by B Lynch
“I’d like to see him, before I pass,” the King said, with regret in his voice. “You two have always been close. Could you…?”
“Yes,” Caliandra said, without hesitation. “Of course. I’ll see that he visits you.” It brought relief to the King’s face.
“Thank you, Callie,” he said, adding, “Whatever his reasons, that boy made a mistake giving you up.”
“Thank you, Father,” she said, her tears returning with a smile.
“He’ll not be half the lord he could have been with you at his side,” the King said.
I could be twice the lord Iaen’d be, by myself, she thought. She briefly considered visiting Royth, before finding Valric. But maybe our Seer knows what my future holds, without him.
CHAPTER THREE
Valric found Caliandra first, as she left her father’s room and stepped into the sunlit stone hall. Caliandra was surprised by his presence, and more so by his expression: he was absolutely giddy. His steps were quick and animated, and he strode towards her, beaming with confidence. He was happier than a child with a belly full of sweet-cakes, and his face told her everything; whatever he’d been doing, he’d gotten exactly what he wanted.
For Caliandra, the context was less important than seeing her brother happy to the point of jubilance; he’d been dour for months. “There you are!” Caliandra said. “What excellent timing - you’re both in high spirits, and I’ve had to go no further than his door to find you. Come,” she said, with a smile, “Share your good mood with him. It’ll brighten his day.” She thought it would be clever, and easy, and kind - all of the things that Eliya would have been.
Valric’s smile faltered. “I - I can’t,” he said, unsettled, “I need to be going. I can save him, Callie. This can’t wait.” The words twisted her about. Save him? How? She wondered. The prospect of their father standing again, of his own free will, tall and strong - it was exciting. But…how?
“No, stay. Tell me. What do you mean you can save him? How?” she said, demanding more from Valric. He glanced to the sides of the corridor, leaned towards her, and began to whisper.
“Royth’s seen part of a cure, in the east - in the Freelands,” he said, holding a folded piece of parchment in his hand. “He has the rest here. But when I return, everything will stay as it is; nothing will have to change for us.”
Caliandra was relieved to hear good news; there were few things more stressful than the worries Iaen had caused her. With father well, she would have time. A dowry would still be intact, and her status ensured she’d still be regarded well by suitors. But there was cause for alarm; their father’s condition was diminishing, and she hardly knew how long he had. “Good,” she said. “Have you sent men to find it?” His face scrunched up in confusion; that alarmed her.
“Why would I send someone else?” Valric asked, puzzled. “It’ll be two days’ ride, and I’ll be quicker than a hungry wolf.” His words only heated her disapproval. Why would he be so foolish? She wondered.
“He’s getting worse, Valric,” Caliandra said, concerned; her brows furrowed, her smile disappeared, and her right hand covered her left. “Why do you wish to leave, when we don’t know if he’ll live out the week?”
“He will still be here when I return,” Valric said, as his face twisted, and his body stiffened. She saw a flash of anger - and fear - cross his face. “He has to.”
“Then see him, before you leave,” Caliandra said. “Share the good news with him… and say goodbye. As a precaution.”
“No,” Valric said; the anger and fear she saw only grew stronger, and his green eyes were consumed with it. “I can’t.”
“You can’t be bothered to say goodbye?” she said, raising her voice. “What’s wrong with you? He’s our father.”
“Why should I? Why do I need to?” Valric said, his nervous eyes darting past her, looking to the stairs - not the door. Away from their father. “He already knows I love him. And when I come back with the cure -”
“What if he dies?” Caliandra said, interrupting him. Valric was quiet and stunned. “Don’t confuse my words,” Caliandra said, “I want you to go. If there’s but a slight chance he would live, you should take it - but… don’t you want to say goodbye?”
“I can’t waste the time,” Valric said, as he walked past her - west, down the corridor, towards the stairs, the courtyard, and the stables. Past their father’s room. She had to say something; she balled her fists, and shouted at him.
“It’s not a waste!” Caliandra yelled. He stopped in his tracks. “He loves you. I love you. And don’t you dare leave this castle without saying goodbye to him.” Valric stood still, almost paralyzed by her words. “Why would you save him at all if you won’t even say goodbye?” Caliandra asked, bitter.
