by Lee Duigon
Alone in his office, Gallgoid read the proclamation, copies of which had been posted all along the streets:
“Be it known that although the great edifice was destroyed in the late war, the Temple of the Lord remains the spiritual center and heart of Obann and shall continue, so that the people of Obann might be guided in the practice of religion; and that the presters of Obann shall assemble in this city to elect a new First Prester; and that the Temple edifice shall be rebuilt, by the grace of God, in all its former glory.
“And be it known that the governance of Obann shall be, as it has always been, invested in an Oligarchy, to govern in King Ryons’ name; and that said King Ryons shall continue in his office, by the grace of God; and that Merffin Mord, in the king’s name, shall serve as governor-general of the Council at His Majesty’s pleasure. Amen.”
Gallgoid suppressed a laugh.
“How long will it take them,” he wondered, “to decide they can save themselves a great deal of money by making peace with the Thunder King and recognizing his New Temple as the Temple of the Lord? And how long before the peace they make with him is transformed into submission?”
They gave themselves such airs! The last governor-general, Lord Ruffin, who perished in the defense of the city, would have thrown Merffin into prison—once he’d finished laughing at the man’s pretensions. Ruffin had been a wise man. He would have recognized a dangerous folly when he saw it.
As did Gallgoid. “I can’t jail this fool, as Ruffin would have done,” he thought; “but I’ll find a way to clip his wings.”
Preceptor Constan read the proclamation and then had a private audience with Gurun.
“This is, pure and simple, a treason against the king,” he said. “Do they think the Lord decreed the destruction of the Temple for nothing? We’re blessed that God let us off as easily as that! Do these fools not know God’s mercy when they see it?” For Constan, that was an impassioned speech, and by now Gurun knew him well enough to recognize it as such.
“What do you think the presters will say?” she asked.
“Godly men will do God’s will. The others will choose a new First Prester and try to have everything back the way it was.
“You are young, Gurun, but you have understanding. You’ll remember that I, at first, didn’t believe in the Lost Book. I was sure it was a fraud. But as I read the scrolls and studied them, God opened my eyes and I understood what He was telling us. I understand why Ozias’ last writings were kept hidden until now.”
Gurun nodded, out of respect. She was a Fogo Islander: they’d never had the Temple there, so it was easy for her to imagine life without it. But for a man like Constan, it must be very hard, she thought.
“God will not have His spirit confined in the Temple anymore,” he said, “with presters and scholars hoarding His word like misers, keeping it to themselves and never making any use of it. The Temple’s time is over. God is making a much greater temple for Himself, one made without human hands, inside the human heart. And all nations, in the end, will come to worship Him there.” He paused. “But in the meantime, in our own time, we must protect King Ryons.”
Gurun suppressed a wince. The preceptor didn’t know that the boy cutting capers in the palace wasn’t Ryons, and it was not her place to tell him. He would understand the need for keeping it a secret. The day the likes of Merffin Mord found out the truth would be the end of Ryons’ reign in Obann. In secrecy lay the only hope of safety.
“What can we do,” she said, “but to continue with our work? King Ozias’ words, and all of God’s word, must be preached to all the people. Even my poor pagan Blays hunger for it! And in this they are wiser than the people of Obann, who never seemed to care that the Scriptures were being kept from them for all those years.”
“My copyists are working as hard as they can,” said Constan, “and I’ve recruited seminary students to go out and preach as soon as we have books for them. Maybe by the winter we’ll be ready.”
“God will help us,” Gurun said.
While they talked, Fnaa ran up and down the longest corridor in the palace, kicking a leather ball. Dyllyd, his tutor, ran after him.
“Please, Your Majesty!” he cried. “It’s time for your lessons!”
“Bogs on lessons!” Fnaa answered. “I’m the king; I don’t need lessons!”
Dyllyd was a young man who took his duties seriously. Like everyone else in the palace, he understood that the king had had a sickness that had robbed him of his memory. Why it should have also robbed him of his good sense, and of all his understanding of what a king should be, Dyllyd was at a loss to understand. The boy was very deeply changed, and all the tutor’s pleading was in vain. The boy king whooped and rejoiced as the ball caromed off a famous suit of armor on a stand, making it rattle noisily, and Dyllyd cringed at the sound.
Uduqu entered the corridor and caught the ball just as the king’s next kick sent it flying right at his face.
“Oh, fine catch!” Fnaa cried.
“Chieftain, forgive it!” Dyllyd said. “His Majesty didn’t see you coming. I’ve been trying to get him to sit down for his reading lesson. Please don’t be angry!”
“I don’t need a lesson! Give me the ball, Uduqu!”
Uduqu noticed two or three servants watching discreetly from farther down the hall. Before the midday meal was served, he thought, the whole serving staff would know about the king’s behavior, and the whole city by nightfall. “One more story about what a simpleton the poor king turned out to be,” he thought. “As if they hadn’t heard enough already.”
