‘I suspect you cast tainted bait the waters uncle and wait on us to rise to it. Why should we let you poison our ears with lies? What is to stop me from just killing you now and drying your sinewy meat on a rack for the crows to feast on?’
The old king smiled calmly. ‘Your father’s curiosity and need for answers runs in your veins boy. You have questions that burn your balls and you suspect that I have the answers. What you favour, you will call truth. What you do not, you will call lies. Either way you will listen and you will learn and if you are half as wise as your father was, you will know what I say to be truth.’
Exasperated, the Lord of the Northern Lands shook his head, his response given through gritted teeth. ‘Let me tell you what I see uncle, it might help clear the air. You do not gamble or partake in games of chance; you are a man who plans and schemes and knows the odds before casting the dice. You are known for your duplicity, your secrecy and your deceit. You have forgotten what the truth is. So I’ll ask again uncle, have you come north to warm your hands at my hearth or piss in my fire? Or are you under a glamour?’ Sharp tilted his head to one side a wry expression crossing his face.
‘The glamour is over you boy not me’ said the old king, biting his own tongue to hold back a more stinging response ‘You live without truths that would change your life. I know your father kept a secret from you. I know this because had he told you, the history of the crested folk would have changed. Such is the magnitude of this secret.’
‘Such melodrama, nothing but trite melodrama’ Sharp clapped his hands slowly, a mocking applause taken up by others in the hall. ‘Tell me uncle, what is this great secret that history fears so?’
He had known this time would come and did not need a teller’s foresight to aid him, the need was great and the time for some bitter truths to be told was upon him. The hatred and heat in the room were of no consequence. His words were true but would for sure still heat the blood of those who sensed an insult. Such was the risk but his own death and that of his close guard would not change the truth. The secret, conceived so many years ago could not be revealed in full, not yet, and not in this chamber. Nevertheless, he had not come all this way to just cast a pebble into his nephew’s pond and watch the ripples spread, he had come to change the future and give his brothers son a chance to shape the future.
Sharp Thunder Moon, Lord of the Northern Lands raised a hand to silence his assembled crests. ‘I say again uncle, what is this great secret? Speak up so that all can hear you’
The old king ended his prayer, a calming chant its efficacy reinforced by one of the many silver charms he wore on his crest. His reply was practiced, his words chosen with care and rehearsed over many years. ‘I am an old man and without issue, but you Sharp Thunder Moon, my nephew and son of the late King Torrent Shine Moon are not the rightful heir of the crested peoples. When I die, another, more fitting will take the throne.’
The chamber erupted, arms on both sides swiftly drawn, blades poised tip to tip awaiting the signal that would lead to slaughter. The Troll stood unmoving, dog kin wars mattered nothing to them but the fresh meat from such a skirmish would be welcomed, the consummation of battle blood, bone and vitals adding to their own vigour.
‘Hold, silence’ cried the old king, his voice amplified by majic. ‘Do you think I would enter the bowels of the earth for the simple pleasure of insulting my late brother’s son? Nephew, what I say is the truth but without knowledge of the secret behind the truth my words sound false and low. The secret is however for your ears only, it is one I must pass to you to hold before I die as there is no other alive to tell you. You have a choice nephew. Do you wish to hear or not? Do you wish to know or remain ignorant?’
---
The small anti chamber was lit by a single fern, the pale green light casting patterns on the otherwise bare walls. Uncle and nephew sat facing one another both men clearly tense, their heads high and backs straight.
King Soar cleared his throat and began his tale. ‘When the third war with the Southlanders was nearing an end, my father met to parley and seek terms with their king and council. Their terms were punitive…………..the ceding of all of our southern holdings from the edge of the Wracked Lands up to the northern edge of the Soulless Forest and from the Blue Wood Isles on the east to The Spines in the west…………..that was the least of it.’ The old king leaned forward in his chair. ‘Worst of all, no crested folk were allowed to leave our southern lands, no refugee’s whether royal, high or common clan, warrior, wheat wife or preacher. Near a hundred and thirty thousand folk remained behind including an army of twenty thousand souls, all doomed to die a tortured death, a dark majic plague cast down from the clouds that rotted their flesh and burst their vitals.’
