Curse of the Forbidden Book

by Amy Lynn Green

  “Such kind people here in District Two,” Prince Corin commented. “Very welcoming indeed.”

  “What did he mean about Lady Taralyn?” Jesse wanted to know.

  “There are three stages to the tournament,” Prince Corin explained. “Whoever wins the competition will receive Lady Taralyn’s hand in marriage.”

  “Oh.” Jesse tried to imagine that—being handed over as a prize, like a trophy or ribbon. “That’s a strange tradition.”

  “I thought the same,” Prince Corin admitted.

  “Then why did you come here to compete?” Silas asked.

  “Some months ago, a ship brought tidings to my father that the governor of District Two requested a member of his court to participate in a tournament for the hand of his daughter. It would have been a great affront to refuse. I chose to come, out of a desire to see the world, a thirst for adventure.” He sighed. “I have found that it is much different than I expected.”

  They continued walking, until they reached a tent on the very edge of the green, near the moat. It wasn’t really a tent, or at least, not like any Jesse had ever seen. It looked more like a great woven box, with panels of light-colored straw mats stitched together with thick red cords.

  “I suppose that one is yours,” Parvel said, pointing.

  “Yes,” Prince Corin said, continuing toward it. “How did you know?”

  Parvel chuckled. “Just a guess.”

  Prince Corin pulled the thin linen curtain aside from the doorway of the tent and gestured for them to enter. Again, Jesse shook his head in amazement. How many princes let their slaves go before them?

  Every few years, a nobleman would stay at his uncle’s inn, and Jesse always hated waiting on them. They seemed to give orders just for the sheer pleasure of it, demanding to be served immediately, as if there were no other guests. Like them, Prince Corin was wealthy and important, but there the similarities ended.

  It must be because of where he’s from, Jesse decided as he stepped into the tent.

  Since he was expecting something strange and exotic, Jesse was not surprised to see that the inside of Prince Corin’s tent was as unusual as the outside. More woven mats covered the ground, and there were four metal boxes on skinny wooden legs, one in each corner. Several large pillows in bright colors overflowed on a mattress in the back of the tent, and a few bags and chests were stacked nearby.

  “I apologize; it may be a bit crowded,” Prince Corin said, glancing around. “I did not anticipate having guests.”

  Jesse looked around. There was no sign that anyone but Prince Corin stayed in the tent. “Don’t you have any other slaves with you?” Jesse asked.

  Prince Corin shook his head. “No. In my country, we have workers, not slaves. And all of them were too busy bringing in the spring kalem harvest to follow the king’s youngest son across the sea.”

  “You’re from Dagen?” Parvel asked.

  Prince Corin’s dark eyes lit up. “You’ve heard of it, then?”

  “My summer home was in Terenid, in District One. We had many sea captains bring products from the island, including kalem fruit. They said Dagen is a place of great beauty.”

  “Yes,” Prince Corin said, staring blankly at the walls of his tent. “It is.” Then he shook his head. “But there is not time for all that now. The tournament will begin soon, and I am not even armed.”

  He began rummaging around in an intricately carved wooden chest, pulling out a lute-like instrument, a large woven fan, reed panpipes, a necklace made of bright feathers, and other strange objects.

  Jesse stepped toward the far wall. There was only one thing hanging on it: a simple wooden ornament, made of two pieces of wood, crossing each other in an uneven X. He stroked it with one finger. It was shiny and sleek, like satin made into wood.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  Prince Corin looked up. “Ah, the cross,” he said, reverently. “On it, the Holy One died.”

  “The Holy One?” Jesse began to ask. Then he thought about it. “No…you can’t mean…Jesus?”

  Now Prince Corin stopped. “You mean you are followers of the Lord as well?”

  “Yes,” Parvel said, beaming as though he had found a long-lost family member.

  “Not all of us,” Silas interjected immediately. “Only the foolish ones.”

  But even that didn’t seem to dim Prince Corin’s excitement. “In my country, there are many who believe,” he said. “Here…I have not found any before you.”

