The Men of Anderas I: Jardan, the King

by C. J. Johnson

  Thirty minutes later she reluctantly left the hot, bubbling water. Wrapped in one of the huge towels left by ArDell, she had to admit she had never enjoyed such a bath. There had to be something sinful about such luxury. The swirling water washed away the stiff, achy feeling from the space sleep. The fragrances of crushed petals filled her nose. She was such a sucker for flowers.

  Looking around the steamy room Melodie realized there was nothing for her to wear -- not even a comb for her hair. Drat! Now she’d have to parade around naked with ArDell watching while she searched for clothes. This too shall pass. Drawing a deep breath and gathering her meager confidence around her, Melodie walked through the double doors.

  ArDell immediately came forward with a robe for her. After securing the soft, white garment, Melodie dropped the towel, delighted that she didn’t flash even a hint of skin.

  “If you’ll sit here,” ArDell instructed as she scooped up the damp towel, “I’ll comb your hair.”

  Melodie grinned at the thought of having her hair combed for her. When it was dry and loose, the ends reached almost to her knees. It was a tedious chore to complete the required one hundred strokes every morning and night. She had never cut her hair – other than having the ends trimmed every six months or so. Her grandfather believed that a woman’s hair was her crowning glory. She had fond memories of him combing and braiding her hair when she was little. It was a special daily ritual, reserved for the two of them until his arthritis became too painful for him to continue.

  “Where’s the blow dryer, ArDell?” Melodie asked after searching through the drawers of the vanity. The maid was just returning from disposing of the soiled towel.

  “I don’t understand. What is a blow dryer?”

  Melodie could see the confusion on the woman’s face. How was she going to dry her hair if she didn’t know what a blow dryer was?

  “You must have a different term for it here. It’s an appliance that blows hot air. You plug in into the electrical outlet and hold it like this.” She pantomimed the actions of drying her hair. Why did she feel like she was speaking a foreign language?

  “We have no such devise like you describe. I’ll dry your hair with the comb.” Her confused expression was almost comic.

  “It takes hours for my hair to dry on its own. Just combing it won’t help.”

  Shaking her head at Melodie’s statement, ArDell removed a large comb from the top of the vanity and gently began to untangle the heavy curtain of black hair.

  “Nonsense,” she cajoled in a voice that made Melodie feel like a five-year old, “by the time it’s smooth, your hair will be dry.”

  Within minutes Melodie felt the heat from the comb as ArDell gently pulled it through her hair.

  “It’s hot! Well, not exactly hot but very warm. How does it work? Is it battery operated?” Her hair was drying faster than with a dryer. Amazing! She watched in the mirror as ArDell shrugged without missing a stroke with the remarkable comb.

  “It’s one of the many items made from the energy stone. The processing time of the raw ore determines the heat it generates. Just like the stones used in buildings, the temperature will remain constant.”

  “Are you saying that comb is made from rock? It looks like silver.”

  Yes was the only answer she received. Such a simple little three-letter word -- yes. Yes, it’s a rock? Yes, it’s silver? Yes, you’re losing your mind? Yes, what?

  Keep your mouth shut, Melodie Anne. It’s one thing for her to think you’re a fool. There’s no reason for you to confirm it.

  In less time than it took for Melodie to take her bath, ArDell and her amazing comb had her hair dry and hanging in smooth waves down her back. A phrase from an old movie suddenly flashed through her mind -- we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

  Chapter Eight

  JarDan stood silent and unobserved at the entrance to the Rose Garden, watching his father. Only here, in his mother’s special place, did his father allow his grief to show. Twenty years had not eased the pain of his loss.

  He finally understood that pain -- since Melodie. Her brush with death aboard the Destiny continued to haunt his nightmares.

  Melodie. The first cowardly act of his life was instructing Sladal to greet her upon waking from space sleep. His emotions were too raw -- too uncertain -- to risk another rejection. Confrontation with Melodie would come soon enough. Right now he had to tell his father about his mother’s death -- and Morandoni.

