by Olivia Ali
“The king had me decree that I would endeavour to find his son and bring him home. I do not know whether it was so that he could rule without being contested as our Princess might be due to her being a woman; or whether it was out of remorse for the actions he committed against his son. But what is clear is that he wanted Jacques bought back here…returned home and safe.” He paused again – Ivan liked this pausing for effect thing Theorryn thought. “I would now like the opportunity to illustrate the importance of honesty within our council. Who among you knew the story Isiah told to be true? Who among you will speak up now and say that when the act was passed that Jacques was dead…you knew it to be false?”
No one rose! It was obvious they were afraid – technically it would be considered an act of treason to say the prince was not dead all this time. Theorryn on the other hand was not afraid, probably due to the amount of ale currently within in his system, and he was the first to rise from his seat. Many gasped upon his doing so and he gulped as he looked around at his fellow council members. Then, next to him Hamish rose from his seat. It was obvious he knew because he taught Tristan for a while when he and his brothers from the Keeperage became Acolytes. Next to rise was Balderick but his standing puzzled Theorryn; he hadn’t been at the banquet – but then perhaps Tristan had told him. Three others on the opposite side rose also; Barron Selmy, Lord Crotus and Lord Lancel. They were among Rubuen’s most trusted council members and would have definitely been at the banquet. The last to rise was Daniel, Rubuen’s advisor – again to be expected.
A few moments passed but no others stood from those already standing. When it seemed no others would, Isiah took the podium once more and looked towards Daniel, addressing him.
“Daniel…” he was questioning for his full name.
“Fullhorn my Lord,” answered Daniel, his voice quivering slightly almost as if he knew the onslaught he was about to receive.
“Daniel Fullhorn – the Royal Advisor…correct?”
“That is correct my Lord.”
“You knew of Jacques’ whereabouts and the king’s actions the whole time did you not?”
“I…”
“Speak up man!”
“My Lord I did know that the prince was not dead…”
“And as an advisor to the crown…how did you advise his actions?”
Daniel did not answer straight away. His grey eyes darted up and around at his fellow risen councilmen, almost pleading with them to back him. Isiah’s question to him was more of an accusation suggesting that the lies told by Rubuen were down to Daniel – that Daniel advised the outcome of the situation. Whether or not the accusation was true, Theorryn knew not – Daniel had always been a weasel; worming his way in and out of situations. He was very secretive and what’s more, he was a Keeper and Theorryn hated the Keepers.
“Well?” Isiah was now pushing for an answer as he looked down on Daniel whose eyes were down, letting his shoulder-length dark hair cloud his face from site.
“I know what you imply my Lord but forgive my slander…” he looked up at Isiah through the gap his parting made in his hairline. His eyes were cold and hard – betrayed by his fellow councilmen. “You are wrong! Yes – I admit that I knew Jacques was not really dead and yes – I admit that I lied to the people about what happened to him…but the lies were not my doing.” His voice was forceful now as opposed to quivering with fear. He knew what the outcome of this would be for him, but even so he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
“So you admit to treason?”
“No!” All blame was now falling to Daniel as he stepped forward to the platform. “The king told me to lie…I advised him…I begged him not to make me lie about what happened. I only did as I was asked which is no less or more than any of you others standing here did.” He circled the floor where he stood, looking at each of those standing in turn, expecting at least one of them to speak for him, to stand up for him. It was clear that Isiah wanted a scapegoat for all this and Ivan was saying nothing to contest it.
“Of all the King’s adversaries it should have been down to you to do what was right. Your duty as a Royal Advisor is to the realm, to advise the king on behalf of the good of the realm and if they fail to do what is right your duty is to report it to the council and for the council to then overrule the king. For the good of the realm!”
There was a long moment of silence before any more words were said. Daniel stared up at Isiah from where he stood in the middle of the stalls; his shoulders broad and wide, his chest heaving heavily as he breathed deeply. His bearded face had turned harsh now and a single tear falling from his eyes. His demeanour came across as the sort of man who was used to being betrayed, used to being pinned as a scapegoat for the wrong doings of others.
“Are you really going to let this outsider speak for you?”
“How dare you…”
“Are you?” Daniel turned to Ivan and watched as Isiah’s face grew red with anger. He had been disrespected and he obviously did not take kindly to people doing so. “My princess this is your realm now by right…you are Queen!”
“The princess Iris is now the Queen by regent!” Ivan retorted, putting Daniel in his place. “She has no right to decide what happens to you without approval from the council.”
“Unbelievable! So you’re going to let a ruler from another land dictate what I should have done.”
“Of course not, I am going to let the council decide what happens to you, right here…right now.”
“I have a right to trial…”
“Your rights to anything disintegrated the moment Isiah accused you of treason. You have no rights!”