  Jesse was still focused on what Prince Corin had said earlier. “Jesus can’t die,” he exclaimed. “That doesn’t make any sense! He was God’s Son!”

  “But He did die,” Parvel said. “When Adam and Eve ate from the forbidden tree, the punishment was death. Someone had to die, so Jesus died in our place. He took our penalty.”

  “I can’t believe this!” Jesse exclaimed, not caring that he was raising his voice. “What a terrible ending.”

  “But it’s not the end,” Parvel said. He had a hint of a smile on his face, which made Jesse feel better even though he didn’t understand it.

  “So they say,” Silas muttered.

  Jesse glanced at him. Silas was scowling, his arms folded over his chest. He really doesn’t want to have anything to do with God.

  “Indeed not,” Prince Corin agreed. A loud fanfare of trumpets interrupted the conversation. “But the real ending must wait for another time. I must go.” He was fastening what looked like a thick mat around his chest.

  “That’s your armor?” Silas asked skeptically. “It’s made of grass.”

  “Not grass,” Prince Corin corrected, pulling a strap in the back tight. “Three layers of woven fibers from what we call the iron tree.” He patted it. “It can turn back arrows, spears, and blades better than any metal.”

  Jesse wondered if the weapons on Dagen were anything like the ones from District Two, but he didn’t say anything.

  “In any case, the sword fighting today is just a skirmish,” Prince Corin said, strapping on his sword. It looked fairly standard, as did the shield, although it was decorated with a bold green emblem of a leaping dolphin. “No blood.”

  Another trumpet blast, calling the combatants to the fight. “I must go,” Prince Corin said again, his words still clear and distinct even as he rushed. “If you wish to change clothes, you will find some spare sets in the top chest. Wash water is in the basin. You may join me afterward, or stay here.”

  With that, he pulled the cloth away from the doorway and left.

  “I don’t believe this,” Silas said, shaking his head. “He left us with all of his valuables. If we wanted, we could steal them and run.”

  “He is very trusting,” Jesse admitted. In a strange way, it made him want to prove he was worthy of being trusted.

  He found the basin Prince Corin had mentioned. It was made of a shiny, hard material that shimmered into different colors, depending on the light. Soon, though, the water and the cloth lying next to it were dirty enough that you couldn’t see the colors anymore.

  “There, Parvel,” Jesse said, as he gave his face one last swipe. “You should be happy. At least my face and hands are clean.”

  “It is an improvement,” Parvel said, nodding. He knelt beside the chest—Prince Corin had left the lid open in his hurry—and found three sets of clothes, simpler than the robe the prince wore. “Let’s see if these fit,” he said, tossing one at Jesse.

  “I don’t know,” Jesse said. “What if these are his only spare outfits?”

  “They are not,” Parvel replied, shutting the trunk. “He has perhaps a dozen more. Small island country or not, the prince is wealthy.”

  “I don’t understand it,” Silas said, jerking on a bright orange robe. “Why do we keep meeting followers of your God?”

  “What do you mean?” Jesse asked. He surv
eyed the robe Parvel had given him. It was cut in a style designed to be knee-length, but Jesse had no doubt that it would be longer on him.

  “Hardly anyone in Amarias believes in God any more,” Silas said. “Even some of the priests don’t believe. Yet, here you are, Parvel. And Samar, back in the desert, Noa in New Urad, and this prince—all Christians. Even Aleiah talked about God, before she….”

  There was silence for a moment, and Jesse knew why. Aleiah had been the fourth squad member. She had died during the Youth Guard training.

  When Parvel finally spoke up, his voice was quiet. “Perhaps there is a reason, Silas. Maybe God is trying to tell you something. He often brings people into our lives to do that, you know.”

  “Rotten luck is more like it,” Silas grumbled, jerking on some strange baggy pants. He was about the same height and build as the prince, so they fit well.

  Jesse on the other hand, had to fold up the sleeves of his tunic. It was a pale green and reached his ankles. He used the belt from his torn clothes to keep the tunic from sagging too much.

  Parvel had the opposite problem. It was fortunate for him that the island style seemed to be loose clothing, but even then, his broad shoulders stretched the limits of the borrowed robe.

