by J. F. Smith
The patriarch leaned back in his chair and his eyes turned far off as he thought for a while. When he looked back down at Gully, he said, “You have trusted me, and all of us, with the full truth about yourself, Gully. I will trust you with the truth of us that you have seen and heard here. I believe you fully when you say you would not do anything to put us at risk, and I am most thankful that you care for our well-being.”
“I am sure it will take a little time for you to acclimate to the idea, but you are one of us, too. I will tolerate you referring to us as separate from yourself for only so long, Di’taro,” he said gently. “Your fate, by blood seal, is now twined with ours.”
Gully nodded that he understood. He was quickly growing fond of the patriarch.
“You have my true word that no harm will come to the Mercher clan as a result of my telling my foster brother about you,” said Gully.
The patriarch nodded and said, “I accept your word.”
“To be honest, there is much about you as a people that Roald would like very much,” added Gully, feeling a slight flush in his face. He wondered, however, if he’d be able to convince Roald of anything, of gypsies in the woods, of people that were wolves and ocelots and bears and owls, of his father’s secret heritage, without his brother dragging him to a healer immediately to find out what has driven him to such fevered delusions in such a short time. It would not be an easy task.
There were many other things to talk about, but there were also many things to take back to Lohrdanwuld and discuss with Roald, so Gully prepared to take his leave of the Mercher clan.
Quite a few came to see him off, not the least of which was Wyael, to whom he had to promise many times that he would return soon. Even Encender, his wife and daughter, Abella Jule, came to watch as he departed. And despite Encender and his wife watching his departure with stone faces, at least Abella Jule waved him goodbye along with many others in the clan.
Before he could leave, the patriarch took him aside by the elbow for one final private conversation.
The patriarch pulled the worn shawl on his shoulders a little tighter around himself and he said, his voice low and shrouded so no one would hear, “Do not forget that you are one of us now, Gully, no matter where you are. I would suffer the withering stares and recriminations of Encender if he heard me say this, but I believe distinct events are drawing to a point. I believe things are moving in a direction with purpose. Listen well, Di’taro... if there is anything at all that we, the clan, can do to help you end these crimes against all of us, let us know and we will do whatever we can.”
“You have my gratitude, patriarch, for everything. You and the Mercher clan have been very gracious hosts to me, even if Raybb did try to have me for his dinner last night!” said Gully happily. “I promise to come back before long so that we may talk more. I have enjoyed my time here, and you have made me feel most at home.”
“We will keep our senses, human and animal, alert for any signs of your father, Gully. We may be years too late to discover anything in this part of the woods, but we will help you find what you seek if we can.”
Gully bowed his head to the patriarch in deep appreciation and began his trek home, to the city of Lohrdanwuld.
He assumed he would be travelling alone, but he had no sooner set out through the woods than he had a pair of overly-sized wolves bounding along with him, on his either side.
Gully stopped and looked back at the Mercher camp. He told them, “You need not join me. I will find my way back to the road with no hesitation, and I do not need your protection.”
One of the wolves, he was unsure which since he had not learned to tell the twins apart in their wolf form, sat on its haunches and “humphed” at him indignantly. Gully decided it had to be Gellen.
He knelt down in front of the wolf, Gallun approaching next to his brother, and said, “I yield then. The company is good, and we can protect each other. But when we get to the South Pass Road, you must promise to turn back. I would hate for one of the Guard’s archers to be along the road and take practice shots at a wolf in the wilderness.”
The two wolves looked at each other to consult on their answer, and then Gallun nodded his head to Gully to signal their agreement.
They walked along further, amongst the black ash trees, the spruce and pine, passing the arrowwood, ferns, and buckthorn. In the silence as they walked along, Gully had a feeling that nagged and tugged at his insides as his thoughts roamed over the last day. For the first time he could ever remember, he felt ashamed to be a thief.
