Rescue

by F. E. Greene

  The king was nowhere to be seen. Keeping close to the bower, Pearl scanned the clearing while reactions clashed inside her. She was irritated but also relieved.

  Then she worried that she had arrived too late after delaying too long at the forchard’s entrance. The king must have other business to attend. Carys said he was rarely in the castle, and he might already be gone.

  Unsure of what to do next, Pearl sat down on the gazebo’s steps. It seemed presumptuous to climb inside. While the king had few rules, according to Owyn, Pearl didn’t want to take chances. To offend anyone, much less a king, was the absolute last thing she needed.

  With a sigh, Pearl hugged her knees to her chest. For awhile she hummed to herself. Then she considered singing familiar songs to measure the passage of time. Deciding that was pointless, she fell silent.

  The forchard respired in quiet reply. Without the clamor of Castlevale filling her ears, or even the farm’s stark harmonies, Pearl marveled at the sonorous calm. Although the forchard was hardly desolate, its tranquility seemed almost tangible. The chirp and babble of birds and squirrels underscored the hush.

  After five solitary years at Hollycopse, Pearl knew loneliness. She understood what it meant to live in empty spaces that were built to be filled. But sitting in the forchard was different. With no people to distract her, no pressures to motivate her, and no obligations to direct her, Pearl simply existed.

  For one deep breath, she felt it – the terrifying relief of freedom.

  A watery sound dispelled the sensation.

  Rising, Pearl crept around the gazebo until discovery made her freeze and blink. What she observed hadn’t been there before, but she couldn’t have missed something so obvious. Regardless, she wasn’t alone.

  From the banks of a meager pond, a man fished.

  He was dressed like a craftsman – metalsmith or carpenter, perhaps even a weaver. With olive eyes and dusky skin, he resembled the Romas whose progeny dotted the northeastern coasts. It had taken generations for them to integrate, their strong features and dark flesh adding swarthy depth to the Fourtland’s ever-spreading population. One of Pearl’s greatmothers was Roma-born, but she hadn’t seen a person with such pure features outside of her father’s books.

  Pearl forced herself to leave the gazebo’s shade and approach the pond. She couldn’t guess the man’s anchorland. His dark hair was an average length, his clothes dingy and nondescript. His silence masked any accent. So Pearl greeted him in the briefest and therefore safest way she knew.

  At the sound of her simple hello, the man smiled. Instantly Pearl felt at ease. The man wasn’t handsome, not in the typical sense, but his grin was serene and his gaze was kind.

  “Do you like to fish?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never tried.”

  “Would you like to try now?” Pushing up from the dirt, he held out the pole.

  She took a step back. “I think I’ll just watch. I don’t want to scare the fish.”

  His smile broadened. “There aren’t any fish in this pond.”

  “Then why are you fishing here?”

  “Have you ever done something for the pure joy of it?”

  “Yes,” Pearl admitted. “Having a picnic. Reading a book.”

  “Well, fishing is my joy. Even when there are no fish in the pond.” He set down the pole, leaving its line in the water.

  “Why don’t you find a pond where there are fish?” Pearl suggested. “Then you’ll enjoy yourself and have something to eat.”

  “I’d rather wait for the fish to find me.” He gestured at the gazebo. “Besides, I have plenty to eat. Join me?”

  Again Pearl found herself doubting her eyes. Where nothing was before, a round table filled the gazebo’s interior. Between place settings rested a tower of plates laden with sandwiches, tartlets, and cakes. Slants of sunlight set the dishes ashimmer.

  “You’re the king,” Pearl guessed. She wondered if it would be rude to faint.

  “It’s good to meet you, Pearl.” Climbing into the gazebo, he waited for her to follow. “Sit down, and we’ll chat about what’s happened.”

  Pearl slid onto the opposite bench. She watched the king help himself to food from every plate. Then he filled two glasses with a garnet liquid that smelled vaguely like jam. While Pearl felt too nervous to eat, her rumbling stomach disagreed.