  “All right,” he announced. “Let’s watch some sword fighting.”

  Chapter 8

  Finding the tournament was easy. They had simply followed the flow of people—Patrol members with red armbands, suitors and their entourages, servants, and the occasional bystander who managed to sneak past the guards at the drawbridge. Everyone was going to the same place: the courtyard of the palace.

  As he stepped through the gate of the palace, Jesse noted again how strong and thick the walls were. Guards were posted at regular intervals, eyes fixed straight ahead. Unlike regular Patrol, who carried crossbows, these were armed only with short broadswords, more practical for defense in tight quarters. How are we going to get Rae and the Forbidden Book out of here?

  For that matter, even finding Rae would be next to impossible with all the people around. Duke Hale had been right; many people were seeking the hand of Lady Taralyn. Everywhere Jesse turned, it seemed he was blinded by another nobleman in a shiny suit of armor.

  “Quit staring and keep moving,” Silas ordered. “You’ll get trampled.”

  From then on, Jesse stopped looking around and just let himself be pushed along with the crowd. Once past the inner wall of the palace, they stopped abruptly.

  Jesse imagined that the governor’s courtyard was normally very stately and noble. He had to use his imagination because, from what he could see through the crowd, the entire courtyard had been transformed into a makeshift arena. A wooden barrier, waist high, surrounded it, and the stone inside was covered with a mix of straw and sawdust.

  At the far end was a stand, where a few dozen people sat. Members of the governor’s court, probably. Only one section was shaded from the hot sun by a canopy. Jesse squinted and saw two figures beneath it. One, sitting on an ornamented throne, he guessed was Governor Elias. But who is the other man?

  Jesse was too far away to make out any clear features, but he got the strangest sensation as he stared at the man. It’s almost like the man is staring back. At me, out of all these people. Jesse's stomach churned. You’re imagining things. Stop it.

  Then a taller man shoved in front of Jesse, blocking his view, and the feeling went away.

  “Who is the other person in the royal stand?” Jesse asked Silas. “The one dressed in black. Somehow, I doubt it’s Lady Taralyn.”

  Silas craned his neck to look, then grunted. “That’s Chancellor Doran. They say he controls Governor Elias like a puppet. He’s a harsh man.”

  “And he’s the one who writes in….” A glare from Silas made Jesse stop. He’s right. We wouldn’t want others to overhear.

  “Look there,” Parvel said, pointing to Jesse’s left. “Those must be the suitors.”

  Glinting in the sun like a row of golden statues were about four-dozen men in armor. Their shields, displayed stiffly in front of them, bore standards that ranged from a charging boar to an eagle in flight.

  Prince Corin, of course, was easy to spot, with his dull, woven armor.

  “Look at that fool,” a servant woman in front of Jesse scoffed. “Why, he’s wrapped in reeds.”

  “He won’t last more than a few seconds against one of Elias’ men,” another replied, clucking her tongue in disapproval. “You mark my words.”

  Jesse started to speak up to defend him, then stopped. What did they really know about Corin, after all? Maybe he was just a bored prince, sailing off for adventure without any knowledge of what he was getting into. Even if he did know how to swordfight, Duke Hale said all of the suitors from District Two were better trained.

  “All gathered, hail!” a voice called, cutting through the din of the crowd. Slowly, the excited babble died down. Jesse leaned to one side, then the other, trying to get a better look. A man dressed in a fancy yellow tunic was standing in the middle of the arena, feet planted firmly in the sawdust. He held a large scroll at arms’ length as he bellowed at the crowd.

  “The crier,” Parvel supplied helpfully. Clearly, he was used to such spectacles, unlike Jesse. “He makes all the announcements.”

  “We are gathered here today,” the crier continued, “for the first event of the Grand Tournament of the esteemed Governor Elias.”

  Everyone cheered, and Jesse clapped half-heartedly, though he wasn’t sure why. He doubted if anyone knew.

  The crier gestured to the suitors. “These young men have journeyed from afar to seek the hand of the lovely Lady Taralyn in marriage. The winner will wed her three days from now.”

