by Casey Eanes
“Hey, Mom. It’s me.”
Rose sat quietly in the chair with her glazed eyes staring into the dirt floor. Kull picked up a damp cloth and wiped it at her brow.
He whispered, “Mom. I’m here. Can you hear me?”
A spark ignited in her eyes at his voice. Rose’s frail hand groped for him, sliding weakly across Kull’s cheek. Kull cringed as she struggled to speak. Her eyes began to roll back slowly as she fought to maintain her gaze. With her free hand, she lifted a necklace from her neck and forced it into Kull’s hand. He recoiled from the pendant.
“You cannot give this to me.” Kull shook his head, wide-eyed, and put the pendant back in his mother’s hands. It was a simple circle, bearing the mark of Aleph.
***
The pendant was given to Rose by a visiting monk after she became very ill when Kull was just a young boy. For months, Grift sought help from doctors across Lotte, but every physician he employed insisted that there was nothing medically that could be done for her condition. That had been a terrible time for the family, and Kull could remember encountering the hard, cold face of his father as he battled a war that he could not win. One night, Kull lay in bed awake, listening to his parents’ hushed conversations through the walls.
“Grift, please call for him. He will come and bless our house, and perhaps Aleph will show me mercy.”
The gruff voice of his father penetrated through the wall, causing Kull to lie absolutely still.
“I know he will come, Rose. I know that, and I would welcome him here. It’s not that…It’s just that why in Aleph’s name is this happening? If the god we serve is so powerful and wise, why would he allow this to happen to you?” There was a pause, and Kull leaned his ear to the wall straining to hear. “You, of all people, don’t deserve this.”
Kull heard his mother’s coughs rip through the night. “His plans are not our own, Grift. I am in his hands. You know this.”
Kull heard the sound of furniture flying, and then something he never heard before. His father was weeping. Kull pulled the quilt around him tightly, straining to make out Grift’s reply. “You have enough faith for the both of us, it seems.”
“And you have more faith than you realize, Grift Shepherd.”
The next week a tall, young, dark-skinned monk traveled to Cotswold. Kull had vivid memories of the monk praying over his mother, and then his father, and ending at last by praying over him. Before he left, he gave Rose the pendent and for many years her disease subsided, until it came again during Kull’s twelfth year, stronger than ever. Despite this, Kull always knew that his father held a reverence for the pendant, and he continually asked her to wear it when the sickness’s grip grew stronger.
***
Rose’s lips silently bounced open and shut, but from the look in her eyes, Kull knew she had something to say.
Kull leaned his ear next to her lips and heard her speak. With all the force she could muster, she pressed the pendant into Kull’s palm and said, “Find…Grift…love.”
Kull fought back stinging tears as he kissed his mother’s cheek. Even now she thinks of him. Kull stood up mesmerized before kneeling back down to try and meet his mother’s eyes one more time. “I love you too, Mom. I know you want me to go. I’ll make sure you are taken care of. Fight for me. I will be back. Okay?”
The spark that flared up earlier left and her empty gaze returned. Kull wiped his eyes and looked down at the pendant she had put into his hand. Kull draped the small gold chain around his neck and stepped outside the tent. Ewing had remained at his post.
“You say goodbye?”
Kull nodded.
Ewing took a long draw of his pipe. “Don’t worry, Kull. She is in good hands. I’ll make sure that Eva will watch over her. She’ll keep her up.”
Kull nodded, but said nothing. Ewing, not one for silence, filled the void with his scheme.
“I overheard you talking to that pretty little nurse, Kull. And I also heard what Rose asked you to do, Aleph bless her. Seeing as you are still carrying around your father’s old rifle like a fool, I have a feeling that you are serious about going after the Grogans.”
Kull looked out over the plain toward the south. Toward the Groganlands. “You can’t stop me, Ewing.”
“I don’t intend to, but I think you need to think this through, Kull,” Ewing replied.
“There is nothing to think about. I am going after Dad. I don’t care if they kill me.” He locked his eyes on Ewing. “I’m going after him. I can’t go on…” His voice cracked under the thoughts raging in his mind. “If they’re going to torture him, Ewing, I want them to pay for it.”
Ewing waved his hand in the air, dismissing the surge of determination.
“Steady now, son, let me finish. I have someone you need to meet if you’re planning on trying to rescue your father. He is a bit of a hermit, but if anyone can get you to Grift, this would be your guy. He’s only as far as the capital city of Vale from what I’ve heard.”
Kull’s body tensed with frustration. “Ewing, I don’t have time for this!” He pointed to the Asban mountain range. “Vale is north, and right now they are rushing dad into the Groganlands. I’d be losing his trail!”
Ewing thundered at him, squelching his bravado. “And how do you think, lad, that you’ll be able to cross the border? Vale will be sending troops down by the thousands to patrol! You’d be shot onsite for even trying to cross the border without any clearance, Grogan or not!”
Kull sighed and pinched his eyes.
