Steward was enthralled by the image. “How do I get these lenses?”
Dunston fished around inside his tunic and produced a set of spectacles. He handed them to Steward. “Here, for now you can borrow mine. They will help you discern what is real from what is illusion. Put these on and look back to your moor.”
Steward did as he was told, but when he turned again to look out over the moor, it was gone! In its place, Steward saw a meadow filled with wildflowers. His path ran through the flowers. He reached up and lifted the glasses from his face, and the moor with its foreboding fog and bubbling mud was there. Then he rested the glasses back onto his nose, and the meadow and wildflowers returned.
Frustrated, he took them off. “This is a trick, some sort of illusion.”
“Yes, yes, you are right. It is an illusion.” The little man poked his stick again into Steward’s chest. “Only which of the two views is the illusion, and which one is real?”
Steward walked again to the edge of the moor. He placed his foot on the mud and pressed down until the mud oozed around his shoe and he felt the ground give way. He jerked it back.
“This is reality!”
“Is it? Put the spectacles back on.”
Steward placed the little glasses back on his face and again the beautiful meadow appeared. He watched as Dunston shuffled up to the path and began to walk through the wildflowers. He stopped and picked a bunch and held them to his nose. Then he continued strolling along in the warm sunshine.
“Dunston, how can you walk through the moor like that? I don’t understand!”
The creature looked back at him. “Leave the glasses on and walk out here with me.”
Okay, steady now. Just don’t lift them up.
Steward took a deep breath and placed his foot on the path. Where seconds before the sucking mud threatened to pull him in, the path was now firm and sure. He stepped again and the ground was solid. He continued to look through the glasses and made his way out to Dunston, who waited for him, tapping one of his small feet.
“Come on, come on. You walk like an old lady.”
Steward looked in every direction. Beauty. “I don’t understand. How can these glasses change the ground?”
Dunston tapped the path with his stick. “Oh, they have changed nothing, young Steward. They have only allowed you to see what is truly real. Lift them up and look around you.”
“No, I can’t or I’ll be pulled into the muddy bog.”
Dunston struck him on the shoulder with his stick.
“Ouch. What was that for?”
“For acting like a faithless old man. Now take them off…and learn.”
Steward hesitated then raised the spectacles from his eyes.
Amazing.
All around him were fields of wildflowers. He looked back to the edge of the meadow and saw the place where he had slept. The woods behind it were bright and green. No sign of the tangle of brush that he had feared. He held the glasses up, examining them with care.
“So, let me ask you again, young Steward. What is real and what is illusion?”
How could he know for sure? The moor was just here. Now this?
“I guess the meadow is real and the moor is an illusion. But I felt the mud beneath my feet.”
“You believed you felt what your eyes thought they saw. Illusion plays tricks on the body as well as the mind.”
“Are these glasses the only way I can ever see what is real?”
Dunston nodded and turned, shuffling his way down the path as he spoke. “Yes, for now. But you must develop your eyes to see what is real. Everything the king has created is real. All that stands against the king is illusion. When you learn to discern one from the other, you will not need the lenses. But now you must continue on to Marikonia.”
Steward hurried to catch up with him. He held up the glasses. “May I keep these?”
Dunston stopped, took the glasses from Steward, folded them up, and placed them in Steward’s satchel. “Yes, but only put them on when you absolutely must. Do not depend on them. You must train your eyes to see what is real without the lenses. Look to what is good and right, and you will begin to see the king’s kingdom as it really is.”
Train my eyes to see the king’s kingdom? How?
Steward kept his questions to himself as the two walked through the meadow and came to the edge of a steep descent on the path. Dunston gathered up his tunic and turned to Steward.
“This is where our paths diverge. You must continue, and I must go my way through the woods. Your path will take you to Marikonia, and for that land you will need this.” Dunston reached in his satchel and produced a pouch containing something flat and rectangular. He handed it to Steward. “Don’t bother with it now, but look at it when you reach the house of Abner the Blacksmith. His is the first house you will come to on the road to Marikonia. Stay with Abner and his family, and they will unveil the secrets of Marikonia to you. Stay only as long as you must and leave when you know the time is right.”
If Steward had learned anything in Ascendia, he’d learned that it would be easy to tell when the time was right to leave. “Will I like it any better than Ascendia?”
Dunston looked back at Steward from the edge of the trees. “Doubtful, very doubtful. But always remember, young Steward, look to what is real—what is of the king—and you will see new things you have never seen before.”
With that, the little creature disappeared into the deep woods.
Alone once again, Steward tucked the strange gift into his satchel and started the descent down the path. As he walked, he picked up momentum until he was in a full run. He fought to keep himself in control, but as he neared the bottom he was running so hard he feared he might vault himself forward at any misstep.
Just then, around the bend, a distinguished-looking man in fine attire came strolling along the path. Steward ran into him full tilt, sending both of them rolling head over heels down the path. They came to rest on the edge of the path with dust, satchels, and walking sticks flying in every direction.
