by Lee Duigon
“Wherever you go, I am with you; whatever you do, I shall protect you. For you shall look down on your enemies from on high, and they shall flee before your face. A host shall scatter itself before you. I shall set you in a high place where no one has ever been set before, and make you a conqueror before you come of man’s estate. Behold, the Lord has spoken it.”
And then, as she always did after one of those outbursts, her legs gave out and she sank to the ground in a deep sleep; and that horrible toothed bird that followed her everywhere let out a shriek that froze King Ryons’ blood.
“Oh, shut up!” Ryons snarled at it. For once there was no one else in earshot—no one to pick up Jandra and take care of her. But if he called anyone to come over, they’d see how she was and they’d want to know what prophecies she’d spoken to him. They’d find out about his plan to run away, and stop him.
“Unless you run away right now!” he muttered to himself.
The day was hot and sultry, and it wasn’t yet noontime. The men and women working on the castle, in the fields, and building houses for the winter moved like they were half-asleep. The first cicadas of the summertime were singing in the treetops, and no one was paying any attention to him at all. Even his Ghols were lazing away the morning.
Well, why not? Today was as good a day as any.
Ryons crept off to his secret hiding place, took up his sack of food and tinderbox and extra clothes, and used all his slave’s stealth to sneak out of the encampment and into the encircling woods.
The cool, dark shadows swallowed him up without a sound.
CHAPTER 8
The Lost King
It wasn’t long before the men of the bodyguard missed their king and began to look for him. But they weren’t worried.
“He’s playing with us,” said Chagadai, with a grin. “He’s hiding somewhere, thinking we can’t find him. I used to play that game myself, when I was a boy.”
“How hard did your father look for you?” joked one of the men.
Rather than send up an alarm, they searched the castle for him. This took longer than expected; it was a big castle, full of possible hiding places. One of the men found a way into the cellars, an entrance that no one else had yet discovered, and so they had to search underground, too, in the dark. Chagadai had torches fetched and led the search himself. A son of the high steppes, where people lived in felt tents on portable willow frames, he’d never been in such a place before.
“It stinks down here,” someone complained. “The king wouldn’t hide in a stinking place like this.”
“Weren’t you ever a boy?” Chagadai snapped. “A boy would love it here.”
They sloshed and blundered around the cellars until midafternoon, but couldn’t find their king. Nor could the boy be found anywhere in the castle above-ground.
“Well, now, this won’t do!” said Chagadai, when they were outside again, blinking in the brightness of the summer day. “Why weren’t one of you watching him?” But of course each man had assumed the boy was with someone else. At last Chagadai went to Helki.
“We can’t find the king,” he said. “He must have stolen off into the forest and got lost. We Ghols are useless in the woods. Your people had better find him.”
“Gave you the slip, did he?” Helki said. “Well, boys will do that.”
Helki and some of his woodsmen tried to pick up Ryons’ trail. They soon found Jandra asleep in the shade of a broken wall, her bird standing guard over her. There Helki studied the ground and found the start of Ryons’ trail.
“This is it. He was here,” he said. “But let’s wake Jandra first.”
He knelt beside the child, raised her, and gently brushed her hair from her face. The bird rattled its dull purple feathers, but didn’t interfere. It knew Jandra thought of Helki as her daddy and loved him.
“Wake up, peeper, Daddy wants you,” he said. After a few moments she yawned, opened her eyes, and smiled at him.
“Daddy want to play?”
“Not now, sweet. Daddy wants Ryons. Where is he?”
She looked all around, and frowned. “Ryons go away?” she said.
“Take her to Abgayle,” Helki ordered one of the young men. “Find Obst; tell him what’s happened. The rest of you, come with me.”
Settlers said Helki could follow the trail of a butterfly. He tracked Ryons easily enough. The trail led into the forest, away from the encampment. After a while it led into some swampy ground where the seeping water made the spoor difficult to follow.
“He’s got a four hours’ start on us,” Helki said, “and there’s about four hours of daylight left.”