“Run along, Dyllyd,” he said. “I’ll be coming to you for my own lesson, by and by. But first I want to have a word with our king.”
Dyllyd bowed deeply and fled to his classroom. The other servants ducked out of sight when Uduqu made a point of looking at them.
“Dyllyd’s afraid of you,” Fnaa said. “They all are. And yet when you go out on the street, children follow you around.”
“Shows they’ve got no sense!” Uduqu said. He took Fnaa by the shoulder and steered him into a less frequented corridor. “Anyone would think you didn’t have much sense, either.”
“My mother taught me that if I played the fool, I’d be safe.”
“Let’s not talk too loud.” Uduqu lowered his voice. “Have you heard about the proclamation by that fine new council of yours?”
“I read it. Don’t stare at me like that! I do know how to read—learned it before I ever came here.”
“Did your mother teach you?”
“No—she can’t read. I just picked it up on my own.”
“Smart boy—and you let poor Dyllyd think he’s teaching you.” Uduqu grinned. “I had him read the thing to me this morning. I can’t say I understand what those belly-scratchers are getting at, but it doesn’t sound good. Sounds to me like I’d better keep my knife nice and sharp. They’re up to something.”
“I only pretend to be a fool,” Fnaa said, “but Merffin is the real thing.”
“Fools can be dangerous, boy. Don’t you forget it.”
“I won’t. But my ma said you’re the one who’d better watch himself. She says you’re like a baby, here in the palace.”
Uduqu chuckled. “That’s what I want everyone to think,” he said.
Jandra sat in the stable-yard, humming to herself and playing. Abgayle watched over her and daydreamed of Lintum Forest. She was homesick for it.
Jandra played with her bird, if you want to call it a bird. It had feathers and wings, but it also had a beak full of sharp teeth. The creature never left her side, and all the servants were afraid of it. Jandra made little heaps of pebbles, which the bird squawked at and kicked over, and that made her laugh.
In the middle of one of those games she suddenly looked up at Abgayle and said, “I shall set Ozias’ throne in Lintum Forest.” And having spoken her prophetic utterance, her eyes rolled and she fell asleep sitting up.
Abgayle gathered her up in her arms and
hustled to put her to bed, the bird chasing after them. Then she rushed to find Queen Gurun, because someone had to be told that Jandra had prophesied again. With Obst and all the chieftains gone out of the city, Abgayle didn’t know who else to tell. “They should have taken us with them!” she thought.
“What can it mean?” Gurun wondered.
“Who knows?” said Abgayle. “Obst would know, but he’s not here. I’ve told you because prophecies mustn’t be ignored.”
“I won’t ignore this one,” Gurun promised. And before sundown four of General Hennen’s men were riding after the departed army as fast as they could go, to deliver the prophecy to Obst.
Chapter 36
Wytt Takes Command
Wytt could not explain why he insisted on chasing after Ryons. Omah don’t explain things. He simply broke into the conversation between Martis and the children and declared that they must follow him to Lintum Forest. He stood among them as they sat on the ground, chattering at them like an angry squirrel.
“Wytt, you don’t understand,” Ellayne said. “We have to go back to Obann.”
“No, no—first we catch Skinny.” That was his name for Ryons. He didn’t have a word for “city,” or “Obann,” but he understood what Ellayne was telling him and struck his sharpened stick against the ground. “You come, not go back.”
Martis couldn’t understand any of the Omah’s vocalizations, but he knew the children could. “Ask him why, Ellayne,” he said.
“He doesn’t understand the idea of ‘why,’” Jack said. “He wouldn’t be able to answer that.”
“What will you do, Wytt, if we go back to the city?” Ellayne asked. Wytt slept in her arms every night, when possible. Sometimes he sat on Jack’s shoulder. He’d been with them practically from the beginning of their journeys, every step of the way, and saved their lives more than once. He wore a lock of Ellayne’s hair around her neck. He’d never tried to leave them, and they were sure he would die for them.
Wytt simply ignored the possibility of their going back. “I go find Skinny,” was his answer. Wytt didn’t even know what a king was, Jack thought. To him Ryons was just another human boy. How could he know it was so important to find him? Jack shook his head, completely puzzled.
“You won’t come with us, if we go back to Obann?” Ellayne said.
He planted the butt of his stick in the ground and let it be known that they were to come with him to the forest.
“We ought to go to Obann—but we can’t leave Wytt behind!” Ellayne looked up at Martis. She’s going to cry, Jack thought. “I won’t do it, Martis!”
“No—we couldn’t do that,” Jack said. “Besides, if Wytt says he can find King Ryons, it means he really can. He doesn’t know how to tell lies.”
Martis let out a deep breath. It’s ridiculous, he thought.
“Wytt doesn’t give reasons for things,” Jack added, “but you can be sure he has some good ones.”
