The Four Gifts of the King

by R. Scott Rodin

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Anna laid the book down. Merideth stood and walked to the large window looking out over the garden at the back of the house. In the darkness, all she could see was the moonlight reflecting off the roof of the garden shed, playing in odd patterns on the side panel of the greenhouse.

  Merideth’s hands shook. Cassandra’s voice rang in her mind. This couldn’t be happening. What had happened to her well-honed defenses? This was the last place she wanted them to fail her!

  How could Dad have known? This is my story. I can’t let it in…can’t let it overcome me.

  She jumped when an arm encircled her shoulder. Anna stood there. “Mer, are you okay?”

  “Anna, I’m…okay? No, not at all. I can’t give in to this. There’s too much at stake.”

  “It’s all right, Mer. We’re all processing the story in our own way.”

  Merideth continued staring out the window. It was time for her to own this. “Anna, Cassandra’s story is my story, and Dad knew it. All my pushing away won’t free me from the truth that my life has been dominated by the mountains that always loomed ahead of me, by my insatiable appetite for…ramp building.”

  She closed her eyes and could see herself standing on an Ascender, building her future on the bodies of those she had always labeled as less motivated. The confession cut her. Her defenses were crumbling. She rested her forehead on the window as the tears began to flow.

  Reed went to the kitchen, and Alex joined him. They needed to give Anna and Merideth some space.

  Reed leaned against the counter and waited for Alex to close the door. “That was a stake to the heart. Dad couldn’t have written it any better.”

  “You mean for Merideth?”

  Reed looked at him. “Yes. What did you think I meant?”

  “I thought he wrote it for me, that’s all. I know Cassandra is a woman, but I’ve spent a lot of the last several years building my own ramp to the mountainside. How about you?”

  “Geez, I thought I was done when Steward left Petitzaros. Now I have to admit to living in Ascendia as well?” Reed laughed, and he was glad Alex joined him. The laughter was a welcome reprieve from the heaviness of the night.

  Alex didn’t let the light moment last. “I don’t think either of us can escape this. Dad’s writing about us, all of us. What do you suppose drives us to be ramp builders?”

  Reed shrugged. “Our culture, capitalism, pride, fear? I dunno, probably all of them.”

  “Fear. Fear of failure. Fear of coming to the end of life and having nothing to show for it.” Alex stopped as Anna walked in.

  Reed moved over so she could fill two glasses of water from the sink.

  “What do you think, Anna? Is it a fear of failure that drives us to be ramp builders?”

  She wiped off the outside of the glasses as she thought. “Maybe. But I wonder, was Dad a failure? I can’t remember any ramps he was trying to build. Yet he left so much behind. Stuff that mattered.”

  Reed looked at his two siblings. Silence. Anna’s words hung in the air.

  She turned toward the door. “I think Mer needs this.”

  “Is she okay?” Alex asked.

  She drew in a deep breath. “Are any of us? I don’t know if I can take two more lands, and I have a feeling the next one’s for me.”

  Reed held the door for her, commenting as she passed. “I guarantee you, if it’s like the first two, it will be for all of us.”

  Walter strolled in, passing Anna as he entered the kitchen. Reed cocked his head and said, “Walter, how much of this story did you know before tonight?”

  Walter hesitated before answering. “Sam let me read parts of it as he finished them. I gave some feedback, did some proofreading for him, but I have never heard it from beginning to end before tonight.”

  “And how are you finding it?” Alex asked.

  “Convicting. I must admit I came here praying that it would speak to you, all four of you. But I am finding my own heart aching.”

  Merideth appeared next to Reed in the doorway, startling him. “So there’s a little Cassandra in all of us?”

  Alex threw his hands into the air. “Guilty as charged. How you doing, sis?”

  Merideth sipped her water then set the glass down and crossed her arms. “Look, I’m struggling, okay? I’m going to need some space and time to deal with this. I’m not ready to go much further yet, but,” she glanced around the room, making eye contact with each of them, “but I’m glad we’re here, hearing this together.”

