to attack, and I don’t know what to do. You were my last friend—my only friend—and I need your help. Tell me what the Unseen One wants me to do.”

  “Why do you ask me now?” the Old Judge asked. “I have told you all there is to know. You have turned your back on the Unseen One, and so He has taken the kingdom from your hands and given it to another. You have not obeyed. You have not believed. You did not remain faithful. Now it is too late. You have led the people of Marus to disaster. Death waits for you!”

  The king threw himself to the ground. “No, Samuel! No! Save me! You must save me! Samuel!”

  The Old Judge held up his hand. “Speak my name no more,” he commanded. Then it was as if he turned to Kyle, though he didn’t actually move, and he said, “You are in bad company, boy. You should have had faith. You should have been patient.”

  “I know, but—”

  The door suddenly blew open, the curtains were ripped from their flimsy rods, and light poured in. They all covered their eyes and, when they could see again, the shack was as it had been when they arrived. The Old Judge was gone, leaving only a trace in the memory that he had ever been there at all.

  General Liddell was obviously shaken. He helped King Lawrence to his feet. “Sire, we must go,” he said.

  “Yes, we must,” the king agreed.

  Kyle considered making a dash for the door, but the two men blocked the way. General Liddell guided the king out, and Kyle hoped they had forgotten him. Suddenly the king reached back, catching Kyle by the shoulder. “You’re coming with us,” King Lawrence snarled. “Your power as protector might be greater than his power as a prophet.”

  “No!” Kyle cried, struggling against him.

  The king leered at him, madness gathering like foam at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll be my lucky charm!” he shouted.

  General Darien and his soldiers had left to fight the Palatians. Anna, along with the rest of the civilians, packed a few provisions for the journey back to the Territory of Peace. She had just put her hands on a few of Kyle’s belongings when the vision came. It hit her like a lightning bolt, and she fell to the floor. She saw Anastasia’s shack, and in it were Anastasia, King Lawrence, General Liddell, Kyle, and the Old Judge. She heard every word of condemnation the Old Judge passed on to the king. She felt the burning fury of the Old Judge’s anger. Yet behind it, she also felt sadness and disappointment.

  Then it was gone.

  Her mind raced to interpret what she’d seen. Surely it wasn’t real. How could the Old Judge, who was dead, be in the shack with the king and General Liddell? And what was Kyle doing there? The dream was all mixed up, as if someone had thrown images together in the wrong place. It wasn’t a dream, she decided. I’m just worried about Kyle.

  From outside, she heard a shot and a scream. Then the sound of horses’ hooves came in like thunder. Another dream? she wondered as she looked out the window.

  It wasn’t a dream. The Adrians were attacking.

  Gathered together in the Lizah Hotel, Anna and the rest of the civilians—some 200 people in all—found themselves guarded by Adrian soldiers. Apart from being pushed and shoved, no one was hurt. One of the community leaders, an old man named Morlock, demanded to know why they were being held. The guards refused to answer; instead they gestured with their guns.

  Early afternoon, a commotion arose by the hotel front door. A moment later, Baron Orkzy walked in. His normal composure was replaced by breathless worry. His hair was tousled, his clothes askew. He’d obviously been manhandled, though Anna couldn’t imagine anyone being large enough to do such a job.

  The baron asked everyone to gather around. Then he addressed them, punctuating his comments with flutters of his handkerchief. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve been asked to explain your situation,” he said. “As it stands now, you’re being held hostage.”

  “Tell us something we don’t know,” Morlock snapped.

  “Please don’t interrupt,” the baron replied wearily. “You’re being held hostage as a bargaining tool. General Darien will be intercepted and given a message from my Adrian rulers. Essentially, the message will inform him that if he does not return to Lizah immediately, you will all be killed.”

  Several women cried out. Someone began to sob.

  “Now, now, none of that,” the baron said. “My Adrian leaders aren’t really interested in hurting you.”

  “What are they interested in?” Morlock asked.

  “They’re interested in keeping General Darien and his soldiers from helping King Lawrence. By usi
ng you as collateral, they have a good chance of succeeding.”

  Morlock refused to yield. “What makes you so sure General Darien will come back? He may choose his duty to the king over our lives.”

  The baron sniffed. “That would be most regrettable since, if he doesn’t return, you will die.”

  Morlock quickly stepped forward, a knife in his hand. “What will stop us from taking you hostage?”

  The baron looked at Morlock’s face, down at the knife, then back at his face. “You old fool,” he said angrily, “I’m already a hostage! Don’t you understand? This whole business wasn’t my idea. I’m only the messenger. Now I have to wait here with you for Darien’s return. So put that little blade away like a nice little man, and stop being so overdramatic.”

  Morlock’s face turned red against his white beard, but he put the knife away. “What do we do now?” he asked glumly.

  “Wait for Darien’s answer,” the baron said. “And hope that this hotel has decent coffee.”

  A couple of hours passed. Anna sat alone in a red velvet chair to the side of the hotel lobby. She read portions of the Sacred Scroll, prayed, then read some more. She dreamed without sleeping, a variety of images clearly presented and understood.

  A blast of cologne suddenly filled her nostrils, and she looked up. The baron stood over her.

  “May I sit with you for a moment?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  He sat down next to her. Even then he was as tall as she. “You’re one of those . . . oh, what do they call them? A voice. For the Unseen One. Do you know what Darien will do?”

  Anna did. She had already seen the Adrian messenger stop Darien and the troops. She decided not to say so, though. “General Darien is torn between his duty to the king and his love for the people here,” she offered.

  “I know that,” the baron said. “But will he come?”

  “I cannot answer that,” Anna replied.

  “Because you don’t know or because you won’t say?”

  Anna gazed at him without answering.

  The baron examined his fingernails for a moment. Then he asked, “What will become of the king?”