Feallengod: The Conflict in the Heavenlies

by Craig Davis

  ***

  Deep in the bowels of the woods, under nature’s gracious covering, Domen bent oblivious to the rain as his scheming built upon itself. Perched upon a stone, his elbows dug into a large oaken stump that served as a rough table. “I can bring them down, or I can raise them high. Either way, I win. I will tear them apart, through pride or poverty. I will break them apart until they curse Ecealdor, and forget Coren altogether.”

  At a twittering sound, Domen turned his head to two simpering faces, similar in appearance, eyes adoring him with anticipation as if to suggest they fed from his attention, and he might feed off them. They appeared familiar to him.

  “Lord Domen, we come to you, Mann and Cynn Draca,” said one. “I am Mann, he is Cynn.” Between breaths the two laughed like chirping birds through their noses.

  To this point I have spared myself telling of the Draca twins, but they forced themselves upon the island, and now again upon me. Suffer long, my mind, yield not your peace to the tale of these vile serpents. My king, forgive the words I must sacrifice to these, your enemies! Yet claim I any more better? Of what use such comparison, for the depth of their guilt does nothing to clear mine. Indeed, my wickedness, as theirs, overflowed the island long before the reign of Domen. Vultures to the poor, they grew rich with swindle. The clever would never fall victim to their clumsy cheating, so they made game of only the foolish and feeble. The weaker the prey, the better, for their concern; one penny stolen pleased them as well as a million. As the law of Ecealdor waned from the people’s thoughts, the Draca twins took advantage quickly. And yet they hesitated to fall behind Domen, always testing the wind. At last they knew the time to throw their lot, and now offered their foul services.

  “I know you, from behind the corners of the village,” said Domen, briefly looking them up and down.

  “We run the alchemy shop.”

  “Idle work for the stupid. Tell me your offerings before I flay you. I have no time to tolerate fools.”

  “You know us from your army, too. We fought the great battle.” And mirth like fools washed over their faces.

  “I know who marched with me, and I would remember your vomitous presence.” Domen glowered at the two, setting them to more nervous twittering.

  “You judge rightly, Lord Domen. We fought not at all. We stayed home. We hid.”

  “Did you make your journey here to brag?”

  “We come because we love you, Lord Domen.”

  “You tease me with falsehood — better yet if you believe it. If you look to curry favor, you have much to prove. But you show potential.”

  “We wish to serve you now, Lord Domen. We would make no soldiers, never, don’t want to get hurt, but your man Begietan fell dead, very dead.” And again the laughing.

  “Just as well to be rid of him, and you may join him if you wish.”

  “Make us your aides now, Lord. We tell the people what to think, at our shop, and to think of you, and we can make support for you. We know ways to conjure desire, secret ways. Give them not long, they will hunger to follow you or die.”

  “And how do the people think of me now?”

  “Oh, with great love they love you, Lord Domen, they would do anything for you.” Laughing.

  “They don’t think of me at all, until I come at their backs with a whip. They stay well occupied feeding the lusts of their flesh.”

  “Yes, wise Lord, they don’t think of you at all.”

  “You pick like birds at my cadaver. Lying comes as second nature to you. You could come very useful to me.”

  “Mann here is the liar,” said one, and he laughed.

  “You called yourself Mann before,” said Domen.

  “Yes, you accuse well, I am Mann. Cynn here is the liar.”

  “You indeed speak inspired guile. A father could not give prouder audience to two sons.”

  “Permit us serve you, Lord. We can tell you something now you’ll like, something to help you.” Excited laughter followed.

  “Spit it out then.”

  “Blawan flees the island, and Cirice as well,” said Mann and Cynn in one pasty voice, as though passing idle gossip. “Departed this morning, with all from the camp. They left in the boats from Gægnian, back to Gægnian.”

  “What?! What do you say?” Domen jumped from his seat. “Do you swear to this? Swear on your mother’s soul, or do you dangle another lie?”

  “Yes — no. We speak truth.” They grieved at the admission.

  “I don’t believe you! You will pay dearly for this trickery! I will see for myself!” Domen scrambled from the woods’ shelter and toward the island’s eastern end, Mann and Cynn trailing behind. Doughy and foppish, unaccustomed to exerting themselves, they quickly fell behind Domen as he raced toward the docks.