“This is preposterous!” Daniel turned his back on the council.
“Councilmen, you are called to pass judgement on this allegation. Daniel Fullhorn is accused of treason…stand now if you agree that he is guilty.”
Daniel did not turn straight away, instead he sniggered to himself, shaking his head as he did so. He honestly did not believe the others would stand against him with a man who had no right to accuse him of anything – that was until he turned around to see each and every single one of the councilmen on their feet. The only ones not standing were Hamish, Balderick and Theorryn, the latter of the three he had not expected to side with him. His face turned to that of a man scorned and his sniggering turned to anguish, tormented with pain and betrayal.
“Guards, arrest him!”
Theorryn watched as Daniel stood tall, the guards stepping forward and taking him by the arms, binding his hands behind his back. He could just about see the tears beginning to leak from his eyes but no remorse was shown towards him.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself Daniel?” asked Ivan.
“Just that if you are going to let an outsider speak for you then the war truly has begun.”
“War?” Ivan questioned, a snigger touching his voice slightly.
“The line between Light and Dark is beginning to blur and only time will tell which will overpower the other. The war has indeed begun!”
Ivan and others looked on in confusion as Daniel looked down at the floor. He began to mutter quietly to himself, but no one, not even the guards could interpret what he was saying. It was like he was talking in a different language, repeating the same phrase of words over and over again, louder and louder. Finally, he looked up at Ivan and Isiah, saying the phrase one last time before vanishing from site; the rope that was used to bind his hands falling to the floor.
Chapter 5 - A Stranger in the Bar
Pain! Excruciating pain was all Tristan felt when he woke from his deep sleep. He had woken with such a jolt that he had rolled from his bed, hitting his head on the wooden bedside table. The next feeling that entered his mind was confusion – the last thing he remembered was collapsing in the sitting room and by the state his hands were in he didn’t get up here himself. His father must have bought him up! The young blacksmith rose to his feet, trying his best to catch his bearings as he f
elt where he had hit his head, feeling a prominent bump. He had been lucky. Seemingly drunken, he staggered over to the bowl of water that rested on his chest of drawers with a washcloth dangling over the edge. Examining the blood-stained bandages, he began to remove them from his hands, slowly unravelling them layer by layer. As the bandages fell away, he could not find an outlet for them; all he saw were burn marks on the tops of his hands in the shape of glyphs. As he turned them over to face his palms, more glyphs shone with a blue light that seemed to join up the lines as the light faded. He thought it strange that these marks suddenly appeared on his hands and stranger the next image that appeared in his mind – the image of himself covered in words that were drawn in his own blood. As he rested his hands in the water, he took note of the glyphs once more, feeling a sense of familiarity strike him. The hooded stranger in the bar who had called himself Dante Ashdown had the same markings which meant one thing – they were one in the same! There his answers would be found.
The town, he noticed was oddly quiet – but then what did he expect; the sun had only just risen in the now bluing sky. As Tristan walked towards the square, he watched as the foreign traders set up their wares for the Exotic Market. Smells of rose and lavender reached his nose as he passed the incense stand. Opposite a man with a turban round his head was setting up some plates covered in floury jelly squares that were different colours – yellows, pinks, greens. He remembered how they had been in town once before and Jenni had forced him to try one…they actually were surprisingly tasty. He hoped Jenni would not be there as he reached the door of the pub, especially after his episode in front of her yesterday. He wasn’t avoiding her of course – his head was just all over the place at the moment and he needed some space.
“You’re too early, we aren’t open yet!” exclaimed a gruff western voice as Tristan pushed open the unlocked pub door. It wasn’t a voice he knew though; not that of Ernie or Iain or Ned or any of the men that worked at the inn. As he stepped into the light, he recognised the man behind the bar to be the very man he was looking for.
“How are you now…” he started to stammer in response, unable to finish as Dante looked up and cut him off; cursing the air.
“Are you fuckin’ deaf?” I said we’re not open yet!” he said slowly, quite clearly mocking Tristan. Usually, he would have ignored a comment like that, but something new was boiling deep inside of him; as though an entirely new character was coming to the surface and overriding his senses and reactions. This new character was perhaps an old form of himself, maybe part of the young Keeper he had once been and this young Keeper did not take kindly to being spoken to so rudely.
“I don’t like your tone!” replied Tristan, folding his arms across his chest in a smarmy sort of fashion.
“Oh, well I do apologise,” he mocked again, his accent becoming stronger as his aggression rose. “Allow me to say it more politely!” he leant back against a barrel that stood behind him obviously waiting to be changed. “We are closed!” he exclaimed, now being serious.
“Okay,” Tristan turned on his heel quickly, the essence of him now disappearing slightly and letting his more recent self take control once more.