  Clearing his throat to announce his presence, JarDan walked into the garden. The rich, heavy perfume of hundreds of blossoms filled the air. Vibrant shades of red, pink, yellow and white dipped and swayed with the afternoon breeze. Wrapped in the security of warm memories, he gazed at his father. Zeth was approaching eighty years old, which by Anderan standards made him middle age. Still straight and strong, his body pulsed with the blood of a thousand kings. JarDan smiled at the love shining in eyes the exact shade of blue as his own.

  The changes in his father were slight, subtle, yet evident to the son who loved him. There were silver streaks at his temples, small lines shadowing the wide forehead, and a slight stiffness when he bent to cull a dead blossom. Was his extended trip to Earth the cause of these added signs of his father’s aging? What would the details of his mother’s death do to his father? JarDan’s guilt-ridden soul searching halted when he reached King Zeth.

  “You look well despite such a long trip. I’m grateful for your safe return.” Whispered Zeth, pulling his son into a close embrace.

  JarDan held his father tightly, relishing the unconditional affection, dreading the pain his news would cause.

  “It was a long journey, Father, and I’m glad to be home. This was my last voyage and I don’t regret that fact.”

  “Come, sit with me and tell me about your trip -- and not the official version you’ve given the Council of Elders.”

  JarDan was silent, stalling until his father sat on one of the marble benches scattered throughout the garden. He had so much to tell and absolutely no idea how to start.

  “So, where is your mate? Dak says she’s a remarkable woman and that she’s bewitched you.” King Zeth looked expectantly around the garden.

  “Melodie is recovering from space sleep and will join us for dinner. Yes, she is remarkable -- and beautiful -- and courageous.” The husky tone of his voice was like a stranger’s to his ears. “Whether I’m bewitched is debatable. Dak doesn’t understand … this attraction I feel for her. It’s so much more than physical desire, yet I know not what I feel.”

  JarDan sat cross-legged on the grass at his father’s feet. For more than thirty years, father and son had shared the joys, sorrows and secrets of the soul in just such a manner. Here, alone together, they were no longer king and crown prince but two men bound by their devotion to each other.

  “We gathered the infants from the collection stations with only minor interference. Earth’s radar tracking systems are advancing rapidly. It won’t be long before our ships will be detected long before we enter their atmosphere. The building of an orbital space station is well underway. We may be forced to suspend future expeditions.”

  “Did you tell this to the Council of Elders?”

  JarDan shook his head and smiled at his father’s quiet question. “They were already upset with me over Melodie. I thought it prudent to wait for another opportunity.”

  “Their concern is justified, son. You exposed your ship and crew to great danger with your extended orbit. Your trip was longer than any on record. The emergency rations are for emergencies, not the whim of the Travel Craft Commander. And the water … there is only enough for a few days beyond the expected travel time. How did you manage to refill the water reservoirs without detection? The radar jamming device only works when you’re airborne.”

  “There are a number of fresh water supplies located in remote areas.” JarDan defended his actions. “By seeking these areas, we landed without incident. There are areas of Earth where …”


  “Whenever you start pulling at the grass like you’re doing now it usually means you’re stalling. And when you ramble you believe it’s something that I don’t want to hear. What is it that you don’t want to tell me? Do you now regret your bonding?”

  “No!” JarDan dropped the handful of green sprigs and pushed himself up from the ground, brushing absently at the grass and leaves on his dark pants. “My commitment to Melodie is without question. She’s the reason for the extended voyage -- although I didn’t know it until I found her. For weeks, Dak pressured me to return, but I couldn’t give the order to leave. There was a sense of urgency -- a restlessness that I couldn’t explain.” JarDan flashed a sheepish smile. “Dak threatened to relieve me of command more than once and I’m not sure he was joking. I knew before I teleported into the tornado that she was the reason for my unusual behavior.”

