The Door Within

by Wayne Thomas Batson

  16

  TRAITOR’S LEGACY

  Aidan couldn’t sleep. And the fact that he couldn’t sleep made him angry. After all he’d been through—the early mornings, the grueling workouts and training, the intense emotions of the ceremony— he ought to have passed out and slept for a week. But somehow, he was still restless. He tried thinking of pleasant memories. He tried deep breathing.

  He even tried counting sheep! But that just sent Aidan’s mind spinning with silly thoughts like: Are there any sheep in Alleble? If not, what do they count to sleep? Counting dragons doesn’t sound very relaxing!

  Aidan couldn’t stand it. He threw off the downy covers and stepped to one of the chamber’s arched windows. The moon was much lower in the night sky, already well into its routine descent. The rooftops, turrets, and parapets glistened silver. The fountains sparkled as if their waters were enchanted with stardust.

  Aidan stared again at the fountain nearest the castle, the empty fountain. It lay partially in shadows far below. Aidan blinked, thinking he saw something move near the fountain’s base. He squinted to be sure his eyes and the shadows weren’t deceiving him, but then he was sure. There was someone down there.

  Aidan threw on a dark tunic, a rugged pair of breeches, and slipped on his old Nikes—glad someone had brought them to his room. Even without socks, they felt like paradise compared to the hard boots he had worn all week.

  He was certain no one would care if he was out at night, but he felt sneaky anyway as he tiptoed from his chamber to the spiral staircase. The guards who were always posted at the castle’s inner gatehouse nodded when Aidan passed. He was, after all, a knight himself and as such, free to roam most areas of Alleble at will.

  The flickering orange of torches faded as Aidan wandered beyond the castle and onto Alleble’s main thoroughfare. Slipping silently from shadow to shadow, Aidan approached the Seventh Fountain, the dry fountain. There a tall Glimpse warrior stood, leaning over the circular granite wall and staring forward. His back was to Aidan, and he did not turn around when Aidan drew near.

  The Glimpse cleared his throat. “Ah, Sir Aidan,” he said. “What brings a young knight out when the moon falls low and day nears the threshold?”

  “Captain?” Aidan guessed. Surely it was Captain Valithor, for no other Glimpse in all of Alleble stood as tall and as broad. And yet, the voice was different. Not as gruff and commanding as usual.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Captain. I, I couldn’t sleep. I shouldn’t be here, should I? I’ll just head back to my chambers.”

  “Nay, lad. Join me,” said the Captain.

  Aidan did. He clambered up and sat on the granite wall close to where Captain Valithor stood. They both stared out over the sleeping kingdom.

  Alleble was very still and quiet. The only sounds came from the other six fountains that resonated like a constant tide. Staring at the fountains and listening to their steady, hypnotic song was relaxing. Aidan almost felt he could sleep now. But then he peered into the empty fountain before him. And he remembered.

  He remembered why one fountain, one of the renowned Seven Fountains of Alleble that flowed in ceaseless splendor for untold centuries, was now dry forevermore. With great sadness, Aidan stared at the vast, empty pool bed and imagined it when it was last filled. He had read in the scroll that the Elder Guard, their wives, and their children, were surprised by traitors in the still hours before dawn, dragged at swordpoint, and cast into the fountain—cast aside like refuse in a pond.

  They must have been so cold, Aidan thought. He could almost see them standing in the pool of black fuel oil. He thought he knew what had happened to them that night, but he did not want to imagine it. Aidan cringed.

  He wanted to look away. He wanted to run away. But the fountain-bed had a gravity that gripped Aidan so that he could not turn from it. He swayed, and for a moment he felt he would fall in— fall into the deep, dark liquid where he would surely drown or burn. A strong hand gripped Aidan’s shoulder.

  “You know of this fountain, then?” said the Captain quietly. Aidan blinked a moment as if waking from a dream. He numbly watched Captain Valithor pull on a pair of long silver gauntlets. He had never seen the Captain without them. Before the gloves completely hid the Captain’s hands, Aidan thought he saw wounded flesh as if they had been gashed or cut. No, Aidan realized, not cut. Scarred. Burned.