Steward sat for a minute, shaking his head and examining his limbs. Nothing seemed broken. Only some bruises and a scraped knee. Then he looked at the man, who was just beginning to come around from a hard knock on the head. Steward crawled over to him.
“Are you all right? I am dreadfully sorry. I didn’t see you, and I was coming quite fast down the hill and…I do hope you are all right. Is anything broken?”
The man came to his senses and sat up and looked at Steward. “You foolish boy, what do you mean by running down the hill so fast that you cannot avoid an old man out for his morning walk? You might have killed me.”
“I am so very sorry. Here, let me help you up.”
Steward tried to help the man to his feet, but he pushed Steward’s hands away and leaned on his walking stick—once he had retrieved it from a bush—and made his way to his feet. He dusted himself off, massaged his legs and shoulders, and finally stood up straight.
He seemed to have come through the tumble without serious injury. “Well, I guess I have survived. But where are you going in such a rush?”
Steward was brushing himself off and fixing his satchel. “I am on a journey to see the king, and my path takes me through Marikonia.”
“Marikonia? Wonderful place. But what is this about seeing the king? Why would the king wish to see you?”
Steward didn’t appreciate the question.
“I’ve been sent to see him. It’s a promise my parents made before I was born. I will see the king, and he will tell me the meaning of my name and my destiny.”
The man reached down and picked up the bag containing the gift that Dunston had given Steward. “And what is this?”
“That must’ve fallen out of my satchel. I’m not sure what it is. It is a gift from a friend.”
The man opened the bag and produced a flat, smooth object that appeared to be a mirror. He held it up to look at it, and then, in a quick motion, he waved hi
s hand across the face of it.
“So, you are prepared for Marikonia, but I don’t think you are prepared for the king.”
Steward shifted. How could this stranger make such a comment, and why didn’t the man give him his mirror back? “What do you mean?”
“You are not fit to come before the king. Who are you but a sorry farm boy from the outer reaches of the far south? You expect the king to see the likes of you? I know men who have seen the king. Nobles, aristocrats, gentry, the finest in the land, and even they were humbled before the king. Who are you to think the king would want to see the likes of you?”
Not fit? Why? This was growing irritating.
This man doesn’t know me. Who is he to tell me I’m not fit to see the king?
Steward’s words were sharp. “It is my destiny, my calling. I have been told to make this journey.”
The man waved him off. “You will look a fool to stand before the king. You have been lied to, deceived. The king will not want to look on someone like you. You are unworthy, you are unfit, you are…repugnant.”
How dare he say such things! This man was insane.
“What do you mean I am unfit and repugnant? Who are you to say such things to me?”
The man snorted a derisive laugh. “Oh, it’s not me. Just look for yourself.” He turned the mirror around and positioned it in front of Steward.
Looking back at him from the mirror was a disfigured image that looked enough like Steward to let him know it was indeed him, but he had bulging eyes, reddish skin, and a crooked smile.
“That…that is not me!”
“Not you? Well, my dear boy, who else is it?”
Steward grabbed the mirror and looked closer. “No, I mean it is me, but I don’t look like that. What’s happened to me?”
The man sneered. “Perhaps the light is bad. But you must admit, the king would have no interest or business with the likes of someone who looks like you, now would he?”
Steward’s heart pounded. He looked again. How had his face turned so ugly? Perhaps the man was right. He couldn’t possibly appear before the king looking like this.
The man patted Steward on the shoulder. “I think Marikonia is just the place for you. People there know that the Reflector never lies. So off you go now. And mind your speed.” The man doddered off down the path.
Steward picked the mirror up and looked again, but he couldn’t bear to gaze for long at the hideous image staring back at him. He tucked the mirror back into its pouch and walked on to the outskirts of Marikonia.
Behind him, the dapper man looked back to see that Steward was out of sight. Then the man’s neat tweed jacket, vest, and well-tied ascot melted into a single cloth garment—a robe. His bearded face changed shape and disappeared into the shadows of a hood. And the Phaedra smiled and walked away.
As Steward drew near the village, he heard loud voices and sounds before he even saw a house.
“Troy, move that iron rail so we can finish the gate.”
“Trek, don’t blow so much air. The coals won’t last.”
The shouting and clanging metal rang out. Steward approached a large, open building, where a searing fire raged in a furnace surrounded by anvils, metal bars, and iron plates of all shapes and sizes. Behind one anvil was an enormous man with a hammer in one hand and a set of long pliers in the other.
Abner the Blacksmith, no doubt.
“C’mon, yield to me, you brute.” He beat a piece of metal that lay across the anvil and, between blows, continued yelling orders to two younger men toiling away at their own stations.
“There, done. Now for the hinges.”
The blacksmith grabbed the cool end of a long spear thrust into the furnace and withdrew a white-hot tip of molten metal from the fire. He laid it on his anvil and continued his merciless pounding.
Steward stood and took it all in: the sounds, sights, and smells of a busy blacksmith shop. Finally, the blacksmith noticed him.
“Hello, and who is this? Are you here for the garden gate for Mrs. Blackstone?” The two boys looked up for a moment then went back to their work.