  “According to Dak you’re still exhibiting unusual behavior. He charges that you’re not acting like the Prince of Tor.”

  “And just how is the Prince of Tor supposed to act?” JarDan paced several steps in agitation before facing his father. Straightening to his full height of six feet six inches, he grasped his wrists behind his back. To anyone but his father it would have been an intimidating pose. “I have done nothing to bring shame to myself or to you.”

  “Spare me the injured martyr act, JarDan,” King Zeth laughed. “If you want my opinion, in recent years you’ve been too much the prince and too little the man. If Melodie is responsible for the change then I welcome her with open arms.” He patted the space beside him on the bench. “Now, enough stalling. If not your mate, then what has you so disturbed?”

  JarDan fought the pain in his chest. Somehow, from somewhere, he had to find the words. What could he say to ease the agony that his words would bring? Drawing a ragged breath, he reached into the inside pocket of his tunic and withdrew the pages of Torak’s journal.

  “I didn’t tell the Council everything about the attempt on Melodie’s life.” JarDan leaned his forearms against his thighs, his chin resting against his chest, the damning notes partially hidden between his spread legs. “When we searched Torak’s quarters we found … part of a diary or journal. There were only a few pages … written in a strange combination of the language of the ancients and symbols Dak and I are still trying to translate.”

  JarDan was gulping great mouthfuls of air, fighting to keep his churning emotions in check. The firm touch of his father’s hand gently rubbing the taut muscles of his back reminded him of other times. Times when just such a touch would dispel the demons of a young boy’s nightmares. Times when that touch was all he needed to know his father loved him.

  “Son,” Zeth whispered, “it will be easier dealt with once said.”

  His eyes burning with unshed tears, his throat tight, JarDan turned to face his father.

  “They detail … the pages reveal … by all the Ancients! Torak tells of Mother’s death.”

  JarDan watched his father’s face change. A brief flash of pain and the loving concern became a blank mask. The hand that soothed now stilled with tension.

  “Arica? Why? I don’t …” With hands that trembled Zeth reached for the pages. “I would read them for myself.”

  “No father, you can’t!”

  “JarDan, I love your mother as deeply today as I did the day I asked her to be my queen. Whatever those pages contain can’t hurt me more than her death did – and still does.”

  Reluctantly, JarDan released his hold on the journal. There was no way to shield his father from renewed pain and no reason to protect him from the truth.

  Zeth read the gruesome account in only minutes. JarDan watched his father smooth the papers before slipping them into his own tunic. It took two attempts before he could speak.

  “Well,” he grated, “at least we now know what happened. Would you please excuse me, son? I need to be alone for a short while. Before I return to the palace, I will deliver these,” he indicated the pocket containing the journal, “to the Council of Elders. The Archives needs an accurate detailing of your mother’s death. I look forward to meeting my daughter-in-law at dinner.”

  JarDan nodded, turning toward the entrance to the garden. He knew his father would deal with this blow here -- in the garden where Arica’s presence was still strong.

  “Son,” Zeth called just before JarDan reached the gate. “I know this was hard for you to do. Thank you for being the one to bring me the news.”

  * * * *

  “Princess,” ArDell complained patiently, “if you don’t sit still I can’t finish your hair and you’ll be late.”

  Melodie eyed the strange assortment of loops and curls of hair currently secured to the top of her head. Did this woman not understand English?

  “I’m not going at all if you don’t take this mess down right now! ArDell, I’m almost six feet tall in my bare feet. What I don’t need,” she argued while pulling pins from the towering mass, “is another six inches -- even if it’s my own hair. I can barely hold my head up with all that weight. Now, take it down!”

  The mutinous expression on the maid’s face was almost comical as she removed her handiwork. Ignoring the mumbles and grumbles behind her, Melodie stifled a chuckle. Maybe there was something to this princess business. All it took was a little patience and making sure everyone knew who was boss. When the heavy curtain of ebony hair again flowed down her back, she smiled her appreciation.