  Aidan stared wide-eyed with recognition. Captain Valithor nodded slightly. His white brows furrowed, and he turned to lean again on the edge of the fountain.

  “I was your age at the time,” he began. “My mother and father were asleep in the loft of our cottage. But, like this night, I could not sleep. My father, you see, was to take me into the mountains the next morn to search for dragon roosts. I aspired to be an artist then, and wanted to sketch them in the wild. Alas, it was not to be.

  “The traitors were stealthy, but still I heard them. I had just enough time to slide out of my window onto the ledge. I wanted to cry out, to warn my parents, but fear stole my voice. I failed them, Aidan.

  “From my hiding place on the ledge, I saw dark shadows—ten at least—advance toward the stair to the loft. They fell upon my father, and though he was just startled from deep sleep, he fought like a lion. He slew two of them before they struck at a weakness he could not defend—my mother. They held a dagger to her throat, the cowards.” Captain Valithor gripped the edge of the wall as if he would crush it.

  “My father for the first time—and the last—surrendered his sword. They took my parents away with the other Elder Guards and their families to the courtyard.

  “They nearly caught me then, for I knocked a stone loose from the ledge as I clambered to the ground. They sent two knights after me, but I knew the alleys and backways. I lost them easily enough.”

  “You were the one?” Aidan asked. “You were the boy who escaped?”

  “Yes, Aidan, I escaped. But I needed to get to the courtyard to see what they would do with my parents. I tried several streets but found them all guarded. Finally, I climbed the bell tower near the sixth fountain. And there I saw them—my mother and father, the others, the children. They were drenched in dark liquid, and I knew it was oil, for the air smelled acrid. They were surrounded by two legions of traitorous knights—all cloaked in black but streaked angry orange from the torches they carried.

  “Then I saw, high on a balcony of the castle, two knights. One of them had a sword drawn. The other lay down on a bed of stone. I was young and did not fully understand what was happening.

  “The sword flashed in the moonlight and fell. When my father and the other knights in the fountain screamed in rage, I knew that something terrible had happened. I felt it. Still I watched, transfixed, waves of dread washing over me. The knight standing on the balcony raised his sword and gave a great shout of triumph.

  “It was Paragor, Aidan, though then he was called Paragal. He was filled with unquenchable lust for blood and death. I watched in horror as Paragor took a torch from the wall and flung it in a high arc away from the castle. It fell like an evil star from the sky into the fountain. At the same time, the traitorous archers loosed a hundred fiery arrows into the pool. There was a great shock wave as the fuel vapor ignited and fire roared up from the fountain, engulfing my parents and the others in its hungry flames.”

  “No!” Aidan almost shouted. He leaped down from the fountain. “No, that . . . that can’t be what happened. Paragor said he’d release the other knights if the King allowed himself to die.”

  “Paragor is a liar, Aidan. He plotted always to murder the entire Elder Guard, for he knew that they would not rest until they avenged the King’s death. I watched from that tower, watched Paragor commit a deed too foul for words. I was stricken and nearly fell from my perch, but somehow I found strength in my anger. I grabbed the chain to the great bell and set it to ringing so loud the mountains trembled.

  “Noble Glimpses, aroused by the alarm, issued forth like a flood from all corners of Alle
ble. Some were armed, but many wielded only pitchforks, spades, or nothing at all. Still, they seemed to know something of the great evil that had just befallen Alleble, and they fought valiantly. In the chaos of battle, I ran across the courtyard to the fountain. The heat was staggering, my hair began to melt, and I felt my skin sizzle and crack. The fountain was an inferno, and I knew no one could have survived. . . . Whether it was some last evil trick in the fire, I do not know, but I thought I saw shapes of men thrashing about trying to find a way out. I looked away, but then forced myself to look back into the fountain. And for just a moment I saw the silhouette of a man, and I knew it must be my father.

