The Secret's Keeper and the Heir

by Jackie McCarthy

  “With even greater pomp and ceremony, the second Banya tree was transferred upstream. The people of Larami returned to their homes, sad for themselves, but hearts full for the futures of their precious Prayer Trees. They celebrated with the gold they’d been given for the Banyas—a party that lasted several months.”

  “One day, nearly a year later, Pio paddled to the Jackal’s home to visit the Prayer Trees. To his astonishment he found that Titania had grown stout, no longer reaching skywards, put growing thick, like any other tree. Its pretty flowers had grown brittle and wan. Not seeing Uciva, Pio rushed around in a panic. He demanded to see the smallest Prayer Tree. Laughing, the Jackals pointed to a pile of firewood in the back of their hut.

  “Slowly realizing the great tragedy he had caused, Pio dug into the wood pile until he had found every last piece of his village’s beloved Uciva. Saying a blessing over each piece, he tossed them into the river, so that the vile jackals could no longer gain any benefit.

  “Then, getting in his canoe, Pio paddled away. The jackals followed for a time, laughing at him from the tree branches, but soon he was far away, heading out to sea, where he hoped to drown and forget his sorrows.”

  “That was a sad story,” said Tobi, wiping her eye upon her mother’s hand.

  “It’s a true story,” said Pella.

  Sara, holding back tears herself, warned, “Don’t listen to him, Tobi. He’s so full of nonsense. How could that have been true? It was about wind spirits and talking dogs.”

  “The story is true because, when bad things happen, sometimes it’s easier to tell one’s life through symbols and metaphor,” Pella said harshly, chastising Sara for her interruption. He stepped from his chair and took their mother’s two hands in his own. Meeting her dead eyes, he explained, “Rama, you see, was my wife, Titania was my daughter, and Uciva was my little girl.”

  “Who were the jackals?” asked Tobi.

  “They were my brothers,” Pella said in answer.

  “And you were Pio?” Sara inquired, her heart stony.

  “Don’t say that!” Tobi cried. “He wasn’t Pio!”

  “No, I’m not Pio,” said Pella softly. “I’m Larami, young one. I was both my protector and my destroyer.” Squeezing their Mama’s hands, he told her, “You’re not like me, little dove. What happened to your family wasn’t your fault.”

  Sara watched him with hatred, her gaze on the hand that caressed her mother’s arm. She couldn’t tell if she hated him more now that she knew what he’d done or if she’d hated him all along for trying to take on the role that belonged to her father.

  “Get out,” she said. Her voice was quiet and threatening. When Pella heard it, he knew not to argue.

  He kissed their mother’s hand and left without a word.

  “Why are you so mean to him?” Tobi asked once he was gone. “He’s so nice.”

  “You think so?” Sara asked, her voice still hushed. “Then you weren’t listening to his story.”

  The lights were soon to go out, but none of the three slept. That night, however, their Mama was quiet.

  * * * * *

  Moonlight happened at the end of the world. Twins, a boy and girl, sat back to back, staring out in opposite directions. They’d been sitting silently for as long as they could remember, and yet for no time at all.

  “He’s not very nice,” said the boy finally, “your Captain.”

  The girl would never admit that she agreed. “It’s his job to carry his men safely across a cruel sea. How could either of us possibly know what that entails?”

  “You’re right,” Benson said quickly. “I don’t know anything about war either, but I suppose raiding fishing villages is a tough job. We really shouldn’t be upset that our town was set on fire. How could we even imagine what kind of hardships being a barbarian demands?”

  Rose heard the unmistakable sarcasm in her brother’s voice and resented it. “Shut up, Benson,” she said severely.

  “I don’t like them,” he said anyway. “You’re getting pulled into things so far out of your depth. Maybe you should’ve stayed in Kentshore with Mama and Sara.”

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, Rose wondered if she agreed. Her light-hearted romp into the world of sailing ships had become unspeakably serious in the course of a couple hours. She could feel an itching desire in the center of her bones. She wanted to run.

  More than that, however, she wanted to know. More than that, she wanted to stay.

  “He’s not a bad person,” Rose said with a finality that didn’t invite response.

  Benson didn’t offer one. She read disapproval in his silence and found that she didn’t care.

  “This is my life, Benson,” she said tersely. “My life. And if I—”

  “Want to rub elbows with murderers and stone-hearted—”

  “I do not rub elbows with murderers!” Rose cried. “Fenric wasn’t trying to kill the girl—”

  “He tried to kill you, Rose,” said Benson, turning his head around sharply to catch a glimpse of his sister. “Isn’t that bad enough?”

  She was silent for a moment. Fenric had tried to strangle her, it was true. “But he had a good reason,” she said softly, massaging her purpled throat.

  “There is no good reason,” Benson said in disgust.

  Rose thought of the girl in pink and wondered if his words were true. She’d always thought the way Benson thought, had always seen things with the same clear and condemning conviction he now expressed, but she didn’t feel the same surety anymore. There may not have been a good reason for Fenric to lay hands on her, but did that necessarily make the act evil? Rose couldn’t help feeling his actions had been nothing more than a mistake. Yet…she feared the Scribe now, and maybe that had been part of his plan.

  Trying to disguise her shiver of dread inside a laugh, Rose threw back her head and asked, “Did you see me hit Cricket? I got him good.”

  “Yes,” replied Benson. “You could take his place as bully with a punch like that.”

  Rose frowned at the thought. “Never!” she cried. “Why would I ever want to be like him? I’m not a bully.”

  “I think you have a younger sister who’d disagree with you,” chided Benson.

  “Who, Sara?” Rose asked, picturing her pretty little sister. “She doesn’t count.”

  Benson laughed, leaving his twin’s reaction where it was.

  Rose wondered about Sara and their mother. She hoped things were well with them, even though she had no desire to go back and find out. She’d done all she could for them—given them the best tools available—and therefore the best chance at survival.

  Thinking about her distant family, she thought of her brother once more.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without this place,” she said, looking around at the moonlit site of their meetings. “Why won’t you tell me how to find you?”

  “Why, do you have your own ship to bring to my rescue already?” he asked wryly.

  “No,” she replied, indignant. “But if I knew where to go I could get on another ship and—”

  “And leave your precious Captain?” Benson asked. “I don’t think you would. Besides, you’re not ready to know where I am.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Rose cried, blushing at the thought of the Captain and unable to answer that particular accusation. “I’m ready!” she sputtered eventually.

  “Then you’ll have to wait for my sake,” he said sadly. “I’m not ready.”

  Rose didn’t know what this meant either. Rather than dwell on Benson’s reluctance to speak, she thought about the Captain. She was becoming too close to him, in this her brother was right. It would be best if she left the Turnagain at the next port, saving the ship from the curse of having a woman aboard and herself from drowning in the kingdom’s politics. But could she leave the Captain?

  Rose tried to think only of the things she didn’t like. She tried to think of the Captain’s hardened face as he told a heartbroken
man he was to be separated from the person he loved. She tried to focus on this, but kept thinking instead of him working, his strong body flexing under the humid, sun-drenched sky. She saw his smile as he teased his shiphands. She saw him in the carriage, and remembered how he held her while she cried. She feared him, just a little, it was true, but she loved him so much more.

  Rose rifled through these strange new feelings for some time before realizing that Benson’s weight was still resting upon her back.

  “Usually some terrible magic has tried to steal you away by now,” she said to herself.

  “Why would it need to?” he replied, equally as quiet. “We’re already so far apart.”

  The twins stared ahead, gazes opposite, bodies warming one another, together and yet inexorably alone.

  *

  Chapter 15:

  The Children

  * * * * *

  The King and the Lion-Guardian

  A Tale of the Second Mallar

  Royal Rites and Stories

  Edited by Ershivarld Tumberlin

  *

  Before the Piper was King, he was the son of a traveling minstrel who took the boy across the realm and over again, during which time he learned the Songs of the Provinces. After the Piper was King, he would make time each year to return to one land or another, to learn new songs and recall old ones.