  The overcast eased Domen’s pain of the day’s light. My bonds had stretched loose enough to allow my violent shaking as he passed, ambivalent to his disabused mercenaries. We sat prisoners of time and a fate designed by a multitude of strings. Not until and not before Domen reached the end of the pier did he break his stride; there Beorn still lay, doubled over upon his knees, his fingers knitted over the back of his head. Domen’s eye caught only a final glimpse of the longboats disappearing behind the northern coast, looping westward toward Gægnian; any later and he might not have seen enough to force belief. He came as close as he ever had to dancing, his arms outstretched above his head. “I win! I prevail! Ecealdor deserts Feallengod! No more shall I suffer the humiliation of your tiny victories! No more will these puny men tread upon my appetites! The island truly falls to me now, the island is mine. Blawan departs, the power removed! For a ship, oh, if only for a ship to pursue! If I could make the waters divide, and the land emerge dry, I would follow after, to strike you down even in your homeland, you fleeting coward! I am king of Feallengod; I am just as he is. I attain all principality, and power!” The hollow echo of his exultation trailed across the moors and found home only in his own heart.

  “Told you so,” Mann and Cynn gasped from shore, stopping short and struggling to recover their wind.

  Beorn looked up through the tears and rain, barely making out Domen’s form, standing erect, grinning, hands on his hips. “You!” a growl rumbled within Beorn. “You’ve destroyed my family! You’ve stolen from me my sons!”

  “A buffoon and a coward. Well done to rid you of both!”

  “You!” Beorn again erupted, and from his crouch lunged at Domen. No stranger to betrayal, Domen easily deflected the attack, delivering his heel sharply to Beorn’s head. Beorn rolled moaning onto his back, perilously close to the pier’s edge. Domen considered his prone figure.

  I watched from my leafy prison, confining me but offering no protection from the wet. I struggled and trembled against the ropes, poor, pathetic attempts, then again resigned to defeat. My hair and clothing plastered my skin; I suffered with hunger and aching, tormented by the sight of the departing ships — I had finally earned the night in the moors that had menaced my childhood. At this low point, I drank in the true face of cruelty, its indulgent excesses. After the heartbreak of losing Astigan, after seeing battered Liesan in the hands of royal knaves, now I witnessed the father of malice at his work. Empty fortune, the king, the lord of the mountain – did they not all work against me? And still yet I wept only for myself. Domen delivered two sharp kicks into Beorn’s groin, then walked studiously around his writhing body. He spat upon Beorn’s face, applying his heel to grind it in. He trod upon Beorn’s fingers and ankles, curling the man like a worm into the smallest possible target. He took up Beorn’s staff, lying on the dock not far away, and brought the stout end against his head and ribs until Beorn could no longer groan. “Rise, you who suddenly call yourself saint! Arise, and serve me! Love me!”

  Never had I witnessed such gleeful brutality as now visited upon this helpless man, and yet I remembered the hundreds of temptations visited upon me to deliver just the same abuse. At last I knew, it lay not upon me to hate Ecealdor fo
r allowing evil; I must hate evil for itself and not rest until it succumbs. And I screamed and wept, because for me all hope faded, lost, and still the gag stole away my lamentation.

  “As the branch is, so is the vine, no, man of Feallengod? You draw equal to the uselessness of your sons, both of them.”

  “You. You — why must you do this?” Beorn moaned through his agonies, prone upon the ground.

  Domen glared as though more willing to kill him than answer. “Because I am,” he said, and stalked around his crumpled form.

  “Cynn and Mann, I make you my chief ministers — Blawan blows into the horizon, and I assign power to whomsoever I will. You will have authority to speak for me and decide judgment in my absence, as I direct.”

  “Yes, King Domen. Hail, King Domen. Thank you, Lord, we will serve you justly.”

  “See that you don’t – just do as I say,” grim cunning in his voice. Thoughts swarmed upon each other like hornets in their nest. “The invisible hand abdicates; I take hold of Feallengod now, but it satisfies me not enough. I will not remain here to rule only my prison. The son lies dead, the king grows old — his realm will come into my hand yet. You two will be my face upon Feallengod; my appetites go beyond this dead island. I must work in dark secrecy, so I leave the island to you.

  “You will use its every resource to subserve the people to me. Their lips will speak only ‘man, man, man.’ Upon their hearts will rest only me, me, me. Rob them of their children, to school them in my ways. No longer will they hear their truths or traditions, only the chanting requirements I make of them. I will be father to the children till all their parents quake in fear before them. Raise out of these my subjects a grand army, young and old, and build a great navy, to cross the greater kingdom. Again I will tread Gægnian, and not at Ecealdor’s invitation. He will see me upon his throne, and I will have my vengeance upon him and all who have escaped Feallengod. For now we will enslave this people, to turn against him completely. They will know me as their only master.”

  “Let us talk to the people today, with their minds fresh upon the victory of the great battle,” the Draca twins said. “Allow us talk in the square today.” The laugh continued – persistent, annoying twitter.

