“It is to protect from any invasion. In a matter of minutes the precision of the pilots can place the palace safe from the farthest throw of a spear or shot of a bow. And in the case that the city is taken then the palace can be moved and held safely in one of the other cities within the kingdom.”
Max had never seen anything of this sort within the pages of any book he had ever read nor in the lines of any poem he had heard recited.
The balloon landed perfectly within a square marker. The prince and Max disembarked and made their way into the palace. The art that filled the hallway was a splendid combination of the beautiful and the eccentric. Strange sculptures and artwork made of fine metals, gems, and an odd assortment of other materials adorned the walls.
A particular piece of crazy brilliance caught Max’s attention. It was a sculpture made of a myriad of varying colored gems and many beautiful metals. It depicted a lion and a hyena standing next to each other beside a mirror. The lion stared longingly into the mirror at the captivating image he saw. The hyena had its back turned to the mirror and wore a look of happiness. Painted on the mirror was the image of two pale blue figures covered in clothes sewn of the reddest strawberries: One a man, the other a woman, each nearly identical, but one had its back turned.
Max wasn’t truly sure what the sculpture meant, but its bright colors and bizarre nature were endearing. He imagined what he would say to the artist if he ever met him, but his daydreams were cut short as the prince yelled from the end of the hallway for Max to hurry.
Quick taps of Max’s feet could be heard as he ran down the hallway. The prince stood impatiently as Max closed the gap between them.
“Sorry, I got caught up in the art,” said Max.
“Ahh, you must be careful,” said the prince. “One could get lost for days in these halls. I myself did quite a few times in my youth.” He smiled.
“But hurry now; my father is waiting.” At these words the prince turned the corner and proceeded through a set of massive pewter doors. Max followed through the doors into the royal chamber.
The room was trapezoidal in shape with a cathedral ceiling. The walls were widest at the entrance, but they narrowed until at the back of the chamber there was room only for the king’s throne. Along either wall were four rows of benches staggered up to the ceiling. Seated on the benches were dozens or perhaps hundreds of aristocratic looking men clothed in robes of deep blue. Sashes of bright orange hung across their shoulders, and on their heads they wore golden saucers etched with strange runes.
“They are my father’s council,” whispered the prince as he indicated the men on the benches.
Max studied the faces. Each man appeared old and wise with a weathered face and grizzled hair. Graveness was written as deeply into their stares as the dark wrinkles that ran across their faces like maps of their lives.
As the prince approached the velvet-carpeted stair that led to his father’s throne he bowed down on one knee. Max followed suit and mimicked the prince’s movement.
“What news has my son brought from his raids against the orcs?” The king’s booming voice filled the chamber like thunder.
“The attack was rather successful, Father. We took few casualties and we managed to free the prisoner.” The prince looked down as he spoke.
“This is him then?” said the king, pointing toward Max, “This is the one we have been looking for?”
“Yes, Father,” answered Hunter.
“What is your name, boy?” The king stared at Max.
“I am Max.”
“Max, do you know why I have spent the blood of my finest soldiers to secure your safety?” The king looked at him.
“No, sir. The orcs who captured me spoke about someone named the Merchant; they said he wanted me.”
“Yes, the Merchant simply wanted you so that he could sell you to the highest bidder. Which I fear may not have been us.” The king smiled weakly.
“But, why would anyone want to buy me?”
“There are some of us who are given a special place among all people. Those who in their birth are guaranteed a spot in history. In these people flows a blood most pure, an ancient blood, a magic blood, the blood of the Tenton Knights.”
“Tenton Knights?” Max had never heard the name.
“Thousands of years ago when the earth was young and shadow and mist hung heavy in the air, the devil’s creations walked shrouded in the darkness. The Tenton Knights banished the shadows from the land and brought light to the world. Over the years their blood line waned and disappeared for centuries, but when you were born by some divine miracle the line was remade.”
Max stared at the king, dumbfounded. Him born of noble blood? His father was a trashman and his mother a secretary. Max couldn’t believe what he was being told.
“So the Merchant was going to sell me to the highest bidder because everyone desires the services of a Tenton knight?” Max asked.
“Quite right and we need your service, Max. A grave problem has begun to take hold in my kingdom, and I fear that if we do not act quickly war will be upon us.” The king furrowed his eyebrows and frowned.
“Your men saved my life. I will do what I can to help you.” Max said, “But what terrible evil threatens your land? A dragon? An army of the undead? A dark lord?”
“No, it is nothing so simple; I’m afraid it is something much worse. You see, a plague has begun to spread about the cities. There is neither a known contagion nor cure. But it is spreading rapidly, and I fear that it may be too late.”
“What sickness is it?”
The king frowned, “It appears that the disease is stealing letters of the alphabet from those it strikes.”
Max blinked.
“What?”
“You know the alphabet, A,B, C, all the way down to Z. Well this disease disallows people to speak or write certain letters. You see, someone has stolen the letters. Now I and the other well-educated members of the kingdom have enough letters stored away to last us some time. But even that shan’t last forever. The gravest problem is that the royal scribe has used up all of his spare letters, and is unable to respond to an invitation from a neighboring kingdom for me to attend the royal ball. If no response is made soon they will respond to the insult with open war.”
“Used up his spare letters?” Max asked.
“Yes. You see each of us has a certain number of letters stored way from things we read. The educated people of the kingdom have been able to hold off on their reserves longer than those who have no reserves. However each time we write or speak we use letters. Because the scribe is forced to write so much he ran out of letters before we even realized what was happening.”
“What letters have gone missing?” asked Max.
“G, V, J, H, Q, and X.”
“X isn’t exactly the most important of letters,” said Max.
The king whispered so that only Max and the prince could hear.
“No, it truly has little use. I have always surmised it was only in the alphabet because of its close kinship with E.” The king looked worried. “Just don’t let E know that I said anything. He’s a little touchy about these sorts of things, and the kidnappings have him on edge, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
Max just stared in disbelief at what the king was saying. Surely, Max was in a dream. This was all a dream. The king was speaking of the alphabet as if it were alive!
“But how can the alphabet be stolen?” asked Max.
“Well, it’s not truly hard when you think about it; it’s not like any of them are recluses or hermits. They boastfully display themselves in every book and on every banner. I almost don’t feel sorry for any of them,” the king said.
“So, how long do you have before the kingdom is unable to speak using these letters?” asked Max.
“Some have already begun to be affected, and I fear that even as we talk now, I run low on my reserves of letters. We have been engaged in much deliberation, during which time I have been the chief
orator.” The king frowned.
“Now, I will send my son with you on your journey. He knows the suspected locations of most of the letters. He will be your guide and should prove to be a great asset.” The king stared behind them, toward the sound of the doors to the chamber opening.
All eyes turned to stare at the man entering. Max craned his neck trying to see the subject of attention. The man was clothed in robes of bright green that flowed over and covered a set of silver armor. Tied to his side was a long silver blade and slung across his back was a large ash bow.
The prince stood and turned toward his father with a look of unadulterated ire. “You can’t seriously mean that you shall entrust him with such a task!”
The king looked calmly at the prince and spoke, “My dear son, I have picked your brother to aid Max on his quest because you are needed here. The orcs will launch a counterattack, and you will be needed here to repel them.”
“How can we entrust the safety of the alphabet into the hands of a child and a woodsman?” The prince’s shouts drew stares from the council members lining the walls.
“Woodsman?” The figure that had entered the chamber spoke, “I have kept the eastern front safe from invasion for a decade with little more than a handful of men and this is thanks I am given by my ‘noble’ brother?”
“Enough!” The king held his hand up to silence them. “I will hear no arguments; you are to—”
The king stopped, clutching his throat. Both princes started toward their father but he held up his hand. Worry marked their faces. The council members leaned out of their seats and watched with a vicious look, like hungry buzzards waiting for an injured animal to take its last breath.
The fit passed as quickly as it had come and he stood up from his throne.
“You must take Maaa.” The king struggled to finish the name but he found that he could not.
His sons looked on in horror. Many of his council members did nothing to hide their pleasure as they grinned widely.
The king looked grimly at Max and his two sons. “O now!” The king continued to speak in a garbled language.
The woodsman grabbed Max by the shoulder and led him out of the chamber. As the doors closed Max could still hear the king trying to speak without the use of six rather important letters.
Chapter 5
Max’s mouth was very dry. The sun was fading beyond the hill and yet the air was dry and dusty. Soft hues of pink and purple mixed and faded into the blue sky.
Two figures rode across the barren plains. Plumes of dust rose in their wake. One of the figures rode out ahead before circling back around the second figure, scouting all angles for any sign of an approach.
“You need to keep pace,” the first figure spoke. “We have to make it to the eaves of the forest before nightfall.” He looked around. “We can’t be caught here in the dark.”
“I’m trying to move as quickly as I can. I am tired and my horse won’t go any faster,” Max pleaded with the prince.
“No time for excuses. If you can’t hurry I will have to leave you.”
The prince quickened his pace and rode out ahead of Max. The prince grew smaller and smaller in Max’s vision as he rode toward the forest.
Max beat on the horse’s side, urging it to move faster. The horse neighed in protest as its legs already churned like an overtaxed windmill.
The darkness crept closer as the sun slipped over the hill. The clouds turned from rosy pink to blood red, and the violet sky became purple. The glowing white mountain peaks behind the forest faded into a dull gray.
It seemed like hours before Max reached the eaves of the forest. The prince had already tied up his horse and begun to make camp in a clearing a few dozen yards inside the forest. He had cleared the dead sticks and dry autumn leaves and was using a spade to dig out a pit for a fire.
“Grab the other spade in my bag and help me. Night is fast approaching and with it dreadful chill.” The prince didn’t look up from his work.
Instead of the green riding cloak he had worn in the chamber, he was now clad in armor and a faded black hunter’s tunic. Mud and dirt covered the hands and arms that had only hours ago been pristine and lordly. For all the appearances he put on in the king’s court, Max was certain this was a man who was in no way soft.
