The Forgotten King

by Jonathan Dunn

  This makeshift counsel was made up of the Admiral, Barnes, the Innkeeper, Meredith, the Fardys, the doctor, and Osbert. The proceedings are as follows:

  WILLIAM STUART : We are all men here, doctor, and accustomed to bad tidings. What is the state of Milada’s health? Do not be positive, for we must know the truth.

  DOCTOR : He is still among the living – but for how long, I cannot say.

  WILLIAM STUART : If he dies we lose more than a good friend.

  DOCTOR : It is not I you must convince, but Milada’s body. He will probably live on weakly for many months, before finally succumbing in the end. It would take a miracle or a magical elixir to bring him healing, and I am afraid such things do not exist.

  MEREDITH : Indeed, they do, and I will not have your extreme opinions flouted around in the matter as if they were fact.

  DOCTOR : If they do exist, it takes more than my skill to call them forth.

  MEREDITH : They are not of men, but of God. With faith, God works wonders. Could he not heal the centurion’s servant with merely his voice?

  DOCTOR : Perhaps, if you believe that way. But faith without works is dead, as they say, and it hasn’t worked yet. We need a way that is more in the realm of mankind.

  WILLIAM STUART : Yes, Meredith, we need to find actions for ourselves to take. What medicines are there that would help?

  DOCTOR : His case is severe, for the wound is very deep. I know of nothing that will suffice.

  MEREDITH : Ah, but I do. It is sure to heal forever, if it can be found.

  WILLIAM STUART : And what is it? We have no time for riddles here, friend.

  MEREDITH : Which is why I speak none – only of this: the Holy Graal.

  DOCTOR : I have heard of such a relic: the cup that contains the blood of Christ.

  WILLIAM STUART : We cannot waste time searching for what does not exist. If we were to look, where would it be? No, Meredith, unless something arises we cannot do this. Fate has helped us this far; we will have to let it work on Milada’s health as well.

  OSBERT : I know I am a mere woodsman with little knowledge of the outside world, yet I may be able to help.

  WILLIAM STUART : Do not be shy, Osbert. You may think us wiser, but we know nothing of this matter.

  OSBERT : Very well. My only knowledge comes from something I have just read. To be honest, a scroll that I have only read within the hour.

  WILLIAM STUART : How you find time for reading is beyond me, but go on.

  OSBERT : I found it on the hooded horseman, the spy and messenger of Gylain. I read it as we galloped to the castle, as is my habit when traveling great distances. I will read it aloud now, and we will see what fate has planned for us:

  Nicholas –

  My spies tell me there is increased activity in the rebel camps of late. Their reports are unsettling to me, for I have for some time been anxious, as I have told you, of the return of the king’s son. Yet it is not him that I fear, but the deluge. I am only God’s messenger, perhaps, yet he uses messengers against his own messengers, even as I do. I will defeat him, if I can, and overthrow the divine dictator. The rebels fight foolishly, for earthly freedoms. I fight for only heavenly emancipation.

  There is something that has been on my mind of late: the Holy Graal, the ancient goblet which holds the blood of Christ. I am the son of man, and he the son of God. If the father’s blood cannot be spilled, the son’s is just as good. Because of Atlantis and the Garden, I have turned my face to the books of the ancients. If our fate is to mirror theirs, I must look to them to see myself. At last I have discovered the location of the Holy Graal.

  There is a forested mountain range in southeast France called Cervennes. Through the center of these mountains runs the Ardeche River, and to the north of this river is a deep forest, compared to the Atiltian in majesty. In these mountain forests there is an ancient temple that was carved from the mountain itself. From its deep base, it rises over the tops of the nearby mountains, and the Graal is kept in its upper tower. It cannot be reached but through the temple itself, and that through the forest. The Titans guard the temple – the same who overthrew Atlantis before it sunk.

