Masterful, and heinous.
“Can the people break free from it? As you say, it’s a powerful thing.”
“And so will be my response.”
Before Steward could ask the king what he meant, the king placed a hand on Steward’s shoulder. “Tell me about Pitcairn Moor.”
“Bloody awful place!” Steward shot back. “I almost forgot about Dunston. Who is he…what is he?”
The king laughed, a rich, glorious sound that drew out Steward’s laughter too. It felt good to laugh after so much pain.
“Dunston is one of a long line of Interpreters. They have been part of my kingdom for generations. They live far in the depths of the Fungle Woods and seldom come out.” The king’s face turned somber. “But during the battle at Kildrachan Plain, the Interpreters played a critical role. A small band of the very best of them gained access to the Tohu Wa-Bohu, and they overheard the plans of the Phaedra’im. They fled to tell our generals, but they were caught before they crossed the Golden River. The Phaedra’im tortured them without mercy, but they would not tell of our plans. Only one escaped the torture and lived to carry the Phaedra’im’s plans to us. His information turned the battle for us.”
“Dunston?”
The king nodded. “He still carries the scars of the torture and the pain of losing his comrades. When I needed an Interpreter to meet you at Pitcairn Moor, he was the first to volunteer.”
“But why didn’t I see the stairs without the spectacles? Dunston told me I would learn to see the kingdom the way you wanted me to see it, but I never did—not without the spectacles.”
“It was a great deal to ask for such a short journey. The distortion is too strong. It takes time and great commitment to see through it to the truth of the kingdom. But you see it now, and from this time onward you must see it always. Do you understand?”
The king sounded so…urgent.
Steward swallowed hard. Did he? “I think so.”
“Then let us complete our discussion and consider your time in Seudomartus.” The king walked to the farthest northeastern corner of the palace roof.
Steward looked out at the land where so much had happened. Where should he start? “There is so much to say. I heard such stories of truths and myths, of writings and heresies. My head was spinning with questions, challenges, and debates. So many people have so many opinions and views and ideas and interpretations. Some believed in you but most did not. Some encouraged my journey, and others rebuked me for it. Some questioned the existence of truth, and others thirsted for it.”
He closed his eyes, seeing again the place, the people, and the events. “So many falsehoods, so much deception, so many searching hearts—and so much uncertainty.” He opened his eyes and met the king’s gaze. “And all in places called the Halls of Wisdom and the Sacred Mount.”
It all still amazed him. “People knew about you, but no one knew you. Many knew that you spoke once, but no one cared that you speak now. Many worshipped the Transmitter, but no one worshipped you!”
“Did you see any of the Phaedra in Seudomartus?”
Steward had never considered it before, but now that the king mentioned it, he realized that he hadn’t. There hadn’t been even one Phaedra in all Seudomartus.
“No, actually. They were nowhere.” He looked to the king, his eyes wide open. “Why weren’t they there?”
“Oh, they were.” The king began a slow pace as he talked. “The Phaedra have realized their greatest and most compelling victory in Seudomartus. So complete is their domination of that land that they need not even appear. Every ear in the city has been filled with their lies, and every heart is wholly won over to their cause.”
“Except for the Starr Hill Faithful.” Obed, Zanon. Such courageous people.
“Yes, except for them. The Starr Hill Faithful have been holding out against the Phaedra for centuries, but their power was waning when you came into the city. Your presence brought the opposition to its peak and caused the destruction of one of the last Transmitters in the land.”
“After I was shot, the pursuers destroyed the Transmitter?”
“No, the Starr Hill Faithful destroyed it. They felt it was better to destroy it than to have it taken by the mob and be subjected to the scrutiny and ridicule of the learned of Seudomartus. They would have used it to prove that the king was a myth and the Transmitter was but a deluded superstition.”
“But couldn’t you speak to the people of Seudomartus through it?”
The king stopped. “Steward, the Transmitter was my fourth and greatest gift to my people after the victory at Kildrachan Plain. It was a symbol of my heart’s desire to speak directly to my people, that they may know my will for them and never doubt my love and devotion to their well-being. I gave a Transmitter to every person in my kingdom. They were directed to use it whenever they wanted to hear my voice. In faith, they were to set it on a flat surface and orient the front of it to the north. Then, moving the crystal on the arm in a clockwise direction, they were to wait and listen for my voice. I would speak to them when the crystal was aligned with the exact direction of my palace.”
“It sounds like a lot of work.”
“It was, and that was the point. You see, I would be happy to speak to my people at any time and in any form. But I wanted them to seek my voice and believe me when they heard it. So you see, it is the faith of the user that activates the Transmitter, not the device itself.”
“Then…without faith the Transmitter remains silent.”
“Like a great paperweight.” The king shot Steward a smile.
Steward chuckled at the comment. And when he thought about the five people he had met, he had to admit they each would have treated it like a paperweight if they ever actually possessed one.
But I heard the king speak through it.
“So if the owner believes, you will speak?”