“Because I don’t want to!” Valric said, as he turned. The shadows cast by sunlight from a nearby window covered his face in darkness. Caliandra saw a far different face from the confident Valric she knew - one gripped by fear. He raised a trembling finger to point at their father’s room. “That isn’t how I want to remember him,” Valric said.
“He’s still our father,” Caliandra said, bitter. “No matter how he looks.”
“If he dies, where do we stand, Callie?” Valric asked, palms up. “I’ll lose all I have. Mother will have no-one. And you’ll be the worst off of us all.”
“I agree,” Caliandra snapped. “My father will be dead, and I’ll have a heartless monster for a brother.” Caliandra whirled around, and stormed away. She heard him call to her, as she walked away, but she knew he wouldn’t move. Disappointed, angry tears fell from her eyes. She hoped he found the cure, for their father’s sake, but she knew she’d never look at her brother the same way again.
CHAPTER FOUR
Valric stood alone in the hallway for a time, torn by guilt and anger.
Callie was wrong. She had to be. Eliya would’ve seen the sense of it – the longer Father stayed alive, the better Callie’s offers might be, and the more she was worth as a wife. It was simple. And for all her love of logic, she refused to see it. How could she be so blind? It frustrated Valric to no end to be the traitor instead of the savior - for pursuing the best course of action. She, of all the family, should’ve understood him. But Caliandra made him sound so… so wretched. For not saying goodbye? Father’d understand, Valric thought. Men don’t need to say goodbye. He’d understand. How could she be so blind to it, though? If he lives, she has greater worth as a wife - I do this for all of us. Why should I say goodbye, when I can wish him good-night for years to come?
But there was the guilt, too – he’d not set eyes on his father for months. He couldn’t stand to be around the sickly king, because it made him feel powerless. Seeing his father laid low weighed heavy on his heart. Such weakness was the province of older men, white-haired and incontinent. Not Rionn, King of Barra. Real men, true warriors, didn’t die in bed.
Valric made an inventory of his needs - the strongest men, the fastest horses, the sharpest weapons, and the best supplies. And Kells, the Captain of the Guard. Best not to take any chances, the Prince thought; Kells wielded a fine blade, and rode like lightning. He stayed only a few feet away from his father’s door, fingering the parchment in his hand, wondering if she was right - if he should say goodbye. Her words gnawed at him. He lingered near the King’s chambers for a minute, wondering what he might say. The words almost came to his lips, but the door was closed. He stepped closer, his hand reaching for it without thinking - but he stopped himself.
No, he thought. I can’t. Terror filled him. It wasn’t a sensation he was used to, or liked; he’d sparred dozens of men with sharpened blades, and danced on the edge of death. He’d killed men. But never once had he known such dread. For beyond the door lay everything he never wanted to see in his father - in himself - pure helplessness. He’d missed seeing his father take ill by accident at first, and with poor timing - he had traveled to Silenia on a trip, to visit cousins and friends, and found out by l
etter from his mother. But he was called away again, by lucky Fate, to visit a friend near the Westlands, on Barra’s coast. And rather than return home, it became easier to avoid Father, and have frequent visits across the kingdom, than to face the fear. For it only grew stronger, and the guilt only became greater, much as Valric wouldn’t admit it. If he came home, he’d feel obliged to stay; If he stayed, it’d be harder and harder to leave - and all the more difficult to escape seeing his father.
It was while Valric’d been reluctantly traveling home that an idea came to him, in the middle of the night - underneath the stars, crackling in his mind like the dying embers of the nearby campfire. Royth knows. He has to, Valric thought. He’d never known the full range of the Royal Seer’s ability, but the full of Valric’s conviction swelled behind that notion - that somewhere in the future, there was a cure, and Royth just hadn’t looked hard enough.
Valric thought he heard Father call his name from inside the room. It chilled him; it was a pale, weak imitation of his father’s voice. It came again, and he felt as a rabbit did with the baying of the hounds. That was when he started to run; the stairs were close enough - exactly where they needed to be. His heart raced. He couldn’t stay any longer. He gripped the paper tighter, and held back frightened tears. I’m not a monster, he thought. I’m a hero.
CHAPTER FIVE
Royth looked out over the castle courtyard from his window; his mood verged on outright panic. The woja’d done as much as it could to help that. He watched helplessly as Prince Valric headed to the stables with a small company of guard - and to make matters worse, walking with them was a familiar, well-armored figure with short salt-and-pepper hair, tan skin, and a surly expression.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself. “Kells.” The stoic Captain of the Guard was adjusting his armor, and talking to Valric, who stood by a great white horse. Kells was a good fighter, and loyal to the crown - which raised the Prince’s chances of survival drastically - and all but ensured destruction of the kingdom. He was part Erimeni, after all; he knew their ways. It wasn’t a well-guarded secret, but Royth had hoped that Valric wasn’t smart enough to have known that. That was all Royth had left; prayer, and hope. It was a very peculiar position for a Seer to be in.
“There you are, Royth,” Caliandra said, from the entrance. Her voice startled him. He jumped, and turned quickly – he hadn’t expected her in the least. Or anyone, for that matter. He’d thought the Prince had closed it, but perhaps not.
“Princess,” he said, with a nervous nod. “I’m just…seeing your brother off.”
“From a distance?” she asked, curious. Her lip twitched downward, and her brows furrowed. “Are you... have you been drinking?”
“No. Of course not. I didn’t want to delay him,” Royth replied. He looked at her more closely; her discontent strengthened as she approached the window, and saw Valric mount his horse. “Is…something bothering you, Princess?”
“He’ll succeed, won’t he?” Caliandra asked, worried. As much as Royth wished for Valric’s failure - had they known, the entire kingdom would have - he wished he could comfort her.
Royth took a hesitant breath. “I’m not certain,” he said. “Nothing’s fixed now. Time can change. But he has Kells with him,” Royth added, with a confident smile. “He’s in good hands, Princess.” As much as I wished he wasn’t.
“He’d better be,” Caliandra said, with dry bitterness. She held her arms to her chest, and never let her eyes stray from Valric, for a moment. It made Royth wonder if the siblings had argued recently. “Royth,” she asked, “Could you look into my future?”
Royth shook his head, and waved the notion off with his hands. “No. No, no,” he said, resistant. “I don’t see crossed fates. If I look at yours, I’ll only see something else.” It was a careful dodge. He didn’t want to string lies together while he was drunk.
“I don’t want to see his future,” Caliandra said, insistent. “I want to see mine. I want to know… Well, Iaen was married only this past week, and… I worry I’ll never find someone else, now.”
“Princess,” Royth sighed, relieved. A look into the future wasn’t needed for that; some gentle encouragement and palmistry would do finely. “Of course you will. You’re still young, and –” Royth looked into her green eyes and saw… hurt. Raw hurt. The boy Iaen had cut her deeper than he thought with his callousness.
“I want to know for certain,” she said. “I don’t want to hope, Royth. Please?”
“All right,” Royth said; he glanced to the gates. Valric and his men were all mounted, and approached the portcullis. Royth turned back to Caliandra, and walked closer to her. “Give me your hands,” he said. As they’d done a hundred times before, she placed her hands in his, her olive skin paler than the light brown of his palms. Cold sweat crept up into Royth’s body, and his head snapped back. Suddenly, Royth wasn’t standing on stone, at a window; he stood in dark woods, with cold earth beneath his feet, and the darkness of night around him. A narrow, snaking path lead through the trees ahead of him, dimly lit by the waxing moon. Behind him, he heard the howl of wolves - or men? Or both? - echo around him in the woods. The hairs on his neck stood straight up to the sky.