  I can send no one but you to retrieve it. Jonathan must remain with me, to defend the castle. You may take as many men as you wish. The dangers are great, perhaps, but I believe you to be even greater. I fear I will be too busy with the Queen of Saxony when you return from the Floatings to speak of this, so I write you this epistle. I send a copy with several messengers, that I can be sure you receive it, yet the hand is my own. Return to Eden before you depart.

  Signed – Gylain, King of Atilta

  WILLIAM STUART : Then there is hope of our success, for we know as much about it as our enemy. Yet Nicholas Montague will expand our troubles. On the other hand, we can spare more men, for we will not have to contend with him here.

  MEREDITH : He is not the most to be feared, I think, but the Titans. But who among us can survive the dangers of the forest and the temple to even reach the Graal? This looks more grim than before.

  BLOND FARDY : I think that I know who we must send.

  BROWN FARDY : Then out with it. I am a very patient man, but it is too much to bear, to be told that you know, yet not what you know.

  BLOND FARDY : Your patience is more than my own, for I cannot bear to be interrupted in the course of my speech, and then rebuked for stopping short.

  WILLIAM STUART : We will send Willard, the king.

  BLOND FARDY : As I was preparing to say.

  WILLIAM STUART : Then we go, for there is much to do.

  And so the counsel broke up, and they parted to go their own ways. The Admiral, Barnes, Osbert, Forsmil, and the Fardy brothers departed for Eden; the doctor, and the Innkeeper remained at Milada’s bedside; and Meredith went into the forest, to prepare the rebel fleet.

  Chapter 33

  It rained that evening and nothing could be seen through the veil of the forest. Had Gylain’s forces been able to pierce it, they would have seen the rebels hustling about, finishing preparations for their attack. The rebel city was built into and around the Great Goliaths. There were no entrances except a tunnel that ran underground into the southern tree. A wide roadway was built inside this tree, which wound its way to the top until it opened into a cavernous entry room – the front gate of the city. The room was circular – three hundred feet in circumference – with a pillar of the tree’s heartwood left standing in the center. A single, roughly hewn door opened to the outside, to a small platform.

  It was no more than five feet wide, and the stairway of the city began from it: bordered on each side by several layers of ropes and secured below with stout Atiltian boards. As it rose, it came across other platforms, each with a simple door leading into the tree. There were thousands of these doors. What they opened to was as various as any city: some were small apartments, others giant warehouses; some were shops, some manufactures. The entire rebel population – those who actively opposed Gylain – dwelt within the trees, carrying on their trades as they had done before.

  Yet this, as every other city, was divided into sections. Part is private, part is public. In the rebel city, all private buildings were carved into the trees. Above, in the canopy, was the public city. It was here that the city truly blossomed. In the center of the four trees, near the beginning of the canopy, a central platform was suspended in the air. This was the public square, and the beginning of the Treeway, which branched out of it to its various routes. In the forest, the canopy was always between the sky and the ground and was always made from sturdy branches, for the ancient trees were themselves sturdy. The rebels built a road along these branches by securing a boardwalk or a platform across them, creating a smooth path far above the ground. There were three major thoroughfares of this walkway, each starting at the rebel city. The first went to Thunder Bay, the second to Eden, and the third to the temple ruins and the rebel port.

  In the city itself, the canopy was covered by the Treeway. In some
areas, there was a waterfall, collecting the rainwater which flowed over the canopy until it found a hole to fall through. Below these waterfalls, the rebels had constructed a trellis, or a framework, upon which hung the mellis vine. This was the rebel’s primary grain, and it produced a flavorful pod. They were irrigated from above, and cultivated by those who made their living walking along the narrow frame. Other portions of the canopy were covered with bazaars and open markets. The arts also flourished there, and in one place a theater was built in the center of a forked branch. Seats were placed all about, carved directly into the thick limbs.

  When Blaine Griffith spoke of spreading a thick netting between several buildings, it was not an unusual thing among the rebels. For in their vertical city, they had many such nets stretched between the trees, to catch those who might fall. They were hundreds of yards across, and the ropes which held the weight were two or three feet thick, woven from the fibers of the Atiltian firmus tree. The youths of the city were known to fall quite often into these nets, although it might be attributed more to daring than to folly.

