A Cruel and Burning Ice

by Brian S. Wheeler

  Chapter 4 – The King's Hot Gala...

  Counselor Wessex struggled to count the number of heads that crowded into the king's courtroom that first afternoon of the second sun. A pensive crowd dressed in the Bright Cycle's ceremonial robes churned like a troubled sea of crimson and gold. Only the first day of that second sun, and already the palace chambers turned so humid. The heat turned everyone impatient, and Counselor Wessex often lost his head count as he sent sentries to dissipate shoving matches born from snarled comments and shoved elbows. Counselor Wessex worried that it would not be long until the second sun's glare tempted hands to drift towards the hilts of hidden knifes, the scabbards of sheathed swords.

  "Have you settled on your number yet, Counselor?"

  Counselor Wessex turned and gave a shallow smile to his rival Counselor Troy.

  "The subjects file into the courtroom more quickly than I can count," Wessex replied. "I fear the king's treasurer might not find all the coin required to pay this spectacle's cost."

  The folds of Troy's chin shook as he laughed. "That's like you, always worried about counting heads and coins. There are times you must simply roll with the spectacle and have faith that someone will cover the cost, especially when the Bright Cycle comes."

  "A fool's sentiment," Wessex answered.

  Troy winked, "Ah, but one very common among kings."

  Wessex nodded and again scanned his surroundings. The king spared no expense in the decoration of that courtroom. Orange and yellow banners decorated in the second sun's crimson crown sigil draped upon every wall. Bright murals composed of small shards of glass decorated the floor with the the faces of beloved Queen Shea, whose crimson hair sparkled beneath the light. Each storeroom and larder had been emptied to crowd the tables with the finest cuts of venison and game. Palace servants bustled through the crowd to replenish goblets and chalices with the king's finest collection of brandies, ales and wines, drinks Wessex worried were poor choices of libation for such a heated day, drinks the counselor feared would only increase the room's temper and thirst.

  The entire spectacle made Wessex uncomfortable. He knew that those storerooms the king so casually emptied today would soon become closely-guarded treasure troves following the droughts that always accompanied the second sun. Counselor Wessex's thirst rose beneath so much sunlight streaming from the high courtroom's windows, but he would touch none of that afternoon's offered drink. Instead, he took what little solace he might in his habitual counting of all things.

  Troy squinted at Wessex. "Do you not think the subjects enjoy their king's ceremony?"

  "I see little in the crowd to think they gather for celebration."

  Troy frowned. "But do they not gather to see what the tinker has made for their king? Do they not come to marvel at the tinker's invention? To see if what the rumors might be true?"

  Wessex sneered. "You're much older than anyone might guess if you claim to remember a time subjects gathered to celebrate anything offered by a tinker. They don't arrive to cheer for our tinker. All I hear is one complaint after another about all of the tinker's broken things. I think this crowd would just as soon watch the tinker hang."

  "Why would they want to do that on a day their king provides such a feast and drink?"

  "There is the heat for one thing," Wessex answered, "and have you taken a long look at the village beyond these palace walls lately? The exercise might do you good. Few of the public fountains still pump water. The bell towers no longer toll the hour. The roadways are now composed of more mud than brick. The potters' tables no longer spin. And no one, Counselor Troy, seems to have the slightest idea how to fix anything."

  Troy shrugged. "Why should they? It is the tinker's place to repair the village's machines."

  "When was the last time you counted the tinkers? When was the last time anyone had?"

  Troy snapped his fingers and a servant handed him a tall goblet of wine.

  "I've counted," Wessex continued as Troy tugged long at his drink, "and that counting did not take long. There's only one tinker remaining in this village."

  Troy used the cuff of his crimson robe to wipe wine from his chin. "How can that be?"

  "You only need to see the hovel our current tinker calls home to know that a career as tinker is not an attractive one."

  "Sentimental rubbish," Troy scoffed. "The king pays plenty to fund that tinker's workshop. Let the tinker call that workshop home if he's unhappy with where he places his bed. I think you forget to count the Fay who crowd around our tinker. That's more help than most have, and I've heard one complaint after another about the Fay stealing from cookie jars and larders."

  Wessex shook his head. "Then why should our village so crumble? The Fay who show their heads in this village are either foolish or brave. I think it's a miracle the Fay volunteer to fix anything. And don't forget, my wise friend, that this is the first day of the second sun. I doubt the Fay will remain in our village much longer."

  "We'll not miss them."

  Wessex's eyebrow arched. "I wonder."

  A cacophony of horns blared and shook the walls to announce King Tiber's arrival. King Tiber, dressed in layers of crimson and yellow robes of the Bright Cycle, strode through the middle of that parting crowd towards his golden throne that glowed beneath the light of two suns. Upon his head rested the crown of the Kahls, its rubies and gems blazing in the sunshine to proclaim his dominion. King Tiber's wardrobe was a heavy one for any winter, a suffocating garb for a monarch who ruled when the second sun shared the sky with the first. Children attendants carefully dabbed perspiration from their king's brow as dancing maidens dressed in bright yellows tossed red and orange confetti upon their monarch's crown, confetti Counselor Essex and Troy carefully brushed from their king's shoulders as Tiber sat upon his throne.

