by Tim Allen
The king rose with dignity. He slowly walked down the three steps of the raised dais to look into Wolf’s eyes. He was a large man, but Wolf still dwarfed him. Extending a hand, he said in a deep bass, “Welcome, bold warrior, to my castle. I hope you will stay for a while so we can become acquainted.” The king’s voice was strong and well modulated.
“Thank you, Your Highness. I commend you on the kindness, bravery, and understanding of the people of your fair land. I also compliment you on your castle’s beauty. It truly is a work of art.” Wolf then asked, “My lord, may I present you with a gift from my land?”
“Please, warrior, no gifts are necessary. You have given us service by slaying Jonar’s ruffians,” the king said.
“My lord, it is a custom from my land. May I?”
“If it is custom, then so be it.”
Wolf pulled his Mylar sack around and opened it. He searched in it and then pulled out the sheathed Bowie knife, presenting it to King Waylan. The monarch pulled the knife blade out and inspected the mirror-bright steel. Its leather-wrapped hilt was finely crafted, and the blade’s balance was precise. The king ran a thumb over the edge and pulled away with a small but deep cut in his skin. “This is superb,” he said. “I have never seen its match in my life. The color of the iron is unusual. It is not painted, yet the color extends throughout the blade. What is this metal?”
“It is called stainless steel, your Majesty. It will not break or rust,” Wolf said.
“An impressive gift,” responded the king, tucking the knife under his belt. “Let us proceed to the feast.” The monarch exited through a door to the right of his throne. Onel and Wolf followed him into a vast chamber with several large fireplaces. The mantels were carved with battle scenes, and the hearths were broad enough to cook a cow from ancient Earth. These were the kitchens, and the hearths warmed the bath waters above. Several large animals turned on spits over the open flames, tended by women who toiled willingly for their king. Copious amounts of fruits, vegetables, wines, and beer had been laid out for the guests.
The centerpiece of the dining hall was a massive table, thirty feet long, carved from a greenish-yellow wood and polished to a glass-like luster. Sixty chairs were arranged around the rectangular base. The king proceeded to the head of the table and sat between two large chairs to each side. Wolf was seated to the king’s right; Onel took the chair next to Wolf. A very old but still attractive woman seated herself to the left of the king, and she was introduced to Wolf as Dedra, the king’s older sister. Onel’s daughter, Jhondra, took the other chair.
Jhondra looked across at Wolf and said, “Hello, large one. You look better with your clothes off.”
Wolf, who was drinking from a chalice, spit up wine at the girl’s precocious remark, and King Waylan slapped him on the back as he coughed. The king’s eyes widened as he felt the rock-hard skin of Wolf’s back.
“Jhondra! Mind your manners,” Onel reprimanded sharply.
“Oh, Father. I am just playing with him. He and I are practically friends,” she pouted.
“Fast little hussy,” Syn hissed in Wolf’s ear.
Wolf regained his composure and said, “Sorry, my lord, it seems I choked.”
“Quite understandable. Please excuse my niece. She is spoiled beyond belief.”
Wolf looked at the king and then at Onel, noticing a resemblance. Waylan caught his back-and-forth gaze and with a jovial laugh said, “Yes, that windbag is my older brother.”
“As you can see, he got the brawn while I got the brains. We had another brother, but Waylan ate him.” Onel grinned at Wolf.
“Fool!” the king laughed. “Onel and I make a good pair. We have campaigned together for years…but enough about us. I’m told you come from far away. Tell me of your people and your land.”
“My people are all dead now, lost to the world,” Wolf said with deep regret. “They were killed in a terrible cataclysm. If any survived, they are no longer like me. I am all that remains of the original stock.”
“I’m sorry for bringing sad memories to the forefront of our conversation,” said the king, studying Wolf with his steely eyes. “My curiosity about you is my only defense. Forgive my rude manners. Tonight, let us eat, drink, and laugh. When we are better friends, you will share more perhaps. Agreed?”