He always knew it to be a morally lacking life, leeching on the hard and usually honest efforts of others, but he had always accepted this as a necessary evil. It was the price his conscience paid so that he could search for his father, and he resigned himself to it. He allayed it some by being choosy about from whom he stole, but heaping more wrong upon the wrongs of others did not change what he was doing.
And yet, even though he accepted that his principles were compromised, he was not ashamed of what he was. He had never felt that until the last day.
Gallun came trotting back from having chased off after a sound in the distance, perhaps a rabbit or one of the small piglets that lived wild in the Ghellerweald.
Gully stopped with a sigh and said, “Gallun, Gellen, I have put you in a poor position.”
The two wolves cocked their heads to the side in confusion at what he meant.
Gully knelt down in front of them again and said hoarsely, “You had already fallen into disfavor amongst your clan, and then you offered me your left hands as a covenant, thinking I was someone of a more worthwhile character than I am.”
Gellen’s wolven face looked sternly at Gully, while Gallun stared down at his paws.
“I should have been fully honest with you last night instead of this morning, about the fact that my morals are so threadbare, that I am a thief, before you offered to ally yourself with me the way you did. I should not have accepted your offer without giving you the full truth first. I have made your bad situation worse amongst the Mercher clan,” said Gully. “I would not blame you or ask you to reconsider if you wished to take back your bond with me.”
Gellen’s ears pulled back, his wolf face looked angry, and a deep growl started to rumble deep in his chest. Gallun looked at his brother.
Without further warning, Gellen pounced on Gully, throwing him onto his back on the forest floor, and then he straddled over his chest as he continued to growl. Gully was terrified of the change in Gellen’s demeanor, but before he could move, the image of the wolf over him shimmered slightly. Even up close, it was hard to tell if it was the physical form that trembled somehow, or if it was only a peculiar trick of his own sight. And then where there had been a wolf was now the man, Gellen, kneeling over him, the growl still coming from his chest and his human teeth bared at Gully.
Gellen gripped Gully’s entire face with his open hand, lifted his head, and then thumped it against the soft earth. It wasn’t violent, but it undeniably communicated the irritation that Gellen felt with Gully.
Gellen sat up on Gully’s midsection, keeping him pinned down, then reached over and grabbed his left hand. He pulled it up, forcing it open so he could press his own left palm against Gully’s very deliberately. He scowled at Gully and then nodded once until Gully relented and held his palm against Gellen’s of his own will. Only then did Gellen release Gully from the reaffirmation of the bond. Gully could see in Gellen’s dark eyes that he would have it no other way. Gully relaxed, understanding now what Gellen’s intention was.
Gallun, now also in human form, took Gully’s palm as well and placed it to his own as Gellen had done, although less aggressively.
“Again, I yield,” said Gully. “I merely hope to not have made your situation among the clan harder than it already is, and I apologize if I have. I may not be as good as most, but I never would put two good men such as you in a worse position intentionally.”
Gellen, his point made, st
ood up off of Gully’s chest and then held out a hand to help him up. Gully straightened his bag on his back, shook the leaves off of him, and they started their journey once again. He reached over and punched Gellen in the arm, saying crossly, “That is for bully-ragging me and beating my head into the ground!”
Gellen glanced over at him sideways, a grin on his face, one of the few Gully had been privileged enough to see.
Gallun huffed in amusement at the two of them and put his arm familiarly around Gully’s shoulder as they walked for a ways. And then, as suddenly as they had been people, Gallun and Gellen were wolves again, bounding ahead and smelling at the forest air. Gully scratched at his left palm a few times and hurried to catch up to them, his mind marveling at the fact that he was running through the woods side-by-side with wolves.
The three of them wandered off through the lonely and quiet forest, together.
Chapter 15 — A Borethorn No Longer
Thaybrill ran his fingertips again across the stone and the deeply carved letters cut into it. In the pallid light, they were difficult to read, but he knew well the words anyway. His pensive fog broke at the sound of a clucking tongue behind him.
