The Forgotten King

by Jonathan Dunn

  “Come,” Willard called when they reached the window, “Come out, for we are friends.”

  It was broken open from within and several people appeared where it had been.

  “Friends, you still live!” Willard said in excitement. “I had feared you went down with your land.”

  “My lord,” Alfonzo bowed lowly to his king, “My lord, it is no one’s land but God. I am glad you have returned, though, your majesty.”

  “No, today you show deference to no one, Alfonzo of Melborough; for the honor of victory is yours. I know royal blood, but I know better a royal heart!”

  “Yet I see no victory,” Alfonzo crossed the extended plank to the ship, the last of those inside.

  “Father!” Ivona cried, throwing herself into his arms. “Father, forgive me!”

  “What words are these?” his limbs threw themselves about wildly. “Forgive you? You were right, my lovely daughter and I a foolish, bitter old man. Yet now, I see!”

  She kissed his cheeks gently, “You are healed, father?”

  “Where is your faith?” he laughed. “I am healed in body and in heart.”

  Her eyes opened and her beauty poured out. “Then you believe?”

  “Yes; a thousand times over, I believe!”

  “God is good.”

  As she spoke, Willard turned and their eyes could not be kept apart.

  “God is good,” she whispered, “And I will dwell with him forever.”

  De Garcia met his brother as he came forward and knelt before him, sobbing. But then, when he opened his eyes to look, he found his brother kneeling before him as well, sobbing all the same. They exchanged a look of grief and wonder.

  “Do you ask me for forgiveness?” de Garcia asked, “When I am the one who has sinned against you? I deserted the cause of freedom and betrayed my comrades for lies. I am disgraced. And yet you kneel before me ?”

  “You are disgraced, my brother? Then I am doubly so, for I did not desert to Gylain; I served him by default. Our breach is my fault, do not blame yourself.”

  As they spoke, the Fardy brothers gathered around them.

  “What is this, my brothers?” the blond Fardy asked. “I am a patient man, and you my better in that family virtue.”

  “Do not disdain yourself,” the black Fardy began.

  “Let me finish,” and he struck his brother’s head. “De Garcia and de Garmia, I have known you both. I have fought alongside you both. Here even my great patience is taxed liked French tailors, that you do not arise and embrace. There is nothing else to be done.”

  “My most-patient brother is right in this,” the brown Fardy added, “Arise and embrace.”

  They did.

  “You are right, friends,” de Garcia said, “We are brothers, de Garmia and I.”

  “Amen,” the other answered.

  “Come below with me, then,” de Garcia said. “We have been apart so long I have forgotten how you fight. We had best return to practicing, lest we become unable to serve our king.”

  “You speak truth,” de Garmia replied. “Willard will need our swords before this mess is cleared.”

  The two turned and disappeared into the hold. Meanwhile, Alfonzo and Celestine were joined together once more. This time they were not to be separated again.

  “We have finished the fight,” Alfonzo said. “Our fears and hopes mingle, but what is left will not be done by us. We are left only to love.”

  She held him and they kissed beneath the falling dew of heaven.

  Cybele stood beside them, flourishing a smile like a sword. “How can you rejoice when our father is missing?”

  “The Admiral!” Alfonzo cried.

  He looked out upon the deep, where once was Atilta. All that remained was forest canopy. Even that would not live long. The ship had been sailing north and was nearing the forest west of what was once Thunder Bay. Two figures danced wildly to gain their attention. When they were spied, The Barber came alongside the upper Treeway, upon which they stood. It was built on the very tops of the canopy: the lower platforms were already below the waves.

  “Come aboard, there,” Alfonzo called out as the boarding plank was extended.

  It was Lorenzo and Meredith, wheezing in exertion as they came aboard.

  “Our reunion is that much merrier,” Alfonzo laughed, “For our friends survive.”

  “Yes, we live,” Meredith panted. “But – by Beelzebub and the ten princes of the air – we cannot celebrate yet, my friends.”