“Your Majesty, we are friends, and someday I may share all,” Wolf answered with a disarming smile.
“Priest, come bless this food before we eat,” Waylan called out, and a man approached. He was dressed in a white robe. The upper portion resembled a turtleneck sweater once popular in Wolf’s time. A one-inch, black, metal band encircled his neck, and a white, conical helmet was perched atop his head. His attire reminded Wolf of an archbishop from the distant past.
Raising his hands, the priest declared, “Jesu, bless this gathering and protect our king and our people.”
“Ame,” murmured the guests seated around the table.
“Partake of the dinner, my friends,” Waylan said with a regal wave of his hand.
When the opportunity arose a few minutes later, Wolf caught the priest’s eye and asked, “Tell me a little about Jesu?”
“Gladly, my friend! Jesu is our lord. He was born of the Blessed One, who we also revere. He is king and the Son of God. We serve him and honor his name in the daily rituals of our lives. He is the bread we eat and the air we breathe. He suffered for us, died for our sins, and arose to live forever. When our lives have ended, we will be with him in everlasting love and peace, and through Him, we will find eternal salvation,” the priest explained in a reverent tone.
“I agree, God is great,” Wolf said, dropping the subject. An idea was forming in his thoughts that he would discuss later with Syn.
* * *
The meal had been in progress for about an hour when a shimmering form appeared in the center of the long dining table. The silver knight Sylvaine materialized out of thin air and announced, “Fools, you sit here feasting with this buffoon. My master is unhappy. He gives you an ultimatum: Surrender this castle, and Jonar, in his mercy, will allow you to live. Resist and you all die. What is your answer, old man?” the apparition demanded.
With a lazy yawn, the monarch replied, “Templar, your powers concern me not. You appear here every so often to spout that drivel. I care naught for your master or his hollow words. If he could have killed me before, he would have. And you are nothing but a shadow…and like any shadow, when the light of Jesu shines, you disappear.”
As Waylan and Sylvaine conversed, Wolf had been busy. The moment Sylvaine had appeared, he raised his hand to his mouth and whispered into his watch, “Syn, full scanner sweep, what is this apparition?” He stood and walked down the table towards the Templar’s shimmering form. It glared at Wolf with contempt and said, “You, buffoon, will die by my spear anon.”
Syn positioned the shuttle outside the castle window to scan using her forward-facing camera as Wolf stopped before Sylvaine and passed his hand through the apparition, declaring, “So, you are not real.” He looked up at the ceiling, and at the same moment, Syn whispered in his ear bud, “Commander, there is a small power source on the ceiling. It’s a primitive projection device with a faint transmission. I can barely pick up its frequency.”
Wolf nodded acknowledgment and said to the king, “Sire, this is a projected image. It has no real power.” The projection winked out suddenly. “Bring me a ladder and I will show you what this thing truly is.”
A ladder was procured and Wolf pointed to the object he wanted brought down from the ceiling. It was a small box anchored to an ornate niche, about the size of an ancient backpack and decoratively engraved. When it was retrieved, Wolf opened the box and found an old projector, a transmitter, and a receiver. He explained the science behind the device to the king, adding that wherever similar apparitions had been reported in the castle, a similar device would be found.
Waylan dispatched guards to the various locations in the castle where apparitions had been
seen. Thirty minutes later, twelve more projectors had been found. The question hanging in the air was: Who had placed these projectors? It was obvious that a traitor lived among them in the castle.
“My friend, again you have served us well. We will discover who placed these boxes,” said the king. He called for Captain Lintal, and the soldier stepped forward, kneeling in a fluid motion as Waylan ordered, “You will lead the investigation. Leave no stone unturned. Find this traitor!” Through clenched teeth, he added, “I have always put the needs of my people first. I have no slaves; I permit no one to starve, yet someone among us is unhappy with my rule. How can you remedy stupidity?”
Onel gazed at the boxes in confusion. After a long pause, he asked, “The apparitions have no substance?”