“Honestly, Highness, of all the places you could be, this charnel hole in the ground is the last you should choose. And sitting on the damp floor will only ruin a fine pair of trousers!”
Thaybrill glanced back over his shoulder at the beetle black eyes peering at him in the dark cave of a room. A frail hand held out a torch trying to get a better look at the prince. His head turned back to the cavity carved into the wall at which he had been staring. His hand was still brushing across the engraving above it which read, “Colnor veLohrdan, Fifth of the Name, Freed of Body and Fixed in the Heavens, 365 IR — Fourth of Waning Autumn” in solemn letters.
Inside the hole in the wall was nothing but ash and dust and bones.
Thaybrill’s eyes drifted to the other ten ossuaries carved into the subterranean walls of the crypt, eleven kings of the veLohrdan line in all. Eleven ancestors watching. Eleven standards to be measured against. He sighed heavily and stood to join the Archbishop.
Archbishop Dibronde came forward and said, “There is nothing here for you, Thaybrill. The man you seek is with you, all the time, not in that hole in the wall. When we burn a body after it dies, what was truly that person is released. The soul flies to heaven to take its place with those family members that went before. We see the sparks as it happens, the sparks that form a star, and we rejoice that those we love do not really leave.”
Thaybrill said nothing for a moment, unable to put into words what he felt. The Archbishop put a hand on his arm, offering comfort instead of more lecturing.
Thaybrill opened his mouth and offered the most basic thing he felt. “You’ve had family in your life, Nellist. You are blessed because of that.”
The comment took Thaybrill’s beloved mentor off of his guard for a moment. He said, “Yes, my favorite prince, you are right. I know you seek the comfort and guidance that a mother and father are there to provide, in person. But believe me when I say, your father is with you, even now, doing all that he can for you and keeping you safe. It is hard to see sometimes, but it is true.”
Thaybrill nodded and the Archbishop gripped his arm a little more tightly. “Come with me, Thaybrill, let us leave the dark of the past and look into the brilliant sunlight of the future. Come with me to the courtyard so that we may discuss a few of the details for your coronation.”
Thaybrill smiled thinly and helped the elderly leader of the church up the steep steps from the crypt and into the Nighting Chapel that was above it. Several elocutors and interpreters were busy with their tasks, studying charts and making notes, preparing sermons. A few young acolytes were polishing the golden candlesticks and oiling the leather covers of the versebooks. As they walked through, all that were performing their duties stopped, one by one, and bowed politely to the prince as he passed.
The prince and the Archbishop stepped out into the grand Courtyard of the Empyrean, the sunlight so bright that Thaybrill had to shade his eyes for a moment so they could adjust. The massive armillary sphere stood at the near end of the courtyard, thirty feet high with its complicated gears and armatures, its ecliptics and colures, and the golden spheres representing the key stars and the twin sister moons, ranging in size from pebbles to wine casks. A few more interpreters were making adjustments to the positions of the stars and moons and checking them against their charts.
Beneath their feet, spread out in front of them as if the revolving band of the heavens were laid out, were the star patterns of the full sky carved into the smooth stones of the courtyard, including the twelve constellations of the noble families of Iisen.
A host of other servants were busy cleaning and beginning to prepare the courtyard for the coronation to take place three days hence. All stopped at an appropriate time and bowed respectfully to the prince, no matter what task occupied their attention.
The Archbishop began to explain that soon, the throne itself would be removed from the Throne Hall and set up at the far end of the courtyard, the end nearest the oratory tower. Honoring the law, it would be guarded day and night to ensure no one but the king would sit in it, even for a moment. He mentioned that they would gather for a practice the day before the ceremony itself.
The Archbishop asked Thaybrill, “My young prince, have you given consideration to the name you wish to be known by as monarch?”
