The Four Gifts of the King

by R. Scott Rodin

The king had sent him such a good friend in Obed. Steward nodded. “Let’s make our best effort. That is all the king has asked.”

  The two waited until the hallway cleared, and then they emerged from the doorway and walked as fast as they could without breaking into a full run. As Steward’s hand reached for the door handle of the reception room, he was grasped by the shoulder and spun around. He could see Obed already struggling with two men who had grabbed him.

  Steward fought, but he and Obed would not win against the greater number of assailants. As the stronger men gained control, they pushed Steward and Obed to their knees, and their pursuers began to bind their hands behind them.

  At once the doors to the chambers of Philandra swung open, and out walked a woman of unspeakable beauty. Her long, flowing robes floated along the hallway as she approached.

  “Who are these men, and why is anyone being bound in the Halls of Wisdom?”

  The lead guard scrambled to his feet and looked down as he spoke. “Honorable Philandra, these are the two fugitives who are spreading the heresy regarding the king-myth and stirring up trouble among the Starr Hill fanatics.”

  “Obed, Teacher, are you really a fugitive as they say? And this must be Steward.”

  He looked up, and as his eyes met hers he lost the ability to speak. Only Claire could match her in beauty.

  She smiled at him. “Do we not have an audience scheduled for today—in fact, for this very hour?” She turned to the armed men, and the fire in her eyes gave Steward hope. “And would you beat and bind my guests right outside my own chambers?”

  The guard stuttered a reply. “Most honorable Philandra, we, we apologize for this skirmish. We will release them as you ask.” Then his voice strengthened, and he lifted his eyes to look straight at Philandra. “But when you have finished with your audience, these two men will be arrested and tried and punished for their crimes. We will be back for them.”

  Steward looked around. There was no place for escape.

  This is where it may end, but I will trust the king.

  Steward’s attackers backed away from him and Obed. Loosing the bindings on their wrists, he and Obed stood. Philandra escorted them into her chamber.

  Obed bowed to her. “Thank you, Philandra, for your kindness.”

  She looked out her window, and from where Steward stood he saw the angry crowd outside. “I fear I have only postponed your troubles. However, I do have the power to give you safe passage out of Seudomartus. My entourage will be leaving the Halls this very afternoon on a journey to Ascendia. You may join them and receive clear passage well beyond the city gates.”

  Obed turned to Steward, and a smile of intense relief flashed across his lips. “That is wonderful news. Thank you for your graciousness.”

  Had the king known, when he sent Steward here, the effect his presence would have? “I too thank you, my lady, for your kindness. I never meant to bring such turmoil to Seudomartus when I arrived.”

  That brought her around, and she locked her gaze on him. “What did you mean to bring, young Steward? What brought you here?”

  Dare I tell her? If I’m honest with her, will we lose our safe passage out of the city?

  It didn’t matter anymore. The fear that once held Steward in bondage was being replaced by a growing sense of the king’s presence. And peace and courage accompanied it.

  Before he could speak, Obed responded. “My friend Steward has come to Seudomartus at the request of the king himself. And our visit to you was also at the king’s direct request.”

  Steward watched Philandra’s face for signs of anger or repugnance.

  All she did was smile. “Heard from the king? Directly, you say? How marvelous. Oh, Steward, you must be so honored, so thrilled to have been chosen to hear from the king. What was his voice like?”

  He studied her as she moved closer to him. Does she really believe me? “His voice…it was magnificent. Deep and warm, yet powerful and reassuring. You…you believe me then?”

  “Believe you? Why, yes. Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

  “Well, no one else has…except for Obed.”

  Philandra took him by the hand. “My dear Steward, everyone has a right to believe whatever they want. That is the beauty of this land. We cherish everyone’s vision of truth and beauty. That is why I freed you just now. You have every right to receive your truth from the king’s voice. We are committed to openness and the pursuit of truth. Every voice must be heard, and every belief must be met with tolerance and love. When we lose that, we cease being truly human.”