“For generations I spoke to my people through the Transmitters. Young and old, rich and poor—everyone could hear me. Then the deceivers came, and the focus shifted from faith to the device. They convinced the people of Seudomartus that the magic was in the Transmitter. So people began to worship the device, and they conjured up all kinds of stories and myths about its powers. When it stopped transmitting my voice, they began to hear other voices from other sources. Soon the distortions became the new revelations. Distorted doctrines enshrined false teachings, and misguided devotees started following every voice that tickled their ears. False teachers and charlatans sprang up everywhere, and without my truth everyone claimed their own form of truth.”
“The Halls of Wisdom were built as a place for these false teachings?”
“Not at first. The Halls were built to celebrate the open discussion of what I shared with my people. And the Sacred Mount was a place of worship and of teaching my ways and commands. But when the great distortion began, faithless men and women overtook the Halls and exchanged the truth of my words for their own cleverness. And on the Sacred Mount…” The king paused, as if in pain. He caught his breath and continued in labored speech. “On the Mount, my cathedrals were once places where my truth was taught, where justice was honored, and every voice carried my words of freedom, joy, and peace. But my cathedrals are now havens of every kind of deceptive form of truth and beauty. And, worst of all, they used my name to legitimize their shameful ways.”
Steward sat silent. He recalled Philandra’s chambers and his confrontations with Nagas the Skeptic, Mattox the Great, and Hambry the Pious. Supposedly the wisest and holiest people in the land. All deceived.
And Obed…dear Obed…
The king placed a hand on his head. “Obed died that you might see this day.”
“I miss him.”
“Many dear ones in my kingdom have died that you might see this day.”
That stung. Why did people die for his journey?
Steward met the king’s gaze. “You speak of people giving their lives that I might complete this journey. You speak of yo
ur own response to the evil in your kingdom, and that my work is not yet done. Can you tell me, your majesty, what all of this means?”
“Yes, it is time. Come with me.” He led Steward back down the staircase and into the throne room. Once there, he turned and faced Steward.
“On the day you were promised to your mother and father in Aiden Glenn, they were told that you would stand in the throne room of the king and be given the meaning of your name and the purpose of your birth. That time has now come.”
Steward’s heart pounded in his chest as he awaited the words he had dreamt about his entire life.
The king walked to the enormous cabinet that ran from the floor to the ceiling of the throne room. Opening the doors, he took out an object that Steward could not quite make out. As the king turned back to him, Steward watched the throne room fill with people. Soon he was the center of attention of a great assembly.
The king stood and addressed the crowd. “Since the foundations of the new kingdom, we have awaited the coming of the one who would liberate our people from the oppression of the Phaedra’im. This is our day of celebration, for the Liberator has come.”
Steward looked around.
It must be Zedekai. Or is some other great warrior about to be introduced?
But the king did not look at anyone else.
The king looked at him.
“Steward of Aiden Glenn, your name carries only one meaning, and with that meaning comes your one purpose in life.” The king held out what he had taken from the cabinet. It was a magnificent sword and scabbard, even greater than the one worn by Zedekai. The king presented it to Steward. “The meaning of your name is warrior, and from this day forth you will be known as Warrior Steward, Keeper of the Truth.”
The king strapped the great sword on Steward’s waist, and the entire room broke out in cheers and applause. Steward had no idea what to say.
Warrior? Me?
The king spoke to Steward but also to the assembly. “Steward, when I gave my gifts to my people, they were to be used and treasured. In one sense, the Phaedra you encountered on your first day out of Aiden Glenn was correct. Your name does mean to care for everything you have. What they failed to tell you is that everything you have is a gift from me. This includes these four precious gifts. But with the return of the Phaedra, these gifts are now in peril. Your journey has introduced you to the distortions and lies of the enemy. You have seen for yourself how the gifts I have given my people have been used against them. You have experienced their wrath and known their hatred. No longer can these gifts be taken for granted, but they must be fought for and won back from the deception that has engulfed them. And you will lead the charge to restore them to my people and reclaim my kingdom. That is the purpose of your life, and your time has come.”
As the crowd cheered, the king escorted Steward out of the throne room and led him down a long staircase.
“Dear king, I don’t understand. I am no warrior. I cannot wield a sword or fight the Phaedra’im. You cannot place your trust in me to restore your kingdom!” He was pleading now.
The king didn’t speak until they reached the stables. Then he turned to Steward. “You will not enter this battle alone. Come with me and I will tell you the plans. Do not fear, Warrior Steward.”
The king mounted his horse and summoned Steward to mount the steed that had been prepared for him. The two rode toward the southwest as the afternoon sun burned bright above the distant hills. They crossed vast fields of wheat and rode into the orchards, through row after row of apple trees. They raced along ancient routes through the dense forest and galloped along the crest of a steep ridge. They rode for several hours, and it took all Steward’s might to keep up with the king. As early evening came upon them, they rode out into a large clearing. Ahead lay a small village of tents set up around a roaring fire. As Steward and the king approached, several servants came out to take their mounts.