  That was the sister Reed missed. There was a time when they could talk like this, all of them, so long ago. Before life, jobs, pressure, alienation—and fear. There it was again. Maybe Alex was right.

  How did Mom and Dad figure out how to live without fear?

  Reed longed for the answer. It was likely they all did.

  Reed followed his siblings back into the living room. “Has anyone figured out the Quash yet?”

  Anna shook her head. “I was wondering the same thing. Most of the imagery makes sense, but the Quash is beyond me.”

  Reed raised his eyebrows, signaling his own confusion. Alex just shrugged.

  “Power, control. That’s what I heard.” Merideth sat back in her chair. “I mean, we all have it. What matters is how we use it. To build our ramps, to attack each other, or, like Astrid, to serve each other. What do you think?”

  The grandfather clock in the living room chimed out ten times.

  “Wow.” Anna yawned. “Does that sound bring back memories.”

  Reed stretched. “Agreed. But it’s also reminding me it’s been a long day. First, Mer, I think you’re probably right. Power, makes sense. Thanks. Now, how far do we plan to read tonight?”

  Alex examined the depth of the remaining pages. “Good question. By my estimate, we have at least five hours of reading left to finish the book. So what’s the consensus? How far do we read before calling it a night?”

  Reed looked at Walter. “Any advice?”

  Walter pointed to the open book. “Why don’t you get young Steward through the next two lands and then pick it up tomorrow.”

  Reed agreed. “That shouldn’t take more than two hours. That puts us in bed by midnight. Is everyone okay with that?”

  Anna walked over to the couch and slumped into it. “Fine with me, but I’m not sure I can handle reading what’s coming.”

  Merideth nodded. “I need time to think all this through.”

  “No problem.” Reed took the seat by the book. “My turn.”

  chapter

  Twelve

  Steward stepped through the last stand of deep woods and approached Pitcairn Moor. He stopped to examine the landscape. The late day sun was casting eerie shadows across the open moor. Fog was forming and the air cooled.

  He drew his cloak round him. He hated these places in the daylight, but now, at dusk, at the end of a long day, his nerves were frayed.

  I wish I weren’t alone. Astrid, Zedekai, anyone? He looked around. I’d even welcome a Phaedra now.

  His legs were sore from the running and climbing in his escape from Ascendia. He looked at his arms in the fading light.

  Bruises. Mementos from the guards’ painful grips. And there were the ever-present chains still wound tightly against his forearms.

  Petitzaros, will I ever be free of you?

  He searched for a spot to sleep.

  “Not in the moor and not in the woods.” Astrid’s warning was playing through his mind.

  Why was she so passionate about where I sleep?

  He would comply. In the last moments of light he found a small, flat, grassy place at the edge of the woods. It looked out to the moor but was not in the moor.

  This will do nicely.

  Steward flung his satchel down and took the Quash from his shoulders. He gathered wood and built a small fire, just large enough to warm his hands and heat a cup of mulled wine. Once settled in, he began to take in his surroundings as the sunlight gave w
ay to absolute darkness. He looked one way to see towering trees that, in the fading light, looked like giants with arms extended in anger. He looked the other way out over the moor to see fog forming, turning every bush and stand of reeds into something that appeared far more menacing.

  Just one night, then I am away to the next city.

  But then, sounds. A rustle in the leaves, a creaking across the moor. The screech of an owl caused Steward to fling half of his mulled wine up into the air.

  Was that a figure? A man? A giant?

  Steward’s mind conjured up figures in the fog and footsteps at the edge of the woods. Within a few short moments of the first real darkness, Steward was ready to hide. He lay down and pulled his cloak over his head, trying not to listen or think. But sleep was elusive as he tossed about, praying for the light of morning.

  A chill ran through him.

  I’m being watched.

  He sat up and looked around but saw no one.