  “No, for the war is not complete!” Lorenzo added. He pointed to a distant clump of trees, to which the upper Treeway extended. Two figures could be seen through the distance, locked in a deadly combat. “William and Gylain yet live!”

  Chapter 95

  “William, what fate is this?” Gylain smiled through the dark forest air. The ground was flooded and spouts of rain came down from the canopy. Behind him stood Montague and his soldiers.

  “The fate we have made,” William Stuart returned. Meredith and Lorenzo stood behind him with the rangers. “I thought to find you in the wasteland, Gylain.”

  “And here I am, in the flesh and of it. Now the battle can be accomplished.”

  “Was it not for freedom and oppression? For strength and possession?”

  “Was it? You know yourself what it was for. There are kings and there are queens; but though the queen is powerful, she is not the end. For that we hold the king before the light.”

  “Yet who is the king? Not you nor I.”

  “Why not? Do we not at least represent the players?”

  “Perhaps; but you are evil, as am I. The shadow from there is an aberration.”

  “The shadow is but that which casts it; there can be no aberration. If one player is light and the other dark, both are evil and for themselves.”

  “And we are no different?”

  “Answer it yourself.”

  “It needs no answer; our acts cannot be refuted. But if I am as Godless as you, those who follow me are not as those who follow you.”

  “Fools, the one and the other: fanatics of fantasy. In this game, there can be no winner.”

  “And thus no loser.”

  “None,” Gylain said.

  “And yet, we fight.”

  “Has any war been won? I say no, for the players remain and will fight. If we make peace, they will replace us.”

  “Ever the fool, Gylain, ever the ambitious. You brought her down. For that alone I fight.”

  “She followed, William, and you pushed. But could it have been stopped? It was foretold long ago, and the sword cannot rebuke the hand that wields it.”

  “I wield my own sword.”

  “Blindly: it has no effect. If we lift them, we cannot say what will be hit. The players have decided, and it will come to pass. In this way it is predestined: I can choose the cause, but the effect is not my own. For the action is earthly and of piece, the result is divine and of player. Look about us, William, and will we lift our swords or drop them? Either way, we die. For Atilta sinks.”

  “And so we fight, to add our own face to the demise which is given us. I would rather fight with you than against; but as you say, the fight is not our own.” He drew his sword.

  “It is fate’s fight. We are as much spectators as the gods. But know this: if God did not draw my sword against himself, I would draw it on my own. May God decide the victor,” and Gylain drew his sword, lunging at William.

  The Admiral did not dodge, but caught Gylain’s blade with his own and forced it upward. Then, with a strong forward swing, he forced his enemy back. Gylain gathered himself and resisted the Admiral’s charge with a leftward parry: circling the other’s blade, diverting it to the left, and thrusting through the resulting opening into his stomach. The Admiral fell back and whipped his sword across his chest, stopping the blow and pushing Gylain back. Before William could regain control of his sword, however, Gylain pushed forward again, giving him a weak blow to the stomach.

&n
bsp; “I have you,” Gylain said.

  “No, it is a scratch.”

  “A test of strength, then; on guard!”

  By this time, the water had risen to their waists.

  “A test of the will, you mean, for only God can deliver us now,” and William started toward Gylain, his legs held back by the water.

  His arms, however, were not impeded and his sword flew at his opponent’s head. Gylain ducked below water and was saved. But before he could resurface, William had recovered himself and stood waiting. Gylain sprang up with his sword parallel above him. The Admiral’s blow struck the blade and bounced upward under the force. Gylain’s blade, however, also bounced: it came down upon his head. It bled but the wound was not mortal.

  “Well done, but not well enough to kill an old scar.”

  The water was now too high for them to move without the use of their arms. Above water, their swords swam the air with thunder; below, their bodies did not move. The Admiral gave Gylain several quick blows, each aimed at his sword. Gylain parried them, but was unable to dodge. Then, with a final burst of fury, the Admiral knocked Gylain’s sword aside and beneath the water. Gylain was left defenseless. William had but to strike him down. Yet he could not. The water rose above his shoulders and he could not swing.

