Kelven's Riddle Book Two

by Daniel Hylton

  His long, flowing hair, disconcertingly enough, seemed to constantly change color. Although Aram could never quite catch the change as it occurred, whenever he focused on it, the difference was often dramatic. Always, the god’s hair was generally blond but now and then there would be brown undertones, then red, now silver, and sometimes even blue or green.

  “Why have you come here?” Kelven asked quietly.

  Aram jerked his attention back to the god’s face. He was sure that his astonishment showed on his features as he stared at Kelven. After a moment, he remembered his manners and answered, albeit uncertainly.

  “Because, my lord, you sent for me.” He said and then he reconsidered the statement. “I should say that I was told that you wanted to see me.”

  “That is true – I did.” Kelven nodded. “But why have you come?”

  Aram stared back at him in confusion. He had always believed, during the rigors of the long difficult journey and throughout all the privations he and the horses had endured, that he would be told why he had been summoned to the mountaintop, that questions would be answered, encouragement – and perhaps something more – given, and that he would be instructed as to the best course for securing freedom for the peoples of the world below. Instead he found his own motivations for undertaking the task being questioned, rather casually.

  Kelven watched him, serene and quiet, smiling, a look of expectation on his noble features, as if his question should not offend but should be answered gladly, willingly. As Aram gazed upon Kelven’s placid face, frustration rose up unexpectedly in him. The tenor of the god’s voice betrayed nothing, but the question itself seemed to suggest that he was being tested – or worse, that he was being toyed with. He forced himself to speak calmly.

  “My lord, when one is summoned by his betters, he responds.” He frowned at the semantic commonality of his own words, but continued, “So I am here.”

  Kelven continued to smile, but shook his head. “No, Aram. You must be truthful with me.” He leaned forward and asked again, earnestly. “Why have you come?”

  Aram felt an irritation that was born of weariness sweep through him and threaten to turn into real anger, but then he comprehended, or at least thought that he did. It was not a game, though it was a test of sorts. Kelven wanted him to admit to his motivations – beyond the summons.

  He inclined his head and drew a deep breath before meeting the god’s eyes. “Because, my lord, I thought that there might be a weapon here. The lord of horses, Lord Florm, told me of Kelven’s – of your riddle – and it seemed to me to suggest that there might be a weapon that would help my people in the fight against Manon.”

  At the mention of the grim lord’s name, a shadow crossed Kelven’s face. He looked away for a moment, his smile gone, and in that moment, Aram thought that he looked pale and somewhat fragile, less substantial than he had before. But when he looked back at Aram, his composure was once again recovered. His smile returned.

  “So you came for yourself. To arm yourself with a mighty weapon.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “Perhaps with such a weapon, you might depose Manon and rule in his stead.” He almost snarled as he spoke the name of his enemy, but the smile stayed.

  It was a ridiculous notion, spoken as casually as an observation of the state of the weather. Aram’s sense of being toyed with returned as did his anger. For his part, he was beginning to find the conversation not only frustrating but offensive. He had not risked the lives of his friends to come to this mountain, and then spent weeks climbing it just to have his motivations probed and questioned, at least not in this oblique, offhand manner. Kelven, he realized, was not as he’d imagined him. To Aram, the god seemed capricious, like the wind whose master he’d once been.

  He forced himself to answer evenly. “My lord, I came here on the word of Lord Florm, whose word I trust. I came to see whether or not I could find aid for his people and mine against our common enemy.”

  The corners of Kelven’s mouth twitched again. “Ah, yes, Florm. His is a great spirit. A great spirit indeed. They are interesting people, horses. Their minds, I find, are particularly interesting. They are – malleable.”

  To Aram’s ear, this sounded condescending, even contemptuous. God or not, he thought that Kelven was out of line to speak of Florm so lightly. He stood, angrily. “My lord, if –”

  “Sit down, Aram.” The god’s smile had vanished, along with his cavalier attitude, and his eyes were brittle and hard. “It is well within my powers to test – and judge – you as I like. Sit.”