Steward climbed off his horse, tired and sore and out of breath. “Where are we?”
“Look for yourself.” The king pointed out across the large clearing as the last bit of light faded into darkness.
In the distance, Steward could hear the sound of a mighty rushing river, and as he looked across the vast open space ahead of them, he knew where they were.
“Kildrachan Plain.”
~~~~~~~~~
Walter checked his watch as Anna read the last words and set the book down. Three more hours is about all they had. They would have to be diligent. There was more to be done when the story was finished.
Anna stretched. “Well, that explains a lot of things. Now we know what the Quash was for.”
Alex stood and joined her in a stretch. “Four gifts, four lands, and four distortions. It’s all coming together.”
“And four of us.” Merideth leaned back. “I think Dad has us right where he wants us.”
Reed turned to Walter. “This is an incredible story when you begin to see all the pieces come together. How long had Dad been thinking about it?”
Walter held back a smile. This was a discovery that he couldn’t wait for them to make. “I believe he started writing the story a few days after he received word of his ailing health. It was about that time that he began to talk to me about the importance of legacies.”
Merideth raised her hand. “Wait, if Dad started writing this that soon after his diagnosis, then he had not yet heard of Mel Sidek’s death…”
“…or the inheritance.” Alex’s expression was priceless.
Walter paused for a moment to enjoy it. “That’s right. Your father wrote a good part of this story before he ever knew there would be an inheritance.”
He let that new realization set in.
Reed rose and walked to Walter. “Then…it really isn’t about the money.”
Walter shook his head.
Anna was fixated on the book. “Walter, did the story change after Dad found out about the Sidek inheritance?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I doubt that it did. Your father had a clear sense of what he wanted to leave each of you. He took seriously the importance of a legacy that would live in each of you far after he…and your mother…were gone. I don’t think it mattered to him if the legacy had dollars attached to it or not.”
Merideth pushed her fingers through her thick red hair. “I have to say, knowing that Dad wrote this without the inheritance in mind…well, it’s just amazing. It changes the way I understand it.”
Alex cocked his head at her. “I agree, but I’d like to hear why it changes things for you?”
“I guess I was tying much of this to Dad’s concern that we would blow the money. And he’s gotten his point across about that. Okay, he’s spoken to me through this story about as powerfully as anything or anyone ever has. But to know that his motivation really was about how we lived our lives and not just about how we spent the inheritance…”
“It is pretty overwhelming. Yes, that’s what I was thinking too.” Alex looked at Walter, his expression still bearing witness to his astonishment. “Walter, are you telling us that we would have still been reading this story if there had been no financial inheritance at all?”
There it was. Their father’s heart fully exposed.
Walter nodded. “Actually, for Sam, this was your inheritance. The money just added urgency to the task.”
“Forty million dollars adds a lot of urgency.” Reed smiled.
“Indeed it does, and your father felt the weight of every penny of it. He was well into the story when the word of the inheritance came. To your question, Anna, I really don’t think the story changed. But he wrote with more urgency to be sure the story was completed before his death. And it was a good thing he did. I helped him type the last ten pages when he was too weak to sit at the computer. I was terrified he would ask me to finish it for him.”
Anna’s eyes widened. “Did he?”
“Luckily, no. I write great briefs and can bang out a mean subpoena, but I would be lost
if I had to finish such an epic. When I typed the last words, I was more thankful than Sam that it was done.” Walter chuckled. “And I am anxious for you to hear those words. We aren’t far now, so why don’t we continue?”
Anna stood. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to continue reading.”
They all agreed, and after fresh drinks and new positions in the living room chairs and couch, they continued the story.
chapter
Nineteen
As the sunlight disappeared, the king led Steward into the largest tent, where a dinner was set up for them. Steward counted fifteen places prepared for the banquet.
“Who is joining us?”
“Ten of my mightiest warriors and three old friends.”
Steward heard the sound of approaching horses and soon the tent doors flew open. In walked ten of the largest, most terrifying-looking soldiers Steward had ever seen. They formed a semicircle around the king and Steward. Then they bowed, going down to one knee, and said in unison: “To our king and to our Liberator!”
Good heavens! They were bowing to the king—and him! Steward looked to the king. “Why do they bow to me? O king, I have told you I am not a great warrior. I cannot lead these men into battle. Please don’t depend upon me. I am not worthy, and I am not able.”
Before the king could respond, the tent flaps opened again and in walked three figures. Steward’s eyes opened wide as he saw the first figure come into the light of the tent.
“Zedekai! My friend.” He ran to embrace the majestic knight. “It was you who pulled me from the stairs and away from my pursuers.”
“And nearly too late. But you are strong, Steward.”
Steward slapped him on the shoulder. “You saved my life, and I will forever be in your debt.”
From behind the great knight there came a whiny and angry voice. “Tell this charcoal mountain to get out of my way. The lad owes his life as much to me as anyone.”
The Four Gifts of the King Page 27