Steward stepped a bit farther into the shop. “No, sir. My name is Steward and I am on a journey to see the king. I was sent here to stay with you…”
“Stay with us? Can’t be. We have no room or extra food. Go find lodging elsewhere. We have work to do.”
The blacksmith went back to his pounding.
“But sir…Mr. Abner…Dunston told me that—”
“Dunston? Dunston, you say?” The blacksmith shop came to a halt. Abner laid down his hammer, wiped his hands on his apron, and came over to Steward. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Boys, this is our visitor from Dunston. Come around and introduce yourselves.”
Thank God for Dunston.
“Hello, my name is Troy. You are welcome here.”
“Thank you.” Steward shook the hand of the young man who stood half again as tall and twice as broad as he.
“And I’m Trek, the younger brother.” He was even taller and broader than his older brother.
“Very nice to meet you both. Thank you for the welcome. I am most anxious to learn more about Marikonia.”
Abner shot back. “Why? There is not much good to learn about this place. But you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you like. Going to see the king, huh?”
Steward noted the skeptical tone.
“No one around here has ever seen the king. What makes you think you will see him?”
No one has seen the king? Steward felt pangs of doubt returning.
“It’s a long story, one I will be happy to tell you when we can sit and talk. For now, may I wash up?”
“Yes, certainly. Where are my manners? Trek, take young Stewy here up to the house and introduce him to Claire and Edith.”
Stewy? Steward wasn’t sure he liked that, but he went along with Trek without comment. They walked to the door and entered the simple thatched-roof house. Inside was a large room dominated by an ornate wrought-iron fireplace—most likely Abner’s handiwork. Beyond the fireplace, two women were working away in the kitchen.
Trek shouted out. “Mom! Claire! We have a visitor. It is the lad that Dunston told us would be coming. His name is Screwit.”
“Steward, actually, and it is very nice to meet you both.” Steward extended his hand to a heavyset older woman with beautiful black hair and deep brown eyes.
“Steward, is it? Well, it is nice to have you here. I’m Edith.” Steward liked her happy, sing-song voice. “And this is our daughter, Claire.” A young girl came around Edith, shyness clear in her expression and posture. She greeted him.
As she did so, Steward tried not to stare. Claire was close to his own age, and although she showed every sign of self-neglect, she was stunningly beautiful. She had her mother’s black hair, but it shone with a brilliance that reflected countless shades and tones as the sun caught it. Her eyes were a color of hazel Steward had never seen, sparkling and dazzling amid her soft eyelashes and smooth cheeks.
I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman.
“Nice to meet you, Claire. And thank you both for the hospitality. Dunston said you are gracious people.”
“And how is the little varmint?” Trek asked with a wry smile.
“I only had a short time with him, so I am not sure how to respond.”
Trek threw his hands in the air. “That’s Dunston. Here one minute and then, phoosh, he’s gone. Strange little dude, but awfully nice, and a friend of the king, so they say.”
Steward made his way to his room where he was most pleased to bathe and change clothes. In the evening, the family sat around a large round table that was the centerpiece of the only main room in the house. As the four men gulped down massive helpings of meat, squash, potatoes, fried corn, pickled eggs, and beans, the women scurried about trying to keep the men’s plates and glasses full and to grab a bite or two for themselves. Once the carnage was over, the men sat back and, between the belching and
laughing, began to talk about Marikonia.
“So, Stewy, what can we tell you about Marikonia?” Abner grinned at him.
Steward reached down to his satchel and pulled out the mirror. “I was told that this was very important here. But I must say that the image it shows is somehow distorted. I don’t look like the image I see in the mirror. What’s its purpose?”
They looked around at each other, uneasy. Had he misspoken and offended his hosts?
Troy spoke first. “That’s a Reflector. We all have one…have since we were five years old. It shows us who we are. Whatever your reflection, that’s who you are. Reflectors don’t lie.”
Steward put his hands up in protest. “Oh, but this one does. Surely you can see that I don’t look as hideous as this mirror…Reflector…makes me look.” Steward held it up to show his face in its smooth surface. They all looked at Steward and looked at the reflection coming back at them.
“Well, Steward, how can I say this?” Edith was searching for words. “It is actually what you look like.”
“What? No! I don’t look like this at all. Why would you say that?”
What’s wrong with these people?
Without saying a word, all five of his hosts went and brought back to the table their own Reflectors. Some were square and some were round, but all were scratched and dirty. Each of the Abner family held up his or her own Reflector, first to see in it for themselves and then to turn it so Steward could see.
No, that’s impossible!
Steward didn’t know what to say. The Reflectors returned images that bore little resemblance to the five members of the Abner family.
When he just looked at them, Trek and Troy had rugged, handsome features, and Edith, despite her plumpness, had a lovely round, soft face. Even Abner had a strong jaw and thick, curly hair. And yet none of those features were caught in the images displayed by their Reflectors.
The most shocking was Claire’s image. Her Reflector turned her stunning beauty into a disfigured, sullen woman with sunken eyes and dull, thin brown hair.
Steward was frantic. Someone had to declare the deception.
The Four Gifts of the King Page 16