Crownless

by M H Woodscourt

  Jetekesh accepted the wardrobe with a warm thrill. Clean clothes! He watched the storyteller stroll back outside. Despite the humble threads Jinji wore, his clothes were less coarse than what the farmer and his daughter had provided. Jetekesh recalled hearing once that the weavers of Shing were the finest in the world. Perhaps it was true.

  He padded inside the hut and found his cousin nibbling on a half-eaten biscuit. She turned her back to him, though whether in disdain or to respect his privacy, he didn’t bother to guess. He took the chance to strip off his cloak and slip into the soft clothes. They were too big, but he didn’t mind. It was good to be clean.

  Rille threw something at him. “Here.”

  He caught a brush. Likely one of that farm girl’s contributions. Allowing himself a smile, he attacked the tangles of his long hair while he glanced around the hut. Yeshton foraged through several of Sir Palan’s packs.

  “Where is the old knight?” asked Jetekesh.

  Yeshton nodded toward the door. “Out hunting. He promises a hearty dinner.”

  “Excellent. I’m tired of being hungry.” Jetekesh fought a stubborn snarl, wincing. “The storyteller doesn’t have the plague. I asked him.”

  “So he said to me, Your Majesty.” Yeshton set several jars aside. “He appears to be much improved. We should consider continuing on at first light tomorrow.”

  “I agree,” said Rille.

  Great. More walking. Jetekesh sighed. “Will we reach a village soon?”

  Yeshton nodded as he inspected the contents of a jar swirling with red liquid. “So Sir Palan says. It’s two days from here. Lilac Lake, they call it. There is no lake though. Just a pond brimming with catfish.”

  Jetekesh grimaced. He drew his cloak around his shoulders and leaned against the wall. “I’m going to nap until dinner is ready.”

  He closed his eyes but heard the faint voices of Rille and Yeshton.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s fruit, Sir Knight. Berries.”

  “I’ve never seen the like of it.”

  “It’s mashed berries, boiled and sweetened. A delicacy called fruit preserves.”

  “It looks revolting.”

  The girl giggled. “Try some.”

  Jetekesh turned his head away from the sounds. Why had Jinji supposed Jetekesh would want friends, especially among this party? They were common, even ill-mannered. Despite Rille’s royal blood, she behaved like a peasant girl.

  He couldn’t count these people as his friends. It was preposterous to consider. He wouldn’t do it.

  “What say you, Master Tale-weaver? Shall we not have a story?”

  Darkness had fallen outside, chasing every member of the company inside the hut. Even Tifen. Sir Palan had been true to his word, providing a feast, at least compared with recent fare. A wild boar was the highlight dish, while strange roots boiled and sliced helped fill in the hollow places in Jetekesh’s belly. And to wash it all down, a cup of ale and a piece of flatbread lathered in fruit preserves.

  Cleaned and fed as he was, he was content to sleep. But the old knight’s request brought Jetekesh’s mind from dreamy realms. He glanced at Jinji.

  The man from Shing smiled. “I have no objection, Sir Palan, if none would have me refrain.” His blue-green eyes flickered in the firelight.

  Rille scooted nearer to Jinji, who sat closest to the fire. Yeshton shifted, but stayed where he was, silent. Tifen, who sat cross-legged near the door, made no noise at all.

  “I hear no protests,” Sir Palan said with a grin. “Methinks you are safe to cast a pleasant spell upon a few weary travelers.”

  Jinji’s smile deepened. He drew his blanket closer as a shiver ran over his frame. His eyes closed, and for a long moment there was only the sound of the glutting flames in the hearth.

  “In a time now lost to memory, in a small village near a great wood, there lived a young lass.”

  Jinji’s voice was like a note of music, humming, growing louder. His words brought a rush of windsong. Like the unfurling of a scroll, Jetekesh started as he found himself upon a dirt road crawling down into a village nestled against ancient trees. He smelled fruit blossoms. Heard the tumult of a river running close.

  And above him, from a cloudless spring sky, Jinji’s words tumbled in a great wind of sound, light, color.