  “Does the Princess have a preferred hair style for evening?” Although she asked the question softly, the stony expression and hands fisted on her hips screeched disapproval.

  Laughing at ArDell’s attempt at intimidation, Melodie shook her head, creating undulating waves from her neck to the pool of black on the floor. “As a matter of fact she does. She likes it pulled back in a braid. A style very similar to the one she prefers for the morning but slightly different from the same way she wears it for the afternoon.”

  “No.”

  Melodie stared at the woman who now stood with her arms folded across her chest, glowering. “No? What do you mean -- no?” Obviously she still needed to work on the boss situation.

  “That style is suitable for the day or when occupied out of doors or upon retiring for the night. You will not appear before King Zeth with a braid.”

  “Look, ArDell. This has gone on long enough. You work for me. Remember? I’m the one who gives the orders and you say yes ma’am and follow them. Do you have a problem with that?” Maybe she was laying it on a little thick, but if she didn’t stand her ground with the maid what chance did she have with the king -- or JarDan. Instead of angering the other woman, Melodie’s comments seemed to amuse her.

  “The Prince hired me, Princess,” she crowed between giggles. “It’s in your best interest since you’re so unfamiliar with our ways. I’m sure you’ll agree once you’ve been here for a while.”

  In her best interest? She was the only one who knew what was in her best interest. How dare that muscle-bound cretin presume to dictate his will as her own? So much for exerting her authority. JarDan had effectively undermined whatever small control she thought she had. Fine. However, she’d get her way about her hair one way or another.

  “Then let’s do what the all powerful Prince of Tor demands.” Her sarcasm brought a flush to the maid’s face. “You’ve got two choices for my hair -- braid it or leave it loose. If you attempt to twist it into some outrageous mound I’ll cut it off right up to my ears. Then you won’t have to worry about it again.”

  “As you wish, Princess.”

  Convinced ArDell believed her threat, Melodie allowed the maid to continue with her task. Without another word the maid’s nimble fingers gathered the hair above one temple. Adding a length of pink ribbon, she quickly braided the first six inches before anchoring it to the back of her head with a pin. When the opposite side matched, ArDell removed the pins and secured the ribbon around both pieces, leaving the ends trailing down her back. The hair left unbraid
ed created a shimmering curtain that Melodie knew would brush the back of her thighs when she stood.

  The woman staring back from the mirror was a familiar stranger. The face was the same – only softened by the loose cloud of hair. The pink ribbons at her temples drew attention to her wide violet eyes. She might not look like a princess but she surely didn’t look like a farmer either.

  “Thank you, ArDell.” Melodie smiled at the maid’s image in the mirror. “This is much better but I have to warn you -- by tomorrow morning there will be so many tangles you’ll swear I’ve never combed it.”

  “I know a trick or two about knots and tangles, Princess. Come, your gown is ready and we’re almost out of time.”

  Melodie gritted her teeth in frustration when ArDell reached for the belt of the bathrobe. Pushing the determined hands away she backed away from the vanity table.

  “I can dress myself.” She was not going to let this woman dress her. “Which drawer has underwear?”

  “Everything you need is on the bed.”

  By her tone, Melodie knew the woman was miffed again. Too bad. She had more important things to worry about. She had to convince the king to send her home.

  The gown spread across the bed brought a gasp of delight to Melodie’s lips. She only owned two dresses, both for church, and neither one fancy. Here was a dress straight from the pages of a fairy tale – soft and glimmering and all for her.

  “Oh, my.” Melodie whispered while fingering the silky material. “This is so beautiful. Surely whoever lent it to me must have made a mistake. What if I spill something on it? I’d never forgive myself.”

  “The gown is yours, Princess, as are all the gowns in the wardrobe. Prince JarDan placed the order when he notified his father of your bonding. They are his gift to you.”