  Troy bowed. "You honor Kahl-Shea."

  Wessex followed. "You make Kahl-Leah smile."

  "Spoken like two counselors who do not have to wear such thick robes on this of all days," King Tiber snarled from the corner of his lips as he smiled and waved at his subjects. "The throne is burning my ass, and I am drenched with sweat beneath all this cloth. Someone bring me something to drink. The heat stokes my thirst."

  Trumpets blared. An attendant rushed to the king with a goblet filled with brandy, spilling not an ounce of the drink as he hurried. Servers rushed through the crowd to fill empty glasses as everyone in the courtroom raised their drink to share in their king's toast while aglow in the second sun's light.

  "What is the first order for our ceremony, Counselor Troy?" asked King Tiber.

  "The children will step the march of Kahl-Shea, during which they shall reenact her journey from the dark and cold night into the warm and bright day," Troy went on. "Then, the loyal and brave King's guard will ride into court in their glistening steel plate..."

  "Maker save us," the king grumbled. "All that horse crap is going to fester in this heat."

  Troy bowed. "Then the king's guard will march into court in their fine boots. Minstrels of the Western Fields will follow with flutes and mandolins. Playwrights have prepared an epic, seven act play just for today's second sun, and wives of the village alderman will then be ready to present you with jars of their finest pickles and jams, followed by palm readers and court clowns..."

  King Tiber collapsed his head into his hands, and before he raised his eyes again into the light, attendants appeared at his sides to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

  "Get away from me," the king hissed. "I'll collapse into a wet pile of rags if I have to suffer this heat through all that din. Let's cut to the heart of our ceremony."

  Wessex whispered into the king's ear.

  "Given the day's heat, perhaps we should make first that which was originally meant to be last. I suggest we immediately summon the tinker to the throne. Neighbors near the tinker's workshop whisper that a cool breeze floats in their streets, coming from the clattering hammers of the tinker and his Fay
."

  Troy rolled his eyes. "The tinker come first? That smacks of poor taste."

  The king, however, nodded. "One gets a very different view of taste when he's cooking beneath so many robes. Let's see what the tinker has to offer, and if he doesn't have whatever solace from this heat that all those rumors suggest, then I'll dress him in all the robes I can muster until he melts into the stone."

  Wessex raised a finger and sent one of his personal secretaries through the crowd to summon the tinker to court. The subjects cheered as the king offered them another toast as the heat intensified throughout the room.

  The crowd had barely finished that drink before Fay flowed into the courtroom. Women and men of the court frowned as the Fay giggled at their waists. Those in attendance gasped at how quickly small Fay hands claimed goblets brimming with ale. The Fay waited for no attendant as they shoved fine portions of turkey into their mouths. The Fay shouted on whim and clapped as random circles of silver-haired Fay dance erupted in the courtroom. The Fay sang and whistled. They stuck their tongues out at anyone who frowned upon their behavior.

  "My ancestors forgive me," King Tiber moaned, "for letting so many Fay feet trample about the palace."

  But the Fay calmed in short time, forming into a pair of parallel lines leading to King Tiber's throne, kicking the shins of any among mankind's numbers who pushed at their backs. The king stood and prepared to bellow an admonishment upon the Fay for forgetting their proper place in the village hierarchy when a breeze unexpectedly wafted into the courtroom, instantly cutting much of the heat that stifled the crowd.

  King Tiber smiled at his counselors. "It seems village rumor proves true."

  Dressed in a workman's wrinkled and oil-stained clothing, the tinker strode into court with hammers and wrenches clanging from the toolbelt wrapped around his thin hips. His beard looked as if it had not been combed for years, and his hair tangled to his shoulders. The tinker's steps were slow, and he proceeded with a stiff gait while several of the Fay walked beside him to offer a supportive hand or shoulder should their friend stumble. Many in the crowd had no desire to look long upon that miserable tinker, who showed such poor manners to attend the second sun's ceremony in such poor garb while they sweltered beneath thick robes. Few in that crowd had before seen the tinker, and the old man's appearance reaffirmed much sentiment that a tinker was a miserable manifestation of a man.

  Troy bent to the king's ear. "You may want to consider fining that tinker for appearing so disheveled in you court."

  "What do you think of that, Wessex?" asked the king.

  Wessex bowed. "I think it more prudent to wait and see what the tinker presents to the throne. I want to see how he brings this cool to the court before I decide how we may reward or punish him."

  More Fay trudged into the courtroom behind their tinker, grunting as their shoulders strained against ropes that pulled a tall statue set atop a wheeled pedestal. The crowd held their breath as that carved ice queen rolled into view. The glimmering ice thrilled their skin as it passed, chilling their forearms until the fine hairs stood upright upon their skin. None in that crowd recognized the figure as the forgotten Kahl-Aura so dear to the Fay kind, but those who gazed upon that blue and silver woman of ice marveled at the craftsmanship that imbued such life into her form. They shook their heads, amazed, as the statue's ice eyes appeared to wink at them. Many a man reached towards that tall woman with naked hands before the Fay sent them back behind their lines with sharp kicks to their shins and groins.