Wolf responded, “No, they are harmless. They are programmed to say certain things, and the device sends your response to whoever is on the other side of it.” Wolf said.
“It is not magic?”
“It is called technology—a science from the past. Jonar must have gotten the idea from the books you said he had found.”
“These books you speak of are tomes of great wisdom?”
“At one time, buildings held vast collections of books on medicine, agriculture, science, religion, and many other subjects.”
The priest, who had been listening attentively, asked, “How do you know this, Wolf? May I call you Wolf? How do you know about the past so well?”
All eyes moved to Wolf, awaiting an answer to the priest’s innocently phrased question.
“Be careful, Commander,” Syn whispered in his ear.
“I have studied the past. Before my land was destroyed, my people had accumulated a great storehouse of ancient lore. It is all gone now,” Wolf lied, but his eyes reflected a glimmer of sadness for all to see.
“I am sorry, Wolf, that I have brought up unwanted memories. Since we have not been properly introduced, I will rectify that. I am Randelf, Grand Priest of Jesu.” The priest paused and then asked, “There were religious books from your past?”
Wolf nodded.
“Pity, we only have word of mouth handed down. A holy book would have been a true blessing to this world,” the priest said with a wistful expression.
Wolf studied the priest for a moment and then said, “Randelf, I may have a book on my ship that can help you. On my next visit to the castle, I will bring it to you.”
“Sir, if you have anything from our Lord you might share, I would be forever grateful.” Syn’s voice whispered in his ear, “Commander, we have no hard copies of any book on board. Do you want me to produce a book for him?”
Wolf smiled at the priest and nodded, intending it as an affirmative response to Syn.
“Which book? A missalette? Hymnal? Bible?” Syn asked.
“I believe I have a copy of what was called the Holy Bible,” Wolf said, answering Syn’s question but addressing his reply to the priest.
“Very well, Commander. I will produce a small Bible for you,” Syn whispered. “Should it be written in the dialect on the stela?”
Wolf asked the king, “Sire, is the language on the stela common to all?”
Waylan nodded, and Wolf said, “I would like some air for a few moments.” He stood from the dining table and walked out onto a beautiful terrace, glancing around to make sure he was alone.
“Syn, I want a grand production,” Wolf whispered. “Illustrations, pictures, and I want it beautifully bound. Make it about this big,” he gestured, using his hands to show the dimensions, “…about two feet wide, three feet long and six to eight inches thick. Did you get enough from the stela to write in this new language?"
“Yes, Commander. I have extrapolated the meanings from most of the words and converted the symbols to the alphabet of this time. I have nearly mastered the stela writing.”
“Good, then use the stela language. The King James Version should be fine. In the back, set it up with the Catholic practices. The modern ones, not the Spanish Inquisition stuff.”
“Yes, Commander, but why Christianity? Why not Buddhism, Islam, Hinduism, or some form of mythology? This is an agricultural society, so they might worship many gods, or nature deities, or perhaps the two moons.”
“Based on my discussions with the priest, the people of this kingdom are monotheistic. Their religious beliefs embrace the concept of heaven and hell, and they follow a set of moral precepts nearly identical to the Ten Commandments,” Wolf explained. “When they pray, they refer to Jesu, an obvious reference to Jesus. I assume his name came to be mispronounced over the centuries. These people have other customs too that seem to be rooted in Christianity, so all things considered, I think a Bible is the right choice, and it will be a great gift to these people.”
“Very well, Commander. We don’t have a printing press on the ship, but I have a 3-D printer. I’ll come up with something.”
“I know you will, Syn, you always do.” Wolf looked out at the clear night sky. The stars seemed alien to him. After a long silence, he asked, “Were you able to trace the signal on that crude transmitter?”
“Who are you talking to, my lord?” a sultry voice inquired from behind him.
“I am talking to myself, Jhondra. I was working out some thoughts aloud. I just needed to hear them. It is a common practice to some.”
Jhondra laughed lightly. “Yes, a common practice to crazy people.”