  “Yes, we’ll do that directly,” said Domen, in deep thought. “Come with me to the village. I have an idea.” He spat upon Beorn as afterthought. “I may have use for you yet.” And the three set off toward the south pass around the mountains.

  The rain at last relented. Beorn, head still spinning, body aching, lay silently on the soaked wood. The remorse burned so hot in his mind he no longer knew what thoughts passed through its refining. Mental images swirled: men and women he knew, the blood and gore of the battle, the dreamed visage he long had given to Ecealdor’s face. There he lay, with not a single reason to live. Perhaps a stone cast from the sky would fall upon him, he thought, or a great whale might swallow him up. No fate loomed too horrible for him, he believed, except one: He still could not bear going home to Cwen. Begietan’s dead body had lain exposed before his eyes; now joined, just as assuredly gone, by Hatan. Cwen had no sons left to comfort her old age, none. No hope for daughters-in-law, no hope for grandchildren.

  “This exile bears no fruit,” he finally said. “I must face her. She will know eventually, and she deserves to hear these tidings from me. At least I owe that much to her.”

  The clouds still churned and billowed overhead. They seemed an extra weight upon Beorn as he pried himself off the ground and set out stiffly for the village. He chose the long route to the north of the mountains, so at least in his mind he would not follow after the path of Domen. As he limped past, Beorn, just delivered from ungodly wrong, would not refuse an act of unmerited kindness: His eyes finally met my frantic gaze, and he cut my bonds. Together we found a fellowship that can be born only of suffering. I tagged behind him, but at a distance, for I knew myself unworthy to offer him consolation, and so I believe even now. Like a chastened puppy I fell in behind, because although I had long chosen solitude, never had my isolation been so crushing as then.

  But the fates cruelly decreed, Beorn could not avoid Domen. As quickly as he entered the village he could see him, standing above a large crowd, enrapt in impassioned speech. Frail, bent shoulders draped in rich, red robes; and then I also beheld him. At his feet waited Mann and Cynn, and the golden lion.

  “Again the time has come for you to see me not, people of Feallengod, fitting for your lack of worthiness! I will watch over you, have no fear of that, for you will remain in my unseen eyes, but my work calls me away from your presence. Therefore, I appoint these two ministers upon Feallengod, witnesses to my power! Hear them now, people, hear the instruction they bring you!”

  Mann and Cynn mounted the platform, murmurs and moans spuming from the uneasy crowd. They had only just risked their lives, lost sons and fathers, for Domen’s sake, and such was their reward. Domen stood silent behind the two, his teeth only slightly bared. “You know us, people of Feallengod! We have been among you in the village, and many of you frequent our shop! You know us, no fools, and we give nothing except to gain us more! If a bargain for you promises a bonanza for us, that’s the deal we make! If you go away empty, all the better. We may cheat, but never will cheating fall upon us!” No laughter lilted their voices now.

  The crowd’s murmuring grew as the people agreed, the Draca brothers indeed spoke truthfully for a change. No secret hung about their reputation.

  Joining together in a high wail, a whining liturgy of hypnotic effect, they continued their hellion song. “So you know we tell you rightly when we say Domen will master us. We always choose what’s best for us, so you know it best for you as well. To make fortunes to come, you had better make your friendships with us now. Prepare your future! Cirice and his men left Feallengod this morning: We count them dead! Domen’s brave attack in the night drove them off the island! We count them traitors, deserting Feallengod at its time of need! Dead they be, now and forever, and never will you see them again. Domen remains true to Feallengod! He claims his rightful leadership, because those who oppose him have run away! He scatters them before himself!

  “Cirice’s men girded themselves to dead Coren. And dead they remain, the fools! They bought false hope! Their lies led them to destruction, destruction they deserved! Our enemies take them captive, but we breathe free! Some claim Coren arose from the ashes. We say Domen brings Feallengod out of the ashes! Look about you, people — where comes the dissent now? Where arises the quarreling? Where is war? Domen banishes all, along with all the Coren-Ans! Domen delivers Feallengod into a new golden age of peace and prosperity!

  “Today we coronate Domen! No longer do we poor people of Feallengod have to rely upon empty hopes and faith. We enthrone a king for our island! Rejoice, oh you people, you have now a leader to see and touch, to know and feel his justice! We have a mighty lion to lead and protect us. Well did we cast this great golden lion at Coren’s defeat. But this graven eidolon falls short of our true king. It can only symbolize the real lion of Feallengod, that lion Domen!”