  Aram sat, reminded suddenly that this being was the brother of the likes of Ferros, and even Manon himself

  Kelven sat quietly for a moment and his features relaxed once again into a slight smile. He gazed up and out over the tall, dark trees, where the deeper blue of evening seeped into the sky as the sun dropped below the rim of the mountain wall, and then he looked at Aram.

  “Did you really think that I had in my possession a power great enough to destroy Manon, and that I would simply put it into your hand?”

  Aram nodded slowly, his heart sinking at the insinuation inherent in the question. “That was my hope, yes.”

  Kelven leaned forward, fierce again, and balled his hands into fists. “Know this. If I had ever had in my possession a power great enough to destroy Manon, I would surely have used it and brought an end to his evil deeds and intentions. He would have encountered justice long ago at my hands.”

  The words came out in a staccato burst, verbal projectiles launched by the force of his anger. His eyes flashed and flared with inner fire, not bronze like Ferros’ eyes but lighter, as if laced with molten gold. Aram recoiled from the god’s explosion of emotion, but as he watched Kelven’s attempt to regain his composure afterward, thought that he saw an opening of his own.

  “And you would have done this for yourself, my lord?” He asked quietly. “To avenge yourself upon him?”

  Kelven drew a deep, calming breath and frowned at him. “No, of course not. I would have done it for the peoples of this world.”

  “I believe you, my lord.”

  Kelven appraised him for a moment and his frown slowly faded, as did the fire in his eyes. He inclined his head slightly and the gentle smile returned. “You are a clever man, Aram, like your father Joktan before you.”

  “No, my lord, not so clever, but I am not so easily manipulated, either.”

  “And you, Aram – if you had a great and powerful weapon?”

  Aram gazed back at him steadily. “I would try to destroy Manon.”

  “And afterward?”

  “Afterward?”

  “If you were successful.”

  “Then I would go home,” Aram answered honestly, “and build a life with – with someone.” His mind went instantly to Ka’en but he diverted it quickly; not just because he suspected that Kelven might be able to read his thoughts, but because those thoughts led into regions that were, for the moment, still painful for him. He met Kelven’s gaze. “I would try to live the rest of my life in peace.”

  Kelven’s clear blue eyes watched him. Then the god shook his head. “No – then you would rule your people. That is what you would do. Men must be governed.”

  “I’ve heard that before, my lord.” Aram returned. “Quite recently.”

  “It’s undeniably true.”

  “Yes.” Aram nodded slowly. “It is. But it doesn’t necessarily follow that he who wins battles – that he who would defeat Manon – would make the best ruler.”

  “Those who would rule do not generally care whether they are best suited for the job or not.” Kelven said acidly.

  “That may be, my lord.” Aram answered. “I only know that if I could defeat Manon, I would, but afterwards I would return to my home and live in peace. I have no wish to rule anyone.”

  “That is only because you have never tasted real power. You might feel differently if you had.” The god fixed him with his startling blue eyes. “Power corrupts men, Aram.
I have seen it.”

  Aram sighed and shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I do not accept that as being invariably true, whatever you have seen – and I admit that you are undoubtedly wiser than I. It’s just that – I believe that a man that is corruptible will be corrupted whether he has power or not. Power doesn’t corrupt such a man; he is already corrupt. Power only makes him more dangerous.”

  “So you – you are not corruptible?”

  Aram gazed out at the spring, watching the surface swell and roll as the waters roiled up from below. Long, reedy grasses, anchored somewhere in the blue depths, swayed gently in the current. He shook his head firmly and looked back at Kelven. “I do not wish to control the lives of others, my lord. That is something that will never change.”

  Kelven watched him without expression. “Do you believe the words of the prophecy, Aram?”

  “Kelven’s Riddle?”

  “The riddle, yes.”