  The king raised his glass, and Pearl copied the gesture. When he drank, so did she. Expecting sweetness, Pearl coughed as the back of her throat ignited. After recovering her voice, she apologized.

  “I should have warned you,” the king said. “This is a Beforish drink that’s better with food. I forget it can’t be found in the Fourtlands anymore. Eat something, and try it again.”

  Reticently Pearl did as he suggested. This time she was prepared for its kick. Setting down the glass, she concentrated on a sandwich.

  “How was your first night in the castle?” the king asked.

  “Fine,” she said between bites. “My room is lovely, and everyone is very kind.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Do you have any questions for me?”

  The request caught Pearl off guard. Chewing, she tried to remember what concerns she’d brought with her into the castle. The list had been lengthy – and much of it focused on problems that no longer mattered.

  “Can you save my farm?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Hollycopse has been sold.”

  “Oh.” Disheartened, she took another sip from the glass. The drink did improve with each tasting. “Can I stay in the castle and be an inkeeper? Jeron said you might give me a job. I’m good at teaching children.”

  “You’re free to come and go as you like. There’s ample work around here for anyone who stays. But if you want me to promise that you’ll never leave the castle again, I can’t do that.”

  “But you’re the king,” Pearl said without really thinking. “You can do anything you like.”

  “Not anything,” he replied. “Why are you here, Pearl? Not just in the forchard but here at the castle. Why did you come inside?”

  Pearl let her bewilderment show. “Don’t you know what happened yesterday?”

  Setting down a half-eaten sandwich, the king looked sad. “I know you gave yourself to a man you don’t love. I know you made that exchange to save your home. I also know when you most needed help, you sought it from someone who doesn’t love you. Even after you saw the castle, you still tried to rescue yourself.”

  His words were composed, even consoling, but Pearl still felt devastated. “I didn’t know you could help me,” she whispered. “I hadn’t met you yet.”

  The king reached across the table to clasp her hand. “Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to ask. You can ask me anything, Pearl – now and always. I’m not a storybook wizard here to grant your every wish. But I am eager to guide you, to provide for you, and to love you. I ask for trust from my people. I promise to be worthy of it, too.”

  Tears slid down Pearl’s cheeks, dripping onto her plate. The king’s hand warmed her fingers, and only his touch kept her from believing that she should be banished from his presence forever.

  “I want to trust you,” she admitted. “I want to believe what you say.”

  “You also want to stay safe.”

  “Can’t I do both?”

  “Not if you stay here,” he said. “The castle won’t make things easier, Pearl, but your life will be better for seeing it. Most people arrive here with nothing. They have no options, no escape routes, no tricks or schemes left up their sleeves. Some don’t even have sleeves. Their only choice is to give up and die or to try again – but differently. In a way, you’ve done the harder thing. It’s much more difficult to walk away from something than from nothing.”

  “But I almost didn’t.”

  “But you did,” he replied. “And because of that, you have some decisions to make.”

  Releasing Pearl’s hand, the king dug int
o a pocket. He withdrew a thin square of paper and offered it to her.

  Unsure of what else to do, Pearl took it, her fingers pinching one corner as she dangled it between them.

  “That’s called tissue,” the king explained. “You use it to clean your face, and then you get rid of it.” While Pearl wiped her eyes and nose, he selected a cake. “Why haven’t you asked me about your parents?”

  Pearl dropped the tissue. “Do you know where they are?”

  When the king nodded, Pearl gripped the table to keep from leaping up, ready to sprint in whatever direction he said. Then a familiar fear smothered the sudden urge. Graves were places, just like homes.

  “They’re far away,” the king offered.

  His ambiguity wasn’t a comfort. Neither was the question that Pearl couldn’t ask.

  “Most Castleveilians think they’re dead,” she told him. “Or in prison. They make my parents out to be criminals or victims. I never believed those things, but I can’t guess what else might be true. My parents wouldn’t just abandon their lives. They loved Hollycopse. They loved me.”

  “What if they left to protect you?”