Ewing continued, “You need a safer way into the Groganlands. My friend can get you there, but you need to trust me.” Ewing stared into Kull’s eyes, and Kull nodded.
“Okay, Ewing.”
“Good. We need to get you to Vale.” Ewing glanced down at his missing leg and slowly rubbed at his thigh above his bandaged, bloody knob. “I just wish I could help you get to him.” He laughed. “I can’t help you get anywhere in this state. I don’t think me hobbling over the hills would be moving quite at a pace of your liking.”
Kull’s eyes shot wide as he looked down at Ewing’s leg and then back toward the medic’s tent. “Actually, Ewing, I think you are going to be our ticket to Vale.”
Ewing grimaced, “Eh? I don’t follow you.”
Kull smiled. “You said you want one of those fancy new mechanical legs, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, Vale is the only place to get one of those that I can think of. Your veteran status should be good for something, right? It should buy us a ticket to Vale so maybe we can catch the next transport out of here.”
Ewing let out a large, booming laugh as he sat back.
“Now I follow you. I like your thinking, son. You got more of Grift in you than I thought, that’s for sure.”
“I hope so, Ewing. I hope so.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“The time for mourning is over,
the New King has come.
May he live forever,
and may his rule be strong.”
-Song of Ascension
Nearly a week had passed since King Camden had been laid to rest, but the reality of the change was still fresh and awkward for Seam. He had not yet been crowned as the new king, but the people of Lotte already started to crowd around him pining for his attention and decisions in matters both large and small. Elders and statesmen continually filed in and out of the official state room and monopolized most of Seam’s time as he sat restlessly atop the king’s throne. An endless line of bureaucrats queued, bowing before him and making flowery introductions. The droning of the underlings buzzed like bees in Seam’s ears as he stared past the chamber doors. These proceedings were the very thing his father loved, but the pageantry seemed like nothing but an elaborate waste of time and energy.
Gods above, Seam thought to himself, sinking in the bog of twisted words that spewed out from a baron’s formal oration. Can these people not do anything for themselves? I’ve got more pressing matte
rs to deal with…
Seam’s thoughts drifted to his mother, who had locked herself away following the burial ceremonies. She needed Seam more than ever. He recounted the last time she allowed him into her room three days prior. Her frail figure sat hunched over Camden’s belongings, wiping her eyes and running her thumb over a ring she gave him years earlier. She was pitiful. The sight ripped at Seam’s chest, but he could not help but feel disappointed that she could not at least pull herself together to make some effort at recovery.
When is she going to come out? The thought rolled in his gut like a heavy stone. It was as if she gave up completely. She was waiting to die, to be marched to her final resting place next to Camden. It disgusted him. Each time Seam intruded into the dark patch of midnight that was his mother’s quarters, he expected—no, he hoped—to find his mother slowly growing stronger. He was met each time with bitter disappointment. Every time he found her sitting in the same chair, the gray fog of mourning surrounding her. She was completely unaware of Seam. Unaware that he was still was with her.
There seemed to be no solution to her state, none that he could think of. The petty droning and worries of the incessant nobles failed to make it any easier on him.
The young ruler attempted to sit patiently, showing all signs of genuine respect, but his mind was occupied with his lingering thoughts. He was not interested in the agricultural updates or the lumber quota being filled in the different provinces of the Realm. His long hair hung freely and partially obscured the look of boredom on his face as one noble after another began their oration. Seam sighed as another old man cleared his throat and pulled a long scrap of paper from his breast pocket.
“My most excellent liege, I am Rueden Lot, and I am here to discuss with you the production of crops in the north-lands....”
“Enough.” Seam’s low request went unnoticed as Rueden continued, “The corn yields were down this past harvest, but the current war has…”
“Did you not hear me the first time? I said I have heard enough!” Seam stood from his throne and glared down at the gray-haired farmer.
“I beg your pardon, my king, but it is court policy that we must continue...”
“I said enough!” Seam’s exclamation muted the entire hall, and he slammed his fist on the throne’s arm. He sat back down and closed his eyes. The burden of sitting on the rigid, uncomfortable antique was more than he ever expected.
In the silence, Seam retorted, “I am done with court policy. I am done with this talking. We are in a time of war! This ceaseless dribble cannot concern me, not now. I hereby order my officials to send me your reports via datalink, but I will not have this precious congress diminished with minor domestic issues when we must make decisions about this war.”
A chorus of grumbling built as the nobles looked at one another in shock that the new king would actually interrupt the official reports. Camden would have never interrupted an advisor no matter how low his post and it was well known that he reveled in spending time speaking with each of them. Seam stood and addressed the crowd of bewildered and irritated onlookers.
“Gentlemen. I would like to ask if anyone can give me one good reason, other than tradition, that we should continue this gathering. All I need is one reason, just one, and I will allow you to continue. But before one of you speaks, may I remind you my father has been murdered, the Grogans are collapsing on our borders as we speak, and our queen is in terrible health. But by all means, if anyone can give me one reason to continue, please speak now.”