  “A stalemate,” he said.

  “Not yet, there is still time.”

  “Where? We are alone in the flood.”

  “No, for look! A rope ladder has dropped from above.”

  The Admiral turned. “So it has, and by the hand of God. He, at least, has not yet tired of the game!”

  Meanwhile, Montague had been swarmed by both Lorenzo and Meredith, each taking one of his sides. Montague dodged their first blows by retreating through the flooding ground. The two ecclesiastics followed him in a desperate chase, but he would not slow until they were apart. If one fell behind, Montague would dash back to charge the other. When Montague reached the tree Lorenzo and his men had come down, he left the flooded ground and started up the ladder to the canopy. By the time they reached it, he was a hundred feet above the water.

  “He has left us,” Lorenzo panted.

  “And we cannot follow him, or he will cut us loose when he reaches the top.”

  “So, let us do the same to him!”

  As they spoke, they grabbed onto the bottom of the rope ladder and began to rock it back and forth. Each foot of sway below caused three above. As it gained momentum Montague began to lose his way.

  “That is enough!” he called down from half way up. “You fight with dishonor.”

  “And you? We will not spare you your own vice.”

  The rope ladder danced like a climbing snake. Meredith jumped onto the first rung to weigh it down and Lorenzo pushed him faster as he swung by. It was too much for Montague; he could not fight gravity as he did mankind. His fingers trembled, then gave way. His feet were thrown aside and he flew like a leaping squirrel through the branches. But he was not a squirrel. His voice erupted as he dueled the air. Then, it stopped. He was dashed against a tree and floated like a broken leaf to the ground. Dead.

  “We have finished him, at last,” Lorenzo breathed.

  “And not too soon. Come, we must gain the Treeway and rescue the Admiral.”

  They brought the ladder to a stop and began the ascent. It took them several minutes to climb the distance, even going faster than was safe. When they gained the top, they turned their feet to the north, to the upper Treeway; for the lower platforms did not pass near the Admiral. The platforms were smooth and the way was easy; in a moment they reached the ladder: wooden rungs built into the tree.

  “Here it is,” Meredith eyed the height with mistrust.

  “Hurry, then. We must,” and the two began climbing.

  This ladder led for another hundred feet until it came out above the canopy, where the upper Treeway was built. From the height nothing obscured their view over the forest and the plain beyond. Far to the southeast, the castle was bombarded. The water rose above its walls. Though forest ground was higher, the flood would not wait much longer.

  “Come,” Meredith said after a moment of rest and once more they set off.

  For several minutes they ran the Treeway – more cautious than before – until they heard a distant clash, the sound of swords. Meredith dropped to his stomach and peered over the edge.

  “It is them: let down the rope ladder. We will have to let up our enemy to spare our friend.”

  The ladder sat beside them, near a break in the rail. Lorenzo pushed it over the edge and it unrolled as it fell. Then, with a distant splash, the bottom hit the surface of the water.

  “We can do no more,” and Meredith spread himself out on the platform, absorbing the rain in weariness.

  Lorenzo joined him. “This is the end, old friend. Atilta is no more.”

  “May the fish enjoy her and the whales find rest among her trees. Once more the fate of perfection is revealed.”

  “I wonder what we will see as we go down with the sinking land,” Lorenzo said.

  “Paradise, perhaps, but I doubt we will go down at all. Look ahead: the fleet is cheering the king and they rescue those in the castle. If we rise and wave our arms we might be saved.”

  As he spoke, William Stuart’s head rose over the platform.

  “Meredith, Lorenzo! The rope ladder was well-timed. What of the others?”

  “Destroyed.”

  “So it always ends,” and he stood beside them as they rested.

  Gylain’s head appeared over the platform, followed swiftly by his whole body. When he gained his feet he turned to the Admiral.

  “Engage,” and the two resumed their melee.