  There was more clapping, even more enthusiastic than before. Jesse wondered if what Duke Hale said was true, that Lady Taralyn really was beautiful. Probably not. Everyone just wants to marry her because her father is rich and powerful.

  “Where is Lady Taralyn?” Jesse asked Silas while the applause died down. He scanned the royal box, but there were no young women in sight. In fact, the only women he saw at all seemed to be servants.

  “Anywhere but here,” Silas said. “In District Two, the men are very protective of their women, especially unmarried ones. It would be a breach of etiquette for her to attend the tournament.”

  “Today,” the crier continued, “each suitor will fight in hand-to-hand combat against one of the elite, highly trained knights from Governor Elias’ own palace. If a suitor defeats the knight, he will continue to the next portion of the competition. If he loses….”

  The crier paused to wait for the crowd’s booing to calm down. “If he loses,” he repeated, “he will return to his home.”

  More cheering. Jesse was getting weary of all the noise.

  “Before we begin, a salute to our great and noble ruler, King Selen.”

  Most of the people around Jesse straightened up and saluted. Jesse, Silas, and Parvel did not. Jesse’s stomach turned, and he hoped no one around them would take notice of their disloyalty. But we can’t honor the man who has killed hundreds of Youth Guard members. It wouldn’t be right.

  “Long may he reign,” the crier intoned.

  No one around Jesse demanded to know why he didn’t salute. Everyone was listening to the crier in the middle of the arena, who began to introduce the first suitor. To Jesse, at least, he looked just like all the rest in his silver suit of armor.

  The crowd cheered wildly as he entered the arena. They would probably cheer if I jumped over the barrier, Jesse thought. He probably could, with the use of his walking stick. Not that I plan to.

  That decision was strengthened even more when Jesse saw the governor’s knight enter from a door in the palace wall. He was huge, clunking past the stands with a force that made the ground shake. Unlike the suitors, all in chain mail and armor of gold or s
ilver, the knight’s armor was a dull dark gray.

  Jesse poked his head past the woman in front of him, trying to see the emblem on the knight’s shield. It appeared to be a bird, as black as night. Probably a vulture.

  “The first opponent down on the ground, at the mercy of the other’s sword, loses,” Parvel explained for Jesse’s benefit.

  The two combatants seemed to have a good understanding of the rules. For a few moments, they exchanged blows, their steel clanging together loudly. It was clear that the suitor was out-classed. The knight’s blows began to fall harder and faster, and the suitor didn’t return all of them.

  A few missed blocks and one misstep, and suddenly the knight’s sword was locked with the suitor’s. The knight pressed down, driving the suitor to his knees. Then it was over; the point of the knight’s sword over the suitor’s heart.

  There was more cheering from the crowd of servants and spectators, with a few boos mixed in. Jesse doubted if anyone cared who won. They were just there for the show.

  A servant helped the suitor off, and the knight stepped to the side as the crier reentered the arena. “Next, Prince Corin,” he called out. “Son of King Barcel, ruler of Dagen Isle in the Great Sea.”

  Jesse joined in the cheer this time, though he heard others calling out insults. “Who invited him to the mainland?” he heard someone ask.

  “Can’t he see he doesn’t belong?”

  “As if one of his kind could marry Lady Taralyn.”

  Suddenly, Jesse hoped that Prince Corin was good with the sword. Very, very good.

  Prince Corin didn’t bother to enter through the gate like the other suitor had. He placed his hand on the top of the wooden barrier and leaped over. His armor must be very lightweight, Jesse decided.

  The people cheered again, laughing among themselves. “It looks like we have a regular acrobat with us this time!” one man said with a chuckle.

  “We’ll see how his fancy tricks serve him against a real man,” another shot back.

  Since Prince Corin’s oddly shaped helmet, round, but coming to a point at the top, had no visor, Jesse could see the intensity in his face as he strode toward the center of the arena. He stood directly across from the knight, giving the same jerky bow he had given Jesse and Silas earlier. The knight returned the gesture, though it looked slightly awkward in his clunky armor.