Royth tried to run, but the wolves were upon him immediately. He felt their snarling, hot breath upon his body; he screamed as their dagger-sharp fingers ripped his flesh and raked his body. The agony was beyond measure. He cried out weak prayers for help, to Kembo, to Salae, to all of the Ten Highest, but something inside him had given up. He knew he would die; this place would be his grave. Overcome in panic, Royth did not hear the growl at first, but the wolves did. They froze. Some sniffed the air, thinking their ears deceived them, but their claws stopped, and for that, Royth was grateful. Then, they heard the second roar. The wolves ran, leaving Royth bloodied and alone.
The sound was sonorous, and ancient - more battle-horn than bear. Royth felt it all the way down to his bones, and the fear left his body. Though he could feel his strength spilling out onto the dry forest leaves, the sound emboldened him. It gave him strength; it gave him hope. Suddenly, the forest was flooded with light - and the trees gave way to the hill leading to Castle Claine. The moon still hung high in the sky, but below it, a massive flaming crown sat in the air above the castle.
There was something different about Castle Claine, too; it looked…newer. The construction had changed; no longer did it bear the sense of mountain palisades carved into a fortress; it was solid, but yet, there was an artistry to it, hand-carved. And the banners bearing the kingdom’s crest were red - not blue. He felt something nudge him, something small and furry. It grunted. Royth looked over, and saw a bear. In his heart, he knew it was the same bear from earlier - the one with the ancient roar. And it spoke with a human voice. A little girl’s voice.
“We are the castle. You are the spyglass. I am the strength that saves.”
Royth awoke on his floor, with an aching head, and Caliandra staring down at him in panic. “Are you –” she began to ask.
“I’m fine,” Royth said, the relief felt in his chest immeasurable. He had found what he sought - the thing that would save the kingdom. “And your husband will come, soon enough,” he lied. “He’s very handsome… Brown hair, eyes like a mountain river, a proud jaw… Truly, a good man,” he said. “Your god’s blessed you, and Kembo agrees.”
Delight washed the panic from her face. “Does he have a name?” she asked, excited, as she helped Royth up. “Where’s he from?”
“He lives in Barra,” Royth said. “And he’ll save you, very soon.”
I can’t believe it, he thought. His heart thrummed with excitement. It’s Caliandra. King Caliandra. She will lead us out of the darkness.
CHAPTER SIX
Valric hated being lost. That was the worst part of it - knowing that he’d traveled almost a whole day’s ride, past the eastern borders of his kingdom, into the dangerous Erimeni freelands, and gotten horribly lost in the process. He clenched his horse’
s reins even tighter in his fist, as he looked around in frustration. They’d ridden where Royth said they should have been - at the foot of the verdant Nemi’s Fist, on a well-trod path sprinkled with boulders, and wildflowers, and nothing. And as the day grew long, and they rode out of the hot sun and into the mountain’s cool shadow, they found yet more nothing. They rode around it for miles, and saw still more nothing. Does the flower even exist? Valric wondered. He wasn’t only frustrated and nervous from being lost; he’d thought that maybe, Caliandra was right, and worse still, that Royth had lied to him. Perhaps the Seer had given him false hope, and sent him out on some damn fool’s errand… all so he’d come back empty-handed, to a dead father.
The Prince vented his frustrations by yelling at the guards. “Where is that Yom-damned flower?” Valric said aloud, baring his teeth. “Are you all blind? Why haven’t you seen it yet? We’ve been riding for an hour, now. How haven’t you seen anything?”
Kells said nothing. Valric had glanced at him, from time to time; his gaze was locked on the foot of the mountain, and on the flowers; not on Valric, as it should’ve been. “You said it was Naeb’s Coil, didn’t you?” he finally asked, in a distant tone - as if his mind was on something else the whole time. It irked Valric completely; what Captain of the Guard, so wholly devoted to the safety of the Royal Family, could even think of anything else at such a time?
“Of course I did,” Valric snapped. “What else would I have said? Are there so many damned plants that you can’t tell them apart?” Valric glared pure hate at Kells, and wished that he could have driven his dagger into the Captain’s useless heart. Seven men traveled with them, each more pointless than the last, and him - the worst of all. Valric turned in his saddle, to face the men behind him, and shouted at them. “Can none of you tell them apart? Am I traveling with a company of fools?” he said, the bitter, frustrated words spewing out of his mouth.