The Lord of the Northern Lands interjected his tone sharp. ‘I have read the histories uncle. Good King Gale was faced with little choice, his armies had been defeated and he chose to sacrifice some to save many. It is a choice many a ruler before has had to make. It is the way of war. As for the majic plague clouds casting death from the sky, this is no more than a myth to perpetuate our irrational hatred for the Southlanders’
The old king bowed his head, shaking it from side to side. ‘If only it was a mere tale nephew but I swear it is not, it is true…………I saw the aftermath with my own eyes. Every towns, village and farm was struck, none survived. Their bodies lay where they fell, unburied and unblessed, so rank was their flesh that even the rats and carrion refused to consume the flesh. Included amongst the army of warriors was my oldest brother, Prince Steed, the king’s first heir. Such a loss in itself should have been penance enough but when my father set his seal on the contract and pressed it into the hot wax he did not just doom his own good folk, he committed his loin line to a sworn oath, a commitment that I, my father, and your father upheld. An oath that has shaped my life and that of all our line but clearly one that my brother felt he need not burden you with. It is for this reason that I am here in person.’
‘…………and what was this oath?’ said Sharp, his interest growing.
King Soar leaned forward in his chair. ‘For as long as his line holds power, each and every first son of the king is to be handed over to the Southlanders. In order to save his people from further suffering he made your father honour this oath, ………...’ Soar paused, ‘and, before he abdicated and took sanctuary in the north, your father honoured his promise.’
Sharp rose quickly from his chair, stopping a short pace from where his uncle sat. ‘That is a lie old man, tread carefully. My father left the crested lands in order to share his life with my mother. He left to escape the stifling game of power, the oily lies and the crawling up arses. He was an honorable man.’
‘Yes he was. He was a very honourable man and I loved him dearly. He did indeed leave for the reasons you state but he also left as a result of the oath, an oath he honoured. You see boy,’ said Soar in a fatherly tone, ‘you are not the first born son of your father.’
‘Lies.’ Sharp raised his hand as if in readiness to strike a backhand blow ‘You’re a beast fornicating liar old man and a stinking pox knob. Take back your vile slander or by god I’ll have your crest and that of every man and woman that travelled north with you.’
The old king gripped the arms of his chair, his eyes piercing his nephew’s angry gaze. ‘I did not say the truth would be easy boy but it is the truth. You are second born. When Honey Glow Rose first fell with child she and your father departed the King’s Capital. They left before your mother showed any sign of her pregnancy taking refuge on an island called Sharp’s Cough. Their first born was a boy, they named him Reflection and passed him into the hands of the king’s personal majic walker. I was there as your parents wept, their grief all consuming. I was also there when their tears finally dried, their hearts hardened and we planned our revenge. Their journey north was part of the plan, as was their dedication to the study of old majic, a plan to ally with the Troll, breed powerful crests, highs and r
oyals who could wield the dark colours and when the time was right, raise an army and bring down their wrath on the Southlanders.’ The old king paused for breath. ‘My part was simple, my brother was my king and he knew his abdication would lead to my enthronement and with it the burden of the oath would fall to me. My brother asked that I end the burden of the line and that I remain without issue. I have fulfilled his request and I have no sire, ’ a tear ran down the old king’s cheek, ‘but, my brother’s first son lives, your first brother lives………………’
‘Lies, lies, lies……..’ screamed Sharp again, his face turning scarlet as his blood rose.
