by L. EE
Butterflies took flight in Andy’s stomach.
Nervous? Daisy inquired.
Yeah, a little. This is the first time I’ll see the King since I found out he’s my father. He doesn’t know.
Five minutes later the King dashed from the tavern with Mermin at his heels.
“Andy!” the King boomed, stopping next to Daisy. As usual, he wore faded blue jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
“Your Majesty! Please, it’s not safe!” the beefy officer objected.
“It’s fine, Major,” the King countered, looking up at Andy still seated on his mount. “That’s a fine dragon you’ve got!” He patted Daisy’s shoulder and smiled. “I must say, you pick unusual methods to enter the land, Andy.”
Andy grinned. “Yeah.”
“This dwagon looks familiar,” interjected Mermin.
“This is Daisy. We rescued her when we were looking for the red dragon scale, remember?”
“That’s why! Vewy good. She looks healthy. The new colony must be agweeing with her.”
Mermin held up his hand asking for silence and looked Daisy in the eyes for several minutes, nodding periodically. Andy couldn’t hear anything, but he remembered learning that Mermin had studied dragons for many years.
Finally Mermin exclaimed, “Is that wight?” and laughed.
Mermin turned back. “She was telling me about your twip. A little wowwied about a big pig and cwashing into a mountain, eh?”
Andy felt his face grow warm. Thanks for keeping that our little secret, Daisy.
The dragon shuddered a laugh.
“Well, what say we get you some dinner?” the King suggested, helping Andy down from Daisy’s back.
Andy paused. Thanks for the ride, Daisy. It’s good to be back.
My pleasure, Andy. If you need help, just call me in your thoughts.
I will, Andy assured her.
“Stand back, everyone!” the King commanded.
With that, Daisy stretched out her gray scaly wings and lifted off. Andy heard several soldiers shuffle and gasp.
The King put his hand on Andy’s shoulder as they walked toward the tavern. Rapscallion read the sign hanging above a weathered, wooden door that complained as they pushed it open.
They entered the half-full establishment, and Andy noticed a mix of townsfolk and vulture-people. He followed the King to a table littered with unfinished bowls of porridge, a platter of meat, and two leather tankards of ale. The King waved his hand, summoning a maid.
She hurried over, curtsied, and blushed before asking, “What can I get for you, Your Majesty?”
“Maerwynn, let’s get Andy his favorite: chicken and dumplings.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. And to drink?”
“I’d like some moonberry honeybeer, please.”
Maerwynn again curtsied and hurried toward the kitchen.
While he ordered, Andy had noticed a well-fed, older gentleman amble toward the huge fireplace and nest in a stuffed leather chair to the left of the stone hearth. He was dressed in a modest red and green striped tunic with a somewhat rumpled white shirt underneath and green leggings. Several patrons had turned their heads to watch the man.
The King drew Andy’s attention back as he exclaimed, “It’s great to see you again, Andy! Your arrival always surprises me.”
“When Daisy landed and told me she smelled you here, I was surprised,” Andy commented. “You’re out of the castle. That’s great!”
“Yes, Mermin and I have visited every corner of the land since you’ve been gone. It’s so good to be released from that prison. You’ve no idea.”
At this, Maerwynn arrived with Andy’s drink.
“I propose a toast,” the King suggested. “To you, Alden, and Hannah. I am forever grateful!”
“As am I,” Mermin chimed in.
The three clanked mugs.
Andy leaned in. “Alden tells me you had Hans implant the stone under your skin.”
“Indeed I did. A great idea Glaucin gave me. No sense in taking chances.” He smiled and patted his side.
“So, do you come here often?” Andy questioned.
The King glanced quickly at Mermin, then leaned in closer to Andy. In a voice not much above a whisper, he explained, “There’s been a rash of townsfolk turned into vulture-people over the past four months. That’s why we’re here, doing a bit of investigation. Nothing like spending time with my people to uncover the truth. We’re trying to determine whether it’s Abaddon’s doing, and if so, piece together why so many in such a short time.”
Andy felt himself inhale quickly.
“The stowyteller is weady to begin,” Mermin interrupted. He nodded in the direction of the fireplace where the gentleman now puffed on a pipe, slowly releasing smoke rings to the admiration of onlookers.
A storyteller. So, that’s what he is.
“Let’s continue this once he’s done,” the King suggested.
A dozen patrons scooted closer and a hush fell over the establishment.
“My name is Asher Dain, and mine has been a full and fascinating life, or so I’ve been told by folks not unlike yourselves.”
Several in the tavern encouraged with a chorus of low chuckles.
Taking another draw on his pipe and brushing back a wayward lock of peppery gray hair, the old man surveyed his congregation of hopeful faces and nested himself more comfortably.
“I’m not from these parts. No sir, I make the world my home. I have lived many a year and have experienced more of life than the average man. Sovereigns have called me friend and knights have vowed to cleave my spirit from my flesh or pursue me through the halls of...” He pointed downward as he raised his eyebrows.
Several children squirmed and anxiously sought the reassuring touch of a parent.
“As long as the younger folk in our midst care not about unsettled dreams in the coming days, then a tale I shall impart.”
Andy smiled. This guy’s good.
The storyteller sighed and continued, “I’ve heard rumors of ye enduring certain afflictions of late.”
Several patrons shifted on their chairs.
He cleared his throat and kneeded his generous, silvery eyebrows as he thought. He took another draw on his pipe. Maerwynn brought him a full tankard of ale and he took a sip, then nodded appreciatively.
“I believe I have something in mind,” Asher spoke softly, drawing his listeners to the edges of their chairs. “Tis a tale of power, treachery, and love, so settle in and have a listen.”
CHAPTER FOUR
A Tale
“Once there was a land ruled by a gracious queen. As much as has ever been possible, she loved her people and they in turn loved her. Rather than lording over them, she found joy in mingling among the commoners, for she believed if she knew their problems, her edicts would help and not harm her subjects. And so this kingdom flourished for many years.
“There came a day when, as the queen visited with merchants in the market, a disturbance interrupted her conversation. A merchant held tightly to the ear of a grimy young urchin, dragging him toward her. He complained, ‘This lad stole two mince pies from me, Your Majesty. What shall I do with him?’ All in the crowd saw the contents smeared across the boy’s face. The lad knew he had no defense and hung his head awaiting judgment.
“The queen scrutinized the boy. ‘Judging by your clothing, you’re not from around here.’
“The lad lifted his head and stood straight before replying, ‘I’m from a land far away. My family was killed in a war and I alone survive. I came here looking for work. I never meant to steal. I usually do odd jobs to pay my way, but I was hungry and no one had work for me. I’m sorry.’ At hearing this honest reply, the queen’s spirit felt compassion for the youth and she took him into her home to raise as her own.
“The lad received a lukewarm reception from her husband and their three children, however, for while the queen’s heart overflowed with love,
her husband did not share compassion in the same measure. And while the queen held out hope her children would one day adopt her ways, at present they chose to follow the path of their father steadfastly.
“Thus the boy loved the queen. He grew and profited from the education and luxuries of royalty, but the three children became increasingly jealous. They took to tormenting the lad at every opportunity as their hearts hardened. Until one day when the child, now nearly a man, could endure their harassment no longer. He left the castle, his once loving heart broken. Love for the queen and a broken spirit could not coexist. Try as he might, his wounded spirit won.
“He returned to the streets and eked out a subsistence living. Whenever he saw the queen searching for him, he hid, unwilling to endure more from her vulturous children. Then one day a group of merciless traders raided the kingdom, taking with them all the street urchins they could capture. Parasites they called them.”
A little girl Andy judged to be no more than five yelped and buried her head in her mama’s lap. Several adults glanced over and smiled. The storyteller took another sip of his ale and waited for the eyes of his audience to return to him.
“The traders sold the penniless young man into a life of cruel slavery. When he could not meet the demands of his owners, they beat him until he was barely conscious. Despite his harsh situation, his thoughts fixated not on himself but on taking vengeance on his former siblings for the pain they had caused him. ‘I will gain my revenge,’ he vowed daily. His broken heart hardened and became as a stone: inflexible, cold, and unbending.
“One day the young man learned the queen and her husband had died. ‘It is time,’ he declared. ‘I loved the queen and would never have touched even a hair of her children while she lived lest the pain of it consume her. But her presence no longer protects them.’ He cut down his owner and escaped with not so much as a pang of guilt or remorse. His sense of mission crowded all other thoughts from of his mind.
“He found passage back to the land, and not long after the young man entered the castle and slew the heir and his two siblings, usurping power. Having no love in his heart for anyone, himself included, he enacted harsh edicts on the people. The citizens quickly rose up, seeking his demise. And so, his mission of revenge fulfilled, he found himself drifting without purpose or meaning. He reflected over his life—he remembered his family being killed and the cruelty of his life in the streets. He thought of the mutual love he and the queen had shared. He remembered how his heart had been warm and pliable. He reminisced over the outings they would take, just the two of them, when the queen made him feel loved, despite the other children. He reflected on the words she imparted to him, words he could barely remember, so long had he pushed them to the back of his mind: ‘While man seeks advantage over his fellows, no one controls love. It is your freedom. It is your choice.’
“He continued thinking through the transformative moments of his life. ‘When did my heart become stone?’ he asked himself at last. After a long while, he finally offered an answer: ‘When I stopped choosing to love.’”
A man in the back blurted out, “Are you tellin’ me yer whole tale is about nothin’ other than bein’ lovey-dovey? Bah! And I s’pose you’re gonna tell us the guy apologized to the citizens and they lived happily ever after. What a crock of manure!”
Another patron stood up wagging his finger at the storyteller. He glanced down at a vulture-woman seated next to him and yelled, “They just turned my wife! You expect me to be lovey-dovey with whoever did this to her? They should be hanged!”
The situation worsened as listeners hurled insults at Asher Dain.
Finally, a burly farmer stood. Next to him sat his wife, who dabbed tears with a hanky, and their two vulture-kids. “If you’d all be quiet, I’d like to hear how it turned out.”