  “This lass was sweet of heart, kind as a kiss, but alas, her face was more than plain; it was indeed quite ugly. And true to human nature, most in the village were cruel to her for this unavoidable sin. Nevertheless, she bravely preserved her good nature and wandered the fields and fens, the nearby villages, and walked among the merchants upon the road, to aid where she might as a healer. As she grew into a young woman, her knowledge and skill to heal any ailment became known throughout the kingdom in which she lived, and people would come from far and near to receive relief from their many pains.”

  As Jinji spoke, the images surrounding Jetekesh shifted like ripples against the sky and earth, to reform as though upon the storyteller’s command. Jetekesh saw the lass with her unfortunate visage, but he also saw the kindly eyes, the merry smile, the warm and gentle hands.

  “War broke out, and the prince of the kingdom rode with his father to fend off the enemy.”

  Jetekesh stood upon a battlefield. He recoiled from the gore at his feet, the scents and sounds of death and fear. The rage of pealing swords. The whistle and crack of distant catapults.

  There. Lying among the dead and dying, a fair prince with white-blond hair and eyes of deepest green. Eyes that could not see, though he still breathed.

  “The kingdom won its war, though not without great cost. The king was killed in the fray. His son was gravely wounded, but he lived, nonetheless. Alas, a wound to his head had stolen his sight from him, and none of the royal healers could cure this ailment.

  “But a wisewoman of his court came to the ailing prince and told him of a healer at the edge of his kingdom who, ‘twas said, could cure anyone. Daring to try this last of his hopes, the prince commanded that he be brought to this healer of such renown.

  “So it was done, and the good-hearted lass tended to the prince both day and night for one week. During this time, the prince felt her gentleness and heard her sweet voice and fell in love with her, though he could not see her face. At last he declared that if she could but heal his eyes, he would take her as his queen, for she must be as lovely to behold as her voice and hands were gentle.

  “The lass said nothing but continued to minister to him until at last upon the seventh day he woke and found his eyes mended. With a cry of joy, he bounded from the bed where he had stayed all that week, and searching, found the lass tending to the fire. Mid-declaration of love, he faltered as she turned to face him.

  “So plain. So ugly. This could not be. Surely this was another young woman, less deserving, less gifted. A servant perhaps. But when she spoke the simple words, ‘It is I,’ the prince knew it was his very love.

  “He recoiled, denied his oath of love, and fled from the hut where the ugly lass dwelt. He returned to his castle and worked hard to forget his folly.

  “But the lass could not forget as he could, for she had come to love the prince too, though she was wise enough to know he would never keep his word when he could see once more. Hurt, despairing, the lass too fled from her hut and into the ancient woods. On she ran, weeping, heartbroken, until she stumbled over the root of a willow tree whose long limbs drank from a great lake. Here she wept the more, and her tears watered the ground and fell into the depths of the great pool.”

  Jetekesh’s heart throbbed as he stood near the willow tree. His cheeks burned. I would have fled from her too.

  The tree began to glow.

  “As must be when the pure of heart cry out in anguish against wrongdoing, magic answers. The fairy of the willow woke from her slumber and heard the pains of the lass’s heart. She appeared to the lass, quieted her tears, and bestowed upon her two blessings. The healer’s tears turned into gems of
pure light as they fell from her eyes. The second blessing was that of truth: it did not change the appearance of the lass, but those who looked upon her and those who were near her, would see the truth of things.

  “The lass did not understand this blessing, but she returned to her home as the fairy instructed. As she entered the village where all had been cruel to her, she beheld monsters abiding in the homes and shops. The people were revealed for what they were, and in great fear they fled from one another and lost themselves in the woods and fens.

  “The lass also fled until she came to a village where all the people were beautiful, for they were kind. And when they beheld her, they saw a queenly woman of such radiance they begged her to stay. For the first time in her life she was treated as she always ought to have been. Soon her beauty became more renowned than her healing arts, and many came from every corner of the kingdom to see her. When they met her, they loved her for her kindness even more than for her beauty.