  There were innumerable rope ladders hanging in the rebel city. By climbing these, the rebels also became expert archers, for their arms were steady and sure. Yet, for those who could not or would not climb the ladders, there were elevators. Quite simply, these were platforms which would travel across a rope, from one section to another. Sometimes the rope was a pulley, running from a high branch to a lower one, and the elevator simply was pulled up or down. At other times, the rope was extended between two trees, and the platform hung on a wheel that ran along it.

  Yet the marvel of the city was the high town, the uptown, or the Tops, as they called it. Built above the canopy, it was the resort, the view of the city. On every side the forest could be seen, the canopy of the lesser trees spreading on before them until it washed away into the horizon. The clouds could not only be seen here but could also be felt as they sailed by. The sunsets were unpolluted, the stars unmasked. It was, for the rebels, paradise.

  In the western tree, five hundred feet from the ground, there was a door in the tree. It appeared the same as any other door in the city, yet it contained a special room. It was the war room, where Blaine and his lieutenants planned the strategy of the rebels. At this time, there was a briefing taking place concerning the night’s mission. Among those present were Willard, Ivona, Horatio, Clifford, and Blaine.

  “You speak of the danger of the rebellion,” Ivona said, “And of the coming conclusion. Yet when I look about me, I see a city that is safe and peaceful. What do we fight for, if we ourselves have freedom?”

  “It is a mighty city,” replied Blaine, “But do not be mistaken – for every person among us, a hundred live in Eden, wishing to join us. Yet there is no room, no resources. Atilta is a maritime power, and even its economic strengths come from Eden. Gylain controls it, but as he prospers from its wealth, he becomes harder to overthrow. Already his army is larger than that of Spain, the Slovaks, or the Northmen. Indeed, much of his army comes from those countries. Even de Garcia, the rebel hero of old, came from Spain. We are a small island: everything we have is imported – even our fighters. Gylain’s only weakness, therefore, is domestic insurrection – in a word, the rebellion. But even that cannot long stand against him, for he grows in power as we are weakened.”

  “He is greater in the traditional sense of strength,” Willard said, “But we can harass him with quick, local attacks, and spread him about for the final battle. All we can do is fight and trust fate to guide our hands.”

  “I would rather trust to God, than to fate,” Ivona replied.

  “To trust in fate is to trust in God; yet to trust in God is not necessarily to trust in fate.”

  Ivona shook her head with a laugh and lowered it to conceal her broad smile.

  Willard saw it, however, and laughed to himself.

  “If everyone were as pleasant as you in disagreement, Ivona, than I could hardly stand a peaceful exchange.”

  Willard was no longer the wild forest man. His face was open to the air and its Roman frame exposed. His chin was squared, coming together slightly in the center. His nose was narrow and came down at a perfect forty-five degrees, climaxing in a respectable point. Before, his hair had shadowed his eyes, yet now they also were revealed. They were large and set closer to the nose than to the ear, but not to an awkward degree.

  His early education had always shone through his rough exterior, like a sunset through a dirty window. Yet now the window was clean and his majesty plain to all. His voice was deep as the owl’s and melodious as the warbler’s, rolling from his tongue with the rhythm that comes with the knowledge of authority. His passions were subdued and his compassions inflamed.

  Yet his hermitage also shone through, for he was not given to flattery or politeness. Instead, he was terse and almost taciturn. His stride was long, his step swift, his eyes cold, and his conscience undecided between the laws of the forest and those of man. Both were dim parallels to the laws of God, yet each differed in opposite directions.

  In the forest, a pot of honey was worth a man’s life; in the city, a metal crown. In the forest, survival was the reward of the strong and death the fate of the weak. In the city, power was the reward of the strong and slavery the fate of the weak. Which was worse? Neither, for between Hades and Hell there is no difference. Between the love of self and the hatred of others, there can be no distinction.