  “I reached then, into the fire, for I had to undo this deed and release my sire from the flames. The heat bit down hard and set to work devouring the flesh on my arms. Just as I thought I’d reach him, my father’s image vanished, and I fell away from the fountain having saved no one. I lay in agony on the very stones upon which you now stand, Aidan. The last thing I remember, above the roar of the raging flames, above the screams of battling Glimpses, and above the ringing of swords, was hearing laughter—Paragor’s laughter.”

  Aidan felt like he’d been hit hard in the stomach—he was so angry and heartbroken by the Captain’s account. Aidan didn’t want it to be true. He wished that the story of Alleble was just like the other fantasies he’d read where there were heroes, victories, and happy endings.

  It wasn’t fair. Things like that should never be allowed to happen. Tears escaped the corners of his eyes and traced angry streaks down his face.

  “Weep, Aidan. Weep,” Captain Valithor said. “But do not despair. Paragor’s victory was not final. What he intended for evil has become the foundation for much that is good.”

  “How can you say that?” Aidan cried. “How could good come from—” Aidan choked. “I mean, he killed them! He killed the King! What good could ever come from that?”

  Captain Valithor’s eyes softened. He took Aidan by the shoulders and stooped to look him in the eyes.

  “Aidan, if you only knew how many times I asked that very question. But I was blinded to the answer by the closeness of the pain. It was only by the passing of time that I was able to finally see the answer. You see, from the flames of Paragor’s treachery, Alleble was reborn stronger than ever, and the destinies of many in The Realm changed in such a way that they have brought about incalculable good.”

  “I don’t understand,” Aidan whispered.

  “There are many, even among the wise, who do not understand. But try, Aidan. Try to see. If Paragor had not committed his foul deeds, I may never have become a knight like my father. I would never have raised a new army for Alleble. Battles that were won . . . would have been lost. And many of the scattered kingdoms of Alleble would never have been reached for the glory of the King.”

  Captain Valithor released Aidan’s shoulders. Aidan wiped away the last of his tears and said, “But, Captain, so many had to suffer.”

  “You are right, Aidan, and that must never be forgotten. But though many were lost and many left behind to grieve, ten times more were rescued from futures more terrible . . . and final.”

  Aidan shook his head. There was still so much he could not grasp.

  “Take heart, Aidan,” said Captain Valithor, throwing back his cloak and gesturing toward the mountains. The sky was beginning to glow pink. “For Paragor is in exile, and the King is restored!”

  Aidan smiled grimly. The Captain’s words were heartening. But also mysterious—like a riddle whose answer was maddeningly just out of reach.

  “Captain, what happened? How was Paragor defeated? How did the King come back?”

  “How King Eliam returned to us, I cannot say. I can only say that the King is here. And he always will be. But as for Paragor, that tale I know very well. And it is time you know also.”

  Captain Valithor drew aside his cloak and removed something from his belt. Aidan knew the shape. It was a scroll.

  The Captain opened the scroll and placed it before Aidan. “I will not tell you this tale,” the Captain said. “You must see it for yourself. Reach here, Aidan. Brush your fingers across the words. They are powerful. And they will live in your mind’s eye.”

  Aidan let his hand hover over the page of parchment. And slowly, he lowered his fingers to touch the words. A sea of black flooded Aidan’s vision. A long sword blade sliced through the darkness. Then, there was fire, and Aidan lost all sense of where he was.

  Paragal passed the throne one more time. He would not sit there. Not yet. For one task remained.

  He stopped at the foot of the stairs that led to the King’s sacred courtyard, now his own sacred courtyard. A cold draft whispered and pulled at the torches in the passage. And something strange took hold of Paragal there. Looking up at that long stair, seeing the old stone, chipped and flaking, the statues of long-forgotten warriors at each landing—Paragal wondered how history would remember his deeds on this night. And he felt—what was it? Not fear. History will see me in whatever way I see fit. Anxiety, that was all, apprehension about fulfilling his destiny at last. That had to be the reason for the disquiet he felt.