  “I don’t know.” Aram answered truthfully. “It’s difficult to believe that you could have foretold my coming, or anyone’s, for that matter, so long ago.”

  At that, Kelven laughed quietly. “So – you believe that you are the man in the prophecy even as you do not believe the prophecy itself. Can you explain this discrepancy to me?”

  Aram had no answer so he gave none.

  Kelven sat back and clasped his hands in his lap. His eyes were clear and earnest. “I saw you coming, Aram.”

  “My lord?”

  “Whether you believe it or not, I saw you coming. I saw you. You are the man in the riddle.”

  Aram stared back at the god and saw truth in his eyes. He couldn’t understand how such a thing could be, but then there were a great many things in the world that were too deep for his understanding. Perhaps such a thing as prophecy did exist and was practiced by gods. Perhaps their kind could look down the long roads of time and see that which was coming, just as a man might see an eagle appear over a far horizon, long before the majestic bird sailed the skies directly above him.

  Perhaps the riddle was, in fact, prophecy, and was true. Florm, after all, in whom Aram invested great trust, believed it implicitly. In that moment, fixed by Kelven’s severe and earnest gaze, he decided to believe. “Forgive me, my lord,” he said, “for my doubts.”

  Kelven laughed again. “Never lose doubt, Aram. It is a virtue – it makes a man, or a god, cautious.” The laugh trailed off and a frown crossed his face. He looked away. “Would that I had had more of it, once.”

  Unseen, far to the west, the sun dropped below the distant rim of the world but as the evening deepened, light strengthened in the lampposts around them, belaying the gloom. Kelven looked up at the stars and Aram followed his gaze. The stars were bright and crisp like jewels. It seemed to Aram that if he reached up he could pluck one from the sky.

  He lowered his gaze to find Kelven looking at him closely. The expression on the god’s features was serious and solemn.

  “There is a weapon, Aram.” Kelven said.

  Aram’s heart jumped but he didn’t know how to answer, given all that had gone before, so he remained silent.

  “There is a weapon,” Kelven repeated. “It is a sword.”

  “The sword in the riddle?”

  Kelven nodded. “The Sword of Heaven.”

  Aram took a deep breath, willed his jumping heart to grow calmer, and then spoke carefully. “Am I to be allowed the use of it, my lord?”

  “Yes.” Kelven answered. “It was crafted specifically for your use.”

  Aram’s heart leapt again, pounding fiercely against the wall of his chest. “And it will help me to defeat Manon?”

  “It was created for that express purpose.” The god hesitated for a moment and then frowned. “Although your wording is wrong – it was created not to defeat Manon, but to destroy him.”

  Aram leaned forward, unable to control his excitement. “May I see it, my lord?”

  “I do not have it here, Aram.” Kelven shook his head, watching him. “It is not in my possession – it never was.”

  Aram sat back slowly. “But you know where it is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please, my lord,” Aram said as calmly as he could, “tell me where it may be found. I will go to the ends of the earth to retrieve it.”

  Kelven looked up into the deepening night. “Oh, it is far beyond the ends of the earth, Aram. Do you not mind the riddle? You will have to put your hand among the stars to retrieve it.” He reached up and the sleeve of his robe slid down toward his elbow, revealing a muscular forearm. His hand cupped the air over his head. “They are so close – one could almost reach them from here.”

  Kelven sat quietly for a moment, and a look of raw wistfulness crept over his features as he stared upward; then he lowered his arm, adjusted his robe and returned his gaze to Aram.

  Watching the god, knowing that he was left to stand on the outside of some great secret, Aram felt consternation erupt deep inside him again and he suppressed it with an effort. He’d found Kelven to be frustrating and capricious before, but this was too much. It was as if he enjoyed offering a prize only to snatch it away again and again. Aram would not give him any further satisfaction. He turned his head and gazed into the darkness beyond the pavement and was silent.