  She walked across the room, turned, and looked back at Steward. “You do believe that, don’t you, Steward?”

  Steady, push on but be cautious.

  “Yes, I believe so. But now that you know the king does speak and wants to be heard by all his people, surely you will help me find the Transmitter and hear his voice for yourself.”

  Philandra gave a wave of her hand. “It is enough for me to know that you hear his voice. I have my own voices that I hear, that I look to for truth and guidance and a sense of the real. Would you like to hear those voices? Or what about the Cosmers, who find truth in the stars? Or the Planters, who find their truth in nature and its many gods? Do you wish to hear their voices and follow their truths? And there are the Dawners, who find truth in pursuit of suffering, or the Epists, who find truth in knowledge and understanding. Do you want to hear their voices and follow their truth?”

  Philandra stopped, although Steward sensed she had countless more examples.

  He wasn’t sure why, but he sensed what he was about to say would mean the difference between freedom and death. “I do not know these other truths about which you speak. I only know that the king spoke to me. I heard his voice, and he has called me to this place to find the Transmitter so I may approach the throne room of the king. Will you help me?”

  Philandra gazed out her window onto the long promenade and the Sacred Mount that loomed in the distance. Then she turned back to look at Steward. Her eyes had lost their glimmer. Now they were colder, calculating.

  “You have a choice to make, young Steward. If you are to leave here and escape to freedom, you must leave me with the assurance that you will pledge yourself to pursue all truth wherever you find it, not just one truth in one place. There is no one truth, Steward. Do you understand that? Expand your search. The king-myth will demand your full allegiance and cut you off from all other sources of truth but itself. It has demanded such of everyone who has ever pursued it, and it will for you. For that reason, you must leave it behind. It is only in the defiance of any one great truth that we can all live together in peace. And that is my greatest desire—that we all live in unity and peace. That unity is only possible through an abandonment of the idea of any one truth and the joyful pursuit of truth at every level and in all things.”

  She walked to Steward, taking his face in her hands, rubbing her soft fingers across his cheeks and looking deep into his eyes. In a silky-smooth voice carried on the sweetest breath, she concluded, “You will give up your pursuit of this king, won’t you, Steward? It is the only way to real freedom and peace and serenity. Give it up and I will help you find favor again here in Seudomartus. Give it up and you can live here in harmony. Give it up and you can enjoy the Halls of Wisdom whenever you want. Give it up and you can live out all your days in happiness and contentment. Give up your search, Steward, and I will set you free.”

  He was intoxicated with her beauty and mesmerized by her voice. Her words seemed so right and true. Perhaps his journey was finished. Perhaps he could stop here and enjoy this place—

  “No!” Steward jumped back, pulling free of her hands. “I am sorry, Philandra, but I must be true to what I have seen and heard. I do not know where real truth may lie, but I know that I must follow the king’s voice. I cannot stay here, and I cannot abandon my journey.”

  Philandra stood firm, staring at Steward with a fierce glare and speaking with a venom that pierced him. “V
ery well then, that is your choice. You shall not be free! For there is only one thing that cannot be tolerated in Seudomartus, and that is intolerance itself!”

  She stormed out of the chamber and into the hallway. “Guards! Take these men away and do with them as you please. They are traitors and enemies of Seudomartus!”

  Obed looked at Steward. “The table!”

  He thought for a moment and then realized what Obed was asking. He reached down and picked up the heavy bronze table that sat next to his chair. He ran toward the great window that looked out on the plaza and hurled the table through it. The crash sent glass flying in every direction. He and Obed jumped through the gaping hole and plunged down onto the plaza. Bruised and shaken, Steward struggled to his feet and started running.

  “Obed! Guards! Here they come!”

  A band of men had been waiting for them outside the main doors and came running at the sound of breaking glass. Obed and Steward ran to the edge of the plaza. Just in time, produce carts came from everywhere, blocking the path of the pursuing guards.