  Yet such artistic splendor was not the most amazing thing the tinker and his Fay pulled into King Tiber's court. Soothing cool emanated from that feminine figure shimmering in the light of two burning suns. Those in attendance gasped to feel the room cool so quickly that their breath frosted no matter the second sun's presence. Their crimson robes no longer felt stifling. Now, so much cloth felt welcomingly warm. Attendants hustled to fill requests for brandy, as subject raised goblets to their lips so that the liquor might inject a little warmth into their blood.

  King Tiber applauded. "Well done! Come forward, Mr. Tinker! Oh, don't bow! Just step up here to my throne so I don't have to yell! You bring me a thing more wonderful than anything I might dream!"

  While Troy clapped wildly towards the man, Wessex leveled a more appraising stare upon the village tinker. He saw the red splotches staining the tinker's sleeves. He noted the shadow that gathered beneath the tinker's eyes, the gray pallor to that inventor's skin. He watched the tinker's stiff step, and he noticed the tinker's labored breath. Counselor Wessex saw the tinker was not well, and he knew enough of the ailing to realize sickness could impact inspiration in troubling ways.

  "Just feel that cool breeze!" King Tiber grinned. "Name your fee, tinker, and I am inclined to pay it."

  The tinker bowed, grimacing as pain flared in his knees. "Perhaps it would be better if you heard what I must tell of the ice Kahl-Queen Aura and her chill breath. Wait then until to you offer me reward."

  The king turned to one of his attendants. "See that the palace fireplaces burn. These stone walls grower colder, and I'll not sleep in a cold bed as we greet another Bright Cycle. Tell us, tinker, how did you come to craft such an amazing thing?"

  "I did little," responded the tinker. "With all of the broken things in the village needing my attention, I had less time than I wished to devote to my shop's statue. Fay hands and magic have shaped most of the ice queen."

  "Fay magic?" The king's nose wrinkled and a murmur passed through the crowd. "I'm sure you fail to give yourself enough credit. You tinkers are too timid. Speak better for yourself. I'm sure you do more than you mention. What power moves in that statue's ice to so cool my palace?"

  "A dangerous power." The tinker looked squarely at his king though his old legs trembled. "A deadly power churns in the center of that chiseled ice that gives us such cool."

  The king's brow furrowed. Guards drifted their hands towards their weapons. The crowd shifted uneasily in their crimson and orange robes.

  The tinker bent painfully to a knee. "Forgive me for having to tell you such a hard truth. Though a deadly power churns in that ice, a power that would sicken, kill and ruin your kingdom should it seep from the confines of that ice, it is a danger that can be prevented with a little care."

  Wessex addressed the tinker. "I think we might have a different opinion of what you mean by a 'little care' tinker."

  The tinker withdrew a folded square of cloth from his pocket. Silence choked the crowd as the tinker slowly unfolded the fabric. The king and his counselors were perplexed to see that there was no implement, no tool nor gadget, wrapped in that bundle. There were no Fay runes or sigils stitched on the plain, white cloth. The tinker held only a simple cloth, a thing as strange as that statue to present to his king on the first day of the second sun.

  "That cooling statue of the Fay's Aura needs only simple attention," continued the tinker. "The ice enshrouding that poisonous power must not be allowed to melt. The second sun cannot erase the features the Fay have chiseled on their old queen. But such is easily prevented. Only use this cloth, which Fay hands have sewn, to wipe the statue's surface when its ice turns to water pooling at her feet. A Fay magic in this cloth will replenish the cold, so that none of the statue's shape will be lost, and that ruinous power trapped inside will not be allowed to sicken the kingdom."

  Troy laughed. "You've some nerve, tinker, to suggest duty to your king. Perhaps this tinker is not as meek as we first think."

  King Tiber descended from his throne and stepped to the tinker. Those in the courtroom held their breath.

  "Well done, tinker," the king applauded to the relief of all of those gathered, "I don't find it so surprising that such an incredible magic must be built with powerful and dangerous power. Few great things do not carry with them great responsibility. You present us a simple cloth for a simple task. We will not allow any of that ice to melt, none of those features to vanish."

>   The court erupted in applause until the king silenced the room with a raised hand.

  "You give us a simple task," King Tiber spoke. "Certainly, a simple task for a tinker. Who, of all of us, will better know how to maintain that ice than the tinker who crafted it? I grant you the honor of such a duty. See to it well, for as you tell us, a terrible poison lurks inside of that ice."

  The tinker's knees cracked as he raised himself from his bow. "Of course, my king."

  The king snapped a finger. His goblet was replenished. Another toasted was lifted.

  "To the tinker!" The courtroom shouted.

  Yet Wessex did not feel so eager for celebration. He watched the tinker closely as that inventor and his Fay declined further celebration and filed out of the courtroom. He thought he might count the years written on that tinker's old face. He wondered the nature of the pain that bent the tinker's spine. Wessex frowned as the room's chill grew colder and forced him to sip more freely from his wine. No tinker he had ever studied received a toast from the king. He had never heard of a crowd cheering for a tinker's works. And yet that tinker had not smiled in that joyous celebration of the second sun's arrival.

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