  “Protect me from what?” The suggestion incensed her. “If they told me what was wrong, I might have been able to help. Maybe I could have gone with them –”

  “There is more to this world than you, Pearl Sterling.” Although the king interrupted her, gentleness tempered his words. “When people like your parents decide to serve me, they often have to make difficult choices. But I never ask them to go where I won’t, and they never go alone.”

  Pearl twisted the cuffs of her sleeves. “I don’t understand.”

  “You will,” he promised. “There’s hope in your soul, Pearl. You’re rich with it. For the past five years, that hope helped you persist, but yesterday it failed you. What matters isn’t how strongly we hope but what we’re hoping for.” Leaning back, the king took a deep breath. “There’s a point where we must choose. You’ve come to that point. You have a choice to make.”

  “You mean choosing if I want to serve you?”

  “You did that last night,” he reminded her. “I mean choosing if you want to see.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Scooting up from the bench, the king extended his hand. It wasn’t smooth or manicured like a regal hand should be. Dirt ringed his fingernails, and bruises discolored his skin.

  Reluctantly Pearl took it. Then she extracted herself from her seat and let herself be led down the gazebo’s steps.

  As they returned to the pond, Pearl wondered how many blunders she made with each passing moment. She touched royal flesh without washing her own. She spoke to the king like he was a friend. She hadn’t curtsied once.

  But the king didn’t seem offended, and judging from his appearance, formalities weren’t first on his mind.

  “What do you want me to see?” Pearl asked.

  At the water’s edge, the king kept hold of her hand. He stared into its depths, and so Pearl did the same. The pond’s surface reflected their forms with static perfection.

  “I have a gift to give you,” the king said. “If you accept this gift, you’ll see everything.”

  “More than I see now? I’m already inside the castle.”

  “The world doesn’t end at these walls,” he cautioned. “It might not be as safe as the castle, but that doesn’t mean we can ignore it.”

  “But aren’t they ignoring the castle?”

  “Yes,” the king admitted. “Most people prefer to take care of themselves, and I prefer to let them. It breaks my heart, but I won’t break theirs.”

  “Why don’t you show everyone the castle?” she asked. “Then they’ll be free to make the right choice. They can’t choose what they can’t see.”

  “Freedom doesn’t make us wise or right. It just makes us free. And most people aren’t free – not really. They’re beholden to things they think they can control, like other people or belongings or a future they imagine will happen if they try hard enough. They build their own invisible castles. Look closely, and you’ll see those, too.”

  When the king squeezed her hand, Pearl wished he would let go. She didn’t deserve his attention or his touch – not after what she’d done. For the sake of her own safety, she traded herself for a job, a dance, and a farm. She hadn’t even tried to be free.

  Appalled by how close she’d come to ruin, Pearl was more frightened of herself at that moment than of the darkgard that attacked her on the lane.

  “Don’t worry about yesterday,” the king said. “It’s finished and done. What I’m offering today won’t trap you here, but it will change the way you see the world. It may also require you to risk yourself for the welfare of others, even those who don’t see what you see. Truthfully, Pearl, I’m just asking you to trust me. Will you?”

  Pearl had never seen an ocean, but she thought the crash of its waves might sound something like the king’s voice. Powerful and steadfast, it caressed the shoreline to leave treasures behind at low tide. The stir and press of the king’s words soothed her, even in the midst of her fear.

  She was afraid – although not of the king. After her parents had disappeared, Pearl vowed to trust no other soul. She spoke the oath aloud, to no one in a dark room, when her doubt had grown despairing. Her voice had been a fragile whisper in the brittle gloom.

  Now Pearl wondered if she had been the only one to hear it. If something else hadn’t lurked and listened.

  “Of course, you don’t have to do what I ask,” the king added. “You’re free to make your own choices. I can’t always protect you from what happens after, but I’ll never force your hand. Every decision is still yours to make.”

  The king fell silent, waiting for Pearl’s response.