The room dropped into a dead silence. Seam stood glancing from one advisor to another to see who might have the gall to raise their voice. No one spoke, and Seam used the silence as his exit.
“Very good. Then it is agreed. We are now adjourned.”
In a huff, Seam slid through a door at the top of the hall, leaving all his advisors standing in silence as they tried to process what had just occurred. He walked the lonely hallway that stretched from the throne room to his private sitting quarters. The still, quiet refuge smelled stale, ancient dust. A small window in the corner of the room interrupted the darkness with a lonely pane of light. It was furnished only with a quaint wooden desk and a small wall of books held in a case. A single bottle of wine sat on the desk along with a silver flask, and it was apparent that the room had been sitting unused for quite some time. Seam’s father normally traveled throughout the entire province of Lotte meeting with his officials and commoners and had little use for such a space, but Seam relished in the refuge of the small, secluded space where he could be alone with his thoughts.
He paced over to the small window and looked out over the throne room’s balcony and the courtyard below it. In the courtyard, people were running back and forth with yellow and blue banners and stringing them across balconies and any building window facing the courtyard. The Realm’s colors were everywhere as the residents of Vale prepared for Seam’s upcoming coronation ceremony. Their expressions were marked with fear and determination, joy and sorrow. Normally a coronation brought a great deal of joy to the people, but this ceremony would be different. The Grogan war left panic hanging in the air as everyone waited for another oncoming attack. No matter how many forces Seam sent out, it did not offer enough security to break the mantle of fear. The people of Lotte lost more than their king. They lost friends and family alike, and unlike a king, they could not be replaced.
Seam allowed himself to relax as he basked in the window light and felt the silence in the room. The thought that by the end of the day he would be the newly crowned sovereign comforted him. The old and sedentary ways of the kingdom would be uprooted. Eventually, unity would be established across the Realms and Seam would be their king. Everyone’s king.
It was a dream, but it was one that was rooted in the legacy of Camden, who had long been a champion of compromise and collaboration with the other Realms. He was often heralded as the Great Peacemaker. He brokered a critical alliance with the Grogans following numerous wars when murmurs and rumors of conflict had once again sprung up across Candor. After this peace was brokered, Camden’s rule became lax, almost casual, despite his affinity for pompous royal court ceremonies. In economic trade, he compromised with the different Realms who strove to take advantage of Lotte and its people. He, like a lap dog, bent to their wills, claiming his efforts were all for the sake of peace. To Seam it appeared that his father was weak, caring more for the brittle treaties of tyrants than the life and security of his people. Weak and foolish.
He was a fool. The thought cut through Seam. After all, how could he of all people, with so much influence, fail to see the opportunity to culminate all power throughout the Realms? These thoughts had always bothered him, once he learned the truth. He had to know how to rise to power, but why did he choose not to act? What stayed his hand? Why did he compromise with the other, weaker Realms on so many issues?
The thoughts percolated in his mind as Seam walked over to open the bookcase door. He pulled out a small package wrapped in thick, yellowed canvas.
There will be no more compromises in my reign. I will establish order in Candor, and I will do it with the only language this unruly continent understands: fear.
His heart quickened as his hands shook with an undeniable sense of dark pleasure. He carefully removed the volume from the shelf and unwrapped the aged canvas to look at the object open before him. The small, black leather tome could have been set inconspicuously with the other volumes because it bore no marking either on its spine or its cover, but Seam could not resist the temptation to further hide it. To leave it unbound did not seem to be at all reasonable in his mind.
He stumbled across the book when he was nine years old. He skipped his lessons only to get lost running through the maze of halls deep within the royal library. He always enjoyed exploring the depths of the dark, mysterious aisles that were long unused and forgotten. The books that sat on the cobweb-covered shelves always seemed to be filled with more life and truth than those readily acce
ssible near the entrance of the library. The stories and pictures he explored in the dark corners of that place held an inexplicable gravity to them that marked him and pulled him deeper into their pages. It was as if the stories themselves were missing only one character: Seam.
This precious book, his book, had been buried in a trunk full of poorly organized relics, maps, and artifacts. It had been tossed aside as if it was garbage like the rest of the trunk, but Seam could feel the pages calling him. When he opened it for the first time, he could not tear himself away from the words held within. He found his story. The story that would finally unlock a perfect order.
From the tome he discovered many things; revelations that made him question the history his family taught him. The first was the realization that his line of kin, the Pandereans, had not always been the rulers of Lotte. For countless generations, the crown changed hands between multiple families. There had been one such family, the Nephiles, to claim sovereignty over the kingdom before any Panderean had ever set foot into Vale. Learning one new truth after another, Seam questioned early on just how much had been hidden away in hopes it would one day be forgotten. Seam let his eyes flit across the familiar words snaking within the old, tattered pages: