The Gully Snipe (The Dual World Book 1)

by JF Smith

  Below him in the courtyard, the interpreters busied themselves with adjustments to the massive, gilded armillary sphere as they tracked the daily changes in the positions of the constellations and the two sister moons. To his right was the fresh creek that rolled off of Kitemount and wound through the grounds of the Folly, then down into the Bonedown Square where it supplied the public fountain. Near the stream, a contingent of the King’s Guard was completing its sword-training exercises for the day in the bailey, the occasional clank of steel upon steel blade reaching the prince’s ears.

  He wondered what would pass through the minds of the soldiers, the interpreters and elocutors of the church, the people of Iisen, when they eventually found out that the marriage to the princess of Maqara was now called off. He wondered if they’d hear the details of it, or simply make up their own to fit. He wondered if their imaginations would alight on the truth in their idle speculation, and his head dipped low at the thought.

  He turned away from the view of all that was his, as far as his eyesight could reach, and instead looked back at the open top of the tower for a moment before lowering his eyes down to the stone beneath his feet.

  Unable to lift his eyes to the sky, Thaybrill posed questions to his father’s star even though it was still behind Kitemount’s peak. He wondered, does it make a difference to you that a marriage to Princess Quannah would have been a lie? Should I have lied to her, and to Krayell, and to all of Iisen for the sake of duty? For the sake of an alliance, of which I cannot seem to grasp the importance? Did you love my mother, or was your marriage to her also nothing more than a strategic and political maneuver within the kingdom, like the pre-emptive move of a playstone in a game of swords and shields? Is there such a thing as love, or is it all vapor and shadow, the imagination of a child that has yet to learn how the world really is?

  He allowed his eyes up just high enough to view the small turret at the far side of the tower that covered the stairs leading down into the castle.

  Is your appraisal of me before I even assume the throne heavier because you never had time with me here during your life?

  He glanced further up, to the peak of the mountain before him and the few hawks and kites wheeling freely in the sky around it. It was lit by the golden glow of sunset, a warmth about to fade, a light about to go dark, and Thaybrill felt the symbolism of all of it twist his insides.

  He turned again and looked out over the city and the people in it. The image of Krayell’s pinched lips and perturbed face as he had split off from the caravan home to meet with veBasstrolle still occupied much of his mind.

  He wondered, unable to face towards his father as he did so, do you curse me for the desire that is inside of me? Will all of Iisen suffer for your displeasure with me?

  The feelings began to well up inside of Thaybrill and came close to seeping out of him. He felt lost and unsure and weak, all things for which the Domo Regent had admonished him in the past, but it was too much to restrain and he was ready to let the pain and fear and humiliation out. Just as the first drop seeped from his eye, he spied a flickering light as it shone on the wall next to him. He turned quickly, ashamed at having been caught in such a vulnerable display.

  Behind him, a very old man, his head bald except for a thinning horseshoe of snow white hair that circled the crown, walked towards him with a lantern in his hand after having emerged from the turret. The man’s long robe had a wide cowl and was a pale blue, the color matching the light of the laughing moon as was tradition for the leader of the Iisen religion. Thaybrill shifted his feet and wiped briefly at his face to clear the tears from it.

  The Archbishop shuffled closer to Thaybrill and said brightly, “Ah, Your Highness! It is so good to have you home! This castle seems to echo emptily without you!”

  The Archbishop set the lantern down on a stand designed for it off to the side and studied the prince. Thaybrill nodded rapidly but said nothing while he tried to calm his nerves at being caught in his moment of weakness.

  The Archbishop tilted his head as he watched him and said softly, “But you are upset!”

  Thaybrill knew better than to lie to the man. The Archbishop was gentle, but would never let him get away with fibbing to him.

  “You can see so easily even in the dim light? Your eyes seem to grow stronger the older you get, Archbishop Dibronde,” said the prince.

  “You are my most favorite prince, Thaybrill... how could I not see the upset in your face?”

  Thaybrill couldn’t suppress a helpless smile. “I am the only prince you know, Nellist!”

  The Archbishop laid a hand lightly on Thaybrill’s shoulder and led him to a carved stone bench. He said as they sat next to each other, “I am surprised to find you here. After your long journey, I would have thought you’d want to be in your own bed as soon as the sun was down. But your heart carries a heavy burden tonight, I can tell.” He took Thaybrill’s hand in his and said, “Tell this very old man what happened. Perhaps I can help with it.”

  Thaybrill spent the next few minutes relating the events of all that had happened, including the night that Quannah offered herself to him and King Azi’s fury for his refusal to have her before their marriage.

  When Thaybrill finished telling the story, he looked expectantly to the man next to him, anxious to know if he would find comfort or yet more scorn.

  Nellist patted Thaybrill’s hand affectionately and said, “Pah on that alliance! I may not be a master of the strategies of state, but I never could see the high value of this alliance that the Domo seemed to place on it. As I see it, we’re no worse off than we’ve been all along without it.”

  The comment made sense and made Thaybrill instantly feel a little better. But his heart was still heavy with the deeper, hidden truth, of which the events in Maqara were only a symptom.

  Nellist added, “And these Maqarans are even more barbaric than I had heard. Who offers their own daughter up like a common slattern, for a test that is foolish from the start? I want nothing to do with them! But what of your wishes, young prince? Are you sorry not to have Quannah as your bride? I hear she is exceptionally pretty.”

  Thaybrill stared at the boots on his feet again before replying helplessly in a quiet tone, “Yes, she is very pretty.” Thaybrill knew he should lie, but could no longer keep the truth from his tone of voice.

  There was a long pause as Nellist read the deeper truth in the prince’s response. He eventually asked very carefully, “But... she is not what you want. Is she?”

  The prince continued looking at his own boots while not actually looking at them at all. He shook his head slowly a few times in answer.

  The Archbishop pressed no more for a long time as he considered the prince’s answer. Thaybrill stared at the smoothly cut and fitted stones under his feet and wondered why he had chosen now to be honest this way. Perhaps he was tired of carrying the secret alone and could do so no longer. Perhaps it was because, if there was one person in his life who felt like what he imagined a father would feel like, it was the Archbishop. Perhaps, he thought... perhaps he was trying to sabotage his own reign before it even began in an attempt to escape it.

  “There is not any... woman...” probed the Archbishop very delicately, “who will find a home in your heart, is there?”

  Thaybrill frowned and still did not look the gentle old man in the eye. He shook his head again to confirm the Archbishop’s suspicion.

  The Archbishop placed both of his aged hands on his knees and looked up into the darkening sky as he smoothed out the fine material of the blue robe he wore.

  Thaybrill stood up and walked over to the edge of the tower again, looking out across the kingdom. The words spilled out of him, but they had conviction, “We should call off the coronation. I have no place on the throne, and that is the true meaning that underlies the events of the last few days. My father knows what I am and he seeks to prevent someone like me from wearing the crown. And if it is better for the—”

  “Your Hi
ghness!” said the Archbishop firmly as he stood, too. “Stop this nonsense!”

  Thaybrill stopped and looked the Archbishop in the eye. Nellist said as he stood next to the prince, “Thaybrill... listen to me... you confuse matters of the heart with matters of state. The two are not the same!”

  The old man’s hands fidgeted together nervously, something Thaybrill had never seen them do before. The old man said, “My young prince, you are not the only person in this kingdom to have swayed, and I daresay that you will not be the last. This kingdom does not collapse into ruin because such people exist.”

  The Archbishop coughed nervously, trying to clear his throat before he added, “In fact, I would perhaps even venture that you would be surprised at who shares these propensities, even within the Folly walls, Highness.”

  Thaybrill’s eyes started at what he suspected the Archbishop was saying, and his mouth hung open momentarily. He asked in disbelief, “Are you saying, Nellist, that even you—”

  Nellist interrupted and said, “This is your confession, my young liege, not mine. But know this... as has always been true, you have a sympathetic ear in me should you need it.”

  Prince Thaybrill nodded that he understood now, and felt truly better about his situation for the first time since Azi had kicked him out of Maqara. For the first time in his life, since he had discovered the true nature of his feelings years ago, he did not feel like a liar to all of Iisen.

  “Your heart pulls on you in a direction you scarcely can control,” said Nellist, “but you are also unfortunate enough to be in a position where much is expected of you. All of this foolish business with the savages to the east notwithstanding, you will be expected to produce an heir to the throne. And even if your heart is not in the duty, you are physically capable. All of us, from the least of us to the greatest, are called upon from time to time to perform duties that we would rather not. We all deny our own wants and needs for the greater good, yes?”

  Thaybrill nodded and said, “Of course. Yes, Nellist, you are, of course, right.”

  “The Iisendom will need an heir one day. Perhaps a marriage out of duty and to satisfy a requirement of your station on behalf of the kingdom is best, leaving your heart free to find its own match one day, for the times you are not acting as the head of state. Consider that, my young prince,” said Nellist.

  Thaybrill took the frail man and embraced him warmly, thankful for the unexpected comfort and understanding he found in him. He said, “Thank you, Nellist! I have felt quite hopeless these last several weeks, and you remind me that perhaps the night is not as dark as it seems.”

  The Archbishop returned the prince’s embrace. “Remember that it is in the night that we are most watched after, Your Highness, by those that love us and look out for us.” He stepped back from Thaybrill and said, “I worry about you, Thaybrill. I have watched you grow up lonely and isolated due to your position, with only an old priest and a lemon-faced and overly strict teacher to serve as your friends. Not precisely the rich and satisfying life I have wanted for you from the first tragic day of your existence.”

  Thaybrill laughed at the harmless insult the Archbishop had thrown at the Domo Regent. He sighed deeply and looked towards the top of Kitemount, seeing the first stars begin to peep out and show themselves as dimday gathered.

  “Do you think...” asked Thaybrill, “Do you think my father hates me for what I have allowed myself to be?”

  The prince watched the concern play over the Archbishop’s face as he tried to carefully frame the answer to the question posed to him.

  Nellist replied, “Well, your father was a very traditional man. A good man, though. Very opinionated. The only person in the kingdom that would dare butt her head against his once he had made up his mind to a way of thinking was your mother, may her star shine brightly. I think he would have understood the desire to find a true love, the same kind of love he had for Queen Sophrienne, even if he would struggle with the object of your affection.”

  “I see,” said Thaybrill, disappointed. He could tell the Archbishop was trying to be honest while not stealing the small amount of comfort he had offered that evening. Nellist was being kind and stepping around the fact that his father was cursing him from the Trine Range constellation.

  “Wait, though...” said Nellist. “You must also remember that your father is no longer bound by the same restrictions to which all here in the mortal world are held, in his perception or in his ways of thinking. Colnor, your father, whom we have studied many a night, prominent in the constellation soon cresting over Kitemount, does not see you with the same eyes he might have seen you with had he had the pleasure of being father to you in person. He sees more now. He sees into your heart, my Thaybrill. He sees the good in it, the deep desire to be a just king, a wise leader, a father to all of the Iisendom, a good man.”

  Thaybrill was unable to reply he was so moved at the Archbishop’s words.

  “I would say,” continued Nellist, “let my interpreters study his star, let them divine his mood and intentions for you. But I can tell you already what they will say... your father would like nothing more than to allow you to seek your own happiness, but your obligation to your kingdom comes first. If there was a way around this, I’m sure your father would allow it. But you, young prince, are the heir. You are to be the one sitting in the sole chair that occupies the Throne Hall. All other wishes and desires must give way before that sacred charge.”

  Thaybrill took the old man’s hand in his and said, “Thank you again, Nellist. You give me a strength I find hard to rally in myself alone.”

  “We all need those we can rely on, Sire.”

  “What were your own mother and father like, Nellist?” asked Thaybrill.

  “Ahh... you take an old man’s mind back to people he has spent far more time with in the night sky than here in the world below. My father was an extremely strict and religious man, Thaybrill, and not much given to laughter or companionship. He was the one that pushed me into the priesthood at a young age. In his view, time here below was for the sole purpose of preparing yourself for the nighting, and that time wasn’t to be wasted on frivolous and worldly pursuits. He constantly warned that one never would have enough time to prove oneself worthy of a place in the sky, so every moment must be devoted to that goal. I now lead the entire church of Iisen, and I see his point of view, even as I disagree with it after a certain point. You have a life here, in this world, to live, so live it. It is precisely how you live that life, frivolous as it might be sometimes, that proves your worthiness to ascend to the firmament upon your death.”

  Thaybrill nodded and felt quite glad he had not been the son of such a man, although Krayell seemed to share a certain philosophical similarity to the Archbishop’s father in that he warned there would never be time enough for Thaybrill to learn to be a good king.

  “My mother was quite kind and loving, even as she was obedient and obeyed my father. Were it not for her heart tempering the strictness of my father, I think I would have turned out exactly like him,” said Nellist.

  “Your father sounds as strict as the Domo Regent.”

  The Archbishop laughed and said, “Quite!”

  “I often get the feeling that Krayell does not like me, and that is really what drives his choler towards me,” admitted Thaybrill meekly.

  “I am sure the Domo Regent is simply taking his role of preparing you for the throne very seriously. Perhaps too seriously sometimes,” suggested Nellist.

  “Yes, I suppose,” said Thaybrill. “It does not always feel like that, but I suppose you’re right.”

  Together, they watched a flock of geese fly by, making their way around Kitemount towards the bogs and ponds of the southern Ghellerweald to roost for the night. Throughout the grounds of the Folly, attendants were lighting torches in the dusk. The same could be seen beyond the Folly in the Bonedown and the King’s Market, too.

  “Archbishop, is it wrong of me, so close to my coronation,” asked Th
aybrill, “to have doubts about my abilities and my readiness for the crown?”

  Nellist patted his hand on top of the prince’s. He said with a gleam in his eye, “Your Highness, it is precisely because you doubt, because you wish more for this kingdom than you feel like you are capable of giving, that I rest more easily for all of Iisen at night.”

  Thaybrill accepted this even as he still worried a little that he would not prove good enough.

  “Come, Sire,” said the Archbishop as he led Thaybrill to the turret at the far side of the tower. “If you would indulge an old dodderer and assist me down the steps so I do not break my neck and become a dim light in the sky this very night, we can have some supper.”

  Chapter 11 — The Dagger And The Missing Letter

  When he could no longer tolerate sitting still in the chair and staring at the embers of the fire, Gully stood and began to pace back and forth.

  Even safe in Roald’s apartment, in front of a familiar hearth, he felt bone cold at the memory of what he had seen, the evil men he had escaped. Even out of harm’s way, to think of such powerful people in Iisen committing such vicious and execrable crimes made him feel helpless and afraid, something he had felt only one other time in his life. Was it a given fact of life that one class of people would abuse and callously exploit another class, the only difference between the two being the power one class was born into? The injustice of it all felt to Gully like one of the bogs of the wood, inexorably sucking him down into the earth to suffocate him without pity or mercy.

  His thoughts tried to pull him to a specific and horrifying conclusion, but he forced his mind onto the peddler Brohnish and his daughter Luessa, who had gone missing four years ago, instead. The weight of knowing, with almost dead certainty, what her fate had been and that she might yet still be alive, was a great stone crushing the breath out of his chest.