The crowd quieted and refocused on the storyteller, who took another sip of his ale and another draw on his pipe. He straightened his tunic and readjusted himself in the leather chair. At last he continued.
“The young man did not have the opportunity to apologize and make things right. The citizens overran the castle, dragged him out, and beat him to within an inch of his life. Had the youth’s heart remained stone, he would have succumbed. But as he lay there, discarded, what he learned in his childhood took on new and deeper meaning and his heart melted.”
“Did you make this whole thing up or did you see it happen?” a woman in the front interrupted.
Asher smiled. “Dear madam, I saw it happen, for I am the boy.”
Murmurs rumbled through the room.
“So what’s the point of your tale?” another patron interjected.
“We’re supposed to love no matter what happens to us? That’s a load of rubbish!” someone in back shot out.
“No, we’re supposed to love having our family turned into vulture-people!” another heckler crowed.
The crowd tossed out other suggestions, arguing over the meaning of the narrative. Andy saw two children, eyes wide, leave their seats and run to their mother for reassurance.
Andy couldn’t take anymore and he climbed up on his chair. The King and Mermin both looked up at him, raising their eyebrows. “The point of the story is that we have choice!” Andy yelled above the roar.
Townsfolk paused, looking for the source of the outburst. The crowd observed the King and Mermin giving their attention to a boy standing on a chair and quieted.
“You’re missing the point,” Andy continued. “Our storyteller’s trying to say we have choice. In most areas of our lives, this isn’t the case. But we”— Andy thumped his chest—“we control whether we love or not, no one else. If we choose to love, our hearts stay warm and open to give love. If we choose not to love, our hearts grow cold and we lose the ability to love. But each of us has the choice! When so many have been attacked and everyone’s nervous, wondering when it might be them, now is not the time to be fighting. Now is the time to come together and choose to love. We are as strong as the love we choose to share.”
Silence grew loud, saturating the room.
A smile sprouted and blossomed across the King’s face, and he began clapping slowly. Others joined in until nearly everyone in the tavern applauded. Andy felt his face warm.
“Well said, Andy!” The King beamed.
Andy looked down at the King from his perch. “I couldn’t stand everyone fighting over the meaning of a tale about love.”
While the castle staff knew Andy’s role in restoring the King and Mermin to health during his last visit, word had not spread to the communities. “Who is that kid? And why’s he dressed like the King?” someone across the space bellowed.
The King stood. “I’d like you to meet Andy, a youth wise beyond his years. Now, if any of you disagree with what he suggested, I invite you to question politely.” Andy noticed the King did not elaborate further on his identity.
No one voiced opposition, and several folks stood and shuffled forward, murmuring thanks and dropping coins in a bowl situated before Asher Dain.
Andy hopped down from his perch and resettled himself, finishing the last bites of the delicious chicken and dumplings Maerwynn had brought while the storyteller wove his tale.
Once the tavern emptied, Andy watched the King approach Asher Dain and engage him in conversation. I suppose they have some things in common.
“We need to get to the bottom of this,” Mermin voiced, interrupting Andy’s thoughts.
“How many people have been turned?”
“No telling. We’re still twying to detewmine that.”
Andy couldn’t help but think of the scroll he’d studied and his terrifying dream. Why would Abaddon do that? What purpose would it serve?
The King rejoined them several minutes later. “It’s late and you’re probably tired, Andy. Our earlier conversation will keep until tomorrow.”
Maerwynn showed the King, Mermin, and Andy to their respective rooms. Soldiers followed each to his door. Andy watched one of them turn
and stand guard outside the King’s before a beefy soldier closed Andy’s door behind him. After washing up, Andy climbed into bed and fell asleep almost immediately.
Andy saw himself walking alone once again. As always with this particular dream, he held his arms up, shielding his face from the dust whipping at him as he took step after struggling step across the charred and barren soil. The smell of sulfur again assaulted his nose and made his lungs burn. Over the whistling of the relentless wind, Andy heard the sounds of baying wolves. He stumbled as he took several more steps, finally stopping in front of the massive black walls of King Abaddon’s castle and drawing Methuselah.
Passing through the city gates, he again came upon the tall, shiny stone edifice housing Abaddon’s throne and noted the gargoyles and all manner of hideous beings standing as ornaments on and around the structure. He passed the statue of a husky Oomish craftsman waving a clenched fist directly outside the imposing front doors, then continued on into the shadowy interior.
He could never shake the sense of horror he felt glancing around the perimeter where more statues of Oomish citizens stood on black stone pedestals. He made his way toward the far end of the room where, for the first time, the mist that usually obscured his sight lifted and he saw a seven-headed dragon slumped on its throne. Its once red scales had turned to a deathly mix of gray and mauve. Each of his heads had a bandage over its left eye. The creature struggled to speak to the translucent image of a young woman wearing a white dress, hovering nearby.
“The boy is back,” the lady hissed.
Andy moved closer to hear the beast’s reply.
“Can you not see my condition? Are you completely daft?”
“He must be stopped! If you can’t do anything, at least get your bellicose back on his trail.”
“Discover how to heal me and I will consider it.”