  Steward heard the captain of the guard shout at Albert, “We will be back for you later!” Then they pushed the carts aside and were after Steward and Obed again. But by that time they’d reached the dense forest past the edge of the plaza.

  People everywhere were shouting to the guards and pointing out their position.

  Obed ran at his side. “All of Seudomartus is against us now. Steward, we’re out of options.”

  They emerged from the trees and Steward looked for an escape route, but all that was ahead of them was open parks and wide walkways. Steward glanced behind them—the guards were just yards away.

  This is it. Our escape is hopeless.

  “Whoa, what?” Something grabbed Steward by the ankles. He looked down to see Zanon looking out from a tunnel entrance hidden by an old tree stump.

  “Quickly, in here. The time has come!”

  Steward grabbed Obed’s arm, and they climbed down into the tunnel. Zanon pulled the old stump over them just as the guards came into view. The three sat silent until the footsteps were gone.

  Zanon lit a small torch and moved with haste down the tunnel. “This way.”

  They followed the tunnels for several minutes, coming to many forks that Zanon navigated with ease. Just as Steward thought his back might break from hunching over and running, they came to a long ladder that went up a shaft as far as they could see.

  “Quickly, up the ladder.”

  Steward climbed as fast as he could, with Obed right behind him. The farther they climbed, the lighter it became until at last they saw arms thrust down to meet them and pull them to the surface.

  Once Steward was out of the tunnel, a man in a gray tunic shook first his hand and then Obed’s.

  “Welcome, my friends. Our time is short, and we must be about our business.”

  Zanon emerged from the tunnel. “Good leader, this is Steward of Aiden Glenn and his companion, Obed the Teacher.”

  Steward cringed. Obed was not a “companion.” He turned to apologize to his friend, but Obed’s smile told him it was fine.

  “Steward, we are honored to have you here.”

  Steward turned back to the man in gray.

  “Unfortunately, these are now the most perilous of times for all of us.”

  “I am afraid I am to blame for that. My visit has brought all of this upon you.”

  The leader came to Steward and placed two large hands on his shoulders. “No, Steward, you are not to blame. This is the culmination of the battle that has been coming for millennia. We have prepared for it and are ready. Do not blame yourself. The king has used your visit to bring about his goodwill for this sordid place. And now we must take you to the Transmitter.”

  Steward and Obed followed the man across a small clearing. From there, Steward could see that Starr Hill was not far from the Sacred Mount. Indeed, a high ridge hid this part of the hill from the view of anyone on the Mount or in the plaza below. Ahead of him was a thick stand of trees, and beyond that was a tent.

  The leader pointed. “There, that is the place where we keep the Transmitter.”

  Steward almost shouted. He was about to hear the voice of the king again!

  He entered the tent, secluded as it was within a stand of large, sweeping cedar trees. Inside, sitting on a table covered in a fine silk cloth, was the Transmitter.

  Steward caught his breath. It’s identical to the one I held in the mountainside.

  He walked to it and picked it up, treating it with a sense of the sacred. He turned it around in his hands. Then it came—a soft glow, followed by a light that shone with such intensity Steward had to set it down and cover his eyes. He stepped back as its warmth and brightness flooded the tent.

  Then came the voice. The deep, powerful, and comforting voice of the king himself.

  “Steward, you have done well, my son. I know that you have faced many obstacles and encountered great danger to complete this journey. Now it is time for you to come to me. Follow the light and enter the throne room of the king.”

  A shaft of light shot from the side of the vessel, marking a clear path out of the tent and across the crest of Starr Hill.

  “Come, Obed, let’s go.”

  But his friend shook his head. “No, my friend. This is your journey, and now you must complete it alone.”

  Before Steward could argue, shouts and screams sounded from outside. He ran from the tent, followed by the others, and saw hundreds of armed men ascending the hill.

  Steward looked to the path illuminated by the shaft of light. “I’ll never make it.”