  In the grasslands of Sedalia he sat for several days upon a hill, so as to hear the melody of the wind. Little did he know that he was being stalked by a hungry lion.

  Just when the lion was about to pounce, the Piper took out his flute and played the song he’d heard flowing through the grasses. The great cat fell back in confusion. He’d never heard such strange and wonderful noises.

  Circling around the man, a low growl in his throat, the lion listened to the song of his land. The Piper saw him, and began to play songs of other lands. The music led the great beast so gently from place to place around the kingdom, that the lion soon felt as though he’d seen all the world, and had become very wise.

  The Piper King set down his instrument and prepared to leave the grassland, but the lion wouldn’t have it. He’d only just learned to journey through songs, and wasn’t about to give the experience up now.

  Unworried by the impressively large creature, the Piper invited the beast to come with him. The lion was unsure—he was very important among his lion brothers—but when he heard that the Piper needed a guardian for his newborn son, the creature agreed.

  The boy was still an infant when the two returned to the palace, and he was inseparable from his Lion-Guardian from that day forth. The feline raised the boy dutifully, allowing him to get into trouble—but never too much—and making sure he got enough practice on his pipes.

  When the Prince became King, the Lion-Guardian was raised to the role of Adviser. He was clad in purple velvet waistcoats and was seen walking on his hind paws through the palace. He was frequently to be found in deep conversation with the young monarch, his tail and walking stick working hard to maintain a precarious balance.

  The King ruled his kingdom with the same kindness and strength as his beloved father, but the people grew nervous that he remained unmarried. The Lion-Guardian, having been without a wife of his own since coming to live at the palace, knew how lonely the boy must feel, and he encouraged his King to find a good woman.

  Because he wanted only the deepest love for his boy, the lion called forth women from all over the kingdom, hoping that the best choice might be found among them. Women streamed in from across the realm, eager to please the King and his Lion-Guardian.

  The festivals proceeded for many weeks, and the lion came to think highly of a particular girl. She was black-haired and plain, a merchant’s daughter, but her heart was so full of love that the two became good friends. She never shied away from his sharp teeth and always had a kind word and smile for him.

  The King, however, found his attention fixed upon another girl. She was a Princess, tall and beautiful, with shimmering golden locks and sensual blue eyes. She was also very possessive. He loved her immediately, and refused to look at any other girl. As a result, all the others were sent away.

  The Lion-Guardian appealed to the merchant’s daughter, begging her to stay, though she was told to leave with the rest. He smelled something strange around the all-too-perfect Princess, and wanted a better girl for his King.

  As their courtship progressed, the King no longer had time for his Adviser, nor the patience to listen to the lion’s contrary advice. The Princess, instead, was the one whose whispers fell into the King’s ears. Their wedding was soon announced and the palace was decorated.

  On the eve of the nuptials, the Lion-Guardian could sense that something was wrong. He rose from his velvet bed and trotted silently down the hallways, coming to stop outside the Princess’s door. He heard strange chanting coming from within, and pushed the door open a sliver to peak. He saw a hideous Sorceress who shared many characteristics with the Princess. She was waving her arms above a smoldering cauldron and hissing frightening words into the flames.

  The Lion-Guardian ran to the King’s chambers, demanding to be heard at once. Unaccustomed to rudeness from his childhood friend, the King admitted him and listened as the great cat described what he’d seen. The King thought his friend must be mistaken, so they rushed down to the Princess’s chambers and knocked upon her door.

  She opened it, as beautiful as ever, and the lion roared. “Show yourself!” he demanded, taking her silken gown into his ferocious teeth and tugging forcefully.

  The Princess screamed in fear and fell upon her betrothed. The King demanded his guards to remove the lion by force. The mighty feline roared in protest, insisting that the King was being tricked by a Sorceress.