  “The prince, now king of his land, heard of the lass’s beauty, and he declared that he would win the fair maid’s hand to be his queen, for someone of such beauty must be as kind and gentle as her face is lovely. He rode to the village where she now dwelt, but the truth revealed him for what he was: an ugly monster, hideous to behold, frightening and selfish.

  “Most of the villagers ran in terror, but a few caught the beastly man and bound him tight. They argued how to deal with him, afraid that he would devour their loved ones if he was allowed to live. The king begged to be spared, but his words went unheeded, for he had been heedless until now.

  “The brave men who had captured him decided to end his life, for his words sounded like the cries of a hungry beast, and they were afraid. But before they could strike him down, the lass arrived, having heard his cries; and knowing truth in its whole measure, she recognized the king and threw herself upon him to shield against the killing blow. The men stayed their hand, and she begged of them to spare the monster’s life. ‘He is only ugly because he does not know true beauty. Let me teach him, and he will be kind,’ she declared with earnest strength.

  “And so, the men unbound their king and let the lass guide him to her home. And the king, when he touched her hand, saw her as she truly was: the gentle healer with the soul of a queen. Before her hut, he fell to his knees and begged her to forgive him.

  “‘You cured my eyes, but not my blindness!’ cried he in despair. ‘I see now that beauty is not what man can behold, but it is the spirit of love which transcends mortal scruples.’

  “And in that moment of understanding, the king was again fair of countenance. He confessed his love for the plain healer with the queenly heart. He took her to be his queen, and she took him as her equal. They ruled together in peace and prosperity, drawing all that is good and magical to their realm where truth is hailed above man’s greed. And so began the true line of kings in the land of Shinac.”

  The rush of windsong ceased and the world grew dim. Jetekesh found himself seated in the woodsman’s hut among his companions, breathless and filled with a warmth in his chest that he couldn’t understand.

  Jinji’s eyes opened. He smiled. “I’m a little tired now. I think I will sleep.” He curled up by the fire, indifferent to the hush thick upon the air.

  No one stirred for a long moment.

  Sir Palan’s voice was a faint murmur. “A storyteller true. No mistake.”

  Jetekesh wrapped himself in his bedding though his heart still pounded. It was just a story. Wasn’t it?

  He’s told me tales before. Why could I not see them like I did this one?

  20

  The Lost Prince

  Merchants had set up shop in the square and customers milled and chattered among the wares. Several Amantieran soldiers stood at the well, flirting with a blushing maiden. A herd of sheep clattered across the cobblestones toward rolling hills west of the village green, following their shepherd.

  Yeshton hefted his purse. There wasn’t much coin left for food.

  Sir Palan strolled from stall to stall, studying the wares with a practiced eye. Passing villagers called out to him in friendly tones, and he returned their greetings heartily.

  The knight stooped to examine a stall teeming with catfish.

  “Do they know who you are?” Yeshton’s voice was a cautious whisper.

  Sir Palan glanced up at him with a grin. “But of course. I am the village trapper. I sell my furs every spring after the thaw.”

  Yeshton nodded. It was a clever ruse and an honest living; no doubt the villagers were more inclined to share gossip and news with a humble trapper than they might a dishonored knight.

  “Heigh-ho, Timber,” called a colorfully dressed man sprinting across the square. He halted before Sir Palan. “What brings you here so late in the season? Any useful hides today?”

  “Nay,” chortled Sir Palan. “I bring a few lost souls from the woods, in fact. That last storm left them half-drowned and starved. Turns out I know one of them.” He waggled his fingers toward Yeshton, who stood free of his armor and feeling very exposed. Sir Palan had urged him to hide his armor in the hut lest he draw unwanted attention so near a keep. “This is Yesh, a woodsman not unlike myself. I trained him from a pup. Thus, for old time’s sake I’ve agreed to act as guide for his wayward band all the way to Keep Falcon and their new refuge from poverty. Lord Milgar will at last have the servants he’s long requested.”