  She thought of Hieronymus. She thought of Hollycopse. She thought of her parents.

  Then Pearl thought again of the darkgard. The one on the path had seethed her name, and its sound infected her memory. While Varrick had killed it, others remained. Her darkgard was dead. The rest were not.

  “I’m a selfish girl,” she whispered.

  “Selfishness is just service turned inward.”

  Pearl looked up at the king. He stared down at her, waiting. He asked one thing of her. One thing – and everything. He wanted her trust.

  As Pearl studied his tranquil face, she realized how naive she had been. The stories she often told of the king ended with pageantry and riches, banquets and parades.

  But the king wasn’t frivolous or domineering. While his appearance was unremarkable, his nobility seemed innate. He was the perfect inversion of a treacherous world, and although his presence made Pearl feel self-conscious, it also inspired her.

  The king promised little. He asked for less. Realizing this, Pearl smiled.

  “I will trust you,” she said.

  In response, the king beamed. Tears gathered in the crinkles of his eyes. His gaze seemed as fathomless as the pond which had begun to ripple. Letting go of Pearl’s hand, he pointed toward its churning waters.

  “See this world as it is, Pearl Sterling.”

  Pearl gasped as an image eclipsed the water. It was the Fourtlands, she knew, from the maps she’d studied. When the picture shifted, Pearl felt herself race across landscapes, her body skimming the surface of mountains and valleys, meadows and lakes. Mesmerized by the motion, she tilted and swayed.

  The verdant pastures of the Great Vales appeared. Soft hills gave way to sculpted forests. Roads stretched like earthen strings between hamlets.

  Within that tapestry, Castlevale emerged. Intrigued to see the town from a bird’s perspective, Pearl searched for landmarks – the campanile, the schoolhouse, the market square. Shoppers bustled. Scavers begged. Vendors haggled, and carters sang.

  An eruption of darkness ruined the view. It spread to the banks of the pond. Through it, Pearl could discern nothing.

  “Is that a storm?” she asked.

  “More like a plague,” the king said. �
��Those are darkgard.”

  Pearl cringed when the darkness split into fragments that stippled the scene. While life progressed, darkgard prowled the town – sometimes united, sometimes snarling among themselves. Wherever they settled, shadows doused streets and houses. Postures went rigid. Voices soured.

  Two men stood beside the campanile. One wore a seller’s sash. The other was dressed like a ragbagger. When they began arguing, a pair of darkgard drifted downward. Aggravations increased as the creatures drew close enough to touch clothes and then skin.

  Horrified, Pearl started to call out in warning.

  “You shouldn’t do that,” the king advised. “They won’t believe you.”

  Pearl bit her tongue and battled the urge to turn away as both darkgard sunk diaphanous arms into the men’s shoulders. They melted into the quarreling men whose irritation changed to rage. Faces reddened and fists lifted until both men lost what was left of their control, pummeling each other until bystanders divided them.

  “This is why people fight?” Pearl asked, her voice little more than a squeak.

  “We can’t blame darkgard for everything, but they do stir the world’s troubles. They twist wicked instinct into wounding action. They feed on fear and desire. If anger is a spark, darkgard fan it into flame.”

  “Can’t you get rid of them?”

  “We have some ways to cull their ranks, but they outnumber humen by the thousands. If the kingsfolk spent all their time fighting darkgard, they’d never do anything else.”

  “So darkgard are everywhere?”

  “Wherever people gather.”

  The pond changed again, its viewpoint retracting with dizzying haste. Castlevale shrunk to nothing as the Great Vales, and then the Fourtlands, consumed the water’s surface. Blotches of darkgard now mottled the map, revealing where humen lived.

  Only the most barren stretches were spared the black stain. In northern Orld ice coated the desolate Wyveryn Peaks. Westward, the Abstergian Desert – a parched reality, the pond confirmed – sprawled beneath an unyielding sun.

  To see what the world endured, unaware, made Pearl wish that it could change. “If you can’t get rid of darkgard, then how are we supposed to help?”