  Mann and Cynn performed well, whipping an emotional froth into the crowd, convulsive support for Domen. They pressed the people into wild cheers, much pleasuring their leader, glowering behind. His craven eye cast about the huge gathering, noting each face, each expression. How he hated them.

  I glanced to Beorn, his face frozen, a death mask. I glanced about again and froze myself at seeing Gastgedal.

  “People of Feallengod, make you Domen’s subjects now, make you plain,” continued the brothers. “You will do as we say, make that plain as well. If you keep Domen appeased, you remain secure. You do not want to displease him. So to make everyone happy, even make him happy — so to speak, to keep the peace — he requires one thing: Your complete, steadfast, unwavering loyalty. Only those who give their lives to Domen are worthy to keep their lives.”

  Seething arose in my breast, and I worked my way through the crowd toward Gastgedal. A
ll my contrition faded as I conspired my thoughts toward serving him some just desserts. Gladly would I repay his abuse even before this august audience. Carefully I maneuvered toward his rear.

  “Behold the lion before you, forged of your own donations of gold. It stands insufficient! The tree lies hewn, the stone reduced to dust; only the lion remains upon Feallengod! There rules now no law; Domen is the law. Domen is life, and there is no life.”

  I crept ever closer to Gastgedal, my head held low to the shoulders, each step swift but gentle. My fingers flexed eagerly to take hold his wattled gullet. I came within arm’s reach of him.

  “At long last, together again, my lovely!” he crowed as he wheeled about to face me.

  I hesitated just for a moment at the shock, but then let into him with all my hatred. Taking hold of his hair with one hand, I proceeded to pile blows upon his forehead with my fist. My crazed screaming painted me insane even to myself, and the crowd gave room to us as it could.

  “As we say, the lion offers a sign to you, a symbol of Domen, your supreme leader!” The Draca twins droned on as if nothing amiss was happening. Domen observed the melee with benign disinterest, and I fought on. “The great golden lion will remain in the square, enduring token of his glorious power. We say to you, now a shrine you will build to house the lion, a grand shrine of stone and gold — you will find yet more gold to give. You have no need of it, for we dispose of buying and selling forever! Domen lays claim as your only benefactor! For your desires, you will come to him; for your needs, you will beg to him.”

  Onward I pummeled Gastgedal about his head, and he struggled to defend. Gratified at wreaking my vengeance upon him, not just for the abuse in the moors but for what seemed a lifetime of trouble, I relished each painful landing of knuckles against skull. He wobbled underneath my grip and I felt him go down to his knees, but my feeling of elation soon became only too real as I sensed my body rising in the air. Gastgedal, old and wasted as he appeared, had grasped me underneath the crotch to deposit me back over his shoulder, head first upon the paving stones.

  “Plan a little fun at old Gastgedal’s expense, eh?” he chimed, wiping away blood with the back of his sleeve. “Itchy for a little rumble?”

  Quickly he returned the favor to me, kicking my ribs as I writhed like a worm. So complete was my pain, I could feel no new amount. I cannot say for certain what he did to me until I saw the flash of a knife in his hand. He kneeled close to my face and carefully inserted the point into a nostril. “I will lead you by the nose, if I must,” he counseled as he ripped a great slash in my flesh.

  Standing, he placed a foot upon my neck, and I screamed between clinched teeth. “You need never worry about me. I’ll never forsake you, my lovely.”

  “Yes, your gracious lord Domen will tend to you, and satisfy your needs. He will feed you, and you will rejoice in his abundance. Only you must visit the lion every day; he requires you to bow low when you pass. Your fingers must touch the lion, your lips kiss it, to make remembrance that you rely upon Domen. Touch its claws, they glimmer sharp; feel its teeth, they tingle voracious.” The voices drifted across the crowd like a pall.

  I lay in ruin upon the ground, and I thought of Beorn beaten upon the docks. No mocking came from my throat this day. I recalled the words of Coren, months of words, that made offering rather than demand. But they echoed from opportunity long past, and my thickened dregs of indifference had separated me then and delivered me now into this unholy servitude. I saw no way to deny nor escape the Dracas’ new order upon Feallengod, but this I knew even now: The brothers spoke lies about the law – though reduced to no more than gravel, the stone still hung ever greater over my head.

  “Any man of you not loyal to Domen stands unworthy to rest at peace, not worthy to live,” rang the voices. “Every man, woman and child upon Feallengod must declare permanent, undivided devotion to Domen. We people of Feallengod will endure no disciple of any rival magister. Therefore, to prove your love, Domen requires you to take a brand, a brand upon the forearm — a seal upon every act you commit, every moment you work, every item you take hold of — a brand in the shape of the lion. So has Domen said.”