  Ivona, on the other hand, was purely a follower of God’s law. She did not desire money or power, for she realized that the desire behind both was contentment. “Money is a medium of exchange,” she always said, “Traded for what you desire. Yet I desire only God and he can give me what he will. I would use faith, not money. The road to contentment is not possession – for the more you have, the more you want. Therefore, the only way to desire nothing earthly is to have nothing earthly.”

  What Ivona struggled with was the desire for love. Her heart longed to be one with another. She longed to serve and to be kind; to prefer her lover as much as he preferred her; to be filled with the contentment that comes only when the desire for contentment has gone; to yield herself, her thoughts and her actions, to another, and combine them to make something greater; to forget her own wants in the face of the wants of others.

  She wanted, in a word, to commune with God and to follow him. But her heart was weak, and the spiritual so distant at times she felt alone, though she knew, mentally, that she was not. She desired a love in the physical realm that was born in the spiritual. But when her heart longed the most for a touchable love, a simple sentence would echo through her mind – many things will be forgiven, but this alone will not: blasphemy against the spirit of God . If she were to cling to an earthly being and satisfy her desire for love, would she not be going farther from contentment? Would she not be seeking earthly things to complete a spiritual longing? Would she not be using temporal means to fulfill an eternal end? If she were to seek love apart from God, she would be denying that he could love her enough. What irony it is, that those who are the nearest the truth are those whose conscience mourns the most.

  When Willard or her father laughed at the apparent simplicity of her mind, or of her supposed naivety, she could only smile slightly and close her eyes. Do not the simple think all to be simple? Do not the doubters think all to be doubt? If they did not know, it was only because their eyes were closed from above. So she did not grow angry. Excepting the Fardy brothers, can one prove a peaceful point through unpeaceful means?

  “Arise, men,” Blaine Griffith as the briefing came to an end and each knew his part. “Arise and take up your arms. Tonight the battle begins; let us hope it does not end with our defeat.”

  Chapter 34

  Meanwhile, in Castle Plantagenet, Gylain was also holding a counsel, though he was the only participant. He paced about his bedchamber, in front of the stained-glass window that covered the outside wall. It was illuminated by the bright moonlight, which diffused throug
h it and gave a silvery glow to the room. Far above hung a single chandelier, of simple design. During the reigns of the Kings Plantagenet, the room was the castle’s sanctuary, where the religious services were held. To Gylain, however, such things were foolish – what purpose was there in worshiping the great beast who ruled the lesser beasts? Gylain himself was one of the middle beasts, as he said, between God and man. He was the oppressed and the oppressor. Therefore, the room was taken to be used by himself, the son of man.

  “Why must they look to me for leadership?” he said. “Why must they look to me to endorse their sins as righteousness – as if my word declares what is right and what is wrong. They come to me with hate and anger in their eyes, and beg to be allowed to inflict some savage cruelty upon the innocent. And they seem to enjoy the travesties which they commit. I only hope they also enjoy their reward.”

  Here he turned toward the stained-glass window, gazing upon it.

  “I, myself, do not enjoy such actions. But it is my fate, and what dam can a mortal man hold against the tides of fate? It swells and overpowers us, taking us up into its morbid grasp and moving us about in every which way. Our meager strength cannot resist. How can a man who is forced by fate to do a certain deed – no matter how hideous or inhuman – be blamed for what he does? For it is not his desire, but God’s, that he carries out.”

  He walked to the humble writing desk, the only piece of furniture in the room, sitting to write a proclamation for the arrival of the Queen of Saxony. But the words did not come. At last, he gave up, and left the ink-filled quill lying on the paper. He raised his face to heaven.

  “Curse you, oh cruelest of beings,” he cried out, “Oh God the Just – for you equally abhor all of your creations! You have created the beast that is man, as well as the beasts of the field and the beasts of the air. But tell me, who created you, oh beast of the heavens? Am I such a fool that I do not know? You are God, indeed, and you are powerful above all other beings. For you were before time and before matter, and so you are beyond them. It is you who holds the stars in place and makes the sun to shine. It is you from whence the energy for these things originates. But from you also originates the energy of man: his hate.”