  Paragal strode very quickly up the stairs, passed through the white flames, and into The Library of Light. To the ninth level he climbed, past tables piled high with scrolls he’d read many times before. Finally, Paragal approached the chest of stone that lay below the window on the eastern side of the chamber.

  The chest was gray like granite but as smooth as velvet. It was plain except for the latch and the large keyhole. No key, but Paragal was not concerned. He drew Cer Muryn, its blade stained dark, and delivered a great two-handed slash. The top of the chest fell away, for murynstil could carve stone like balsa wood. Within the chest was an enormously thick scroll, rolled tight in a bundle and secured by a cord. And to Paragal’s ruthless satisfaction, there too was a quill pen and a bottle of dark ink. Paragal sheathed his sword, removed the contents of the chest, and sat at a long table near the window.

  The cord was untied and removed, but the scroll lay unopened on the table before Paragal. He hesitated to open it, for it represented the ultimate success of his plot and the fulfillment of his ambition. King Eliam was gone. His beloved Elder Guard vanquished without a fight. And the people? They are sheep, Paragal thought. They will fall in line or they will die like the others.

  All that was left to do was to open the legendary first scroll.

  If the stories were true, it would contain the entire history of Alleble. And, more importantly, the future of Alleble as well. Paragal knew that with such knowledge, his wisdom would never be questioned, his decisions could never go awry, and his reign would not end until age took back the throne.

  As if in a trance, Paragal stared out the tower window. The snowcapped peaks of Pennath Ador, the mountains of glory, were outlined in deep pink. Soon the sun would rise between the twin summits and witness the dawn of a new age. Paragal waited no longer. With great eagerness, he stretched flat the scrolls and began to read.

  Only a few passages in, Paragal stopped in alarm. He already knew what he was reading. Paragal turned through several pages, but it was unmistakable. He was reading the story of his own life.

  It could not be! The first scroll of Alleble could not possibly be all about one Glimpse. Paragal’s mind raced. The legends claimed that the first scroll would reveal the past and the future of every Glimpse who had ever lived. How could it—? And then, he understood. Paragal went back to the first page.

  He brought into his mind the image of Rucifel, the lieutenant of his rebellious horde, and suddenly, the text on the scroll changed. It was no longer Paragal’s life story. It was Rucifel’s. Paragal grinned wide. He had often wondered how a scroll—no matter how long or thick—could contain infinite lore.

  Now he knew. Paragal began to think of other Glimpses. And with every name that entered Paragal’s mind, the scrolls changed, revealing every moment of every life that he cared to perceive.


  Paragal turned the scrolls back to his own story and began searching through the pages. He merely skimmed, for he was not interested in reliving his past. He wanted to discover his future. Paragal raced through his squiring, his training, his knighthood. He saw his recruitment by the Elder Guard and his selection to be sentinel.

  Finally, he came to the account of his rebellion—the bloody events that had occurred that very night. He knew he was getting close. One more page.

  But the next page was empty. Paragal’s story had run right up to the present moment, with Paragal in the ninth-level tower of The Library of Light reading the first scroll of Alleble. But there it ended. Paragal began to despair. What could this mean? Had he no future? Or was it that the first scroll was in fact only a record of what had been?

  As if he were watching through a window, a vision began to unfold in his mind. He saw himself there at the table near the east window with the first scroll stretched out before him. But it was not the present moment, for he saw himself pick up the quill pen that he had taken from the stone chest. He watched himself plunge the pen into the jar of black ink. He saw himself begin to write on the empty parchment. There the vision ended.

  Paragal smiled again. He had always assumed that when King Eliam wrote on the scrolls he was simply recording a narrative of what had already happened, like a bard inscribing the events of an adventure for posterity. But it was not so. The King was writing the future!

  And now, Paragal thought, that power has passed on to me.

  Paragal picked up the quill pen and firmly stabbed its point into the ink bottle.

  He moved the pen to the parchment and began to write.

  But the moment the wet point of the pen touched the page, Paragal froze. The disquiet he had felt before the stairs again took hold of him. A thought clawed into his mind. If King Eliam saw the future, then he must have known that I would betray him.