  Just your imagination. Sleep. C’mon, Steward. Just sleep.

  A gathering of hooded figures gazed at Steward huddling at the edge of Pitcairn Moor. They were in no earthly place but in the ethereal existence between substance and void. In this place there was no light, no sound, no movement of air. All that existed was nonexistence. It was the Tohu Wa-Bohu, and it could only be called a place because, on this night, it was occupied by figures who shared in part its detached and formless nature.

  There were murmurs and sneers. One of the cloaked creatures silenced them. “Young Steward is farther on his journey than I would like. I am saddened that he left Petitzaros. That was unfortunate.”

  Another raised his hand. “We did not anticipate the aggression of the Black Knight. It is quite clear this journey means a great deal to them…more than we may have thought.”

  The lead figure spat out his words. “Of course it means a great deal to them! Do you not know what’s at stake in this young one’s journey?”

  Other voices rang out.

  “Exposure.”

  “Confrontation.”

  “Exile!” He stood, shuddering with rage. “And we must not let it get to that. Not at any cost.”

  “But you know our limitations,” hissed another. “We have done much to delay this journey. What more can we do?”

  Offers were presented.

  “We can cause him fear.”

  “We can cause him panic.”

  “We can cause him despair.”

  “No.” The others fell silent. The lead Phaedra circled them, examining the assembly and considering his plan. “We will do far more harm than that. We will cause young Steward to doubt who he is. And there is no better place for that than Marikonia.”

  Dawn. Steward felt the warmth of the morning sun on his face.

  Thank heaven the night is over.

  Steward rose with one thought. Get me out of this awful place and on to my journey.

  Still he was hungry. He’d let the sun warm the earth while he ate.

  Steward enjoyed his breakfast, thanks to Astrid and Zedekai. As the sun shed full light on the moor, Steward gathered his things in his satchel. It was time to go. He took a step forward into the moor.

  “Yeoww!”

  The ground under his foot gave way, and the seeping mud underneath began to pull him in.

  A branch. I need a branch!

  Steward turned to grab the bush that had served as a windbreak for his fire. He managed to get hold of a branch to stop his descent into the mud while, with his free foot, he found firm ground. He pulled on the branch and pushed with his foot, freeing himself, falling back onto the spot where he had slept.

  “This is impossible! How will I ever cross this bog?” He let loose his frustration on a scream then picked up a rock and threw it out into the moor. It hit with a sloppy thud and sank into the mud.

  Great. Now what?

  The moor had turned into an endless swamp of bubbling mud. Had he slept just ten feet farther out, he would have been swallowed up whole. He turned and looked back toward the woods.

  Unbelievable.

  The woods he’d walked through for hours just yesterday had somehow closed in and formed an impenetrable mass of trees and bushes.

  That would suffocate anyone caught within it.

  Steward stood on the only spot that was safe, between the woods and the moor.

  “Thank God for Astrid.” He threw up his hands and shouted to the open air. “But where do I go now? How do I get out of here?”

  Had he been brought this far just to be abandoned to futility and despair at the edge of this disgusting bog?

  A noise. Something was moving in the trees behind him.

  “Astrid? Zedekai? Is that you?”

  No response. Steward knelt down behind the large bush and peered out to watch the edge of the woods. The thick brush began tossing about, and out of the tangle of trees and vines and bushes emerged a most curious creature. It was only a few feet tall and appeared at first to be a child, but no, not with its hunched shoulders and slow gait. Steward looked closer. Its face was long and thin, with telltale wrinkles encroaching on the edges of its cheeks, around its eyes and up from its neck. The little creature had vibrant green eyes that danced with life, and a bit of mischievousness, Steward thought. It was dressed in a deep blue cloak and its walk was measured, relying on a well-worn walking stick.

  Then Steward realized the creature was walking straight for him. He’d seen him.

  Steward stood and tried to steady his voice. “He…Hello. My name is Steward. Who are you and…how did you get through the forest?”