“What did he want to run away for?” said a woodsman.
“Don’t be simple. He didn’t want to be a king. It scared him silly. And kids like to explore the woods, unless there’s something wrong with them.” Helki sighed. “I should’ve expected this. For two sniffs of a roasted rabbit, I’d run off, too.”
It took them some time to pick up Ryons’ trail beyond the watery tract. Before they could follow it much farther, a runner from the castle caught up to them.
“The chieftains want you back at the camp,” he told Helki. “Obst wants you, too. The rest of us’ll track the lad.”
Helki glared at him. The young man shrugged.
“We all know you could do the job easy enough without us,” he said, “but the old man said I was to insist. We ought to be able to catch up to the king. He won’t know how to cover up his trail.”
“Then I guess I’d better go!” Helki said; so easy, he thought, for a man to lose his freedom. He turned to a tall, dark-haired youth in green who was eighteen years old today. “I’m putting you in charge, Andrus. You’re the best tracker I have. Find the boy.”
“We’ll find him,” Andrus said. “You’ve taught us well.”
The chieftains were gathered in their big black tent—taking it seriously, Helki thought. They sat in a half-circle on their stools, with the king’s place conspicuously vacant. Obst was there, too, pacing, too upset to sit down. Abgayle sat apart with Jandra in her lap.
“You haven’t found him?” said Shaffur, chief of the Wallekki.
“Not yet,” Helki said. “I’d still be tracking him myself if you hadn’t called me back. You should’ve let me stay out there.”
“We’ve had a report from the scouts,” Shaffur said. “The plain is empty now: all the armies have marched past Lintum Forest. One of the cities on the river has fallen and been burned down: Cardigal, I think. They’re making all speed for Obann.”
“Which means the way back East might be open, at least for a while,” said Spider, the old chief of the Abnaks. “Some of the men think this would be a good time to get out of here and go back home. I understand them. I never thought I’d ever say this, but I miss my wives. I don’t think we should go, but there are those who do.”
Now Helki understood the situation. With the way back to their homes beckoning to them, the army might break up.
“It’d be a disgrace to abandon our king, though,” spoke up Zekelesh, chief of the Fazzan. Obst translated his words into Tribe-talk so the others could understand. “After all, we made him our king. The Great Man is not likely to forget it. We shouldn’t go anywhere without our king.”
There was some nodding among the chiefs at this, but Shaffur wasn’t satisfied. “Old man,” he said to Obst, “what is this that God has done to us? You said He gave us this boy to be our king, and we believed you. But now God has taken him away from us! What does it mean?”
Obst spread his arms. “How can I know?” he cried. “Maybe Helki’s men will bring him back before the next day dawns. Who can tell? All I can be sure of is God’s promise. The boy has been given the throne. Wherever he is, he’s still the king. We must have faith.”
“And what is faith?” Shaffur said. “I pledged my honor to that boy, and now he’s gone.”
“You are indeed pledged, Warlord,” said Obst. “But if King Ryons were here no
w, under what circumstances would you break your oath to him?”
“None!”
“That’s faith—a form of it. Holding fast to your pledged word, no matter what. But faith in God means believing that He will keep His word to you, no matter what! And God will keep faith with you, my lords,” Obst said. “He is with you even now.”
Well said, Helki thought—but would they believe it? Before he could find out, he was moved to speak.
“I don’t know much about religious matters, Chieftains,” he said. “All I know is that if God is not God, then life ain’t worth living anyhow. But if He is God, then we might as well have faith in Him, and not do anything we’ll be sorry for later.
“I don’t know where Ryons is, or when we’ll find him. It’d be too bad if he came back and found his army run away on him. He’d still be king, but you won’t be his men anymore. I don’t reckon you’d be much of anything.”
Chagadai said, “We Ghols will stay no matter what! It was our fault the king wandered into the woods, but we’ll do anything to get him back. We’ll hunt for him ourselves if no one else will, even if we have no woodcraft.” He turned to Obst. “Old man, we have seen your God do marvelous things. Three times has He saved us in hard battle. Pray to Him and ask Him to give us back our king.”
So Obst raised his hands and prayed before them all: “Save us, Lord! Give us a sign so that we might know your will. Have mercy on these men who are only newly come to you. They’ve never been instructed in your Scriptures: they are as babes in their understanding. Won’t you speak to them, O Lord?”
Silence reigned. Obst didn’t know what else to say, Helki thought.
But then Jandra scrambled off Abgayle’s lap. By now they all knew when she was about to prophesy.
“I have heard your prayer”—it was a voice almost like a grown man’s voice coming out of that little girl—“and you shall see your king again, and he shall do exploits before your eyes.
“Go to Obann, to the city that I will not spare: to Obann by the river, where the Heathen are as thick as locusts and no man can count their number. Go to Obann, my people—who were not my people, until you lifted up your voice to Me. Go there, and I shall be with you.”
That was all. Abgayle gathered the sleeping girl into her arms. “You have your prophecy, Obst,” she said. “Your prayer is answered.”
Obst nodded; but Chief Zekelesh snatched off his wolfskin cap, smacked his knee with it, and laughed out loud.
“It’s the most foolish, loony, daft, and crazy thing I’ve ever heard!” he said. “Go to Obann, where all the armies of the Thunder King will be waiting for us! They’ll be fifty to one against us, maybe more.”
“Will you go?” asked Helki.
“Of course I’ll go!” the chieftain said.
So said they all, even Shaffur. “I heard God promise to go with us,” he said. “I’ll hold Him to that promise, and I will go to Obann, folly though it be.” He glared at Obst. “Is that what you mean by faith, old man?”
Obst bowed to him. “It is! It most certainly is.”
We’re all mad, Helki thought. But we’re going to Obann all the same. God help us!
CHAPTER 9
Wanderers
Nearer and nearer to the forest with each step they took, Jack, Ellayne, and Martis continued their journey. But one night they lost Ivor.
They were camped by a stand of waxbush, where a little fresh water bubbled out of the ground and made a tiny pool. They had speckled eggs for supper and were tired from a long day’s trekking. The depopulated plain hereabouts swarmed with rabbits, but neither Martis nor Jack was able to bag one.
“Something’s made them cautious,” Martis said, after he’d missed again with the slingshot. “I wonder what it is.”
“Foxes, I’ll bet,” Jack said. “There are a lot of foxes around Ninneburky. Once I found one in my shed. They eat rabbits.”
Wytt spent most of the day standing atop the pack on Ham’s back. Even if you couldn’t understand his Omah-speech, you would have realized he was keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings.
“What is it, Wytt?” Ellayne asked. “Are there people around somewhere?”
He chattered at her. “It’s not people,” she told the others. “He doesn’t know what it is. But he’s sure there are animals around here that he’s never seen before. He’s not sure whether they’re dangerous.”
Ivor scowled. “How does he know anything?” he said. “Not natural—some kind of witchcraft, that’s what it is.”
“Oh, don’t be stupid!” Jack said. “Dogs can hear and smell things that we can’t. Wytt can, too. That’s all it is. Didn’t you have dogs in Cardigal?”
“My cat always knew when the weather was going to change,” Ellayne said, “before any people thought it would.”
“I wish I had a crossbow,” Martis said, “in case one of those giant birds comes along and it’s hungry.”
“I wonder how they taste,” Jack said. He was hungry enough to eat a giant bird.
But all they had was eggs and berries and water from the spring. The stars came out in overwhelming numbers, and Ellayne thought she’d never seen them so bright and brilliant. If you looked at them hard enough, you’d almost think you could hear them singing. Again she thought, as she’d thought so many times since coming down from Bell Mountain, “It sure doesn’t look like God’s about to end the world!” But to say so would only start an argument with Jack and spoil her enjoyment of the stars.
Without noticing it, she drifted off into sleep—to wake with a start when Wytt chirped piercingly, right next to her ear.