  Denying any such thing, the Princess demanded that the Lion-Guardian be put to death as a punishment. Though the King was heartbroken, the spell upon him was too strong, and the lion was immediately led out to the courtyard, where a bridal dais had been built. They ascended it, the lion surrounded on either side by men with sharp spears, while the smug Princess looked on.

  “Kill me if you must,” said the Lion-Guardian, meeting the King’s cold eyes, “but you will see your wife first.”

  With that, the lion lunged forward and bit the Sorceress. Many spears stabbed through his dense pelt as he did so, and he died in moments. Where he’d bitten the Princess, however, her golden locks began to transform into a rough, straw-like yellow. Her skin boiled and her features thickened, and she became very ugly indeed.

  The King stepped back, horrified. The spell had been broken, and he saw his intended bride for what she was. All love having disappeared, he immediately had her executed for being a liar and the cause of his Lion-Guardian’s death.

  The King noticed that the merchant’s daughter whom the lion had praised came to mourn the felled beast, and he too fell in love with her large heart.

  Knowing now that his Lion-Guardian had been right all along, he burned his friend’s body on a tall pyre, sending out word for all to hear that his childhood companion had saved the kingdom from an evil Sorceress. He married the Lion-Guardian’s choice and loved her with the ferocity of a Lion King, so that his dear companion would never be forgotten.

  * * * * *

  Teagan the dreaming boy heard the sound of waves shifting from where his cat-body crouched in the twilight of a warm, breezy evening. His slitted yellow eyes widened as the hour grew dim, and his orange tail twitched lazily.

  “You again,” thought the cat from inside their shared body without question or surprise.

  The boy neither said nor felt a thing, but simply was. He felt a breeze on the cat’s fur, accompanied by the salty smell of warm sea air. The creaking of a sailing ship filled his feline ear.

  “You’re a long way from home, cat,” thought the boy. Recalling that he’d heard music for dancing mere hours before.

  Delighted as he was that the feline had charmed his way onto a sailing shi
p, he was saddened not to hear the music. It had trickled through his mind as he ate his dinner, the soft strings and pleasant one-two-three so unlike Bruinbak’s piercing flutes, pounding drums, and guttural chanting. He’d wanted to hear it again as he slept, hoping to recall why it tugged at his memory. It almost reminded him…

  Teagan felt his mind reset itself, as though his entire soul had blinked…

  The music reminded him of his childhood—not in the icy expanses of Bruinbak, but in a more temperate land. There’d been one party in particular—the last party—of which he could still remember a few scant details. He recalled jumping up and down excitedly, childish and eager to join in the festivities. His nurse had pulled him back. She laughed at him with her wonderful teasing eyes, picking him up and twirling him about until he squealed with joy.

  Teagan listened through the cat’s ears to the gentle sea noises surrounding them, the sounds of that distant party still echoing through his mind. He’d already begun tuning them out. After that night, so long ago, his world had become silent. People spoke, but he didn’t care to hear.

  It was the last of his happy memories.

  The party had erupted suddenly—had transformed instead into fire and fear. The rosy-cheeked nurse had grabbed him roughly—more roughly than she ever had before—and carried him through the fire. They’d traveled down and down, descending into the darkness. He couldn’t have guessed how long they’d trudged through the maze-like underbelly of the city. It seemed after awhile as though he’d always been there. When they’d emerged, he’d been packed onto a boat. Before he understood what was happening, he’d been dumped into the care of a hulking barbarian in an icy land.

  Teagan remembered how his sweet nurse had fretted over him in the few months before she died. She worried that he no longer spoke—no longer seemed to understand the speech of others. She’d told him within the first hours that his new guardian’s name was Briggan, which was lucky, because he wouldn’t have cared enough to learn it later.

  The nurse was now nameless—it had long-since ceased to matter. What she didn’t understand was that, like his own small world, Teagan’s soul had been filled first with fire at the loss of his loved ones, and then with ice when he knew they were gone. With her death, his isolation was complete. All was cold. All was empty.