  The little man shuffled directly up to Steward, closer than he liked. He looked up at Steward with a squint and a snarl then turned and walked over to the edge of the moor. He took his staff and poked at the mud at the edge of the moor, and when the end of his stick disappeared in the soft bubbling earth, he pulled it back.

  He looked again at Steward. “Are you the one doing all the shouting?”

  Steward grinned. “Yes, I guess I am.”

  The little man looked out to the moor. “And who are you shouting to?”

  “No one. I was just frustrated. In my village, we call it ‘airing your ire.’”

  “In my village, we call it annoying!” he snapped back. He poked his stick at the place where Steward had slept and then again into the small fire pit he had created.

  “You slept here last night?”

  Steward kept his distance, although he felt no fear. “Yes, but not well.”

  “No doubt. You are either very lucky or very well-informed to have survived a night between these two curses.”

  Steward took a few steps toward him. “I have a friend who warned me not to sleep in either the woods or the moor, but at a place in between.”

  The man peered up at Steward. “A good friend indeed. And where is this friend?”

  Steward sighed. “She remained in Ascendia. You see, I’m on a journey, and, well, it’s one I must continue on my own.”

  He thought of Astrid; the touch, the kiss. He missed her.

  “Ascendia, huh? Wicked place. Filled with anger and hatred.” The man paused. “And where will this journey of yours take you?”

  “I am going to see the king.” Steward regretted blurting that out.

  The man made no response. He didn’t even flinch. He sat down on the spot where Steward had slept and poked at the ashes in the little fire pit.

  Steward looked out to where the path disappeared into the moor’s bubbling mud and sighed. “But that is my path, so it looks like my journey may end right here.”

  Steward turned back to the little man stirring up ashes with his stick. “May I ask, who are you and where do you come from?”

  He didn’t look up. He just kept poking at the remnants of Steward’s fire. “My name is Dunston. I am an Interpreter.”

  “An interpreter? An interpreter of what?”

  “Of life, of course.”

  Steward came closer and s
at near him. “And for whom do you interpret?”

  “Oh, I interpret for kings and rulers, queens and lords, generals and marshals, barons and emperors and sovereigns. And today”—he stopped stirring and looked straight at Steward—“for you.”

  So. This was not a chance encounter. “Did Zedekai send you?”

  “That doesn’t matter. What does matter is you, that path, and your journey. You are ready to give up your quest because the path disappears into the moor?”

  Steward raised his hands, exasperated. Of course he wanted to go on, but how?

  “What else can I do? The path is impassable. If I try to walk on it, I will be sucked down into the mud and die. And I can’t go back through the woods. They’ve become too thick. Do you have a way through all of this?”

  “No.” The little man stood and poked Steward in the chest with his walking stick. “But you do.”

  “I do? What do you mean by that? I have no idea how to get through that bog!”

  Steward was in no mood for word games. Was this little man really from the king? Who could he trust? He would proceed with caution.

  The little creature motioned for Steward to come to the edge of the moor. “Come here and tell me what you see.”

  Steward looked out again across the field of shifting mud and sighed. “I see a great bog, a swamp filled with bubbling mud and reeds and mosquitoes. And I see my path disappearing into the middle of it.”

  “Young Steward, you will find that what your eyes see and what is real may be two different things. How do you know what you are seeing is real?”

  I can see it right there. What is this man talking about? “How else can I know if something is real than to see it…and touch it? My foot was sucked into the mud, so it seems real enough to me.”

  The man shook his head and held a fist in the air. “No, no, no. You must learn to see things as the king would have you see them.”

  Steward spun around and stumbled toward him in his excitement. “You’ve…you’ve been sent by the king?”

  The creature nodded. “Calmly now. Yes, he sent me to you. He wants you to understand that the world you think you see may not be the real world at all. You need to have new eyes—lenses, if you will—to see the world as the king would have you see it.”