“I believe you,” Martis said. “Now all I have to do is find a way to go in two opposite directions at once.” He shook his head. “But my oath binds me to go wherever you go. And it’s very funny—the three of us taking our orders from a little Omah. Anyone would think we’d lost our minds.”
“But what’ll we do with that thing from ancient times?” Ellayne said. “Can we trust the Wallekki to take it back to Obann?”
Martis thought for a moment. “It would solve our problem,” he said. “But the Wallekki are the most superstitious people in the world and easily frightened. I’ll need a delicate touch.”
Kwana and his men came back to camp jubilant because they’d brought down a couple of pheasants. Martis waited until their bellies were filled. Then, “Kwana, my brother,” he said, “the children and I have decided to go on to Lintum Forest, but I think you should go to Obann—to claim a reward for your kindness to us and to take service with the king.”
“We have decided to do that,” said Kwana. “The king at least will feed us.”
“I do have one more favor to ask of you, my friend.”
“It shall be done, if we can do it.”
Martis took a complicated, roundabout approach of the kind so dear to the Wallekki, which eventually led to the proposition that something might look like witchcraft, but not be witchcraft: “Such as when people who have never seen or heard of horses first see a horse and rider. They might think that was witchcraft.”
“By the star that shone on my birth!” said Kwana. “We are by no means as ignorant as that! What is this thing that you want to show us, Martis? We have traveled far and seen many strange things.”
“I will show it to you now,” Martis said, “and I swear by my own head that it is not witchery.” He reached into his pocket. Jack, watching intently, was glad the item wasn’t in his own pocket anymore. He and Ellayne couldn’t understand the Wallekki language, but it was plain from the amount of time it took to get this far that Martis had done his best to prepare them for a shock.
“This is a thing that was made in ancient times,” he said, holding out the relic so they could see it. “No one living now can make such things as this, but it is nevertheless the work of ordinary men. I would like to you take it to Obann and give it to Queen Gurun.”
Kwana looked disappointed. “Why, Omy friend, did you think we’d be afraid of a little thing like that?” he said.
“Because of what it does,” said Martis. “It has the property of giving off light, and it can also show a picture—I know not how. These children took it from one of the Thunder King’s slaves, who was using it to scare people.”
One of the men laughed out loud, but Kwana didn’t laugh.
“Show me, Martis.”
The sun was high in the sky: folly to do this after it began to set, Martis thought. He pressed the knob, and there was light.
Kwana’s men jumped back, fumbled for their weapons.
“Ai! Accursed!”
“There is a jinn inside it!”
“Put it away, my brother. Let us see it no more,” Kwana said. He turned and snarled at his men. “Serves you right for laughing!” Martis stopped the light and returned the object to his pocket. He hadn’t even shown them the picture.
“I believe you, that it is not witchcraft,” Kwana said. “Nevertheless, none of us will consent to touch it, nor have anything to do with it. Upon all the things of ancient times there lies a curse.”
“No one would deny that,” Martis said.
“I think we had a close call,” Ellayne whispered to Jack.
When Martis and the children set out again for Lintum Forest, Ryons and Perkin followed Bandy to the village of Carbonek, which was growing up nicely around a ruined castle in the middle of the forest. Ryons hadn’t seen it in a year.
“Look at that, Perkin! They’ve built all those cabins and laid out all those fields. I think that’s corn they’re growing. I wonder how many people live here now.”
Perkin was too busy restraining Baby to answer.
Bandy waved his arms and yelled, “The king is here, the king is here! Come and see King Ryons!”
They soon had a crowd around them. It included a few people who’d been there from the beginning and recognized Ryons. Perkin wrapped his arms around Baby’s neck and clung with all his strength, praying the nervous creature wouldn’t kick anyone—not that anyone dared to get that close. Whether the king of Obann or the captive bird were the bigger curiosity, who could say? But to Ryons’ disappointment, Helki wasn’t there.
“He went out to hunt some spies from Silvertown,” said a headman among the villagers, “and he hasn’t come back yet. The woods are full of them, he says.”
“Is this really King Ryons?” someone cried.
“Of course it is!” someone else answered. “He’s been here before, you know.”
“What are we to do about that giant bird?” asked someone else. “Those things are killers! What were you thinking, Bandy, bringing it here?”
“My bird and I w
ill camp some little distance from your dwellings,” Perkin said, panting. Baby was testing him, but didn’t exert his full strength for fear of hurting him. “I raised him from a chick, you see, and he’s perfectly tame. But he’s never been around so many people before, and he’ll need some time to get used to it.”
“We’ll need more time to get used to him!” a man said.
The villagers had the rest of the day to get things sorted out, and they did. Ryons, as befit a king, had a place made up for him inside the castle, with a roost for Angel. Men built a corral for Baby, and made sure to build it high and strong, with a shelter for Perkin right next to it. Baby calmed down a bit, once he was fenced in. And in the evening there was a feast for everybody.