  “That crazy old coon?” The man hooted. “Have you warned your friends against the going? Lord Milgar’s as mad as a lark these days. Even claims he sees fairies in the desert.”

  Sir Palan laughed again. “Hush now. Don’t discourage adventuring to the young. They’re bold enough, mayhap they won’t even mind the old man’s crazy ways.”

  The colorful man nodded sagely. “True, that. Youth thrives on strangeness.” He didn’t appear that old himself, but Yeshton was no judge of age. The man leaned near Sir Palan. “Did you hear? A barge has come down river. I’m surprised your friends didn’t catch it. They’d already have reached the old keep if they had.”

  “What brings a barge this far south?” asked Sir Palan, disguising the glint in his eye behind a curious tone.

  “Dunno. Supplies, some say. Looked to me like the ghost of a barge. Rumors say when it did reach the keep it was empty, save for the crew, who seemed to have no recollection of anything. Not even what happened to the supplies they were meant to be toting.”

  “Very mysterious,” said Sir Palan, rubbing his chin. “Well, I do appreciate the information. As I’m going that way, should I hear anything interesting I’ll be sure to bring it back on my return.”

  The man grinned. “I can always count on you, Timber. Good luck!” He started away but his step faltered, and he glanced back. “There is another rumor. One about a small band wandering southward, bringing with them a storyteller.” His tone hung low.

  Sir Palan grinned. “Aye? And so I heard, but the tale-weaver was headed west from Rose Province, taking the High Road toward KryTeer. Of course, that rumor comes from the northern provinces and might be old gossip.”

  The colorful man nodded as his eyes swept over the company with interest. Yeshton’s fingers twitched toward his sword but he curled them to resist. He glanced down at Rille and softly spoke. “Wouldn’t that be something? A storyteller is worth a hundred minstrels, so I’ve heard.”

  Rille looked up at him. “I prefer music myself, brother.”

  The colorful man lingered a moment longer, then skipped lightly away.

  Sir Palan’s grin remained and he leaned toward Rille, his hands gesturing like he told some great joke. His voice was a quiet rumble. “That’s Hethek, the village know-all. He keeps a weather eye out for anything that might give him extra coin. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can spit.”

  “I gathered as much,” said Yeshton.

  “His trade is cloth, is it not?” asked Jinji. “Quite a festoon he wore.”

  Sir Palan chuckled. “So he
did. That’s Hethek for you: a bright and inquiring bother.”

  The old knight stopped twice more to gather what he called rations, though his food purchases filled every available space in every satchel, save Jinji’s.

  “The keep is a week’s walk from here,” Sir Palan said. “We should borrow some horses to get there faster.”

  Jetekesh gasped. “Yes, please!”

  Sir Palan led them to the smith on the edge of Lilac Lake, where he bartered for the lend of five strong mounts and gear. Yeshton expected a protest from Jinji, but when he glanced at the storyteller, he found him beside the mare he would share with Rille, chuckling as the horse ate oats from his hand.

  Soon the company headed south.

  Keep Falcon was Amantier’s last defense against the Drifting Sands, though no one ever invaded from the desert. No one lived there, save the salt miners, and they were Amantieran subjects. Long ago Keep Falcon had been built to defend against a terrible enemy, so Yeshton had heard. But the civilization beyond southern Amantier had been destroyed by the One God in his divine wrath, for it had worshiped magic.

  Yeshton considered Jinji astride the horse ahead of him. Jinji claimed the Drifting Sands were the origin of Shinac. Could that have been the civilization talked of in scripture? Was there truth buried somewhere in the Shingese man’s tales?

  The company made good time through the day and camped beside the road in the early evening. Among Sir Palan’s purchases were new clothes for Jetekesh, plain and rough; but the young king didn’t protest.

  “Save them until after we spar,” said Sir Palan before Jetekesh could slink behind a tree to change.

  The prince stared at him. “After we what?”

  “Spar. I’ve seen your movements and I know you have some experience with a broadsword and a fencing blade. But not enough. On the road it’s dangerous not to know the basic art of combat. Prepare yourself, sire. I am a strict teacher.”