‘No,’ replied Soar quietly ‘he is alive and for now he is safe. He was taken from the ruins of Thunderous Spires, a monastic citadel built on a cliff edge somewhere on the far, far south coast of their lands. It is a cursed land, a treeless land, a land of high winds, the coastline battered by huge storms. Far out under the sea the earth cracked and a molten plume of demon rock emerged from the depth. The sea hissed and spat as it fought with the demon, until finally one day the new isle convulsed and sank back below the waves. For three days all was quiet, then, the sea erupted, a convulsion that sent forth a massive wave, a single swell, a wall of water of such size that they say it towered over the cliffs and lands beyond. The citadel was mighty but it succumbed, the waters felling its outer walls and flooding all but the highest levels. All those who lived below died…………………. all but one.’ King Soar sighed. ‘Deep in the rock, protected by old majic, one room resisted the force of the sea. A room without doors, one of three found by looters some days later. They had a nose with them, a young woman, a talent sensitive to the smell of majic who was attracted to the hidden cell by its pungent smell. They had expected to find a treasury or some secret cache but what they found took them by surprise. Of the three hidden rooms they found, two had been destroyed, the wave splitting the walls and renting the woven spells that bound them shut. The third was whole and had held the sea at bay but the majic within had been badly weakened and was easily breached. Within that room, suspended over a lacework of wards was an iron cage and in that cage was your brother.’ The old king sighed and drew in a deep breath. ‘Of course, they did not know who he was but they knew enough to know that to be held in such a cell he was of some value so they took him north to the slaver port of Sheet where my man made contact.’
‘I wish walked to Sheet, a secret visit made without guard or ceremony. When I saw him at first I could barely hide my shock. I had not seen him for scores of years and more yet I knew him immediately and when I held him in my arms I had to fight hard to hold back my tears. We negotiated terms and I left Sheet at dusk the same day, the townsfolk none the wiser. As for the looters, they died in their sleep that same night as did my own man and his entire cohort. The secret of Thunderous Spires never left the town.’ Soar words held no tone of remorse. ‘Reflection was hungry and frightened but was otherwise uninjured. He bore a fine scar that ran the full length of his spine, it was well healed and very faint and his scalp had been marked in three places, tiny glyphs carved into the skin, marks so small you could easily mistake them for sun blemishes. It was clear that the bone beneath had been charmed but we did not know for what purpose.’
Sharp held up a silencing hand. ‘Where is he, where is this man you claim to be my older brother?’
‘Sharp, your older brother was but a babe when he was handed to the Southlanders some seventy years ago, but when I saw him there in Sheet I knew immediately it was him. I had no doubt in my mind because when I cradled him in my arms it was just like that first time on Sharps Cough, a tiny bundle wrapped in a blanket, a helpless child no more than a year old, barely aged after nearly three quarters of a century.’
The silence in the chamber deepened as his words sank home, his nephew clearly fighting to accept the truth. ‘Are you suffering from a softening of the brain uncle or do all moon headed babes appear similar in your eyes?’ said Sharp sarcastically. ‘Where is this ageless royal child? Let me gaze on him and pledge my fealty..................’ Sharp bowed, a mocking gesture, his fingertips almost touching his toes.
Soar bit his tongue and suppressed a sharp repost. ‘My telling is not complete nephew. The world has moved forward some way since the day your brother lay in my arms, almost sixteen years..................’
Sharp raised his arms in surrender, clearly exasperated by the old king’s blatant lies. ‘Continue uncle, finish your tale. It is a good story and well told, come, entertain me some more,’ mocked Sharp.
Soar casually stroked the fronds of the fern, the light wavering as his fingers pressed on it. ‘I knew I could not take the boy to the capital or celebrate his freedom so I placed him in the trusted hands of two guardians. They knew only that it was my will they raise the boy, educate and discipline him and defend him with their lives if needed. I’m sure they thought the lad a royal bastard but they accepted their task and soon became invisible, settling in the Delta, going about their daily lives as god intended.’ A look of deep sadness crossed the old king’s face. ‘I left him to his childhood, left him to grow and live a normal life knowing in my heart that his time of innocence would be short, far too short and that when it came time for him to crest, his world would change forever, our world would change forever.’