  The Admiral drove Gylain before him with a series of powerful side strokes, through which Gylain could not find an opening to strike. The two ran down the upper Treeway, their hearts a boiling pot of emotions. When they were out of sight, Meredith and Lorenzo took to their feet, flourishing their arms to signal the approaching fleet. The foremost ship spotted them and steered their way; the water level had risen enough that it could come alongside them.

  “Come aboard, there,” Alfonzo called out as the boarding plank was extended. “Our reunion is that much merrier, for you survive.”

  “Yes, we live,” Meredith panted. “But – by Beelzebub and the ten princes of the air – we cannot celebrate yet, my friends.”

  “No, for the war is not yet over!” Lorenzo added. He pointed to the distant figures of the warring men, locked in a deadly combat. “William and Gylain yet live!”

  “So it is!”

  “Heave away, men,” the wind laughed, “Sail for the Admiral at once!” and Captain Koon turned the ship to the distant melee.

  In a moment, The Barber bobbed alongside the upper Treeway, upon which the two old men battled. Water covered the bottom of the platform. Within minutes even the canopy would sink.

  “Come aboard, for Atilta is sinking.”

  The two men did not answer, nor did they hear. Their hearts were in the battle and the battle in their hearts. Gylain rendered William a vicious overhand blow. The latter could only block it by kneeling and holding his own sword above his head. He sank under the blow and Gylain lunged forward in hopes of spearing him to the ground.

  “Our time is running down, but victory can yet be grasped. For God is not above me, nor his whittled pawn.”

  “Whittled by the sea breeze, but not its God,” the Admiral returned, and he splashed through the water as he rolled beyond Gylain’s charge.

  He regained his feet before the other’s lunge was finished. William fell upon his downed defenses with a series of powerful lashes. Gylain absorbed them with his sword, but his arms were shattered by their force. Yet desperation flooded his heart. He forced himself to his feet and with his last strength came at William with his sword extended.

  “She was beauty and a vassal of desire; feudal fate could not be dodged,” and Gylain wept.

  He flooded William w
ith three left-handed blows, each ringing off the other’s sword.

  Gylain continued, “Is it weakness to admit the ways of nature? Is it defeat to be undone by the face of beauty? For even hearts of war can feel love.”

  His arm circled his head and struck William, who could not block it. His shoulder was badly wounded.

  “Yet your weakness proved your madness,” William scorned, “For she rejected you even in her zeal.” He switched hands and charged Gylain.

  “Madness? That is the hand that measures life,” and Gylain parried his advance.

  William set his face against the wind and his heart against defeat, casting the parry aside with glowing eyes. The path to Gylain’s chest was opened. William ran him through. Gylain would have fallen to his knees, but the water covered his waist and supported his weight.

  “If life is madness, it is only so in cause,” William lunged with his tongue, “Its effect for Casandra was love, and her love was for me.”

  “But as you say, her love was but the offspring of madness,” Gylain raised his sword.

  “As is your hate.”

  “And yours as well.”

  “That I do not deny.”

  “Then you are as guilty as God.”

  “A fool’s defense,” and William struck his opponent’s sword to the side.

  “I, at least, do not defend my sins,” Gylain returned the blow. “For they are not mine to defend, but God’s. He had written them in bone and blood before time beget damnation.”

  Their swords played in the water that now covered their chests, but slowed beyond damage.

  “The end draws near,” William sighed.

  His hands fought to lunge at Gylain. The water blocked the blow. It rose to their necks.

  “It comes, yes, but it is not unexpected. It is only what has been declared long ago.”

  They shared a final melee, but only of the eyes. For they were all that remained above the deluge. They looked to each other and to the shapeless void which was once Atilta. William stood with open eyes, raging in the storm that stole his face; his bearded lips sat open and his hands still gripped his sword. Gylain’s face had fallen into sleep and his spirit to defeat in the face of fate. His mouth spread in a barely perceptible smile, as did his troubled soul.