Syn replied tersely, “No, Commander, the signal was too weak.”
“Come, let us go back in. I am in need of another drink,” Wolf said.
“I agree. I will get you one.” Jhondra moved to Wolf’s side and slipped her arm through his.
“Fast little hussy. I’m watching you, Wolf,” Syn growled. Wolf tried to suppress a faint smile but couldn’t and Syn hissed ominously, “I saw that!”
Chapter 16
Wolf was asleep in his room at Waylan’s castle. He had spent the last three days learning about the king’s lands and people. On the third night, he stayed up late talking to Onel. He had just drifted off to sleep when Syn’s voice in his ear brought him awake.
“Commander, I have finished the items you requested.”
“Syn, it’s very early,” Wolf groaned. “Did you feel an obscure need to wake me?”
“You told me to inform you when I finished. Well, I’m done.”
“Women,” Wolf mumbled, needing another hour of sleep but climbing out of bed.
“Whatever,” Syn shot back with an authentic, human laugh.
Wolf dressed and went to the door. Two guards stood watch outside. King Waylan had assured him that he had the run of the castle, and he was not a prisoner. The guards were to escort him around the castle grounds, essentially serving as tour guides. He was to tell them what he wanted, and they would take him to it.
“I need to see the king,” Wolf announced as the guards snapped to attention and saluted.
“Whenever you are ready, sir,” said the older guard.
“I am prepared now. Let’s go.”
The guards led Wolf to the throne room, where King Waylan was in deep conversation with Onel and a small group of advisers. As Wolf entered, the king glanced up with a smile and said, “Good morning, my friend! Have you come to keep me company?”
“Unfortunately, no, Your Majesty. I need to attend to my possessions. I’ll return as soon as I can.”
“I’m sorry, but leaving is out of the question,” Waylan said, frowning.
“I thought I was a friend, not a prisoner.”
“We are under siege. Jonar has declared war. The castle will be under attack in a week. If you leave, we may not be able to get you back inside the walls. My men are out in the countryside now warning our people. Many will come to the castle in the next few days. Others will scatter, and many will die. I can’t spare a patrol to escort you back.”
“That’s a shame,” Wolf said. “I still need to go. I can be back in four days, but I don’t need a guide. I know the way.”
The king stood and extended his hand in friendship. “I hope to see you again, Wolf.”
“I will see you in four days.”
“Four days it is, my friend!” the king said. “I will plan to dine with you then. Farewell.”
Waylan returned to his advisers, and Wolf was escorted from the throne room back to his quarters to collect his belongings. When he was alone in his room, he asked, “Syn, how fast can you get to the outside of the castle?”
“Quicker than you can imagine, Commander. Why?”
“Pick me up right outside the mountain range. I want to have a look at Jonar’s army.”
“We can see it from here, Commander. You forgot…we have satellites deployed.”
“Yes, I did forget. Meet me outside the mountains.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Wolf packed his gear and walked to the stairs leading out of the castle. When he reached the bottom landing, he looked back at the granite colossus. The magnificent castle stood as a testament to humanity’s enduring will to survive. He retraced his steps back through the twisting, turning passageways of the mountains and finally reached the outer gates. The two guards who had accompanied him shook his hand, and Wolf bid them farewell. He walked for a few minutes until he couldn’t see the posterns and then said, “Syn, where are you?”
“I’m ten feet to your right, Commander.”
Wolf looked over to the right as the ramp lowered. As he boarded the ship, he felt an odd sense of familiarity, as if he was returning home after a long journey.
“Hello, Commander,” Syn said from the doorway to the mess area.
“Hello, Syn. Don’t you look beautiful!”
Syn had changed her hairstyle to a short, butch haircut that framed her face. She was still gorgeous, although Wolf preferred the longer hair. Syn caught his look and asked, “You don’t like the hairstyle? Be honest.”
“Syn, you were lovely just as you were,” Wolf replied with a sigh. “You’re a knockout regardless, but I always liked long hair on my woman.”