The Lord of the Northern Lands shook his head in disbelief. ‘You came here to tell me this! That I have an older brother that my parents failed to tell me about, that for sixty years or more he has remained a babe, suspended in time by some majic unknown until he was placed in your arms…………..sixteen years ago? How uncle, how in the name of our Moon Mother do you expect me to believe such nonsense, why do you weave me such a tale, such utter tripe? Are you addled or just suffering a brain pox?’
Once more Soar did not rise to the insult, continuing as if nothing toward had been said. ‘For the last fifteen years the Southlanders thought your brother dead, washed out to sea and consumed by the waves but as he approaches his cresting there is a chance that they will sense him again and if they do it will not be long before they send forces to take him.’
Sharp interjected loudly. ‘If this is so dearest uncle why do my tellers and seers not sense or foretell this boy?’
‘He is hidden from time, only glimpses of him appearing in and out of the mist. More so now since those in the far south have entered the search. They search and search and never give the mist time to settle. I suspect the boy has a talent written on his bones, a skill for staying hidden when others try to search him out...............which is another reason I have come north.’ Soar paused to draw comfort from one of his charms, his short silent prayer immediately easing his aching joints. He was pleased that the blood flush had now departed Sharp’s crest and relieved that the Lord of the Northern Lands appeared to be taking more interest in the tale. ‘When the boy crests, he and one of his guardians will discretely leave the delta and travel west to a chosen hide where they will wait to be contacted. When that time came I had planned to send my two most trusted bondsmen south to meet with them and take the boy to safety but.............’
‘But what uncle?’ said Sharp, ‘has your well laid plan gone awry?’
‘Awry is not the word I would use nephew,’ said the old king, his head bowed. A better description would be to say that my plan to save our folk teeters on the brink of failure.’
Sharp laughed, a short belly bark. ‘You want help, you have come north to ask for my help................perhaps ‘ask’ is the wrong word, perhaps I should have used the words ‘beg’. You want me to intervene and save this boy, this alleged first son that you claim to be my older brother?’
‘No nephew,’ said Soar with a touch of sadness in his voice, ‘talented as both you and your cohort may be, I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me when I say there is nothing you can do for now. Had I a choice I would have turned back but unfortunately, I do not hold the cure for this ill. The choice placed me on the edge of my blade an
d made me pause for thought. It forced me to consider the greater need, my family or my people.’
‘I don’t understand. Explain....................’ said Sharp.
‘I needed to speak to you face to face, I’d hope that now you’ve heard my story you appreciate why no other could tell you the tale. We need time Sharp, we need time to rescue the boy and you nephew, you need time to ready for war.’
Sharp’s expression hardened, his brow furrowed, his eyes a mean line. ‘In the name of the old moon uncle, why would I commit the northern lands to war? A simple answer would suffice.’
‘Your grandfather, good King Gale, was a man of vision. He planted acorns knowing that in a hundred years time a mighty forest would grow. For decades before his death he had been methodically populating the northern lands. He weeded out the wasters and those of questionable loyalty and made sure the heath lands north of the cut were was seeded with loyal high crests. It is likely that he relied on a tell or a vision. Nevertheless, his foresight prepared the way for my brother, ensuring that when your father abdicated, the northern principality, rural and sparsely populated though it was, was a place fit to rule.
Torrent knew as I do that the Blue Cut would one day be your southern rampart, a barrier even the south would not risk crossing. Your flanks are protected by cliffs, reefs, and high winds and in the winter the ice growls along the shore................and, you have the Troll at your side. The northern Lands were once seen only as a refuge for the crested folk, now it is a true principality with fortress cities and a population measured in many, many tens of thousands. Your grandfather King Gale foresaw this.’ King Soar paused, his eyes fixed on his nephew. ‘I have seen my future nephew, a future much changed from that foretold less than a year ago. The mists are turbulent and the tell was not as clear as I would have hoped but it was clear enough.’
‘and?’ said Sharp impatiently.
CLOAK - Lost Son of the Crested Folk Page 3