  After a few moments Kelven spoke softly. “It does not mean that the sword is beyond your grasp, Aram, only that you will need help to retrieve it.”

  Aram looked at him. “Will you help me, my lord?”

  “I cannot.” Kelven shook his head and then let his gaze wander around the sculpted grounds. “I can not leave the bounds of this, my ancient home, unless and until I decide to leave it forever and go to my long home among the stars. I can not walk beyond the borders of these few acres.” His handsome features tried to frame a smile and failed. “I was disembodied, you know. I did it willingly – for a cause I thought righteous – but such an act carries with it a heavy price.”

  When Aram remained silent, he continued. “There are others that will help you, Aram.”

  “Others?” Aram glanced around the empty, quiet courtyard. “What others, my lord?”

  “Two are here now, but we await the arrival of two more. They are more powerful than I, but even so, this task requires four of their number.”

  Aram didn’t answer but he was amazed. Greater people than Kelven would help him to acquire the sword. Who were such people, he wondered, and where was the weapon? On what distant shore did it lie?

  Kelven stood and looked toward the house. “Walk with me, Aram. There is something I would have you see.”

  Aram followed him across the courtyard and through the ornate archway into the inner courtyard that was surrounded by windowed walls and more high archways that led into the house’s interior. There was a fountain in the center of a pool at the courtyard’s center. It was all stunningly beautiful but Kelven did not seem interested in displaying the grandeur of his home. He continued straight on into the house through a central arch at the rear of the courtyard and down a long gallery with marbled floors and high ceilings that had doors and other corridors opening off to either side.

  After leaving the gallery and passing through several large rooms and going down another long corridor, all without talking, Kelven led Aram out onto another, smaller paved area at the rear of his house, where the sheer wall of the mountain rose into the darkness before them. Here he turned to the left and entered a grotto in the mountainside.

  They went down a long, dark, level passage, lit here and there by the same kind of strange, flameless lamps he’d seen out front. At last they entered a small room in which there was a large cylindrical apparatus made entirely of brass. This device was mounted on legs of solid brass that were fixed to the floor. The cylindrical device was tapered, smaller on the near end, growing slightly larger as it extended across the narrow space, and that larger end entered the rock on the far side of the room. At the near end of the massive cylinder, there was a seat
facing a flat brass surface from which protruded several rounded metallic knobs, some with small, spoked wheels attached. In front of the flat surface with all the knobs, there was a chair. Kelven indicated the chair.

  “Sit here, Aram, and put your face against the eyepiece.” He tapped a circular piece of glass fitted into an extrusion at the end of the giant cylinder with his finger.

  Aram complied; leaning forward, instinctively closing one eye, and peered into the small round glass.

  “What can you see?” Kelven asked.

  There was only misty darkness, like thick smoke.

  “Nothing.” Aram answered.

  Kelven put his hand to the flat brass panel on the near end of the device and adjusted one of the knobs.

  Aram sucked in a surprised breath as he peered through the glass.

  Laid out before him, seemingly no more than a few miles away, there was a broad and open valley, a vast plain, rocky and dark, surrounded by mountains. In the middle of the plain, rising up and out of sight into the murky sky above, were the smooth contours of a black tower.

  The tower was shaped like the long thorn of a briar, broad at the bottom, narrowing to a point toward the top. He could not see the very top of the tower; it was far above the range of his sight. At its base, the tower was anchored by four opposing buttresses that swept down and out from it on all four sides for a great distance before ending in smaller, but still impressive, turreted towers.

  All around the high tower, spreading out from it across the dark plain, were thousands of box-shaped, nondescript dwellings, row after concentric row of small huts separated by narrow passageways. Smoke rose from chimneys and dark figures moved in the streets. Closer to the tower there were larger buildings and the streets were somewhat wider. Miles from the tower, outside this massive but dark and dingy metropolis, there were open areas between conduits of black stone and fortress type buildings of the same material where tiny figures wheeled and pivoted in groups ranging from a few to very many.