Thaybrill had thought about it quite extensively for a very long time. But thinking about it and arriving at a decision were not one and the same. “Yes, Nellist, but I do not feel any closer to a decision. Part of me says to honor my father and be known as Colnor the Sixth. Another part of me wishes to simply be Thaybrill, especially since I did not have the honor of being raised by my father in person. Is it selfish of me to be still torn betwixt the two?”
“Highness, no, it is not selfish. It is your decision, and it is your preference alone that matters. Every monarch of Iisen that has ascended the throne has had to decide, and none were ever beholden to their fathers or anyone else when selecting a name,” said the Archbishop. “I am of the opinion that both choices are equally fine and you cannot select poorly. Think on it some more as you have time. Take even up until the coronation itself if you like; just let me know before we begin so that I may pronounce you king by your properly chosen name.”
Thaybrill felt some better at having his attention occupied with such details, and the Archbishop was about to relate the rites of the ceremony itself, but a calling voice interrupted their conversation.
The Domo Regent came striding up, his spindly legs covering the distance of the courtyard rapidly. He bowed perfunctorily before the prince and said as he smoothed his ashen white hair and tried to catch his breath, “Forgive me, Nellist... Your Highness, I need for you to accompany me, if you please. There is a rather urgent matter that we must discuss.” He added, “Privately,” with a sideways glance at Archbishop Dibronde.
Thaybrill gave Nellist a concerned look, but the Archbishop assured him, “Go, Your Highness, we may resume our discussion at your convenience.”
Thaybrill said good-bye to the Archbishop and left with the Domo Regent. He said, “You seem out of sorts, Domo Regent. I hope that nothing is amiss.”
“Not yet, Prince Thaybrill,” said Krayell with a frown. “However, I do not wish to discuss this within the walls of the Folly as there are too many ears of which to be wary. Will you accompany me to the royal orchards? This conversation will be more private there, and the Lord Marshal is awaiting us.”
They began to cross the open expanse of the Folly’s center bailey so they could pass the Dining Hall and to the postern behind it.
“You have me concerned, Krayell. I begin to fear you have rattling news!” said Thaybrill. He could not remember a time when the Domo Regent did not seem utterly composed.
“No, Highness, you need not be concerned. Everything is perfectly fine,
but I should not keep you in the dark on a matter that threatens you,” said Krayell in a low voice.
Thaybrill frowned. “Threatens me? Now I am surely concerned!”
The Domo Regent only strode more swiftly in response and the prince had to hurry to keep up. They exited through the postern gate and down the ramp leading off the north side of the promontory. They passed along the edge of the King’s Market and the wealthy neighborhood adjacent to the orchards, and Thaybrill nodded politely at the deep and respectful bows the people of the city offered him as they passed. In moments, they arrived at the walls of the royal orchards and entered, leaving the noise and activity of the public areas of Lohrdanwuld behind. Inside, to Thaybrill, was like a paradise, and the orchards were one of his favorite places. The trees and gardens that grew there brimmed with fruit and flowers and birdsong. There were pannyfruit trees, and apple trees, and fig trees and many more, all carefully tended to and a delight to smell and see and walk amongst on idle afternoons.
On any other occasion, Thaybrill would have been happy to stroll along the stone-paved paths among the bushes of strawberries, the jasmine vines, and the apricot trees, but the Domo Regent’s cryptic concerns and worried demeanor had the prince flustered and anxious.
They arrived near the center of the orchard and the Domo Regent finally slowed his pace. A short distance away, a couple of gardeners were busy picking ripe apples and loading them into a cart. Lord Marshal Jahnstlerr stood from a stone bench he had been seated upon while waiting and approached the two of them.
Despite the bow by the Lord Marshal, which was brusque at best, Thaybrill had always felt intimidated by the man. He was short and rather pudgy, with a shaved head and a luxurious and thick moustache streaked with gray. But if the man’s physical stature was not threatening, the man’s eyes always appeared like he was keeping secrets. Nonetheless, the Lord Marshal was supposedly quite good with a sword and a very capable leader of the Kingdom Guard.