  The Starr Hill leader pointed across the plain. “Yes, you will. You must! Follow the light, Steward, and we will do the rest. All of you, come with me.”

  Steward watched as the band of Starr Hill Faithful and his dearest friend, Obed the Teacher, ran toward the clearing in full sight of the pursuing mob. The sound of arrows pierced the air, filling the sky and falling to earth on top of the fleeing band.

  Run, Obed. Dear friend, run for your life!

  Steward watched in horror as several of the Starr Hill Faithful fell to the ground. He was paralyzed, frozen by his fear and pain. Then behind him, from the tent, the voice of the king called him.

  “Come to me, Steward. Come now!”

  This was his only chance.

  As the angry mob moved on the fleeing band of Starr Hill Faithful, Steward spun around and ran. The shaft of light pointed him to the crest of the hill. He ran with all his energy. The shaft of light led him to the edge of the hill, well hidden by a stand of willows.

  He stopped to catch his breath and crouched down as he looked back at the clearing.

  Dozens of bodies lay on the ground, pierced by the arrows of the pursuing mob. And then, as he watched, Obed, the wise and kind Teacher, fell lifeless to the ground from one arrow that pierced him straight in the heart.

  “No!” Steward wanted to rush the mob and avenge the murder of his dearest friend, but the pursuers heard his cry, turned at the sound, and began moving toward him.

  Steward scrambled to his feet and ran for his life, following the shaft of light and nearing the edge of the hill. Then he stopped.

  Where is the castle?

  He could see no great castle or any entry to the king’s throne room, just the shaft of light shooting out into space.

  There was only an open field ahead of him now, with no cover for protection.

  “Where am I to go? I don’t see anything! Where are you?”

  The king’s voice came to him once again. “Follow the light, Steward. Come to me… and trust me.”

  Filled with hope, he jumped from the line of deep willows and out into the clearing, running as fast as he could toward the crest of the hill.

  But the clearing was too wide. His pursuers were upon him.

  Steward felt a searing pain shoot through the back of his left leg, and he fell to the ground.

  He tried to pull himself
up. He tried to limp ahead, but the arrow protruding from his thigh crippled him. The pain was unbearable.

  “I can’t make it. I can’t get up. Help me! I can’t see where I am to go, and I can’t run.”

  In his fall, the small set of spectacles had been flung from their resting place in his vest pocket, and now they lay right in front of him.

  “See the world as the king would have you see it…”

  With the mob soon upon him, Steward grabbed the glasses. He propped himself up and put them on.

  Steward looked ahead and unfolding before him was a grand staircase. At the top was a set of golden doors leading into what he was sure was the throne room of the king.

  He was there. He had made it.

  He pulled himself to his feet and forced himself forward through the searing pain. One step, then two, then…

  A second sensation of white-hot pain exploded through his back, and Steward went down in a heap. The glasses fell off his nose. Steward couldn’t breathe, and the staircase disappeared into the sky.

  With his right hand he fought to reach the glasses that were just inches away. Behind him he could hear the voices of his pursuers. The world around him began to grow dim as his hand finally felt the metal frames of Dunston’s spectacles. He pulled them toward him and managed to slide them on his face.

  As he lay there, his face against the earth, Steward could see the steps to the throne room of the king. He was partway up them, but they were too long for him now. The shaft of light that guided his way was fading, and Steward struggled for one last breath. As he did, the image of the shining castle and the stairs faded away, and he felt the grip of death on him.

  In his last moment, he saw a black arm reach out to grab him, and then Steward, the young man from Aiden Glenn, breathed his last.

  And out from the depths of Tohu Wa-Bohu came a horrifying and delirious cry of delight.

  ~~~~~~~~~

  Merideth’s words had just left her lips when Reed cried out, “He died? How could he die?”

  “Incredible.” Alex sat there. He couldn’t believe it. “How could Dad leave him to die on the steps of the king’s castle?”