They all woke, not only in response to Wytt’s alarm, but because something was noisily shaking the waxbushes behind them. They heard stems and branches snapping, and a series of deep, thunderous grunts that made Ellayne come out in gooseflesh. Martis sprang to his feet, gripping the short spear in both hands.
“Everybody be still!” he whispered.
Jack and Ellayne froze; but Ivor let out a howl of terror and took off running before anyone could hold him back. “Ooh!” he wailed, even as he ran.
And there was a great crash in the bushes, and out of them burst a great black bulk that tore straight through their campsite, knocking Martis down. Dulayl screamed and tried to bolt, but he was hobbled and Martis caught him. Ham just lowered his head and brayed.
Jack jumped up. Ivor was already just a little black dot on the plain, pursued by a four-legged something that looked too big to be fast, and ran with a peculiar rocking gait, but wasn’t losing any ground to Ivor. It bellowed almost like a bull—but not like any bull that any farmer in Obann ever heard.
Martis dragged Dulayl back with him. “Get the saddle, Jack!” he cried. “It might not be too late to save him!”
Saddling a frightened horse at night, when seconds count like gold, was a maddening business. But Martis got it done, threw himself onto Dulayl’s back, and spurred off after Ivor and the beast. Already the children had lost sight of them; but they still heard the beast bellowing.
“What in heaven was that!” Ellayne cried.
“Too dark to get a good look at it,” Jack said. “Just some burned big animal!”
Wytt couldn’t tell them what it was. It was something that he’d never seen or smelled before, and he didn’t have a word for it. The most he could say was that it was a big black thing, something like a wild hog, but not a hog.
“A pig as big as an oxcart—poor Ivor!” Jack said. “Still, it’s hard to imagine a man running away from a pig.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of wild boars?” Ellayne said. “It takes a pack of dogs and a bunch of men with spears to hunt a wild boar. There was a boar in Abombalbap that ravaged a whole kingdom, and no one could kill it.”
“Poor Ivor,” Jack repeated.
After a long time Martis came back without him. He dismounted with a sigh.
“I was too late,” he said. “The beast trampled him, and that was that. I’m sorry
, but the ground’s too hard for burial and we have a long way to go tomorrow.”
“You mean he’s dead?” Ellayne cried. Martis nodded; but he was thinking about himself. What had made him try to save a man he hardly knew, to whom he owed nothing, who could give him nothing in return, and whom he hadn’t even liked very much? Had he caught up to the beast a minute sooner, his own life would have been at risk. There might be two trampled bodies lying under the stars right now, instead of one.
“Did you see the animal?” Jack asked.
“I saw it loping away. I couldn’t tell you what it was. Nothing like I’ve ever seen before. But it might not have harmed anyone if Ivor hadn’t suddenly screamed and run away.”
“Jack thought it was a giant hog,” Ellayne said. “Wytt says it was something like that, but not quite.”
“Whatever it is,” said Martis, “let’s just hope it doesn’t come back.”
After the children finally fell asleep again, Martis lay awake all night, wondering what had gotten into him.
At first Ryons’ only thought was to get as far away from the castle as he could, as fast as he could. As a slave of the Wallekki, he’d traveled on the plains, in the desert, and even visited a city or two; but he knew absolutely nothing about forests. The whole time he’d been in this forest, he’d been in the care of the men who’d made him king.
But it was God who made me king, he thought. Obst said so, Jandra said so, and everyone believed it. He shook his head and kept going.
He pushed through ferns, through places where watery ground tried to suck the shoes off his feet; made wide detours around sticker-bushes; and followed paths wherever he could find them. Gnats flew into his eyes; jays and squirrels scolded him from the treetops. But he didn’t want to be in any more battles, and he certainly didn’t want the Thunder King to put his eyes out with a red-hot iron, so he just kept going.
At last, when the sun was low in the sky and it was beginning to get dark under the trees, he stopped to rest. As a slave he’d learned things that most children didn’t know about: he understood that in another hour it’d be too dark to go on, and he’d need a safe and comfortable place to sleep.