Max rummaged through the tattered burlap bag that hung looped over a low hanging branch from a sapling elm. He found the spade at the bottom trapped between some type of smoked meat and a box of flint stones.
As he dug into the pit beside the prince he could feel that the long journey had taken its toll. His back and shoulders ached from holding and wrestling the reins all day. His thighs and core burned from a day of trying to balance on the saddle.
The dirt was hard, and Max scraped without success against the ground. He thrust the shovel against the pit wall, trying to deepen it.
As the prince saw Max he chuckled. “Come now. You will get no work done like that. Watch me.”
“You have to get your wrist up under the handle so you can apply the proper leverage,” the prince demonstrated as he spoke, “and you use your shoulders to force the spade down into the dirt and then pull up with your whole arm.”
Max tried again, using the prince’s instruction. He still struggled but it was a large improvement over his pathetic attempts. Soon enough, Max and the prince (mostly the prince) managed to finish the pit.
The prince gathered up kindling and a few large logs and placed them into the fire. He took a flint out of his bag and struck it.
Max and the prince sat as the meat warmed over the fire. On occasion the prince turned the meat over, making sure that it was warming evenly. When it was finished they ate their fill.
Insects darted and danced around the fire, chasing each other almost as if they were playing tag. Some would fly headlong into the fire, and as the flames closed around them a high-pitched crack would sound out as a warning to the others.
“Why do they do it?” The prince looked into the fire. His eyes tracing some unseen path: up, down, and around.
Max was unsure what the prince meant and stared at him. A long moment of silence followed. Only the occasional crack of a bug burning in the fire broke the stillness of the night.
The prince stared at the fire. Max stared at the prince. The prince spoke.
“The bugs, I mean.” He did not break his focus as he spoke, “They see what happens to their friends when they enter into the fire and yet they do it anyway. They know death will meet them and yet they go to it — why?”
“Surely they are too stupid to know what they are doing,” Max said.
“No.” The prince spoke in a hushed tone, “No, I don’t think that’s it. I think it has to do with beauty.”
Max looked at him but said nothing.
The prince smiled at Max.
“They live such short lives. When they see beauty and wonder like this fire they are drawn to it like bees to the flowers. It captivates and mesmerizes them. And they fly and dance around it with its bright wonder warming them. They bathe in its aura. And some of them, the truly great among them, fly straight into the source of the wonderment and glory. And in so doing they have their lives snuffed out from them in a moment. But in that moment they experience more than any of the others shall in their entire lives. They die wrapped in the brightest of lights. In the truest of honors.”
The prince stopped speaking and looked toward the sky.
“I guess truly we aren’t much different. Are we Max? When you give it some thought we are truly fleeting. Just like a fly or a mosquito. We are a drop in the bucket of time. We are more insignificant than we know. Countless ages past and countless more still to come. We are but a single letter in the book of the universe.”
The prince finished. The grin faded from his face and he looked away from Max. Long minutes paced in a peaceful and deep silence. Max sat in thought.
The prince looked up and spoke. “We have ridden long hours and we have camped a
nd eaten together. Yet I haven’t yet told you my name.” The prince shook his head at his own forgetfulness. “I am Blaise.”
“And you already know that I am Max. So you are one of twelve princes?” Max asked.
“Ahh. Yes, I see my brother has told you. I am the oldest of all twelve yet we are separated from oldest to youngest by only eight years. Hunter is the baby of the family. The youngest but perhaps the fieriest of us all. Since he could walk he could scrap with any of us. He hasn’t changed much in all those years. Still fierce and too caught up in everything to enjoy any of it. But he is young, and time will cool his head better than any words.”
Max looked into the warm blue eyes of Blaise and for the first time in this strange land he felt as if this was someone he could trust.
“Your land is so odd,” Max said, looking at Blaise.
“My land? Well, certainly it does not belong to me or to anyone or to any group, but strange, you say. How so?” Blaise looked toward Max waiting for an answer.
“I have been here only a few days. In books and stories like this things make sense. Castles aren’t suspended by hot air balloons, birds aren’t philosophers, and the alphabet is never stolen!” Max was exasperated as he finished his last sentence.
The prince stood and circled the campfire.
“The great plays of Montanyo. I remember as child we read his plays in the schoolhouse. They were daring tales of knights fighting evil. I loved them as dear as anything in those days. But when I went to see the play,” Blaise paused and a sad look robbed the grin from his face, “the magic was lost. The actors couldn’t capture the soul that had existed in my mind. The knights weren’t real and the orcs were just men painted green. But in a way it was real. It showed how the real world operates. When I first became a knight I expected to fight witches, and warlocks. To do battle with cyclopses and sirens. But the battles weren’t good versus evil. They were only man versus man. There were no dark lords, only those who wanted power. The only thing that separated one man from the next was how far he was willing to go, how many innocents he was willing to kill, so that he could obtain that power.
Maxwell's Closet Page 3