“Wait a moment,” Dante called, stopping Tristan where he stood. The two characters within him were now fighting for dominance, for control over the body they were trapped inside. “Turn around.” Tristan did as he was told, spinning around; half anticipating what was to come and half relishing the confrontation that seemed to be approaching the situation. “Now I recognise you,” smiled Dante, waving his finger in the air as though his mind had just been blown. “You’re the one who had the crazy yesterday afternoon. Man, I have to compliment you on the improvement you made to that wench’s dress.” He clapped his hands; it was clear that he was talking about Jenni and also that he probably wasn’t her biggest fan. Tristan, rather than defending the woman he often professed to love, just laughed along with Dante, knocking the stranger’s confidence and silencing him as Tristan took a seat at the bar.
“Did I say you could sit down?” Dante asked rhetorically, again resorting to mocking Tristan.
“I don’t recall asking your permission,” smirked Tristan, a slight smile touching the ends of his lips.
“I’d watch myself if I were you boy…you attract too much attention to yourself. You’re gonna get yourself into trouble one of these days.”
“Could say the same about you! The last man who called me ‘boy’ ended up in the Land of the Faded.” Now, Dante looked scared, the unprovoked threat had clearly hit a nerve, even if Tristan actually had no idea what he was actually threatening him with or who he was talking about.
“What do you want?” He launched himself forward and slammed his fists upon the bar, his hair now obscuring the fear that was clouding his eyes.
“I want answers!” demanded Tristan as he rose to his feet, now looking down on the slumped stranger that hunched before him. But the man did not stay down, he too rose up, looking Tristan right in the eyes.
“Answers to what? You haven’t asked any questions.”
Tristan’s demeanour now changed again and this time, Dante noticed. This time though, it wasn’t a shift in character, it was a feeling the old him would always put to the back of his mind – using his smart smarmy nature as a defence for his real feelings. This hidden character was scared of the destiny that awaited him, the pain that would inevitably fill him with guilt and resentment for those that had wronged him. In response to Dante’s demand, he showed up his hands, letting the marks on his hands catch the light coming in from the windows up above. Now it was Dante’s demeanour that changed as he looked around hastily, grabbing Tristan’s hands and slamming them onto the bar.
“You can’t just go around showing those things off!” he exclaimed, half trying to whisper. “You could get yourself killed!”
“But you did yesterday…” started Tristan.
“Are you really going to be so childish? One rule for one a different rule for the other? Not my style! This place is a sanctuary for people like us…do you even understand the kind of trouble that showing these off could get you in?”
“No, I don’t! That’s why I came here…answers!”
Dante paused for a while, releasing his grip on Tristan’s hands and standing back from the bar.
“Do you even know what those marks mean?”
“No.”
“But…surely you do…you’re a Keeper…”
“I was.”
“I don’t understand, what do you mean ‘You was’?”
“I mean, I don’t remember…I was a Keeper yes…but I don’t remember when I was. There’s a gap of about three years in my mind, three years that I don’t remember anything about.”
“So, you were attacked by Faders then?”
“I don’t know…I don’t even know what Faders or the Land of the Faded is.”
“Then why did you threaten it with me?”
“I don’t know where that threat came from, I’m not in control of myself. It’s like I’m changing and not even realising it.”
“You’re returning…back to your old self by the sounds of it. When did you start to experience these changes?”
“Um, about a month now!”
“Strange…I’ve been back a month now,” Dante looked down at the ground, speaking in an undertone hoping Tristan would not hear him.
“Back from where?” Dante looked up suddenly – he had been too loud as per usual.
“I…”
“Have you changed that barrel yet Dante?” yelled a voice from upstairs somewhere. It sounded like that of Ernie.
“Shit!” he cursed, again a little too loud. “I mean…I’m working on it!”
Dante launched himself over the bar and grabbed Tristan by the collar, leading him to the door. He didn’t let go though, instead he leaned in close to Tristan whispering something in his ear.
“You need to leave now, but meet me later tonight by the fountain in the
square and I will answer all your questions I promise. But you have to promise something to me!” Tristan nodded slowly; “Firstly, you cannot tell anyone about these marks that have appeared on your hands…no one you hear me…” Tristan tried to say something but the grasp Dante had on his collar tightened, forcing him to remain silent. “Secondly, you cover up those hands of yours. Do you understand me Tristan?”
“Yes,” Tristan gulped, wondering how it was Dante had known his name when he himself had not uttered it to him.
“Good, now be off with you before Ernie skins me alive for not getting this shit hole ready to open.”
Dante opened the door and almost threw Tristan into the now bustling square, slamming the door behind him for added effect. It was clear to Tristan that Dante Ashdown was all bark and no bite.